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Très reconnaissante, Soeur, Tobias a dit que la guérison s'acheva. En roulant ses épaules invisibles, le voleur se pencha contre un mur. Le combat se terminait, et maintenant tous les braves guerriers faisaient la queue pour guérir. Il a entendu Hugh crier quelque chose à personne en particulier de loin - espérons que ce serait un meilleur débouché pour son... agression aléatoire que le visage de Tobias. Quelqu'un de nouveau était arrivé, et de son regard, il avait fait sa juste part du travail. Il semblait vouloir savoir ce qui se passait, ce qui était un sentiment que Tobias pouvait au moins comprendre lorsqu'il examinait la destruction. Rien n'a de sens. Tobias n'avait aucun intérêt à parler à aucun de ces gens à l'heure actuelle - en particulier être une voix désincarnée comme il l'était. Il ne savait pas comment une telle conversation allait se dérouler. Sans doute ce serait beaucoup trop comique pour l'humeur de Tobias. Le voleur invisible s'égarait silencieusement, ses pieds le ramenant sur la scène de sa bataille sans qu'il le leur dise vraiment. Presque automatiquement, il a commencé à examiner les poches des hommes encore inconscients, faisant de son mieux pour éviter de regarder le cadavre sans tête et sans pantalon. Un souvenir remplissait son esprit. C'était un homme beaucoup plus jeune - un enfant vraiment - dans cette mémoire, dans une ville pas si loin d'ici. Il parlait à trois autres enfants, plus grands et plus forts que lui, des brutes avec des tatouages assortis. Un gang qui avait entendu parler du voleur silencieux que vous habitiez dans les ruelles, et qui voulait le recruter. "Désolé", il leur disait alors qu'il se préparait à courir, une expression glib sur son visage. "Je ne blesse pas les gens pour leurs affaires. Je le prends. Et plus important encore...» il proclama qu'il s'était emparé d'une pièce de monnaie de celle qui était devant. "Je ne partage pas." Ils l'avaient attrapé, il s'est souvenu. Il lui a donné deux yeux noirs et un bras cassé pour ses ennuis. Oui, il y avait une raison pour laquelle il avait abandonné les idéaux tôt. Il a regardé le trajet qu'il ramassait gentiment. Un sac à main plein d'or, deux potions drôles, un rouleau magique et une merde sacrée, un diamant de la taille de sa putain de paume. Au moins, on aurait dit qu'une expérience en diamant lui avait appris à faire évaluer ces choses avant qu'il ne laisse ses yeux sortir de sa tête à la taille de son trait. Il lisait l'inscription sur l'une des potions. Restauration. Il ne savait pas ce que cette foutue chose a restauré, mais il avait une intuition qu'il manquait en ce moment, et il a versé la potion dans sa bouche rapidement. Tobias scoopa le reste de son butin dans son sac et se leva, les pieds le prenant nulle part en particulier. Cette fois, il est arrivé dans l'auberge sans vraiment savoir pourquoi. La nourriture et la boisson étaient servies, mais Tobias n'avait ni faim ni soif. Sans vraiment savoir ce qu'il faisait, le voyou poussa une chaise de côté, rampa sous une table, tira les genoux jusqu'à sa poitrine, se reposa la tête et retourna contre le mur, et ferma les yeux.

Name: Tobias Age: 22 Alignment: Chaotic Good-ish Race: Human Class: Thief Appearance/Clothing: Skills: Bluff, Acrobatics, Charm, Athletics, Sneak, Theft, Streetwise, Knife-Wielding, Knife-Throwing. Natural Abilities: The power of average-ness. Magic/Spells: Not a scrap of it. Additional Information: Tobias isn't the strongest fighter, being far more suited to running, hiding, or bluffing his way out of situations (he's capable by normal person standards, of course - just not really what you'd expect from an adventurer). He's also a massive pathological liar with trust issues a mile wide. Weapons: He has three knives - one on his belt, one on his back, and one in his boot. Possessions: Leather armor, basic adventuring supplies (rope, flint and steel, etc.). His hood is enchanted to make it very hard for someone who sees him with it up to remember his face. He also has a magic grappling hook enchanted to not make a sound. Personality: Tobias is glib, smart-alecky, cowardly, and tries his absolute best to be self-centered. Though he'd feverishly deny it, he's a fundamentally good person underneath the assumed selfish. He tries not to let anyone get close to him, and often uses snark and flat out lies as armor in social interaction. History: Getting the truth out of him about his personal history is extraordinarily difficult, but it's possible to determine that he's an orphan who grew up on the streets and has spent his life so far living in cities and alternating between pickpocket, con-man and cat burglar in order to survive. Also, hai Kronshi. Funny meeting you again. :p

Derrix s'est détournée de la vieille femme occupée, se contentant de sa réponse. Il regardait les hommes en sang qu'il avait massacrés, et sachant maintenant qu'ils étaient des hommes déshonorants, il a tout simplement hissé en reconnaissance d'eux plutôt que de faire une agitation au sujet de leurs horribles morts. L'inconnu d'un oeil d'or tapait le corps des morts bardes avec l'orteil de sa botte, et ses yeux erraient sur les biens de l'homme mort. Il y avait deux rouleaux magiques, un anneau lourd et très précieux sur son doigt, et qui sait quel genre de potions inestimables rempli l'homme knapsack. De toute évidence, l'esclavage était une affaire lucrative autour de cette ville, Derrix a conclu silencieusement alors qu'il se penchait pour placer l'homme mort dans une posture plus digne, plutôt que s'éparpiller. Même s'ils avaient enfreint un code qu'ils ne connaissaient même pas et qu'ils tombaient comme déshonorant aux yeux de Derrix, il aurait souhaité qu'il ait une pelle, pour au moins les mettre hors de vue pour les gens de la ville. Il chercha rapidement un endroit pour au moins traîner les hommes tombés, après que tous ces cadavres aient été par sa main.

Name: Illyd Dyill Age: 18 Alignment: neutral Race: Human Class: Shepherd Appearance/Clothing: Illyd Dyill stands a modest six and has a wiry yet firm frame. His body is covered in old tan robes draped over loose pants and worn fur boots. He has shaggy black hair much like the sheep he used to herd, and two light brown eyes that peek out from his youthful and defined tanned face. Skills: farming, understanding of animal anatomy, mundane understanding of self defense and fighting with a crook, tracking, Natural Abilities: In depth thinking, to the point that this guy might be possessed Magic/Spells: Additional Information: He was a shepherd as long as he could remember, and as long as he could remember, he wanted to be a hero, but this one tiny voice in his head prefers a different direction Weapons: A Shepherd's crook Possessed: Yes Personality: He is curious, adventurous, slightly lazy, and naive. However, a secondary thinking voice in his head is definitely different than his usual gentle nature; as it is aggressive, violent, lustful and greedy.. Luckily this isn’t the voice that controls the body, mostly. History: A simple Shepherd’s son, out in the big world to become an adventurer (possessions: Crook, clothes, worn out harp) So I already have a bunch of ideas on how this guy’s posts would look, a lot of in mind arguing and play, as well as crude suggestions and general character development

Fiona avait en fait voulu continuer, pour ramener ces gens au village et un meilleur confort le plus rapidement possible, mais une fois qu'ils sont venus à un arrêt pour mettre en place un petit feu de cuisine et un repas, elle pouvait voir l'utilisation dedans. La plupart des gens dans le wagon semblaient être près de mourir de faim, et la petite période de repos serait bonne pour eux. Depuis que Vaeri avait pris soin des préparations et de la cuisson, Fiona a aidé à distribuer le repas modeste, ainsi que d'offrir de petites quantités d'eau pour aider les plus faibles à le laver. Elle n'a pris que le plus petit goût pour elle-même; elle avait faim et était fatiguée de toute la tension de la journée, mais rien par rapport aux gens qu'elle aidait. Elle a passé la majeure partie du repas avec les villageois secourus, en parlant avec ceux qui étaient assez éveillés pour converser, et en gardant son œil sur ceux qui luttaient. Elle n'avait jamais vécu quelque chose comme ça, mais elle pensait qu'elle avait une bonne affaire en commun avec beaucoup d'entre eux, étant une villageoise qui a grandi dans un endroit semblable à ce qu'ils avaient. Quelques-uns d'entre eux semblaient lui plaire. L'expérience de partager la nourriture autour d'un feu comme égal était probablement assez libératrice. Avant cela, elle pensait qu'ils devaient se battre pour des ferrailles. Fiona a pris l'accalmie dans l'activité le repas fourni pour recoudre rapidement le petit trou dans sa veste que le boulon arbalète avait laissé derrière. Au moment où elle était finie, la lumière commençait définitivement à se déplacer et à les conduire vers le crépuscule. Elle regarda autour de lui pour voir où étaient les autres. "Si tout le monde est prêt, nous devrions aller de l'avant. Nous pouvons encore atteindre le village avant la tombée de la nuit, je pense."

Name: Fiona Age: 22 Alignment: Neutral Good Race: Human Class: Fighter Appearance/Clothing: Reference 1, Reference 2. Fairly average height, with a lean and toned build. Fiery, wild red hair and light brown eyes, skin tone a fair, slightly pale coloration. Skills: Close combat fighting, speed and agility, moderate strength, excellent horseback riding skills. Proficient both armed and unarmed, moderate endurance for taking hits. Good at cooking with relatively little to work with, and while likely irrelevant, good at farming. Natural Abilities: None - Human Magic/Spells: None Armor: Roughly as seen in the image, some pieces of scavenged light plate, most effectively protecting her right arm. Weapons: Use reference 2 for example. A fairly standard curved longsword, lightweight but sturdy. She has a dagger sheathed on her left thigh for emergencies. Possessions: Little of note. Her clothes, weapons, armor, packs, supplies, basic medical items and personal belongings. Most of it kept in her horse's saddlebags. Personality: Fiona's bold and brash, often unafraid of things she probably should be, and in general a very confident and self-assured individual. Like any good adventurer she is both curious and brave, but also deeply selfless, not preferring to use the word 'mercenary' to describe herself, as this implies the coin is the end goal she works for. Mostly she just enjoys her life for what it is: a chance to explore, meet new people and see new things, and help wherever she can, with what skill she has. Though typically a loner, she doesn't turn down help when offered, and tries to work together with others as best she can. She's an inexperienced, terrible liar, preferring both her combat and her conversation upfront and uncomplicated. History: Fiona's story is a relatively simple one, starting with a family not important enough to even have a lasting name. She's simply Fiona, of the village of Drayden, a little farming community quite a ways from many large population centers. Fiona was an only child, and thus assisted a great deal around the farm, becoming strong and physically active as a result. Wandering adventurers inspired her even as a teenage girl, and her mind would not be swayed from eventually leaving the family farm to see the world. When they were eventually able to hire some help, she used what coin she had to purchase some basic equipment, and set out at age 19, blade in hand, hunting for contracts. Naturally, without the best of training or a good starting foundation of equipment and knowledge, Fiona struggled in her first few years, but learned from her mistakes, and has developed into a competent and even confident fighter, willing and able to take on problems the average person doesn't want to deal with.

Le village Le soleil était lourd dans le ciel mais il n'avait pas encore commencé à se coucher, l'air était épais avec l'humidité de l'humidité et même s'il commençait à refroidir grâce à la brise de l'après-midi la chaleur des batailles pesait encore sur la ville et faisait tout bouger beaucoup plus lentement que la normale. Wylsen avait pu parler au gardien de l'auberge pour nourrir ceux qui avaient combattu pour la ville et les mettre en place pour une autre nuit, la ville devait ces aventures et il espérait qu'il les rembourserait en petit. C'était tout ce qu'ils avaient à offrir. En regardant la rue, Wylsen a croisé les bras au-dessus de sa poitrine alors qu'il regardait les gens de la ville sortir de sa cachette. Les femmes du village étaient occupées à remuer la nourriture de leur propre cuisine et la cuisine de l'auberge dans la salle principale de l'auberge. Les hommes avaient rassemblé ce qui restait de ceux qui avaient été massacrés et les avaient drogués à l'extrémité sud de la ville où Hanzo et Mortosh avaient brûlé les corps de ceux qui étaient tombés au cours de la bataille précédente. Le sang taillait encore la rue mais Wylsen pensait que ce n'était rien que la prochaine pluie ne se laverait pas. Debout, il se demande ce qui est arrivé au reste du groupe qui s'était rendu quelques heures auparavant au camp des esclaves. Ils auraient dû être de retour et il commençait à s'inquiéter que quelque chose d'horrible s'était passé. Le retour Les anciens prisonniers étaient plus que reconnaissants pour la nourriture qu'ils avaient reçue des efforts de Lob et Vaeri. Pour la plupart d'entre eux, c'était la première chose qu'ils avaient mangée pendant des semaines et alors que ce n'était pas un festin, c'était plus que suffisant pour les soutenir le reste du voyage. Ils ont commencé à s'ouvrir, ne pas parler de leur vie depuis la capture, mais plutôt regarder ce que leur vie avait été avant. Certains ont parlé d'attendre avec impatience de retourner dans leurs propres villages et villes, de revoir leurs amis et leurs familles. D'autres ont parlé de la façon dont ils avaient prévu de construire une nouvelle vie et de commencer à s'installer où ils n'avaient rien à retourner. Quoi qu'il en soit, il souriait en gravant les lèvres de la bande fatiguée pendant que le chariot sortait de la forêt et retournait vers le village. Il a fallu plusieurs heures pour ramener tout le groupe au village, mais heureusement c'était un voyage paisible et alors que le soleil commençait à se coucher dans l'ouest, ils pouvaient voir la petite ville. Sœur Agnès avait donné les derniers droits à ceux qui étaient tombés au combat. Des vies aussi cruelles étaient maintenant terminées et il était temps d'aller de l'avant. Respirant profondément, elle s'appuya sur son bâton de marche qu'elle avait fait récupérer Wylsen du magasin pour elle et erra lentement de l'extrémité sud de la ville en direction de l'auberge. S'arrêtant alors qu'elle voyait le reste du groupe revenir avec ce qui semblait être un grand wagon rempli de gens qui avaient vu de meilleurs jours, elle a accéléré son rythme. Elle a appelé et il est sorti de l'auberge, se demandant ce qui pourrait se passer maintenant. Alors que ses yeux tombaient sur le groupe d'aventuriers revenant, il laissa sortir un soupir de soulagement. Ils étaient de retour, ils étaient en sécurité et ils avaient réussi, à partir de ce qu'il pouvait dire, à ramener plus de personnes qui avaient été capturées. Il sourit alors qu'il marchait vers Soeur Agnès et appela le reste. "Ils sont de retour!" Wylsen a crié au groupe qui avait défendu la ville lors de la deuxième attaque. Soeur Agnès a saisi son bras alors qu'elle commençait à compter le nombre de personnes qui étaient revenues et a remarqué qu'il en manquait une. L'archer n'est pas avec eux, elle a dit rapidement alors qu'elle regardait sur lui. "Sana"? Wylsen a dit en retournant son regard et a ensuite avalé dur comme la nonne a oint dans la confirmation. La journée avait été longue, les deux parties de la fête d'aventure semblaient avoir eu plus à faire qu'elles n'auraient dû faire face et Wylsen craignait le pire. Il en manquait un.

Name: Hanzo Jibero Age: 26 Alignment: Lawful Neutral Race: Human Class: Monk Appearance/Clothing: Skills: Acrobatics Survival Historical & Religious Knowledge Climbing & Swimming Perception Emotion Reading Ki Manipulation Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human. Magic/Spells: Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance. Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially. Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities. Additional Information: This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could. This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose. For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny. Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability. Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope. Personality: By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership. As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace. History: Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time. Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind. Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge. So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand. Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her. He only regrets not having learned her name. The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had.

Quand Mortosh et Zam étaient retournés dans les corps pour en disposer comme avant ils avaient trouvé très peu à gauche des corps alors il y avait peu à piller quelques rubis, de l'or et un rouleau avec un sort appelé "Divine Light". Pourquoi un assassin porterait un tel rouleau était inconnu peut-être c'était un paiement de sortes il semblait compliqué ainsi il pourrait tenir une certaine valeur mais il n'avait pas vraiment d'importance à la fin pour Mortosh a dû les amener au pyre. Zam était très calme et cela avait Mortosh inquiet ("Quelque chose de faux Zam?") Il a demandé à travers le lien "était-il nécessaire pour vous de les tuer Mortosh?" Mortosh n'a pas été surpris par sa question c'était quelque chose sur lequel il s'est interrogé plus tôt dans ces quelques jours il avait tué plus alors dans sa presque totalité 700 années d'existence. mais il semblait qu'elle voulait une réponse alors il lui a dit ("Non ce n'était pas mais la mort par la bataille jamais vraiment est") il semblait la mettre à l'aise mais ce n'était pas beaucoup. ils avaient finalement atteint le Pyre alors il a jeté le corps parmi les autres

Name: Mortosh Celjust and Zam Mano Age: last time he counted 696 (Zam is 200 a kid by her races standard) Alignment: Chaotic Good (Zam is Neutral Good) Race: undead but more specifically a Skeleton (Zam is a Petal For more information on those look for them on page 120 of monster manual III) Class: Cleric (Zam doesn’t really have a class as she is supposed to act as an item much like boo from Baldur’s gate) Appearance/Clothing: Mortosh wears an enchanted blue hood that obscures his entire face making appear as a black void with blue lights wear his eyes should be this is to hide his skull. He wears an iron chest plate with iron gauntlets his legs are hidden by a long blue skirt and iron boots (Zam’s Skin is light blue her hair is a darker shade of blue her bang cover her eyes she wares gray cloth dress her wings are the same color as her skin) Skills: For Mortosh it is Hide Diplomacy Knowledge (religion) Survival Heal ( For Zam it is Bluff and Gather Information Knowledge (nature) as Zam doesn’t actually have class I decided that it would be op to give her any more skills Natural Abilities: Undead-Life: as an undead you are immune to age effects and disease. Unbreakable: An undead has no death ticks. Undead appetite: The Undead are able to use the undead appetite encounter power. (Zam) Lullaby: Any creature within a 20-foot-radius that fails a DC 14 Will save is affected as though by a lullaby spell. A creature that successfully saves cannot be affected again by that petal’s lullaby song for 24 hours. The save DC is Charisma-based. Magic/Spells: Remove Fear: Suppresses fear or gives +4 on saves against fear for one subject + one per four levels Create Food and Water: Feeds three humans (or one horse)/level. Bless: Allies gain +1 on attack rolls and saves against fear Calming Embrace: By placing his hands on friends, or foes restores Mortosh will restore a bit of health as calm down bersekers Insect Plague: Locust swarms attack creatures (Zam) Chatter: A spell created by Zam And Mortosh To allow Zam to speak for Mortosh Calm Emotions: Calms creatures, negating emotion effects Light: Object shines like a torch lie. Additional Information: he is a cleric of Trew Barton The god of joy and undeath. The lack of a lower jaw makes it hard to speak so Zam usually translate for him she also sits on his shoulder. Mortosh sometimes will be overwhelmed with greed causing him steal without thought this has caused him to land into a whole heap of trouble in the past. Weapons: A Simple mace (Zam Like most of her race doesn’t carry a lethal weapons but she dose carry a blow gun which she uses to shoot darts laced with sleeping powder she doesn’t use this very often due to the ingredients used in the sleeping powder are quite rare) Possessions: Mortosh Carries a shrunken zombie around his neck (Zam Owns Shinobue a Side blown flute) Mortosh has a jar full of flower that he carries around for Zam he carries it around for so she doesn't faint from hot or thick air EDIT: Three vials of Moderate Inflict Wounds Personality: Mortosh is a very friendly Skeleton he is calm and hard to anger but his years of lacking the capability of speech has damaged his social skills quite badly which can make him come off as insensitive. while he is perfectly of take on offensive role he dose fell uncomfortable hurting others be they man or beast but he will not complain if fighting is necessary.(Zam is quite battle hungry once again by her races standard anyway she can’t really stand the thought of staying in one place to long she also has obsession with sugar give her some and shell be your friend for life ironically this is not the reason way she follows Mortosh) History: 696 Years ago Mortosh rose from his grave no memory of his past life the only thing he remembered was his cleric training Mortosh spent a good chunk of his first fifty years searching for his past to no avail Realizing that trying to search for a past that he no idea about or even the reason why he was searching so he gave up on searching and decided to just travel why? He didn’t know back then but now he know he was looking for purpose and he found it when he encountered a necromancer and a follower of Trew. He spoke to Mortosh and told him about Trew. Mortosh was intrigued with Trew so asked the necromancer how he could show his loyalties to Trew and the necromancer handed him the shrunken head. Confused Mortosh asked the necromancer about the head and he told him that the head was the symbol of Trew then he requested that Mortosh would spread the massage of Trew. Mortosh accept the his request but before he went he realized one thing. He would be run out of any village or town before he even toke his first step so asked the necromancer to enchant his hood so it would only show a void. So The necromancer enchanted Mortosh’s hood so with his enchanted hood on Mortosh thank the necromancer and went on his to spread the word of Trew and that how he spend his next two hundred years spreading the word that was until he angered a zealous paladin who broke his jaw to pieces. With no jaw all his words came out as mumbling so not being able to spread the word he turned to learning healing magic so he spent the next hundred years learning. this was around the time that Zam was Born two hundred years ago Zam was. Born in to a tribe of petals a race of tiny fey creatures she was treated well enough but she was still an outcast among her race she wasn’t as talented in art as the rest of her race. So she turned to other thing like spellcraft this is what taught her to speak all other tongues she would later encounter Mortosh when he would save her from a plague walker. Mortosh Seeing that Zam had gotten hurt would go on to heal all her wounds. Grateful for his deed Zam asked him what she could do for him. Mortosh lowered his hood and showed her his lack of lower jaw and he needed someone to speak for him as she was the only one that understood what he was saying she agreed and they have been traveling ever since

Le simple repas qu'elle a préparé pour les ex-captives les a tellement réconfortés, et le repas chaud l'a aidée à renouveler sa force, si elle se sentait plus somnolente qu'elle ne l'était déjà. Néanmoins, Vaeri parvient à se tenir ensemble sur la longue marche de retour au village, bien qu'elle ait eu quelques appels rapprochés avec des paupières qui se fermaient et ne voulaient pas s'ouvrir à nouveau. À mi-chemin du parcours, elle s'est souvenue qu'elle avait oublié de faire son manteau après l'avoir jeté pour la bataille et a rapidement corrigé cette erreur. Quand elle est arrivée dans le village, elle a aidé tous les gens des wagons. Elle se tourna ensuite vers l'auberge, marchant dans elle, enregistrant vaguement les visages comme familier de tôt ce matin. Des pièces grinçantes ont été retirées de la poche à la hanche et déposées devant l'aubergiste. Il a bien compris la pièce et a remis à l'elfe une clé de chambre avant de la diriger vers une pièce à l'étage. Vaeri a trouvé son chemin à l'intérieur de la pièce et a fermé la porte derrière elle. Elle a jeté son sac de ses épaules, le laissant s'asseoir dans une masse sur le sol avant de passer au lit et de tomber sur le visage en premier. Elle n'a même pas pris la peine d'enlever son armure avant de s'évanouir.

Name: Vaeri Dryearurdrenn Age: 143 Alignment: Lawful Good Race: Elf Class: Cleric/Barbarian Appearance/Clothing: Vaeri is an innocent looking elf, standing at about 5' 7" (170 cm) with long, straight raven hair that extends down to the base of her back, pale skin and bright blue eyes. At a glance she's quite beautiful with full lips, a small button nose, thin eyebrows and high cheekbones, when one takes a closer look, several tiny scars are visible all over, disfiguring her otherwise graceful looks. Likewise, Vaeri's exposed flesh, the rare times one can see them initially appear smooth and untouched, but upon closer inspection are covered in scars and barely contain wiry muscle below. Vaeri dresses as a lady of the cloth should, with a dark blue full body cloak. The fabric is adorned with intricate patterns in white to provide visual contrast and indicating her status as a clergywoman. Around her neck and outside the cloak, Vaeri wears a necklace bearing the holy symbol of her god. However, underneath the cloak is a full set of leather armor, battle ready and kept in top shape at all times. Skills: Sense Motive, Knowledge (Religion), Knowledge (Nature), Climb, Jump, Sleight of Hand, fletching arrows, surviving out in the wild Natural Abilities: Keen senses, the ability to see better than humans in low light Magic/Spells: Heal: can decide how good this is Tongues: Allows the caster to speak any language for the duration of the spell Turn Undead: Vaeri can attempt to make Undead flee from her presence temporarily. Powerful Undead can resist this. Divine Might: Holy power infuses the caster, temporarily making them more powerful and resilient Flame Strike: Smites foes with holy flames Additional Information: Vaeri worships Menhit, lion-goddess of War. (Fun fact her name means She who massacres) Weapons: Vaeri carries a shortbow and a two-handed battleaxe Possessions: Vaeri carries a backpack that can hold more than you think it would and what Vaeri wants from the bag will always be at the top (the item in question must have been put in the bag beforehand for this to work). Inside the bag are her necessities (tent, rope, bedroll, tarp for the tent, soap, cooking utensils, oil, a lamp, flint and steel), holy texts, and about 2 weeks worth of rations. She also has a coin purse with about 20 gold pieces in it. On her hip is a quiver with 20 arrows. Personality: To strangers, Vaeri appears to be a gentle elf, always keen to help those in need and be a travelling force of good in the world. However, as you get to know her, slowly she morphs into an entirely different person, brash, head-strong and a braggart, this true face of Vaeri shows exactly why she worships the goddess she does. The elf loves battle of all kinds and will gleefully jump into battle whenever she can. History: Vaeri grew up in a forest village mostly populated by other elves to a carpenter. IN her childhood, she began learning the bow as all children did. Her prowess with weaponry was admired just as much as her excessive enthusiasm for using them was worrying. One day while out hunting alone she was overcome by a vision of the lion-goddess Menhit who commanded Vaeri to go out into the world and find a man with two right hands. After this experience, Vaeri began following the goddess of war and has dedicated her life to this mission. The cleric has been following this notice for strong adventurers as a possible lead for locating this mysterious man.

Hanzo s'est permis de respirer avec plus de régularité maintenant que son corps était mêlé. L'épuisement restait, et il ne récupérait aucun du sang qu'il avait perdu, mais au moins son corps n'était pas endommagé. Espérons qu'une bonne nuit de repos sans interruptions trop poussées ferait un peu de bien à tout le monde. Avec un nouvel éventail de cadavres à disposer, le moine sullenly a commencé le travail de les traîner au feu de joie au sud de la ville, toujours enflammé de rage. La forte odeur de brûlure à la pourriture s'est mélangée alors qu'il approchait de nouveau du feu, l'un des corps dans le remorquage. Certains des hommes qui regardaient hors de leur maison ont offert d'aider, prenant quelques-uns des autres corps à disposition. C'était une foule épouvantable et un effort épuisant, mais ça se ferait en temps voulu... "Qu'est-ce qu'il y a? Celui-ci est toujours en vie!" Alors qu'il était sur le point de mettre le premier corps dans les flammes, Hanzo s'est évanoui à l'attention du cri soudain, laissant tomber la jambe qu'il tirait et regardant de nouveau vers le village. "L'enfer, c'est qu'il-rire!" "Il s'en va, vite, quelqu'un l'arrête." C'était le voleur que Hanzo avait déjà abattu. Sa compagnie tous brutalement assassiné et son cul battu deux fois aujourd'hui, il était sûr de supposer qu'il avait perdu ce combat. Le voleur a mis quelques doigts dans sa bouche et a soufflé un certain sifflet shrill, appelant son cheval abandonné. Son nouveau plan était de quitter la ville et de s'échapper dans la forêt pendant que les aventuriers s'aventuraient; Malgré son état blessé, il avait encore plus d'agilité pour les citadins, et il avait un cheval pour le porter peu importe. Sa monture sortait d'une des ruelles, et il s'élança dans la selle aussi vite que possible tout en les faisant bouger. Son plan était parfait, dans son esprit - la retraite au fort sud, prendre tout ce dont il avait besoin, puis s'enfuir avant la tombée de la nuit et sous la couverture de la nuit. Tant que personne ne peut l'intercepter... Un boulon d'énergie a lancé le voleur au visage, le frappant de son cheval et au sol, la montagne fuyant dans la forêt du sud. Le vent forcé de ses poumons, il a été laissé inhalé et gaze à mesure que le moine s'approchait. Une main allait au col du voleur, et les yeux du criminel s'élargissaient, un mélange d'exaspération et de peur présent. -- S'il vous plaît... ne me tuez pas...! Le voleur s'est évanoui, son regard rencontrant le visage fatigué et féroce de Hanzo. Avec une bouffée douloureuse, il continua de supplier : « Tous les autres... sont morts! Ce n'est pas assez...?" Le moine a jeté le voleur de côté, sur son dos. Hanzo a salué l'un des villageois pour avoir apporté de la corde. Puis, d'un ton plus sinistre, il annonça au voleur : « Si je pouvais l'aider, aucun de vous ne serait mort de toute façon. Vous méritez une punition appropriée pour ce que vous avez fait. » Le criminel gémit et succombe à sa fatigue alors que Hanzo enlève tous les objets lâches de son être. En plus d'une bourse pleine de monnaie d'argent et d'un couple de bibelots étranges que le voleur avait l'intention de vendre, il n'y avait rien de notable avec lequel le voleur avait essayé de se défaire. Cela rappelait à Hanzo, cependant, qu'il y avait une autre personne qui n'avait pas explicitement mort - le magicien. Comme il a permis à certains des hommes locaux de sécuriser le voleur battu, le moine est retourné à l'endroit où le mage de feu était inconscient. Déjà l'un des hommes l'observait, vu que la figure n'était ni sanglante ni froide. "Il est juste inconscient pour l'instant," Hanzo a dit à la personne à son approche, qui a donné un coup d'oeil douteux mais appréciateur à Hanzo. "Voyez si vous pouvez obtenir de l'aide pour le retenir, pour qu'il ne puisse rien jeter." L'homme a hurlé avec une certaine hésitation, et est parti prendre quelque chose ou quelqu'un. Il n'y avait certainement pas besoin d'un village comme celui-ci pour retenir des prisonniers, mais Hanzo n'allait pas les tuer alors qu'ils étaient déjà battus, et il n'allait pas leur permettre de s'échapper et de leur donner la chance de faire plus de mal. Si le village en décidait ainsi, les criminels pourraient en tout cas être mis à mort, mais ce n'était pas l'affaire de Hanzo. Les objets perdus du magicien comprenaient une potion de « restauration » et un rouleau magique avec un emblème à l'encre fraîche. Le texte complexe sur le rouleau lisait que c'était un enchantement de peau d'écorce qui pouvait être appliqué en permanence au corps, en pressant l'encre à l'endroit désiré et en lisant l'enchantement. Hanzo pouvait le voir utile pour lui-même, mais il ne voulait pas l'utiliser immédiatement au cas où l'un des autres le voulait - il n'était pas le seul, après tout, qui était si peu blindé. Agnes et Wylsen avaient personnellement fait des accommodations à l'auberge pour les aventuriers, un simple geste de remerciement pour la défense de leur village. En dépit d'être toujours le miser, Hanzo a accueilli favorablement l'offre, mais a toujours offert une partie de l'argent du sac comme paiement. Hanzo ne pouvait s'empêcher de libérer un bâillon fatigué des efforts de la journée; il avait le sentiment qu'il se reposerait bien dans un village qu'il savait avoir un rôle à jouer dans la protection. Les aventuriers se replièrent vers le calme et le calme de l'auberge, et Hanzo suivit. Doucement, il a commandé une autre tasse de thé. Le soleil commençait déjà à plonger sous l'horizon alors que le deuxième groupe retournait en ville. Soeur Agnes appela rapidement Wylsen dehors pour regarder, et comme il l'a fait paresseusement, Hanzo suivit l'exemple. Il avait presque oublié que le groupe Sana avait conduit à l'expédition du camp du nord, et comme il les voyait revenir, il pouvait comprendre pourquoi. Tiré par leurs chevaux était un grand wagon d'autocars, chargé de gens misérables mais reconnaissants. Les esclaves, Hanzo s'est rendu compte. Ils avaient sauvé les esclaves, pas seulement tué tous les esclaves. Maintenant, cette ville était vraiment un havre. Pas si épuisé qu'il était endormi maintenant, Hanzo agita vers le groupe qui s'approchait. Des mercis et des mercis ont été partagés, et certains étaient impatients de se retirer à l'auberge et au repos. Les aventuriers avaient aussi rapporté une énorme part d'argent - le butin recueilli par les esclaves, très probablement. Grandement satisfait des vies qu'ils avaient sauvées aujourd'hui, Hanzo a donné un sourire doux, presque dopey, pour la première fois depuis un moment.

Name: Hugh Van Halder Age: 45 Alignment: Neutral Good Race: Human Class: Fighter, Ex-Paladin Appearance/Clohing: He stands at 6'2", a tower of years of built up muscle. He wears a dark earthen blue tunic over a white linen three button pullover shirt. He wears a pair of black shorts(under his pants) and a pair of dark gray hosen(medieval style pants). He'll wear a chain mail shirt and these pauldrons additionally he'll wear leather knee and shin armor. He wears a small gray hood and a bear fur cloak. Skills: He is a good brawler and can fight with anything he can get his hands on(He's used bed rolls before). Horseback riding. Swordfighting, throwing axes, and two handed weapon fighting. He's been able to use crossbows before, but despises them, as they are delicate and take a lot of work just to reload. Bushcraft and survival stuff. Smoking(if that qualifies as a skill). Some cooking. Natural Abilities: He's strong and durable and can take a lot of beatings. He's pretty much a tank. He can drink a lot of alcohol and only get buzzed. Otherwise, he's just a normal human. Magic Spells: N/A Additional Information: He is in a relationship with Sana Rawn. He has a draft horse, named Rodger. Weapons: He wields a large crude looking battle axe and a falchion. Additionally, he has one small crude throwing axe. Possessions: A rucksack with jerky, bread, cheese, rags, spark rocks(basically one is made of magnesium), rope, ladle, cooking knife, two plates, and tobacco. He also has saddle bags on his horse, which he stores his pipe, more tobacco, sugar cubes, a brush, a stick and bow(which he uses for lighting his pipe), and a few salt licks. He has two water skins. One he keeps on his horse, and one on his person or in rucksack. Additionally he has a pot and a frying pan strapped down to the outside of his rucksack. He also wears a ring on a little chain around his neck and he never seems to take it off, as it was given to him by Sana. Personality: He is a more contented man, liking simple things in life, especially enjoying smoking his pipe with a wonderful scenery, usually in the form of a beautiful day and his love, Sana. He has a more realistic attitude towards the world, not being an idealist, only doing things to help. He has great respect for the natural order of things, and you won't find him trying to seek out revenge. He still has a fiery temper when it is stoked enough to come out. History: Hugh was once part of a great order of paladins. They had much land and ruled with wisdom. Their lands were prosperous and fertile. Many were jealous of their lands, but no one had the courage enough to take on the great and Noble order. Their paladins were fierce and formidable fighters. They all stood higher than 6' and were towers of muscle. They were truly terrifying men. But they were brought down under scandal. Fabricated accusations about them stealing their riches and enslaving other groups of people for labor. The scandals kept growing until they were set upon by every surrounding nation. They stood no chance. Many were killed, only a few escaped. They have been long since forgotten, after being hunted for almost two decades, and killed off, until it was concluded that they were finally extinct. Hugh hid among tribes of barbarians to survive. The tribe was good to him, making him one of their own. He had built a life of simplicity. Some warring between other tribes would often end with them being brutalized and then integrated. Hugh had found love in a woman taken from one of the defeated tribes. He had a few sons and lived very happily with her, until they were set upon by a purge of the "savages". Hugh's tribe was wiped out and he was orphaned once again. He had brutally killed all the "civilized" army he could, but it was too late. His tribe was all gone, along with his family. He became a wanderer, and left to find life as a mercenary. In that life, he found an adventure awaiting him in a tavern. The tavern was filled with life, when he came in and joined up with a questing group. There he met a gypsy woman by the name of Sana. He got to know her going on this random little adventure with this party. It was all rather simple and jovial at first, until they were all taken captive by a lich. This lich tried to take Sana from them, and in that moment Hugh only felt desperation and rage. He had slowly begun to realize that he had fallen in love with Sana, and that if he lost her nothing would change about his existence as a wandering mercenary, and he would simply keep losing people he deeply cared about. So he took a chance at love, and broke out of his cage in a fit of rage. He fought like a lion to get to Sana, finally winning out(love triumphs over all!) against the hordes of undead after his party came to his aid. Since then, he's been a contented old soul, taking care of Sana and showing her his love for her, even though he has never said the words.

Le camp des esclaves Là, dans un trou creusé dans la terre, se trouvaient les corps de ce que Sana ne pouvait supposer que là où une mère et un enfant. La mère semblait être morte il y a une semaine à cause de la quantité de pourriture, mais l'enfant ressemblait à ce qu'elle n'avait passé que récemment. Fermant les yeux alors qu'elle s'est effondrée à genoux, elle s'est battue contre l'envie de pleurer pour les deux en bas. Puis elle entendit un bruit, un doux cri comme le cou d'une colombe et les yeux de Sanas s'ouvrir comme la tête tordue pour regarder vers le bas. L'enfant la regardait dans la peur alors qu'elle s'attachait à la robe ensanglantée et ensanglantée de sa mère décédée depuis longtemps. Sana a atteint l'enfant, mais elle s'est rapprochée du cadavre, craignant la femme qui essayait de la sauver. La gitane ne savait pas quoi faire, elle ne voulait pas traumatiser encore plus l'enfant en l'arrachant à sa mère, mais elle savait qu'elle ne pouvait pas la laisser là. Allongée sur le sol, elle tenait les deux mains à la petite qui ne pouvait pas avoir plus de quatre ans. Sana attendit; disant des paroles douces de réconfort à l'enfant, des mots pour lui faire savoir qu'elle n'était pas là pour lui faire du mal, mais l'enfant ne voulait pas l'écouter. Ce qu'ils avaient fait à la pauvre âme douce Sana ne voulait pas y penser. Elle avait besoin de penser à quelque chose, quelque chose à faire pour gagner la confiance des enfants, mais rien n'est venu à l'esprit au début, c'était jusqu'à ce qu'une vieille berceuse lui soit venue à l'esprit; une de ses mères lui avait chanté dans des moments de troubles pendant qu'elle grandissait. C'était un air triste, une mélodie mélancolique, mais les mots étaient forts et la voix de Sanas apaisante et calme pendant qu'elle chantait. Les lumières s'éteignent tout autour de moi, une dernière bougie pour se tenir dehors la nuit, elle a chanté doucement en tirant ses mains en arrière et les a reposées croisées sous son menton en regardant l'enfant. Et puis l'obscurité m'entoure, je sais que je suis vivant, mais j'ai l'impression que je suis mort et que tout ce qui reste est d'accepter qu'il soit fini. Mes rêves couraient comme du sable à travers les poings que j'ai faits, de Sana caroled tandis que ses doigts s'emparaient de la terre et la laissaient glisser à travers ses doigts alors qu'elle regardait la petite. Curieusement Sana a commencé à donner une douce teinte dorée pendant qu'elle chantait, une qu'elle ne s'est pas remarquée. Quelque chose qui ne s'est jamais produit auparavant, mais les choses changent, surtout quand on accepte ce qu'elles sont vraiment. J'essaie de me réchauffer, mais je me refroidis, j'ai l'impression de m'échapper, elle murmura alors qu'elle regardait l'enfant s'accrocher à ses mères se délier progressivement. Un sourire doux vint aux lèvres de Sanas alors qu'elle continua à chanter, toujours vigilante du petit ange avant elle. Après tout cela est passé, je resterai toujours. Après que j'ai pleuré mon dernier, il y aura la beauté de la douleur. Bien qu'il n'ait pas gagné aujourd'hui, un jour j'espère de nouveau et là sera beauté de la douleur, de Sana chanté avec sympathie, de vous apporter la beauté de ma douleur.L'enfant se détournant lentement de sa mère alors qu'elle écoutait la triste chanson, Sana a atteint ses bras à la petite pour l'aider mais elle s'est figée comme Sana l'a fait. Sana lui sourit et s'inclina, ne poussant pas pour qu'elle bouge plus vite qu'elle ne se sentait à l'aise. Alors elle a continué à vocaliser le jeune. Mon monde entier est la douleur en moi; le mieux que je puisse faire est de passer la journée. Quand la vie avant n'est qu'un moment, je me demande pourquoi Dieu me laisse marcher à travers cet endroit et bien que je ne puisse pas comprendre pourquoi cela s'est passé, je sais que je le ferai quand je regarderai en arrière un jour et voir comment vous avez apporté la beauté des cendres et m'avez fait comme de l'or purifié à travers ces flammes. Ne sachant pas quoi faire ensuite, elle continua à chanter la berceuse aux petits anges blonds cheveux avec des yeux comme l'ambre qui maintenant s'accrochaient à elle. Après tout ce qui est passé, je resterai toujours. Après que j'ai pleuré mon dernier, il y aura la beauté de la douleur. Bien qu'il n'ait pas gagné aujourd'hui, un jour j'espère encore et là seront beauté de la douleur,, elle a chanté en tapotant le nez des filles doucement et sourit,, vous apporterez la beauté de ma douleur,,, elle chuchotait comme elle a poussé les cheveux des enfants de son visage et l'a cousu derrière son oreille. Lentement, elle se tenait debout, tenant l'enfant de façon protectrice dans ses bras alors qu'elle la berçait doucement; chantant toujours la mélodie maintenant douce. Ici je suis, à la fin de moi essayer de tenir à ce que je ne peux pas voir. J'ai oublié comment espérer, cette nuit a été si longue. Je m'accroche à votre promesse qu'il y aura une aube," elle murmura alors qu'elle se reposait sur son front contre les douces et marchait vers Rodger, le bruit de flammes crépitantes en arrière-plan quand le soleil a commencé à se coucher. Monter sur le cheval Sana reposait dans la selle, l'enfant s'accrochait encore à elle, mais Sana ne s'en souciait pas. L'enfant apportait autant de réconfort à celui qui la tenait comme elle l'était à l'enfant. Après tout cela est passé, je resterai toujours. Après que j'ai pleuré mon dernier, il y aura la beauté de la douleur. Bien qu'il ne soit pas aujourd'hui, un jour j'espère de nouveau et là sera la beauté de la douleur. Vous apporterez de la beauté de ma douleur," Sana chantée alors que la chanson tirait à sa fin et elle a serré soigneusement l'enfant, en courant ses doigts dans ses cheveux d'une main comme de l'autre, elle a attrapé les rênes des chevaux et a presque commencé à s'éloigner de la prison qui avait été les enfants à la maison, mais quelque chose l'a arrêtée et l'a gelée au cœur de son âme. Un sentiment odieux vint sur elle alors qu'elle entendit un autre coup de branche de derrière elle, un démoniaque grogne venant à ses oreilles et échouant à travers son être. Le village Soeur Agnes et Wilson se rendirent au groupe alors qu'ils s'approchaient du village proprement dit. En aidant les anciens prisonniers à quitter le wagon aussi rapidement qu'ils le pouvaient, les villageois arrivent et plusieurs prennent en charge la plupart d'entre eux pour s'occuper d'eux pour l'instant. Ils avaient mangé quelque chose sur le chemin du retour, mais ils auraient besoin d'un long temps pour récupérer complètement. Il n'y avait pas de guérison qui devait être faite grâce aux efforts de Vaeri au moins. Ceux qui ont été laissés à l'auberge ont pris et les ont mis vers le haut pour la nuit, ils ont dû doubler et tripler dans les chambres de l'auberge, mais ils ne se souciaient pas, il était beaucoup plus de place qu'ils avaient eu dans les cages où ils avaient été gardés. Certains étaient trop fatigués ou trop faibles pour parler, mais la plupart ont donné un grand merci à tous ceux qui étaient là pour les aider. Même ceux qui n'ont rien dit avaient une expression de gratitude permanente sur leurs traits las. Sœur Agnes était heureuse que le groupe les ait libérés et Wylsen s'est enfuie au magasin général pour se procurer des vêtements de base pour les gens, la plupart de ce qu'ils portaient était couvert de choses innombrables et une fois nettoyés, ils auraient besoin de brûler ce qui était porté. En entendant Hugh crier pour Sana la nonne a eu une expression inquiète tomber sur ses traits et a hurlé, marchant sur la tête rouge ardent rapidement. "Où est Sana?" Elle a demandé d'une voix concernée. Elle craignait le pire puisque Sana n'était pas revenue avec le groupe. L'avaient-ils laissée là à cause de ce qui s'était passé dans le village plus tôt dans la journée? Ou est-ce que le pire s'est passé? Sana était-elle morte en essayant de libérer les esclaves? À l'autre bout de la ville, ce que l'on peut appeler le parti politique des villes, c'est que les villageois les plus forts ont mis en garde à vue les personnes que Hanzo avait capturées et attachées dans les stands de chevaux pour le moment alors qu'ils essayaient de comprendre ce qu'ils allaient leur faire. La plupart des villageois étaient d'avis qu'ils devaient être mis à mort pour tous les problèmes et la douleur qu'ils avaient causés, bien qu'il y en ait quelques-uns qui ont suggéré de les dépouiller et de les laisser quelque part au milieu du désert pour se débrouiller, on a même suggéré qu'ils passent un certain temps en tant qu'esclaves du village ou du groupe qui les avait sauvés. Quelle que soit la décision, elle sera laissée au matin.

Name: Hanzo Jibero Age: 26 Alignment: Lawful Neutral Race: Human Class: Monk Appearance/Clothing: Skills: Acrobatics Survival Historical & Religious Knowledge Climbing & Swimming Perception Emotion Reading Ki Manipulation Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human. Magic/Spells: Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance. Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially. Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities. Additional Information: This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could. This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose. For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny. Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability. Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope. Personality: By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership. As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace. History: Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time. Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind. Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge. So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand. Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her. He only regrets not having learned her name. The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had.

Fiona a senti un poids la soulever quand le village est revenu en vue, avant la tombée de la nuit comme elle l'espérait. Ses yeux avaient commencé à s'enfoncer à la tête du wagon, sa lassitude la rattrapait un peu, mais la vue du village était suffisante pour la revigorer un peu. La nourriture, la boisson et un lit pour la nuit étaient en route. Quelques-uns d'entre eux sont venus saluer le groupe qui s'approchait, sans doute surpris de voir tant d'autres là où ils étaient partis. Fiona a fait de sa priorité d'aider les plus faibles des sauvés du wagon avec Vaeri. Bien sûr, son attention a vite été prise quand Hugh et Hanzo approchent, et le premier des deux rapidement est devenu frénétique en ne voyant pas Sana avec le groupe. Finissant la tâche d'aider une femme âgée à descendre du wagon, Fiona se dirigea rapidement vers Hugh, essayant de se mettre devant lui et d'attirer son attention. Ce n'était pas une tâche facile, vu combien il était grand, et comment il ne cherchait pas une femme aux cheveux roux ardents. "Hé. Hé, c'est ça! Elle a crié en retenant ses bras et en faisant de son mieux pour le garder immobile, difficile comme ça. "Hugh, n'est-ce pas? Regarde-moi. Sana va bien." Elle a attendu jusqu'à ce qu'elle ait un contact visuel, et a ensuite essayé de faire un signe encourageant. "Elle va très bien, elle a juste besoin de rester derrière un moment pour une affaire personnelle. Elle sera bientôt là." Elle espérait que ce serait suffisant pour le garder ensemble. Le relâcher, elle a fait un pas en arrière. "Je ne pense pas que ce soit mon endroit pour expliquer. Je la laisserai te dire quand elle reviendra." Il y avait une chance que Sana veuille garder ce qui s'est passé là-bas, Fiona supposée, même si elle semblait très proche de Hugh. Quoi qu'il en soit, ce n'était pas la décision de Fiona de prendre. Voyant Soeur Agnes à proximité, Fiona s'est approchée d'elle. « Tout va bien », a-t-elle assuré. "Aucune blessure que Vaeri et quelques potions n'aient pu éclaircir." En regardant autour de nous, Fiona a froncé. Les signes d'une nouvelle bataille étaient assez évidents, et l'endroit sentait encore le feu et la mort, assez récent pour qu'aucun effort de nettoyage ne puisse l'éliminer tout de suite. "A fait plus d'attaques pendant que nous étions loin?" Elle a demandé, inquiète. Elle ne s'attendait pas à des représailles si tôt, ou du moins pensait qu'ils auraient croisé plus d'agresseurs sur le chemin s'ils venaient. S'ils attaquaient alors que la moitié du groupe avait disparu, c'était une chance que le village se tienne toujours, avec seulement les blessés et les lassaires pour le défendre. "J'aurais aimé qu'on soit là aussi." De toute évidence, ce qu'ils avaient fait dans la forêt était nécessaire, à la fois pour mettre fin aux problèmes de l'esclave et libérer ces gens, mais Fiona aurait été écrasée si les gens avaient été tués derrière elle pendant qu'elle partait pour prendre le combat à l'ennemi.

Name: Fiona Age: 22 Alignment: Neutral Good Race: Human Class: Fighter Appearance/Clothing: Reference 1, Reference 2. Fairly average height, with a lean and toned build. Fiery, wild red hair and light brown eyes, skin tone a fair, slightly pale coloration. Skills: Close combat fighting, speed and agility, moderate strength, excellent horseback riding skills. Proficient both armed and unarmed, moderate endurance for taking hits. Good at cooking with relatively little to work with, and while likely irrelevant, good at farming. Natural Abilities: None - Human Magic/Spells: None Armor: Roughly as seen in the image, some pieces of scavenged light plate, most effectively protecting her right arm. Weapons: Use reference 2 for example. A fairly standard curved longsword, lightweight but sturdy. She has a dagger sheathed on her left thigh for emergencies. Possessions: Little of note. Her clothes, weapons, armor, packs, supplies, basic medical items and personal belongings. Most of it kept in her horse's saddlebags. Personality: Fiona's bold and brash, often unafraid of things she probably should be, and in general a very confident and self-assured individual. Like any good adventurer she is both curious and brave, but also deeply selfless, not preferring to use the word 'mercenary' to describe herself, as this implies the coin is the end goal she works for. Mostly she just enjoys her life for what it is: a chance to explore, meet new people and see new things, and help wherever she can, with what skill she has. Though typically a loner, she doesn't turn down help when offered, and tries to work together with others as best she can. She's an inexperienced, terrible liar, preferring both her combat and her conversation upfront and uncomplicated. History: Fiona's story is a relatively simple one, starting with a family not important enough to even have a lasting name. She's simply Fiona, of the village of Drayden, a little farming community quite a ways from many large population centers. Fiona was an only child, and thus assisted a great deal around the farm, becoming strong and physically active as a result. Wandering adventurers inspired her even as a teenage girl, and her mind would not be swayed from eventually leaving the family farm to see the world. When they were eventually able to hire some help, she used what coin she had to purchase some basic equipment, and set out at age 19, blade in hand, hunting for contracts. Naturally, without the best of training or a good starting foundation of equipment and knowledge, Fiona struggled in her first few years, but learned from her mistakes, and has developed into a competent and even confident fighter, willing and able to take on problems the average person doesn't want to deal with.

Les archers n'ont pas perdu de temps, celui à droite a frappé une flèche comme celui à gauche a tiré une épée courte et avancé. Et ils arrivent... Melvus a tiré son épée droite puis a tordu son corps pour éviter la première flèche. En soulevant son épée horizontalement, il a bloqué la coupure vers le bas de son adversaire. Il a pris note du rechargement de l'archer pendant qu'il se tenait, épée tenant la lame de l'ennemi, entre les deux. Alors que l'archer tirait, Melvus n'était plus là et l'autre homme trébucha en avant, l'épée de Melvus disparut et une flèche s'installa dans son intestin. Le sorcier n'a pas eu le temps de remarquer les dolops du sang qui a trempé le sol alors que son adversaire est tombé à terre, dans ce qui était maintenant une flaque de son propre sang, le liquide écarlate changeant la couleur de la saleté. Melvus était pressé. Il reste 6 secondes... Je dois me mettre en position... Bien qu'il se soit rapproché de son ennemi, sachant qu'il n'y avait aucun moyen que l'archer le remarque. Trois... Il était à la portée de l'archer. Deux... derrière l'archer. L'un Il leva son épée et se jeta en avant pendant qu'il se rematérialisait, déposant sa lame dans le dos de son adversaire. C'est ce que le plan était de toute façon. Tandis que la lame apparaissait derrière lui, l'archer tomba au sol, se tordant sur le chemin du bas. Alors que son dos touchait la terre, son pied droit tirait vers le haut frappant la main du sorcier, frappant la lame de sa main. Melvus a sauté en arrière alors que sa lame se tapait sur le sol, il avait perdu la vue de l'archer. Où...? Son regard s'est rapidement déplacé de gauche à droite alors qu'il s'est rendu compte... Il a regardé en bas à temps pour voir le poing. Comme son dos se claquait dans le sol sous lui, sa main tira en avant et un bras sortit. L'archer, maintenant sur ses pieds, s'écarta de l'appendice lumineux et tira une flèche sur Melvus qui l'attrape dans sa main gauche, frappant efficacement son bâton au sol. Les sortilèges arrivèrent de sa main droite et, douloureusement, lui arrachèrent la flèche. Quand il est sorti, il a pris des morceaux de sa paume avec lui, vaporisant du sang sur Melvus. Le bras brillant s'est rétréci et s'est rapproché au fur et à mesure qu'il ramassait son personnel. Remplaçant le bâton sur le dos du sorcier, beaucoup d'épées apparurent autour de lui, ils tournèrent et tourbillonnèrent à grande vitesse. Les flèches suivantes de l'archer ont été éjectées. Se rendant compte que c'était un effort futile, ayant également remarqué que ses camarades tombaient autour de lui - l'archer tentait de se replier dans le brouillard. Alors qu'il atteignait le bord, il était poussé à terre par un cheval assez grand, l'un des grands sabots batteant sa tête, le tuant instantanément. "Vous! Casse-toi!" C'est la voix du cavalier, il ne s'est manifestement pas inquiété qu'il ait tué un de ses propres hommes. "Ah... Slave, je t'ai dit de ne pas revenir..." Melvus dit alors qu'il tirait son épée dans sa main droite, prêt à se battre. "Sorcier dammé! Pensez que vous pouvez me faire le meilleur! » L'homme sauta de son cheval, atterrissant devant Melvus, son épée tirée. Melvus ne s'est pas emparé de ses épées, le laissant avec celle-là. L'homme s'est enflammé. Melvus s'est écarté puis a pivoté, faisant face à l'homme de nouveau, son épée tenait dans une position de mi-garde. "Vous êtes l'œil calme de la tempête alors que vos adversaires font rage autour de vous..." Cylus, son ami et la voix du professeur, est venu dans sa tête. "Que leur pouvoir fonctionne pour vous..." "Tu ne peux pas m'éviter pour toujours!" L'esclave a crié sur Melvus alors qu'il a balancé son épée sur le côté droit de Melvus. Le sorcier a levé son épée et a balayé l'adversaire puis est retourné à une position de garde. "Pourquoi tu tourmentes cette ville?" Melvus demanda à l'esclave, son expression ne changeant pas alors qu'il fuyait, évitait et bloquait. "Savez-vous quel est le profit du garçon? Je le fais pour l'or! Maintenant, fais-moi chier! Je veux voir de quoi tu es faite! » Il a poignardé au centre de Melvus. Le sorcier a balayé l'épée, en utilisant le balayage pour alimenter sa propre attaque. Il a ramené son épée dans la jambe droite de l'homme. Rien de majeur, ça gênerait ses mouvements mais la bataille n'a pas encore été décidée. "Vous voyez le monde en des termes aussi simples que le pouvoir et le profit... J'envie ton ignorance." "Dammit!" L'esclave a crié par frustration. Il est entré dans sa poche et a sorti un rouleau. "Voyons comment tu gères ça!" Un rouleau magique... ne peut pas lui permettre de l'utiliser... Melvus est devenu invisible. Je ne peux continuer à faire ça qu'un instant... Il pouvait dire qu'il était faible... son sort ne durerait pas aussi longtemps que d'habitude. Il a couru vers l'avant. "Où?" C'est ce que l'homme a dit en tant que sorcier matérialisé devant le sien, en saisissant le rouleau de ses mains. Sa première réaction a été, poignarder. Et c'est ce qu'il a fait. Comme Melvus prit une épée dans son intestin, il se souvint de ce que Cylus lui avait dit plusieurs fois: "Ne précipite pas ton adversaire sans plan (...). Ils ont une arme et n'hésiteront pas... Melvus s'est maudit silencieusement lorsqu'il a atteint l'avant, saisissant l'épée de l'esclave qu'il a tiré vers lui, il pouvait sentir le point contre son dos, pas encore le perçant, mais il a poussé contre sa peau, menaçant de percer. "Dieux!" L'esclave cria alors qu'il laissait aller à la vue de l'homme tirant l'épée en lui-même plus, le sang coulant dans le sol. Il avait l'air de s'énerver. Le sorcier a cogné la douleur. Je l'ai... De la main de Melvus a tiré une main plus grande et éclatante qui a saisi l'homme et l'a rapproché de Melvus. "La douleur ne signifie rien pour moi... J'ai souffert mille morts avant que vous n'ayez rencontré votre... "L'esclave a craché sur Melvus comme il l'a dit. "Et je souffrirai plus après ta propre mort." Avec cela le sorcier a couru à travers lui, plusieurs fois jusqu'à ce que le cri de l'homme est mort et ses yeux roulés en arrière et sa tête accrochée, boiteux. ============================================================================================================================================================================================================================================================================================================================================================================================================================================================================================================================================= Melvus était reconnaissant pour la nourriture, il ne semblait pas parler en mangeant. Après cela, il s'est rendu dans la chambre, fournie par l'auberge. Il avait donné son manteau à une dame de lavage pour être nettoyé de tout le sang versé dessus. J'espère que l'odeur serait partie, mais il n'a pas pu tout avoir. Il s'est endormi presque immédiatement alors que sa tête touchait l'oreiller. Près de deux jours sans sommeil accéléré le feront.

Removed

Drizzak Alors que le parti retournait dans le village, Drizzak se trouva plutôt introspectif. Au cours du dernier jour, il avait versé tellement de sang, et pour la première fois, il pensait que ce n'était pas nécessaire. Bien sûr, il a peut-être apprécié, mais il y avait une différence entre avoir besoin d'un massacre et le vouloir. C'était un bon goblin, ou alors il pensait à lui-même. Personne ne lui avait vraiment dit à part lui-même. Un bon combattant, oui. Un bon allié, oui. Même un bon cuisinier une fois. Il avait cuit de la soupe aux os et aux oignons. C'était délicieux. Mais pourtant, on ne lui a pas dit s'il s'en sortait bien. Il avait besoin de savoir, il avait décidé. Après le désaccord avec l'expédition des esclaves dans le village et son duel avec Xilipha, Drizzak a été laissé avec un goût étrangement amer dans sa bouche. Il avait besoin de quelque chose de plus. Quelque chose de plus que de tuer pour tuer. Il avait besoin d'une raison pour faire ce qu'il faisait si bien. Il s'en alla du reste du parti et commença à chercher sa cible, regardant à gauche et à droite alors qu'il fouillait à la recherche de sœur Agnès. Quand il partit pour le camp de l'esclave, il devait lui rapporter les plus belles mains de guerrier comme trophée, mais maintenant il pouvait à peine même penser à souder le cadavre de Xilipha d'une telle manière. Il ne voulait pas être boucher sans remords ni raison. Il voulait être salué comme un héros, être vénéré et monter au-delà du goblin commun. Il ressentait le besoin de protéger les faibles. Parmi les masses rassemblées, Drizzak a trouvé Soeur Agnès, s'occupant des faibles et fatigués. Il n'a pas perdu de temps à avancer et à tenter d'attirer son attention, intéressé seulement à faire avancer ses objectifs. Il poussa son chemin à travers les foules, maintenant que les esclaves étaient en sécurité et que ses compagnons s'occupaient à la fois d'eux-mêmes et de ceux qui étaient plus faibles. Avec un remorqueur sur sa jupe, Drizzak a parlé directement à sœur Agnes. "Lady Eggness dit à Drizzak comment être un grand bon gardien. Dis à Drizzak comment être le plus bon. Drizzak veut prouver qu'il est bon goblin." Alors qu'il la regardait avec ces grands yeux, les reflets d'or dans ses blessures brillaient dans la lumière. Comme des petits bijoux sous sa peau.

Name: Drizzak. Age: Goblin equivalent of 20. Alignment: Chaotic Good. Race: Goblin. Class: Fighter. Skills: Simple/Martial/Exotic Weaponry, Intimidation, Taunting, Hiding, Survival, Climbing, Swimming and he's alright at just screaming at things or in a certain direction. Natural Abilities: Fast Movement, Dexterity Boost, Darkvision. Magic/Spells: None. Additional Information: He will always go for the biggest target. No matter how big. Weapons: A kris-like shortsword in one hand and a scorpion whip in the other. His most prized possessions. Possessions: Fur vestments and hide armor. Personality: Drizzak is, for the most part, extremely friendly and positive, bordering on naive. If one were to attribute an overall alignment to him, it could easy be Chaotic Good. He can be extreme at times, but his heart is in the right place for the most part. His extremism comes from his tendency to be easily excited. He tends to see all other races as different sizes of Goblin. History: Drizzak does not speak much about his past. Its obvious from the way that he avoids questioning about it that his departure from his family and clan was not an easy thing for him. If one was knowledgable enough, they would be able to find the skin-mark on his neck in the shape of an angry goblin skull and crossbones, meaning 'exile'.

Le village Soeur Agnès a laissé un soupir de soulagement alors que Fiona s'empara de Hugh et lui fit savoir que Sana allait bien et qu'elle reviendrait plus tard. Les nouvelles ont été un grand poids levé sur ses épaules pour l'idée de perdre juste un tout en aidant le village et les anciens esclaves a rendu son estomac délicat. Prenant une longue respiration apaisante, elle s'occupait de ceux qui avaient besoin de son aide. Comme Fiona l'a demandé sur ce qui s'était passé, elle l'a écartée, ne voulant pas s'inquiéter des captifs qui avaient déjà traversé assez. Elle a expliqué la bataille qui s'était déroulée alors qu'elle était partie, en lui faisant savoir que quelques-uns avaient été emmenés captifs et seraient traités le matin en l'informant que tout le monde allait bien et mangeant dans l'auberge, aidant autour du village ou endormis à ce moment-là se remettant de la bataille. Retournant aux nouveaux ajouts au village, elle fit ce qu'elle pouvait jusqu'à ce qu'elle sente un tir sur ses robes et regarde vers le bas pour voir le petit goblin que Sana avait appelé Drizzak. Il avait l'air légèrement différent d'elle d'une certaine façon. Elle pouvait dire qu'il avait été blessé dans des endroits mais ce n'était pas des cicatrices qui faisaient qu'il avait l'air d'avoir, mais où les blessures auraient pu être là où maintenant doré comme s'ils s'étaient réparés d'une manière exotique. Agenouillé à ses mots, elle regarda dans ses yeux et lui donna un sourire doux et génial avec un clin d'œil rapide. Voyant son changement de comportement et sa profession de vouloir être bon, elle a commencé à mettre deux et deux ensemble et a eu une idée rudimentaire de la raison pour laquelle le changement pouvait se produire. Elle n'osait rien dire parce que si elle avait tort, ça pourrait être déchirant et si elle avait raison, ça pourrait être accablant. Au lieu de cela, elle a pris sa main griffée dans la sienne comme elle voulait un enfant et lui a donné une pate douce comme elle s'est redressée avant de le conduire à l'apothécaire où ils pouvaient parler seul. Wylsen était occupée avec les nouveaux villageois pour qu'elle sache qu'ils auraient du temps. En entrant dans la boutique, elle ferma la porte derrière eux et se déplaça vers un tabouret sur lequel Drizzak pouvait s'asseoir. Avec tout le sang et la mort qui entouraient le village ce jour-là, c'était merveilleux pour elle de voir un peu de bien en sortir. Non seulement la libération des villageois de l'horrible obscurité qui avait été placée sur la ville par l'esclave, mais la liberté des captifs et maintenant celui qui voulait être meilleur qu'il l'était. Vous voulez prouver que vous êtes un bon goblin me dit déjà que vous êtes,,, elle a dit d'une voix aimable à Drizzak comme elle se tenait devant lui. Pour être un bon gardien, il faut peser si la mort est vraiment nécessaire et seulement le mal au besoin. Même les grands paladins du passé ont dû se défendre eux-mêmes et ceux dont ils s'intéressaient, voire tuer. Mais la mort fait partie de la vie; elle vient à tous sous une forme ou une autre. Il mesure si la mort est vraiment nécessaire et dans quelle mesure. La mort, bien que parfois nécessaire n'a pas toujours besoin d'être brutale, a-t-elle dit alors qu'elle regardait par la fenêtre. Aujourd'hui, quelques morts étaient nécessaires pour sauver le plus grand bien, bien que certains morts n'avaient pas besoin d'être aussi vicieuses, a-t-elle dit avant de regarder en arrière vers lui. "Pour marcher un chemin vers la lumière, il faut d'abord s'éloigner des ténèbres du passé," dit-elle d'une voix douce en tirant ses perles de prière. Elle n'avait pas accordé l'expiation depuis très longtemps, mais ce n'était pas quelque chose qu'elle ne connaissait pas. En prenant les perles qu'elle a placées dans la main de Drizzaks, elle lui a donné un doux sourire, se reposant la main sur la sienne et les perles avant qu'elle ne commence à prier. Comme elle faisait une lumière sainte venait de sa paume et les enveloppait lentement, une lumière nettoyante pour amener son âme dans un état juste qui pourrait éventuellement trouver une existence légitime de bien à un moment donné. Alors que la lumière faisait face, elle ferma ses griffes autour des perles et s'inclina. Ce que vous faites maintenant est à vous, votre âme a été purifiée. Vous avez un début propre dans la vie maintenant pour choisir le chemin que vous souhaitez suivre. L'endroit où cela va dépendra des décisions que vous prenez avec les choix qui vous sont fournis, - elle a dit en reculant. Elle a pris un certain temps pour lui expliquer la différence entre le bien et le mal, que ce n'était pas tellement des actions que l'on a pris mais la raison derrière de telles actions. Elle lui a dit cela et beaucoup plus dans l'espoir qu'il comprendrait. Ne t'inquiète pas si tu te trompes, nous le faisons tous à un moment de notre vie. Le plus grand défi que vous affronterez à l'avenir est d'admettre vos fautes et de les corriger, "elle a dit comme elle est revenue à la porte et l'a ouvert, en lui demandant qu'il était libre de partir alors. Je vous souhaite le meilleur et j'attends avec impatience que vous et votre groupe reveniez de votre tâche pour voir jusqu'où vous avez voyagé, Elle a dit d'une voix de cœur léger rempli de confiance pour lui. Vous avez déjà au moins un ami dans ce groupe, je suis sûr qu'il y en aura beaucoup plus. Maintenant, allez manger et vous reposer. Vous l'avez méritée petite. Le camp des esclaves Je ne ferais pas ça si j'étais vous, une voix froide résonna dans l'air et coupa le moment comme de la glace, en envoyant un frisson à travers la colonne vertébrale de Sanas alors que l'enfant pleurait dans la peur. Sana tourna la tête lentement, l'odeur du soufre se balançant dans ses sens alors qu'elle avalait fort; ses yeux tombaient sur celui qui avait parlé. Un homme cruel avec un visage qui a été marqué au-delà de la reconnaissance vu le couple; un chevalier armuré sombre qui se sentait comme s'il émanait une aura maléfique monté au sommet d'une bête qui n'était pas de ce pays. La bête était un chien de toutes sortes, mais c'était la taille du cheval de traite sur lequel Sana était assis, avec la fourrure la couleur de la rouille et du sang. Ses dents et sa bouche la couleur du charbon et ses yeux montrés dans le ciel de la fin du jour comme deux boules de feu; tirer une grande lame sombre Sana avait un flash de contes d'il y a si longtemps, des contes de l'obscurité qui erreraient les enfants d'acier de nuit de leur lit et traqué le plus pur d'entre eux. Avant que Sana ne monte un homme qui n'était rien d'autre qu'un Guerrier Saint sur sa montagne d'un Enfer. Même à son meilleur Sana savait qu'elle n'avait aucun espoir de survie contre l'ennemi devant elle, il lui faudrait tout ce qui restait pour avoir une chance mais pourrait-elle les atteindre à temps? Est-ce que le vieux harceleur pourrait courir cette bête et les mettre en sécurité? Elle a dû essayer. "Hold on string," Sana a dit dans un chuchotement de commandement à la petite et la fille s'est accrochée plus fort à Sana. Cet enfant est à moi, l'homme a grondé. "Vous ne pouvez pas l'avoir," Sana a craché avant de conduire ses talons dans les flancs de Rodgers et le cheval a décollé à travers les bois. Celui que cet homme connaissait de l'enfant et dans l'esprit des gitans voulait dire qu'il était peut-être la seule cause de toute la mort et de la destruction qu'elle essayait d'échapper alors que les flammes flottaient dans l'air et que l'odeur de la mort rôtie s'évanouissait. Sana a souhaité qu'elle soit sur Epona, c'était quelque chose que son propre cheval a été construit pour, la vitesse et l'agilité. Rodger n'était pas, mais elle devait essayer, c'était leur seule chance. Le Hound de l'Enfer baissa comme Sana entrait dans la forêt, la jeune fille s'accrochant à Sana, essayant de rester sur le cheval. Le hurlement a déchiré les oreilles de Sanas, il était creux et vide et l'odeur de soufre a grandi à chaque pas le cheval a pris, la bête se rapprochant rapidement. "Venez sur Rodger, plus vite!" Sana a crié alors qu'elle poussait le cheval plus fort et plus vite qu'elle ne se souvenait de lui en se déplaçant, puis encore une fois ils n'avaient jamais été ensemble en essayant de courir pour leur vie. Sana a presque perdu le petit quelques fois mais a réussi à la garder en selle avec elle alors qu'ils conduisaient vers le village à un rythme effréné. Elle ne pouvait pas ralentir ; elle refusait de perdre une âme de plus à ce mal. Tant d'entre eux avaient déjà été perdus; combien d'entre eux n'en connaîtront peut-être jamais, mais dans ses bras, ils s'accrocheront à un innocent et elle sauvera celui-ci de ses griffes, peu importe le coût. Un virage rapide dans une direction différente et ils ont été en mesure de secouer le monstre qui trempait aux talons de Rodgers et faire une pause pour elle sur le tout droit vers le village; il vient en vue rapidement. Sana espérait qu'une fois arrivées dans la petite ville, elles seraient prêtes à aider. Elle ne savait pas ce qui était arrivé à ceux qui étaient avec elle sur le chemin du retour au village, ni ce qui était arrivé à Hugh et aux autres qui étaient restés derrière, mais il n'y avait nulle part où aller, nulle part où se tourner. Ils devraient aller de l'avant pour sauver ce dernier. Sana a crié alors qu'elle voyait le village, le hurlant encore et encore. Elle n'a pas prêté attention à tout ce qui aurait pu être dans les rues, elle continue juste à pousser Rodger plus loin dans le village jusqu'à ce qu'ils atteignent l'auberge et elle saute avec l'enfant dans ses bras, tuant et roulant dans la saleté comme elle l'a fait et montant à ses pieds. Elle ne s'arrêta pas et continua à courir, s'accrochant à l'enfant de façon protectrice alors qu'elle courait vers l'entrée de l'auberge. Elle cria sur le cheval et il partit vers l'autre bout de la ville quand Sana courut à l'intérieur. Pousser a passé n'importe quel qui a pu être sur son chemin et tisser à travers l'auberge. L'ennemi n'était pas loin derrière Sana, mais il ralentit son rythme en arrivant au bord de la ville et a presque piétiné sa bête dans le village, un regard de fureur venant sur ses traits. Il était livide qu'il avait été dépassé par une femme et un enfant sur un simple cheval. Il était dehors pour le sang et il l'aurait. Soeur Agnès et Wylsen sont sortis alors qu'ils dirigeaient les cris de Sana qui résonnaient dans la nuit, regardant dans l'horreur quand leurs yeux tombaient sur l'homme qui chassait Sana dans le village et le monstre qu'il montait. C'est quoi ce nom de dieu? » Wylsen murmura alors que sœur Agnes saisit son épaule, ses doigts tremblant. Ce n'est rien de la fabrication de Dieu... Elle a réussi à le dire en regardant la paire qui a trottiné en ville. Tu sais qu'elle a ajouté qu'elle regardait l'apothécaire, qu'elle craignait dans ses yeux. Wylsen a hurlé, il savait que ce n'était pas. Dans un passé lointain, il avait traversé de tels êtres et il avait juste espéré que ses vieux yeux lui jouaient des tours. « Apportez-moi l'enfant! » La voix démoniaque demanda alors qu'il amenait la bête à un arrêt près de l'auberge. Ce serait évident pour tout ce qu'il était et ce qu'il était monté. L'homme n'a pas caché ce qu'il était dans un sens quelconque du mot. Sana a couru en haut de l'escalier, les prenant deux à la fois et a donné un coup de pied à une porte aléatoire à une pièce ouverte avant de s'en aller à l'intérieur et d'extirper l'enfant d'elle. C'est ce qu'a dit Sana quand elle a posé les pieds sur le sol. "Don"t go," la petite a plaidé alors qu'elle essayait de s'accrocher à Sana mais Sana l'a retenue en arrière. Il faut que tu te caches, Sana murmura en se brossant les cheveux du visage des enfants et en lui baisant le front. Je te promets de revenir, elle a dit vite. L'enfant n'a pas aimé cela mais a cessé d'essayer de s'accrocher à Sana car Sana a tiré la dentelle de son manteau et lui a remis. Ne sortez pas jusqu'à ce que vous m'entendiez. Sana a dit vite qu'elle rentrait par la porte et l'enfant est allé trouver une cachette. Sana dépossède son arc du dos; elle saute du deuxième étage au premier. Son visage n'était ni en colère ni vengeur; c'était le regard d'une mère qui protégeait un enfant. Sana n'était pas un parent mais elle avait trouvé l'enfant et était la chose la plus proche qu'elle ait eue en ce moment. "Apportez-moi cet enfant!" L'homme bouffa une fois de plus de l'extérieur de l'auberge. Sana a mis une flèche d'argent en place alors qu'elle marchait lentement hors de l'auberge, retournant vers la rue, et visant le mal en essayant de ramener le petit à sa garde. Sur mon corps mort, Sana sifflait; elle n'était pas en état de se battre, mais si peu avaient raison à ce moment-là. Ses vêtements ont été chantés, déchirés et battus des batailles du jour. Sa peau exposée avait été brûlée; des cloques et de la chair crue exposées à l'air de nuit alors que ses bras tremblaient pour tenir la corde d'arc tiré en arrière. Le sang lui a câblé le visage de la gaze dans la joue, il a enrobé son épaule où le chien s'y était déchiré et ses jambes se sont entachées des mêmes mâchoires. Ça n'avait pas d'importance, rien d'autre dans son esprit à ce moment-là. Sana s'y tenait inébranlable dans sa détermination à ne pas poser un doigt sur l'enfant qui se cache maintenant. Il se rétorqua alors qu'il poussait ses talons dans les flancs des bêtes, il monta et chargea Sana; une lame sombre tira pour la frapper. Son visage semble aussi corrompu que son âme et regarde autant qu'un démon que le chien de l'enfer qu'il a monté. Les lèvres de Sanas se séparaient mais elle ne bougeait pas comme il la chargeait comme une chauve-souris hors de l'enfer; un souffle lent calculé s'échappant de sa bouche tandis que ses doigts laissaient la flèche se détacher et elle tirait vers l'avant, sifflant dans l'air et coupant dans la chair des chiens épaule. Il a poussé profondément, l'argent coupant dans la viande et l'hébergement dans l'os, mais la bête a continué à charger. Sana avait tenu son sol jusqu'à la dernière seconde possible, en éliminant toute chance de sauter hors du chemin, mais le coup de flèche avait aidé et jeté l'homme de l'équilibre comme le chien de l'enfer a trébuché dans son attaque. Au lieu de son épée déchirant sa chair, son bras s'est emparé de sa poitrine et l'a envoyée voler à travers les airs depuis le devant de l'auberge, en face de la rue et se retourner contre le poteau de l'apothécaire de l'autre côté de la grande route. L'étrave de Sanas s'envole de ses doigts et se dirige vers le porche boisé devant le magasin général alors que son corps s'enfonce dans un tas sur le sol. L'homme se replie sur les rênes et la bête monte sur ses pattes arrières comme c'est filé avant que ses pattes reviennent et creusent dans le sol, prêt à attaquer à nouveau. Soeur Agnès criait alors qu'elle regardait Sanas prendre le coup et se précipiter sur son côté, la tirant dans une position assise alors qu'elle regardait vers elle. Wylsen s'agenouille à côté des deux et essaie d'ouvrir les yeux des archers qui étaient maintenant fermés pour voir si elle allait répondre; tirant ses paupières soigneusement. Les yeux de Sanas flattaient légèrement en signalant qu'elle était encore en vie, mais pas beaucoup, ses yeux roulant dans l'arrière de sa tête. Le coup et l'écrasement subséquent dans le poste lui avaient écrasé la poitrine et lui avaient brisé les os. Elle est vivante... à peine, Wylsen a dit vite et sœur Agnes a hurlé. La religieuse avait utilisé la plupart de sa guérison plus tôt dans la journée en essayant d'aider les autres après les combats précédents et de s'occuper de ceux qui étaient retournés au village. Elle n'était pas sûre d'en avoir assez pour sauver Sana, mais si jamais la grâce divine était nécessaire, elle était maintenant nécessaire dans leur heure la plus sombre alors que la lune culminait à travers les nuages d'en haut. Wylsen regarda vers son vieil ami comme pour la supplier d'essayer au moins et la sœur compris, se déplaçant légèrement comme Wylsen a tiré Sana sur lui et l'a reposée entièrement sur le sol; Soeur Agnès se reposant sur ses genoux et se penchant sur le corps presque sans vie de Sana, disant une prière rapide pour la force qui serait nécessaire au moment où elle a commencé à guérir l'archer blessé. La nonne espérait juste qu'elle en avait assez pour qu'elle ait ce qu'il lui fallait. Lire attentivement le message de l'OOC avant d'afficher!!Qu'est-ce qu'il y a?

Name: Hanzo Jibero Age: 26 Alignment: Lawful Neutral Race: Human Class: Monk Appearance/Clothing: Skills: Acrobatics Survival Historical & Religious Knowledge Climbing & Swimming Perception Emotion Reading Ki Manipulation Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human. Magic/Spells: Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance. Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially. Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities. Additional Information: This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could. This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose. For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny. Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability. Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope. Personality: By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership. As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace. History: Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time. Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind. Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge. So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand. Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her. He only regrets not having learned her name. The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had.

Vaeri s'est réveillé au cri soudain pour venir aux armes. Son corps se sentait un peu déchiré et endolor par les batailles plus tôt aujourd'hui, ses blessures au bras maintenant encroûtées avec de la gale laid. Elle a pensé que j'aurais encore deux cicatrices à porter. Vaeri avait eu plusieurs heures de sommeil, assez pour qu'elle soit probablement dans le meilleur état qu'elle ait été aujourd'hui depuis son arrivée dans le village. Du bruit à l'extérieur, elle pouvait dire que quelque chose n'allait pas. Il y en a qui veulent un enfant. Et c'était fort. Le clerc a enlevé son manteau et l'a mis de côté. Elle a retiré ses armes de son sac. De l'autre côté de son dos était l'arc et dans ses mains, sa hache puissante. Le dernier élément qu'elle a tiré de son sac sur le sol était le rouleau de protection contre le mal. C'était bientôt que Vaeri s'attendait à en avoir besoin, mais il n'était pas utile d'être piquant dans la bataille. Elle a lu le rouleau à haute voix et a permis à ses magies de l'infuser avant de le jeter sur le sol. Silencieusement, l'elfe franchit son sac sur le sol et regarda par la fenêtre le guerrier impie, souriant d'oreille en oreille. Vaeri a fait quelques pas lents en arrière avant de sauter par la fenêtre, atterrissant dans une position accroupie sur la rue en dessous. "Feller une bête comme toi ferait beaucoup plaisir à ma dame, et je ferais le monde une faveur." Vaeri a fait face à ses adversaires, en ce moment seul, à l'imprudence de ses actions ne s'inscrivant pas dans sa tête.

Name: Vaeri Dryearurdrenn Age: 143 Alignment: Lawful Good Race: Elf Class: Cleric/Barbarian Appearance/Clothing: Vaeri is an innocent looking elf, standing at about 5' 7" (170 cm) with long, straight raven hair that extends down to the base of her back, pale skin and bright blue eyes. At a glance she's quite beautiful with full lips, a small button nose, thin eyebrows and high cheekbones, when one takes a closer look, several tiny scars are visible all over, disfiguring her otherwise graceful looks. Likewise, Vaeri's exposed flesh, the rare times one can see them initially appear smooth and untouched, but upon closer inspection are covered in scars and barely contain wiry muscle below. Vaeri dresses as a lady of the cloth should, with a dark blue full body cloak. The fabric is adorned with intricate patterns in white to provide visual contrast and indicating her status as a clergywoman. Around her neck and outside the cloak, Vaeri wears a necklace bearing the holy symbol of her god. However, underneath the cloak is a full set of leather armor, battle ready and kept in top shape at all times. Skills: Sense Motive, Knowledge (Religion), Knowledge (Nature), Climb, Jump, Sleight of Hand, fletching arrows, surviving out in the wild Natural Abilities: Keen senses, the ability to see better than humans in low light Magic/Spells: Heal: can decide how good this is Tongues: Allows the caster to speak any language for the duration of the spell Turn Undead: Vaeri can attempt to make Undead flee from her presence temporarily. Powerful Undead can resist this. Divine Might: Holy power infuses the caster, temporarily making them more powerful and resilient Flame Strike: Smites foes with holy flames Additional Information: Vaeri worships Menhit, lion-goddess of War. (Fun fact her name means She who massacres) Weapons: Vaeri carries a shortbow and a two-handed battleaxe Possessions: Vaeri carries a backpack that can hold more than you think it would and what Vaeri wants from the bag will always be at the top (the item in question must have been put in the bag beforehand for this to work). Inside the bag are her necessities (tent, rope, bedroll, tarp for the tent, soap, cooking utensils, oil, a lamp, flint and steel), holy texts, and about 2 weeks worth of rations. She also has a coin purse with about 20 gold pieces in it. On her hip is a quiver with 20 arrows. Personality: To strangers, Vaeri appears to be a gentle elf, always keen to help those in need and be a travelling force of good in the world. However, as you get to know her, slowly she morphs into an entirely different person, brash, head-strong and a braggart, this true face of Vaeri shows exactly why she worships the goddess she does. The elf loves battle of all kinds and will gleefully jump into battle whenever she can. History: Vaeri grew up in a forest village mostly populated by other elves to a carpenter. IN her childhood, she began learning the bow as all children did. Her prowess with weaponry was admired just as much as her excessive enthusiasm for using them was worrying. One day while out hunting alone she was overcome by a vision of the lion-goddess Menhit who commanded Vaeri to go out into the world and find a man with two right hands. After this experience, Vaeri began following the goddess of war and has dedicated her life to this mission. The cleric has been following this notice for strong adventurers as a possible lead for locating this mysterious man.

Quelle que soit cette potion, elle fonctionnait. Tobias se sentait positivement récupéré après sa sieste sous la table, et s'aidait à un plat copieux de ragoût à la maison (être un héros avait des avantages - il l'a obtenu libre et n'avait pas à voler quoi que ce soit). L'expression joviale revenait à son visage alors qu'il regardait un groupe de filles locales, essayant de trouver exactement les bons mots pour raconter l'histoire de son héroïsme antérieur. En effet, il semblait que le pire était derrière lui, du moins pour aujourd'hui. C'est à ce moment-là que les sabots se sont battus. Tu dois te moquer de moi. Sana a fait irruption dans la pièce, portant quelque chose de précieux - le voyou a pris un aperçu des cheveux blonds et a vu que c'était un enfant. Elle courut dans les escaliers et descendit presque aussi vite, et c'est là que Tobias l'entendit. C'était comme des clous sur un tableau de craie - ça fait mal d'écouter. "Donne-moi l'enfant!" Un enfant. Tobias pourrait laisser les hommes, les femmes, les chiens, les chats, les chevaux, les nains, les elfes, les orques, et les demi-enfants mourir sans culpabilité. Pourquoi c'était toujours des enfants? Tobias était dehors juste à temps pour voir Sana s'écraser au sol. C'était là-bas, énorme, sur une sorte de chien démoniaque. Si le voyou n'avait pas été si déshydraté, il était sûr qu'il aurait pissé. L'elfe s'est écrasé par la fenêtre et a affronté le monstre sans crainte, un vrai sourire sur son visage. Pour sa part, le voyou s'avança, un poignard dans chaque main tremblante. Sa gorge était sèche, mais il a réussi à étouffer une déclaration. "Vous n'aurez pas d'enfants. Pas tant que je suis là."

Name: Tobias Age: 22 Alignment: Chaotic Good-ish Race: Human Class: Thief Appearance/Clothing: Skills: Bluff, Acrobatics, Charm, Athletics, Sneak, Theft, Streetwise, Knife-Wielding, Knife-Throwing. Natural Abilities: The power of average-ness. Magic/Spells: Not a scrap of it. Additional Information: Tobias isn't the strongest fighter, being far more suited to running, hiding, or bluffing his way out of situations (he's capable by normal person standards, of course - just not really what you'd expect from an adventurer). He's also a massive pathological liar with trust issues a mile wide. Weapons: He has three knives - one on his belt, one on his back, and one in his boot. Possessions: Leather armor, basic adventuring supplies (rope, flint and steel, etc.). His hood is enchanted to make it very hard for someone who sees him with it up to remember his face. He also has a magic grappling hook enchanted to not make a sound. Personality: Tobias is glib, smart-alecky, cowardly, and tries his absolute best to be self-centered. Though he'd feverishly deny it, he's a fundamentally good person underneath the assumed selfish. He tries not to let anyone get close to him, and often uses snark and flat out lies as armor in social interaction. History: Getting the truth out of him about his personal history is extraordinarily difficult, but it's possible to determine that he's an orphan who grew up on the streets and has spent his life so far living in cities and alternating between pickpocket, con-man and cat burglar in order to survive. Also, hai Kronshi. Funny meeting you again. :p

Le village Le vieil apothicaire s'assit là à côté de Sana alors que sœur Agnès se reposait à genoux en face de lui, il regardait attentivement que la nonne commençait à guérir Sana mais il s'inquiétait. Sœur Agnès s'est évanouie et n'a pas la même force qu'elle avait tenue plus tôt dans la journée. Avec toutes les guérisons qu'elle avait faites pour les groupes pendant toute la durée du jour où la sœur avait utilisé la majeure partie de son pouvoir et de son énergie. Lentement la poitrine écrasée de Sanas a commencé à se reformer et prendre une forme plus normale, la blessure sur le côté de son visage se fermant progressivement comme les brûlures sur le côté de son corps de cicatrisation antérieure, mais c'était un processus lent rendant douloureux à Sana. Sanas doigts fléchis et serrés comme agonisant sifflement passé à travers les dents serrées. Wylsen prit la main gauche de Sanas et la tenait, essayant de lui donner un peu de réconfort, mais il savait que ce n'était pas pour aider. Il avait encore quelques potions dans son magasin pour la guérison, mais il s'empêchait de les récupérer, cette bataille serait longue et il y aurait beaucoup de blessures; tant que sœur Agnès pourrait continuer à les garder en vie, il voulait les sauver pour le dernier moment possible. L'Anti-Paladin a balayé la tête alors qu'il entendait une femme parler et le crash d'une fenêtre; suivi par une voix plutôt tremblante essayant de rassembler le courage. Tirant les rênes sur sa montagne, il tourna pour les affronter, son épée encore tiré. Il sourit; si vous pouviez l'appeler que pour son visage était si marqué la seule chose que l'on pouvait voir était que ses lèvres jambées courbé légèrement d'un côté. Frappant ses talons dans les flancs de son chien de l'enfer le poussant à précipiter les deux adversaires solitaires qui se tenaient devant lui ; se précipitant vers l'avant le chien de l'enfer lui ouvrit les mâchoires noires et un souffle de feu sortit de sa bouche vers Tobias. Comme il l'a fait l'Anti-Paladin, monter sa monture est passé devant Vaeri, sa lame sombre descendant dur et frappant vers les femmes elfe bras gauche. Le chien de l'enfer s'est retourné rapidement, car il a arrêté sa charge et a filé autour pour les affronter une fois de plus, son dos maintenant à l'auberge et il a cherché à charger à travers eux vers les deux qui étaient penchés à faire revenir Sana sur ses pieds.

Name: Hanzo Jibero Age: 26 Alignment: Lawful Neutral Race: Human Class: Monk Appearance/Clothing: Skills: Acrobatics Survival Historical & Religious Knowledge Climbing & Swimming Perception Emotion Reading Ki Manipulation Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human. Magic/Spells: Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance. Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially. Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities. Additional Information: This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could. This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose. For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny. Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability. Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope. Personality: By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership. As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace. History: Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time. Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind. Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge. So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand. Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her. He only regrets not having learned her name. The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had.

Quel jour Lob a eu. Il avait pensé qu'il aurait assez d'énergie pour revenir pour l'alpha après avoir ramené le chariot à la maison. Malheureusement le premier combat, le voyage, le combat avec les esclavagistes et les chiens, la rupture des membres d'arbres, et la chasse aux lapins sur le chemin du retour... Tout cela l'a laissé bien et vraiment arbustif alors qu'il a trouvé son chemin jusqu'au sommet d'un toit de paille de chaume et il s'est effondré contre la cheminée de pierre pour la chaleur et l'ombre. Des heures ont dû passer avant qu'il ne se réveille au son de l'alpha criant. Se montant au bord du toit, il pouvait sentir la fausseté même sans sa capacité à sentir le danger. Il regarda que d'autres sortaient pendant que le loup les courait et que son chien s'enflamma comme un dragon. Club dans la main, il a pris une course silencieuse sur le toit de l'Inn et a sauté avec l'os huilé en une frappe aérienne à deux mains. Pas de trucs drôles, celui-ci avait tort et avait besoin d'être arrêté maintenant et rapidement. Avec toute la force d'un géant du feu et le silence d'un chasseur, il s'est emparé et a espéré percer la plaque de poitrine vers l'intérieur sur le bâknight avec une seule frappe silencieuse à la surprise de l'ombre de la boutique pour cacher la sienne. Le chien serait le suivant.

Name:Lob-otto-me! Age:21 (old for a half orc) Alignment: Chaotic Good Race: Half-orc Class: Barbarian(Brute Kit) (estimated 6th level based on wizard spells, 15 THAC0) Brute Description: The most primitive barbarian, the Brute combines traits of both humans and animals. He is heavily built and thick-boned, with a sloping skull resting low on his neck, and fanged jaws protruding over a receding chin. Coarse hair covers his hide-like skin. Long, powerful arms let him lope on all fours and clamber up trees like a monkey. Lacking the intelligence of other barbarians, he depends on his keen senses, natural resilience, and sharp instincts to help him survive. Requirements: A Brute has a maximum Intelligence of 6 and a maximum Charisma of 8. (Treat Intelligence scores of 7 or higher as 6, and Charisma scores of 9 or higher as 8.) A Brute gains a +1 bonus on his initial Strength score or a bonus of 25% on exceptional strength. Homeland Terrain: Any, with Mountains, Jungle, and Forest the most likely. Role: In his homeland, the Brute’s life consists of hunting, sleeping, and fending off predators. Consequently, he values personal virtues that enhance the chances of survival, including cooperation, courage, and genmiv. His moral code consists of two basic principles: (1) do no harm to those who pose no threat, and (2) destroy those who would harm him or his companions. The Brute has no use for virtues and vices associated with civilized societies. Etiquette, greed, personal honor, and loyalty to abstract principles are unknown to him. He can’t be insulted or blackmailed, nor can he be tempted with treasure. A Brute’s interests seldom extend beyond his current needs; with food in his stomach and a soft patch of ground on which to nap, he’s as content as he can be. A Brute allies himself with an adventuring party for companionship, protection, or even the promise of regular meals. He remains loyal so long as his companions treat him decently. He has no aptitude for leadership, strategic planning, or negotiation; he takes orders from anyone he trusts. He serves his party as a forager, hunter, and combatant. Though a Brute’s companions may admire his loyalty and friendliness, they may also balk at his animalistic behavior. He howls at the moon, licks himself clean, and grooms animals by picking bugs from their fur. He eats raw meat, tearing apart carcasses with his teeth. He speaks in grunts, never more than a few syllables at a time. He identifies friends by their smells, and investigates strangers by sniffing them up and down. Secondary Skills: Fire-maker, Forager, Hunter. Weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only two weapon proficiencies. Thereafter, he gains new proficiencies at the normal rate. Required: Club. Brutes must select all subsequent proficiencies from the following choices: axe (any), Celt*, dagger, knife, spear. Non-weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only one non-weapon proficiency. He gains new proficiencies at the normal rate. Bonus: Danger Sense*. Recommended: Artistic Ability,Endurance, Fire-making, Fishing, Foraging*,Hunting, Light Sleeping*, Tracking, Wild Fighting* Barred: Agriculture, Alertness*, Boating*, Crude Armorer, Crude Bowyer/Fletcher, Crude Weapon smithing, Dancing, Horde Summoning, Leadership*, Pottery, Riding (Airborne or Land-based). Economic System: Trade-free. Wealth Options: The concept of trade is new to the Brute, because he’s used to foraging whatever he wants from the wilderness, and doing without if he can’t find it. He begins with no funds or tradable goods. After the barbarian spends some time in the outworld-say, after he’s advanced one level-the DM may allow him to learn a barter system. Armor and Equipment: The Brute begins with padded or leather armor, usually a large fur with a hole in the center, slipped over his head to hang down his body. A Brute may not use any weapons other than those listed in the weapon proficiencies section above. A Brute rarely uses a shield; it interferes with hunting. Special Benefits: Enhanced Natural Armor: The Brute’s coarse hair, thick skin, and dense bones give him a natural armor class of 6 (boosted to AC 4 when he wears padded or leather armor). Improved Climbing: A Brute climbs as a barbarian two levels higher. Wild Brawl: When fighting without weapons, the Brute can propel himself into a berserk frenzy. Bites, punches and kicks are all directed at a single opponent. A single attack roll is used to determine if these attacks finds their mark. Damage is ld6. Enhanced Sense of Smell: A Brute can trail a human, animal, or demi-human by scent, presuming the quarry made the trail within the previous 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the quarry, or must have a sample of the scent (a scrap of hide, a lock of hair, a piece of clothing). A Brute has the same chance to follow the trail as if he had the tracking proficiency. (Refer to Table 39 in the Player’s Handbook. Use only the modifiers relevant to following a trail by scent, including those associated with the number of creatures in the group, elapsed time, and inclement weather.) Use the Brute’s Wisdom score to make tracking checks. If the Brute has the tracking proficiency, he receives a +2 bonus to his checks. A Brute can also identify a particular character or creature by its lingering aroma, presuming the character or creature was in the area within the past 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the creature or have a sample of the scent. The Brute identifies the scent with a successful Wisdom check. Surprise Bonus: Because of the Brute's sharp senses, he receives a +2 bonus to his surprise rolls. Special Hindrances: Reduced Movement: A Brute has a base movement rate of 12. Language Limit: A Brute can't know more than a single language. Limited Magic: A Brute will not use magical items that require command words or concentration for their use. He can use magical potions, clothing and weapons. *** Leaping and Springing. The barbarian fighter is skilled at making leaps (horizontal jumps) and springs (vertical jumps). To make a running leap or spring, he must have a running start of at least 20 feet in a straight line; less than this, and the best he can do is a standing leap or spring. Standing leaps and springs are made from stationary positions. Table 8 indicates the horizontal distances (for leaps) and vertical distances (for springs) for barbarian fighters of various levels. Distances are expressed in feet. Roll the die separately for each leap or spring. Back Protection. Table 9 shows the barbarian fighter's chance of detecting an attack from behind, made by any character or creature. If the barbarian successfully detects the attack, he avoids it. Additionally, the barbarian is entitled to counter-attack the attacker immediately, even if the barbarian already attacked that turn. Example: Grog the barbarian makes a club attack against a lizard man, while an ogre attempts to attack Grog from behind. After resolving his attack on the lizard man, Grog makes a back detection roll and succeeds; therefore, the ogre receives no special attack bonuses for attacking from behind. The ogre makes a normal attack against Grog; Grog is allowed a "free" counter-attack against the ogre. All of this occurs in the same round. Climbing. The barbarian fighter can climb walls and other surfaces-including ledges, cliffs, and trees-without the aid of tools. Table 9 indicates success chances. This skill works like the thief's climb walls ability Appearance/Clothing: 6'4" 250 Lbs Skills: Weapon specialization: Great club, (+1 hit +2 damage) Weapon proficiency: Dagger, Throwing Axe, Battle axe, Spear Armor proficiency: Padded, Leather Secondary Skills: Forager. Bonus: Danger Sense*, Endurance, Hunting, Light Sleeping*(only need 1 hour of sleep for full rest), Sign Language, Tracking, Wild Fighting*(+1 attacks a round, 3 penalty to AC, -3 to hit, +3 damage, good for minion sweeping or easy to hit enemies) Natural Abilities: Heightened strength(+3 hit +8 damage). Darkvision/infravision. Back Detection(40%) Climbing(95%) Running Leap: 3d6+6 Ft. Running Spring: ld6+3 Ft. Standing Leap: 2d4+3 Ft. Standing Spring: ld4+3 Ft. Additional Information: Highly bestial nature who worships the moon. Treats all dogs like family. His homeland terrain is the open plains, he is always considered proficient in survival, tracking, hiding, and animal lore in his home terrain and provides a penalty to his enemies to detect him when trying to surprise them in the plains. Weapons: CLUB! is a greatclub (2d4) that is little more than a bone ripped from the wing of a black dragon and fitted to a handle. Much of its energy is still rather raw from the experience, but its damage transfer the dragonic energy of acid to stop regenerating creatures. Even if it does not drip acid itself, it seems to work half the time to harm trolls and the like.(8/8/15 Gained a permanent +1d4 from shillelagh potion) (3d4+8 11-20) CATCH! A throwing 'axe' which was a parting gift from the last parties bard/cook, she could throw and catch three at a time in the air. It was an entertaining skill he never developed, but it is great for when he needs to hunt rabbits or use with his 'not a hat' if it is too cramped to use his club! Possessions: Hide of hiding! Hide armor made from the hide of a black bear, because black is good for hiding! He proved himself to his lost clan's shaman (druid) who put a 'blessing' (invisibility to animals) on the armor for good hunting. He has learned that he can approach an animal, but after the first attack, they can see him. He also learned the hard way that it only works on normal animals, special animals can see him just fine. Not a hat! is something he uses when he knows he is going to have to fight something directly and dangerous, not when he is hunting for game. When not fighting, he uses the buckler for a plate or to carry things from foraging. Personality: Fairly simple minded, He has a personality that focuses on loyalty to a fault. He is easily coerced by his friends to do most things. History: About one in ten half-orcs can pass for human, he could not. Left out in the woods and the wilds, he was taken up by a tribe of halfling plains-riders who thought him to be a curiosity. He grew in the tribe and grew some more, easily keeping pace with the 8 meal metabolism of the others and foraging for his own when extra hungry. His phenomenal strength lent him a place in the tribe, but his simpler than most mind meant he had no desires for chiefdom. One day, the plains-riders came upon a Gnoll tribe and their overconfidence was their doom. It was a glorious battle and now the halflings ride across the black plains as stars in the sky, but Lob was not one of those. He awoke some days later with a great gash across his forehead but alive all the same. He burned his people as they were to do and wandered on his own, breaking from the circuit of his people to see the rest of the realm. He came into sight of an adventuring party low on their luck and he brought them a whole elk that even the ranger hadn't been able to take down (to which the bard joked that he was the new animal companion for the ranger's lost wolf). They began to keep him like a pet and gave him his new name from the skull scar which he found good as his old name died with his people. The new family took him from woods to still water swamp where they sought out a black dragon and its treasure. The brackish trees were too thick to fly but not to climb as he made his way by branches when the dragon attacked. First it cunningly weakened the party with many animals of the swamp before striking. The party was doing well until the wizard was bitten by a snake and down for the count so Lob took the staff and swung it like a club across the dragons face. The reverberation of the shattered staff loosing all of its stored energy was enough to end the fight as the beast collapsed. But, when it came time to divide the treasures, the in-fighting broke the party in two with Lob merely claiming a trophy of the dragon as his reward. The party split up in town after all was said and sold, enough for some to retire. The city was no place for Lob and so he had one of the fighters help him get his bone made into a serviceable weapon before he left with the groups Healer who chose to go on a pilgrimage to renew her faith and could use his strength. After a few temples, he pilgrimage has been made to pause with this new sickness rising. Since Lob is 'ever so good at finding things', the healer asked lob to help the children while she stays at this village to tend to the sick. ***Scent tracking*** Drizzak -smoked meat, burnt earth and occasionally strawberries.. Fiona - wilderness, the road, and a little of her horse Hanzo -outdoor air, with hints of morning dampness and a slight earthy aroma. Hugh - tobacco, horse, his own sweat, metal, and grass. Lob - Dry dog, dirt, bit of dung Melvis - At the moment, Melvus smells like blood Mortosh -sorta dead with rust smell to him as well as a bit of blueberry Sana - cedar wood and jasmine flower. Sister Agnes-Lavender and rosemary oil Tobias -sweat and red apples. Vaeri -surrounding forest with a hint of cinnamon. Zack -Ash Zam-flowery blueberry and has a hint rust to her scent

Fiona n'était pas naturellement paranoïaque, mais ce soir elle avait jugé préférable de garder l'armure qu'elle avait, au moins jusqu'à ce que Sana revienne en toute sécurité. C'était une journée incroyablement mouvementée, et dangereuse aussi, et Fiona essayait de rester prête pour d'autres esclaves, si certains vivaient encore qui n'avaient pas encore été traités. Rester éveillée aussi longtemps que son corps le lui permettrait, elle s'inquiétait surtout en faisant une conversation légère avec d'autres membres du parti et des villageois qui restaient à l'auberge. Il s'est avéré qu'elle avait raison d'être prête pour un autre combat, mais qu'elle avait tort d'attendre plus d'esclaves. Le cri de Sana a attiré son attention à l'extérieur, où elle a mis les yeux sur la créature noire qui chevauche quelque chose directement hors de l'enfer. La confusion et l'alarme initiales de Fiona se sont réglées sur quelques questions, comme pourquoi cette chose serait attirée ici, et pourquoi c'était après l'enfant Sana. Est-ce qu'elle a trouvé cet enfant au camp d'esclaves? Est-ce qu'elle leur a manqué? Cette chose était - elle impliquée dans la maladie qui touchait les autres? C'était une terreur trop grande pour être une coïncidence, mais pour l'instant, l'objectif de Fiona devait être de faire face à cette terreur. Ils pourraient découvrir d'où ça vient après. Fiona a rapidement consommé la potion Bull's Strength qu'elle avait acquise plus tôt, l'ayant retirée de ses sacs de selle en laissant Liam dans les écuries. Tirant son épée, elle sortit peu après Tobias, notant l'état gravement blessé de Sana, et l'arrivée de Vaeri d'en haut aussi. « J'ai tes arrières », a-t-elle dit à Tobias, dans l'espoir d'être rassurée. Il l'a un peu stupéfaite. "Nous pouvons le faire." Avec cela, le combat a commencé, et Fiona a attendu un moment pour frapper. Elle a choisi d'avancer quand la bête a tourné le dos. Elle s'est déplacée pour frapper à sa jambe gauche arrière, ciblant le point le plus faible et faisant une fente à deux mains de sa lame, espérant que sa force renforcée pourrait gravement l'endommager et paralyser son mouvement.

Name: Fiona Age: 22 Alignment: Neutral Good Race: Human Class: Fighter Appearance/Clothing: Reference 1, Reference 2. Fairly average height, with a lean and toned build. Fiery, wild red hair and light brown eyes, skin tone a fair, slightly pale coloration. Skills: Close combat fighting, speed and agility, moderate strength, excellent horseback riding skills. Proficient both armed and unarmed, moderate endurance for taking hits. Good at cooking with relatively little to work with, and while likely irrelevant, good at farming. Natural Abilities: None - Human Magic/Spells: None Armor: Roughly as seen in the image, some pieces of scavenged light plate, most effectively protecting her right arm. Weapons: Use reference 2 for example. A fairly standard curved longsword, lightweight but sturdy. She has a dagger sheathed on her left thigh for emergencies. Possessions: Little of note. Her clothes, weapons, armor, packs, supplies, basic medical items and personal belongings. Most of it kept in her horse's saddlebags. Personality: Fiona's bold and brash, often unafraid of things she probably should be, and in general a very confident and self-assured individual. Like any good adventurer she is both curious and brave, but also deeply selfless, not preferring to use the word 'mercenary' to describe herself, as this implies the coin is the end goal she works for. Mostly she just enjoys her life for what it is: a chance to explore, meet new people and see new things, and help wherever she can, with what skill she has. Though typically a loner, she doesn't turn down help when offered, and tries to work together with others as best she can. She's an inexperienced, terrible liar, preferring both her combat and her conversation upfront and uncomplicated. History: Fiona's story is a relatively simple one, starting with a family not important enough to even have a lasting name. She's simply Fiona, of the village of Drayden, a little farming community quite a ways from many large population centers. Fiona was an only child, and thus assisted a great deal around the farm, becoming strong and physically active as a result. Wandering adventurers inspired her even as a teenage girl, and her mind would not be swayed from eventually leaving the family farm to see the world. When they were eventually able to hire some help, she used what coin she had to purchase some basic equipment, and set out at age 19, blade in hand, hunting for contracts. Naturally, without the best of training or a good starting foundation of equipment and knowledge, Fiona struggled in her first few years, but learned from her mistakes, and has developed into a competent and even confident fighter, willing and able to take on problems the average person doesn't want to deal with.

Le mal est allé charger une fois de plus sur son chien de l'enfer vers Sana et à travers le reste du groupe, mais le coup soudain à son cou de Hell Hounds juste en face de lui a causé le meilleur pour trébucher à mesure que sa tête descendait; le club que Lob a manié briser à travers la peau de la force de la bash et causer une quantité décente de traumatismes de force contondants. Le chevalier de l'obscurité a fait de son mieux pour rester sur sa monture, mais comme Fiona est entré de derrière et tranché avec sa lame, il est tombé du grand monstre au sol; la lame de Fionas attraper le tendon sur le côté arrière de la jambe arrière gauche et le couper propre à travers. Le chien de l'enfer rugissait dans la douleur tandis que la blessure ozait un fluide sombre qui ressemblait au sang, mais semblait avoir une teinte beaucoup plus profonde à la substance goey. Il grondait profondément, baissant ses dents en tournant son attention vers Fiona ; la tête bat se ballottant autour en se déplaçant sur trois jambes, refusant de mettre le blessé sur le sol à ce moment-là. Il a été blessé mais loin d'être sorti pour le compte. L'Anti-Paladin grogne alors qu'il frappe le sol, mais parvient à tomber et à monter sur ses pieds, sa lame encore dans sa main. La saleté et la poussière tombent de son armure sombre tandis que ses doigts fléchissent, accrochent sa lame serrée dans une main comme l'autre main aspirée comme pour dire venir me chercher. Ce sourire sur les lèvres était toujours là, comme s'il l'appréciait et il ne s'en souciait pas si sa monture était déjà blessée. D'abord vous, puis l'enfant, il a dit d'une basse voix gutturale vers le groupe alors qu'il attendait la prochaine attaque.

Name: Hanzo Jibero Age: 26 Alignment: Lawful Neutral Race: Human Class: Monk Appearance/Clothing: Skills: Acrobatics Survival Historical & Religious Knowledge Climbing & Swimming Perception Emotion Reading Ki Manipulation Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human. Magic/Spells: Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance. Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially. Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities. Additional Information: This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could. This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose. For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny. Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability. Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope. Personality: By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership. As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace. History: Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time. Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind. Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge. So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand. Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her. He only regrets not having learned her name. The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had.

Hugh continua de chercher frénétiquement d'une personne à l'autre, toute personne ayant une couleur de cheveux similaire était une cible pour sa main de les saisir et de les tourner pour lui faire face. Il a continué à chercher à travers le peuple, jusqu'à ce que son attention a été attrapé par la femme humaine, Fiona. Ses paroles le rendaient plus à l'aise comme elle l'a expliqué, mais il était perplexe. Des raisons personnelles? Il n'en avait pas la moindre idée, mais son esprit a cherché à travers de nombreuses possibilités différentes avant qu'il n'ébranle tout et décide d'aider les gens à sortir du petit wagon. Il offrait sa main à l'ancien et faible; il pouvait s'emparer les enfants dans ses bras et les poser sur le sol, doucement. Il n'avait aucune idée où les emmener, mais ils étaient tous évidemment plus faibles que lui, donc Hugh a poursuivi le processus jusqu'à ce que le wagon soit vide et que le groupe de réfugiés parte dans des directions différentes. Hugh semblait se tenir fièrement, et avait un sourire content sur son visage de voir le peuple libéré de l'esclavage. Il s'est tenu longtemps, regardant autour de la ville les différents événements. Les corps avaient été nettoyés dans les rues, mais pas avant que Hugh ne puisse prendre quelques goodies. Il portait lui-même un tout nouveau jeu de chaînes de courrier, et avait acquis beaucoup d'autres babioles étranges. Il avait un peu soif de tous les combats, alors il sortit cette étrange fiole et la retena dans le ciel en la regardant. "Combien cela peut-il être mauvais? Mon foie est incroyable, après tout." Et donc, il a sauté le liège, et a descendu la fiole. Il n'avait pas le goût du poison, mais il faudrait assez de poison pour un cheval ou un ours pour abattre Hugh, donc il n'avait pas peur. Le liquide ne semblait pas particulièrement nourrissant, mais il n'en ressentait aucun effet négatif. "D'accord, on dirait que tout va bien se passer" Son attention a soudainement été détournée vers le son des sabots et ensuite hurlant d'une voix particulièrement familière. Hugh tourna et fit face à la direction du son et là il vit Sana, galopant sur Rodger, avec quelque chose bercé dans ses bras. Plus elle s'approchait, moins il était heureux de la voir, comme quelque chose semblait arriver derrière elle. "Ahh merde." Il recula, tandis que les deux personnages se précipitaient, Sana venant en premier et se chargeant dans l'auberge. Ce n'était pas longtemps avant qu'elle revienne et affronte cette monstruosité. C'était un gros chien de l'enfer qui ne portait qu'un antipaladin. Pendant un moment, il n'était pas sûr si c'était une bonne chose qu'il avait laissée derrière être un paladin il y a longtemps, mais il l'a ébranlé, car les choses devenaient beaucoup plus laides que ce qui avait commencé. Hugh était sur le bord, et a dessiné son falchion au moment où il a vu la charge antipaladin vers Sana. Il se sentait un peu trop confiant, regardant Sana prendre la bête. Les pensées qui traversaient son esprit étaient que le démon serait abattu sur sa montagne, mais il avait gravement tort. Sa mâchoire est tombée, et son épée aussi, comme il a regardé Sana se jeter contre un mur comme une poupée de chiffon, tomber inutilement. Il a crié dans l'agonie, alors qu'il la regardait tomber. Il s'est précipité sur son côté, dérapant jusqu'à l'arrêt. Il était à la perte des mots, alors que la nonne brouillait pour la sauver. Il y avait des références qu'elle était encore en vie, mais à peine. Hugh, cependant, ne pouvait pas parler comme son état mental semblait se dégrader. Pour lui, il semblait qu'elle était morte, et il ne pouvait pas entendre ce que quelqu'un disait, alors que ses oreilles semblaient soudainement commencer à sonner et que son esprit commençait à s'assombrir de désespoir. Il y avait une épée qui était attachée au dos de Sana, dont Hugh n'avait pas pris note, alors qu'il la fixait. Elle semblait sans vie, tout comme les yeux de Hugh à ce moment-là. Il se sentait comme toute la vie avait été écrasée de lui, et que maintenant il perdait tout ce qu'il avait à tenir. Comme un mouvement inconscient aléatoire, Hugh a tiré l'épée de son dos et s'est détourné, détournant son attention vers le chien de l'enfer et c'est maître. Le voilà, il avait tout perdu. Il se sentait vide, alors qu'il marchait vers la bête, cette nouvelle grande épée à la main. Levant la nuque à son visage, il prononça plusieurs mots simples, avant de la tenir des deux mains. "Celui qui vit par l'épée périra par l'épée." Il a prononcé ces paroles comme une malédiction sur lui-même, presque comme il était temps d'y aller. Peut-être fut-il maudit ; maudit pour revivre la même agonie et l'angoisse pour une éternité. Comme une affliction de la part d'un dieu bienveillant. Maintenant, l'antipaladin avait été frappé de sa monture et était debout, prêt pour une confrontation avec Hugh. Hugh ne pensait pas qu'ils seraient un bon match, nary, Hugh allait éventrer le chevalier noir et parader ses entrailles autour de la ville. Il se sentait concentré et comme si aucune douleur ne pouvait le déranger du tout. Hugh marcha vers l'homme, fermant rapidement la distance, avant de crier pour attirer son attention, "SURPRISE, MUTHA FUCKA!" Avec cela, Hugh a balancé son épée au milieu de la section de l'antipaladin, la portant sur lui avec toute sa force.

Name: Hugh Van Halder Age: 45 Alignment: Neutral Good Race: Human Class: Fighter, Ex-Paladin Appearance/Clohing: He stands at 6'2", a tower of years of built up muscle. He wears a dark earthen blue tunic over a white linen three button pullover shirt. He wears a pair of black shorts(under his pants) and a pair of dark gray hosen(medieval style pants). He'll wear a chain mail shirt and these pauldrons additionally he'll wear leather knee and shin armor. He wears a small gray hood and a bear fur cloak. Skills: He is a good brawler and can fight with anything he can get his hands on(He's used bed rolls before). Horseback riding. Swordfighting, throwing axes, and two handed weapon fighting. He's been able to use crossbows before, but despises them, as they are delicate and take a lot of work just to reload. Bushcraft and survival stuff. Smoking(if that qualifies as a skill). Some cooking. Natural Abilities: He's strong and durable and can take a lot of beatings. He's pretty much a tank. He can drink a lot of alcohol and only get buzzed. Otherwise, he's just a normal human. Magic Spells: N/A Additional Information: He is in a relationship with Sana Rawn. He has a draft horse, named Rodger. Weapons: He wields a large crude looking battle axe and a falchion. Additionally, he has one small crude throwing axe. Possessions: A rucksack with jerky, bread, cheese, rags, spark rocks(basically one is made of magnesium), rope, ladle, cooking knife, two plates, and tobacco. He also has saddle bags on his horse, which he stores his pipe, more tobacco, sugar cubes, a brush, a stick and bow(which he uses for lighting his pipe), and a few salt licks. He has two water skins. One he keeps on his horse, and one on his person or in rucksack. Additionally he has a pot and a frying pan strapped down to the outside of his rucksack. He also wears a ring on a little chain around his neck and he never seems to take it off, as it was given to him by Sana. Personality: He is a more contented man, liking simple things in life, especially enjoying smoking his pipe with a wonderful scenery, usually in the form of a beautiful day and his love, Sana. He has a more realistic attitude towards the world, not being an idealist, only doing things to help. He has great respect for the natural order of things, and you won't find him trying to seek out revenge. He still has a fiery temper when it is stoked enough to come out. History: Hugh was once part of a great order of paladins. They had much land and ruled with wisdom. Their lands were prosperous and fertile. Many were jealous of their lands, but no one had the courage enough to take on the great and Noble order. Their paladins were fierce and formidable fighters. They all stood higher than 6' and were towers of muscle. They were truly terrifying men. But they were brought down under scandal. Fabricated accusations about them stealing their riches and enslaving other groups of people for labor. The scandals kept growing until they were set upon by every surrounding nation. They stood no chance. Many were killed, only a few escaped. They have been long since forgotten, after being hunted for almost two decades, and killed off, until it was concluded that they were finally extinct. Hugh hid among tribes of barbarians to survive. The tribe was good to him, making him one of their own. He had built a life of simplicity. Some warring between other tribes would often end with them being brutalized and then integrated. Hugh had found love in a woman taken from one of the defeated tribes. He had a few sons and lived very happily with her, until they were set upon by a purge of the "savages". Hugh's tribe was wiped out and he was orphaned once again. He had brutally killed all the "civilized" army he could, but it was too late. His tribe was all gone, along with his family. He became a wanderer, and left to find life as a mercenary. In that life, he found an adventure awaiting him in a tavern. The tavern was filled with life, when he came in and joined up with a questing group. There he met a gypsy woman by the name of Sana. He got to know her going on this random little adventure with this party. It was all rather simple and jovial at first, until they were all taken captive by a lich. This lich tried to take Sana from them, and in that moment Hugh only felt desperation and rage. He had slowly begun to realize that he had fallen in love with Sana, and that if he lost her nothing would change about his existence as a wandering mercenary, and he would simply keep losing people he deeply cared about. So he took a chance at love, and broke out of his cage in a fit of rage. He fought like a lion to get to Sana, finally winning out(love triumphs over all!) against the hordes of undead after his party came to his aid. Since then, he's been a contented old soul, taking care of Sana and showing her his love for her, even though he has never said the words.

Vaeri a étouffé un rire à la tentative de Tobias de bravoure. Il n'était pas un homme fort, mais il a obtenu un A pour l'effort. En sortant faire face à cet ennemi dans sa forme, il a pris de vrais tripes. Ce bref manque de concentration lui a coûté une seconde de réaction. Vaeri réussit à peine à sortir du chemin de la charge de l'enfer et reçut une profonde entaille dans son bras gauche pour le problème. Elle a pris une seconde pour vérifier que son bras n'était pas complètement inutile. Il n'y avait pas d'os montrant. Il faudrait que ça le fasse. De là, Lob et Fiona sont entrés, réussissant à blesser le Hellhound et frapper l'antipaladin. De même, il serait plus facile de récupérer le premier ingrédient et de frapper l'homme impie. Elle a repéré Hugh chargé d'attaquer avec une épée, et a décidé d'aider un frère. Alors qu'il venait de l'avant, elle s'est précipitée de l'arrière. Vaeri a levé sa hache bien au-dessus, laissant ses mains glisser jusqu'au fond de la poignée, optimisant sa force et sa portée pour cette attaque, mais ici elle s'est engagée au coup. Ce serait difficile à récupérer. Le plan était de diviser le crâne de l'antipaladin comme une pastèque distrait par Hugh. Ou être éviscéré par Hugh pendant qu'il était distrait avec la hache. Elle n'était pas difficile.

Name: Vaeri Dryearurdrenn Age: 143 Alignment: Lawful Good Race: Elf Class: Cleric/Barbarian Appearance/Clothing: Vaeri is an innocent looking elf, standing at about 5' 7" (170 cm) with long, straight raven hair that extends down to the base of her back, pale skin and bright blue eyes. At a glance she's quite beautiful with full lips, a small button nose, thin eyebrows and high cheekbones, when one takes a closer look, several tiny scars are visible all over, disfiguring her otherwise graceful looks. Likewise, Vaeri's exposed flesh, the rare times one can see them initially appear smooth and untouched, but upon closer inspection are covered in scars and barely contain wiry muscle below. Vaeri dresses as a lady of the cloth should, with a dark blue full body cloak. The fabric is adorned with intricate patterns in white to provide visual contrast and indicating her status as a clergywoman. Around her neck and outside the cloak, Vaeri wears a necklace bearing the holy symbol of her god. However, underneath the cloak is a full set of leather armor, battle ready and kept in top shape at all times. Skills: Sense Motive, Knowledge (Religion), Knowledge (Nature), Climb, Jump, Sleight of Hand, fletching arrows, surviving out in the wild Natural Abilities: Keen senses, the ability to see better than humans in low light Magic/Spells: Heal: can decide how good this is Tongues: Allows the caster to speak any language for the duration of the spell Turn Undead: Vaeri can attempt to make Undead flee from her presence temporarily. Powerful Undead can resist this. Divine Might: Holy power infuses the caster, temporarily making them more powerful and resilient Flame Strike: Smites foes with holy flames Additional Information: Vaeri worships Menhit, lion-goddess of War. (Fun fact her name means She who massacres) Weapons: Vaeri carries a shortbow and a two-handed battleaxe Possessions: Vaeri carries a backpack that can hold more than you think it would and what Vaeri wants from the bag will always be at the top (the item in question must have been put in the bag beforehand for this to work). Inside the bag are her necessities (tent, rope, bedroll, tarp for the tent, soap, cooking utensils, oil, a lamp, flint and steel), holy texts, and about 2 weeks worth of rations. She also has a coin purse with about 20 gold pieces in it. On her hip is a quiver with 20 arrows. Personality: To strangers, Vaeri appears to be a gentle elf, always keen to help those in need and be a travelling force of good in the world. However, as you get to know her, slowly she morphs into an entirely different person, brash, head-strong and a braggart, this true face of Vaeri shows exactly why she worships the goddess she does. The elf loves battle of all kinds and will gleefully jump into battle whenever she can. History: Vaeri grew up in a forest village mostly populated by other elves to a carpenter. IN her childhood, she began learning the bow as all children did. Her prowess with weaponry was admired just as much as her excessive enthusiasm for using them was worrying. One day while out hunting alone she was overcome by a vision of the lion-goddess Menhit who commanded Vaeri to go out into the world and find a man with two right hands. After this experience, Vaeri began following the goddess of war and has dedicated her life to this mission. The cleric has been following this notice for strong adventurers as a possible lead for locating this mysterious man.

C'est une bonne chose que Hanzo soit un dormeur léger. Il s'était entraîné avec cette habitude pour chaque fois qu'il trouvait nécessaire de dormir sur la route ou dans une zone inhabitée. Il n'y avait aucune indication quand les ombres ou les voyous de la nuit sortiraient et tenteraient de prendre leur choix sur la forme de sommeil de quelqu'un. Maintenant, il était plus qu'assez d'être alerté par le hurlement sanglant de Sana, et un cri ou un rugissement subséquent d'une autre entité pécheresse. C'était ce qui ressemblait à un paladin diabolique ou démoniaque, chevauchant ce qui ne pouvait être qu'un enfer. Il a exigé un enfant, un enfant spécifique qui était ici, et n'a pas hésité à attaquer quand les autres ont essayé de l'attaquer. Sana a été gravement blessée, et Hanzo lui-même a pesé les options de la façon dont il pouvait se battre contre cette bête. Mais encore une fois, qui serait ce moine s'il refusait de l'aider? Rassemblant sa volonté pour le combat entrant, Hanzo a ouvert la fenêtre de l'auberge large, sauvegardé, et a effectué un premier saut en tête de course hors de la deuxième histoire. Jetant son corps dans une torsion vers l'avant, le moine s'est redressé pour voler à l'antipaladin avec un coup tendu, espérant que la force pourrait frapper l'homme corrompu au sol.

Name: Tobias Age: 22 Alignment: Chaotic Good-ish Race: Human Class: Thief Appearance/Clothing: Skills: Bluff, Acrobatics, Charm, Athletics, Sneak, Theft, Streetwise, Knife-Wielding, Knife-Throwing. Natural Abilities: The power of average-ness. Magic/Spells: Not a scrap of it. Additional Information: Tobias isn't the strongest fighter, being far more suited to running, hiding, or bluffing his way out of situations (he's capable by normal person standards, of course - just not really what you'd expect from an adventurer). He's also a massive pathological liar with trust issues a mile wide. Weapons: He has three knives - one on his belt, one on his back, and one in his boot. Possessions: Leather armor, basic adventuring supplies (rope, flint and steel, etc.). His hood is enchanted to make it very hard for someone who sees him with it up to remember his face. He also has a magic grappling hook enchanted to not make a sound. Personality: Tobias is glib, smart-alecky, cowardly, and tries his absolute best to be self-centered. Though he'd feverishly deny it, he's a fundamentally good person underneath the assumed selfish. He tries not to let anyone get close to him, and often uses snark and flat out lies as armor in social interaction. History: Getting the truth out of him about his personal history is extraordinarily difficult, but it's possible to determine that he's an orphan who grew up on the streets and has spent his life so far living in cities and alternating between pickpocket, con-man and cat burglar in order to survive. Also, hai Kronshi. Funny meeting you again. :p

L'Anti-Paladin fixa Hugh pendant qu'il regardait l'homme quitter le côté de la femme qu'il avait déjà envoyé dans son esprit, ce sourire s'élargissant à un grand et cruel sourire, les dents brunes montrant de derrière les lèvres matière. Il a sorti son épée pour frapper, mais parce qu'il se concentrait sur Hugh, il n'a pas remarqué que la femme de l'elfe venait derrière lui. Vaeri a réussi à faire descendre sa hache et à sortir une bonne entaille de son épaule gauche, provoquant la balançoire qu'il essayait de prendre à Hugh pour bloquer l'échec. Hugh a balancé l'épée vers le méchant et il a tranché à travers sa poitrine de l'épaule droite à la hanche gauche mais en raison de son armure, il ne l'a pas encore sorti du combat mais il a suffi de briser l'armure des hommes dans certains des endroits les plus faibles et de percer sa peau. S'il n'y en avait pas assez, il s'est soudainement jeté à un genou alors qu'il avait été frappé d'en haut par un agresseur inconnu. Hanzo a réussi à profiter de la situation et frapper vrai, mais il suffit de frapper l'Anti-Paladin sur un genou, bien que son cuir chevelu avait une belle entaille dans elle de la force. Même avec les trois héros débarquant leurs coups, ce n'était pas assez pour arrêter l'homme. Il n'a pu retourner aucune des attaques mais a roulé sur le côté et est revenu sur un genou face aux trois avant lui, se plaçant entre eux et Sana. Les trois avaient eu la chance de frapper l'Anti-Paladin et non l'un l'autre. Tobias, cependant, n'a pas été aussi chanceux et puis a de nouveau été chanceux dans le même souffle. Alors qu'il descendait pour attaquer le Hell Hound, il tourna son attention vers lui et sauta sur le chemin, un mouvement qui renvoyait Tobias au sol au lieu d'entrer dans les monstres. La bête a balancé sa griffe vers Tobias, mais avait sauté trop loin et avait juste manqué; ses griffes s'approchaient dangereusement du voleur. Sœur Agnes s'est concentrée sur la guérison de Sana au lieu du combat, mais Wylsen a regardé avec inquiétude entre les deux scènes. Ce que l'homme venait d'être frappé avec il aurait dû être au moins assommé froid mais non, il était accroupi là-bas et prêt à attaquer une fois de plus. Sana s'est soudainement assommée d'air et s'est assise droite, la tête de Wylsens tournait rapidement pour la regarder et soupirait en relief. Sana toussait légèrement et tenait sa poitrine. Elle a encore mal, mais au moins elle était conscience maintenant et assise toute seule. Soeur Agnès recule légèrement pour se reposer contre le poteau, se sentant très drainée de la quantité de guérison que Sana avait exigé. Sana regarda le groupe et se poussa lentement jusqu'à ses pieds, berçant de façon instable en se sentant encore faible alors qu'elle commençait à chercher son arc. Wylsen l'a attrapée par les épaules pour la stabiliser, mais elle a essayé de le repousser, mais n'est pas en mesure de le faire. Wylsen a finalement pris un moment pour la regarder de près et a incliné sa tête vers le côté, elle l'a bien caché mais comme elle lui a dit, - laissez-moi aller, - son accent tzigane a coulé à travers. Les mains des vieillards brillent pendant un moment comme il a fait quelque chose qu'il n'avait pas fait depuis des décennies. En la regardant, il a trouvé une vérité qu'elle avait enterrée profondément et dont elle n'était peut - être même pas consciente. Sana le regarda bizarrement alors qu'il lui souriait; la lueur s'évanouissait. Tu sais quoi faire, maintenant fais-le Tsigane, il a dit vite. Puis, laissez-moi prendre mon arc! – Elle s'est cassée, mais l'apothécaire lui tenait le sol. Quoi? Attendez.. vous ne voulez pas dire... "Oui, je le fais, maintenant fais-le avant que les choses ne s'aggravent," il chuchotait. Elle a dit d'essayer de l'éloigner de lui, mais à nouveau physiquement elle était trop faible. Seulement si vous ne le laissez pas, il a dit avant de finalement la libérer. Sana s'inclina légèrement, mais réussit à saisir le poteau et à se tenir sur ses pieds. Respirant profondément, elle regarda le vieil homme inquiet qui ne répondit qu'avec un sourire et un mouvement de sa main pour qu'elle fasse tout ce dont il parlait; la nonne qui regardait n'avait aucune idée, elle était confuse comme Sana avait été au début de la conversation. Sana a sonné lentement et s'est tournée vers le groupe qui se battait pour garder l'enfant qu'elle avait amené dans le village en sécurité. Voyant Hugh là-bas, elle savait qu'elle devait au moins essayer, elle n'avait pas la force de tirer une corde d'étrave; même si elle l'a fait, elle ne pouvait pas risquer de ne pas frapper sa marque et de frapper l'un d'eux.

Name: Hanzo Jibero Age: 26 Alignment: Lawful Neutral Race: Human Class: Monk Appearance/Clothing: Skills: Acrobatics Survival Historical & Religious Knowledge Climbing & Swimming Perception Emotion Reading Ki Manipulation Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human. Magic/Spells: Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance. Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially. Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities. Additional Information: This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could. This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose. For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny. Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability. Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope. Personality: By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership. As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace. History: Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time. Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind. Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge. So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand. Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her. He only regrets not having learned her name. The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had.

L'épée de Fiona est venue loin du chien de l'enfer éclaboussé d'un liquide très sombre, le relativement mauvais éclairage de nuit inefficace pour montrer n'importe quelle couleur. Loin de tout ce qu'elle savait, cette créature saignait entièrement de sang noir. Le fait qu'elle l'ait fait saigner était encourageant; les autres qui étaient arrivés pour se battre étaient préoccupés par l'antipaladin, laissant à elle et Tobias le soin de s'occuper de la montagne. Alors que la bête se tourna vers elle et grogne, Fiona s'arrêta, élargissant légèrement sa position, se préparant à s'éloigner lorsqu'elle attaqua, mais Tobias fut poussée à frapper en premier, essayant de la flanquer alors que son attention était ailleurs. Il s'est avéré à la fois rapide et conscient de son environnement en s'éloignant de lui, et les yeux de Fiona s'élargit quand il a presque atterri un coup sur sa forme sujette en retour. Garder son épée dans les deux mains, elle l'a retournée vers l'arrière et s'est précipitée vers le côté du chien. "Éloignez-vous de lui!" Elle a crié, juste avant de lever les bras et de faire tomber son épée, essayant de percer le chien au-dessus de l'épaule droite, espérant frapper quelque chose de vital si elle pouvait se connecter.

Name: Fiona Age: 22 Alignment: Neutral Good Race: Human Class: Fighter Appearance/Clothing: Reference 1, Reference 2. Fairly average height, with a lean and toned build. Fiery, wild red hair and light brown eyes, skin tone a fair, slightly pale coloration. Skills: Close combat fighting, speed and agility, moderate strength, excellent horseback riding skills. Proficient both armed and unarmed, moderate endurance for taking hits. Good at cooking with relatively little to work with, and while likely irrelevant, good at farming. Natural Abilities: None - Human Magic/Spells: None Armor: Roughly as seen in the image, some pieces of scavenged light plate, most effectively protecting her right arm. Weapons: Use reference 2 for example. A fairly standard curved longsword, lightweight but sturdy. She has a dagger sheathed on her left thigh for emergencies. Possessions: Little of note. Her clothes, weapons, armor, packs, supplies, basic medical items and personal belongings. Most of it kept in her horse's saddlebags. Personality: Fiona's bold and brash, often unafraid of things she probably should be, and in general a very confident and self-assured individual. Like any good adventurer she is both curious and brave, but also deeply selfless, not preferring to use the word 'mercenary' to describe herself, as this implies the coin is the end goal she works for. Mostly she just enjoys her life for what it is: a chance to explore, meet new people and see new things, and help wherever she can, with what skill she has. Though typically a loner, she doesn't turn down help when offered, and tries to work together with others as best she can. She's an inexperienced, terrible liar, preferring both her combat and her conversation upfront and uncomplicated. History: Fiona's story is a relatively simple one, starting with a family not important enough to even have a lasting name. She's simply Fiona, of the village of Drayden, a little farming community quite a ways from many large population centers. Fiona was an only child, and thus assisted a great deal around the farm, becoming strong and physically active as a result. Wandering adventurers inspired her even as a teenage girl, and her mind would not be swayed from eventually leaving the family farm to see the world. When they were eventually able to hire some help, she used what coin she had to purchase some basic equipment, and set out at age 19, blade in hand, hunting for contracts. Naturally, without the best of training or a good starting foundation of equipment and knowledge, Fiona struggled in her first few years, but learned from her mistakes, and has developed into a competent and even confident fighter, willing and able to take on problems the average person doesn't want to deal with.

Le méchant avait un grand mot, le temps de l'enlever. En position de balançoire latérale, il se déplaçait du côté de l'obscur jusqu'aux flancs comme le font les loups. Il ne cherchait pas à abattre l'homme, mais la prochaine fois qu'il a fini pour une balançoire ou s'est balancé, l'os des dragons allait enlever cette épée. Et la main avec, s'il le pouvait. L'esprit primitif s'est battu contre lui-même, cet homme a exsoudé une peur comme un dragon et le chien qui respire le feu n'a pas aidé. Une partie de lui voulait courir, la partie qui voulait manger demain, vivre demain. Cette partie savait que ce n'était pas un chasseur de gens, celui-ci était quelque chose de mal avec la nature elle-même. Les mauvaises choses doivent être réglées.

Name:Lob-otto-me! Age:21 (old for a half orc) Alignment: Chaotic Good Race: Half-orc Class: Barbarian(Brute Kit) (estimated 6th level based on wizard spells, 15 THAC0) Brute Description: The most primitive barbarian, the Brute combines traits of both humans and animals. He is heavily built and thick-boned, with a sloping skull resting low on his neck, and fanged jaws protruding over a receding chin. Coarse hair covers his hide-like skin. Long, powerful arms let him lope on all fours and clamber up trees like a monkey. Lacking the intelligence of other barbarians, he depends on his keen senses, natural resilience, and sharp instincts to help him survive. Requirements: A Brute has a maximum Intelligence of 6 and a maximum Charisma of 8. (Treat Intelligence scores of 7 or higher as 6, and Charisma scores of 9 or higher as 8.) A Brute gains a +1 bonus on his initial Strength score or a bonus of 25% on exceptional strength. Homeland Terrain: Any, with Mountains, Jungle, and Forest the most likely. Role: In his homeland, the Brute’s life consists of hunting, sleeping, and fending off predators. Consequently, he values personal virtues that enhance the chances of survival, including cooperation, courage, and genmiv. His moral code consists of two basic principles: (1) do no harm to those who pose no threat, and (2) destroy those who would harm him or his companions. The Brute has no use for virtues and vices associated with civilized societies. Etiquette, greed, personal honor, and loyalty to abstract principles are unknown to him. He can’t be insulted or blackmailed, nor can he be tempted with treasure. A Brute’s interests seldom extend beyond his current needs; with food in his stomach and a soft patch of ground on which to nap, he’s as content as he can be. A Brute allies himself with an adventuring party for companionship, protection, or even the promise of regular meals. He remains loyal so long as his companions treat him decently. He has no aptitude for leadership, strategic planning, or negotiation; he takes orders from anyone he trusts. He serves his party as a forager, hunter, and combatant. Though a Brute’s companions may admire his loyalty and friendliness, they may also balk at his animalistic behavior. He howls at the moon, licks himself clean, and grooms animals by picking bugs from their fur. He eats raw meat, tearing apart carcasses with his teeth. He speaks in grunts, never more than a few syllables at a time. He identifies friends by their smells, and investigates strangers by sniffing them up and down. Secondary Skills: Fire-maker, Forager, Hunter. Weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only two weapon proficiencies. Thereafter, he gains new proficiencies at the normal rate. Required: Club. Brutes must select all subsequent proficiencies from the following choices: axe (any), Celt*, dagger, knife, spear. Non-weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only one non-weapon proficiency. He gains new proficiencies at the normal rate. Bonus: Danger Sense*. Recommended: Artistic Ability,Endurance, Fire-making, Fishing, Foraging*,Hunting, Light Sleeping*, Tracking, Wild Fighting* Barred: Agriculture, Alertness*, Boating*, Crude Armorer, Crude Bowyer/Fletcher, Crude Weapon smithing, Dancing, Horde Summoning, Leadership*, Pottery, Riding (Airborne or Land-based). Economic System: Trade-free. Wealth Options: The concept of trade is new to the Brute, because he’s used to foraging whatever he wants from the wilderness, and doing without if he can’t find it. He begins with no funds or tradable goods. After the barbarian spends some time in the outworld-say, after he’s advanced one level-the DM may allow him to learn a barter system. Armor and Equipment: The Brute begins with padded or leather armor, usually a large fur with a hole in the center, slipped over his head to hang down his body. A Brute may not use any weapons other than those listed in the weapon proficiencies section above. A Brute rarely uses a shield; it interferes with hunting. Special Benefits: Enhanced Natural Armor: The Brute’s coarse hair, thick skin, and dense bones give him a natural armor class of 6 (boosted to AC 4 when he wears padded or leather armor). Improved Climbing: A Brute climbs as a barbarian two levels higher. Wild Brawl: When fighting without weapons, the Brute can propel himself into a berserk frenzy. Bites, punches and kicks are all directed at a single opponent. A single attack roll is used to determine if these attacks finds their mark. Damage is ld6. Enhanced Sense of Smell: A Brute can trail a human, animal, or demi-human by scent, presuming the quarry made the trail within the previous 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the quarry, or must have a sample of the scent (a scrap of hide, a lock of hair, a piece of clothing). A Brute has the same chance to follow the trail as if he had the tracking proficiency. (Refer to Table 39 in the Player’s Handbook. Use only the modifiers relevant to following a trail by scent, including those associated with the number of creatures in the group, elapsed time, and inclement weather.) Use the Brute’s Wisdom score to make tracking checks. If the Brute has the tracking proficiency, he receives a +2 bonus to his checks. A Brute can also identify a particular character or creature by its lingering aroma, presuming the character or creature was in the area within the past 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the creature or have a sample of the scent. The Brute identifies the scent with a successful Wisdom check. Surprise Bonus: Because of the Brute's sharp senses, he receives a +2 bonus to his surprise rolls. Special Hindrances: Reduced Movement: A Brute has a base movement rate of 12. Language Limit: A Brute can't know more than a single language. Limited Magic: A Brute will not use magical items that require command words or concentration for their use. He can use magical potions, clothing and weapons. *** Leaping and Springing. The barbarian fighter is skilled at making leaps (horizontal jumps) and springs (vertical jumps). To make a running leap or spring, he must have a running start of at least 20 feet in a straight line; less than this, and the best he can do is a standing leap or spring. Standing leaps and springs are made from stationary positions. Table 8 indicates the horizontal distances (for leaps) and vertical distances (for springs) for barbarian fighters of various levels. Distances are expressed in feet. Roll the die separately for each leap or spring. Back Protection. Table 9 shows the barbarian fighter's chance of detecting an attack from behind, made by any character or creature. If the barbarian successfully detects the attack, he avoids it. Additionally, the barbarian is entitled to counter-attack the attacker immediately, even if the barbarian already attacked that turn. Example: Grog the barbarian makes a club attack against a lizard man, while an ogre attempts to attack Grog from behind. After resolving his attack on the lizard man, Grog makes a back detection roll and succeeds; therefore, the ogre receives no special attack bonuses for attacking from behind. The ogre makes a normal attack against Grog; Grog is allowed a "free" counter-attack against the ogre. All of this occurs in the same round. Climbing. The barbarian fighter can climb walls and other surfaces-including ledges, cliffs, and trees-without the aid of tools. Table 9 indicates success chances. This skill works like the thief's climb walls ability Appearance/Clothing: 6'4" 250 Lbs Skills: Weapon specialization: Great club, (+1 hit +2 damage) Weapon proficiency: Dagger, Throwing Axe, Battle axe, Spear Armor proficiency: Padded, Leather Secondary Skills: Forager. Bonus: Danger Sense*, Endurance, Hunting, Light Sleeping*(only need 1 hour of sleep for full rest), Sign Language, Tracking, Wild Fighting*(+1 attacks a round, 3 penalty to AC, -3 to hit, +3 damage, good for minion sweeping or easy to hit enemies) Natural Abilities: Heightened strength(+3 hit +8 damage). Darkvision/infravision. Back Detection(40%) Climbing(95%) Running Leap: 3d6+6 Ft. Running Spring: ld6+3 Ft. Standing Leap: 2d4+3 Ft. Standing Spring: ld4+3 Ft. Additional Information: Highly bestial nature who worships the moon. Treats all dogs like family. His homeland terrain is the open plains, he is always considered proficient in survival, tracking, hiding, and animal lore in his home terrain and provides a penalty to his enemies to detect him when trying to surprise them in the plains. Weapons: CLUB! is a greatclub (2d4) that is little more than a bone ripped from the wing of a black dragon and fitted to a handle. Much of its energy is still rather raw from the experience, but its damage transfer the dragonic energy of acid to stop regenerating creatures. Even if it does not drip acid itself, it seems to work half the time to harm trolls and the like.(8/8/15 Gained a permanent +1d4 from shillelagh potion) (3d4+8 11-20) CATCH! A throwing 'axe' which was a parting gift from the last parties bard/cook, she could throw and catch three at a time in the air. It was an entertaining skill he never developed, but it is great for when he needs to hunt rabbits or use with his 'not a hat' if it is too cramped to use his club! Possessions: Hide of hiding! Hide armor made from the hide of a black bear, because black is good for hiding! He proved himself to his lost clan's shaman (druid) who put a 'blessing' (invisibility to animals) on the armor for good hunting. He has learned that he can approach an animal, but after the first attack, they can see him. He also learned the hard way that it only works on normal animals, special animals can see him just fine. Not a hat! is something he uses when he knows he is going to have to fight something directly and dangerous, not when he is hunting for game. When not fighting, he uses the buckler for a plate or to carry things from foraging. Personality: Fairly simple minded, He has a personality that focuses on loyalty to a fault. He is easily coerced by his friends to do most things. History: About one in ten half-orcs can pass for human, he could not. Left out in the woods and the wilds, he was taken up by a tribe of halfling plains-riders who thought him to be a curiosity. He grew in the tribe and grew some more, easily keeping pace with the 8 meal metabolism of the others and foraging for his own when extra hungry. His phenomenal strength lent him a place in the tribe, but his simpler than most mind meant he had no desires for chiefdom. One day, the plains-riders came upon a Gnoll tribe and their overconfidence was their doom. It was a glorious battle and now the halflings ride across the black plains as stars in the sky, but Lob was not one of those. He awoke some days later with a great gash across his forehead but alive all the same. He burned his people as they were to do and wandered on his own, breaking from the circuit of his people to see the rest of the realm. He came into sight of an adventuring party low on their luck and he brought them a whole elk that even the ranger hadn't been able to take down (to which the bard joked that he was the new animal companion for the ranger's lost wolf). They began to keep him like a pet and gave him his new name from the skull scar which he found good as his old name died with his people. The new family took him from woods to still water swamp where they sought out a black dragon and its treasure. The brackish trees were too thick to fly but not to climb as he made his way by branches when the dragon attacked. First it cunningly weakened the party with many animals of the swamp before striking. The party was doing well until the wizard was bitten by a snake and down for the count so Lob took the staff and swung it like a club across the dragons face. The reverberation of the shattered staff loosing all of its stored energy was enough to end the fight as the beast collapsed. But, when it came time to divide the treasures, the in-fighting broke the party in two with Lob merely claiming a trophy of the dragon as his reward. The party split up in town after all was said and sold, enough for some to retire. The city was no place for Lob and so he had one of the fighters help him get his bone made into a serviceable weapon before he left with the groups Healer who chose to go on a pilgrimage to renew her faith and could use his strength. After a few temples, he pilgrimage has been made to pause with this new sickness rising. Since Lob is 'ever so good at finding things', the healer asked lob to help the children while she stays at this village to tend to the sick. ***Scent tracking*** Drizzak -smoked meat, burnt earth and occasionally strawberries.. Fiona - wilderness, the road, and a little of her horse Hanzo -outdoor air, with hints of morning dampness and a slight earthy aroma. Hugh - tobacco, horse, his own sweat, metal, and grass. Lob - Dry dog, dirt, bit of dung Melvis - At the moment, Melvus smells like blood Mortosh -sorta dead with rust smell to him as well as a bit of blueberry Sana - cedar wood and jasmine flower. Sister Agnes-Lavender and rosemary oil Tobias -sweat and red apples. Vaeri -surrounding forest with a hint of cinnamon. Zack -Ash Zam-flowery blueberry and has a hint rust to her scent

Il voulait éviter de se battre, mais il ne supportait pas de voir ses compagnons se battre seul, alors il appelait sa sauterelle mais ne les dirigeait pas à l'antipaladin. Non, il les avait couverts pour qu'il puisse chanter la lumière divine et aveugler l'enfer. "J'essaie de me souvenir de tous ceux que j'ai jamais rencontrés mais vous ne voulez pas de telles choses" dit-il alors qu'il marchait vers la bataille sa voix étouffée et déformée par la sauterelle

Name: Mortosh Celjust and Zam Mano Age: last time he counted 696 (Zam is 200 a kid by her races standard) Alignment: Chaotic Good (Zam is Neutral Good) Race: undead but more specifically a Skeleton (Zam is a Petal For more information on those look for them on page 120 of monster manual III) Class: Cleric (Zam doesn’t really have a class as she is supposed to act as an item much like boo from Baldur’s gate) Appearance/Clothing: Mortosh wears an enchanted blue hood that obscures his entire face making appear as a black void with blue lights wear his eyes should be this is to hide his skull. He wears an iron chest plate with iron gauntlets his legs are hidden by a long blue skirt and iron boots (Zam’s Skin is light blue her hair is a darker shade of blue her bang cover her eyes she wares gray cloth dress her wings are the same color as her skin) Skills: For Mortosh it is Hide Diplomacy Knowledge (religion) Survival Heal ( For Zam it is Bluff and Gather Information Knowledge (nature) as Zam doesn’t actually have class I decided that it would be op to give her any more skills Natural Abilities: Undead-Life: as an undead you are immune to age effects and disease. Unbreakable: An undead has no death ticks. Undead appetite: The Undead are able to use the undead appetite encounter power. (Zam) Lullaby: Any creature within a 20-foot-radius that fails a DC 14 Will save is affected as though by a lullaby spell. A creature that successfully saves cannot be affected again by that petal’s lullaby song for 24 hours. The save DC is Charisma-based. Magic/Spells: Remove Fear: Suppresses fear or gives +4 on saves against fear for one subject + one per four levels Create Food and Water: Feeds three humans (or one horse)/level. Bless: Allies gain +1 on attack rolls and saves against fear Calming Embrace: By placing his hands on friends, or foes restores Mortosh will restore a bit of health as calm down bersekers Insect Plague: Locust swarms attack creatures (Zam) Chatter: A spell created by Zam And Mortosh To allow Zam to speak for Mortosh Calm Emotions: Calms creatures, negating emotion effects Light: Object shines like a torch lie. Additional Information: he is a cleric of Trew Barton The god of joy and undeath. The lack of a lower jaw makes it hard to speak so Zam usually translate for him she also sits on his shoulder. Mortosh sometimes will be overwhelmed with greed causing him steal without thought this has caused him to land into a whole heap of trouble in the past. Weapons: A Simple mace (Zam Like most of her race doesn’t carry a lethal weapons but she dose carry a blow gun which she uses to shoot darts laced with sleeping powder she doesn’t use this very often due to the ingredients used in the sleeping powder are quite rare) Possessions: Mortosh Carries a shrunken zombie around his neck (Zam Owns Shinobue a Side blown flute) Mortosh has a jar full of flower that he carries around for Zam he carries it around for so she doesn't faint from hot or thick air EDIT: Three vials of Moderate Inflict Wounds Personality: Mortosh is a very friendly Skeleton he is calm and hard to anger but his years of lacking the capability of speech has damaged his social skills quite badly which can make him come off as insensitive. while he is perfectly of take on offensive role he dose fell uncomfortable hurting others be they man or beast but he will not complain if fighting is necessary.(Zam is quite battle hungry once again by her races standard anyway she can’t really stand the thought of staying in one place to long she also has obsession with sugar give her some and shell be your friend for life ironically this is not the reason way she follows Mortosh) History: 696 Years ago Mortosh rose from his grave no memory of his past life the only thing he remembered was his cleric training Mortosh spent a good chunk of his first fifty years searching for his past to no avail Realizing that trying to search for a past that he no idea about or even the reason why he was searching so he gave up on searching and decided to just travel why? He didn’t know back then but now he know he was looking for purpose and he found it when he encountered a necromancer and a follower of Trew. He spoke to Mortosh and told him about Trew. Mortosh was intrigued with Trew so asked the necromancer how he could show his loyalties to Trew and the necromancer handed him the shrunken head. Confused Mortosh asked the necromancer about the head and he told him that the head was the symbol of Trew then he requested that Mortosh would spread the massage of Trew. Mortosh accept the his request but before he went he realized one thing. He would be run out of any village or town before he even toke his first step so asked the necromancer to enchant his hood so it would only show a void. So The necromancer enchanted Mortosh’s hood so with his enchanted hood on Mortosh thank the necromancer and went on his to spread the word of Trew and that how he spend his next two hundred years spreading the word that was until he angered a zealous paladin who broke his jaw to pieces. With no jaw all his words came out as mumbling so not being able to spread the word he turned to learning healing magic so he spent the next hundred years learning. this was around the time that Zam was Born two hundred years ago Zam was. Born in to a tribe of petals a race of tiny fey creatures she was treated well enough but she was still an outcast among her race she wasn’t as talented in art as the rest of her race. So she turned to other thing like spellcraft this is what taught her to speak all other tongues she would later encounter Mortosh when he would save her from a plague walker. Mortosh Seeing that Zam had gotten hurt would go on to heal all her wounds. Grateful for his deed Zam asked him what she could do for him. Mortosh lowered his hood and showed her his lack of lower jaw and he needed someone to speak for him as she was the only one that understood what he was saying she agreed and they have been traveling ever since

Le sommeil sans rêve est le meilleur type de sommeil; vous êtes l'esprit est clair et vous ne faites rien d'autre que le repos. Certains soutiennent que rêver est le meilleur genre, Melvus serait en désaccord. Il serait, cependant, d'accord que le sommeil interrompu est le pire genre de sommeil... C'était ce qu'il dormait, sans rêve, oui, mais il a été interrompu... Melvus a plutôt apprécié son sommeil. Pourquoi, alors, était-il constamment interrompu. Ce n'était même pas quelque chose de particulièrement fort qui l'avait réveillé, c'était juste le bruit d'agitation lointaine et certains criant de l'extérieur. Il semblerait que j'ai dormi quelques heures... Je vais voir ce qui se passe dehors... Melvus s'est levé de son lit, s'est habillé et a fait son chemin vers la fenêtre de sa deuxième salle d'histoire. Alors qu'il regardait dehors, il a remarqué la femme... Sana? Elle s'est claquée contre le mur de l'auberge, du sang qui lui éclaboussait. Il a également pris note de la nonne qui courait vers elle et quelques-uns de ses compagnons à l'extérieur. Ils se battaient contre quelque chose. Je suppose que je devrais aider... J'ai assez dormi... Après avoir récupéré son bâton et son épée, il a fait son chemin à l'extérieur, se rappelant qu'il n'avait pas son manteau. Ma potion était là-dedans... je ne devrais pas en avoir besoin pour ça. Il y avait très peu de lumière à l'extérieur, seulement un peu de lumière de torche ambiante. Même dans la lumière basse, il pouvait voir l'enfer, principalement parce qu'il semblait être en feu, probablement parce qu'il était - ou plutôt sa région orale était... En tout cas, la bête accompagnait un homme. Il portait une armure noire et semblait rayonner le mal. C'est ce que je suppose. Le moine, le chevalier et l'elfe attaquèrent à la fois, ils débarquèrent mais ne semblaient pas faire beaucoup de dégâts comme le chevalier noir roulait, en évitant les émoussées si leurs attaques. Melvus pouvait sentir sa propre puissance, elle était plutôt faible. Il tira son épée et disparut. Je vais utiliser mes sorts les plus faibles pour l'instant... et mon épée, je préfère ne pas m'évanouir ici. "Mon maître m'a dit une fois... Je suis le centre calme de la tempête, que je dois rester intrépide, patient et calme comme mon adversaire fait rage autour de moi." Melvus s'est matérialisé devant les héros, entre eux et le chevalier noir. « Il m'a aussi dit de frapper mon adversaire! » Avec cela, un bras éclatant apparut derrière Melvus, claquant contre le sol, poussant le sorcier vers son adversaire, épée au prêt.

Removed

Un hurlement de sang et le commandement aux bras avaient tenu une étincelle significative dans l'âme de l'œil d'or, étranger même tout le chemin aux écuries, où il a levé la tête pour écouter ce qui se passerait ensuite. Après quelques instants, l'étranger savait ce qu'il devait faire. Il a giflé sa paume contre le croupion d'un déserteur de neige exceptionnellement grand qui se tenait près de lui dans les piliers de chêne des écuries. Les sacs en cuir lui attrapèrent l'œil, ainsi qu'un long objet scintillant qui posa tout le long du mur à grande longueur. Une lueur familière brillait dans les yeux dorés de l'homme alors que son doigt se resserrait autour des sacs. Les minutes passèrent et aucun autre bruit ne remplit les oreilles de l'étranger que celles des sabots de son destin blanc et des protestations du vent qui se précipite. Ses yeux étaient fentes derrière un casque épais et étrange et une main tenait les règnes du morceau tandis que l'autre coulait une longue lance. Une longue cape rouge flottait derrière lui alors qu'il chargeait sur le grand cheval blanc, lui donnant la vue d'un héros. Une grande armure couvrait sa figure, rapidement serrée avec l'habileté d'un vieux soldat, et pourtant l'armure reflétait les plaques brillantes de la jeunesse. Les muscles de l'homme se sont tendus alors que sa charge de vie courte s'est concrétisée. Les corps de ses camarades par hasard brouillaient dans sa vision alors que ses yeux se recentraient, passant les vents rugissants de la ruée vers un chevalier sombre et maléfique. Il a incliné et dirigé sa lance, et la grande arme a commencé à briller une chaleur blanche alors qu'il chuchotait des paroles de sainteté, les paroles de frapper le mal. Il a donné un coup de pied à son cheval pour une dernière poussée de puissance et la grande bête a lancé ses arrières alors que le guerrier monté a terminé son inclinaison et a poussé sa lance vers l'avant pour mettre fin à la charge et tenter d'escroquer le mal devant lui.

Name: Illyd Dyill Age: 18 Alignment: neutral Race: Human Class: Shepherd Appearance/Clothing: Illyd Dyill stands a modest six and has a wiry yet firm frame. His body is covered in old tan robes draped over loose pants and worn fur boots. He has shaggy black hair much like the sheep he used to herd, and two light brown eyes that peek out from his youthful and defined tanned face. Skills: farming, understanding of animal anatomy, mundane understanding of self defense and fighting with a crook, tracking, Natural Abilities: In depth thinking, to the point that this guy might be possessed Magic/Spells: Additional Information: He was a shepherd as long as he could remember, and as long as he could remember, he wanted to be a hero, but this one tiny voice in his head prefers a different direction Weapons: A Shepherd's crook Possessed: Yes Personality: He is curious, adventurous, slightly lazy, and naive. However, a secondary thinking voice in his head is definitely different than his usual gentle nature; as it is aggressive, violent, lustful and greedy.. Luckily this isn’t the voice that controls the body, mostly. History: A simple Shepherd’s son, out in the big world to become an adventurer (possessions: Crook, clothes, worn out harp) So I already have a bunch of ideas on how this guy’s posts would look, a lot of in mind arguing and play, as well as crude suggestions and general character development

Sana a pris une profonde respiration, en regardant le combat alors que le vieil apothicaire s'est levé à côté d'elle pour la maintenir si nécessaire. Sana doutait que cela fonctionnerait, pour autant qu'elle savait qu'elle n'avait jamais été en mesure de lancer pendant sa vie même si elle avait été enseignée les chansons en grandissant et a dû les perfectionner. Wylsen l'a légèrement dégringolée et elle ne pouvait que hocher la tête alors qu'elle commençait à se séparer les lèvres. Sa voix a commencé comme rien de plus qu'un murmure quand les paroles sont apparues. Elle est assise dans son coin en train de se chanter pour dormir, enveloppée dans toutes les promesses que personne ne semble tenir. Elle ne crie plus à elle-même, il ne reste plus de larmes pour se laver. Juste des journaux de pages vides, des sentiments égarés, mais elle chantera, "elle murmura d'une voix de chant doux mais rien ne s'est passé et elle se sentait comme une idiote qui chantait là pendant qu'ils se battaient. Wylsen s'est introduit dans sa ligne de vue et a posé ses mains sur ses épaules. Il faut le croire, le faire pour eux, il a dit bouger avec la tête vers le groupe qui se battait désespérément mais ne pouvait pas obtenir le dessus. Sana a respiré et a levé la tête, essayant de croire. Jusqu'à ce que tout brûle, pendant que tout le monde crie. Brûler leurs mensonges, brûler mes rêves. Toute cette haine et toute cette douleur qui brûle tout au fur et à mesure que ma colère règne, jusqu'à ce que tout brûle, sa voix chante, un peu plus fort maintenant et Wylsen sourit alors qu'elle donnait les teintes les plus faibles de la peau. "Allez, continuez," il l'a pressée alors qu'il se déplaçait de ses mains, les aventurant légèrement vers lui-même. Se déplacer à travers la vie sans être remarqué; sachant que personne ne se soucie. Trop consumée par leur mascarade, personne ne me voit là-bas, mais je chanterai," Sana chante, sa voix devient forte avec chaque note qui a laissé ses lèvres, ses yeux se fermant lentement. Sa voix sordide grandit de force quand chaque mot traversa ses lèvres. La teinte cramoisi qui avait été si faible était de plus en plus intense, ses cheveux et ses vêtements se mouvant légèrement comme un vent semblait prendre autour d'elle; Sana sentant le changement continuait à espérer qu'il fonctionnait. Jusqu'à ce que tout brûle pendant que tout crie. Brûler leurs mensonges, brûler mes rêves. Toute cette haine et toute cette douleur, qui brûlent tout comme ma colère règne, elle chanta avec force alors que ses mains et son corps commençaient à bouger, la lumière ombrée pourpre maintenant brillante et tourbillonnante comme un brouillard sanglant pris dans les vents. "Jusqu'à ce que tout brûle," elle chanta comme sa voix portée aux oreilles de chacun de ceux là-bas et son pied claque dans le sol sous elle; les yeux claquent ouverts, consumés par l'ombre qui fouettait autour d'elle. Ses mains s'évanouissant alors qu'elle continuait, la lumière semblait s'entonner à travers eux et tirer sur chaque membre qu'elle considérait comme un allié dans cette lutte contre l'Anti-Paladin. Pendant que tout le monde crie, brûlant leurs mensonges, brûlant mes rêves. Toute cette haine et toute cette douleur qui brûlent tout comme mes colères, jusqu'à ce que tout brûle! » Elle a chanté, tenant le dernier mot aussi longtemps qu'elle le pouvait comme la lumière pourpre a créé une aura autour de chacun d'eux. Ils sentiraient le courage se construire en eux, la fatigue s'estompant comme elle l'a fait, se sentant guérir des blessures qui n'ont pas encore tendance à. La voix de Sanas a commencé à s'assouplir alors qu'elle continuait après la dernière note tenue, la teinte s'évanouissant autour de ses amis et les vents se relâchant autour de sa forme. En regardant tout ça s'estomper, elle a réussi à murmurer alors qu'elle tirait sa chanson à sa fin. L'effet continuerait pour son parti pendant un certain temps, mais elle était passée à l'avoir jetée. C'était son premier vrai casting et elle était déjà faible. Alors que ses mains commençaient à baisser, elle se mit à trembler sur ses pieds, Wylsen se précipitant pour monter derrière elle et l'attraper alors qu'elle commençait à tomber. L'abaisser doucement à une position assise et la reposer à côté de Soeur Agnes. "Tu as bien fait Tsigane," c'était tout ce que Wylsen a dit pendant qu'il la reposait contre le poste. Sana a légèrement hurlé alors que sa tête reculait et elle a regardé, espérant que ce qu'elle faisait aiderait le groupe sur tout. Sana n'a pas eu à attendre longtemps pour voir les résultats de sa chanson. Fiona était au milieu de la balançoire vers le Hell Hound, venant du côté avec son épée et visant à frapper quelque chose de vital. Elle l'a fait, l'épée perça à travers la chair des bêtes et conduisit directement dans son cœur et coupa sa moelle épinière en même temps. Il était trop tard, mais le monstre s'est jeté au sol avec un bruit tonnerre, tombant mort là où il se trouvait. L'Anti-Paladin a vu cela et a rétréci ses yeux, à la recherche de la personne la plus proche pour l'enlever et ses yeux sont tombés sur Hanzo. Se déplacer pour balancer et enlever les hommes de la tête il aurait réussi si ce n'était pas pour Lob venir et être prêt pour la balançoire. Lob, qui avait attendu l'attaque et fait descendre son club dur contre le bras des hommes droit au coude. Le bruit de fissuration osseuse résonnant dans l'air alors qu'il laissait tomber son épée dans le processus et retombait légèrement; saisissant son bras maintenant inutilisable avec son bon. S'attraper avant de tomber, il semblait grogner démoniaquement. Le bruit de coups de sabots a capté l'attention des Anti-Paladins, se tournant pour lui faire face, il n'a pas eu le temps de sortir du chemin alors que la lance l'a frappé à pleine force dans le côté droit de son corps sur sa poitrine près de la sienne et l'a soulevé du sol. La force a dentelé son armure et a cassé sa clavicule, l'envoyant voler dans les airs et s'écraser dans le sol, s'est étendue comme il l'avait fait à Sana. Il s'est battu pour récupérer l'air, mais il n'a réussi à s'asseoir qu'avant qu'il n'y ait autre chose.

Name: Hanzo Jibero Age: 26 Alignment: Lawful Neutral Race: Human Class: Monk Appearance/Clothing: Skills: Acrobatics Survival Historical & Religious Knowledge Climbing & Swimming Perception Emotion Reading Ki Manipulation Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human. Magic/Spells: Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance. Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially. Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities. Additional Information: This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could. This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose. For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny. Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability. Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope. Personality: By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership. As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace. History: Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time. Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind. Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge. So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand. Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her. He only regrets not having learned her name. The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had.

Vaeri a ri que la grève antipaladine a été interceptée par Lob. Jusqu'ici dans ce combat, il avait eu un grand timing, d'abord démonter le fiende et maintenant potentiellement se casser le bras. Et maintenant un nouveau venu s'est joint à la bataille un mystérieux guerrier blindé sur un cheval blanc brillant. Son coup a frappé le guerrier impie dans une position vulnérable et elle pouvait sentir la magie divine commencer à s'estomper, donc elle a pris un indice de la musique magique de Sana. "Personne ne s'approche de celui qui est impie! Brûler en cendres! Frappe de flamme!" Vaeri a fait un geste vers l'antipaladin, un faisceau de signalisation lumineuse où les flammes saintes le frapperaient.

Name: Vaeri Dryearurdrenn Age: 143 Alignment: Lawful Good Race: Elf Class: Cleric/Barbarian Appearance/Clothing: Vaeri is an innocent looking elf, standing at about 5' 7" (170 cm) with long, straight raven hair that extends down to the base of her back, pale skin and bright blue eyes. At a glance she's quite beautiful with full lips, a small button nose, thin eyebrows and high cheekbones, when one takes a closer look, several tiny scars are visible all over, disfiguring her otherwise graceful looks. Likewise, Vaeri's exposed flesh, the rare times one can see them initially appear smooth and untouched, but upon closer inspection are covered in scars and barely contain wiry muscle below. Vaeri dresses as a lady of the cloth should, with a dark blue full body cloak. The fabric is adorned with intricate patterns in white to provide visual contrast and indicating her status as a clergywoman. Around her neck and outside the cloak, Vaeri wears a necklace bearing the holy symbol of her god. However, underneath the cloak is a full set of leather armor, battle ready and kept in top shape at all times. Skills: Sense Motive, Knowledge (Religion), Knowledge (Nature), Climb, Jump, Sleight of Hand, fletching arrows, surviving out in the wild Natural Abilities: Keen senses, the ability to see better than humans in low light Magic/Spells: Heal: can decide how good this is Tongues: Allows the caster to speak any language for the duration of the spell Turn Undead: Vaeri can attempt to make Undead flee from her presence temporarily. Powerful Undead can resist this. Divine Might: Holy power infuses the caster, temporarily making them more powerful and resilient Flame Strike: Smites foes with holy flames Additional Information: Vaeri worships Menhit, lion-goddess of War. (Fun fact her name means She who massacres) Weapons: Vaeri carries a shortbow and a two-handed battleaxe Possessions: Vaeri carries a backpack that can hold more than you think it would and what Vaeri wants from the bag will always be at the top (the item in question must have been put in the bag beforehand for this to work). Inside the bag are her necessities (tent, rope, bedroll, tarp for the tent, soap, cooking utensils, oil, a lamp, flint and steel), holy texts, and about 2 weeks worth of rations. She also has a coin purse with about 20 gold pieces in it. On her hip is a quiver with 20 arrows. Personality: To strangers, Vaeri appears to be a gentle elf, always keen to help those in need and be a travelling force of good in the world. However, as you get to know her, slowly she morphs into an entirely different person, brash, head-strong and a braggart, this true face of Vaeri shows exactly why she worships the goddess she does. The elf loves battle of all kinds and will gleefully jump into battle whenever she can. History: Vaeri grew up in a forest village mostly populated by other elves to a carpenter. IN her childhood, she began learning the bow as all children did. Her prowess with weaponry was admired just as much as her excessive enthusiasm for using them was worrying. One day while out hunting alone she was overcome by a vision of the lion-goddess Menhit who commanded Vaeri to go out into the world and find a man with two right hands. After this experience, Vaeri began following the goddess of war and has dedicated her life to this mission. The cleric has been following this notice for strong adventurers as a possible lead for locating this mysterious man.

L'attaque de Tobias était courageuse, ambitieuse et puissante, trois choses que tous les présents seraient d'accord étaient totalement différentes de lui. En tant que tel, il n'aurait pas dû venir autant de surprise quand il a complètement échoué. Le voyou s'est écrasé au sol, face dans la saleté. Il commençait juste à se bercer les pieds quand il regarda le haut et vit le visage d'esclave de l'Enfer-Hound fixé sur lui. Au moins, il s'était éloigné de Fiona. L'appât de l'enfer - peut-être qu'ils mettraient ça sur sa pierre tombale, si quelqu'un lui en donnait un. Les griffes chantèrent en avant, impatients d'animer la rogue de cette bobine mortelle. Tobias a fermé les yeux et attendu une mort qui n'est jamais venue. Quand il les ouvrit de nouveau, il y eut une chanson qui remplit ses oreilles, hantante et belle. Tout brûle. "Éloignez-vous de lui!" Fiona pleurait alors qu'elle coupait dans le monstre, sa lame mettant enfin fin à sa vie contre nature. Pendant un moment, bien qu'elle ait été éclaboussée de terre et de sang et qu'elle ait griffonné les dents avec l'effort, elle semblait être la plus belle femme que la rogue ait jamais vue. D'autres étaient entrés dans le combat - tout le gang, semble-t-il. Ils étaient actuellement en train de faire du chien le coureur de l'Enfer-Hound, même en réussissant à lui casser le bras et à le frapper sujet. Vaeri semblait prêt à finir le travail, semblant conjurer un sort ou un autre sur le chevalier, un faisceau de lumière le marquant pour la destruction. Mais alors, peut-être que ce ne serait pas suffisant - il avait survécu beaucoup jusqu'à présent. Se tirant droit, Tobias envoya un couteau se dirigeant vers le knigt, criant comme il l'a fait : "J'ai ton enfant ici, connard!"

Name: Tobias Age: 22 Alignment: Chaotic Good-ish Race: Human Class: Thief Appearance/Clothing: Skills: Bluff, Acrobatics, Charm, Athletics, Sneak, Theft, Streetwise, Knife-Wielding, Knife-Throwing. Natural Abilities: The power of average-ness. Magic/Spells: Not a scrap of it. Additional Information: Tobias isn't the strongest fighter, being far more suited to running, hiding, or bluffing his way out of situations (he's capable by normal person standards, of course - just not really what you'd expect from an adventurer). He's also a massive pathological liar with trust issues a mile wide. Weapons: He has three knives - one on his belt, one on his back, and one in his boot. Possessions: Leather armor, basic adventuring supplies (rope, flint and steel, etc.). His hood is enchanted to make it very hard for someone who sees him with it up to remember his face. He also has a magic grappling hook enchanted to not make a sound. Personality: Tobias is glib, smart-alecky, cowardly, and tries his absolute best to be self-centered. Though he'd feverishly deny it, he's a fundamentally good person underneath the assumed selfish. He tries not to let anyone get close to him, and often uses snark and flat out lies as armor in social interaction. History: Getting the truth out of him about his personal history is extraordinarily difficult, but it's possible to determine that he's an orphan who grew up on the streets and has spent his life so far living in cities and alternating between pickpocket, con-man and cat burglar in order to survive. Also, hai Kronshi. Funny meeting you again. :p

DrizzakDrizzak a essayé de ne pas trop penser depuis qu'il a parlé avec sœur Agnes. Ses mots ont fait de son cerveau des backflips. Voulant être un bon goblin, en a fait un bon goblin? Il a dû admettre qu'il était un mauvais goblin pour être un bon? S'il n'était pas un bon goblin, il serait toujours bon parce qu'il a essayé? Les notions de bien et de mal, de bien et de mal, occupaient les bords de son esprit en mangeant son repas du soir de viande et de pain. Pas très bien pour la conversation du dîner, donc il est resté calme jusqu'à ce que le temps du repos soit venu. Il dormait près de la fenêtre cette nuit-là, regardant les étoiles. La brise fraîche et douce l'a aidé à poser ses pensées errantes pour se reposer, et apaisait ses blessures douloureuses. Le chien se masturbait doucement sur l'épaule, mais la douleur était surtout dans sa tête. La blessure à l'autre épaule était un peu plus douloureuse. Il pouvait le sentir guéri pour la plupart, mais le sentiment d'être percé n'a jamais disparu dans la vérité. Son visage était encore légèrement coupé, et son corps était généralement meurtri partout, mais il a réussi à trouver un semblant de sommeil reposant sous les étoiles observatrices. C'était jusqu'à ce que le cri d'aide monte. Drizzak était plus lent à bouger, le corps raide et douloureux, mais il bougeait tout de même qu'il essayait de faire don de son armement et de son armure. Whip, lame, peaux et cuir. Pas de manteau cette fois. Il aimait trop son manteau. Il s'est précipité dehors derrière tous les autres et a agrandi l'ennemi. Un chevalier énorme et imposant et son regard terriblement effrayant... chien? C'était même un chien? Ou un démon en forme de chien? Drizzak réfléchit alors qu'il encercle le combat. Ce n'était pas le moment de réfléchir. Ses amis étaient attaqués et blessés! Comment a-t-il pu rester là comme ça? C'était le temps de l'action et de la bravoure! C'était le moment d'être un bon goblin, comme il le savait le mieux. Avec une écorce, il se précipita dans la fraye, sentant la chanson de Sana autonomisant sa marche et le rendant plus léger que jamais. Plus fort que jamais. Il avait l'intention de frapper après le feu divin de Vaeri et le couteau de Tobias. Son fouet a été tiré, et prêt à couper l'air pendant qu'il le jetait vers le cou d'Antipaladin. Derrière ses dents il brillait une lumière dorée, une flamme alimentée par la rage. Si le fouet se battait avec succès, il le tirerait et déclencherait un inferno de flamme sur sa tête dans un rugissement de colère.

Name: Drizzak. Age: Goblin equivalent of 20. Alignment: Chaotic Good. Race: Goblin. Class: Fighter. Skills: Simple/Martial/Exotic Weaponry, Intimidation, Taunting, Hiding, Survival, Climbing, Swimming and he's alright at just screaming at things or in a certain direction. Natural Abilities: Fast Movement, Dexterity Boost, Darkvision. Magic/Spells: None. Additional Information: He will always go for the biggest target. No matter how big. Weapons: A kris-like shortsword in one hand and a scorpion whip in the other. His most prized possessions. Possessions: Fur vestments and hide armor. Personality: Drizzak is, for the most part, extremely friendly and positive, bordering on naive. If one were to attribute an overall alignment to him, it could easy be Chaotic Good. He can be extreme at times, but his heart is in the right place for the most part. His extremism comes from his tendency to be easily excited. He tends to see all other races as different sizes of Goblin. History: Drizzak does not speak much about his past. Its obvious from the way that he avoids questioning about it that his departure from his family and clan was not an easy thing for him. If one was knowledgable enough, they would be able to find the skin-mark on his neck in the shape of an angry goblin skull and crossbones, meaning 'exile'.

Et la bataille s'achève L'Anti-Paladin s'assit là, s'emparant du bras de la rupture et de la douleur de Lobs, essayant de se mettre aux pieds. Ses yeux s'élargissaient alors qu'il entendait les mots Flame Strike écho dans l'air juste avant d'être englouti dans les flammes animées saintes. Il a essayé de s'éloigner du chemin, mais c'était pour rien. Les flammes couvraient sa forme et même si la flamme elle-même ne brûlait pas le côté saint de l'attaque carbonisait sa chair et brûlait à travers l'armure comme s'il n'en avait pas du tout. Il n'a pas eu la chance de se remettre de l'attaque car il a senti un poignard trouver la tache molle dans la brèche de sa plaque thoracique que Tobias avait envoyé voler vers lui, la rupture a été causée par Hughs frappe tôt dans le combat et il a fourni assez d'espace pour coincer et perforer son poumon. Il était assis là, brûlant et saignant, accroché à la vie par un fil. Ce fil a été coupé avec le coup d'un fouet qui s'est enroulé autour de sa gorge et s'est cassé le cou. Le mal étant assis là pendant un moment pendant que les flammes s'estompaient et il a renversé sur le côté sans vie. Un regard stupéfié plâtré sur son visage hideux; le fouet toujours autour de son cou. Avec cela le combat était terminé et Wylsen a sauté vers le haut, dans un geste assez spry pour un homme de ses années avancées, poussant son poing en l'air et criant dehors. Il a hurlé avant de s'accrocher plusieurs fois et a regardé le groupe sur tout avec une expression reconnaissante sur son visage; souriant brillamment. Soeur Agnès a pris une profonde respiration et l'a laissé sortir comme un soupir de soulagement. Le village pouvait maintenant avoir la paix, quelque chose qu'il n'avait pas eu à l'époque. Tilting légèrement la tête, elle regarda Sana et se reposa la main sur l'épaule des archers. Sana s'est assise là, essayant encore de reprendre son souffle et de retrouver sa force à partir du casting de la chanson. Vous êtes une jeune femme légère?La sœur a demandé concernée. Sana a hurlé, ses yeux se sentent lourds, mais elle s'est forcée à rester éveillée. De quel enfant criait-il?La religieuse a finalement pu demander maintenant que le combat était terminé. Un petit sourire est venu aux lèvres de Sanas comme de l'auberge a émergé la petite, regardant sa tête hors de la porte. Sana leva les bras lentement, ils tremblant quelque peu de la souche. La petite fille sourit brillamment et se précipita de l'auberge, de l'autre côté de la rue et vers Sana. S'accrocher à Sanas et s'accrocher à elle comme Sana enveloppait ses bras autour de la petite fille. "Celui-ci," Sana a dit dans une voix fatiguée. La petite fille regarda la sœur pendant qu'elle s'accrochait à Sana et se reposa la tête sous le menton de Sanas. "Où l'avez-vous trouvée?" Wylsen a demandé quand il s'est agenouillé à côté d'eux. "Hidden dans un trou dans le sol," Sana a dit d'une voix tranquille; elle s'est reposée la tête en arrière sur le poteau qu'elle se penchait contre quand elle était assise là tenant le petit. « Savez-vous pourquoi il l'avait? » Sœur Agnes demanda alors qu'elle regardait la petite et regarda ensuite vers le cadavre de l'Anti-Paladin. "Aucune idée, demandez-lui," Sana a dit avec un sourire sur ses lèvres alors qu'elle s'asseyait là et bâillait légèrement. "Vous et le reste du groupe avez besoin d'une bonne nuit de sommeil," Wylsen a dit comme il s'est redressé et s'est levé. Il a fallu que Sana commence avant qu'elle se rende compte qu'elle ne connaissait même pas encore le nom des enfants. En regardant l'enfant, elle a percé un sourcil. Quel est votre nom? "Ariana," la petite fille a dit alors qu'elle regardait Sana. Sana a hurlé et lui a souri, en lui filant les doigts dans les cheveux. Bonjour Ariana, je suis Sana, elle a dit d'une bonne voix. J'ai besoin d'avoir Ariana nettoyée et nourrie d'abord, a dit Sana pendant qu'elle était assise là. La sœur riait légèrement en bougeant et en se reposant sur ses genoux. Vous ne pouvez même pas vous lever en ce moment, je vais prendre soin d'elle, c'est ce que je fais, la sœur a dit doucement et a tenu ses mains à l'enfant. L'enfant s'est serré la tête et s'est serré à Sana. "Non!" Ariana a dit défiantement. Sana riait de la ténacité des enfants. Je l'ai, trouve-lui un endroit où dormir. Je vais bouger dans une minute, juste besoin d'attraper mon souffle," Sana a dit comme elle a poussé les nonnes mains loin avant de déplacer l'enfant dans ses genoux et de la tenir près. Soeur Agnès sourit et se haussa tandis qu'elle se levait, Wylsen aidant la vieille religieuse à ses pieds. On dirait que le village a besoin d'un autre nettoyage et que quelqu'un a besoin d'enlever la griffe du Hell Hound, a dit Sœur Agnes à Wylsen. D'accord et s'ils obtiennent le sang pour moi, je peux faire quelques potions pour eux le matin, Dit-il avant de se tourner pour aller dans son magasin pour récupérer quelques bouteilles pour tenir les choses dedans. « Je vais trouver à l'enfant un endroit où dormir. » Sœur Agnes a dit alors qu'elle traversait la rue et rentrait dans l'auberge, laissant le groupe faire ce qu'il fallait pour finir. La sœur sourit vers Drizzak alors qu'elle le passa et lui donna un signe d'approbation avant de poursuivre son chemin. Les corps auraient besoin d'être brûlés après que la griffe et le sang aient été récoltés à partir du Hell Hound. La sœur doutait qu'il restait beaucoup de choses qu'ils pouvaient utiliser de l'Anti-Paladin, mais il y avait peut-être quelques objets.

Name: Hanzo Jibero Age: 26 Alignment: Lawful Neutral Race: Human Class: Monk Appearance/Clothing: Skills: Acrobatics Survival Historical & Religious Knowledge Climbing & Swimming Perception Emotion Reading Ki Manipulation Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human. Magic/Spells: Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance. Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially. Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities. Additional Information: This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could. This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose. For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny. Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability. Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope. Personality: By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership. As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace. History: Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time. Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind. Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge. So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand. Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her. He only regrets not having learned her name. The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had.

Vaeri a posé la base de sa hache sur le sol et a pris quelques secondes pour reprendre son souffle. Elle avait espéré que les flammes saintes suffiraient à éliminer le guerrier impie, mais c'était le catalyseur de sa défaite qui était acceptable. Elle a placé sa main droite sur la gaze dans son bras gauche et a fait une prière silencieuse comme la lumière dorée rayonnait de sa paume. À sa surprise, il n'y avait pas de blessure à guérir. Quand est-ce que ça a été réparé? Vaeri se souvient vaguement de son bras se sentant bizarre quand Sana a commencé à chanter, c'était probablement quand la blessure a été mêlée. Elle regarda autour de lui et vit que les seuls blessés étaient les deux morts impies. La justice prévaut. Vaeri a marché jusqu'au cadavre de l'antipaladine et a craché dessus avant de se tourner vers le corps du chien de l'enfer. "Je vais extraire les griffes du chien. Je reviens tout de suite." Vaeri est revenue dans sa chambre, son sac ouvert sur le sol. Elle a mis ses armes dans le sac magique et a sorti son couteau de sculpture. Le manteau a été récupéré du sol et agité quelques fois pour enlever toute poussière ou saleté qui s'était accumulée dessus avant qu'elle ne le mette. Elle a cependant décidé de garder son visage révélé. Il n'y avait pas froid, le ciel était clair et tout le monde dehors avait déjà vu son visage. L'elfe est revenu sur le champ de bataille en tournant la lame entre ses doigts. C'était une chasseur habile et expérimentée. Elle chasse depuis qu'elle a 25 ans. Accordée en ce temps-là, elle tirait un arc de jouet sur les écureuils locaux, les bêtes sly ont toujours réussi à éviter les flèches, peu importe la façon dont elle visait. Ça comptait encore. Quelque chose d'aussi simple que d'enlever quelques griffes devrait être le jeu de l'enfant. Pourtant, Vaeri ne pouvait pas complètement secouer la pensée qui a demandé "Et si tu la gâches maintenant?" Il a peut-être été douteux, il a peut-être été peu familier avec la peau canines, mais Vaeri en fait a foiré ses premiers essais, provoquant deux premières griffes à se casser au lieu de sortir proprement. Par les quatre griffes, elle avait trouvé sa marche et extrait 6 des griffes de la bête avant de se sentir satisfaite. Peut-être qu'ils n'avaient besoin que d'une seule griffe, mais il valait mieux en avoir trop que trop peu.

Name: Vaeri Dryearurdrenn Age: 143 Alignment: Lawful Good Race: Elf Class: Cleric/Barbarian Appearance/Clothing: Vaeri is an innocent looking elf, standing at about 5' 7" (170 cm) with long, straight raven hair that extends down to the base of her back, pale skin and bright blue eyes. At a glance she's quite beautiful with full lips, a small button nose, thin eyebrows and high cheekbones, when one takes a closer look, several tiny scars are visible all over, disfiguring her otherwise graceful looks. Likewise, Vaeri's exposed flesh, the rare times one can see them initially appear smooth and untouched, but upon closer inspection are covered in scars and barely contain wiry muscle below. Vaeri dresses as a lady of the cloth should, with a dark blue full body cloak. The fabric is adorned with intricate patterns in white to provide visual contrast and indicating her status as a clergywoman. Around her neck and outside the cloak, Vaeri wears a necklace bearing the holy symbol of her god. However, underneath the cloak is a full set of leather armor, battle ready and kept in top shape at all times. Skills: Sense Motive, Knowledge (Religion), Knowledge (Nature), Climb, Jump, Sleight of Hand, fletching arrows, surviving out in the wild Natural Abilities: Keen senses, the ability to see better than humans in low light Magic/Spells: Heal: can decide how good this is Tongues: Allows the caster to speak any language for the duration of the spell Turn Undead: Vaeri can attempt to make Undead flee from her presence temporarily. Powerful Undead can resist this. Divine Might: Holy power infuses the caster, temporarily making them more powerful and resilient Flame Strike: Smites foes with holy flames Additional Information: Vaeri worships Menhit, lion-goddess of War. (Fun fact her name means She who massacres) Weapons: Vaeri carries a shortbow and a two-handed battleaxe Possessions: Vaeri carries a backpack that can hold more than you think it would and what Vaeri wants from the bag will always be at the top (the item in question must have been put in the bag beforehand for this to work). Inside the bag are her necessities (tent, rope, bedroll, tarp for the tent, soap, cooking utensils, oil, a lamp, flint and steel), holy texts, and about 2 weeks worth of rations. She also has a coin purse with about 20 gold pieces in it. On her hip is a quiver with 20 arrows. Personality: To strangers, Vaeri appears to be a gentle elf, always keen to help those in need and be a travelling force of good in the world. However, as you get to know her, slowly she morphs into an entirely different person, brash, head-strong and a braggart, this true face of Vaeri shows exactly why she worships the goddess she does. The elf loves battle of all kinds and will gleefully jump into battle whenever she can. History: Vaeri grew up in a forest village mostly populated by other elves to a carpenter. IN her childhood, she began learning the bow as all children did. Her prowess with weaponry was admired just as much as her excessive enthusiasm for using them was worrying. One day while out hunting alone she was overcome by a vision of the lion-goddess Menhit who commanded Vaeri to go out into the world and find a man with two right hands. After this experience, Vaeri began following the goddess of war and has dedicated her life to this mission. The cleric has been following this notice for strong adventurers as a possible lead for locating this mysterious man.

Lob regarda la longue lame noire, une arme magnifique entre les mains de n'importe quel guerrier. La brute s'est cognée et a griffé un peu de terre dessus comme un chat essayant d'enterrer ses fientes. Il avait un os. Passant au chien de l'enfer, il s'est approché avec prudence et a posé sa tête sur ses genoux lorsqu'il l'a cambriolé. Il a commencé à chanter des chants des vents et des plaines pendant qu'il berçait et dormait la bête. Il chantait pour ce magnifique, si infernal, chien. Il l'aurait fait lui-même et l'aurait appris à être un bon chien, pas l'enfer de la montagne de celui-ci. Il chantait pour ce chien, il chantait pour les chiens esclavagistes qu'il n'avait pas le droit d'enterrer, il chantait pour les chiens de sa tribu disparue. Il chantait pour les vieux gris, il chantait pour les jeunes chiots, il chantait pour chaque chien qui n'était jamais mort dans ses bras maîtres. Les larmes venaient librement de la brute alors qu'il donnait à tous les chiens oubliés un nom et une voix pour les laisser chasser les étoiles. Lorsque la chanson a été faite, il a pris l'animal de taille cheval aussi facilement que Sana a pris l'enfant et a marché à la boutique de Wylsen. "Non, utilisez tout. Toute la peau. Tout osseux. Toute la viande. Il... Lob prend un moment pour vérifier entre ses jambes. Il est gentil, il aide plus. Lob vous aide." Si l'homme aux cheveux argentés le permettait, Lob utiliserait toute sa compétence comme chasseur pour peler et habiller le helhound sur la moitié des orcs poncho comme un « espace propre » pour travailler avec une pratique surprenante pour la chanson qu'il vient de chanter. L'esprit avait été envoyé aux étoiles, maintenant le corps était nécessaire pour guérir et aider les autres. Il y avait plus pour l'animal que seulement son sang, il y avait le cœur, les poumons qui respirent le feu, les os et la peau elle-même pour faire des armures qui étaient immunisées au feu aussi.

Name:Lob-otto-me! Age:21 (old for a half orc) Alignment: Chaotic Good Race: Half-orc Class: Barbarian(Brute Kit) (estimated 6th level based on wizard spells, 15 THAC0) Brute Description: The most primitive barbarian, the Brute combines traits of both humans and animals. He is heavily built and thick-boned, with a sloping skull resting low on his neck, and fanged jaws protruding over a receding chin. Coarse hair covers his hide-like skin. Long, powerful arms let him lope on all fours and clamber up trees like a monkey. Lacking the intelligence of other barbarians, he depends on his keen senses, natural resilience, and sharp instincts to help him survive. Requirements: A Brute has a maximum Intelligence of 6 and a maximum Charisma of 8. (Treat Intelligence scores of 7 or higher as 6, and Charisma scores of 9 or higher as 8.) A Brute gains a +1 bonus on his initial Strength score or a bonus of 25% on exceptional strength. Homeland Terrain: Any, with Mountains, Jungle, and Forest the most likely. Role: In his homeland, the Brute’s life consists of hunting, sleeping, and fending off predators. Consequently, he values personal virtues that enhance the chances of survival, including cooperation, courage, and genmiv. His moral code consists of two basic principles: (1) do no harm to those who pose no threat, and (2) destroy those who would harm him or his companions. The Brute has no use for virtues and vices associated with civilized societies. Etiquette, greed, personal honor, and loyalty to abstract principles are unknown to him. He can’t be insulted or blackmailed, nor can he be tempted with treasure. A Brute’s interests seldom extend beyond his current needs; with food in his stomach and a soft patch of ground on which to nap, he’s as content as he can be. A Brute allies himself with an adventuring party for companionship, protection, or even the promise of regular meals. He remains loyal so long as his companions treat him decently. He has no aptitude for leadership, strategic planning, or negotiation; he takes orders from anyone he trusts. He serves his party as a forager, hunter, and combatant. Though a Brute’s companions may admire his loyalty and friendliness, they may also balk at his animalistic behavior. He howls at the moon, licks himself clean, and grooms animals by picking bugs from their fur. He eats raw meat, tearing apart carcasses with his teeth. He speaks in grunts, never more than a few syllables at a time. He identifies friends by their smells, and investigates strangers by sniffing them up and down. Secondary Skills: Fire-maker, Forager, Hunter. Weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only two weapon proficiencies. Thereafter, he gains new proficiencies at the normal rate. Required: Club. Brutes must select all subsequent proficiencies from the following choices: axe (any), Celt*, dagger, knife, spear. Non-weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only one non-weapon proficiency. He gains new proficiencies at the normal rate. Bonus: Danger Sense*. Recommended: Artistic Ability,Endurance, Fire-making, Fishing, Foraging*,Hunting, Light Sleeping*, Tracking, Wild Fighting* Barred: Agriculture, Alertness*, Boating*, Crude Armorer, Crude Bowyer/Fletcher, Crude Weapon smithing, Dancing, Horde Summoning, Leadership*, Pottery, Riding (Airborne or Land-based). Economic System: Trade-free. Wealth Options: The concept of trade is new to the Brute, because he’s used to foraging whatever he wants from the wilderness, and doing without if he can’t find it. He begins with no funds or tradable goods. After the barbarian spends some time in the outworld-say, after he’s advanced one level-the DM may allow him to learn a barter system. Armor and Equipment: The Brute begins with padded or leather armor, usually a large fur with a hole in the center, slipped over his head to hang down his body. A Brute may not use any weapons other than those listed in the weapon proficiencies section above. A Brute rarely uses a shield; it interferes with hunting. Special Benefits: Enhanced Natural Armor: The Brute’s coarse hair, thick skin, and dense bones give him a natural armor class of 6 (boosted to AC 4 when he wears padded or leather armor). Improved Climbing: A Brute climbs as a barbarian two levels higher. Wild Brawl: When fighting without weapons, the Brute can propel himself into a berserk frenzy. Bites, punches and kicks are all directed at a single opponent. A single attack roll is used to determine if these attacks finds their mark. Damage is ld6. Enhanced Sense of Smell: A Brute can trail a human, animal, or demi-human by scent, presuming the quarry made the trail within the previous 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the quarry, or must have a sample of the scent (a scrap of hide, a lock of hair, a piece of clothing). A Brute has the same chance to follow the trail as if he had the tracking proficiency. (Refer to Table 39 in the Player’s Handbook. Use only the modifiers relevant to following a trail by scent, including those associated with the number of creatures in the group, elapsed time, and inclement weather.) Use the Brute’s Wisdom score to make tracking checks. If the Brute has the tracking proficiency, he receives a +2 bonus to his checks. A Brute can also identify a particular character or creature by its lingering aroma, presuming the character or creature was in the area within the past 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the creature or have a sample of the scent. The Brute identifies the scent with a successful Wisdom check. Surprise Bonus: Because of the Brute's sharp senses, he receives a +2 bonus to his surprise rolls. Special Hindrances: Reduced Movement: A Brute has a base movement rate of 12. Language Limit: A Brute can't know more than a single language. Limited Magic: A Brute will not use magical items that require command words or concentration for their use. He can use magical potions, clothing and weapons. *** Leaping and Springing. The barbarian fighter is skilled at making leaps (horizontal jumps) and springs (vertical jumps). To make a running leap or spring, he must have a running start of at least 20 feet in a straight line; less than this, and the best he can do is a standing leap or spring. Standing leaps and springs are made from stationary positions. Table 8 indicates the horizontal distances (for leaps) and vertical distances (for springs) for barbarian fighters of various levels. Distances are expressed in feet. Roll the die separately for each leap or spring. Back Protection. Table 9 shows the barbarian fighter's chance of detecting an attack from behind, made by any character or creature. If the barbarian successfully detects the attack, he avoids it. Additionally, the barbarian is entitled to counter-attack the attacker immediately, even if the barbarian already attacked that turn. Example: Grog the barbarian makes a club attack against a lizard man, while an ogre attempts to attack Grog from behind. After resolving his attack on the lizard man, Grog makes a back detection roll and succeeds; therefore, the ogre receives no special attack bonuses for attacking from behind. The ogre makes a normal attack against Grog; Grog is allowed a "free" counter-attack against the ogre. All of this occurs in the same round. Climbing. The barbarian fighter can climb walls and other surfaces-including ledges, cliffs, and trees-without the aid of tools. Table 9 indicates success chances. This skill works like the thief's climb walls ability Appearance/Clothing: 6'4" 250 Lbs Skills: Weapon specialization: Great club, (+1 hit +2 damage) Weapon proficiency: Dagger, Throwing Axe, Battle axe, Spear Armor proficiency: Padded, Leather Secondary Skills: Forager. Bonus: Danger Sense*, Endurance, Hunting, Light Sleeping*(only need 1 hour of sleep for full rest), Sign Language, Tracking, Wild Fighting*(+1 attacks a round, 3 penalty to AC, -3 to hit, +3 damage, good for minion sweeping or easy to hit enemies) Natural Abilities: Heightened strength(+3 hit +8 damage). Darkvision/infravision. Back Detection(40%) Climbing(95%) Running Leap: 3d6+6 Ft. Running Spring: ld6+3 Ft. Standing Leap: 2d4+3 Ft. Standing Spring: ld4+3 Ft. Additional Information: Highly bestial nature who worships the moon. Treats all dogs like family. His homeland terrain is the open plains, he is always considered proficient in survival, tracking, hiding, and animal lore in his home terrain and provides a penalty to his enemies to detect him when trying to surprise them in the plains. Weapons: CLUB! is a greatclub (2d4) that is little more than a bone ripped from the wing of a black dragon and fitted to a handle. Much of its energy is still rather raw from the experience, but its damage transfer the dragonic energy of acid to stop regenerating creatures. Even if it does not drip acid itself, it seems to work half the time to harm trolls and the like.(8/8/15 Gained a permanent +1d4 from shillelagh potion) (3d4+8 11-20) CATCH! A throwing 'axe' which was a parting gift from the last parties bard/cook, she could throw and catch three at a time in the air. It was an entertaining skill he never developed, but it is great for when he needs to hunt rabbits or use with his 'not a hat' if it is too cramped to use his club! Possessions: Hide of hiding! Hide armor made from the hide of a black bear, because black is good for hiding! He proved himself to his lost clan's shaman (druid) who put a 'blessing' (invisibility to animals) on the armor for good hunting. He has learned that he can approach an animal, but after the first attack, they can see him. He also learned the hard way that it only works on normal animals, special animals can see him just fine. Not a hat! is something he uses when he knows he is going to have to fight something directly and dangerous, not when he is hunting for game. When not fighting, he uses the buckler for a plate or to carry things from foraging. Personality: Fairly simple minded, He has a personality that focuses on loyalty to a fault. He is easily coerced by his friends to do most things. History: About one in ten half-orcs can pass for human, he could not. Left out in the woods and the wilds, he was taken up by a tribe of halfling plains-riders who thought him to be a curiosity. He grew in the tribe and grew some more, easily keeping pace with the 8 meal metabolism of the others and foraging for his own when extra hungry. His phenomenal strength lent him a place in the tribe, but his simpler than most mind meant he had no desires for chiefdom. One day, the plains-riders came upon a Gnoll tribe and their overconfidence was their doom. It was a glorious battle and now the halflings ride across the black plains as stars in the sky, but Lob was not one of those. He awoke some days later with a great gash across his forehead but alive all the same. He burned his people as they were to do and wandered on his own, breaking from the circuit of his people to see the rest of the realm. He came into sight of an adventuring party low on their luck and he brought them a whole elk that even the ranger hadn't been able to take down (to which the bard joked that he was the new animal companion for the ranger's lost wolf). They began to keep him like a pet and gave him his new name from the skull scar which he found good as his old name died with his people. The new family took him from woods to still water swamp where they sought out a black dragon and its treasure. The brackish trees were too thick to fly but not to climb as he made his way by branches when the dragon attacked. First it cunningly weakened the party with many animals of the swamp before striking. The party was doing well until the wizard was bitten by a snake and down for the count so Lob took the staff and swung it like a club across the dragons face. The reverberation of the shattered staff loosing all of its stored energy was enough to end the fight as the beast collapsed. But, when it came time to divide the treasures, the in-fighting broke the party in two with Lob merely claiming a trophy of the dragon as his reward. The party split up in town after all was said and sold, enough for some to retire. The city was no place for Lob and so he had one of the fighters help him get his bone made into a serviceable weapon before he left with the groups Healer who chose to go on a pilgrimage to renew her faith and could use his strength. After a few temples, he pilgrimage has been made to pause with this new sickness rising. Since Lob is 'ever so good at finding things', the healer asked lob to help the children while she stays at this village to tend to the sick. ***Scent tracking*** Drizzak -smoked meat, burnt earth and occasionally strawberries.. Fiona - wilderness, the road, and a little of her horse Hanzo -outdoor air, with hints of morning dampness and a slight earthy aroma. Hugh - tobacco, horse, his own sweat, metal, and grass. Lob - Dry dog, dirt, bit of dung Melvis - At the moment, Melvus smells like blood Mortosh -sorta dead with rust smell to him as well as a bit of blueberry Sana - cedar wood and jasmine flower. Sister Agnes-Lavender and rosemary oil Tobias -sweat and red apples. Vaeri -surrounding forest with a hint of cinnamon. Zack -Ash Zam-flowery blueberry and has a hint rust to her scent

Sana s'assit là, se reposant avec Ariana dans ses bras. Elle ne voulait vraiment pas se lever et bouger à l'époque, elle était épuisée dès le jour où le groupe l'avait fait, mais elle savait qu'elle finirait par devoir se serrer les pieds. Elle avait faim puisqu'elle n'avait pas mangé depuis le matin et sa peau en brûlait encore, même avec la guérison des nonnes. Elle serait effrayée à partir d'aujourd'hui, mais en regardant la petite dans ses bras, elle pensait que ça valait le coup. Sana avait beaucoup de questions sur ce qui s'était passé alors qu'elle s'occupait du camp seul, mais il n'était pas temps de le demander. La mort de ses pères était toujours dans son esprit ainsi que la connaissance de la disparition de sa famille. Elle avait besoin de pousser cela au dos de sa conscience pour l'instant, mais il y avait des questions plus pressantes à traiter. Tournant légèrement la tête, elle perça un sourcil en entendant Lob chanter au Hell Hound. C'était bizarre pour elle, mais elle ne lui en voulait pas. Tout le monde dans le groupe semblait avoir sa propre façon de gérer les choses, mais au moins ils ont pu se réunir quand ça comptait. Ça l'a mise à l'aise avec le voyage à venir. Vaeri avait réussi à recueillir certaines des griffes, de sorte qu'au moins coller en ville pour la journée avait donné le premier ingrédient dont ils avaient besoin. Elle espérait que le reste d'entre eux ne serait pas aussi difficile à obtenir, mais avec leur chance, elle s'est préparée pour beaucoup plus de difficultés au cours des prochains jours et peut-être des semaines. Sana regarda Hugh et lui sourit, il était en sécurité et semblait indemne du combat avec l'Anti-Paladin. Elle avait beaucoup à lui dire et allait probablement avoir l'oreille pleine pour s'être jetée au milieu du combat et se blesser comme elle l'a fait. Soeur Agnes est revenue de l'auberge et a marché passé Sana, en récupérant son arc pour elle et en le reposant à côté d'elle. "Merci," Sana a dit dans une voix fatiguée et la nonne a oint. J'ai une place pour elle pour se reposer et le gardien de l'auberge a dit qu'il a installé la même chambre que vous et votre mari avez partagé la nuit dernière," Soeur Agnes a dit avec un sourire. Sana regarda la femme surprise et secoua la tête rapidement. Je... non, il n'est pas mon... bon mari, a dit Sana quand elle a trébuché sur ses mots. La sœur l'a regardée et ensuite, vers Hugh. J'aurais pu tromper ces vieux yeux, elle a dit avant de partir pour voir ce que Wylsen était en train de faire. Voir Lob venir au Hell Hound, elle tenait la porte ouverte pour lui. Wylsen était à l'intérieur de la boutique, derrière le comptoir en train de rassembler ce dont il aurait besoin pour conserver les griffes jusqu'à ce que le reste des ingrédients soient rassemblés ainsi que pour obtenir le sang de la bête. Il regarda comme la cloche au-dessus de sa porte s'abreuvait et se déplaçait pour qu'ils entrent. "Oui, ce serait bien," Wylsen, alors qu'il sortait de derrière le comptoir et installait un épais chiffon sur le sol. Une fois que j'ai le sang, nous pouvons prendre soin de récolter tout ce que vous pensez être utile, a dit Wylsen comme il s'est assis sur le sol près du tissu. Pouvez-vous le poser ici sur le drap pour moi? Alors nous pouvons commencer.

Name: Hanzo Jibero Age: 26 Alignment: Lawful Neutral Race: Human Class: Monk Appearance/Clothing: Skills: Acrobatics Survival Historical & Religious Knowledge Climbing & Swimming Perception Emotion Reading Ki Manipulation Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human. Magic/Spells: Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance. Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially. Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities. Additional Information: This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could. This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose. For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny. Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability. Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope. Personality: By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership. As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace. History: Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time. Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind. Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge. So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand. Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her. He only regrets not having learned her name. The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had.

Quand Fiona avait d'abord regardé dehors sur le chien de l'enfer et son cavalier, elle s'attendait à ce que le combat les laisse battus et sanglants, blessés et épuisés. Mais comme elle tirait sa lame libre de la bête, qui avait été abattue par sa grève, elle se trouva entièrement indemne, même sa fatigue ne pesant plus autant sur elle, en raison de la chanson de Sana. C'était une fin remarquable à une journée remarquable, et Fiona était heureuse d'en faire partie. Ils avaient maintenant le premier des ingrédients dont ils avaient besoin, et le village devrait être en sécurité pour le moment. Tout le monde semblait aller bien, même Sana, qui avait pris un coup si puissant pour commencer le combat. L'antipaladin avait été battu, et le coup a atterri par le guerrier au sommet du cheval blanc n'était pas passé inaperçu par Fiona. Bien qu'elle se souvienne de l'avoir vu après son retour au village, c'était la première fois qu'il avait vraiment attiré son attention. C'était une entrée impressionnante, pour le moins. Essuyant sa lame sur un petit chiffon à sa ceinture, Fiona la gaina, et permit à Vaeri et à Lob de commencer leur travail sur la bête qu'elle avait tuée. Ils étaient beaucoup plus adeptes à ce genre de chose qu'elle ne l'était. Au lieu de cela, elle se dirigea vers le corps de l'antipaladin, où son épée était tombée. C'était une lame longue et lourde, et il faudrait probablement les deux mains pour que Fiona l'utilise efficacement... mais ça semblait bien mieux que ce qu'elle avait. Sa lame actuelle était légère et rapide, mais pas assez efficace lors de frappes lourdes. Celui-ci a l'air qu'il pourrait s'écrouler à travers l'armure si elle a mis assez de poids derrière elle. Elle l'a ramassée, elle l'a tenue dans ses deux mains. C'était peut - être une arme méchante, mais seulement parce qu'elle avait été utilisée par une chose méchante. Il avait une sorte de beauté sombre à elle, a-t-elle noté, avec la lame noire éblouissante et une poignée élégante et un garde-croisement. Elle l'utiliserait mieux. En venant se tenir en arrière devant Tobias, elle a remarqué son apparence, en particulier celle de ses vêtements. "Ouh... J'ai besoin de nettoyer." Une bonne partie du sang noir avait éclaboussé le chien de l'enfer quand elle l'avait tué, en repérant ses vêtements, son équipement et sa peau où il était apparu. Elle soupira, jetant la pointe de sa nouvelle épée dans le sol et regardant en arrière à Tobias. "J'ai juste pensé que je vous ferais savoir que c'était vraiment courageux, ce que vous avez fait. Tu n'avais pas à te tenir à ce truc." Un petit sourire est venu à ses lèvres. "Si vous n'êtes pas prudent, vous commencerez à faire des choses héroïques sur une base régulière. Ne pourrions-nous pas avoir ça, maintenant?"

Name: Fiona Age: 22 Alignment: Neutral Good Race: Human Class: Fighter Appearance/Clothing: Reference 1, Reference 2. Fairly average height, with a lean and toned build. Fiery, wild red hair and light brown eyes, skin tone a fair, slightly pale coloration. Skills: Close combat fighting, speed and agility, moderate strength, excellent horseback riding skills. Proficient both armed and unarmed, moderate endurance for taking hits. Good at cooking with relatively little to work with, and while likely irrelevant, good at farming. Natural Abilities: None - Human Magic/Spells: None Armor: Roughly as seen in the image, some pieces of scavenged light plate, most effectively protecting her right arm. Weapons: Use reference 2 for example. A fairly standard curved longsword, lightweight but sturdy. She has a dagger sheathed on her left thigh for emergencies. Possessions: Little of note. Her clothes, weapons, armor, packs, supplies, basic medical items and personal belongings. Most of it kept in her horse's saddlebags. Personality: Fiona's bold and brash, often unafraid of things she probably should be, and in general a very confident and self-assured individual. Like any good adventurer she is both curious and brave, but also deeply selfless, not preferring to use the word 'mercenary' to describe herself, as this implies the coin is the end goal she works for. Mostly she just enjoys her life for what it is: a chance to explore, meet new people and see new things, and help wherever she can, with what skill she has. Though typically a loner, she doesn't turn down help when offered, and tries to work together with others as best she can. She's an inexperienced, terrible liar, preferring both her combat and her conversation upfront and uncomplicated. History: Fiona's story is a relatively simple one, starting with a family not important enough to even have a lasting name. She's simply Fiona, of the village of Drayden, a little farming community quite a ways from many large population centers. Fiona was an only child, and thus assisted a great deal around the farm, becoming strong and physically active as a result. Wandering adventurers inspired her even as a teenage girl, and her mind would not be swayed from eventually leaving the family farm to see the world. When they were eventually able to hire some help, she used what coin she had to purchase some basic equipment, and set out at age 19, blade in hand, hunting for contracts. Naturally, without the best of training or a good starting foundation of equipment and knowledge, Fiona struggled in her first few years, but learned from her mistakes, and has developed into a competent and even confident fighter, willing and able to take on problems the average person doesn't want to deal with.

L'étranger aux yeux dorés éleva son cheval et se tourna vers le groupe, soulevant sa longue lance pour pointer vers le ciel au-dessus. Il les observa pendant un certain temps, prenant dans leurs activités avec sa vue et entendant leurs mots derrière un casque bourdonnant. Le cheval estampe de sa sabot l'attrape de ses écoutes et il sourit, caché derrière le visage de son casque. Il regarda les autres se faire tuer et piller l'homme mort, forçant un petit coup de tête à l'étranger alors qu'il fouillait, désireux de sortir de son armure assaisonnée. Avant de laisser son cheval passer complètement la scène, il a posé une main sur son cou et la bête s'est arrêtée pour que le cavalier et ami puissent assister au chevalier noir à un niveau plus proche. Il s'appuya sur le cheval blanc et, de derrière son casque, une voix creuse se brisa de la gorge, ami à vous?

Name: Illyd Dyill Age: 18 Alignment: neutral Race: Human Class: Shepherd Appearance/Clothing: Illyd Dyill stands a modest six and has a wiry yet firm frame. His body is covered in old tan robes draped over loose pants and worn fur boots. He has shaggy black hair much like the sheep he used to herd, and two light brown eyes that peek out from his youthful and defined tanned face. Skills: farming, understanding of animal anatomy, mundane understanding of self defense and fighting with a crook, tracking, Natural Abilities: In depth thinking, to the point that this guy might be possessed Magic/Spells: Additional Information: He was a shepherd as long as he could remember, and as long as he could remember, he wanted to be a hero, but this one tiny voice in his head prefers a different direction Weapons: A Shepherd's crook Possessed: Yes Personality: He is curious, adventurous, slightly lazy, and naive. However, a secondary thinking voice in his head is definitely different than his usual gentle nature; as it is aggressive, violent, lustful and greedy.. Luckily this isn’t the voice that controls the body, mostly. History: A simple Shepherd’s son, out in the big world to become an adventurer (possessions: Crook, clothes, worn out harp) So I already have a bunch of ideas on how this guy’s posts would look, a lot of in mind arguing and play, as well as crude suggestions and general character development

Vaeri rassembla les griffes qu'elle avait ramassées et les retena dans ses deux mains coupées ensemble, comme comment on ramassait l'eau de la rivière à boire sans peau d'eau à la main. Les griffes étaient assez grandes, trop grandes pour porter facilement la demi-douzaine qu'elle avait récoltée dans l'enfer d'une main. Lob avait pris le corps de la bête dans l'apothécaire. C'était un étrange. Peut-être s'identifiait-il davantage aux bêtes qu'aux gens. Il y avait eu quelques gens comme ça à Lianyu, mais ils allaient disparaître pour devenir des druides plutôt que d'imiter les bêtes elles-mêmes. Ils étaient aussi beaucoup moins amusants d'être autour. Chaque fois que vous mangeriez de la viande autour d'eux, ils commenceraient à vous donner des cours sur l'éthique et la valeur de toute la vie. Fiona a décidé de prendre l'épée de l'antipaladin pour elle-même, une décision Vaeri n'a pas approuvé, mais ne voulait pas discuter. Si c'était à elle, tout à propos de cet homme serait laissé dans un fossé et oublié, mais elle pourrait comprendre l'utilisation d'une telle arme serait pour quelqu'un comme Fiona. "Je ne le connais pas. Sana sait peut-être qui il était. Elle est restée pour régler des problèmes personnels. » Cet homme blindé sur un pied blanc était mystérieux, il rappela à Vaeri quelques histoires humaines qu'elle entendit. Parfois, il y avait un chevalier en armure brillante qui venait sauver la journée. C'était un montage étrange, mais cet homme avait une apparence évidente de noblesse. Elle se détourna de l'homme blindé et entra dans l'apothécaire. Les griffes ont été déposées à un endroit vide sur le comptoir ont espéré que Wyslan verrait.

Name: Vaeri Dryearurdrenn Age: 143 Alignment: Lawful Good Race: Elf Class: Cleric/Barbarian Appearance/Clothing: Vaeri is an innocent looking elf, standing at about 5' 7" (170 cm) with long, straight raven hair that extends down to the base of her back, pale skin and bright blue eyes. At a glance she's quite beautiful with full lips, a small button nose, thin eyebrows and high cheekbones, when one takes a closer look, several tiny scars are visible all over, disfiguring her otherwise graceful looks. Likewise, Vaeri's exposed flesh, the rare times one can see them initially appear smooth and untouched, but upon closer inspection are covered in scars and barely contain wiry muscle below. Vaeri dresses as a lady of the cloth should, with a dark blue full body cloak. The fabric is adorned with intricate patterns in white to provide visual contrast and indicating her status as a clergywoman. Around her neck and outside the cloak, Vaeri wears a necklace bearing the holy symbol of her god. However, underneath the cloak is a full set of leather armor, battle ready and kept in top shape at all times. Skills: Sense Motive, Knowledge (Religion), Knowledge (Nature), Climb, Jump, Sleight of Hand, fletching arrows, surviving out in the wild Natural Abilities: Keen senses, the ability to see better than humans in low light Magic/Spells: Heal: can decide how good this is Tongues: Allows the caster to speak any language for the duration of the spell Turn Undead: Vaeri can attempt to make Undead flee from her presence temporarily. Powerful Undead can resist this. Divine Might: Holy power infuses the caster, temporarily making them more powerful and resilient Flame Strike: Smites foes with holy flames Additional Information: Vaeri worships Menhit, lion-goddess of War. (Fun fact her name means She who massacres) Weapons: Vaeri carries a shortbow and a two-handed battleaxe Possessions: Vaeri carries a backpack that can hold more than you think it would and what Vaeri wants from the bag will always be at the top (the item in question must have been put in the bag beforehand for this to work). Inside the bag are her necessities (tent, rope, bedroll, tarp for the tent, soap, cooking utensils, oil, a lamp, flint and steel), holy texts, and about 2 weeks worth of rations. She also has a coin purse with about 20 gold pieces in it. On her hip is a quiver with 20 arrows. Personality: To strangers, Vaeri appears to be a gentle elf, always keen to help those in need and be a travelling force of good in the world. However, as you get to know her, slowly she morphs into an entirely different person, brash, head-strong and a braggart, this true face of Vaeri shows exactly why she worships the goddess she does. The elf loves battle of all kinds and will gleefully jump into battle whenever she can. History: Vaeri grew up in a forest village mostly populated by other elves to a carpenter. IN her childhood, she began learning the bow as all children did. Her prowess with weaponry was admired just as much as her excessive enthusiasm for using them was worrying. One day while out hunting alone she was overcome by a vision of the lion-goddess Menhit who commanded Vaeri to go out into the world and find a man with two right hands. After this experience, Vaeri began following the goddess of war and has dedicated her life to this mission. The cleric has been following this notice for strong adventurers as a possible lead for locating this mysterious man.

Sana regarda vers Vaeri en entendant son nom et secoua la tête. Votre hypothèse est aussi bonne que la mienne. J'ai trouvé Ariana dans un trou caché à l'extérieur du camp grâce à Hughs. Elle venait de sortir et était sur le point de rentrer ici quand il s'est montré exigeant que je lui rende, a dit Sana quand elle a couru ses doigts à travers les petits cheveux. Les mots lui rappelaient Rodger et elle plaçait ses doigts sur ses lèvres, donnant une série rapide d'appels sifflés. Rodger est venu trotter d'une ruelle sombre et Sana a laissé sortir un soupir de soulagement; une chose de moins à s'inquiéter. Sana regarda vers l'homme sur le cheval blanc et perça un front. Elle ne l'avait pas vu auparavant, mais il avait aidé pendant le combat, ce dont elle était reconnaissante. Merci pour l'aide, elle a dit dans une voix fatiguée avant de retourner son attention à la petite dans ses bras. Elle était encore un peu trop fatiguée pour se lever et retourner à l'auberge, mais s'est dit que ça n'avait pas fait de mal de s'asseoir là pendant un moment. Alors que Vaeri entrait dans la boutique, la cloche dînait au-dessus de la porte et sœur Agnes regardait par-dessus, un peu content de voir quelqu'un entrer. Elle était restée là pour voir si Lob ou Wylsen avaient besoin d'aide ou pour récupérer quoi que ce soit, mais elle avait vu assez de sang pour la journée. Passant au comptoir, elle prit les griffes et commença à les placer dans de larges bouteilles à bouche. Merci beaucoup, la religieuse a dit d'une bonne voix qu'elle regardait vers Vaeri avant de commencer à sceller les bouteilles afin que les griffes puissent être utilisées lorsque le groupe est revenu avec le reste des articles dont Wylsen avait besoin pour prendre soin des orphelins. Wylsen s'est penché en arrière et a sauté un bouchon dans la bouteille de sang qu'il avait pu drainer du Hell Hound, grâce à Lobs aide et sourit à lui-même. En ramassant un chiffon, il a nettoyé un peu ses mains et a tapé le demi-orc sur l'épaule. « Bon travail, je pense que cela me permettra de rendre quelque chose de très utile pour vous et votre groupe d'ici le matin. Que vouliez-vous obtenir d'autre de la créature?"

Name: Hanzo Jibero Age: 26 Alignment: Lawful Neutral Race: Human Class: Monk Appearance/Clothing: Skills: Acrobatics Survival Historical & Religious Knowledge Climbing & Swimming Perception Emotion Reading Ki Manipulation Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human. Magic/Spells: Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance. Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially. Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities. Additional Information: This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could. This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose. For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny. Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability. Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope. Personality: By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership. As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace. History: Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time. Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind. Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge. So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand. Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her. He only regrets not having learned her name. The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had.

Tobias ne fixait rien en particulier, faisant basculer une pièce de monnaie sur ses doigts pour essayer de calmer la shakiness dans ses mains. Il était loin d'être conscient d'un grand nombre d'événements qui se passent autour de lui - Lob et Vaeri sculptant le Hell-Hound, l'agitation apothécaire vers et vers, l'homme sur le cheval blanc observant la scène, et Sana assis avec l'enfant dans ses bras (toute autre fois, il aurait pu s'inquiéter de cela, compte tenu de la propension démontrée de la femme à la violence - à l'heure actuelle, Tobias ne pouvait pas être ennuyé de botter une puanteur à ce sujet). Il s'est rétracté quand il a entendu la voix de Fiona lui parler, et son commentaire sarcastique lui a rendu un sourire de queue de marque à la figure. "Oh, tu devrais savoir de ne pas t'inquiéter de ça. La belette sans épines est dans mon sang. En outre, je ne voudrais pas que mon ange de guerre ait l'air mauvais." Le sourire de Tobias s'est évanoui. Il sentait l'haleine chaude de l'enfer sur son visage, la tempête de fumée et de sang. Il a entendu les cris, le grognement, le bruit terrible d'une cavité thoracique poignardée. Il a vu le cadavre de l'homme qu'il avait tué, rougi et souillé. Il a regardé Sana plonger une flèche dans le visage d'un homme criant, le zombie fissurer le crâne d'un homme ouvert, le chevalier sombre se lever de choses qu'aucun homme ne pourrait survivre. "Je suis... content que tu ailles bien." Avant qu'il le sache, le voyou avait maladroitement enroulé ses bras autour de la fille devant lui et l'avait attirée vers l'avant pour enterrer son front dans son épaule. "Je... J'ai eu une très mauvaise journée, Fiona." Le contact n'a duré qu'un instant avant que le voyou ne le rompe à nouveau tout aussi soudainement. "Eh... heh. Je devrais, je veux dire, je dois aller... voler quelque chose."

Name: Tobias Age: 22 Alignment: Chaotic Good-ish Race: Human Class: Thief Appearance/Clothing: Skills: Bluff, Acrobatics, Charm, Athletics, Sneak, Theft, Streetwise, Knife-Wielding, Knife-Throwing. Natural Abilities: The power of average-ness. Magic/Spells: Not a scrap of it. Additional Information: Tobias isn't the strongest fighter, being far more suited to running, hiding, or bluffing his way out of situations (he's capable by normal person standards, of course - just not really what you'd expect from an adventurer). He's also a massive pathological liar with trust issues a mile wide. Weapons: He has three knives - one on his belt, one on his back, and one in his boot. Possessions: Leather armor, basic adventuring supplies (rope, flint and steel, etc.). His hood is enchanted to make it very hard for someone who sees him with it up to remember his face. He also has a magic grappling hook enchanted to not make a sound. Personality: Tobias is glib, smart-alecky, cowardly, and tries his absolute best to be self-centered. Though he'd feverishly deny it, he's a fundamentally good person underneath the assumed selfish. He tries not to let anyone get close to him, and often uses snark and flat out lies as armor in social interaction. History: Getting the truth out of him about his personal history is extraordinarily difficult, but it's possible to determine that he's an orphan who grew up on the streets and has spent his life so far living in cities and alternating between pickpocket, con-man and cat burglar in order to survive. Also, hai Kronshi. Funny meeting you again. :p

Mortosh s'assit à côté de Sana sa capuche baissée et Zam s'était placée dans son trou caché Mortosh qui regardait l'enfant profondément dans la pensée (« Qu'est-ce que Paladin voulait avec cet enfant ») « Mortosh dit qu'il est désolé de ne pas être beaucoup utilisé dans la bataille précédente » Zam dit à Sana encore dans son trou caché « Alors qu'est-ce qui va lui arriver? Est-ce qu'on va l'emmener avec nous?" Elle a demandé à essayer de commencer la conversation avec le Tsigane. Mortosh se leva de son siège et sortit Zam de sa poche ("Zam sera-t-il bien de rester ici avec Sana et l'enfant pour ce soir?") Elle a hurlé mais elle était un peu confuse à la demande "sûre mais pourquoi?" Mortosh a tourné de Chatter pour qu'il puisse lui parler naturellement qui sonnait étouffé "Je vais nettoyer les corps avant que nous quittions demain matin Je serai capable de me débarrasser d'eux pendant la nuit Car je n'ai pas besoin de dormir mais vous le faites. Alors je te demande de demander à Sana de te laisser rester avec elle ce soir" Il lui dit alors qu'il partait pour la porte.

Name: Mortosh Celjust and Zam Mano Age: last time he counted 696 (Zam is 200 a kid by her races standard) Alignment: Chaotic Good (Zam is Neutral Good) Race: undead but more specifically a Skeleton (Zam is a Petal For more information on those look for them on page 120 of monster manual III) Class: Cleric (Zam doesn’t really have a class as she is supposed to act as an item much like boo from Baldur’s gate) Appearance/Clothing: Mortosh wears an enchanted blue hood that obscures his entire face making appear as a black void with blue lights wear his eyes should be this is to hide his skull. He wears an iron chest plate with iron gauntlets his legs are hidden by a long blue skirt and iron boots (Zam’s Skin is light blue her hair is a darker shade of blue her bang cover her eyes she wares gray cloth dress her wings are the same color as her skin) Skills: For Mortosh it is Hide Diplomacy Knowledge (religion) Survival Heal ( For Zam it is Bluff and Gather Information Knowledge (nature) as Zam doesn’t actually have class I decided that it would be op to give her any more skills Natural Abilities: Undead-Life: as an undead you are immune to age effects and disease. Unbreakable: An undead has no death ticks. Undead appetite: The Undead are able to use the undead appetite encounter power. (Zam) Lullaby: Any creature within a 20-foot-radius that fails a DC 14 Will save is affected as though by a lullaby spell. A creature that successfully saves cannot be affected again by that petal’s lullaby song for 24 hours. The save DC is Charisma-based. Magic/Spells: Remove Fear: Suppresses fear or gives +4 on saves against fear for one subject + one per four levels Create Food and Water: Feeds three humans (or one horse)/level. Bless: Allies gain +1 on attack rolls and saves against fear Calming Embrace: By placing his hands on friends, or foes restores Mortosh will restore a bit of health as calm down bersekers Insect Plague: Locust swarms attack creatures (Zam) Chatter: A spell created by Zam And Mortosh To allow Zam to speak for Mortosh Calm Emotions: Calms creatures, negating emotion effects Light: Object shines like a torch lie. Additional Information: he is a cleric of Trew Barton The god of joy and undeath. The lack of a lower jaw makes it hard to speak so Zam usually translate for him she also sits on his shoulder. Mortosh sometimes will be overwhelmed with greed causing him steal without thought this has caused him to land into a whole heap of trouble in the past. Weapons: A Simple mace (Zam Like most of her race doesn’t carry a lethal weapons but she dose carry a blow gun which she uses to shoot darts laced with sleeping powder she doesn’t use this very often due to the ingredients used in the sleeping powder are quite rare) Possessions: Mortosh Carries a shrunken zombie around his neck (Zam Owns Shinobue a Side blown flute) Mortosh has a jar full of flower that he carries around for Zam he carries it around for so she doesn't faint from hot or thick air EDIT: Three vials of Moderate Inflict Wounds Personality: Mortosh is a very friendly Skeleton he is calm and hard to anger but his years of lacking the capability of speech has damaged his social skills quite badly which can make him come off as insensitive. while he is perfectly of take on offensive role he dose fell uncomfortable hurting others be they man or beast but he will not complain if fighting is necessary.(Zam is quite battle hungry once again by her races standard anyway she can’t really stand the thought of staying in one place to long she also has obsession with sugar give her some and shell be your friend for life ironically this is not the reason way she follows Mortosh) History: 696 Years ago Mortosh rose from his grave no memory of his past life the only thing he remembered was his cleric training Mortosh spent a good chunk of his first fifty years searching for his past to no avail Realizing that trying to search for a past that he no idea about or even the reason why he was searching so he gave up on searching and decided to just travel why? He didn’t know back then but now he know he was looking for purpose and he found it when he encountered a necromancer and a follower of Trew. He spoke to Mortosh and told him about Trew. Mortosh was intrigued with Trew so asked the necromancer how he could show his loyalties to Trew and the necromancer handed him the shrunken head. Confused Mortosh asked the necromancer about the head and he told him that the head was the symbol of Trew then he requested that Mortosh would spread the massage of Trew. Mortosh accept the his request but before he went he realized one thing. He would be run out of any village or town before he even toke his first step so asked the necromancer to enchant his hood so it would only show a void. So The necromancer enchanted Mortosh’s hood so with his enchanted hood on Mortosh thank the necromancer and went on his to spread the word of Trew and that how he spend his next two hundred years spreading the word that was until he angered a zealous paladin who broke his jaw to pieces. With no jaw all his words came out as mumbling so not being able to spread the word he turned to learning healing magic so he spent the next hundred years learning. this was around the time that Zam was Born two hundred years ago Zam was. Born in to a tribe of petals a race of tiny fey creatures she was treated well enough but she was still an outcast among her race she wasn’t as talented in art as the rest of her race. So she turned to other thing like spellcraft this is what taught her to speak all other tongues she would later encounter Mortosh when he would save her from a plague walker. Mortosh Seeing that Zam had gotten hurt would go on to heal all her wounds. Grateful for his deed Zam asked him what she could do for him. Mortosh lowered his hood and showed her his lack of lower jaw and he needed someone to speak for him as she was the only one that understood what he was saying she agreed and they have been traveling ever since

Pendant que Hugh regardait l'ennemi à genoux, il ne ressentait aucun remords, seulement la rage et l'impression accablante de l'arracher. Sa colère était inébranlable quand elle s'éteignait, mais quelque chose semblait l'étouffer. Il entendit une voix, une voix apaisante, le soulageant et poussant sa fureur à se dissiper. La meilleure partie était qu'il connaissait la voix, mais c'était plus beau qu'il n'avait entendu auparavant. Un sourire semblait croiser ses lèvres, car ses traits s'aplanissaient. Il a dû se tourner et regarder pour la voir, Sana, toujours en vie. Pas aussi bien que lui, mais bien mieux que quand il l'avait vue pour la première fois. La voici, la femme qu'il adorait et qu'il avait prise pour décédée, maintenant debout et chantant une belle mélodie. Il n'a pas vu le besoin de se soucier de l'antipaladin, comme le bâtard était à genoux, et a rapidement été battu au sol par les autres. Un personnage que Hugh n'avait pas prévu était le chevalier, chargé sur pied avec lance à la main. L'homme a détruit l'antipaladin. Malheureusement, l'antipaladin était encore en vie, mais à peine. Cela a donné à Hugh une certaine tranquillité d'esprit de le voir souffrir de la même manière qu'il avait fait souffrir Sana. Puis, l'homme fut incendié et brûlé à mort. Hugh était plus que du contenu à la fin parfaite. Il a été rajeuni, comme la femme qu'il adorait était encore là et toujours la sienne. Il avait un sourire charismatique collé à son visage, alors qu'il marchait vers elle. Elle a été rejointe par un petit enfant, mais l'attention de Hugh a été attirée ailleurs. Il a aperçu le voleur, quelqu'un que Hugh n'avait pas reçu les meilleures impressions, mais qui pouvait changer à ce moment-là. Hugh a percé un front en voyant le voleur se laisser dissoudre dans l'étreinte de l'autre combattant. Un petit sourire est tombé sur le visage de Hugh, "Hm, quelle douceur." Il a dit les mots avec un peu de chance, avant de retourner son attention à Sana. "Bonjour. Comment allez-vous, ma chérie, aujourd'hui?" Il a eu un sourire stupide à travers son visage, ajoutant à son bonheur infectieux.

Name: Hugh Van Halder Age: 45 Alignment: Neutral Good Race: Human Class: Fighter, Ex-Paladin Appearance/Clohing: He stands at 6'2", a tower of years of built up muscle. He wears a dark earthen blue tunic over a white linen three button pullover shirt. He wears a pair of black shorts(under his pants) and a pair of dark gray hosen(medieval style pants). He'll wear a chain mail shirt and these pauldrons additionally he'll wear leather knee and shin armor. He wears a small gray hood and a bear fur cloak. Skills: He is a good brawler and can fight with anything he can get his hands on(He's used bed rolls before). Horseback riding. Swordfighting, throwing axes, and two handed weapon fighting. He's been able to use crossbows before, but despises them, as they are delicate and take a lot of work just to reload. Bushcraft and survival stuff. Smoking(if that qualifies as a skill). Some cooking. Natural Abilities: He's strong and durable and can take a lot of beatings. He's pretty much a tank. He can drink a lot of alcohol and only get buzzed. Otherwise, he's just a normal human. Magic Spells: N/A Additional Information: He is in a relationship with Sana Rawn. He has a draft horse, named Rodger. Weapons: He wields a large crude looking battle axe and a falchion. Additionally, he has one small crude throwing axe. Possessions: A rucksack with jerky, bread, cheese, rags, spark rocks(basically one is made of magnesium), rope, ladle, cooking knife, two plates, and tobacco. He also has saddle bags on his horse, which he stores his pipe, more tobacco, sugar cubes, a brush, a stick and bow(which he uses for lighting his pipe), and a few salt licks. He has two water skins. One he keeps on his horse, and one on his person or in rucksack. Additionally he has a pot and a frying pan strapped down to the outside of his rucksack. He also wears a ring on a little chain around his neck and he never seems to take it off, as it was given to him by Sana. Personality: He is a more contented man, liking simple things in life, especially enjoying smoking his pipe with a wonderful scenery, usually in the form of a beautiful day and his love, Sana. He has a more realistic attitude towards the world, not being an idealist, only doing things to help. He has great respect for the natural order of things, and you won't find him trying to seek out revenge. He still has a fiery temper when it is stoked enough to come out. History: Hugh was once part of a great order of paladins. They had much land and ruled with wisdom. Their lands were prosperous and fertile. Many were jealous of their lands, but no one had the courage enough to take on the great and Noble order. Their paladins were fierce and formidable fighters. They all stood higher than 6' and were towers of muscle. They were truly terrifying men. But they were brought down under scandal. Fabricated accusations about them stealing their riches and enslaving other groups of people for labor. The scandals kept growing until they were set upon by every surrounding nation. They stood no chance. Many were killed, only a few escaped. They have been long since forgotten, after being hunted for almost two decades, and killed off, until it was concluded that they were finally extinct. Hugh hid among tribes of barbarians to survive. The tribe was good to him, making him one of their own. He had built a life of simplicity. Some warring between other tribes would often end with them being brutalized and then integrated. Hugh had found love in a woman taken from one of the defeated tribes. He had a few sons and lived very happily with her, until they were set upon by a purge of the "savages". Hugh's tribe was wiped out and he was orphaned once again. He had brutally killed all the "civilized" army he could, but it was too late. His tribe was all gone, along with his family. He became a wanderer, and left to find life as a mercenary. In that life, he found an adventure awaiting him in a tavern. The tavern was filled with life, when he came in and joined up with a questing group. There he met a gypsy woman by the name of Sana. He got to know her going on this random little adventure with this party. It was all rather simple and jovial at first, until they were all taken captive by a lich. This lich tried to take Sana from them, and in that moment Hugh only felt desperation and rage. He had slowly begun to realize that he had fallen in love with Sana, and that if he lost her nothing would change about his existence as a wandering mercenary, and he would simply keep losing people he deeply cared about. So he took a chance at love, and broke out of his cage in a fit of rage. He fought like a lion to get to Sana, finally winning out(love triumphs over all!) against the hordes of undead after his party came to his aid. Since then, he's been a contented old soul, taking care of Sana and showing her his love for her, even though he has never said the words.

Sana a regardé vers la paire unique quand ils sont venus à elle. Sana chantait doucement à Ariana et courait ses doigts à travers les petits cheveux. Aux mots de Zams, Sana sourit légèrement et secoua la tête. "Pas de soucis, je ne l'étais pas non plus. Eh bien autre que d'être une merveilleuse poupée de chiffon qui s'est fait jeter », dit-elle d'une voix au cœur léger et puis agrippé légèrement dans la douleur. "Ne ris pas, rappelle-toi." Quand Zam a demandé au sujet de l'enfant Sana soupirait profondément. -- Non, ce serait trop dangereux pour elle d'aller avec nous, dit tristement Sana. Ariana a regardé Sana et a piqué, s'accrochant de plus en plus à elle. "Non, je vais avec Sana", a protesté la jeune fille. Sana s'est sentie horrible quand elle a vu la poupe mais elle n'a pas pu laisser la petite venir avec eux. L'embrasser légèrement et soupirer. "C'est trop dangereux, mais je te ferai une promesse. Quand nous aurons fini, je reviendrai te voir », a dit Sana d'un ton ferme mais bienveillant. Enlevant la chaîne de son cou, qui tenait ses parents bandes de mariage, elle l'a placée autour d'Arianas. "Ce sont mes parents, je reviendrai les chercher. Vous les gardez en sécurité, d'accord? » -- Je le ferai! Ariana s'écria alors qu'elle regardait les anneaux. Sana gloussait et se reposait encore une fois. Pendant que Hugh s'approchait, elle s'approcha d'une main pour prendre le sien et lui lacérer les doigts à travers le sien, gardant l'enfant bercé dans l'autre. « Eh bien, nous nous sommes battus contre les esclaves aujourd'hui, vous avez failli saigner, nous sommes arrivés au camp, nous avons pris soin de certains là-bas. Le chien m'a mordu la merde, a eu un fouet m'a cogné le visage, a-t-elle dit en pointant les cicatrices qui maintenant parsemaient sa forme. « Puis mon père est mort dans mes bras, a découvert que ma famille était morte, a enterré des corps, a trouvé Ariana ici », a-t-elle dit quand elle a serré le petit dans un câlin doucement. "Puis un fou a été poursuivi, frappé comme une poupée de chiffon, découvrir que je peux apparemment jeter de la magie et maintenant je suis assis ici en sentant que Rodger m'a renversé une douzaine de fois. Donc, dans l'ensemble, je suis pêcheur », dit-elle en riant sarcastiquement et en riant à nouveau dans la douleur. « Une autre note à soi-même, ne ris pas », dit-elle alors qu'elle tirait faiblement Hugh vers elle et l'embrassait doucement. "Et toi?" Elle demanda doucement comme Ariana sourit aux deux. "Ooooo", le petit a dit avec un rire. Sana regarda Ariana légèrement stupéfaite de la réaction et lui donna un visage de sterne. Ariana a attrapé les joues de Sanas et les a massacrées ensemble avec gaieté à laquelle Sana a collé sa langue à la petite. Ariana a répondu à son tour en lui collant la langue à Sana, ce qui a fait sortir Sana de rire entre les cringes de la douleur.

Name: Hanzo Jibero Age: 26 Alignment: Lawful Neutral Race: Human Class: Monk Appearance/Clothing: Skills: Acrobatics Survival Historical & Religious Knowledge Climbing & Swimming Perception Emotion Reading Ki Manipulation Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human. Magic/Spells: Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance. Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially. Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities. Additional Information: This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could. This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose. For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny. Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability. Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope. Personality: By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership. As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace. History: Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time. Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind. Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge. So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand. Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her. He only regrets not having learned her name. The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had.

L'étranger s'est enflammé sur son cheval pendant un moment alors qu'il regardait attentivement le petit enfant. La jeunesse innocente adoucit les coins du cœur étranger comme il regardait, et pourtant une intuition démangeante à ses talons. Ce n'était pas son désordre, ni son affaire de s'impliquer, mais à tout le moins, il pouvait s'assurer que l'enfant vivait en sécurité à partir de ce moment-là, et être abandonné dans les bras d'un endroit qui était juste presque saccagé ne semblait pas être le meilleur endroit pour un enfant où un chevalier sombre était après se cacher. Pour l'étranger, il pensait que c'était une façon inévitable de rencontrer un problème en bas de la route, quelle que soit la route qui pourrait l'être. Après avoir réfléchi rapidement, il sentit ses yeux dorés retomber sur l'image de la jeunesse, et il soupira d'une expiration fatiguée, mais non d'épuisement physique, mais d'expérience épuisée. L'étranger a balancé sa jambe sur son cheval et est tombé sur la route poussiéreuse avec un poof. L'étalon blanc grogne curieusement et l'homme blindé pose une main oisive sur sa muselière alors qu'il se tourne vers l'enfant. Il a fait quelques pas en avant, brouillant tous les autres hors de sa vue, et hors de son esprit alors qu'il squattait pour atteindre le niveau des yeux avec l'enfant bercé. Il leva ses gantelets et ôta lentement le casque lourd qui avait mis sa tête en cage. L'épaisse odeur de nausée de lavande sucrée imprégnait d'un masque en cuir épais et étrange qui était attaché à l'intérieur du masque du casque. L'étranger clignait ses yeux d'or qui s'asseyaient sur son visage écarquillé de toile d'araignée, et attrapait le regard de l'enfant. Une courbe douce et paternelle a pratiqué sur ses lèvres ruinées et il a parlé doucement à travers une gorge rugueuse qui avait le sel d'un commandant assaisonner sa voix, Quel âge avez-vous petit?

Name: Illyd Dyill Age: 18 Alignment: neutral Race: Human Class: Shepherd Appearance/Clothing: Illyd Dyill stands a modest six and has a wiry yet firm frame. His body is covered in old tan robes draped over loose pants and worn fur boots. He has shaggy black hair much like the sheep he used to herd, and two light brown eyes that peek out from his youthful and defined tanned face. Skills: farming, understanding of animal anatomy, mundane understanding of self defense and fighting with a crook, tracking, Natural Abilities: In depth thinking, to the point that this guy might be possessed Magic/Spells: Additional Information: He was a shepherd as long as he could remember, and as long as he could remember, he wanted to be a hero, but this one tiny voice in his head prefers a different direction Weapons: A Shepherd's crook Possessed: Yes Personality: He is curious, adventurous, slightly lazy, and naive. However, a secondary thinking voice in his head is definitely different than his usual gentle nature; as it is aggressive, violent, lustful and greedy.. Luckily this isn’t the voice that controls the body, mostly. History: A simple Shepherd’s son, out in the big world to become an adventurer (possessions: Crook, clothes, worn out harp) So I already have a bunch of ideas on how this guy’s posts would look, a lot of in mind arguing and play, as well as crude suggestions and general character development

Un "oh" court et quelque peu surpris s'est échappé de Fiona quand Tobias l'a serrée. Ses mains avaient été sur la poignée de son épée devant elle, de sorte qu'elle ne pouvait même pas vraiment rendre le geste. Elle n'a pas eu le temps de toute façon, comme il a cassé le contact presque dès que cela a commencé. Cela la laissait un peu confuse, bien qu'elle ait commencé à bien comprendre quand Tobias luttait pour revenir à son comportement habituel. -- Je vais bien, lui a-t-elle assuré, et vous aussi. Nous l'avons fait. Ce que nous avons vécu aujourd'hui rendra demain meilleur. Pour ces gens, certainement." Elle se demandait aussi si Tobias n'avait pas appris quelque chose sur lui-même aujourd'hui. Qu'il était capable de choses comme ça, peut-être. Il était beaucoup plus fort qu'il ne le pensait. Fiona ne pouvait pas être la seule à penser ça. "Et si on se reposait à la place?" Elle mit une main sur son épaule et le guida doucement vers l'auberge. "Nous aurons besoin de dormir. J'ai une longue journée devant nous, j'en suis sûr." Relâchant lui une fois qu'ils étaient à peu près à l'intérieur de l'auberge de nouveau, Fiona a offert Tobias une bonne nuit, et a commencé à faire son chemin vers la chambre qu'elle avait achetée pour elle-même pour la nuit. Elle débloquait déjà les sangles lui tenant son armure sur le chemin de l'escalier. Le sommeil allait venir facilement ce soir, c'était sûr. Fiona était épuisée.

Name: Fiona Age: 22 Alignment: Neutral Good Race: Human Class: Fighter Appearance/Clothing: Reference 1, Reference 2. Fairly average height, with a lean and toned build. Fiery, wild red hair and light brown eyes, skin tone a fair, slightly pale coloration. Skills: Close combat fighting, speed and agility, moderate strength, excellent horseback riding skills. Proficient both armed and unarmed, moderate endurance for taking hits. Good at cooking with relatively little to work with, and while likely irrelevant, good at farming. Natural Abilities: None - Human Magic/Spells: None Armor: Roughly as seen in the image, some pieces of scavenged light plate, most effectively protecting her right arm. Weapons: Use reference 2 for example. A fairly standard curved longsword, lightweight but sturdy. She has a dagger sheathed on her left thigh for emergencies. Possessions: Little of note. Her clothes, weapons, armor, packs, supplies, basic medical items and personal belongings. Most of it kept in her horse's saddlebags. Personality: Fiona's bold and brash, often unafraid of things she probably should be, and in general a very confident and self-assured individual. Like any good adventurer she is both curious and brave, but also deeply selfless, not preferring to use the word 'mercenary' to describe herself, as this implies the coin is the end goal she works for. Mostly she just enjoys her life for what it is: a chance to explore, meet new people and see new things, and help wherever she can, with what skill she has. Though typically a loner, she doesn't turn down help when offered, and tries to work together with others as best she can. She's an inexperienced, terrible liar, preferring both her combat and her conversation upfront and uncomplicated. History: Fiona's story is a relatively simple one, starting with a family not important enough to even have a lasting name. She's simply Fiona, of the village of Drayden, a little farming community quite a ways from many large population centers. Fiona was an only child, and thus assisted a great deal around the farm, becoming strong and physically active as a result. Wandering adventurers inspired her even as a teenage girl, and her mind would not be swayed from eventually leaving the family farm to see the world. When they were eventually able to hire some help, she used what coin she had to purchase some basic equipment, and set out at age 19, blade in hand, hunting for contracts. Naturally, without the best of training or a good starting foundation of equipment and knowledge, Fiona struggled in her first few years, but learned from her mistakes, and has developed into a competent and even confident fighter, willing and able to take on problems the average person doesn't want to deal with.

Se remettant du coup que Hanzo avait infligé à l'antipaladin, le moine s'est considéré chanceux d'avoir frappé quand il l'a fait - la figure sinistre avait été préparée pour une autre attaque, et son intervention soudaine l'avait mis hors de dessus et probablement protégé ses alliés l'ayant combattu. Une autre bataille s'est déroulée derrière eux, entre l'enfer et l'autre, mais Hanzo n'a pas pu détourner son attention. Ce diable semblait fort, et même avec une nouvelle blessure dans sa tête, il ne serait pas arrêté. Cependant, quelque chose s'est soudainement produit. Une voix chantante d'ailleurs dans le village. Hanzo a à peine réussi à jeter un coup d'oeil... Sana? Qu'est-ce qui se passait? Comme si sur le signal d'une réponse, plusieurs courants de lumière serpentins jaillissaient de la femme tzigane, ciblant et engloutissant chacun de ses alliés. Le moine s'est senti enflammé avec courage, ses petites cicatrices et s'est gratté en se guérissant pleinement. Une sorte de pouvoir secret, du genre bardique, peut-être? Hanzo en parlerait plus tard. Maintenant, il était nécessaire de terminer le combat, tandis que tout le monde semblait être dans un esprit plus grand. Alors que l'artiste martial affrontait de nouveau l'antipaladin, la figure damnée décida d'évacuer une certaine portée, choisissant Hanzo pour être la cible d'une exécution rapide. Il aurait été trop près pour éviter, une coupure de la tête propre, mais il a été sauvé par une autre intervention - l'orque sauvage de bien avant, apportant un club d'os vers le bas pour casser le bras de l'homme au coude. Un cri de douleur suivit le bruit de fissuration, et le guerrier enflammé tomba à genoux, devenant haineux avec son épée tailladée sur le sol. Une fois de plus, cependant, une autre interruption s'est produite, cette fois d'un Hanzo individuel n'a pas reconnu. Ou plutôt, il avait remarqué la présence de lui auparavant, mais ne savait rien d'autre. Le cavalier, chargé de lance à la main, a lancé l'antipaladin dur, le transportant dans l'air certains pour l'envoyer s'étaler sur le sol. Et puis un cri du lanceur d'elvish pour se tenir en arrière, et puis un faisceau de flammes divines a frappé l'homme en difficulté, se couchant à travers son armure. Et puis, encore une fois, un couteau jeté de la rogue, complet avec une insulte furieuse. Battue et brisée, le chevalier foudroyant s'en est désespérément sorti... La vie de leur ennemi a finalement été étouffée par un fouet apparemment de nulle part, harcelant autour de la gorge et apportant une tête sanglante s'écraser sur la terre. Wylsen, le vieil accompagnateur d'Agnès, s'est révélé, pompant un bras dans la victoire. Hanzo a dû clignoter plusieurs fois et regarder autour. Tout s'était passé si vite - le cri à l'aide, le paladin démoniaque chargé, les aventuriers en fuite pour le confronter, et un flot de mouvements qui se sont combinés pour tuer le cavalier et monter avec des préjugés extrêmes. Hanzo retourna à Sana, maintenant avec un petit enfant à part elle. Les mots de l'antipaladin... Il a dû venir chercher cet enfant. Avec des respirations douloureuses, Sana a tout expliqué. Tandis que les autres étaient revenus avec le chariot pour mettre les esclaves en sécurité, la femme tzigane pleurait la perte de son père et de sa famille, séparés avant mais maintenant morts aux mains des esclaves. Entre-temps, elle avait trouvé l'enfant, Ariana, caché dans un trou, que l'antipaladin cherchait d'une manière ou d'une autre, pour une raison inconnue et, espérons-le, non pertinente. Maintenant, à la fin de la journée, tous ceux qui méritaient d'être en vie étaient si, et il semblait enfin que la dure journée était terminée et que tout pouvait bien se reposer. Même l'étranger, bien après que tout a commencé, a trouvé une certaine sympathie à partager avec la jeune fille aux pieds de Sana. Mortosh a annoncé qu'il s'occuperait à nouveau des corps pendant que les autres dormaient bien. En tant que mort-vivant, le squelette animé n'avait pas besoin de dormir, bien qu'il ait imploré son compagnon féerique d'accompagner le groupe à l'auberge. Hanzo regarda vers le sud, une faible colonne de fumée noire se faisant encore apparaître dans la lumière pâle de la lune. Espérons que le feu et tout ce qui s'y trouve seraient partis demain matin, et qu'ils pourraient enterrer la fosse d'os restante. Il y a eu des discussions éparpillées sur la récolte d'une partie de l'enfer, et le Lob a parlé avec l'insistance d'utiliser tout - os, fourrure, sang, tout. C'était vrai, a pensé Hanzo; sa vieille famille a également tenu la tradition d'utiliser chaque morceau de chaque animal qu'ils chassaient, de sorte que le sacrifice de la vie de l'animal n'a jamais été insensé ou oublié. Il lui a également rappelé que l'un des ingrédients qu'ils collectionnaient était quelque chose d'un enfer. Quelle heureuse coïncidence, alors, qui leur épargnerait la difficulté d'avoir à en faire un ailleurs. Hanzo s'est tout simplement tenu, à moitié médicinal, plutôt débordé au tour des événements d'aujourd'hui. Il n'était pas sûr de ce qui en résulterait, mais en fin de compte, il semblait qu'ils s'étaient tous rassemblés. Leur combat décisif contre l'antipaladin en a fait la preuve.

Name: Hanzo Jibero Age: 26 Alignment: Lawful Neutral Race: Human Class: Monk Appearance/Clothing: Skills: Acrobatics Survival Historical & Religious Knowledge Climbing & Swimming Perception Emotion Reading Ki Manipulation Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human. Magic/Spells: Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance. Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially. Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities. Additional Information: This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could. This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose. For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny. Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability. Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope. Personality: By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership. As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace. History: Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time. Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind. Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge. So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand. Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her. He only regrets not having learned her name. The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had.

Le sourire de Hugh se tourna vers un regard de confusion après avoir entendu ce que Sana avait à dire. Il avait maintenant l'un de ces sourires embarrassants où on se demandait "Qu'est-ce que je fais?" "D'accord." Je lui ai répondu, avant qu'elle ne l'embrasse. Il a serré sa main et enroulé son bras libre autour d'elle, sa main veillant à empêcher la lame de l'épée de se heurter à elle. "Après votre départ, j'ai tué deux hyènes et trois hommes armés jusqu'aux dents. C'est vraiment tout." Il a dit, son charisme revenant à lui. "Et tout ce que j'attendais c'est de t'embrasser à nouveau." Il a dit, avant d'entendre le petit rire de l'enfant. Les yeux de Hugh descendirent vers elle, et un sourire joyeux lui traversa le visage. Voir un enfant heureux l'a rendu heureux, et il ne pouvait s'empêcher de sourire extatiquement. Avant qu'il puisse vraiment interagir avec le petit, le chevalier d'avant est venu, et a levé son casque pour révéler ses traits. De son point de vue, cet homme n'avait pas été aussi chanceux que Hugh l'avait été, et avait vu sa part de souffrance. Bien que Hugh ait beaucoup souffert dans sa vie, il n'avait pas été autant touché du côté des cicatrices faciales, ni marqué son visage de rien de permanent, comme les tatouages révélés être sur le visage de l'homme. Hugh pourrait se trouver à respecter cet homme. Après tout, il était venu à leur secours. Hugh se sentait un peu mal à l'aise quand il voyait la foule grandir autour de l'enfant, donnant un coup de pouce comme plus apparu et regardant l'enfant comme si elle était quelque chose d'étranger. Hugh poussa un peu vers la féerie, car c'est elle qu'on avait dit de rester chez Sana. "Tu n'es pas nécessaire, ici." Hugh a dit, son dédain clairement visible. Il se tourna et regarda Sana pendant qu'elle lui parlait, lui demandant son aide. -- Oui, bien sûr. Il dit: Lâche son épée et enveloppe l'autre main autour de sa taille, l'écope et la pose sur ses pieds. Il a gardé son bras enveloppé autour d'elle, alors qu'il a lâché son autre main de la sienne et a atteint le fourreau sur son dos, "Je vais avoir besoin de ça." Il a dit, rapidement avant de l'enlever de sa personne et de le mettre sur son propre corps. Avec ça, il a pris l'épée avec son pied, et l'a frappé dans sa main libre. Il laissa son autre main de Sana et mit l'épée dans le fourreau sur son dos, retournant à sa position antérieure de tenir sur Sana. -- D'accord, voulez-vous me prendre la main? Il a dit, regardant vers le bas vers l'enfant et offrant sa main vers elle, son sourire encore apparent.

Name: Hugh Van Halder Age: 45 Alignment: Neutral Good Race: Human Class: Fighter, Ex-Paladin Appearance/Clohing: He stands at 6'2", a tower of years of built up muscle. He wears a dark earthen blue tunic over a white linen three button pullover shirt. He wears a pair of black shorts(under his pants) and a pair of dark gray hosen(medieval style pants). He'll wear a chain mail shirt and these pauldrons additionally he'll wear leather knee and shin armor. He wears a small gray hood and a bear fur cloak. Skills: He is a good brawler and can fight with anything he can get his hands on(He's used bed rolls before). Horseback riding. Swordfighting, throwing axes, and two handed weapon fighting. He's been able to use crossbows before, but despises them, as they are delicate and take a lot of work just to reload. Bushcraft and survival stuff. Smoking(if that qualifies as a skill). Some cooking. Natural Abilities: He's strong and durable and can take a lot of beatings. He's pretty much a tank. He can drink a lot of alcohol and only get buzzed. Otherwise, he's just a normal human. Magic Spells: N/A Additional Information: He is in a relationship with Sana Rawn. He has a draft horse, named Rodger. Weapons: He wields a large crude looking battle axe and a falchion. Additionally, he has one small crude throwing axe. Possessions: A rucksack with jerky, bread, cheese, rags, spark rocks(basically one is made of magnesium), rope, ladle, cooking knife, two plates, and tobacco. He also has saddle bags on his horse, which he stores his pipe, more tobacco, sugar cubes, a brush, a stick and bow(which he uses for lighting his pipe), and a few salt licks. He has two water skins. One he keeps on his horse, and one on his person or in rucksack. Additionally he has a pot and a frying pan strapped down to the outside of his rucksack. He also wears a ring on a little chain around his neck and he never seems to take it off, as it was given to him by Sana. Personality: He is a more contented man, liking simple things in life, especially enjoying smoking his pipe with a wonderful scenery, usually in the form of a beautiful day and his love, Sana. He has a more realistic attitude towards the world, not being an idealist, only doing things to help. He has great respect for the natural order of things, and you won't find him trying to seek out revenge. He still has a fiery temper when it is stoked enough to come out. History: Hugh was once part of a great order of paladins. They had much land and ruled with wisdom. Their lands were prosperous and fertile. Many were jealous of their lands, but no one had the courage enough to take on the great and Noble order. Their paladins were fierce and formidable fighters. They all stood higher than 6' and were towers of muscle. They were truly terrifying men. But they were brought down under scandal. Fabricated accusations about them stealing their riches and enslaving other groups of people for labor. The scandals kept growing until they were set upon by every surrounding nation. They stood no chance. Many were killed, only a few escaped. They have been long since forgotten, after being hunted for almost two decades, and killed off, until it was concluded that they were finally extinct. Hugh hid among tribes of barbarians to survive. The tribe was good to him, making him one of their own. He had built a life of simplicity. Some warring between other tribes would often end with them being brutalized and then integrated. Hugh had found love in a woman taken from one of the defeated tribes. He had a few sons and lived very happily with her, until they were set upon by a purge of the "savages". Hugh's tribe was wiped out and he was orphaned once again. He had brutally killed all the "civilized" army he could, but it was too late. His tribe was all gone, along with his family. He became a wanderer, and left to find life as a mercenary. In that life, he found an adventure awaiting him in a tavern. The tavern was filled with life, when he came in and joined up with a questing group. There he met a gypsy woman by the name of Sana. He got to know her going on this random little adventure with this party. It was all rather simple and jovial at first, until they were all taken captive by a lich. This lich tried to take Sana from them, and in that moment Hugh only felt desperation and rage. He had slowly begun to realize that he had fallen in love with Sana, and that if he lost her nothing would change about his existence as a wandering mercenary, and he would simply keep losing people he deeply cared about. So he took a chance at love, and broke out of his cage in a fit of rage. He fought like a lion to get to Sana, finally winning out(love triumphs over all!) against the hordes of undead after his party came to his aid. Since then, he's been a contented old soul, taking care of Sana and showing her his love for her, even though he has never said the words.

Merci de votre inquiétude, sœur, mais j'ai eu assez de repos pour durer un moment. Après qu'elle ait dit ça, il y a eu un gros grognement de l'estomac de Vaeri. Elle s'est arrêtée une seconde, une rose teintée légèrement colorant ses joues cicatrices. "Peut-être qu'un petit repas me ferait du bien. Je vous laisse. Adieu." Vaeri a tourné et a laissé Lob, Wyslan et Agnes à leurs propres appareils. Elle a estimé que la somnolence ne commencerait pas à l'affecter de nouveau avant le crépuscule. Ça lui convenait très bien. Après tout, la probabilité que demain soit aussi mouvementé qu'aujourd'hui était plutôt mince. Alors qu'elle quittait l'Apothicaire, Vaeri regarda Sana encerclée par un groupe étonnamment important de personnes. Vaeri a passé le pas sans briser le pas. Elle était assez mauvaise avec les humains, et encore moins les enfants. Elle ferait probablement peur à la fille ou la contrarierait davantage. Parmi la foule se trouvait l'armure étrangère d'avant, maintenant avec son casque enlevé. Coïncidentalement, son visage était marqué comme le sien, mais alors que ses cicatrices étaient toutes assez petites et qu'elles s'ajoutaient à un vaste réseau de peau défigurée, ses cicatrices étaient beaucoup plus grandes et facilement visibles. Quel drôle d'homme. Dans son sac, elle a sorti un paquet de rations de voyage et un petit livre. Vaeri est passé à l'avant de l'auberge et s'est assis devant elle. Elle y lisait son livre, profitant d'un pique-nique impromptu au crépuscule.

Name: Vaeri Dryearurdrenn Age: 143 Alignment: Lawful Good Race: Elf Class: Cleric/Barbarian Appearance/Clothing: Vaeri is an innocent looking elf, standing at about 5' 7" (170 cm) with long, straight raven hair that extends down to the base of her back, pale skin and bright blue eyes. At a glance she's quite beautiful with full lips, a small button nose, thin eyebrows and high cheekbones, when one takes a closer look, several tiny scars are visible all over, disfiguring her otherwise graceful looks. Likewise, Vaeri's exposed flesh, the rare times one can see them initially appear smooth and untouched, but upon closer inspection are covered in scars and barely contain wiry muscle below. Vaeri dresses as a lady of the cloth should, with a dark blue full body cloak. The fabric is adorned with intricate patterns in white to provide visual contrast and indicating her status as a clergywoman. Around her neck and outside the cloak, Vaeri wears a necklace bearing the holy symbol of her god. However, underneath the cloak is a full set of leather armor, battle ready and kept in top shape at all times. Skills: Sense Motive, Knowledge (Religion), Knowledge (Nature), Climb, Jump, Sleight of Hand, fletching arrows, surviving out in the wild Natural Abilities: Keen senses, the ability to see better than humans in low light Magic/Spells: Heal: can decide how good this is Tongues: Allows the caster to speak any language for the duration of the spell Turn Undead: Vaeri can attempt to make Undead flee from her presence temporarily. Powerful Undead can resist this. Divine Might: Holy power infuses the caster, temporarily making them more powerful and resilient Flame Strike: Smites foes with holy flames Additional Information: Vaeri worships Menhit, lion-goddess of War. (Fun fact her name means She who massacres) Weapons: Vaeri carries a shortbow and a two-handed battleaxe Possessions: Vaeri carries a backpack that can hold more than you think it would and what Vaeri wants from the bag will always be at the top (the item in question must have been put in the bag beforehand for this to work). Inside the bag are her necessities (tent, rope, bedroll, tarp for the tent, soap, cooking utensils, oil, a lamp, flint and steel), holy texts, and about 2 weeks worth of rations. She also has a coin purse with about 20 gold pieces in it. On her hip is a quiver with 20 arrows. Personality: To strangers, Vaeri appears to be a gentle elf, always keen to help those in need and be a travelling force of good in the world. However, as you get to know her, slowly she morphs into an entirely different person, brash, head-strong and a braggart, this true face of Vaeri shows exactly why she worships the goddess she does. The elf loves battle of all kinds and will gleefully jump into battle whenever she can. History: Vaeri grew up in a forest village mostly populated by other elves to a carpenter. IN her childhood, she began learning the bow as all children did. Her prowess with weaponry was admired just as much as her excessive enthusiasm for using them was worrying. One day while out hunting alone she was overcome by a vision of the lion-goddess Menhit who commanded Vaeri to go out into the world and find a man with two right hands. After this experience, Vaeri began following the goddess of war and has dedicated her life to this mission. The cleric has been following this notice for strong adventurers as a possible lead for locating this mysterious man.

Le sourire étranger s'est évaporé dans un visage de sérieux, et il a glissé le casque en arrière, piégeant la lavande du masque en dessous. Il regarda la vieille nonne un moment avant de clignoter son regard vers l'entrée de la taverne et de se lever. Sans un mot, il passa lentement devant le groupe et passa à l'entrée de la taverne, puis remit ses vues à l'apothécaire et retourna. Il mesura les distances entre les deux avec ses yeux, alors qu'il posa la main sur le pommier d'une étrange épée de métal gris qui s'accrochait à sa hanche dans un vieux fourreau. Après quelques instants d'arithmétique, il se promène vers une poutre en bois qui est utilisée pour attacher les chevaux et s'appuie contre elle, directement au centre entre les deux bâtiments. Il plie ses bras et le cheval blanc lui trotte lentement, lance traîneant derrière au bout d'un nœud rapidement attaché. L'étranger secoua la tête et tira l'arme contre la poutre avant d'ouvrir l'une des cartables en cuir sur le côté du cheval. Après quelques instants de fouille, il a produit un sac d'alimentation complet, qu'il a rapidement équipé sur la bouche de son étalon énergisé. Le cheval commença à souffler, et l'étranger sourit derrière son casque avant de laisser tomber une large épaule sur la poutre en bois, où il décida de se pencher. Il a inhalé profondément, prêt à commencer ses devoirs de sentinelle. Il tourna légèrement la tête vers la femme qui était assise à l'entrée de la taverne, mangeant et lisant. Il a souillé ses yeux irisés par le soleil sur le livre, mais les mots étaient trop fins pour être lus complètement à l'angle qu'il se tenait, alors il a serré et a continué à scanner la zone avec diligence.

Name: Illyd Dyill Age: 18 Alignment: neutral Race: Human Class: Shepherd Appearance/Clothing: Illyd Dyill stands a modest six and has a wiry yet firm frame. His body is covered in old tan robes draped over loose pants and worn fur boots. He has shaggy black hair much like the sheep he used to herd, and two light brown eyes that peek out from his youthful and defined tanned face. Skills: farming, understanding of animal anatomy, mundane understanding of self defense and fighting with a crook, tracking, Natural Abilities: In depth thinking, to the point that this guy might be possessed Magic/Spells: Additional Information: He was a shepherd as long as he could remember, and as long as he could remember, he wanted to be a hero, but this one tiny voice in his head prefers a different direction Weapons: A Shepherd's crook Possessed: Yes Personality: He is curious, adventurous, slightly lazy, and naive. However, a secondary thinking voice in his head is definitely different than his usual gentle nature; as it is aggressive, violent, lustful and greedy.. Luckily this isn’t the voice that controls the body, mostly. History: A simple Shepherd’s son, out in the big world to become an adventurer (possessions: Crook, clothes, worn out harp) So I already have a bunch of ideas on how this guy’s posts would look, a lot of in mind arguing and play, as well as crude suggestions and general character development

Sana sentit une vague de soulagement se laver sur elle alors que Hugh semblait prendre en charge la situation pour l'aider et Ariana sortir du reste du groupe; si c'était seulement Sana seule, elle n'aurait pas eu l'esprit autant et aurait essayé de rester et de répondre au plus grand nombre de questions possibles mais l'enfant avait déjà traversé assez et n'était évidemment pas à l'aise autour du reste alors. Laisser Ariana glisser de ses genoux, Hugh glisser son bras autour de Sana et la soulever à ses pieds lui fait un peu mal, mais elle ne s'est pas inquiétée; sentir sa force à nouveau la mettre à l'aise. Se penchant faiblement contre lui, elle glissa un bras autour du dos et se reposa la tête sur la poitrine, laissant un profond soupir de soulagement alors qu'elle écoutait son cœur battre pendant qu'il sécurait l'épée et le fourreau. Ariana se tenait à côté de Sana, tenant sur sa jambe de pantalon pendant qu'elle attendait. Quand Hugh a offert sa main, l'enfant a levé les yeux à Sana un moment avant de hocher lentement et d'atteindre lentement pour envelopper ses petits doigts autour de l'index de Hughs. Sana pensait qu'elle marcherait avec eux dans l'auberge, mais elle avait tort. Ce qui s'est passé ensuite était complètement inattendu car l'enfant a pris la main libre de Sanas aussi bien et a utilisé sa prise sur Sana et Hugh comme levier, puis a rapidement placé un pied après l'autre sur les jambes de Hughs, l'écrasant rapidement et se terminant avec ses jambes enveloppées autour de sa taille et ses bras autour de son cou. Sana a percé un sourcil légèrement pendant qu'elle regardait le petit et lui a donné une expression favorable et impressionnée. Ariana sourit alors qu'elle se tenait en place et Sana retourna son attention vers Hugh. -- D'accord alors, dit Sana d'une voix légère. « Allons lui chercher à manger », a ajouté Sana avant que son estomac ne grogne. Sana a laissé un peu soupirer. « Et moi aussi », dit-elle doucement en attendant que Hugh l'aide à retourner à l'auberge. Soeur Agnès s'emparant de l'arc de Sanas du sol et aidant l'archer à l'enfiler dans le dos avant qu'ils n'arrivent à aller sur leur chemin. "Merci." « Bien sûr, j'aurai le gardien de l'auberge un bain pour vous et l'enfant afin que vous puissiez nettoyer une fois que vous avez fini de manger », dit Soeur Agnes d'une voix aimable avant de partir et dans l'auberge pour prendre soin de la tâche à portée de main. Sana se penchait contre Hugh alors qu'il l'aidait vers l'auberge et souriait vers Vaeri car elle remarquait que la femme jouissait d'un moment de détente bien mérité pour manger dehors. « Merci pour votre aide aujourd'hui », a dit Sana d'une voix aimable alors qu'ils passaient Vaeri. Voir le nouveau venu là-bas l'a rendue curieuse mais elle était beaucoup trop fatiguée pour lui poser des questions à ce moment-là et devait s'assurer qu'Ariana s'est installée pour la nuit. Une fois à l'intérieur et Hugh a aidé Sana dans un siège, Ariana s'est brouillé et a glissé dans la chaise à côté de Sana. La nourriture a été apportée pour les trois et Ariana l'a regardé bizarrement pendant un moment comme si elle n'était pas sûre que c'était bon pour elle de manger. "Allez-y," Sana a dit doucement alors qu'elle ramassait sa fourchette et prenait une bouchée de sa propre nourriture. Ariana gigogne d'un clin d'œil et se déchire dans son repas; mangeant comme si elle ne l'avait pas fait depuis des jours, ce que Sana pensait être le cas.

Name: Hanzo Jibero Age: 26 Alignment: Lawful Neutral Race: Human Class: Monk Appearance/Clothing: Skills: Acrobatics Survival Historical & Religious Knowledge Climbing & Swimming Perception Emotion Reading Ki Manipulation Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human. Magic/Spells: Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance. Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially. Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities. Additional Information: This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could. This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose. For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny. Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability. Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope. Personality: By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership. As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace. History: Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time. Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind. Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge. So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand. Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her. He only regrets not having learned her name. The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had.

Hugh a été en fait surpris par la sensation de la petite main de l'enfant enveloppant autour de son seul doigt. C'était une sensation de réchauffement, bien différente que d'avoir une femme comme la vôtre. Le petit contact de l'enfant le faisait fondre, à l'intérieur, et il se sentait si heureux. Cela l'a ramené à un moment où il a soutenu les enfants et les a élevés, les aimant autant qu'il le pouvait. Le tour soudain inattendu de la faire monter et s'accrocher à lui était un peu familier et extrêmement thérapeutique. Il avait l'impression d'avoir à nouveau une famille, et il pouvait poser l'ancien pour se reposer en permanence. Hugh se transformerait en bête sauvage pour protéger cet enfant à tout moment, mais pour l'instant, il se contenterait d'être quelque chose à câliner étroitement. Après quelques instants d'interaction et de court voyage, Hugh s'installe à côté de l'enfant, après avoir laissé Sana et Arianna s'asseoir. Il a donné un sourire content alors qu'il les regardait tous les deux, et a tourné son attention vers son assiette, commençant à manger lentement et méthodiquement. D'habitude, il pouvait le dévorer, mais d'une habitude acquise il y a longtemps, il mangeait toujours lentement quand il avait des enfants avec lui. L'idée dans son esprit subconscient était que s'ils avaient faim de plus, il serait en mesure de leur offrir plus. Il se rappelait si bien, comment il avait donné à ses propres enfants sa nourriture quand ils ont commencé à pleurnicher à ce sujet. Il finirait par faire la même chose pour n'importe quel enfant qui a fini par s'occuper de lui.

Name: Hugh Van Halder Age: 45 Alignment: Neutral Good Race: Human Class: Fighter, Ex-Paladin Appearance/Clohing: He stands at 6'2", a tower of years of built up muscle. He wears a dark earthen blue tunic over a white linen three button pullover shirt. He wears a pair of black shorts(under his pants) and a pair of dark gray hosen(medieval style pants). He'll wear a chain mail shirt and these pauldrons additionally he'll wear leather knee and shin armor. He wears a small gray hood and a bear fur cloak. Skills: He is a good brawler and can fight with anything he can get his hands on(He's used bed rolls before). Horseback riding. Swordfighting, throwing axes, and two handed weapon fighting. He's been able to use crossbows before, but despises them, as they are delicate and take a lot of work just to reload. Bushcraft and survival stuff. Smoking(if that qualifies as a skill). Some cooking. Natural Abilities: He's strong and durable and can take a lot of beatings. He's pretty much a tank. He can drink a lot of alcohol and only get buzzed. Otherwise, he's just a normal human. Magic Spells: N/A Additional Information: He is in a relationship with Sana Rawn. He has a draft horse, named Rodger. Weapons: He wields a large crude looking battle axe and a falchion. Additionally, he has one small crude throwing axe. Possessions: A rucksack with jerky, bread, cheese, rags, spark rocks(basically one is made of magnesium), rope, ladle, cooking knife, two plates, and tobacco. He also has saddle bags on his horse, which he stores his pipe, more tobacco, sugar cubes, a brush, a stick and bow(which he uses for lighting his pipe), and a few salt licks. He has two water skins. One he keeps on his horse, and one on his person or in rucksack. Additionally he has a pot and a frying pan strapped down to the outside of his rucksack. He also wears a ring on a little chain around his neck and he never seems to take it off, as it was given to him by Sana. Personality: He is a more contented man, liking simple things in life, especially enjoying smoking his pipe with a wonderful scenery, usually in the form of a beautiful day and his love, Sana. He has a more realistic attitude towards the world, not being an idealist, only doing things to help. He has great respect for the natural order of things, and you won't find him trying to seek out revenge. He still has a fiery temper when it is stoked enough to come out. History: Hugh was once part of a great order of paladins. They had much land and ruled with wisdom. Their lands were prosperous and fertile. Many were jealous of their lands, but no one had the courage enough to take on the great and Noble order. Their paladins were fierce and formidable fighters. They all stood higher than 6' and were towers of muscle. They were truly terrifying men. But they were brought down under scandal. Fabricated accusations about them stealing their riches and enslaving other groups of people for labor. The scandals kept growing until they were set upon by every surrounding nation. They stood no chance. Many were killed, only a few escaped. They have been long since forgotten, after being hunted for almost two decades, and killed off, until it was concluded that they were finally extinct. Hugh hid among tribes of barbarians to survive. The tribe was good to him, making him one of their own. He had built a life of simplicity. Some warring between other tribes would often end with them being brutalized and then integrated. Hugh had found love in a woman taken from one of the defeated tribes. He had a few sons and lived very happily with her, until they were set upon by a purge of the "savages". Hugh's tribe was wiped out and he was orphaned once again. He had brutally killed all the "civilized" army he could, but it was too late. His tribe was all gone, along with his family. He became a wanderer, and left to find life as a mercenary. In that life, he found an adventure awaiting him in a tavern. The tavern was filled with life, when he came in and joined up with a questing group. There he met a gypsy woman by the name of Sana. He got to know her going on this random little adventure with this party. It was all rather simple and jovial at first, until they were all taken captive by a lich. This lich tried to take Sana from them, and in that moment Hugh only felt desperation and rage. He had slowly begun to realize that he had fallen in love with Sana, and that if he lost her nothing would change about his existence as a wandering mercenary, and he would simply keep losing people he deeply cared about. So he took a chance at love, and broke out of his cage in a fit of rage. He fought like a lion to get to Sana, finally winning out(love triumphs over all!) against the hordes of undead after his party came to his aid. Since then, he's been a contented old soul, taking care of Sana and showing her his love for her, even though he has never said the words.

Sana regarda Hugh et sourit doucement pendant qu'elle le regardait. Il semblait très à l'aise autour d'Ariana mais cela ne l'a pas surpris, elle connaissait ses enfants et son passé. C'était quelque chose qu'il lui avait dit il y a longtemps. C'était sympa de le voir comme ça et ça a fait du bien à son cœur. Se reposer dans son siège après avoir mangé un peu de Sana s'est sentie beaucoup mieux. Le sort jeté avait pris beaucoup d'elle et elle savait qu'elle aurait besoin de dormir mais au moins maintenant elle sentait qu'elle pouvait marcher sans aide. Glançant vers Ariana, elle riait un peu en regardant celle-ci s'approcher et voler un morceau de porc salé sur l'assiette de Hughs et le dévorer. Elle s'est levée et a étouffé les cheveux de l'enfant un moment. "Ariana, je veux que tu restes avec Hugh. J'ai besoin de prendre quelque chose », a-t-elle dit doucement. Ariana a regardé Sana avec une bouche pleine de nourriture et a hurlé rapidement en avalant le morceau de viande qu'elle avait piétiné avant d'essuyer sa bouche avec sa manche. « D'accord, » dit-elle rapidement avant d'arracher une fraise de l'assiette de Sanas et de la farcer dans sa bouche. Sana a riposté avant de partir et de sortir de l'auberge. Rodger avait besoin de soins et Sana avait besoin de vérifier sur Epona, ainsi que d'attraper leurs sacs afin qu'ils avaient des vêtements propres. Elle n'avait rien d'enfant mais elle avait une idée. Quand elle a quitté l'auberge Sana, Rodger est venu trotter. Elle prit ses rênes et le conduisit à l'écurie, le mettant à côté d'Epona avant de récupérer leurs sacs. A l'intérieur d'Ariana continuait à manger ce qui était sur sa propre assiette entre la nourriture ensanglantée de ce que Sana n'avait pas mangé et ce qui était sur l'assiette de Hughs. Elle semblait être une fosse sans fond mais elle n'avait pas eu un repas complet depuis des semaines pour qu'on ne puisse pas lui en vouloir. Elle souriait à Hugh, pointait derrière lui et si oui ou non il tournait la tête, elle s'emparait d'un autre morceau de porc salé et la poussait dans sa bouche en rigolant. Quand Sana est revenue, Ariana était pleine et s'asseyait juste là, faisant des visages stupides à Hugh. Sana se tenait dans la porte pendant un moment juste en regardant la petite, elle était étonnée par la résistance de la petite. Respirant, elle est revenue vers eux et a posé le sac de Hughs à côté de lui. "Tout va bien pendant que j'étais parti?" Elle a demandé avec un sourire doux sur ses lèvres. -- Oui, oui, répondit Ariana avec joie. "C'est bien, prêt à être nettoyé?" Sana a demandé. Ariana a hurlé mais avant qu'elle ait eu l'occasion de répondre à Soeur Agnes est venue. "On dirait qu'elle l'est, ce qui est bon. L'aubergiste a mis en place une petite surprise pour votre lavage," la nonne a dit gentiment. Sana a percé un sourcil et lâché. Passant à Hugh, elle lui donna un doux baiser et lui jeta les doigts dans la joue. "Je reviens tout de suite, je vais nous faire nettoyer les filles. Votre pipe est dans votre sac », a dit Sana d'une voix bienveillante avant de tourner son attention vers Ariana qui a encore une fois gigoté au baiser. Sana a juste roulé les yeux avec gaieté avant de prendre la main d'Arianas et de la conduire à l'étage jusqu'à leur chambre et de fermer la porte derrière eux. Soeur Agnès regardait les deux avec un regard réfléchi sur ses traits avant de s'asseoir en face de Hugh. « Je ne pense pas que nous ayons été correctement présentés. Je suis Soeur Agnès et vous devez être Hugh », a-t-elle dit en lui étendant la main.

Name: Hanzo Jibero Age: 26 Alignment: Lawful Neutral Race: Human Class: Monk Appearance/Clothing: Skills: Acrobatics Survival Historical & Religious Knowledge Climbing & Swimming Perception Emotion Reading Ki Manipulation Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human. Magic/Spells: Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance. Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially. Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities. Additional Information: This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could. This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose. For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny. Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability. Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope. Personality: By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership. As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace. History: Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time. Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind. Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge. So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand. Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her. He only regrets not having learned her name. The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had.

Wylsen était à l'intérieur de la boutique, derrière le comptoir en train de rassembler ce dont il aurait besoin pour conserver les griffes jusqu'à ce que le reste des ingrédients soient rassemblés ainsi que pour obtenir le sang de la bête. Il regarda comme la cloche au-dessus de sa porte s'abreuvait et se déplaçait pour qu'ils entrent. "Oui, ce serait bien," Wylsen, alors qu'il sortait de derrière le comptoir et installait un épais chiffon sur le sol. Une fois que j'ai le sang, nous pouvons prendre soin de récolter tout ce que vous pensez être utile, a dit Wylsen comme il s'est assis sur le sol près du tissu. Pouvez-vous le poser ici sur le drap pour moi? Alors nous pouvons commencer. Lob traîna avec le corps boiteux et le mit sur le chiffon propre, il atteignit un morceau de silex et d'acier pour faire du feu et mit l'acier sur le côté. Ce qui s'est passé ensuite était assez peu caractéristique pour la brute: il était lisse et dextérieux car il a pris une corde et étranglé le chien par ses chevilles pour laisser sa tête descendre vers le drap. Il a posé un seau sous la tête suspendue avec un silex épongé entre ses doigts, il semblait presque juste tirer la chair comme une coupe profonde de pouce scintiller la gorge pour laisser la gravité égoutter la carotide et la jugulaire. Une grande partie du sang avait été perdu dans le combat, probablement environ la moitié, mais avec un professionnel pour aider la sage il était sur le point d'obtenir une éducation puissante. Wylsen s'est penché en arrière et a sauté un bouchon dans la bouteille de sang qu'il avait pu drainer du Hell Hound, grâce à Lobs aide et sourit à lui-même. En ramassant un chiffon, il a nettoyé un peu ses mains et a tapé le demi-orc sur l'épaule. « Bon travail, je pense que cela me permettra de rendre quelque chose de très utile pour vous et votre groupe d'ici le matin. Que vouliez-vous obtenir d'autre de la créature?" "Tous. Utilise tout. Peau, os, viande. Utilise tout." À moins d'être arrêté, il ramènerait la bête exsanguine après avoir posé les seaux de sang sur le côté. Il a d'abord fait une coupe autour de l'anus afin qu'il se déplace librement du reste de la carcasse. Puis une coupe est faite de cette incision à la plaque de poitrine pour permettre l'estomac et les intestins d'être soigneusement enlevés. Maintenant l'anus peut être enlevé en le tirant vers le bas et tout ce sac d'entrailles serait mis sur le côté. Il a tapé la vessie et l'estomac. "Wineskin." Il a touché l'intestin avec des mains sales puis a patté les muscles, il pêchait soigneusement de l'os et pointait vers n'importe quelles herbes suspendues. "De la nourriture." Il a touché les poumons qui avaient une croissance étrange attachée à eux. "Il fait le feu, nous faisons le feu." Les os qu'il a dressés un par un et les a expliqués. "Club, bouclier, flèche, nourriture pour bébés." Le dernier a été accentué par un mouvement de rupture et un geste de secouer quelque chose. Ensuite, la ventouse est coupée et tous les organes supérieurs comme le cœur et le foie sont enlevés. Enfin, il a pris la peau et l'a plié avec révérence sur le côté. "Coudre des trous, faire des armures. Armure pas de feu."

Name:Lob-otto-me! Age:21 (old for a half orc) Alignment: Chaotic Good Race: Half-orc Class: Barbarian(Brute Kit) (estimated 6th level based on wizard spells, 15 THAC0) Brute Description: The most primitive barbarian, the Brute combines traits of both humans and animals. He is heavily built and thick-boned, with a sloping skull resting low on his neck, and fanged jaws protruding over a receding chin. Coarse hair covers his hide-like skin. Long, powerful arms let him lope on all fours and clamber up trees like a monkey. Lacking the intelligence of other barbarians, he depends on his keen senses, natural resilience, and sharp instincts to help him survive. Requirements: A Brute has a maximum Intelligence of 6 and a maximum Charisma of 8. (Treat Intelligence scores of 7 or higher as 6, and Charisma scores of 9 or higher as 8.) A Brute gains a +1 bonus on his initial Strength score or a bonus of 25% on exceptional strength. Homeland Terrain: Any, with Mountains, Jungle, and Forest the most likely. Role: In his homeland, the Brute’s life consists of hunting, sleeping, and fending off predators. Consequently, he values personal virtues that enhance the chances of survival, including cooperation, courage, and genmiv. His moral code consists of two basic principles: (1) do no harm to those who pose no threat, and (2) destroy those who would harm him or his companions. The Brute has no use for virtues and vices associated with civilized societies. Etiquette, greed, personal honor, and loyalty to abstract principles are unknown to him. He can’t be insulted or blackmailed, nor can he be tempted with treasure. A Brute’s interests seldom extend beyond his current needs; with food in his stomach and a soft patch of ground on which to nap, he’s as content as he can be. A Brute allies himself with an adventuring party for companionship, protection, or even the promise of regular meals. He remains loyal so long as his companions treat him decently. He has no aptitude for leadership, strategic planning, or negotiation; he takes orders from anyone he trusts. He serves his party as a forager, hunter, and combatant. Though a Brute’s companions may admire his loyalty and friendliness, they may also balk at his animalistic behavior. He howls at the moon, licks himself clean, and grooms animals by picking bugs from their fur. He eats raw meat, tearing apart carcasses with his teeth. He speaks in grunts, never more than a few syllables at a time. He identifies friends by their smells, and investigates strangers by sniffing them up and down. Secondary Skills: Fire-maker, Forager, Hunter. Weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only two weapon proficiencies. Thereafter, he gains new proficiencies at the normal rate. Required: Club. Brutes must select all subsequent proficiencies from the following choices: axe (any), Celt*, dagger, knife, spear. Non-weapon Proficiencies: A Brute begins with only one non-weapon proficiency. He gains new proficiencies at the normal rate. Bonus: Danger Sense*. Recommended: Artistic Ability,Endurance, Fire-making, Fishing, Foraging*,Hunting, Light Sleeping*, Tracking, Wild Fighting* Barred: Agriculture, Alertness*, Boating*, Crude Armorer, Crude Bowyer/Fletcher, Crude Weapon smithing, Dancing, Horde Summoning, Leadership*, Pottery, Riding (Airborne or Land-based). Economic System: Trade-free. Wealth Options: The concept of trade is new to the Brute, because he’s used to foraging whatever he wants from the wilderness, and doing without if he can’t find it. He begins with no funds or tradable goods. After the barbarian spends some time in the outworld-say, after he’s advanced one level-the DM may allow him to learn a barter system. Armor and Equipment: The Brute begins with padded or leather armor, usually a large fur with a hole in the center, slipped over his head to hang down his body. A Brute may not use any weapons other than those listed in the weapon proficiencies section above. A Brute rarely uses a shield; it interferes with hunting. Special Benefits: Enhanced Natural Armor: The Brute’s coarse hair, thick skin, and dense bones give him a natural armor class of 6 (boosted to AC 4 when he wears padded or leather armor). Improved Climbing: A Brute climbs as a barbarian two levels higher. Wild Brawl: When fighting without weapons, the Brute can propel himself into a berserk frenzy. Bites, punches and kicks are all directed at a single opponent. A single attack roll is used to determine if these attacks finds their mark. Damage is ld6. Enhanced Sense of Smell: A Brute can trail a human, animal, or demi-human by scent, presuming the quarry made the trail within the previous 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the quarry, or must have a sample of the scent (a scrap of hide, a lock of hair, a piece of clothing). A Brute has the same chance to follow the trail as if he had the tracking proficiency. (Refer to Table 39 in the Player’s Handbook. Use only the modifiers relevant to following a trail by scent, including those associated with the number of creatures in the group, elapsed time, and inclement weather.) Use the Brute’s Wisdom score to make tracking checks. If the Brute has the tracking proficiency, he receives a +2 bonus to his checks. A Brute can also identify a particular character or creature by its lingering aroma, presuming the character or creature was in the area within the past 24 hours. The Brute must be familiar with the creature or have a sample of the scent. The Brute identifies the scent with a successful Wisdom check. Surprise Bonus: Because of the Brute's sharp senses, he receives a +2 bonus to his surprise rolls. Special Hindrances: Reduced Movement: A Brute has a base movement rate of 12. Language Limit: A Brute can't know more than a single language. Limited Magic: A Brute will not use magical items that require command words or concentration for their use. He can use magical potions, clothing and weapons. *** Leaping and Springing. The barbarian fighter is skilled at making leaps (horizontal jumps) and springs (vertical jumps). To make a running leap or spring, he must have a running start of at least 20 feet in a straight line; less than this, and the best he can do is a standing leap or spring. Standing leaps and springs are made from stationary positions. Table 8 indicates the horizontal distances (for leaps) and vertical distances (for springs) for barbarian fighters of various levels. Distances are expressed in feet. Roll the die separately for each leap or spring. Back Protection. Table 9 shows the barbarian fighter's chance of detecting an attack from behind, made by any character or creature. If the barbarian successfully detects the attack, he avoids it. Additionally, the barbarian is entitled to counter-attack the attacker immediately, even if the barbarian already attacked that turn. Example: Grog the barbarian makes a club attack against a lizard man, while an ogre attempts to attack Grog from behind. After resolving his attack on the lizard man, Grog makes a back detection roll and succeeds; therefore, the ogre receives no special attack bonuses for attacking from behind. The ogre makes a normal attack against Grog; Grog is allowed a "free" counter-attack against the ogre. All of this occurs in the same round. Climbing. The barbarian fighter can climb walls and other surfaces-including ledges, cliffs, and trees-without the aid of tools. Table 9 indicates success chances. This skill works like the thief's climb walls ability Appearance/Clothing: 6'4" 250 Lbs Skills: Weapon specialization: Great club, (+1 hit +2 damage) Weapon proficiency: Dagger, Throwing Axe, Battle axe, Spear Armor proficiency: Padded, Leather Secondary Skills: Forager. Bonus: Danger Sense*, Endurance, Hunting, Light Sleeping*(only need 1 hour of sleep for full rest), Sign Language, Tracking, Wild Fighting*(+1 attacks a round, 3 penalty to AC, -3 to hit, +3 damage, good for minion sweeping or easy to hit enemies) Natural Abilities: Heightened strength(+3 hit +8 damage). Darkvision/infravision. Back Detection(40%) Climbing(95%) Running Leap: 3d6+6 Ft. Running Spring: ld6+3 Ft. Standing Leap: 2d4+3 Ft. Standing Spring: ld4+3 Ft. Additional Information: Highly bestial nature who worships the moon. Treats all dogs like family. His homeland terrain is the open plains, he is always considered proficient in survival, tracking, hiding, and animal lore in his home terrain and provides a penalty to his enemies to detect him when trying to surprise them in the plains. Weapons: CLUB! is a greatclub (2d4) that is little more than a bone ripped from the wing of a black dragon and fitted to a handle. Much of its energy is still rather raw from the experience, but its damage transfer the dragonic energy of acid to stop regenerating creatures. Even if it does not drip acid itself, it seems to work half the time to harm trolls and the like.(8/8/15 Gained a permanent +1d4 from shillelagh potion) (3d4+8 11-20) CATCH! A throwing 'axe' which was a parting gift from the last parties bard/cook, she could throw and catch three at a time in the air. It was an entertaining skill he never developed, but it is great for when he needs to hunt rabbits or use with his 'not a hat' if it is too cramped to use his club! Possessions: Hide of hiding! Hide armor made from the hide of a black bear, because black is good for hiding! He proved himself to his lost clan's shaman (druid) who put a 'blessing' (invisibility to animals) on the armor for good hunting. He has learned that he can approach an animal, but after the first attack, they can see him. He also learned the hard way that it only works on normal animals, special animals can see him just fine. Not a hat! is something he uses when he knows he is going to have to fight something directly and dangerous, not when he is hunting for game. When not fighting, he uses the buckler for a plate or to carry things from foraging. Personality: Fairly simple minded, He has a personality that focuses on loyalty to a fault. He is easily coerced by his friends to do most things. History: About one in ten half-orcs can pass for human, he could not. Left out in the woods and the wilds, he was taken up by a tribe of halfling plains-riders who thought him to be a curiosity. He grew in the tribe and grew some more, easily keeping pace with the 8 meal metabolism of the others and foraging for his own when extra hungry. His phenomenal strength lent him a place in the tribe, but his simpler than most mind meant he had no desires for chiefdom. One day, the plains-riders came upon a Gnoll tribe and their overconfidence was their doom. It was a glorious battle and now the halflings ride across the black plains as stars in the sky, but Lob was not one of those. He awoke some days later with a great gash across his forehead but alive all the same. He burned his people as they were to do and wandered on his own, breaking from the circuit of his people to see the rest of the realm. He came into sight of an adventuring party low on their luck and he brought them a whole elk that even the ranger hadn't been able to take down (to which the bard joked that he was the new animal companion for the ranger's lost wolf). They began to keep him like a pet and gave him his new name from the skull scar which he found good as his old name died with his people. The new family took him from woods to still water swamp where they sought out a black dragon and its treasure. The brackish trees were too thick to fly but not to climb as he made his way by branches when the dragon attacked. First it cunningly weakened the party with many animals of the swamp before striking. The party was doing well until the wizard was bitten by a snake and down for the count so Lob took the staff and swung it like a club across the dragons face. The reverberation of the shattered staff loosing all of its stored energy was enough to end the fight as the beast collapsed. But, when it came time to divide the treasures, the in-fighting broke the party in two with Lob merely claiming a trophy of the dragon as his reward. The party split up in town after all was said and sold, enough for some to retire. The city was no place for Lob and so he had one of the fighters help him get his bone made into a serviceable weapon before he left with the groups Healer who chose to go on a pilgrimage to renew her faith and could use his strength. After a few temples, he pilgrimage has been made to pause with this new sickness rising. Since Lob is 'ever so good at finding things', the healer asked lob to help the children while she stays at this village to tend to the sick. ***Scent tracking*** Drizzak -smoked meat, burnt earth and occasionally strawberries.. Fiona - wilderness, the road, and a little of her horse Hanzo -outdoor air, with hints of morning dampness and a slight earthy aroma. Hugh - tobacco, horse, his own sweat, metal, and grass. Lob - Dry dog, dirt, bit of dung Melvis - At the moment, Melvus smells like blood Mortosh -sorta dead with rust smell to him as well as a bit of blueberry Sana - cedar wood and jasmine flower. Sister Agnes-Lavender and rosemary oil Tobias -sweat and red apples. Vaeri -surrounding forest with a hint of cinnamon. Zack -Ash Zam-flowery blueberry and has a hint rust to her scent

Hugh se trouva dans une autre direction, feignant la crédulité, pour entendre une signature rire chaque fois qu'il tournait la tête, seulement pour regarder en arrière à sa place et remarquer quelque chose manquant. Le rituel lui apporta un sourire au visage, car il regardait vers le bas le coupable, dévorant ses butins avec cupidité. Après un certain temps, et Hugh perdant de la nourriture, le petit fut satisfait, et se mit à faire des visages vers Hugh. Il ferait de son mieux pour essayer de lui revenir, en finissant généralement par avoir l'air très semblable. Cette activité a cessé lorsque Sana les a rejoints, mettant l'un des sacs de Hugh à côté de lui sur la table, et posant plusieurs questions au petit. Hugh a surtout souri et a hurlé, avant qu'il obtienne un baiser tendre de sa bien-aimée, laissant ses yeux fermés à la respirer juste un peu. Il soupirait alors que le baiser était cassé, un petit sourire se brisant le visage. Il regarda son sac, après que Sana en eut parlé, contenant sa pipe et son tabac. Il sourit vers elle, alors qu'elle disparaissait, la petite en remorquage. Hugh a arraché une lumière d'une lampe suspendue à un pilier à l'aide d'un long bâton avec une pointe brûlée, avant que la nonne commence à se présenter à lui. Avant de prendre la main qu'elle offrait, il a allumé sa pipe avec le tabac écrasé dedans. Avec la pipe serrée entre ses dents au coin de sa bouche, il sourit en prenant la main, puis en applaudissant son autre main sur le dos de sa main pour faire un serre-mains à deux mains, et lui donnant une pression tendre de ses mains. "Oui, Hugh. Charmé de faire votre connaissance. Je me suis demandé qui a guéri mes blessures deux fois. Il a dit avec un sourire, et un serrement de sa main. Après cela, il laissa sa main, et s'assit à la table. Il leva une main vers le tuyau et se mit à souffler, profitant de la fumée agréable de la feuille.

Name: Hugh Van Halder Age: 45 Alignment: Neutral Good Race: Human Class: Fighter, Ex-Paladin Appearance/Clohing: He stands at 6'2", a tower of years of built up muscle. He wears a dark earthen blue tunic over a white linen three button pullover shirt. He wears a pair of black shorts(under his pants) and a pair of dark gray hosen(medieval style pants). He'll wear a chain mail shirt and these pauldrons additionally he'll wear leather knee and shin armor. He wears a small gray hood and a bear fur cloak. Skills: He is a good brawler and can fight with anything he can get his hands on(He's used bed rolls before). Horseback riding. Swordfighting, throwing axes, and two handed weapon fighting. He's been able to use crossbows before, but despises them, as they are delicate and take a lot of work just to reload. Bushcraft and survival stuff. Smoking(if that qualifies as a skill). Some cooking. Natural Abilities: He's strong and durable and can take a lot of beatings. He's pretty much a tank. He can drink a lot of alcohol and only get buzzed. Otherwise, he's just a normal human. Magic Spells: N/A Additional Information: He is in a relationship with Sana Rawn. He has a draft horse, named Rodger. Weapons: He wields a large crude looking battle axe and a falchion. Additionally, he has one small crude throwing axe. Possessions: A rucksack with jerky, bread, cheese, rags, spark rocks(basically one is made of magnesium), rope, ladle, cooking knife, two plates, and tobacco. He also has saddle bags on his horse, which he stores his pipe, more tobacco, sugar cubes, a brush, a stick and bow(which he uses for lighting his pipe), and a few salt licks. He has two water skins. One he keeps on his horse, and one on his person or in rucksack. Additionally he has a pot and a frying pan strapped down to the outside of his rucksack. He also wears a ring on a little chain around his neck and he never seems to take it off, as it was given to him by Sana. Personality: He is a more contented man, liking simple things in life, especially enjoying smoking his pipe with a wonderful scenery, usually in the form of a beautiful day and his love, Sana. He has a more realistic attitude towards the world, not being an idealist, only doing things to help. He has great respect for the natural order of things, and you won't find him trying to seek out revenge. He still has a fiery temper when it is stoked enough to come out. History: Hugh was once part of a great order of paladins. They had much land and ruled with wisdom. Their lands were prosperous and fertile. Many were jealous of their lands, but no one had the courage enough to take on the great and Noble order. Their paladins were fierce and formidable fighters. They all stood higher than 6' and were towers of muscle. They were truly terrifying men. But they were brought down under scandal. Fabricated accusations about them stealing their riches and enslaving other groups of people for labor. The scandals kept growing until they were set upon by every surrounding nation. They stood no chance. Many were killed, only a few escaped. They have been long since forgotten, after being hunted for almost two decades, and killed off, until it was concluded that they were finally extinct. Hugh hid among tribes of barbarians to survive. The tribe was good to him, making him one of their own. He had built a life of simplicity. Some warring between other tribes would often end with them being brutalized and then integrated. Hugh had found love in a woman taken from one of the defeated tribes. He had a few sons and lived very happily with her, until they were set upon by a purge of the "savages". Hugh's tribe was wiped out and he was orphaned once again. He had brutally killed all the "civilized" army he could, but it was too late. His tribe was all gone, along with his family. He became a wanderer, and left to find life as a mercenary. In that life, he found an adventure awaiting him in a tavern. The tavern was filled with life, when he came in and joined up with a questing group. There he met a gypsy woman by the name of Sana. He got to know her going on this random little adventure with this party. It was all rather simple and jovial at first, until they were all taken captive by a lich. This lich tried to take Sana from them, and in that moment Hugh only felt desperation and rage. He had slowly begun to realize that he had fallen in love with Sana, and that if he lost her nothing would change about his existence as a wandering mercenary, and he would simply keep losing people he deeply cared about. So he took a chance at love, and broke out of his cage in a fit of rage. He fought like a lion to get to Sana, finally winning out(love triumphs over all!) against the hordes of undead after his party came to his aid. Since then, he's been a contented old soul, taking care of Sana and showing her his love for her, even though he has never said the words.

La boutique d'apothécaires Wylsen a hurlé à Lob et a donné au demi-orc un sourire. Ils avaient été en mesure d'utiliser beaucoup de la bête, mais il y avait quelques dommages. Quand le cœur a été percé par l'épée, il a provoqué une réaction en chaîne dans le corps des bêtes qui a rendu les poumons, ce qui se développait sur eux et le cœur inutile. En plus de cela en raison du coup que l'orc avait donné au chien de l'enfer au début du combat et ce que Fionas deux coups subséquents ont fait près de la moitié des os de la bête ont été brisés. Il n'y avait rien qu'ils pouvaient faire mais au moins il y en avait qui pouvaient être utilisés. Toute viande que je ne pense pas que je recommanderais de manger, juste en raison de la nature de l'animal, du moins pas pour les humains à consommer, mais vous pourriez être d'accord. La peau et la fourrure vous feront du bien. Contraireo croyance populaire qu'ils ne sont pas ignifugés, mais comme les potions que je vais brasser du jour au lendemain, il fournira une chance d'être indemne par le feu, mais au mieux ce sera une 50/50 chance. Alors soyez toujours prudent, a averti Wylsen. Mais il devrait encore fournir un très beau supplément à votre armure et vous aider beaucoup,, il a ajouté comme il s'est levé et essuyé ses mains, en prenant les bouteilles de sang qu'il avait recueillies et les mettre à l'arrière de la boutique. En rentrant, il a regardé Lob et a fait signe. Une fois que vous avez fini de prendre ce que vous voulez, pourriez-vous simplement envelopper le reste et soit le placer dans le feu d'enterrement au sud de la ville ou l'enterrer de cette façon. Celui qui vous convient, dit-il comme il est passé à la moitié de l'orc et lui a serré la main. Merci pour toute votre aide, tant avec cela que pour la défense du village. Si jamais vous avez besoin de quelque chose, n'hésitez pas à demander. Pour l'instant, je vais travailler sur ces potions pour votre groupe, j'espère qu'elles sont finies le matin, il a dit avant de tourner et de disparaître derrière le rideau qui a séparé la partie principale de la boutique et la zone arrière où il a brassé toutes les concoctions qu'il a vendues dans la boutique. L'auberge – Chambre principale Ce doit être la salutation la plus gentille que j'ai eue un jour," Soeur Agnes a dit alors qu'elle secouait la main de Hughs avant de se reposer à son siège et de le regarder un moment. Se dirigeant vers l'escalier un moment avant de lui retourner son attention, elle sourit légèrement en regardant le monsieur assis en face d'elle. "Vous deux semblez avoir un moyen avec cette petite fille," Soeur Agnes a déclaré. Et au combat. Vous êtes plutôt... Elle a ajouté qu'elle se protégeait l'un de l'autre, en s'asseyant là, en se souvenant de ce qui s'était passé le premier jour où Sana a été prise par l'un des esclavagistes, puis Hugh a été blessée. J'admets d'abord ce qui s'est passé a fait tourner mon estomac et mon cœur s'inquiète que peut-être j'avais obtenu un groupe de personnes qui n'était peut-être pas le meilleur choix pour une telle tâche, mais après avoir appris un peu plus sur vous deux, principalement de l'observation, je ne peux que conclure que vos actions ont été motivées par l'inquiétude au lieu du mal. J'espère que mes conclusions ont raison, la sœur a dit d'une bonne voix. Il était évident avec l'expression sur son visage et le ton de sa voix qu'elle ne jugeait pas le couple juste en exprimant une préoccupation qui semblait avoir été éclaircie à la fin de la journée. En ce qui concerne la guérison que vous allez, c'est ce que je fais et je suis heureux d'avoir aidé d'une petite façon bien qu'il semble du regard des choses que peut-être ma guérison n'est pas nécessaire. Il semble que Sana soit pleinement capable de prendre soin de telles choses après ce que j'ai vu au cours de la dernière bataille. Elle est vraiment une barde douée bien que je ne l'aurais pas étiquetée comme une quand je l'ai rencontrée pour la première fois," Soeur Agnes a admis qu'elle a regardé Hugh bouffer sur sa pipe. The Inn – Salle Sana et Hughs Lorsque Sana et Ariana sont entrés dans la pièce, ils ont rencontré l'agréable arôme d'eau de rose et un bain qui avait été tiré, une couche de bulles flottant à travers le haut de la surface des eaux. Sana a fait un signe d'approbation alors qu'elle regardait vers Ariana. Ariana s'est glissé dans la joie et s'est enfuie. Sana a essayé de l'empêcher de sauter dans les vêtements et tout, mais il était trop tard et l'eau s'est glissée partout, une partie de cela s'est répandue sur le sol. Sana soupira légèrement, mais au lieu de crier, elle s'empara d'un linge qui leur avait été fourni pour se sécher et enleva le gâchis du sol. D'accord, laissez-vous sortir de ces vêtements sales, a dit Sana quand elle s'est agenouillée à côté du bain. Ariana a hurlé et a laissé Sana l'aider à se déshabiller. En lui remettant un linge de toilette, Ariana s'est frottée après que Sana ait aidé à se laver les cheveux. L'enfant a été nettoyée en un rien de temps mais elle l'a laissée jouer dans l'eau du bain pendant qu'elle a récupéré certains articles de son sac et est arrivée au travail. L'enfant ne pouvait pas porter ce qu'elle avait été au lit alors quelque chose devait être fait à ce sujet. Tirer une chaise à côté d'Ariana pendant qu'elle jouait dans l'eau et est arrivé au travail; ce n'était pas longtemps avant qu'elle ait pris quelques vêtements plus âgés, le couper et le remettre en quelque chose que le petit pouvait porter. Une fois qu'elle avait fini, elle a aidé Ariana à sortir du bain et l'a fait sécher avant de l'aider à entrer dans les vêtements que Sana avait faits pour elle et à courir un peigne dans ses cheveux. La ramassant, elle l'a posée sur le lit et a décidé qu'il était temps de sortir de ses propres vêtements ensanglantés et brûlés. Elle s'est lavée rapidement, heureuse de se débarrasser des jours qui valent la peine de se battre et de se retrouver dans quelque chose de propre. Ariana était assise là à jouer avec les lacets sur son haut alors que Sana s'était nettoyée et habillée et souriait à Sana quand elle s'est approchée d'elle. "Nous correspondons!" Ariana s'est exclamé. Sana a ri et a légèrement hurlé. Sana avait pris une de ses chemises et leggings supplémentaires et les avait redessinés, coupant l'excédent pour s'adapter à la petite. Ils étaient encore un peu gros, mais ça n'avait pas d'importance. L'enfant avait des vêtements propres pour la nuit et Sana a pensé qu'elle pourrait obtenir l'enfant plus le matin quand le magasin général a ouvert. Allez, nous devons faire savoir à Hugh qu'il peut se nettoyer maintenant et puis c'est parti pour coucher avec toi petite, tu as eu une longue journée," Sana a dit de ramasser l'enfant et de l'installer sur le sol. Ariana bâillait un peu mais secouait la tête non. L'enfant se battait pour dormir avec tout ce qu'elle pouvait, mais Sana savait que celui qui allait s'endormir en un rien de temps une fois qu'elle était dans un lit. En prenant sa main, elle la conduisit par la porte, tous les deux aux pieds nus et retournait dans les escaliers. Sana sourit à Hugh et Soeur Agnès lorsqu'ils s'approchèrent d'eux. C'était drôle, maintenant qu'ils étaient tous les deux nettoyés et dans des vêtements qui n'avaient pas l'air d'avoir vu de meilleurs jours les deux semblaient remarquablement semblables. Les cheveux et la structure osseuse d'Ariana étaient presque identiques à ceux de Sanas, même leurs yeux étaient le même chocolat riche avec des taches d'ambre. Soeur Agnès regarda chacun d'eux à tour de rôle et laissa sortir un sourire légèrement surpris. L'enfant avait l'air d'être sa mère. Soeur Agnes regarda Hugh et sourit quand elle se leva de chez elle. Eh bien, je vais vous laisser avec votre famille alors, c'était un plaisir de enfin vous rencontrer correctement Hugh, a-t-elle dit d'une voix de cœur léger avant de se tourner vers Sana. Je l'ai installée dans la chambre à côté de la vôtre pour ce soir, je la partagerai avec elle juste pour qu'elle ne soit pas seule. La chambre est ouverte et a un petit lit pour elle, la sœur a ajouté avant de prendre son congé d'eux et de faire son chemin de l'auberge pour vérifier ce qui se passait avec Wylsen et Lob dans la boutique Apothecary avant de se rendre pour la nuit elle-même. Sana regarda la femme un peu confuse par ses paroles, mais elle les passa sous la fatigue. Il semblait que tout le monde avait affaire à quelque chose. Dans ce cas, je suppose que je vais mettre Ariana au lit, a dit Sana quand elle a retourné son attention à Hugh. Pourquoi ne vous faites-vous pas nettoyer et je serai au lit bientôt, elle a dit qu'elle a hissé Ariana sur sa hanche et s'est penchée pour embrasser sa joue doucement. Ariana s'est tapé sur la chemise de Sanas pour un moment. "Moi aussi, moi aussi!" Ariana s'est exclamé. Sana l'a regardée perplexe mais sa confusion s'est rapidement reposée alors qu'Ariana s'appuyait, s'attaquant à la chemise de Sana comme elle l'a fait, et a donné un doux petit baiser à Hughs autre joue. "Nuit nuit," dit-elle d'une voix innocente. Sana sourit au petit et à Hugh pendant qu'Ariana se redressait et enveloppait ses bras autour du cou de Sanas. D'accord, pour se coucher avec vous, a dit Sana d'une voix douce alors qu'elle portait le petit sur les escaliers et dans la chambre dont Soeur Agnès lui avait parlé. Elle a ouvert la porte et il y avait le lit qui était installé pour Ariana. Sana était beaucoup plus heureuse avec l'idée que l'enfant serait proche pour la nuit et dans une pièce qu'elle n'avait pas à partager avec l'un des autres qui avait été libéré cette nuit-là. Ariana n'avait pas besoin de rappeler ce qui s'était passé à côté d'elle ce soir-là. Se reposant dans le lit, elle a tiré les couvertures pour Ariana et s'est assise à côté d'elle. "Sing," Ariana a exigé qu'elle se recroquevienne dans son lit. Sana a glissé doucement mais elle l'a obligée. Laisser la porte légèrement cassée quand ils sont entrés pour qu'elle n'ait pas à la laisser craquer quand elle a quitté Sana s'est mise à l'aise et a couru ses doigts à travers les cheveux d'Arianas alors qu'elle a commencé à chanter une douce berceuse.

Name: Hanzo Jibero Age: 26 Alignment: Lawful Neutral Race: Human Class: Monk Appearance/Clothing: Skills: Acrobatics Survival Historical & Religious Knowledge Climbing & Swimming Perception Emotion Reading Ki Manipulation Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human. Magic/Spells: Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance. Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially. Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities. Additional Information: This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could. This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose. For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny. Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability. Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope. Personality: By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership. As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace. History: Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time. Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind. Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge. So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand. Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her. He only regrets not having learned her name. The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had.

Hugh a hurlé, un sourire a plissé sur son visage alors qu'elle a référencé comment il était le seul à lui donner une si gentille salutation. Il écoutait attentivement la femme, bouffant encore sur sa pipe tout en mullant sur tout ce qu'elle dirait. Il a fini par lever un sourcil quand elle a parlé de la façon dont Sana était un barde. Il connaissait bien son talent musical, mais ça ne l'avait pas frappé qu'elle était barde. Il a tout simplement désorienté la notion, et a continué à écouter. Quand Sana et Arianna sont descendus, il a regardé vers eux pour voir à sa surprise leurs similarités qu'ils partageaient. Un sourcil se leva alors qu'il regardait les deux de haut en bas, d'abord en regardant rapidement Arianna pour noter ses traits, puis en prenant un long moment pour regarder Sana de haut en bas, avant de regarder de retour à Arianna et puis de retour à la nonne. La religieuse avait fait la note les concernant comme sa 'famille'. Il n'a pas pu s'empêcher de sourire au commentaire alors qu'elle quitta leur présence. Il donna une petite vague alors qu'elle errait, et se tourna pour rencontrer le regard de Sana. "Oui, je m'en occupe." Il a dit, avant de sentir le baiser sur sa joue, et de tomber dans son habitude de nager dans les pensées d'elle. Il s'est vite redressé, avant d'être frappé par le doux petit baiser d'un des plus petits êtres humains de la planète. Il a été stupéfait de bonheur, alors qu'il se frottait la joue et regardait les deux en montant l'escalier. Hugh secoua la tête pendant un moment, la pipe et sourit encore des traits distincts de son visage. Il a pris encore quelques bouffées de la pipe, avant de l'étouffer, de la mettre dans son sac, et de monter, avec le sac à la main. Il marchait lentement dans les escaliers, profondément dans les pensées qui le faisaient sourire d'oreille en oreille. Ses fantasmes étaient maintenant plus proches de la pensée de son avenir. L'image d'un petit chalet et de Sana et il vit une vie tranquille avec peut-être le petit à élever comme leur propre. Hugh ouvrit lentement la porte à sa chambre et à celle de Sana, révélant la présence d'un bain. Ce n'était pas frais, mais néanmoins, c'était un bain. Sans autre adieu, il ferma la porte derrière lui et jeta le sac à la tête du lit. Il se mit à jeter ses vêtements dans une pile au-dessus du sac. Maintenant complètement nu, il est entré dans l'eau, s'est abaissé et s'est détendu. L'eau était maintenant tiède, mais suffisante, car Hugh était plus habitué à se baigner dans l'eau froide courante. Il s'appuya contre le mur de la baignoire, ses pieds se penchèrent à l'autre bout de la baignoire. Il s'est assis et s'est détendu, frottant son corps petit à petit, et profitant du bain. Il avait presque envie de dormir dedans, mais il préférait la chaleur d'un lit, et sa bien-aimée pour s'accrocher à devenir un raisin rose.

Name: Hugh Van Halder Age: 45 Alignment: Neutral Good Race: Human Class: Fighter, Ex-Paladin Appearance/Clohing: He stands at 6'2", a tower of years of built up muscle. He wears a dark earthen blue tunic over a white linen three button pullover shirt. He wears a pair of black shorts(under his pants) and a pair of dark gray hosen(medieval style pants). He'll wear a chain mail shirt and these pauldrons additionally he'll wear leather knee and shin armor. He wears a small gray hood and a bear fur cloak. Skills: He is a good brawler and can fight with anything he can get his hands on(He's used bed rolls before). Horseback riding. Swordfighting, throwing axes, and two handed weapon fighting. He's been able to use crossbows before, but despises them, as they are delicate and take a lot of work just to reload. Bushcraft and survival stuff. Smoking(if that qualifies as a skill). Some cooking. Natural Abilities: He's strong and durable and can take a lot of beatings. He's pretty much a tank. He can drink a lot of alcohol and only get buzzed. Otherwise, he's just a normal human. Magic Spells: N/A Additional Information: He is in a relationship with Sana Rawn. He has a draft horse, named Rodger. Weapons: He wields a large crude looking battle axe and a falchion. Additionally, he has one small crude throwing axe. Possessions: A rucksack with jerky, bread, cheese, rags, spark rocks(basically one is made of magnesium), rope, ladle, cooking knife, two plates, and tobacco. He also has saddle bags on his horse, which he stores his pipe, more tobacco, sugar cubes, a brush, a stick and bow(which he uses for lighting his pipe), and a few salt licks. He has two water skins. One he keeps on his horse, and one on his person or in rucksack. Additionally he has a pot and a frying pan strapped down to the outside of his rucksack. He also wears a ring on a little chain around his neck and he never seems to take it off, as it was given to him by Sana. Personality: He is a more contented man, liking simple things in life, especially enjoying smoking his pipe with a wonderful scenery, usually in the form of a beautiful day and his love, Sana. He has a more realistic attitude towards the world, not being an idealist, only doing things to help. He has great respect for the natural order of things, and you won't find him trying to seek out revenge. He still has a fiery temper when it is stoked enough to come out. History: Hugh was once part of a great order of paladins. They had much land and ruled with wisdom. Their lands were prosperous and fertile. Many were jealous of their lands, but no one had the courage enough to take on the great and Noble order. Their paladins were fierce and formidable fighters. They all stood higher than 6' and were towers of muscle. They were truly terrifying men. But they were brought down under scandal. Fabricated accusations about them stealing their riches and enslaving other groups of people for labor. The scandals kept growing until they were set upon by every surrounding nation. They stood no chance. Many were killed, only a few escaped. They have been long since forgotten, after being hunted for almost two decades, and killed off, until it was concluded that they were finally extinct. Hugh hid among tribes of barbarians to survive. The tribe was good to him, making him one of their own. He had built a life of simplicity. Some warring between other tribes would often end with them being brutalized and then integrated. Hugh had found love in a woman taken from one of the defeated tribes. He had a few sons and lived very happily with her, until they were set upon by a purge of the "savages". Hugh's tribe was wiped out and he was orphaned once again. He had brutally killed all the "civilized" army he could, but it was too late. His tribe was all gone, along with his family. He became a wanderer, and left to find life as a mercenary. In that life, he found an adventure awaiting him in a tavern. The tavern was filled with life, when he came in and joined up with a questing group. There he met a gypsy woman by the name of Sana. He got to know her going on this random little adventure with this party. It was all rather simple and jovial at first, until they were all taken captive by a lich. This lich tried to take Sana from them, and in that moment Hugh only felt desperation and rage. He had slowly begun to realize that he had fallen in love with Sana, and that if he lost her nothing would change about his existence as a wandering mercenary, and he would simply keep losing people he deeply cared about. So he took a chance at love, and broke out of his cage in a fit of rage. He fought like a lion to get to Sana, finally winning out(love triumphs over all!) against the hordes of undead after his party came to his aid. Since then, he's been a contented old soul, taking care of Sana and showing her his love for her, even though he has never said the words.

Sana a chanté une douce berceuse à la petite, ce n'était pas de la magie dans la nature, mais elle abaissait bientôt la petite pour dormir; ses yeux s'approchaient alors qu'elle était couchée dans le lit. Sana a continué à chanter en se levant, en embrassant Ariana sur le front avant de sortir de la et de la fermer doucement derrière elle. En laissant un soupir de soulagement que l'enfant était en sécurité pour le soir, elle erra dans la chambre qu'elle partageait avec Hugh et s'étourdit en le voyant se jeter dans le bain. Fermant la porte derrière elle, elle secoua la tête et erra vers le lit, enlevant ses affaires et en les plaçant hors du chemin sur le sol. "Se réjouir?" Elle demanda alors que le sourire jouait encore sur ses lèvres. Elle s'est agenouillée derrière lui et s'est reposée les mains sur les épaules. « Je vais me reposer », murmura-t-elle contre son oreille avant d'atteindre la tête et de tourner la tête tandis que ses doigts se reposaient contre sa joue ; l'embrassant doucement pendant un moment. De chez elle, elle se promena vers le lit et rampa sous les draps, un doux gémissement s'échappant des lèvres pendant que sa tête se reposait sur l'oreiller. Elle était épuisée du jour et savait que le sommeil la capturerait rapidement cette nuit-là. Reposant là, elle pensait à Ariana et à la façon dont Hugh avait agi avec elle. Les paroles des sœurs échoient dans son esprit qu'elles étaient une famille, puis comment la sœur avait pensé que Hugh était son mari. C'était une pensée intéressante et pas une qu'elle n'avait pas pensé avant mais nous sommes vraiment à ce point dans leur relation? Aucun d'eux n'avait même dit le mot "L" à l'autre et jusqu'à aujourd'hui après que Hugh eut presque saigné, ils n'avaient jamais parlé d'enfants ensemble ou elle portant une de ces robes stupides. Soupir légèrement Sana a poussé les pensées à l'arrière de son esprit. Ce n'était pas quelque chose qu'elle allait évoquer. Sana était exactement une tradition, mais il y avait encore quelque chose qu'elle estimait devoir laisser à Hugh s'il voulait faire avancer les choses plus qu'elles ne l'étaient. En fermant les yeux, elle a au moins trouvé du réconfort dans le fait que quelque chose qu'elle avait acheté quand elle a quitté sa troupe pourrait un jour être utilisé. C'était la seule chose dont elle n'avait pas parlé à Hugh, ne voulant pas colorier ses décisions quand il s'agissait d'eux en tant que couple. Le sommeil est venu rapidement quand elle a éclairci son esprit des nombreuses pensées marchant à travers elle. Elle voulait juste dormir et se boucler dans les bras de Hughs. Elle dormait et même s'il n'était pas encore au lit, elle savait qu'il la fermerait une fois qu'il serait au lit, il l'a toujours fait.

Name: Hanzo Jibero Age: 26 Alignment: Lawful Neutral Race: Human Class: Monk Appearance/Clothing: Skills: Acrobatics Survival Historical & Religious Knowledge Climbing & Swimming Perception Emotion Reading Ki Manipulation Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human. Magic/Spells: Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance. Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially. Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities. Additional Information: This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could. This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose. For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny. Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability. Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope. Personality: By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership. As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace. History: Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time. Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind. Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge. So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand. Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her. He only regrets not having learned her name. The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had.

Hugh a percé le moment où il a vu Sana entrer dans la pièce. Il lui fit un sourire joyeux, alors qu'elle vint à lui, « Pourquoi oui, je le suis. » Il vient de s'imprégner de son toucher et de son baiser, dériver dans sa tête alors que les fantasmes commençaient à prendre le dessus sur ses pensées. Il a juste continué à se frotter, prenant un coup d'oeil pendant qu'elle allait au lit, avant que ses yeux dérivent vers l'eau, et il a fini de se frotter. Il a pris un moment pour se détendre à nouveau, avant de se relever de l'eau. Tout s'est évanoui, il s'est senti complètement trempé dans l'os et plus propre qu'il ne l'avait ressenti depuis longtemps. En sortant de la baignoire, il s'est séché et a mis sa paire de shorts noirs. En laissant la serviette à l'orteil de la baignoire, il marcha sur le côté du lit qu'il avait réclamé, et souleva les couvertures, rampant sous eux et se rendant confortable. Bientôt, il enveloppa ses bras autour de la femme avec laquelle il partageait le lit, la rapprochant de son propre corps. Il a mis son nez contre sa tête, lui donnant un léger baiser avant qu'il dérive pour s'endormir. Il était temps, car il ne fait aucun doute que tout le parti était complètement épuisé depuis la dure journée.

Name: Hugh Van Halder Age: 45 Alignment: Neutral Good Race: Human Class: Fighter, Ex-Paladin Appearance/Clohing: He stands at 6'2", a tower of years of built up muscle. He wears a dark earthen blue tunic over a white linen three button pullover shirt. He wears a pair of black shorts(under his pants) and a pair of dark gray hosen(medieval style pants). He'll wear a chain mail shirt and these pauldrons additionally he'll wear leather knee and shin armor. He wears a small gray hood and a bear fur cloak. Skills: He is a good brawler and can fight with anything he can get his hands on(He's used bed rolls before). Horseback riding. Swordfighting, throwing axes, and two handed weapon fighting. He's been able to use crossbows before, but despises them, as they are delicate and take a lot of work just to reload. Bushcraft and survival stuff. Smoking(if that qualifies as a skill). Some cooking. Natural Abilities: He's strong and durable and can take a lot of beatings. He's pretty much a tank. He can drink a lot of alcohol and only get buzzed. Otherwise, he's just a normal human. Magic Spells: N/A Additional Information: He is in a relationship with Sana Rawn. He has a draft horse, named Rodger. Weapons: He wields a large crude looking battle axe and a falchion. Additionally, he has one small crude throwing axe. Possessions: A rucksack with jerky, bread, cheese, rags, spark rocks(basically one is made of magnesium), rope, ladle, cooking knife, two plates, and tobacco. He also has saddle bags on his horse, which he stores his pipe, more tobacco, sugar cubes, a brush, a stick and bow(which he uses for lighting his pipe), and a few salt licks. He has two water skins. One he keeps on his horse, and one on his person or in rucksack. Additionally he has a pot and a frying pan strapped down to the outside of his rucksack. He also wears a ring on a little chain around his neck and he never seems to take it off, as it was given to him by Sana. Personality: He is a more contented man, liking simple things in life, especially enjoying smoking his pipe with a wonderful scenery, usually in the form of a beautiful day and his love, Sana. He has a more realistic attitude towards the world, not being an idealist, only doing things to help. He has great respect for the natural order of things, and you won't find him trying to seek out revenge. He still has a fiery temper when it is stoked enough to come out. History: Hugh was once part of a great order of paladins. They had much land and ruled with wisdom. Their lands were prosperous and fertile. Many were jealous of their lands, but no one had the courage enough to take on the great and Noble order. Their paladins were fierce and formidable fighters. They all stood higher than 6' and were towers of muscle. They were truly terrifying men. But they were brought down under scandal. Fabricated accusations about them stealing their riches and enslaving other groups of people for labor. The scandals kept growing until they were set upon by every surrounding nation. They stood no chance. Many were killed, only a few escaped. They have been long since forgotten, after being hunted for almost two decades, and killed off, until it was concluded that they were finally extinct. Hugh hid among tribes of barbarians to survive. The tribe was good to him, making him one of their own. He had built a life of simplicity. Some warring between other tribes would often end with them being brutalized and then integrated. Hugh had found love in a woman taken from one of the defeated tribes. He had a few sons and lived very happily with her, until they were set upon by a purge of the "savages". Hugh's tribe was wiped out and he was orphaned once again. He had brutally killed all the "civilized" army he could, but it was too late. His tribe was all gone, along with his family. He became a wanderer, and left to find life as a mercenary. In that life, he found an adventure awaiting him in a tavern. The tavern was filled with life, when he came in and joined up with a questing group. There he met a gypsy woman by the name of Sana. He got to know her going on this random little adventure with this party. It was all rather simple and jovial at first, until they were all taken captive by a lich. This lich tried to take Sana from them, and in that moment Hugh only felt desperation and rage. He had slowly begun to realize that he had fallen in love with Sana, and that if he lost her nothing would change about his existence as a wandering mercenary, and he would simply keep losing people he deeply cared about. So he took a chance at love, and broke out of his cage in a fit of rage. He fought like a lion to get to Sana, finally winning out(love triumphs over all!) against the hordes of undead after his party came to his aid. Since then, he's been a contented old soul, taking care of Sana and showing her his love for her, even though he has never said the words.

L'étranger aux yeux dorés a appuyé le dos contre le poteau de bois, son épais armure plaquée griffant contre lui comme il l'a fait. Il garda une paume sur le pommeau de son épée de frêne et l'autre enveloppé autour des règnes de son ami étalon. Bien qu'il dormât, il ne répondit pas, mais se tint diligemment, désireux de voir les rayons de l'aube et de la nuit sans danger. Ses yeux s'élançaient à gauche, et là où se tenait son cheval, il voyait la face pourrie d'une femme. Ses yeux ont été coulés et un cri creux a fait écho de sa gorge coupée. L'étranger clignait, et la vision a été remplacée par son cheval grattant joyeusement la route avec un sabot. L'étranger laissa ses yeux tourner à droite et il regarda l'apothécaire pendant un moment. Il entendait les rugissements des flammes et sentait la puanteur acride de la chair de cuisson. Les oreilles de l'homme perçaient les sons de soufflets impuissants et de gémissements bas de désespoir. Il secoua la tête, et les sons furent remplacés par le doux trill de la nuit chantent les oiseaux et le chant relaxant des crickets paresseux. Il soupira, et, à l'expiration, il put goûter le sel de sang sur sa langue. L'étranger a froncé au goût, et il a rapidement été remplacé par le goût fort de la lavande qui a pollué son casque. Son nez s'est ridiculisé à l'odeur familière et il a mordu sa lèvre, impatient de garder sa tête là où son corps est.

Name: Illyd Dyill Age: 18 Alignment: neutral Race: Human Class: Shepherd Appearance/Clothing: Illyd Dyill stands a modest six and has a wiry yet firm frame. His body is covered in old tan robes draped over loose pants and worn fur boots. He has shaggy black hair much like the sheep he used to herd, and two light brown eyes that peek out from his youthful and defined tanned face. Skills: farming, understanding of animal anatomy, mundane understanding of self defense and fighting with a crook, tracking, Natural Abilities: In depth thinking, to the point that this guy might be possessed Magic/Spells: Additional Information: He was a shepherd as long as he could remember, and as long as he could remember, he wanted to be a hero, but this one tiny voice in his head prefers a different direction Weapons: A Shepherd's crook Possessed: Yes Personality: He is curious, adventurous, slightly lazy, and naive. However, a secondary thinking voice in his head is definitely different than his usual gentle nature; as it is aggressive, violent, lustful and greedy.. Luckily this isn’t the voice that controls the body, mostly. History: A simple Shepherd’s son, out in the big world to become an adventurer (possessions: Crook, clothes, worn out harp) So I already have a bunch of ideas on how this guy’s posts would look, a lot of in mind arguing and play, as well as crude suggestions and general character development

N'y pense pas. Je fais juste ce qu'il faut. Vaeri a dit à Sana qu'elle était morte. Quel genre de clerc serait-elle si elle s'asseyait comme esclavagistes et le pinacle d'un homme impie attaquait la ville et menaçait la vie de gens et d'enfants innocents? Sans parler de pouvoir se livrer à la bataille, c'était juste du givrage délicieux. Cela faisait plusieurs mois qu'elle s'était battue pour la dernière fois et cela commençait à démangeer à l'arrière de son esprit. Vaeri s'assit dans la lumière sombre, lisant son livre comme si le manque d'éclairage ne s'inscrivait même pas à elle. Alors qu'elle grinçait au bout d'une galette, elle remarquait que l'étranger essayait de lire ce qu'elle lisait sur son épaule. Il l'a rapidement abandonnée et est allé se tenir à l'écart. "Je ne suis pas surpris que tu ne l'aies pas lu. La plupart des humains ne peuvent même pas parler elvish, encore moins le lire." Vaeri a tourné une autre page dans son petit livre. « C'est un examen des dieux spécifiques à certaines races et une dissertation pour ce phénomène écrit par le Grand Prêtre Glorfindel. Il se concentre principalement sur Corellon Larethian mais parle d'un couple d'autres dieux comme Garl Glittergold et Moradin. Je trouve le livre intéressant, mais les arguments de Glorfindel sont imparfaits et mal pensés. »

Name: Vaeri Dryearurdrenn Age: 143 Alignment: Lawful Good Race: Elf Class: Cleric/Barbarian Appearance/Clothing: Vaeri is an innocent looking elf, standing at about 5' 7" (170 cm) with long, straight raven hair that extends down to the base of her back, pale skin and bright blue eyes. At a glance she's quite beautiful with full lips, a small button nose, thin eyebrows and high cheekbones, when one takes a closer look, several tiny scars are visible all over, disfiguring her otherwise graceful looks. Likewise, Vaeri's exposed flesh, the rare times one can see them initially appear smooth and untouched, but upon closer inspection are covered in scars and barely contain wiry muscle below. Vaeri dresses as a lady of the cloth should, with a dark blue full body cloak. The fabric is adorned with intricate patterns in white to provide visual contrast and indicating her status as a clergywoman. Around her neck and outside the cloak, Vaeri wears a necklace bearing the holy symbol of her god. However, underneath the cloak is a full set of leather armor, battle ready and kept in top shape at all times. Skills: Sense Motive, Knowledge (Religion), Knowledge (Nature), Climb, Jump, Sleight of Hand, fletching arrows, surviving out in the wild Natural Abilities: Keen senses, the ability to see better than humans in low light Magic/Spells: Heal: can decide how good this is Tongues: Allows the caster to speak any language for the duration of the spell Turn Undead: Vaeri can attempt to make Undead flee from her presence temporarily. Powerful Undead can resist this. Divine Might: Holy power infuses the caster, temporarily making them more powerful and resilient Flame Strike: Smites foes with holy flames Additional Information: Vaeri worships Menhit, lion-goddess of War. (Fun fact her name means She who massacres) Weapons: Vaeri carries a shortbow and a two-handed battleaxe Possessions: Vaeri carries a backpack that can hold more than you think it would and what Vaeri wants from the bag will always be at the top (the item in question must have been put in the bag beforehand for this to work). Inside the bag are her necessities (tent, rope, bedroll, tarp for the tent, soap, cooking utensils, oil, a lamp, flint and steel), holy texts, and about 2 weeks worth of rations. She also has a coin purse with about 20 gold pieces in it. On her hip is a quiver with 20 arrows. Personality: To strangers, Vaeri appears to be a gentle elf, always keen to help those in need and be a travelling force of good in the world. However, as you get to know her, slowly she morphs into an entirely different person, brash, head-strong and a braggart, this true face of Vaeri shows exactly why she worships the goddess she does. The elf loves battle of all kinds and will gleefully jump into battle whenever she can. History: Vaeri grew up in a forest village mostly populated by other elves to a carpenter. IN her childhood, she began learning the bow as all children did. Her prowess with weaponry was admired just as much as her excessive enthusiasm for using them was worrying. One day while out hunting alone she was overcome by a vision of the lion-goddess Menhit who commanded Vaeri to go out into the world and find a man with two right hands. After this experience, Vaeri began following the goddess of war and has dedicated her life to this mission. The cleric has been following this notice for strong adventurers as a possible lead for locating this mysterious man.

L'étranger aux yeux dorés tourna la tête vers la femme avec le livre. Il a écouté attentivement avant de sourire un sourire caché poliment derrière son casque, si je dois être honnête avec vous, je n'ai aucune idée de qui sont ces gens. Il s'est arrêté dans la pensée avant d'ajouter, mais je peux voir pourquoi cela pourrait être intéressant. C'est toujours bon à savoir. Une partie de lui a voulu ajouter que non seulement il n'a jamais entendu ces noms auparavant, mais il n'était pas trop sûr de ce qu'était «elvish», mais il a tranquillement décidé qu'il avait montré assez de son ignorance à ce pays pour l'instant et a terminé sa partie avec un clin d'œil curt, comme si ponctuant ses paroles.

Name: Illyd Dyill Age: 18 Alignment: neutral Race: Human Class: Shepherd Appearance/Clothing: Illyd Dyill stands a modest six and has a wiry yet firm frame. His body is covered in old tan robes draped over loose pants and worn fur boots. He has shaggy black hair much like the sheep he used to herd, and two light brown eyes that peek out from his youthful and defined tanned face. Skills: farming, understanding of animal anatomy, mundane understanding of self defense and fighting with a crook, tracking, Natural Abilities: In depth thinking, to the point that this guy might be possessed Magic/Spells: Additional Information: He was a shepherd as long as he could remember, and as long as he could remember, he wanted to be a hero, but this one tiny voice in his head prefers a different direction Weapons: A Shepherd's crook Possessed: Yes Personality: He is curious, adventurous, slightly lazy, and naive. However, a secondary thinking voice in his head is definitely different than his usual gentle nature; as it is aggressive, violent, lustful and greedy.. Luckily this isn’t the voice that controls the body, mostly. History: A simple Shepherd’s son, out in the big world to become an adventurer (possessions: Crook, clothes, worn out harp) So I already have a bunch of ideas on how this guy’s posts would look, a lot of in mind arguing and play, as well as crude suggestions and general character development

Les longues oreilles de Vaeri ont percé ses mots. Elle ne s'attendait pas à ce qu'il connaisse les dieux qu'elle a mentionnés, puisqu'il était humain, et ils avaient tendance à éviter d'apprendre tout ce qu'ils n'avaient pas à interagir directement avec, mais ses mots ont ouvert une voie pour qu'elle commence à parler de théologie sans sonner comme si elle prosélytisait n'importe qui. "Corellon Larethian est le dieu elfique des arts et de la magie. Glorfindel est un grand prêtre sous lui. Garl Glittergold est le dieu gnome de Trickery, et Moradin est le dieu nain de la création. L'argument de Glorfindel est que ces dieux établissent un suivi dédié dans ces groupes afin qu'ils aient une base garantie d'adorateurs en échange de les protéger par rapport à d'autres groupes, c'est pourquoi ils sont mis en place comme cela. Cependant, le fait que les dieux ont des domaines leur donne-t-il déjà un ensemble établi de disciples de chacun de ces domaines? Glorfindel montre également qu'il n'a pas beaucoup investi dans la recherche de nombreuses divinités en dehors de ses propres. Compréhensible, mais cela nuit à sa crédibilité les quelques fois où il s'aventure à parler de Corellon. » Vaeri s'est arrêté pour regarder Derrix pour s'assurer qu'il n'était pas trop perdu. Elle pouvait sentir qu'elle était sur le point de se lancer dans une tirade et le nombre de personnes qu'elle savait intéressées pouvait être compté d'une seule main.

Name: Vaeri Dryearurdrenn Age: 143 Alignment: Lawful Good Race: Elf Class: Cleric/Barbarian Appearance/Clothing: Vaeri is an innocent looking elf, standing at about 5' 7" (170 cm) with long, straight raven hair that extends down to the base of her back, pale skin and bright blue eyes. At a glance she's quite beautiful with full lips, a small button nose, thin eyebrows and high cheekbones, when one takes a closer look, several tiny scars are visible all over, disfiguring her otherwise graceful looks. Likewise, Vaeri's exposed flesh, the rare times one can see them initially appear smooth and untouched, but upon closer inspection are covered in scars and barely contain wiry muscle below. Vaeri dresses as a lady of the cloth should, with a dark blue full body cloak. The fabric is adorned with intricate patterns in white to provide visual contrast and indicating her status as a clergywoman. Around her neck and outside the cloak, Vaeri wears a necklace bearing the holy symbol of her god. However, underneath the cloak is a full set of leather armor, battle ready and kept in top shape at all times. Skills: Sense Motive, Knowledge (Religion), Knowledge (Nature), Climb, Jump, Sleight of Hand, fletching arrows, surviving out in the wild Natural Abilities: Keen senses, the ability to see better than humans in low light Magic/Spells: Heal: can decide how good this is Tongues: Allows the caster to speak any language for the duration of the spell Turn Undead: Vaeri can attempt to make Undead flee from her presence temporarily. Powerful Undead can resist this. Divine Might: Holy power infuses the caster, temporarily making them more powerful and resilient Flame Strike: Smites foes with holy flames Additional Information: Vaeri worships Menhit, lion-goddess of War. (Fun fact her name means She who massacres) Weapons: Vaeri carries a shortbow and a two-handed battleaxe Possessions: Vaeri carries a backpack that can hold more than you think it would and what Vaeri wants from the bag will always be at the top (the item in question must have been put in the bag beforehand for this to work). Inside the bag are her necessities (tent, rope, bedroll, tarp for the tent, soap, cooking utensils, oil, a lamp, flint and steel), holy texts, and about 2 weeks worth of rations. She also has a coin purse with about 20 gold pieces in it. On her hip is a quiver with 20 arrows. Personality: To strangers, Vaeri appears to be a gentle elf, always keen to help those in need and be a travelling force of good in the world. However, as you get to know her, slowly she morphs into an entirely different person, brash, head-strong and a braggart, this true face of Vaeri shows exactly why she worships the goddess she does. The elf loves battle of all kinds and will gleefully jump into battle whenever she can. History: Vaeri grew up in a forest village mostly populated by other elves to a carpenter. IN her childhood, she began learning the bow as all children did. Her prowess with weaponry was admired just as much as her excessive enthusiasm for using them was worrying. One day while out hunting alone she was overcome by a vision of the lion-goddess Menhit who commanded Vaeri to go out into the world and find a man with two right hands. After this experience, Vaeri began following the goddess of war and has dedicated her life to this mission. The cleric has been following this notice for strong adventurers as a possible lead for locating this mysterious man.

Je me demande, L'étranger a dit réfléchiment, Si peut-être ce prêtre était confus, pensant peut-être que le mondane a donné le pouvoir au divin. Peut-être a-t-il oublié ce que c'était d'être fidèle. Ceux qui s'identifient au dieu iront vers lui par familiarité, mais ils ne peuvent pas oublier que ce n'est pas eux qui ont donné la formation du dieu, mais vice versa. Si les divins s'inquiétaient tellement du manque de disciples, alors peut-être qu'ils sont aussi banals que nous et pas vraiment divins, l'étranger a hurlé de ses paroles, ou peut-être comme je l'ai dit, le prêtre a simplement oublié sa foi quelque part dans la piscine de la philosophie mondaine.

Name: Illyd Dyill Age: 18 Alignment: neutral Race: Human Class: Shepherd Appearance/Clothing: Illyd Dyill stands a modest six and has a wiry yet firm frame. His body is covered in old tan robes draped over loose pants and worn fur boots. He has shaggy black hair much like the sheep he used to herd, and two light brown eyes that peek out from his youthful and defined tanned face. Skills: farming, understanding of animal anatomy, mundane understanding of self defense and fighting with a crook, tracking, Natural Abilities: In depth thinking, to the point that this guy might be possessed Magic/Spells: Additional Information: He was a shepherd as long as he could remember, and as long as he could remember, he wanted to be a hero, but this one tiny voice in his head prefers a different direction Weapons: A Shepherd's crook Possessed: Yes Personality: He is curious, adventurous, slightly lazy, and naive. However, a secondary thinking voice in his head is definitely different than his usual gentle nature; as it is aggressive, violent, lustful and greedy.. Luckily this isn’t the voice that controls the body, mostly. History: A simple Shepherd’s son, out in the big world to become an adventurer (possessions: Crook, clothes, worn out harp) So I already have a bunch of ideas on how this guy’s posts would look, a lot of in mind arguing and play, as well as crude suggestions and general character development

Si les dieux n'avaient pas besoin de notre culte, Vaeri répondit, le livre maintenant assis sur ses genoux, négligé, « ils ne nous demanderaient pas de les servir. Je ne présume pas connaître leur volonté au-delà de ce que ma dame m'a dit, mais je suppose qu'ils ont besoin que nous agissions à leur place dans le monde matériel. Notre culte nous permet de mieux répandre leur influence dans le monde entier. Souvent, certains des dieux les plus niches sont interrogés, ou ignorés comme s'ils n'avaient pas d'importance, de sorte que leurs disciples croient qu'il est important de pouvoir défendre rationnellement leur foi contre ceux qui les rabaissent. C'est un texte d'un mortel pour d'autres mortels." « Je ne crois pas que Glorfindel ait oublié que les divins sont ceux qui nous donnent le pouvoir. Car ceux qui sont dans ma ligne de travail doivent leur demander chaque jour de nous donner du pouvoir pour que nous puissions répandre leur volonté. Quand nous jetons des sorts, nous pouvons sentir leur grâce couler à travers notre corps, et pour les autres à venir et ceux qui disent à quelqu'un que ce sentiment est moins légitime à cause de qui ils adorent sont les gens qui poussent ces ecclésiastiques à écrire des dissertations telles que celles-ci. Du moins, c'est comme ça que je le vois."

Name: Vaeri Dryearurdrenn Age: 143 Alignment: Lawful Good Race: Elf Class: Cleric/Barbarian Appearance/Clothing: Vaeri is an innocent looking elf, standing at about 5' 7" (170 cm) with long, straight raven hair that extends down to the base of her back, pale skin and bright blue eyes. At a glance she's quite beautiful with full lips, a small button nose, thin eyebrows and high cheekbones, when one takes a closer look, several tiny scars are visible all over, disfiguring her otherwise graceful looks. Likewise, Vaeri's exposed flesh, the rare times one can see them initially appear smooth and untouched, but upon closer inspection are covered in scars and barely contain wiry muscle below. Vaeri dresses as a lady of the cloth should, with a dark blue full body cloak. The fabric is adorned with intricate patterns in white to provide visual contrast and indicating her status as a clergywoman. Around her neck and outside the cloak, Vaeri wears a necklace bearing the holy symbol of her god. However, underneath the cloak is a full set of leather armor, battle ready and kept in top shape at all times. Skills: Sense Motive, Knowledge (Religion), Knowledge (Nature), Climb, Jump, Sleight of Hand, fletching arrows, surviving out in the wild Natural Abilities: Keen senses, the ability to see better than humans in low light Magic/Spells: Heal: can decide how good this is Tongues: Allows the caster to speak any language for the duration of the spell Turn Undead: Vaeri can attempt to make Undead flee from her presence temporarily. Powerful Undead can resist this. Divine Might: Holy power infuses the caster, temporarily making them more powerful and resilient Flame Strike: Smites foes with holy flames Additional Information: Vaeri worships Menhit, lion-goddess of War. (Fun fact her name means She who massacres) Weapons: Vaeri carries a shortbow and a two-handed battleaxe Possessions: Vaeri carries a backpack that can hold more than you think it would and what Vaeri wants from the bag will always be at the top (the item in question must have been put in the bag beforehand for this to work). Inside the bag are her necessities (tent, rope, bedroll, tarp for the tent, soap, cooking utensils, oil, a lamp, flint and steel), holy texts, and about 2 weeks worth of rations. She also has a coin purse with about 20 gold pieces in it. On her hip is a quiver with 20 arrows. Personality: To strangers, Vaeri appears to be a gentle elf, always keen to help those in need and be a travelling force of good in the world. However, as you get to know her, slowly she morphs into an entirely different person, brash, head-strong and a braggart, this true face of Vaeri shows exactly why she worships the goddess she does. The elf loves battle of all kinds and will gleefully jump into battle whenever she can. History: Vaeri grew up in a forest village mostly populated by other elves to a carpenter. IN her childhood, she began learning the bow as all children did. Her prowess with weaponry was admired just as much as her excessive enthusiasm for using them was worrying. One day while out hunting alone she was overcome by a vision of the lion-goddess Menhit who commanded Vaeri to go out into the world and find a man with two right hands. After this experience, Vaeri began following the goddess of war and has dedicated her life to this mission. The cleric has been following this notice for strong adventurers as a possible lead for locating this mysterious man.

L'étranger a étudié attentivement la femme. Il a glissé son casque, et a pris une gorgée d'air frais. Il a laissé ses yeux rayonnés de soleil scintiller sur son visage en observation pour un peu avant de hocher la tête, pas à quelque chose en particulier. Il s'est arrêté, peut-être il y a une troisième et quatrième option. Peut-être en avons-nous besoin. Ses lèvres formaient une ligne et il clignait quelques fois, une douce lueur coupant l'obscurité autour de son visage comme il le pensait en silence.

Name: Illyd Dyill Age: 18 Alignment: neutral Race: Human Class: Shepherd Appearance/Clothing: Illyd Dyill stands a modest six and has a wiry yet firm frame. His body is covered in old tan robes draped over loose pants and worn fur boots. He has shaggy black hair much like the sheep he used to herd, and two light brown eyes that peek out from his youthful and defined tanned face. Skills: farming, understanding of animal anatomy, mundane understanding of self defense and fighting with a crook, tracking, Natural Abilities: In depth thinking, to the point that this guy might be possessed Magic/Spells: Additional Information: He was a shepherd as long as he could remember, and as long as he could remember, he wanted to be a hero, but this one tiny voice in his head prefers a different direction Weapons: A Shepherd's crook Possessed: Yes Personality: He is curious, adventurous, slightly lazy, and naive. However, a secondary thinking voice in his head is definitely different than his usual gentle nature; as it is aggressive, violent, lustful and greedy.. Luckily this isn’t the voice that controls the body, mostly. History: A simple Shepherd’s son, out in the big world to become an adventurer (possessions: Crook, clothes, worn out harp) So I already have a bunch of ideas on how this guy’s posts would look, a lot of in mind arguing and play, as well as crude suggestions and general character development

Une question insoluble, mais qui vaut la peine d'être posée. Nous avons une relation symbiotique avec les dieux, car si nous étions inutiles pour eux, sûrement nous ne serions pas ici en premier lieu. Les raisons et les manières ne sont pas importantes dans le grand plan des choses. Mais en demandant, nous nous rapprochons peut-être de l'illumination. Vaeri mord une de ses galettes en deux, se croquant fort, brisant presque l'atmosphère. Les yeux dorés de cet étranger étaient tout à fait bizarres. Elle ne les avait jamais vus sur personne auparavant, et la façon dont ils semblaient briller suggérait presque l'influence divine. C'était peut-être un clerc comme elle. Cependant, son manque de connaissance de la religion semblait suggérer le contraire. Blinking, elle ignore les pensées comme hors de propos.

Name: Vaeri Dryearurdrenn Age: 143 Alignment: Lawful Good Race: Elf Class: Cleric/Barbarian Appearance/Clothing: Vaeri is an innocent looking elf, standing at about 5' 7" (170 cm) with long, straight raven hair that extends down to the base of her back, pale skin and bright blue eyes. At a glance she's quite beautiful with full lips, a small button nose, thin eyebrows and high cheekbones, when one takes a closer look, several tiny scars are visible all over, disfiguring her otherwise graceful looks. Likewise, Vaeri's exposed flesh, the rare times one can see them initially appear smooth and untouched, but upon closer inspection are covered in scars and barely contain wiry muscle below. Vaeri dresses as a lady of the cloth should, with a dark blue full body cloak. The fabric is adorned with intricate patterns in white to provide visual contrast and indicating her status as a clergywoman. Around her neck and outside the cloak, Vaeri wears a necklace bearing the holy symbol of her god. However, underneath the cloak is a full set of leather armor, battle ready and kept in top shape at all times. Skills: Sense Motive, Knowledge (Religion), Knowledge (Nature), Climb, Jump, Sleight of Hand, fletching arrows, surviving out in the wild Natural Abilities: Keen senses, the ability to see better than humans in low light Magic/Spells: Heal: can decide how good this is Tongues: Allows the caster to speak any language for the duration of the spell Turn Undead: Vaeri can attempt to make Undead flee from her presence temporarily. Powerful Undead can resist this. Divine Might: Holy power infuses the caster, temporarily making them more powerful and resilient Flame Strike: Smites foes with holy flames Additional Information: Vaeri worships Menhit, lion-goddess of War. (Fun fact her name means She who massacres) Weapons: Vaeri carries a shortbow and a two-handed battleaxe Possessions: Vaeri carries a backpack that can hold more than you think it would and what Vaeri wants from the bag will always be at the top (the item in question must have been put in the bag beforehand for this to work). Inside the bag are her necessities (tent, rope, bedroll, tarp for the tent, soap, cooking utensils, oil, a lamp, flint and steel), holy texts, and about 2 weeks worth of rations. She also has a coin purse with about 20 gold pieces in it. On her hip is a quiver with 20 arrows. Personality: To strangers, Vaeri appears to be a gentle elf, always keen to help those in need and be a travelling force of good in the world. However, as you get to know her, slowly she morphs into an entirely different person, brash, head-strong and a braggart, this true face of Vaeri shows exactly why she worships the goddess she does. The elf loves battle of all kinds and will gleefully jump into battle whenever she can. History: Vaeri grew up in a forest village mostly populated by other elves to a carpenter. IN her childhood, she began learning the bow as all children did. Her prowess with weaponry was admired just as much as her excessive enthusiasm for using them was worrying. One day while out hunting alone she was overcome by a vision of the lion-goddess Menhit who commanded Vaeri to go out into the world and find a man with two right hands. After this experience, Vaeri began following the goddess of war and has dedicated her life to this mission. The cleric has been following this notice for strong adventurers as a possible lead for locating this mysterious man.

L'étranger se tint silencieusement pendant un moment, jusqu'à ce qu'il exhale finalement. Il souleva un gantelet et se frotta le menton avec le doigt métallique. « Je pense, a-t-il commencé en laissant son gant retomber de son côté, que les réponses sont assez simples, et que c'est seulement par notre propre folie mortelle que nous avons réussi à faire une ligne droite incurvée. »

Name: Illyd Dyill Age: 18 Alignment: neutral Race: Human Class: Shepherd Appearance/Clothing: Illyd Dyill stands a modest six and has a wiry yet firm frame. His body is covered in old tan robes draped over loose pants and worn fur boots. He has shaggy black hair much like the sheep he used to herd, and two light brown eyes that peek out from his youthful and defined tanned face. Skills: farming, understanding of animal anatomy, mundane understanding of self defense and fighting with a crook, tracking, Natural Abilities: In depth thinking, to the point that this guy might be possessed Magic/Spells: Additional Information: He was a shepherd as long as he could remember, and as long as he could remember, he wanted to be a hero, but this one tiny voice in his head prefers a different direction Weapons: A Shepherd's crook Possessed: Yes Personality: He is curious, adventurous, slightly lazy, and naive. However, a secondary thinking voice in his head is definitely different than his usual gentle nature; as it is aggressive, violent, lustful and greedy.. Luckily this isn’t the voice that controls the body, mostly. History: A simple Shepherd’s son, out in the big world to become an adventurer (possessions: Crook, clothes, worn out harp) So I already have a bunch of ideas on how this guy’s posts would look, a lot of in mind arguing and play, as well as crude suggestions and general character development

Un nouveau jour commence Sana ne fit que remuer un peu pendant que Hugh monta au lit à côté d'elle, sentant ses bras s'envelopper autour d'elle et la tirer près d'elle. Elle soupira doucement dans son sommeil, se fronçant près de lui avant de retomber dans un profond sommeil. La nuit s'en alla assez paisiblement, mais Sana fut frappée d'un cauchemar qui revivait son père mourant dans ses bras et, dans les heures sombres où la lune s'accrochait haut dans le ciel, elle se réveilla d'une surprise et s'assit tout droit dans le lit; respirant le rêve en regardant autour d'elle et en prenant un moment pour voir qu'elle n'était pas au camp d'esclaves mais dans la facette encore au lit. Se frottant le visage, elle sortait du lit et prenait un verre d'eau, les mains tremblant un peu. Elle était sur le point de se retourner et de ramper dans le lit quand elle a entendu un coup doux à la porte. Perçant un front, elle se demandait qui pourrait la déranger et Hugh au milieu de la nuit alors qu'elle s'approchait de la porte et écoutait. C'était calme de l'autre côté, s'élançant à elle-même, elle ouvrit la porte et regarda autour. Ne voyant rien, elle se retourna pour fermer la porte et sentit un remorqueur sur sa chemise. En regardant là-bas, Ariana se tenait là, Soeur Agnès s'approcha rapidement derrière elle. Je suis désolée, elle a dû se faufiler, Soeur Agnès a chuchoté. Sana l'a agitée et a ramassé la petite, la reposant contre sa hanche. C'est bon, elle peut rester avec nous pour la nuit, a dit Sana tranquillement. Soeur Agnès sourit et hoche la tête avant de se diriger vers sa propre chambre. Sana regarda Ariana et plaça un doigt sur ses lèvres. "Shhh, nous ne voulons pas réveiller Hugh," Sana murmura doucement avant de fermer la porte et de la faire retourner au lit. Ariana a hurlé avec un sourire endormi sur ses lèvres tandis que Sana s'asseyait sur le bord du lit et les glissa tous les deux sous les couvertures. Se reposant sur Sana l'a serrée contre Hugh alors que la petite se fronçait les bras et se coulait la tête sous le menton de Sanas. Il n'a pas fallu longtemps pour que les deux s'endorment et Sana a été très reconnaissante que le cauchemar ne soit pas revenu pour une autre visite. Le soleil s'est levé lentement mais la ville a été encore plus lente à se lever ce matin-là, beaucoup ont été levés tard aidant à nettoyer la ville ou à prendre soin des réfugiés du camp d'esclaves. Le vieux Apothecary n'avait toujours pas vu son lit comme le matin est venu à travers les fenêtres, essayant de finir de nouvelles séries de potions qu'il espérait aider le groupe dans leurs voyages. Avec l'argent qu'ils avaient donné au village, il serait en mesure de réapprovisionner rapidement ses approvisionnements afin qu'il ne retenât pas de créer des choses qu'il pensait être utiles. Sana ne s'est pas réveillée comme le soleil se levait et même l'appel du coq du village ne l'a pas fait sortir du sommeil profond dans lequel elle était. Il a cependant amené le petit à se réveiller, qui s'est assis lentement et a frotté le sommeil de ses yeux. L'odeur du petit déjeuner s'écoulait de la cuisine ci-dessous tandis que le gardien de l'auberge préparait un grand buffet de sortes pour tous les invités de l'auberge et tous les autres dans le village qui sont venus pour le petit déjeuner ce matin-là. Ariana a respiré profondément et léché ses lèvres mais est restée au lit, jouant avec les anneaux Sana lui ont donné pour garder la sécurité. Le doux collage de métal sonne aussi souvent qu'elle jouait avec eux, les faisant glisser en allers et retours sur la chaîne qui s'accrochait autour de son cou. Soeur Agnès s'est réveillée tôt et a fait son chemin vers la chambre principale de l'auberge, obtenant quelque chose à manger et se reposant à une table. Elle espérait aujourd'hui être calme et que le groupe pourrait s'en aller. Ils avaient le premier élément dont ils avaient besoin, mais il y avait encore beaucoup plus à recueillir et les enfants à l'orphelinat en auraient besoin aussi rapidement que le groupe pouvait réussir à les rassembler.

Name: Hanzo Jibero Age: 26 Alignment: Lawful Neutral Race: Human Class: Monk Appearance/Clothing: Skills: Acrobatics Survival Historical & Religious Knowledge Climbing & Swimming Perception Emotion Reading Ki Manipulation Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human. Magic/Spells: Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance. Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially. Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities. Additional Information: This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could. This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose. For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny. Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability. Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope. Personality: By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership. As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace. History: Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time. Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind. Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge. So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand. Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her. He only regrets not having learned her name. The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had.

Tobias a encore fait le rêve cette nuit-là. Il était de nouveau en ville, sprintant dans les ruelles, sur les toits, la chose la plus rapide au monde. Personne n'aurait pu l'attraper. Personne n'aurait pu l'arrêter. Il était libre. Mais il y avait quelque chose de sombre juste derrière lui - pas une personne, pas une créature, mais un nuage - comme le monde lui-même était devenu noir. Il se déplaçait aussi - et essayer comme il le pouvait, Tobias se déplaçait toujours un peu... un peu... plus lentement. Le voleur s'est réveillé avec un début, la lumière du soleil s'abattant directement sur son visage. Qui que ce soit qui ait mis cette fenêtre n'a vraiment pas envisagé d'être en retard. Où suis-je, qui suis-je? Les événements de la veille sont revenus à Tobias en même temps. L'attaque, la mort, le meurtre, la seconde attaque, l'enfer... Fiona l'envoyant au lit comme un bébé... tout a joué dans son esprit en un instant. Il n'y avait pas de jours comme ça. Tout était censé être très calme, et sérieux. Tu n'étais pas censé te réveiller, t'habiller, aller aux toilettes, manger le petit déjeuner. À l'évidence, l'estomac de Tobias n'en avait pas été informé, car il grondait néanmoins. Il se répara rapidement et descendit les escaliers jusqu'à ce qu'un petit déjeuner massif l'attende. Le voleur a baissé la tête, a fait de son mieux pour ne pas être remarqué (quelque chose qu'il était bon à, quand il voulait être), a empilé une assiette avec des œufs, des saucisses, et deux ou trois coupé des pommes rouges, et a déménagé à une table vide pour manger.

Name: Tobias Age: 22 Alignment: Chaotic Good-ish Race: Human Class: Thief Appearance/Clothing: Skills: Bluff, Acrobatics, Charm, Athletics, Sneak, Theft, Streetwise, Knife-Wielding, Knife-Throwing. Natural Abilities: The power of average-ness. Magic/Spells: Not a scrap of it. Additional Information: Tobias isn't the strongest fighter, being far more suited to running, hiding, or bluffing his way out of situations (he's capable by normal person standards, of course - just not really what you'd expect from an adventurer). He's also a massive pathological liar with trust issues a mile wide. Weapons: He has three knives - one on his belt, one on his back, and one in his boot. Possessions: Leather armor, basic adventuring supplies (rope, flint and steel, etc.). His hood is enchanted to make it very hard for someone who sees him with it up to remember his face. He also has a magic grappling hook enchanted to not make a sound. Personality: Tobias is glib, smart-alecky, cowardly, and tries his absolute best to be self-centered. Though he'd feverishly deny it, he's a fundamentally good person underneath the assumed selfish. He tries not to let anyone get close to him, and often uses snark and flat out lies as armor in social interaction. History: Getting the truth out of him about his personal history is extraordinarily difficult, but it's possible to determine that he's an orphan who grew up on the streets and has spent his life so far living in cities and alternating between pickpocket, con-man and cat burglar in order to survive. Also, hai Kronshi. Funny meeting you again. :p

Comme Mortosh avait correctement Deviné. Il avait fini d'enlever les corps et de les déplacer vers le pyre, avant le lever du soleil cependant en raison de ne pas connaître de sorts de feu, il ne pouvait pas reallumer le pyre et, grâce à sa vision sombre, il n'avait pas besoin d'une torche pour qu'il puisse peut-être amener quelqu'un à l'allumer avant qu'ils quittent le village. mais son travail a été fait pour l'instant alors il a commencé à retourner à l'auberge. Quand il est arrivé à l'auberge, l'a pris note d'un tout l'agréable étrange balbutiement de l'air et a vu Tobias assis à la table, dîner sur une variété de différents repas ainsi pris un siège à côté du voleur alors qu'il ne pouvait pas manger lui-même il a senti qu'il était nécessaire de savoir ceux avec lesquels il voyageait. Alors il a essayé de commencer à parler au voleur bien qui était jusqu'à ce qu'il a vu quelque chose de familier tomber du plafond et atterrir dans le centre de crème rempli d'un rouleau doux innocent. "Et bon matin à vous Zam" a dit Mortosh comme attrapé une serviette pour essuyer des morceaux le remplissage qui s'est éclaboussé sur sa plaque de poitrine

Name: Mortosh Celjust and Zam Mano Age: last time he counted 696 (Zam is 200 a kid by her races standard) Alignment: Chaotic Good (Zam is Neutral Good) Race: undead but more specifically a Skeleton (Zam is a Petal For more information on those look for them on page 120 of monster manual III) Class: Cleric (Zam doesn’t really have a class as she is supposed to act as an item much like boo from Baldur’s gate) Appearance/Clothing: Mortosh wears an enchanted blue hood that obscures his entire face making appear as a black void with blue lights wear his eyes should be this is to hide his skull. He wears an iron chest plate with iron gauntlets his legs are hidden by a long blue skirt and iron boots (Zam’s Skin is light blue her hair is a darker shade of blue her bang cover her eyes she wares gray cloth dress her wings are the same color as her skin) Skills: For Mortosh it is Hide Diplomacy Knowledge (religion) Survival Heal ( For Zam it is Bluff and Gather Information Knowledge (nature) as Zam doesn’t actually have class I decided that it would be op to give her any more skills Natural Abilities: Undead-Life: as an undead you are immune to age effects and disease. Unbreakable: An undead has no death ticks. Undead appetite: The Undead are able to use the undead appetite encounter power. (Zam) Lullaby: Any creature within a 20-foot-radius that fails a DC 14 Will save is affected as though by a lullaby spell. A creature that successfully saves cannot be affected again by that petal’s lullaby song for 24 hours. The save DC is Charisma-based. Magic/Spells: Remove Fear: Suppresses fear or gives +4 on saves against fear for one subject + one per four levels Create Food and Water: Feeds three humans (or one horse)/level. Bless: Allies gain +1 on attack rolls and saves against fear Calming Embrace: By placing his hands on friends, or foes restores Mortosh will restore a bit of health as calm down bersekers Insect Plague: Locust swarms attack creatures (Zam) Chatter: A spell created by Zam And Mortosh To allow Zam to speak for Mortosh Calm Emotions: Calms creatures, negating emotion effects Light: Object shines like a torch lie. Additional Information: he is a cleric of Trew Barton The god of joy and undeath. The lack of a lower jaw makes it hard to speak so Zam usually translate for him she also sits on his shoulder. Mortosh sometimes will be overwhelmed with greed causing him steal without thought this has caused him to land into a whole heap of trouble in the past. Weapons: A Simple mace (Zam Like most of her race doesn’t carry a lethal weapons but she dose carry a blow gun which she uses to shoot darts laced with sleeping powder she doesn’t use this very often due to the ingredients used in the sleeping powder are quite rare) Possessions: Mortosh Carries a shrunken zombie around his neck (Zam Owns Shinobue a Side blown flute) Mortosh has a jar full of flower that he carries around for Zam he carries it around for so she doesn't faint from hot or thick air EDIT: Three vials of Moderate Inflict Wounds Personality: Mortosh is a very friendly Skeleton he is calm and hard to anger but his years of lacking the capability of speech has damaged his social skills quite badly which can make him come off as insensitive. while he is perfectly of take on offensive role he dose fell uncomfortable hurting others be they man or beast but he will not complain if fighting is necessary.(Zam is quite battle hungry once again by her races standard anyway she can’t really stand the thought of staying in one place to long she also has obsession with sugar give her some and shell be your friend for life ironically this is not the reason way she follows Mortosh) History: 696 Years ago Mortosh rose from his grave no memory of his past life the only thing he remembered was his cleric training Mortosh spent a good chunk of his first fifty years searching for his past to no avail Realizing that trying to search for a past that he no idea about or even the reason why he was searching so he gave up on searching and decided to just travel why? He didn’t know back then but now he know he was looking for purpose and he found it when he encountered a necromancer and a follower of Trew. He spoke to Mortosh and told him about Trew. Mortosh was intrigued with Trew so asked the necromancer how he could show his loyalties to Trew and the necromancer handed him the shrunken head. Confused Mortosh asked the necromancer about the head and he told him that the head was the symbol of Trew then he requested that Mortosh would spread the massage of Trew. Mortosh accept the his request but before he went he realized one thing. He would be run out of any village or town before he even toke his first step so asked the necromancer to enchant his hood so it would only show a void. So The necromancer enchanted Mortosh’s hood so with his enchanted hood on Mortosh thank the necromancer and went on his to spread the word of Trew and that how he spend his next two hundred years spreading the word that was until he angered a zealous paladin who broke his jaw to pieces. With no jaw all his words came out as mumbling so not being able to spread the word he turned to learning healing magic so he spent the next hundred years learning. this was around the time that Zam was Born two hundred years ago Zam was. Born in to a tribe of petals a race of tiny fey creatures she was treated well enough but she was still an outcast among her race she wasn’t as talented in art as the rest of her race. So she turned to other thing like spellcraft this is what taught her to speak all other tongues she would later encounter Mortosh when he would save her from a plague walker. Mortosh Seeing that Zam had gotten hurt would go on to heal all her wounds. Grateful for his deed Zam asked him what she could do for him. Mortosh lowered his hood and showed her his lack of lower jaw and he needed someone to speak for him as she was the only one that understood what he was saying she agreed and they have been traveling ever since

Fiona dormait confortablement et n'était pas perturbée par la nuit, même les bruits des autres qui s'étaient retournés plus tard qu'elle ne l'avait réveillée. Sa fatigue l'avait rapidement rattrapée après son combat avec le chien de l'enfer, et la douleur devint vite apparente quand elle se réveilla le matin, ses muscles un peu raides avec une douleur. Mais ce n'était pas trop mal, et elle l'a pris comme un signe qu'elle devenait plus forte. Ayant pris le temps de se laver soigneusement avant de dormir la veille, Fiona s'est contentée d'éclabousser son visage avec un peu d'eau pour secouer les vestiges du sommeil qu'elle pouvait, poussant sa masse désorganisée de cheveux rouges d'un côté pour le sortir du chemin. Elle pouvait dire par le manque général de bruit au-dessous d'elle qu'elle était l'un des risers plus tôt, et s'est dit qu'il y aurait un certain temps avant qu'ils partent pour la journée, pour s'assurer que tout le monde était bien nourri et préparé. En laissant son armure et ses armes dans la pièce, elle a glissé dans des leggings confortables et a lancé une tunique légère, roulant les manches à ses coudes. Elle réfléchit un moment à pieds nus, mais, au bout du compte, jeta des chaussettes et lança rapidement ses bottes, en sortant de la porte et en descendant les escaliers. Fiona a noté que le petit déjeuner avait déjà été préparé pour eux, et a vite remarqué avec une certaine surprise que Tobias était déjà en bas. Elle s'attendait à ce qu'il hiberne jusqu'à ce qu'elle le traîne, après son calvaire d'hier. Le... squelettique, Mortosh, qu'elle croyait avoir entendu, avait choisi de s'asseoir en face de lui. Fiona a envisagé un moment d'essayer de le sauver, mais a pensé qu'il pourrait se débrouiller. Au lieu de cela, elle prit un petit déjeuner pour elle-même, des œufs et quelques fruits, et prit place en face de Soeur Agnes, qui était également arrivée avant elle. "Bonjour, ma sœur," salua-t-elle, prenant un moment pour rattacher ses cheveux lâchement et les tenir loin de sa nourriture. "J'espère que tu as au moins dormi la nuit dernière?" Il y avait eu beaucoup de travail à faire, préparer les choses pour le groupe, que Fiona regrettait de ne pas avoir eu la compétence pour aider. "Comment vont les autres? Ceux qu'on a ramenés du camp. Tout le monde s'en tire?"

Name: Fiona Age: 22 Alignment: Neutral Good Race: Human Class: Fighter Appearance/Clothing: Reference 1, Reference 2. Fairly average height, with a lean and toned build. Fiery, wild red hair and light brown eyes, skin tone a fair, slightly pale coloration. Skills: Close combat fighting, speed and agility, moderate strength, excellent horseback riding skills. Proficient both armed and unarmed, moderate endurance for taking hits. Good at cooking with relatively little to work with, and while likely irrelevant, good at farming. Natural Abilities: None - Human Magic/Spells: None Armor: Roughly as seen in the image, some pieces of scavenged light plate, most effectively protecting her right arm. Weapons: Use reference 2 for example. A fairly standard curved longsword, lightweight but sturdy. She has a dagger sheathed on her left thigh for emergencies. Possessions: Little of note. Her clothes, weapons, armor, packs, supplies, basic medical items and personal belongings. Most of it kept in her horse's saddlebags. Personality: Fiona's bold and brash, often unafraid of things she probably should be, and in general a very confident and self-assured individual. Like any good adventurer she is both curious and brave, but also deeply selfless, not preferring to use the word 'mercenary' to describe herself, as this implies the coin is the end goal she works for. Mostly she just enjoys her life for what it is: a chance to explore, meet new people and see new things, and help wherever she can, with what skill she has. Though typically a loner, she doesn't turn down help when offered, and tries to work together with others as best she can. She's an inexperienced, terrible liar, preferring both her combat and her conversation upfront and uncomplicated. History: Fiona's story is a relatively simple one, starting with a family not important enough to even have a lasting name. She's simply Fiona, of the village of Drayden, a little farming community quite a ways from many large population centers. Fiona was an only child, and thus assisted a great deal around the farm, becoming strong and physically active as a result. Wandering adventurers inspired her even as a teenage girl, and her mind would not be swayed from eventually leaving the family farm to see the world. When they were eventually able to hire some help, she used what coin she had to purchase some basic equipment, and set out at age 19, blade in hand, hunting for contracts. Naturally, without the best of training or a good starting foundation of equipment and knowledge, Fiona struggled in her first few years, but learned from her mistakes, and has developed into a competent and even confident fighter, willing and able to take on problems the average person doesn't want to deal with.

Vaeri est restée debout le reste de la nuit en bavardant avec Derrix et en lisant son livre. Environ une heure avant le crépuscule, elle a entendu des cliquetis de métal à l'intérieur de l'auberge. Elle aimait lire, mais la nuit avait été longue et elle ne pouvait rester immobile que si longtemps avant de commencer à bouger. L'aubergiste préparait probablement le petit-déjeuner, étant donné le nombre de bouches qu'il aurait besoin de nourrir, il aurait probablement besoin d'aide. Elle fit ses adieux à l'étranger (s'il était encore éveillé), et se leva pour entrer dans l'auberge. À sa surprise, elle fut presque immédiatement refusée, l'aubergiste citant qu'elle était couverte de sang et ne voulait pas que cela entre dans la nourriture. Vaeri avait complètement oublié. Eh bien, c'était bien qu'elle ait déjà acheté une chambre qu'elle pouvait utiliser pour nettoyer. L'auberge contenait beaucoup plus d'ingrédients et d'outils qu'elle ne portait sur sa personne, ce qui lui a permis de passer un temps plus facile particulièrement par rapport à essayer de garder la viande propre au milieu d'une forêt. Alors qu'elle n'était pas experte, Vaeri a apprécié la cuisine et avait une bonne connaissance des recettes qu'elle était surtout confiante dans la fabrication. Cependant, comme elle cuisinait pour un grand groupe, elle a opté pour des choses faciles qui pouvaient être laissées ensemble sur une assiette. Elle a trouvé que la plupart de son temps était consacré à la cuisine des œufs. Beaucoup et beaucoup d'oeufs. Elle a dû tellement fouetter que ça a rendu ses bras endurcis comme des nouilles boiteuses. Peu de temps après que Fiona est descendue pour manger, Vaeri est entrée dans la salle à manger pour la première fois depuis que les visiteurs ont commencé à sortir pour manger en portant une assiette de pains. Elle ne portait ni manteau ni armure et ses cheveux étaient attachés en queue de cheval. Elle avait une chemise bronzée à manches longues cousue dans une paire de pantalons bruns. Les manches roulaient jusqu'à ses coudes, montrant ses bras écarquillés dans toute leur gloire. Elle ne portait pas de chaussures, révélant que même ses pieds étaient aussi marqués que le reste de son corps. Même habillée aussi informellement que Vaeri était son collier était encore porté à voir pour tous, une mince chaîne supportant un pendentif d'un disque rouge encerclé par un serpent. "Ce sont des petits pains que ma mère ferait quand j'étais jeune. J'apprécierais que vous en essayiez un." Il y avait environ deux douzaines de pains en tout, assis à côté d'une assiette de saucisses de porc.

Name: Vaeri Dryearurdrenn Age: 143 Alignment: Lawful Good Race: Elf Class: Cleric/Barbarian Appearance/Clothing: Vaeri is an innocent looking elf, standing at about 5' 7" (170 cm) with long, straight raven hair that extends down to the base of her back, pale skin and bright blue eyes. At a glance she's quite beautiful with full lips, a small button nose, thin eyebrows and high cheekbones, when one takes a closer look, several tiny scars are visible all over, disfiguring her otherwise graceful looks. Likewise, Vaeri's exposed flesh, the rare times one can see them initially appear smooth and untouched, but upon closer inspection are covered in scars and barely contain wiry muscle below. Vaeri dresses as a lady of the cloth should, with a dark blue full body cloak. The fabric is adorned with intricate patterns in white to provide visual contrast and indicating her status as a clergywoman. Around her neck and outside the cloak, Vaeri wears a necklace bearing the holy symbol of her god. However, underneath the cloak is a full set of leather armor, battle ready and kept in top shape at all times. Skills: Sense Motive, Knowledge (Religion), Knowledge (Nature), Climb, Jump, Sleight of Hand, fletching arrows, surviving out in the wild Natural Abilities: Keen senses, the ability to see better than humans in low light Magic/Spells: Heal: can decide how good this is Tongues: Allows the caster to speak any language for the duration of the spell Turn Undead: Vaeri can attempt to make Undead flee from her presence temporarily. Powerful Undead can resist this. Divine Might: Holy power infuses the caster, temporarily making them more powerful and resilient Flame Strike: Smites foes with holy flames Additional Information: Vaeri worships Menhit, lion-goddess of War. (Fun fact her name means She who massacres) Weapons: Vaeri carries a shortbow and a two-handed battleaxe Possessions: Vaeri carries a backpack that can hold more than you think it would and what Vaeri wants from the bag will always be at the top (the item in question must have been put in the bag beforehand for this to work). Inside the bag are her necessities (tent, rope, bedroll, tarp for the tent, soap, cooking utensils, oil, a lamp, flint and steel), holy texts, and about 2 weeks worth of rations. She also has a coin purse with about 20 gold pieces in it. On her hip is a quiver with 20 arrows. Personality: To strangers, Vaeri appears to be a gentle elf, always keen to help those in need and be a travelling force of good in the world. However, as you get to know her, slowly she morphs into an entirely different person, brash, head-strong and a braggart, this true face of Vaeri shows exactly why she worships the goddess she does. The elf loves battle of all kinds and will gleefully jump into battle whenever she can. History: Vaeri grew up in a forest village mostly populated by other elves to a carpenter. IN her childhood, she began learning the bow as all children did. Her prowess with weaponry was admired just as much as her excessive enthusiasm for using them was worrying. One day while out hunting alone she was overcome by a vision of the lion-goddess Menhit who commanded Vaeri to go out into the world and find a man with two right hands. After this experience, Vaeri began following the goddess of war and has dedicated her life to this mission. The cleric has been following this notice for strong adventurers as a possible lead for locating this mysterious man.

Hugh se trouva en train de s'élever de sommeil, tandis que la lumière du soleil coulait dans la pièce, et il entendit des sons différents. Le coq l'avait lentement amené de sommeil. Il est venu à la conscience au son de petits clinks métalliques, sa vue obscurcie par un oreiller. Il a roulé sur son bras sur Sana et senti une légère brosse de vêtements de quelqu'un qui était assis dans le lit et n'était pas Sana. Il leva la tête pour regarder au-delà d'elle et remarqua qu'il était assis à Arianna, jouant avec quelque chose en métal. Il n'avait pas le plus brumeux de ce que c'était, car elle s'était détournée de lui. Hugh a apporté son autre bras sous Sana, l'enveloppant autour de sa taille. Il a ensuite poché Arianna, et simple a déclaré "Bonjour, beau" avec un sourire joyeux sur son visage.

Name: Hugh Van Halder Age: 45 Alignment: Neutral Good Race: Human Class: Fighter, Ex-Paladin Appearance/Clohing: He stands at 6'2", a tower of years of built up muscle. He wears a dark earthen blue tunic over a white linen three button pullover shirt. He wears a pair of black shorts(under his pants) and a pair of dark gray hosen(medieval style pants). He'll wear a chain mail shirt and these pauldrons additionally he'll wear leather knee and shin armor. He wears a small gray hood and a bear fur cloak. Skills: He is a good brawler and can fight with anything he can get his hands on(He's used bed rolls before). Horseback riding. Swordfighting, throwing axes, and two handed weapon fighting. He's been able to use crossbows before, but despises them, as they are delicate and take a lot of work just to reload. Bushcraft and survival stuff. Smoking(if that qualifies as a skill). Some cooking. Natural Abilities: He's strong and durable and can take a lot of beatings. He's pretty much a tank. He can drink a lot of alcohol and only get buzzed. Otherwise, he's just a normal human. Magic Spells: N/A Additional Information: He is in a relationship with Sana Rawn. He has a draft horse, named Rodger. Weapons: He wields a large crude looking battle axe and a falchion. Additionally, he has one small crude throwing axe. Possessions: A rucksack with jerky, bread, cheese, rags, spark rocks(basically one is made of magnesium), rope, ladle, cooking knife, two plates, and tobacco. He also has saddle bags on his horse, which he stores his pipe, more tobacco, sugar cubes, a brush, a stick and bow(which he uses for lighting his pipe), and a few salt licks. He has two water skins. One he keeps on his horse, and one on his person or in rucksack. Additionally he has a pot and a frying pan strapped down to the outside of his rucksack. He also wears a ring on a little chain around his neck and he never seems to take it off, as it was given to him by Sana. Personality: He is a more contented man, liking simple things in life, especially enjoying smoking his pipe with a wonderful scenery, usually in the form of a beautiful day and his love, Sana. He has a more realistic attitude towards the world, not being an idealist, only doing things to help. He has great respect for the natural order of things, and you won't find him trying to seek out revenge. He still has a fiery temper when it is stoked enough to come out. History: Hugh was once part of a great order of paladins. They had much land and ruled with wisdom. Their lands were prosperous and fertile. Many were jealous of their lands, but no one had the courage enough to take on the great and Noble order. Their paladins were fierce and formidable fighters. They all stood higher than 6' and were towers of muscle. They were truly terrifying men. But they were brought down under scandal. Fabricated accusations about them stealing their riches and enslaving other groups of people for labor. The scandals kept growing until they were set upon by every surrounding nation. They stood no chance. Many were killed, only a few escaped. They have been long since forgotten, after being hunted for almost two decades, and killed off, until it was concluded that they were finally extinct. Hugh hid among tribes of barbarians to survive. The tribe was good to him, making him one of their own. He had built a life of simplicity. Some warring between other tribes would often end with them being brutalized and then integrated. Hugh had found love in a woman taken from one of the defeated tribes. He had a few sons and lived very happily with her, until they were set upon by a purge of the "savages". Hugh's tribe was wiped out and he was orphaned once again. He had brutally killed all the "civilized" army he could, but it was too late. His tribe was all gone, along with his family. He became a wanderer, and left to find life as a mercenary. In that life, he found an adventure awaiting him in a tavern. The tavern was filled with life, when he came in and joined up with a questing group. There he met a gypsy woman by the name of Sana. He got to know her going on this random little adventure with this party. It was all rather simple and jovial at first, until they were all taken captive by a lich. This lich tried to take Sana from them, and in that moment Hugh only felt desperation and rage. He had slowly begun to realize that he had fallen in love with Sana, and that if he lost her nothing would change about his existence as a wandering mercenary, and he would simply keep losing people he deeply cared about. So he took a chance at love, and broke out of his cage in a fit of rage. He fought like a lion to get to Sana, finally winning out(love triumphs over all!) against the hordes of undead after his party came to his aid. Since then, he's been a contented old soul, taking care of Sana and showing her his love for her, even though he has never said the words.

Ariana se tourna vers Hugh en l'écoutant et sourit, lançant les anneaux contre l'extérieur de sa chemise et s'approcha de lui, pressant son petit doigt sur ses lèvres comme Sana lui avait fait pendant la nuit. Elle murmura tranquillement et pointa ensuite Sana qui dormait encore paisiblement là-bas. Tirant son doigt loin, elle sourit et retourna jouer avec les anneaux, mais cela n'a pas duré longtemps; l'enfant s'agita très rapidement maintenant que Hugh était éveillé et commença à regarder autour de lui comme si elle traçait dans quoi elle pouvait entrer maintenant. Tournant, elle se reposa sur ses genoux et affronta Sana, s'inclinant la tête sur le côté en regardant son protecteur dormir; ses cheveux dorés tombant sur le côté et les flocons d'ambre dans ses yeux brillent dans la lumière matinale. Puis l'enfant a fait ce que la plupart des enfants font quand ils veulent l'attention, elle a fait quelque chose pour obtenir l'attention. Sana aurait probablement pu dormir pendant plusieurs heures, mais ce n'était pas une option à ce moment-là, le petit devenait anxieux et en avait marre d'attendre. Sentant une poussée contre son front, Sana ouvrit lentement ses yeux fatigués et put voir Ariana se pencher sur elle, appuyant encore et encore sur sa tête. Elle a rétréci les yeux pendant un moment, atteignant lentement en tirant le bras de Hughs autour de sa taille, puis a rapidement scoopé l'enfant dans ses bras et lui a chatouillé pendant qu'elle s'asseyait au lit. La petite ricanante en essayant de s'échapper ; Sana s'arrêta finalement, riant légèrement en se levant et gardant l'enfant dans ses genoux. C'est ce que tu as obtenu pour m'avoir réveillé, a dit Sana dans une voix au cœur clair comme elle a cousu les cheveux d'Arianas derrière son oreille. Ariana a coincé sa langue à Sana avant de glisser du lit et de courir de l'autre côté de la pièce. "Can" ne m'obtiendra pas, "Ariana se moquait alors qu'elle tenait les mains en l'air, faisant semblant d'être un chat et une mèche à Sana. Sana s'est branlée en secouant la tête, mais elle a lentement bougé les jambes pour s'accrocher du côté du lit. "Rawr!"Ariana a dit ludiquement et Sana a vomi, poussant du lit et enveloppant ses bras autour du petit, la tournant autour d'elle avant de flatter doucement l'enfant sur le lit à côté de Hugh. "Gotcha," Sana taquiné. Ariana se couche juste là en riant; Sana assise sur le bord du lit la regardant et appréciant le moment. Ariana semblait avoir beaucoup d'esprit pour elle, même après tout ce qu'elle avait traversé ici, elle était debout et jouant comme si c'était un autre jour. Elle devait admirer la résilience des enfants, peu d'adultes auraient pu survivre à ce qu'Ariana avait vécu, et encore moins se réveiller avec une attitude aussi positive à l'égard de la vie. Si seulement tout le monde pouvait se remettre des épreuves que la vie leur a lancées aussi rapidement. Sana savait qu'Ariana aurait besoin de beaucoup de temps et qu'elle n'aurait peut-être jamais complètement mis derrière elle ce qui s'est passé, mais la voyant là-bas en riant lui a donné l'espoir qu'au moins ce qu'elle avait enduré ne l'avait pas détruite. En regardant vers Hugh, Sana sourit. Bonjour, ma chère, elle a dit d'une voix joyeuse avant de se pencher et de donner un baiser rapide. Ariana riant encore une fois à la vue. Sana secoua légèrement la tête et regarda vers le petit. C'est bon, ça suffit. Je pense qu'un grand petit-déjeuner est en ordre ce matin, que pensez-vous tous les deux? » Sana a demandé quand elle s'est redressée et s'est assise là à regarder les deux. Oui! Ariana s'écria joyeusement avant qu'elle ne prenne la main de Hughs et se mit à la tirer en essayant de le sortir du lit. Allez, allez, elle a dit en essayant de bouger l'homme. Sana a dû couvrir sa bouche en raison du désir de rire hystériquement à la vue de l'enfant essayant de déplacer Hugh sous sa propre force. Soeur Agnès regarda vers l'étage en entendant le rire et sourit à elle-même, il semblait qu'Ariana était réveillée et s'amusait déjà. Après tout ce qui s'était passé avec Sana avec le premier combat, elle avait été inquiète quand elle a vu son voyage dans la ville avec l'enfant, mais après avoir vu sa place elle-même entre l'enfant et le Mal sur sa montagne de l'enfer sans une pensée à sa propre sécurité a mis soeur Agnes. La femme pourrait l'avoir en elle pour être brutale, mais encore une fois, n'a-t-elle pas autant quand quelqu'un dont ils se souciaient a été mis en danger? Elle poussa la pensée hors de sa tête et sourit alors que Fiona venait s'asseoir avec elle. En lui essuyant la bouche avec une serviette, elle a fini la bouchée de nourriture qui était dans sa bouche avant qu'elle ne réponde; en même temps, elle hoche légèrement la tête. Après un moment, la vieille femme a mis sa fourchette à terre maintenant qu'elle était capable de parler. Bonjour Fiona, j'ai confiance que tu as bien dormi, la sœur a dit d'une voix au cœur léger. Et pour répondre à votre question, oui, je l'ai fait, merci de demander. Se levait un peu après que Sana ait eu Ariana au lit depuis que le petit a décidé de faire une promenade hier soir, mais comme vous pouvez l'entendre, la sœur a dit pointer des escaliers sur le moment où Ariana était en train de rire. Elle a décidé de dormir ailleurs. J'ai donc pu me reposer très paisiblement,, a-t-elle dit avant de prendre un verre de l'eau qu'elle avait à côté de son assiette. Tous ceux que tu as ramenés étaient bien installés hier soir. Certains ici à l'auberge, le reste ont été placés avec des familles dans et autour du village. Grâce à ce que vous avez tous ramené pour le village, nous pourrons les remettre sur pied. Nous sommes vraiment redevables à votre groupe pour tout ce que vous avez fait, la sœur a dit d'une voix reconnaissante. Quand Vaeri parlait, la sœur respirait profondément et souriait brillamment. Ces odeurs sont merveilleuses, vous allez gâcher le village si vous continuez à cuisiner comme ça mais je ne me plains pas. Merci toujours beaucoup," Soeur Agnes a dit à la femme elfe. Le groupe s'était vraiment réuni pour protéger le village et le garder en sécurité et il a soulevé beaucoup de stress de la part de la nonne pour savoir que les esclavagistes ne les dérangeraient plus. Elle se leva de chez elle et regarda en arrière vers Fiona et sourit. Je pense que Wylsen était debout toute la nuit, je doute qu'il ait arrêté de brasser des potions après lui et Lob a fini de s'occuper du Hell Hound, je vais lui prendre à manger. Excusez-moi, elle a dit d'une bonne voix avant de passer à la nourriture pour remplir une assiette pour l'ancien apothicaire. Elle n'était pas sûre si Lob était encore avec lui ou pas ainsi elle a pris une autre assiette et l'a rempli aussi bien, pas exactement ce qu'il faut mettre sur elle, elle a collé avec une variété de choses juste au cas où avant de sortir de l'auberge et vers l'apothicaire boutique. Elle se dirigea vers l'endroit où Derrix avait fait son propre poste qu'elle sourit vers lui. "Avez-vous été debout toute la nuit?" elle a demandé, bien qu'il ait été sorti comme plus d'une conclusion surprise qu'une question. "S'il vous plaît, allez chercher quelque chose à manger; il y en a plus que assez pour tout le monde," elle a dit d'une voix douce avant de continuer sur son chemin vers le magasin pour voir ce que Wylsen était en train de faire.

Name: Hanzo Jibero Age: 26 Alignment: Lawful Neutral Race: Human Class: Monk Appearance/Clothing: Skills: Acrobatics Survival Historical & Religious Knowledge Climbing & Swimming Perception Emotion Reading Ki Manipulation Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human. Magic/Spells: Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance. Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially. Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities. Additional Information: This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could. This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose. For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny. Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability. Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope. Personality: By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership. As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace. History: Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time. Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind. Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge. So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand. Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her. He only regrets not having learned her name. The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had.

Hanzo s'est réveillé étonnamment tard dans la matinée, avec les rayons de lumière du soleil qui brillent déjà à travers la fenêtre de sa chambre. Peut-être n'a-t-il pas toujours dormi dans un lit, surtout après avoir combattu une horde de bandits et un paladin infernal. Quoi qu'il en soit, le moine s'est réveillé assez tard et a très faim, et espérait au moins atténuer la dernière moitié de son problème immédiat. En descendant à la salle principale de l'auberge, il a été accueilli par quelques autres et informé qu'il y avait un buffet en cours. Fondamentalement, lorsqu'on l'explique, une sorte d'événement «choisir votre propre repas». Hanzo ne pouvait pas vraiment prétendre le comprendre, mais il a suivi de toute façon. Aussi fidèle qu'il ait essayé d'être, il était parfois agréable d'essayer quelque chose de différent, quelque chose de plus que ce à quoi on était habitué. Ainsi, après avoir ramassé un muffin et quelques baies, Hanzo a décidé d'agir sur un besoin invisible et l'a transformé en un petit déjeuner plus élevé, comme ses camarades s'y aidaient. Prenant soin des pas jusqu'à la table où Fiona, Tobias, et certains des autres se rassemblaient, Hanzo les accueillit. "Bonjour. Je crois que tout le monde va bien après les excitations d'hier." Il parlait, paraissant légèrement hors de caractère que l'équivalent d'hier (quelque chose que son assiette pourrait attester). En s'asseyant librement, Hanzo commença à creuser à sa nourriture, comme toujours à cet égard au moins. Il l'admettrait certainement, un repas chaud comme celui-ci était beaucoup plus doux et sain, surtout quand on avait été conditionné à vivre beaucoup sur la route. Pendant un moment, il a considéré le fait que pas toutes les personnes du monde qui se sont réveillées ce matin n'auraient pas le luxe Hanzo s'aidait à... mais, étrangement, il s'est trouvé ébranlé cette pensée. Ses pensées se tournèrent vers pourquoi - il n'était pas exactement approprié de lui d'ignorer ce genre de problème. Devenait-il plus comme un aventurier, vivant plus dans le présent et pour eux-mêmes? Non, il pensait, essayer de se rassurer, il ne l'était pas. Hanzo s'était permis de se livrer à quelques luxes avant, chaque fois qu'ils étaient si gracieusement offerts par les gens qu'il avait aidés. Alors, un opportuniste? Accepter des cadeaux comme celui-ci était plus une courtoisie qu'une occasion à saisir, imaginait-il. Peut-être, peut-être pas, c'était difficile à dire. Le moine a été tellement absorbé dans son autocritique que son rythme de manger a ralenti à un arrêt, jusqu'à ce qu'il était juste assis là à réfléchir. Un moment plus tard, il secoua de sa transe et retourna à sa nourriture. Ce n'était probablement pas si sain de se juger comme ça, de toute façon. Pourquoi ne pas simplement prendre ce que la vie vous donne? Hanzo a pensé, peut-être que je ne veux pas être une personne terrible. Mais dans un monde comme celui-ci, il est parfois difficile de savoir ce que cela signifie.

Name: Illyd Dyill Age: 18 Alignment: neutral Race: Human Class: Shepherd Appearance/Clothing: Illyd Dyill stands a modest six and has a wiry yet firm frame. His body is covered in old tan robes draped over loose pants and worn fur boots. He has shaggy black hair much like the sheep he used to herd, and two light brown eyes that peek out from his youthful and defined tanned face. Skills: farming, understanding of animal anatomy, mundane understanding of self defense and fighting with a crook, tracking, Natural Abilities: In depth thinking, to the point that this guy might be possessed Magic/Spells: Additional Information: He was a shepherd as long as he could remember, and as long as he could remember, he wanted to be a hero, but this one tiny voice in his head prefers a different direction Weapons: A Shepherd's crook Possessed: Yes Personality: He is curious, adventurous, slightly lazy, and naive. However, a secondary thinking voice in his head is definitely different than his usual gentle nature; as it is aggressive, violent, lustful and greedy.. Luckily this isn’t the voice that controls the body, mostly. History: A simple Shepherd’s son, out in the big world to become an adventurer (possessions: Crook, clothes, worn out harp) So I already have a bunch of ideas on how this guy’s posts would look, a lot of in mind arguing and play, as well as crude suggestions and general character development

Sana sourit alors qu'elle regardait Ariana mais elle savait qu'ils avaient besoin de manger et Sana avait beaucoup à prendre en charge avant de partir essayer de trouver le reste des ingrédients pour l'orphelinat, dont le plus important était de s'assurer qu'Ariana allait être prise en charge. Elle s'est relevée de sa place sur le lit, elle a tiré sur ses bottes sur ses jambes de pantalon et les a lassés vers le haut. Laissant sa chemise dédoublée, elle erra dans son sac et sortit sa brosse, la jetant à travers ses cheveux, puis marchant vers Ariana et la balayant dans ses bras. En la posant sur le sol, Sana s'assit sur le bord du lit et brossa les jeunes serrures dorées. Une fois qu'elle eut fini, elle jeta la brosse dans son sac et se leva. « Ready? » Sana a demandé à la petite d'une voix douce et Ariana a hurlé rapidement avec un large sourire sur son visage, tenant ses bras jusqu'à Sana; apparemment voulant être porté au lieu de marcher. Sana sourit légèrement mais acquiescé à la demande silencieuse des enfants et poussa Ariana sur sa hanche avant de se promener jusqu'à la porte. J'ai cherché la poignée qu'elle a souri à Hugh. Elle va se faire nourrir et elle a besoin de se vêtir. Donc nous serons soit en bas des escaliers, soit dans le magasin général, a dit Sana légèrement avant de sortir, fermant la porte derrière elle. En descendant, elle a pris note de ceux qui s'étaient déjà rassemblés mais n'ont pas vu sœur Agnes. Pursant légèrement ses lèvres, elle espérait pouvoir trouver la religieuse à un moment donné parce qu'elle avait besoin de lui parler d'Ariana. Poussant la pensée hors de sa tête, elle s'est promenée au buffet et a posé Ariana vers le bas avant d'attraper quelques assiettes. D'accord, qu'est-ce que tu veux pour le petit déjeuner?D'après Sana, elle regardait la petite qui avait l'œil large en regardant toute la nourriture. Tout ça! » Ariana s'écria avec enthousiasme. Sana a levé un sourcil et a riposté. D'accord, eh bien il a gagné tout correspond à votre assiette, alors qu'est-ce que vous voulez commencer par?' Sana a demandé et Ariana a commencé à mettre en évidence diverses choses. Sana a empilé la nourriture pour le petit et a saisi quelques choses pour elle-même avant de se retourner et de chercher une table pour s'installer avec le petit. Elle a été tentée d'en choisir un qui était loin du reste du groupe, pas sûr si Ariana était prête à être autour des autres à partir de maintenant, mais puis elle a décidé de laisser à l'enfant. Où voulez-vous vous asseoir? Ariana a regardé autour d'elle pendant une minute et a ensuite pointé vers la table où Fiona était assis. Voilà! Elle a de jolis cheveux! » Ariana a dit avec un sourire. Sana riait légèrement et la poussait à aller de l'avant. Ariana a glissé et a couru à la table et a sauté dans une chaise. Elle a dit à Fiona qu'elle était assise à genoux dans la chaise et qu'elle regardait autour. Sana s'est promenée et a posé les petits plats de nourriture devant elle avant de se reposer à côté d'Ariana. Bonjour, Sana a dit à Fiona avant de les présenter tous les deux. Fiona, ce petit est Ariana. Ariana, voici Fiona, une amie, a dit Sana d'une bonne voix. Ariana a agité à Fiona avant qu'elle commence à creuser dans son repas.

Name: Hanzo Jibero Age: 26 Alignment: Lawful Neutral Race: Human Class: Monk Appearance/Clothing: Skills: Acrobatics Survival Historical & Religious Knowledge Climbing & Swimming Perception Emotion Reading Ki Manipulation Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human. Magic/Spells: Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance. Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially. Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities. Additional Information: This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could. This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose. For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny. Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability. Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope. Personality: By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership. As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace. History: Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time. Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind. Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge. So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand. Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her. He only regrets not having learned her name. The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had.

Vaeri s'est tenu en arrière et a regardé le petit déjeuner passer paisiblement, certainement beaucoup plus en douceur qu'hier. Il semblait que le groupe se réunissait assez bien. Il était probable qu'ils auraient besoin de partir une fois le repas terminé. Mais une chose l'a dérangée. L'étrange est entré dans l'auberge, empilant haut une charge de nourriture sur son assiette même s'il avait mis sur son casque à nouveau pour une raison inconnue. Elle lui avait parlé un peu tout au long de la matinée, mais elle n'avait jamais pris la peine de lui demander son nom ou quand il est arrivé. Tout le monde semblait nonchalamment accepter sa présence, mais ils acceptaient beaucoup d'étranges sans battre un oeil. Prenant note du vide dans son estomac, Vaeri a saisi l'un des pains doux chauds qu'elle avait couchés et a marché vers l'étranger. "Alors, Stranger, je suppose que tu viens avec nous? Vous êtes venus après avoir trouvé l'un des flyers de maladie de la cendre pendant que Sana, Fiona, Drizzak, Lob et moi étions occupés à traiter avec le camp d'esclaves dans le nord, n'est-ce pas?" Vaeri a pris une grosse bouchée du pain en regardant avec impatience l'étranger. Vraiment, c'était la seule option qui avait vraiment du sens. Sauf s'il n'était qu'un voyageur qui est passé hier soir. Peut-être qu'il n'est pas arrivé en ville avant le combat avec l'antipaladin. Peu importe quand et pourquoi il est arrivé, personne ne semblait savoir quoi que ce soit sur lui.

Name: Vaeri Dryearurdrenn Age: 143 Alignment: Lawful Good Race: Elf Class: Cleric/Barbarian Appearance/Clothing: Vaeri is an innocent looking elf, standing at about 5' 7" (170 cm) with long, straight raven hair that extends down to the base of her back, pale skin and bright blue eyes. At a glance she's quite beautiful with full lips, a small button nose, thin eyebrows and high cheekbones, when one takes a closer look, several tiny scars are visible all over, disfiguring her otherwise graceful looks. Likewise, Vaeri's exposed flesh, the rare times one can see them initially appear smooth and untouched, but upon closer inspection are covered in scars and barely contain wiry muscle below. Vaeri dresses as a lady of the cloth should, with a dark blue full body cloak. The fabric is adorned with intricate patterns in white to provide visual contrast and indicating her status as a clergywoman. Around her neck and outside the cloak, Vaeri wears a necklace bearing the holy symbol of her god. However, underneath the cloak is a full set of leather armor, battle ready and kept in top shape at all times. Skills: Sense Motive, Knowledge (Religion), Knowledge (Nature), Climb, Jump, Sleight of Hand, fletching arrows, surviving out in the wild Natural Abilities: Keen senses, the ability to see better than humans in low light Magic/Spells: Heal: can decide how good this is Tongues: Allows the caster to speak any language for the duration of the spell Turn Undead: Vaeri can attempt to make Undead flee from her presence temporarily. Powerful Undead can resist this. Divine Might: Holy power infuses the caster, temporarily making them more powerful and resilient Flame Strike: Smites foes with holy flames Additional Information: Vaeri worships Menhit, lion-goddess of War. (Fun fact her name means She who massacres) Weapons: Vaeri carries a shortbow and a two-handed battleaxe Possessions: Vaeri carries a backpack that can hold more than you think it would and what Vaeri wants from the bag will always be at the top (the item in question must have been put in the bag beforehand for this to work). Inside the bag are her necessities (tent, rope, bedroll, tarp for the tent, soap, cooking utensils, oil, a lamp, flint and steel), holy texts, and about 2 weeks worth of rations. She also has a coin purse with about 20 gold pieces in it. On her hip is a quiver with 20 arrows. Personality: To strangers, Vaeri appears to be a gentle elf, always keen to help those in need and be a travelling force of good in the world. However, as you get to know her, slowly she morphs into an entirely different person, brash, head-strong and a braggart, this true face of Vaeri shows exactly why she worships the goddess she does. The elf loves battle of all kinds and will gleefully jump into battle whenever she can. History: Vaeri grew up in a forest village mostly populated by other elves to a carpenter. IN her childhood, she began learning the bow as all children did. Her prowess with weaponry was admired just as much as her excessive enthusiasm for using them was worrying. One day while out hunting alone she was overcome by a vision of the lion-goddess Menhit who commanded Vaeri to go out into the world and find a man with two right hands. After this experience, Vaeri began following the goddess of war and has dedicated her life to this mission. The cleric has been following this notice for strong adventurers as a possible lead for locating this mysterious man.

L'étranger se tourna vers la femme qu'il avait bavardée toute la nuit, et, derrière son casque, il l'étudia soigneusement. Les noms qu'elle a énumérés n'étaient d'aucune reconnaissance, mais il s'est souvenu d'une poignée d'autres combattants dans les récentes batailles, cependant, ce n'était pas les noms qui l'intéressaient. "Maladie?" Il a dit brusquement.

Name: Illyd Dyill Age: 18 Alignment: neutral Race: Human Class: Shepherd Appearance/Clothing: Illyd Dyill stands a modest six and has a wiry yet firm frame. His body is covered in old tan robes draped over loose pants and worn fur boots. He has shaggy black hair much like the sheep he used to herd, and two light brown eyes that peek out from his youthful and defined tanned face. Skills: farming, understanding of animal anatomy, mundane understanding of self defense and fighting with a crook, tracking, Natural Abilities: In depth thinking, to the point that this guy might be possessed Magic/Spells: Additional Information: He was a shepherd as long as he could remember, and as long as he could remember, he wanted to be a hero, but this one tiny voice in his head prefers a different direction Weapons: A Shepherd's crook Possessed: Yes Personality: He is curious, adventurous, slightly lazy, and naive. However, a secondary thinking voice in his head is definitely different than his usual gentle nature; as it is aggressive, violent, lustful and greedy.. Luckily this isn’t the voice that controls the body, mostly. History: A simple Shepherd’s son, out in the big world to become an adventurer (possessions: Crook, clothes, worn out harp) So I already have a bunch of ideas on how this guy’s posts would look, a lot of in mind arguing and play, as well as crude suggestions and general character development

La maladie de la cendre. Ainsi, non seulement il ne connaissait pas les divinités des non-humains, mais il n'était pas au courant de la maladie de la cendre. "Vous savez, quand des plaies ressemblant à de minuscules fosses de feu commencent à germer sur une personne, et si laissé non traité finit avec le patient brûlant à mort de l'intérieur. Les orphelins de l'Apothicaire ont été maudits avec une version de la maladie qui ne quittera pas les moyens normaux de guérison. C'est pour ça qu'on est là." Vaeri a glissé aux étranges occupants de l'auberge, et a accidentellement jeté un peu de givrage sur le sol. Vaeri a pris note mentalement de cette fichue et a ensuite fait comme si cela ne s'était jamais produit, en prenant une autre morsure du morceau de pain. « Recueillir les ingrédients requis pour un traitement. Je suis sûr qu'un tel que vous pourriez aider si vous êtes si incliné. Vous pouvez parler avec Soeur Agnès, a souligné Vaeri à la nonne âgée, ou Wyslan dans l'Apothicaire si vous voulez savoir, Monsieur, Vaeri mène hors de la fin de la phrase, essayant d'inciter l'étranger à donner son nom. Après qu'il eut donné son nom, ou refusé de le faire, Vaeri partit pour aller dans sa chambre, lui faisant ses adieux. Environ 10 minutes plus tard, elle revenait, maintenant vêtue de son armure, de son manteau, et n'avait plus les pieds nus prêts à partir.

Name: Vaeri Dryearurdrenn Age: 143 Alignment: Lawful Good Race: Elf Class: Cleric/Barbarian Appearance/Clothing: Vaeri is an innocent looking elf, standing at about 5' 7" (170 cm) with long, straight raven hair that extends down to the base of her back, pale skin and bright blue eyes. At a glance she's quite beautiful with full lips, a small button nose, thin eyebrows and high cheekbones, when one takes a closer look, several tiny scars are visible all over, disfiguring her otherwise graceful looks. Likewise, Vaeri's exposed flesh, the rare times one can see them initially appear smooth and untouched, but upon closer inspection are covered in scars and barely contain wiry muscle below. Vaeri dresses as a lady of the cloth should, with a dark blue full body cloak. The fabric is adorned with intricate patterns in white to provide visual contrast and indicating her status as a clergywoman. Around her neck and outside the cloak, Vaeri wears a necklace bearing the holy symbol of her god. However, underneath the cloak is a full set of leather armor, battle ready and kept in top shape at all times. Skills: Sense Motive, Knowledge (Religion), Knowledge (Nature), Climb, Jump, Sleight of Hand, fletching arrows, surviving out in the wild Natural Abilities: Keen senses, the ability to see better than humans in low light Magic/Spells: Heal: can decide how good this is Tongues: Allows the caster to speak any language for the duration of the spell Turn Undead: Vaeri can attempt to make Undead flee from her presence temporarily. Powerful Undead can resist this. Divine Might: Holy power infuses the caster, temporarily making them more powerful and resilient Flame Strike: Smites foes with holy flames Additional Information: Vaeri worships Menhit, lion-goddess of War. (Fun fact her name means She who massacres) Weapons: Vaeri carries a shortbow and a two-handed battleaxe Possessions: Vaeri carries a backpack that can hold more than you think it would and what Vaeri wants from the bag will always be at the top (the item in question must have been put in the bag beforehand for this to work). Inside the bag are her necessities (tent, rope, bedroll, tarp for the tent, soap, cooking utensils, oil, a lamp, flint and steel), holy texts, and about 2 weeks worth of rations. She also has a coin purse with about 20 gold pieces in it. On her hip is a quiver with 20 arrows. Personality: To strangers, Vaeri appears to be a gentle elf, always keen to help those in need and be a travelling force of good in the world. However, as you get to know her, slowly she morphs into an entirely different person, brash, head-strong and a braggart, this true face of Vaeri shows exactly why she worships the goddess she does. The elf loves battle of all kinds and will gleefully jump into battle whenever she can. History: Vaeri grew up in a forest village mostly populated by other elves to a carpenter. IN her childhood, she began learning the bow as all children did. Her prowess with weaponry was admired just as much as her excessive enthusiasm for using them was worrying. One day while out hunting alone she was overcome by a vision of the lion-goddess Menhit who commanded Vaeri to go out into the world and find a man with two right hands. After this experience, Vaeri began following the goddess of war and has dedicated her life to this mission. The cleric has been following this notice for strong adventurers as a possible lead for locating this mysterious man.

Un étrange soulagement a levé un poids de la poitrine étrangère à la description de la maladie. Alors que ce n'était pas ce à quoi il pensait, c'était toujours inacceptable. Bien qu'il ait maintenant questionné de laisser l'étrange enfant de l'antipaladin dans cet endroit encore plus sceptique. Il secoua la pensée alors que la femme l'exhortait à renoncer à son nom. Je suis Derrix "Nightbane" Herchiv.Il a dit, et je vais aider. Nightbane n'était pas sur le point de refuser d'aider les enfants de leur maladie et il a décidé qu'il pourrait aussi bien prendre un voyage à la boutique pour voir sœur Agnes. La femme à qui il avait parlé lui a soudainement fait ses adieux et a commencé à s'en aller. Nightbane a appelé, tu me dois ton nom. Avec la dette scellée, il continua à sortir de la taverne. Alors qu'il passait son cheval blanc, il posa l'assiette sur le sol. Il a arraché ce qui a guéri les jambons qui ont été déposés sur le dessus et lever son casque juste assez pour les mettre dans sa bouche avant de laisser le casque lourd retomber à sa place. Son cheval a heureusement commencé à gober humidement sur l'assiette de pains et de céréales, et Nightbane a continué devant lui et dans la boutique. Une variété d'odeurs aurait attaqué ses narines si ce n'était pour son épais masque de lavande caché derrière le visage de son casque. Il clignait devant la lumière de l'apothécaire qui rivalisait avec la douce lueur matinale du soleil et posa ses yeux sur la nonne âgée. "Sœur Agnes"?

Name: Illyd Dyill Age: 18 Alignment: neutral Race: Human Class: Shepherd Appearance/Clothing: Illyd Dyill stands a modest six and has a wiry yet firm frame. His body is covered in old tan robes draped over loose pants and worn fur boots. He has shaggy black hair much like the sheep he used to herd, and two light brown eyes that peek out from his youthful and defined tanned face. Skills: farming, understanding of animal anatomy, mundane understanding of self defense and fighting with a crook, tracking, Natural Abilities: In depth thinking, to the point that this guy might be possessed Magic/Spells: Additional Information: He was a shepherd as long as he could remember, and as long as he could remember, he wanted to be a hero, but this one tiny voice in his head prefers a different direction Weapons: A Shepherd's crook Possessed: Yes Personality: He is curious, adventurous, slightly lazy, and naive. However, a secondary thinking voice in his head is definitely different than his usual gentle nature; as it is aggressive, violent, lustful and greedy.. Luckily this isn’t the voice that controls the body, mostly. History: A simple Shepherd’s son, out in the big world to become an adventurer (possessions: Crook, clothes, worn out harp) So I already have a bunch of ideas on how this guy’s posts would look, a lot of in mind arguing and play, as well as crude suggestions and general character development

Sœur Agnes sortit de l'arrière de la boutique où elle avait laissé la nourriture pour Wylsen et lui parla brièvement en entendant le chant de la cloche sonner de dessus la porte. En regardant sur elle, elle a vu l'homme de tout à l'heure qui semblait surveiller le village la nuit précédente. Elle s'approcha de lui en souriant doucement et lui tendit la main pour l'ébranler en saluant. "Ahh, bonjour étranger," dit-elle d'une bonne vieille voix quand elle se tenait là. "J'espère que vous avez pu manger quelque chose. Que pourrais-je faire pour vous ce matin?" Elle demanda d'une voix douce en regardant l'homme. "Pardonne-moi, je n'ai pas eu ton nom hier. Nous étions un peu inquiets hier. »

Name: Hanzo Jibero Age: 26 Alignment: Lawful Neutral Race: Human Class: Monk Appearance/Clothing: Skills: Acrobatics Survival Historical & Religious Knowledge Climbing & Swimming Perception Emotion Reading Ki Manipulation Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human. Magic/Spells: Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance. Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially. Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities. Additional Information: This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could. This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose. For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny. Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability. Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope. Personality: By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership. As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace. History: Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time. Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind. Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge. So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand. Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her. He only regrets not having learned her name. The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had.

Je suis Derrix ‘Nightbane' Herchiv, derrrix a répondu heureusement, agitant la main de la femme. Il a glissé de son casque par respect pour la conversation et a griffé sa joue tatouée pendant un moment, prenant dans les parfums de la boutique avec une longue inhalation, faisant de son mieux pour ignorer l'odeur polluante de la lavande de son casque. J'ai entendu dire que vous aviez un problème avec une maladie, Derrix a dit tristement, et si vous le permettiez, je serais enclin à aider.

Name: Illyd Dyill Age: 18 Alignment: neutral Race: Human Class: Shepherd Appearance/Clothing: Illyd Dyill stands a modest six and has a wiry yet firm frame. His body is covered in old tan robes draped over loose pants and worn fur boots. He has shaggy black hair much like the sheep he used to herd, and two light brown eyes that peek out from his youthful and defined tanned face. Skills: farming, understanding of animal anatomy, mundane understanding of self defense and fighting with a crook, tracking, Natural Abilities: In depth thinking, to the point that this guy might be possessed Magic/Spells: Additional Information: He was a shepherd as long as he could remember, and as long as he could remember, he wanted to be a hero, but this one tiny voice in his head prefers a different direction Weapons: A Shepherd's crook Possessed: Yes Personality: He is curious, adventurous, slightly lazy, and naive. However, a secondary thinking voice in his head is definitely different than his usual gentle nature; as it is aggressive, violent, lustful and greedy.. Luckily this isn’t the voice that controls the body, mostly. History: A simple Shepherd’s son, out in the big world to become an adventurer (possessions: Crook, clothes, worn out harp) So I already have a bunch of ideas on how this guy’s posts would look, a lot of in mind arguing and play, as well as crude suggestions and general character development

La sœur lui sourit et secoua la main alors qu'il la plaçait dans la sienne. Elle attendait alors qu'il retirait son casque, il avait l'air différent de la plupart qu'elle avait vu mais il ne suffisait pas de la surprendre; ce nouveau groupe seul s'était déjà révélé être un mélange intéressant d'humains et d'autres créatures alors pour elle, ce n'était pas quelque chose qu'elle jugerait. « Oui, nous sommes en fait », a-t-elle dit en passant au comptoir de la boutique et en récupérant l'un des rouleaux que Wylsen avait écrits pour le groupe la veille. La remettre à lui, elle sourit doucement. « Et je suis sûr que le groupe vous accueillera, surtout avec autant d'aide que vous l'avez déjà fait. Je suggère peut-être de parler à Sana. Elle semble être celle qui a pris les rênes pour parler avec le groupe. Tu devrais pouvoir la trouver à l'auberge. Femme, environ 30 ans, cheveux blonds dorés ondulés, yeux teintés d'ambre. Elle aura très probablement un enfant qui lui ressemble avec elle », a informé la sœur Derrix une fois qu'il lui a pris le journal.

Name: Hanzo Jibero Age: 26 Alignment: Lawful Neutral Race: Human Class: Monk Appearance/Clothing: Skills: Acrobatics Survival Historical & Religious Knowledge Climbing & Swimming Perception Emotion Reading Ki Manipulation Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human. Magic/Spells: Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance. Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially. Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities. Additional Information: This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could. This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose. For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny. Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability. Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope. Personality: By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership. As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace. History: Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time. Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind. Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge. So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand. Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her. He only regrets not having learned her name. The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had.

Derrix a pris le papier et a froncé, J'ai entendu que le petit enfant qui a été chassé par le chevalier noir doit rester ici. Je n'insulterai pas votre jugement, mais je vous demanderai, est-ce sûr? Je ne demande qu'à cause de l'infamie que cette ville semble attirer maintenant au sommet d'une peste. Il a mis le papier dans le creux de son casque qu'il avait cousu sous l'un de ses bras, je ne veux pas manquer de respect bien sûr, juste exprimer mes propres préoccupations.

Name: Illyd Dyill Age: 18 Alignment: neutral Race: Human Class: Shepherd Appearance/Clothing: Illyd Dyill stands a modest six and has a wiry yet firm frame. His body is covered in old tan robes draped over loose pants and worn fur boots. He has shaggy black hair much like the sheep he used to herd, and two light brown eyes that peek out from his youthful and defined tanned face. Skills: farming, understanding of animal anatomy, mundane understanding of self defense and fighting with a crook, tracking, Natural Abilities: In depth thinking, to the point that this guy might be possessed Magic/Spells: Additional Information: He was a shepherd as long as he could remember, and as long as he could remember, he wanted to be a hero, but this one tiny voice in his head prefers a different direction Weapons: A Shepherd's crook Possessed: Yes Personality: He is curious, adventurous, slightly lazy, and naive. However, a secondary thinking voice in his head is definitely different than his usual gentle nature; as it is aggressive, violent, lustful and greedy.. Luckily this isn’t the voice that controls the body, mostly. History: A simple Shepherd’s son, out in the big world to become an adventurer (possessions: Crook, clothes, worn out harp) So I already have a bunch of ideas on how this guy’s posts would look, a lot of in mind arguing and play, as well as crude suggestions and general character development

Aucune prise et croyez-moi j'ai aussi mes propres préoccupations, la sœur a dit de la voix géniale alors qu'elle fermait les mains devant son habitude. "Même si l'envoyer avec le groupe m'inquiète aussi. J'ai l'intention de parler à Sana de l'enfant ce matin puisque c'est elle qui a d'abord sauvé l'enfant et qui semble s'occuper du petit. Je pense qu'il serait prudent de demander son avis sur la petite Ariana avant que toute décision ne soit prise », a ajouté la sœur. « S'il n'y a rien d'autre que je puisse aider, je devrais probablement m'en occuper maintenant. Avez-vous besoin d'autre chose de la boutique? Je peux récupérer le gardien de magasin de l'arrière pour vous si besoin est. Ou vous pouvez marcher avec moi à l'auberge et je peux vous présenter à Sana correctement », a-t-elle dit alors qu'elle se déplaçait vers la porte.

Name: Hanzo Jibero Age: 26 Alignment: Lawful Neutral Race: Human Class: Monk Appearance/Clothing: Skills: Acrobatics Survival Historical & Religious Knowledge Climbing & Swimming Perception Emotion Reading Ki Manipulation Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human. Magic/Spells: Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance. Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially. Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities. Additional Information: This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could. This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose. For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny. Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability. Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope. Personality: By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership. As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace. History: Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time. Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind. Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge. So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand. Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her. He only regrets not having learned her name. The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had.

Avec un arc de sa tête, Derrix rapidement accepté, Je serais honoré d'escorter. Alors qu'il était sûr que ce n'était pas ce qu'elle avait voulu dire en rentrant avec elle, une noble coutume prit son instinct alors qu'il ouvrit la porte pour la vieille religieuse et offrit son bras blindé en escorte.

Name: Illyd Dyill Age: 18 Alignment: neutral Race: Human Class: Shepherd Appearance/Clothing: Illyd Dyill stands a modest six and has a wiry yet firm frame. His body is covered in old tan robes draped over loose pants and worn fur boots. He has shaggy black hair much like the sheep he used to herd, and two light brown eyes that peek out from his youthful and defined tanned face. Skills: farming, understanding of animal anatomy, mundane understanding of self defense and fighting with a crook, tracking, Natural Abilities: In depth thinking, to the point that this guy might be possessed Magic/Spells: Additional Information: He was a shepherd as long as he could remember, and as long as he could remember, he wanted to be a hero, but this one tiny voice in his head prefers a different direction Weapons: A Shepherd's crook Possessed: Yes Personality: He is curious, adventurous, slightly lazy, and naive. However, a secondary thinking voice in his head is definitely different than his usual gentle nature; as it is aggressive, violent, lustful and greedy.. Luckily this isn’t the voice that controls the body, mostly. History: A simple Shepherd’s son, out in the big world to become an adventurer (possessions: Crook, clothes, worn out harp) So I already have a bunch of ideas on how this guy’s posts would look, a lot of in mind arguing and play, as well as crude suggestions and general character development

L'honneur est à moi, elle a dit d'une voix reconnaissante alors qu'il tenait la porte ouverte pour elle. En prenant son bras, elle sortit du magasin et retourna vers l'auberge. Une fois qu'ils avaient atteint leur destination, elle a regardé autour et a été heureux de voir Sana assis là manger le petit déjeuner avec Ariana et certains des autres avec le groupe. « La voilà, » dit doucement la sœur lorsqu'elle se déplaça à Sana alors qu'elle essuyait du lait qui avait versé sur les vêtements d'Arianas. « Je vais vous présenter deux », a-t-elle dit avant de continuer vers le groupe. Sana a pris la sœur du coin de l'œil avec l'étranger d'hier et s'est levée de sa place en saluant. "Sœur matinale", a-t-elle dit. "Est-ce que tu as pu dormir la nuit dernière?" Elle a demandé à la vieille femme. "Oh très bien, peut-être plus que toi," la sœur riait alors qu'elle regardait vers Ariana. Sana se leva un sourcil alors qu'elle regardait le petit et sourit. "En fait, elle s'est endormie. Pas de problème. Alors, qu'est-ce que je peux te faire?" Sana a demandé alors qu'elle regardait la sœur. "En fait, oui. Deux choses. Je voudrais tout d'abord vous présenter Derrix Herchiv, il s'interrogeait sur la maladie du cidre et semble vouloir vous aider », a informé la sœur Sana. Sana a hurlé et a tourné son attention vers l'homme qui escortait la sœur. Sana a regardé l'homme un moment avant de lui tendre la main. Les lèvres de Sanas se sont légèrement enroulées dans ce qui aurait été un sourire familier à Derrix, car c'était la même que sa sœur portait de temps en temps. Sana et sa sœur Ramara ressemblaient tellement, comme s'il s'agissait de jumeaux, moins quelques petits détails et les cicatrices de brûlure nouvellement acquises qui culminaient sous son col et remontaient un côté de son cou. "Sana Rawn," la femme a dit comme elle était là. "Bienvenue à nous joindre, nous pouvons utiliser toute l'aide que nous pouvons obtenir et vous semblez avoir un knack au combat tel qu'il est déjà", a-t-elle dit d'une voix accueillante. Une fois qu'il lui a serré la main ou non, elle l'abaissait et retournait son attention à Soeur Agnès. -- Et la deuxième chose? -- Puis-je vous parler en privé une minute? la sœur a demandé et Sana a hurlé. -- Oui, bien sûr, dit Sana avant de retourner son attention à Ariana. « Je serai là-bas », a dit Sana en pointant une autre table et en baisant le petit sur le front. Ariana sourit d'une bouche pleine de nourriture et hoche la tête avant que Sana ne regarde la paire. -- Si vous voulez bien m'excuser un instant, dit Sana à Derrix avant de demander à la sœur de la rejoindre. Agnes a hurlé et a suivi Sana jusqu'à la table ouverte et a dû s'asseoir, voulant parler à Sana de ses plans pour Ariana.

Name: Hanzo Jibero Age: 26 Alignment: Lawful Neutral Race: Human Class: Monk Appearance/Clothing: Skills: Acrobatics Survival Historical & Religious Knowledge Climbing & Swimming Perception Emotion Reading Ki Manipulation Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human. Magic/Spells: Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance. Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially. Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities. Additional Information: This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could. This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose. For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny. Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability. Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope. Personality: By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership. As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace. History: Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time. Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind. Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge. So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand. Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her. He only regrets not having learned her name. The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had.

Derrix a secoué la main de Sana, et a hissé le nez, -Derrix ‘Nightbane-Herchiv à votre service alors. Il se tenait à l'écart alors que les deux femmes partaient pour parler en privé, probablement de la situation avec le jeune enfant. Alors qu'ils l'ont fait, Derrix a scanné les autres résidents de la table et a donné un clin d'œil de reconnaissance.

Name: Illyd Dyill Age: 18 Alignment: neutral Race: Human Class: Shepherd Appearance/Clothing: Illyd Dyill stands a modest six and has a wiry yet firm frame. His body is covered in old tan robes draped over loose pants and worn fur boots. He has shaggy black hair much like the sheep he used to herd, and two light brown eyes that peek out from his youthful and defined tanned face. Skills: farming, understanding of animal anatomy, mundane understanding of self defense and fighting with a crook, tracking, Natural Abilities: In depth thinking, to the point that this guy might be possessed Magic/Spells: Additional Information: He was a shepherd as long as he could remember, and as long as he could remember, he wanted to be a hero, but this one tiny voice in his head prefers a different direction Weapons: A Shepherd's crook Possessed: Yes Personality: He is curious, adventurous, slightly lazy, and naive. However, a secondary thinking voice in his head is definitely different than his usual gentle nature; as it is aggressive, violent, lustful and greedy.. Luckily this isn’t the voice that controls the body, mostly. History: A simple Shepherd’s son, out in the big world to become an adventurer (possessions: Crook, clothes, worn out harp) So I already have a bunch of ideas on how this guy’s posts would look, a lot of in mind arguing and play, as well as crude suggestions and general character development

Vous avez un moyen avec elle, Soeur Agnes a dit qu'elle était assise là, en fermant les mains devant elle. "Avez-vous un plan pour ce qui va se passer avec le petit?" la sœur demanda alors qu'elle regardait Sana avec un sourire présomptueux. « En fait, oui, je voulais vous en parler », a dit Sana quand elle s'est penchée sur son siège. -- Alors, quel est votre plan? la sœur a demandé quand elle s'est assise. Sana soupirait profondément alors qu'elle courait un peu ses doigts dans ses cheveux pour la pousser hors de son visage. "Je veux la laisser avec toi," a avoué Sana. "Quoi? À l'orphelinat, et si elle était malade aussi? » Agnes a demandé d'un ton inquiet à laquelle Sana ne s'est pas ébranlée la tête. "Non, je veux qu'elle aille au couvent. L'orphelinat risque de la rendre malade, la laissant dans le village la met en danger d'une autre attaque. Je sens que le couvent est l'endroit le plus sûr pour elle. Du moins pour l'instant, c'est trop dangereux pour moi de l'emmener avec nous », a dit Sana quand elle s'est penchée sur sa chaise. "Je vois, que je peux faire, mais qu'en est-il après? Quand vous reviendrez?" la sœur a demandé. Sana respira profondément et ferma les yeux un instant. Honnêtement, je ne connais pas ma sœur. Je ne suis pas vraiment en mesure d'élever un enfant en ce moment; s'il vous plaît, ne vous méprenez pas. Elle me rappelle beaucoup de ma petite sœur qui, d'après ce qu'on me dit, j'ai perdu mais bien, pour être franc. Certains événements de la vie ne sont-ils pas censés se produire avant qu'on élève un enfant? » Sana demanda alors qu'elle frottait ses temples avec les bouts de ses doigts. « Assez drôles et oui, ils sont censés le faire, mais la vie n'arrive pas toujours dans l'ordre dans lequel nous pensons qu'elle devrait l'être », a dit Sœur Agnes d'une voix sympathique. -- Avez-vous parlé de cela à Hugh? la sœur demanda alors qu'elle se penchait plus près. "Non, une autre raison pour laquelle je ne sais pas encore ce que je vais faire. C'est quelque chose que nous avons besoin de temps pour discuter et bien, disons juste que je ne veux pas finir par être un remplacement », a dit Sana alors qu'elle regardait vers Ariana, toujours déchirant dans sa nourriture et balançant périodiquement un morceau de fruit de la plaque de Sanas. "Un quoi?" la Soeur a demandé confus. "Longue histoire, je vais le découvrir, mais oui, tu peux l'emmener au couvent? Du moins pour l'instant?" Sana a demandé de regarder en arrière vers Agnes. -- Bien sûr. « Je vous remercie, avant que vous ne le fassiez, je veux qu'elle termine son repas, qu'elle prenne des vêtements et tout cela avant que je ne sorte avec le groupe et que je lui explique les choses du mieux que je peux », a dit Sana en se levant de chez elle. La sœur a hurlé dans l'intelligence et a laissé Sana partir sans un autre mot. Reposant à son siège, elle regarda Sana s'asseoir et retourna à son repas avec Ariana et les autres qui étaient à table avec eux.

Name: Hanzo Jibero Age: 26 Alignment: Lawful Neutral Race: Human Class: Monk Appearance/Clothing: Skills: Acrobatics Survival Historical & Religious Knowledge Climbing & Swimming Perception Emotion Reading Ki Manipulation Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human. Magic/Spells: Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance. Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially. Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities. Additional Information: This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could. This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose. For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny. Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability. Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope. Personality: By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership. As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace. History: Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time. Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind. Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge. So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand. Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her. He only regrets not having learned her name. The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had.

Tobias mangeait comme s'il ne revoyait plus jamais de nourriture. La nourriture était bonne, abondante, et le meilleur de tous, sûre, et si boucheuse après en avoir bu, a disparu dans la gorge de la rogue à un rythme effréné. Les morts auraient dû se lever pour qu'il soit secoué de son engouement, ce qui, en fait, est en quelque sorte ce qui s'est passé. Le zombie s'est jeté à côté de lui et a immédiatement commencé à dire... quelque chose ou autre. Tobias était occupé à gâcher, pris totalement à l'écart par l'apparition soudaine du cadavre et se souvenant bien de sa sauvagerie de la veille. Un petit gémissement est sorti de la bouche pleine du voleur alors que la querelle de l'animal de compagnie descendait et commençait à bourdonner. Il était plus nombreux que lui. Il était temps pour Tobias d'exécuter une de ses stratégies préférées - s'enfuir. "Oh, regardez l'heure, il faut aller voler quelque chose là-bas," il a dit rapidement et s'est emparé de son assiette, le déplaçant vers la table où Fiona était assis avec plusieurs autres de la fête. Il n'avait pas oublié qu'il avait encore des affaires avec Sana - mais pour l'instant, ça pouvait attendre. Il s'assit et donna un large sourire à l'enfant que le parti avait apparemment adopté. "Bonjour, souriant. Bonne nourriture, n'est-ce pas? »

Name: Tobias Age: 22 Alignment: Chaotic Good-ish Race: Human Class: Thief Appearance/Clothing: Skills: Bluff, Acrobatics, Charm, Athletics, Sneak, Theft, Streetwise, Knife-Wielding, Knife-Throwing. Natural Abilities: The power of average-ness. Magic/Spells: Not a scrap of it. Additional Information: Tobias isn't the strongest fighter, being far more suited to running, hiding, or bluffing his way out of situations (he's capable by normal person standards, of course - just not really what you'd expect from an adventurer). He's also a massive pathological liar with trust issues a mile wide. Weapons: He has three knives - one on his belt, one on his back, and one in his boot. Possessions: Leather armor, basic adventuring supplies (rope, flint and steel, etc.). His hood is enchanted to make it very hard for someone who sees him with it up to remember his face. He also has a magic grappling hook enchanted to not make a sound. Personality: Tobias is glib, smart-alecky, cowardly, and tries his absolute best to be self-centered. Though he'd feverishly deny it, he's a fundamentally good person underneath the assumed selfish. He tries not to let anyone get close to him, and often uses snark and flat out lies as armor in social interaction. History: Getting the truth out of him about his personal history is extraordinarily difficult, but it's possible to determine that he's an orphan who grew up on the streets and has spent his life so far living in cities and alternating between pickpocket, con-man and cat burglar in order to survive. Also, hai Kronshi. Funny meeting you again. :p

Tout le monde se levait et se déplaçait maintenant, faisant de l'auberge auparavant calme un petit centre d'activité. Fiona a commencé par essayer l'un des rouleaux doux Vaeri offert. Elle ne pouvait pas tout à fait gérer n'importe quel mot en réponse, mais le mm alors qu'elle a hurlé devrait servir comme ses remerciements. Elle a été heureuse d'entendre le rapport d'Agnès sur les gens qu'ils avaient sauvés, et a hurlé quand elle s'est excusée d'aller voir Wylsen. Fiona a salué Hanzo, bien qu'il semblait se tenir pour lui, et elle ne voulait pas le déranger. Son attention a vite été attirée par une enfant prenant place devant elle, Sana peu après. C'était la cause de toute la commotion la veille, et Fiona a dû admettre que c'était son premier bon regard sur la fille. C'était une chose adorable, si un peu maigre, sans doute d'après ce qu'elle avait vécu. Ils arrangeraient ça assez tôt, Fiona n'en doutait pas. "C'est un plaisir de vous rencontrer, Ariana. C'est un grand petit déjeuner que tu as. Je ne sais pas si je pourrais manger autant." Son ton était léger; Fiona était très habituée à s'occuper des enfants de son village, et elle les aimait beaucoup. A en juger par le comportement de celui-ci, c'était une petite fille douée d'esprit. Elle devait l'être, pour ne pas être comateuse après son calvaire. En fait, elle avait même l'air joyeuse. Ils continuèrent leur repas jusqu'à ce que Soeur Agnès revienne, l'inconnue de la nuit précédente. Il a été présenté comme Derrrix Herchiv, et Fiona a pris note du nom quand il a déclaré son intention de venir avec eux. Quand Agnès partit avec Sana pour parler en privé, Fiona saisit à nouveau l'œil d'Ariana et pointa de façon taquine sa fourchette sur l'assiette de la jeune fille. "Pour être rassasié? C'était beaucoup à faire." A côté d'elle, Derrix regarda les autres à la table tranquillement, et Fiona descendit ses ustensiles et lui tendit la main pour le secouer. "Derrix, n'est-ce pas? Je suis Fiona, je voyage aussi avec la fête. Ravie de vous rencontrer. Vous avez été très serviable hier." Après cela, Tobias est arrivée, ayant réussi à s'échapper et à la rejoindre. Elle souriait, le regardait et le frappait légèrement d'un coude en saluant.

Name: Fiona Age: 22 Alignment: Neutral Good Race: Human Class: Fighter Appearance/Clothing: Reference 1, Reference 2. Fairly average height, with a lean and toned build. Fiery, wild red hair and light brown eyes, skin tone a fair, slightly pale coloration. Skills: Close combat fighting, speed and agility, moderate strength, excellent horseback riding skills. Proficient both armed and unarmed, moderate endurance for taking hits. Good at cooking with relatively little to work with, and while likely irrelevant, good at farming. Natural Abilities: None - Human Magic/Spells: None Armor: Roughly as seen in the image, some pieces of scavenged light plate, most effectively protecting her right arm. Weapons: Use reference 2 for example. A fairly standard curved longsword, lightweight but sturdy. She has a dagger sheathed on her left thigh for emergencies. Possessions: Little of note. Her clothes, weapons, armor, packs, supplies, basic medical items and personal belongings. Most of it kept in her horse's saddlebags. Personality: Fiona's bold and brash, often unafraid of things she probably should be, and in general a very confident and self-assured individual. Like any good adventurer she is both curious and brave, but also deeply selfless, not preferring to use the word 'mercenary' to describe herself, as this implies the coin is the end goal she works for. Mostly she just enjoys her life for what it is: a chance to explore, meet new people and see new things, and help wherever she can, with what skill she has. Though typically a loner, she doesn't turn down help when offered, and tries to work together with others as best she can. She's an inexperienced, terrible liar, preferring both her combat and her conversation upfront and uncomplicated. History: Fiona's story is a relatively simple one, starting with a family not important enough to even have a lasting name. She's simply Fiona, of the village of Drayden, a little farming community quite a ways from many large population centers. Fiona was an only child, and thus assisted a great deal around the farm, becoming strong and physically active as a result. Wandering adventurers inspired her even as a teenage girl, and her mind would not be swayed from eventually leaving the family farm to see the world. When they were eventually able to hire some help, she used what coin she had to purchase some basic equipment, and set out at age 19, blade in hand, hunting for contracts. Naturally, without the best of training or a good starting foundation of equipment and knowledge, Fiona struggled in her first few years, but learned from her mistakes, and has developed into a competent and even confident fighter, willing and able to take on problems the average person doesn't want to deal with.

Ariana sourit avec une bouche pleine de nourriture vers Fiona et gigogne, secouant légèrement la tête avant de lui essuyer la bouche avec le dos de sa manche. Elle a dit avec enthousiasme avant de voler de la nourriture de l'assiette de Sanas et l'a gâchée avec cupidité. Sana secoua la tête et poussa un autre morceau de nourriture sur le bord de l'assiette, le préparant pour le petit juste au cas où elle voulait arracher une autre morsure. Sana a posé sa fourchette vers le bas, après avoir mangé tout ce qu'elle pouvait ventre pour le moment. Elle se sentait à l'aise depuis hier soir après le dernier combat, mais la craie jusqu'au stress et le casting pour la première fois. Elle pensait qu'elle devait s'habituer à ce sentiment. Ariana répondit à Tobias alors qu'il lui parlait avant qu'elle ne ramasse un grand rouleau doux et qu'elle prenne une bouchée, le givrant dribbant sur le côté de son visage en tirant le reste du rouleau loin d'elle-même et en le remettant sur la plaque. Sana roula légèrement les yeux pendant qu'elle plongeait sa serviette dans son verre d'eau et s'efforça de nettoyer la bouche des petits avant de s'enfoncer encore plus sur sa tenue. C'est ce qu'a dit Ariana, Sana avec une voix douce. "Derrix vous a demandé hier soir quel âge avez-vous, savez-vous?" Sana a demandé, voulant en savoir plus sur l'enfant avant qu'il ne parte. Ariana a hurlé et lui a tenu la main, en comptant sur ses doigts comme elle l'a fait. Un, deux, trois, quatre, a-t-elle dit avant de s'arrêter. Quatre! Presque cinq! » Elle s'est exclamé fièrement alors qu'elle tenait ses doigts pour montrer à tout le monde. Ok, une grande fille alors. Quand avez-vous cinq ans? » Sana a demandé, se demandant si l'enfant serait au courant. "L'heure de la neige," Ariana a dit qu'elle rebondissait légèrement dans sa chaise. Sana a pris cela pour dire l'hiver et s'est dit que c'était aussi bon qu'ils allaient l'obtenir quand il est arrivé à son âge. "Connais-tu le nom de tes parents?" Sana demanda alors qu'elle s'asseyait là-bas, atteignant les cheveux d'Arianas derrière son oreille. "Mama et papa," Ariana a dit avant d'arracher une fraise de l'assiette de Sanas et de la mettre dans sa bouche. Sana s'est légèrement tabassé les lèvres, cette réponse n'a pas été beaucoup d'aide mais pourrait-elle vraiment attendre beaucoup plus de quelqu'un de si jeune? Pensant un moment, elle a incliné la tête sur le côté. "Connais-tu ton nom de famille?" Sana a demandé mais n'attendait pas vraiment une réponse. Ariana sourit et lui tendit les mains, pliant les doigts comme des griffes. Ariana s'écria, Sana soupira et s'approcha, prenant ses mains. "Ariana, pas le temps de jouer comme vous êtes un chat chéri," Sana dit et Ariana secoua la tête. Oui! Rawr! Ariana Rawr! Comme un gros chat de famille! » Elle s'écria une fois de plus et retena les mains en arrière. Sana s'est figée chez elle comme si elle avait vu un fantôme alors que sa main tombait d'essayer de faire arrêter Ariana. Elle avala fort et reposa son coude sur la table, son front se reposa dans la paume de sa main. Prenant une respiration profonde et lente, elle regarda en arrière vers Ariana après avoir regardé autour d'un moment. "Ariana," Sana a dit dans une voix douce qui tremblait légèrement. Tu veux dire le gros chat noir? "Yup yup, bouge la nuit et vomit! Elle a dit d'essayer de faire jouer Sana avec elle. Sana a hurlé lentement et a tenu sa main à la petite, imitant ses griffes. Oui, petite. Rawr comme la panthère, bougez-vous dans la nuit," Sana chanté dans une voix basse. "Pouper et être parti en plein jour!" Ariana chanté avec enthousiasme. Nous sommes les Rawn qui marchent à travers les ombres de la nuit, les chants ensemble. "Vous connaissez la chanson!" Ariana applaudit avant d'envelopper ses bras autour de Sana, se reposant la tête sur l'épaule des archers. Sana tenait le petit mais le regard sur son visage était celui d'être complètement stupéfait. Oui petite, je connais la chanson,,, Sana a forcé, sa voix en creusant un peu.

Name: Hanzo Jibero Age: 26 Alignment: Lawful Neutral Race: Human Class: Monk Appearance/Clothing: Skills: Acrobatics Survival Historical & Religious Knowledge Climbing & Swimming Perception Emotion Reading Ki Manipulation Martial Arts, Grappling, & Throwing Natural Abilities: Has honed his body to its upper limits in durability and reflexes, and learned to how manipulate his Ki (spiritual energy); otherwise, he possesses no special abilities of note for a human. Magic/Spells: Ki Strike - A focused attack bolstered through Ki. Grants a chance for normal damage to penetrate armor and natural resistances. Can be charged for a slightly greater chance. Ki Blast - Hanzo channels Ki into his hands to throw out a bolt of raw energy that travels a short distance. Functions as a basic magical attack with a chance to penetrate physical armor (akin to Ki Strike), but must be charged to yield the proper effect initially. Ki Mending - A monk's own 'lay on hands' technique using Ki. Restores a bit of health and fights magical impurities. Additional Information: This monk hails from an old culture that bears worship to the spirit of nature, rather than any specific god. They bless the sun and the moon for giving them light, and the earth and its bounty for giving them life. A somewhat nomadic culture, these monks rarely established buildings or relics for anything beyond shelter, aiming to preserve nature as best as they could. This culture took up martial arts and the art of Ki manipulation as a means of defensing oneself without resorting to weapons or lethality, and to hone one's body and spirit to its greatest potential. Life was simple and peaceful, yet active and fulfilling. They took what they needed from nature and kindly returned what they did not, blessing all creatures that lost their lives as fulfilling a greater purpose. For Hanzo, this has since changed somewhat. Where he once could've wandered without ever getting lost, he now struggles to find a purpose in this new reality revealed to him. He has long since gotten over the culture shock of the developing world, however, and still finds himself traveling about, benefiting others where he sees fit. The wonder still remains, however, and the monk can't help but wish for a sign to reveal his own destiny. Equipment: Hanzo possesses no weapons besides his fists, but does wear a small medium of protective gear: leather bracers on his forearms and legs, and a belt with magical properties that reinforces his natural durability. Possessions: Something of a miser, Hanzo carries little gear or money on his person. He is always seens with his monk's clothing (see above), as well as a waterskin, a crest of his clan, and a ring of prayer beads. Should the need arise, the sash he wears can be improvised as a ten-foot rope. Personality: By nature, Hanzo is a respectful individual, treating others with kindness when he can see they deserve it. Through his experiences, however, the monk has learned to only really trust those he has discovered as righteous at heart, even if not always purely good. As such, he comes and goes in his travels, not often staying to maintain friendships but still holding them at heart. Getting to know Hanzo and sympathize with him can turn the monk into a faithful ally, even beyond an initial partnership. As a result of his less fortunate experiences, Hanzo bears a stern sense of justice, and is quite willing to help others in desperate need (for better or worse, at times). He tends to be straightforward, but also cautious and logical - not below fighting others to reach a solution, but wise enough to seek an alternate method. As a part of his vowing of respect as a monk, Hanzo will never willingly kill a fellow human/elf/etc, but when pitted against the 'inhumane' (monstrous creatures and truly sinful individuals) he will not share that grace. History: Hanzo was born naturally within a nomadic tribe of monks. As a youth, he was eager to learn their ways and trained hard to better himself. He found himself fitting in well with the culture, benefiting greatly from its teachings and giving him a fairly fulfilling life, at the time. Of course, some things have a tendency to change so very suddenly. As Hanzo's generation was beginning to reach their coming of adulthood, one girl was suddenly outcast from the monks in what had to be a first in their history. She had always been something of a quiet loner, but what put her off the edge was her possession and obsession with a unique steel knife abandoned in the forest. Though Hanzo was somewhat regretful of her suffering this fate, as he was one of the few people to show her kindness, he was ultimately made to pay it no mind. Disaster struck, however, when but a few moons later, the girl returned in the accompany of a legion of violent warriors. She had discovered that the knife was of their craft, and immediately became absorbed into their vastly differing knowledge. When she weaved a tale of being isolated and betrayed by her primitive family and clan, the battle-bred warriors were empowered to aid her in revenge. So began the crusade against Hanzo's clan, a long night of fire beneath a bloody moon. As fear and panic settled in, a still-young Hanzo was desperately urged to flee, even as family and friends alike were quickly slaughtered under the warriors' powerful weapons. Under the shadow of the forest, Hanzo managed to evade the clan's new enemies, and believed himself to be a solitary survivor. But while the fires still remained in sight, Hanzo was suddenly confronted by the girl, bloody knife in hand. Though she had initially spared Hanzo for the kinship he had offered, the murderer claimed to have dicovered a new way of life, driven by a far more powerful emotion: wrath. Seeing the monk feel his own brand of wrath, she offered him another chance, to channel and release this rage the only way she knew how. Hanzo refused, deciding she had more than lost her mind, and attempted to fight her in his anger. Their tango was brief but brutal, put to a painful end when the murderer was knocked headfirst into a collapse of burning branches, blinding her. He only regrets not having learned her name. The time following was harsh to Hanzo, not because he could not survive but because he had nobody else to survive with. He was alone, his family, friends, and culture all mercilessly slaughtered. Hanzo's outlook changed - it had to, if he was going to truly live any longer. The monk began to wander the world again, a world that seemed to so vastly change overnight, as he passed through many towns, kingdoms, and nations. He would help others as he deemed without compensation, all the while hoping to find some new sense of purpose as she had.

Vaeri a marché dans les escaliers, clé de chambre en main. Elle avait l'air beaucoup la même qu'hier, la plupart obscurcie par le manteau, mais les éclats d'armure qui pouvaient être capturés ont montré qu'au moins elle avait nettoyé le sang qui s'était accumulé dans les 3 batailles pour la veille. Elle est allée voir l'aubergiste et lui a remis sa clé avant de s'adresser à quelqu'un d'autre. Elle est allée à Derrrix, se rappelant qu'elle lui devait une dette. "Je m'appelle Vaeri Dryearurdrenn, heureux de faire votre connaissance, Sir Derrix Nightbane." Derrix est venu avec son propre mot-clé. Moins de travail mental pour Vaeri. Avec cette dette résolue, elle regarda le reste des gens qui avaient mangé le petit déjeuner. Sana et l'enfant chantaient quelque chose sur les panthères, Tobias avait déménagé loin du squelette et à côté de Fiona, et Hanzo se tenait pour lui. Et puis il lui apparut que Fiona venait de s'adresser à l'homme avant qu'elle ne se parle. "Désolé Fiona, ai-je interrompu? La dernière fois que j'ai parlé à Derrix, j'ai négligé de lui donner mon nom. J'avais complètement manqué que tu lui avais parlé."

Name: Vaeri Dryearurdrenn Age: 143 Alignment: Lawful Good Race: Elf Class: Cleric/Barbarian Appearance/Clothing: Vaeri is an innocent looking elf, standing at about 5' 7" (170 cm) with long, straight raven hair that extends down to the base of her back, pale skin and bright blue eyes. At a glance she's quite beautiful with full lips, a small button nose, thin eyebrows and high cheekbones, when one takes a closer look, several tiny scars are visible all over, disfiguring her otherwise graceful looks. Likewise, Vaeri's exposed flesh, the rare times one can see them initially appear smooth and untouched, but upon closer inspection are covered in scars and barely contain wiry muscle below. Vaeri dresses as a lady of the cloth should, with a dark blue full body cloak. The fabric is adorned with intricate patterns in white to provide visual contrast and indicating her status as a clergywoman. Around her neck and outside the cloak, Vaeri wears a necklace bearing the holy symbol of her god. However, underneath the cloak is a full set of leather armor, battle ready and kept in top shape at all times. Skills: Sense Motive, Knowledge (Religion), Knowledge (Nature), Climb, Jump, Sleight of Hand, fletching arrows, surviving out in the wild Natural Abilities: Keen senses, the ability to see better than humans in low light Magic/Spells: Heal: can decide how good this is Tongues: Allows the caster to speak any language for the duration of the spell Turn Undead: Vaeri can attempt to make Undead flee from her presence temporarily. Powerful Undead can resist this. Divine Might: Holy power infuses the caster, temporarily making them more powerful and resilient Flame Strike: Smites foes with holy flames Additional Information: Vaeri worships Menhit, lion-goddess of War. (Fun fact her name means She who massacres) Weapons: Vaeri carries a shortbow and a two-handed battleaxe Possessions: Vaeri carries a backpack that can hold more than you think it would and what Vaeri wants from the bag will always be at the top (the item in question must have been put in the bag beforehand for this to work). Inside the bag are her necessities (tent, rope, bedroll, tarp for the tent, soap, cooking utensils, oil, a lamp, flint and steel), holy texts, and about 2 weeks worth of rations. She also has a coin purse with about 20 gold pieces in it. On her hip is a quiver with 20 arrows. Personality: To strangers, Vaeri appears to be a gentle elf, always keen to help those in need and be a travelling force of good in the world. However, as you get to know her, slowly she morphs into an entirely different person, brash, head-strong and a braggart, this true face of Vaeri shows exactly why she worships the goddess she does. The elf loves battle of all kinds and will gleefully jump into battle whenever she can. History: Vaeri grew up in a forest village mostly populated by other elves to a carpenter. IN her childhood, she began learning the bow as all children did. Her prowess with weaponry was admired just as much as her excessive enthusiasm for using them was worrying. One day while out hunting alone she was overcome by a vision of the lion-goddess Menhit who commanded Vaeri to go out into the world and find a man with two right hands. After this experience, Vaeri began following the goddess of war and has dedicated her life to this mission. The cleric has been following this notice for strong adventurers as a possible lead for locating this mysterious man.

Non, Fiona a répondu en clignotant. "Vous n'avez pas interrompu. Faire juste des présentations, c'est tout." Elle regardait Sana et Ariana à la place, la fille enlacant son nouveau protecteur. Au cours de la recherche de la famille de la jeune fille, ou du moins d'un nom, Sana avait trébuché sur quelque chose de remarquable. Il aurait été difficile de croire que Fiona ne savait pas déjà que Sana avait trouvé un membre de sa famille parmi les esclaves, et qu'on avait entendu parler d'autres massacrés. -- Je suppose que vous n'aviez pas de frères ou de sœurs, Sana? la question a été posée doucement, parce que Fiona savait assez bien pour ne pas s'immiscer trop hardiment dans les affaires familiales de ceux dont elle ne connaissait pas encore tout à fait. La ressemblance était assez claire, maintenant que Fiona la cherchait, ce qui faisait qu'il était trop probable que Sana avait trébuché sur une nièce à Ariana. Fiona ne pouvait pas imaginer ce que la femme traversait, d'autant plus qu'elle allait laisser l'enfant derrière elle. Voyant que Vaeri et certains des autres étaient déjà disposés, Fiona l'a pris comme son tour, et ayant terminé son assiette, se tenait du banc. "Je devrais me préparer, je suppose. Nous serons bientôt sur la route." Après avoir rendu son assiette, Fiona a fait son chemin à l'étage et a commencé à se préparer à partir. Au-dessus de sa tunique, elle a lavé sa veste, l'ayant nettoyée du sang du chien de l'enfer autant qu'elle le pouvait la nuit précédente. Après cela, elle ferma sur ses pièces d'armure, et serra sa ceinture autour de ses hanches. En se détachant et en secouant les cheveux, elle a couru plusieurs doigts à travers elle tout en faisant un dernier contrôle de la pièce. Ce serait bien de prendre la route. Ils avaient fait beaucoup de bon travail hier, mais il y avait beaucoup plus à faire avant que le travail ne soit terminé. Satisfait, Fiona sort de la pièce, verrouille la porte derrière elle et retourne dans l'escalier.

Name: Fiona Age: 22 Alignment: Neutral Good Race: Human Class: Fighter Appearance/Clothing: Reference 1, Reference 2. Fairly average height, with a lean and toned build. Fiery, wild red hair and light brown eyes, skin tone a fair, slightly pale coloration. Skills: Close combat fighting, speed and agility, moderate strength, excellent horseback riding skills. Proficient both armed and unarmed, moderate endurance for taking hits. Good at cooking with relatively little to work with, and while likely irrelevant, good at farming. Natural Abilities: None - Human Magic/Spells: None Armor: Roughly as seen in the image, some pieces of scavenged light plate, most effectively protecting her right arm. Weapons: Use reference 2 for example. A fairly standard curved longsword, lightweight but sturdy. She has a dagger sheathed on her left thigh for emergencies. Possessions: Little of note. Her clothes, weapons, armor, packs, supplies, basic medical items and personal belongings. Most of it kept in her horse's saddlebags. Personality: Fiona's bold and brash, often unafraid of things she probably should be, and in general a very confident and self-assured individual. Like any good adventurer she is both curious and brave, but also deeply selfless, not preferring to use the word 'mercenary' to describe herself, as this implies the coin is the end goal she works for. Mostly she just enjoys her life for what it is: a chance to explore, meet new people and see new things, and help wherever she can, with what skill she has. Though typically a loner, she doesn't turn down help when offered, and tries to work together with others as best she can. She's an inexperienced, terrible liar, preferring both her combat and her conversation upfront and uncomplicated. History: Fiona's story is a relatively simple one, starting with a family not important enough to even have a lasting name. She's simply Fiona, of the village of Drayden, a little farming community quite a ways from many large population centers. Fiona was an only child, and thus assisted a great deal around the farm, becoming strong and physically active as a result. Wandering adventurers inspired her even as a teenage girl, and her mind would not be swayed from eventually leaving the family farm to see the world. When they were eventually able to hire some help, she used what coin she had to purchase some basic equipment, and set out at age 19, blade in hand, hunting for contracts. Naturally, without the best of training or a good starting foundation of equipment and knowledge, Fiona struggled in her first few years, but learned from her mistakes, and has developed into a competent and even confident fighter, willing and able to take on problems the average person doesn't want to deal with.

"Oui, ravi de vous rencontrer," Derrix a approuvé alors qu'il a secoué la main de Fiona, "et tout ce qu'il faut pour aider." Soudain la femme Derrix avait conversé avec toute la nuit semblait remplir sa dette. Un sourire a croisé ses joues tatouées et il a hurlé, un bon nom. Tu me rappelles quelqu'un que je connaissais. Il s'est claqué les doigts alors que ses yeux flippaient des oreilles de Vaeri à ses yeux. Derrix ouvrit la bouche pour dire quelque chose, mais la ferma dans un sourire poli, choisissant le silence.

Name: Illyd Dyill Age: 18 Alignment: neutral Race: Human Class: Shepherd Appearance/Clothing: Illyd Dyill stands a modest six and has a wiry yet firm frame. His body is covered in old tan robes draped over loose pants and worn fur boots. He has shaggy black hair much like the sheep he used to herd, and two light brown eyes that peek out from his youthful and defined tanned face. Skills: farming, understanding of animal anatomy, mundane understanding of self defense and fighting with a crook, tracking, Natural Abilities: In depth thinking, to the point that this guy might be possessed Magic/Spells: Additional Information: He was a shepherd as long as he could remember, and as long as he could remember, he wanted to be a hero, but this one tiny voice in his head prefers a different direction Weapons: A Shepherd's crook Possessed: Yes Personality: He is curious, adventurous, slightly lazy, and naive. However, a secondary thinking voice in his head is definitely different than his usual gentle nature; as it is aggressive, violent, lustful and greedy.. Luckily this isn’t the voice that controls the body, mostly. History: A simple Shepherd’s son, out in the big world to become an adventurer (possessions: Crook, clothes, worn out harp) So I already have a bunch of ideas on how this guy’s posts would look, a lot of in mind arguing and play, as well as crude suggestions and general character development

Un petit peu de soulagement a surmonté Vaeri qu'elle n'a pas plongé dans une conversation qu'elle n'était pas à part comme un membre de la famille ivre pendant les vacances (un quirk qu'elle a remarqué les humains ont dû faire face aussi). Fiona ne semblait pas particulièrement intéressée par la poursuite de la conversation avec Derrix ou avec elle, décidant de s'enquérir de la famille de Sana avant de partir faire don de son propre équipement. Vaeri a pris le mouvement des yeux de Derrix alors que son regard sautait. Ce n'était pas une réaction à laquelle elle n'était pas habituée, mais d'habitude elle ne venait pas de quelqu'un à qui elle avait passé des heures à parler. Puis encore une fois, la vision humaine était plutôt pauvre en éclairage faible et il portait ce casque restreint. Il ne s'est probablement pas rendu compte avant. "Tu as remarqué?" Vaeri a demandé, frottant la pointe de son oreille gauche comme pour accentuer sa longueur inhumaine et pointue. "C'est la première fois que tu rencontres un elfe?" Il voulait dire quelque chose. Peut-être ne voulait-il pas offenser ou paraître ignorant.

Name: Vaeri Dryearurdrenn Age: 143 Alignment: Lawful Good Race: Elf Class: Cleric/Barbarian Appearance/Clothing: Vaeri is an innocent looking elf, standing at about 5' 7" (170 cm) with long, straight raven hair that extends down to the base of her back, pale skin and bright blue eyes. At a glance she's quite beautiful with full lips, a small button nose, thin eyebrows and high cheekbones, when one takes a closer look, several tiny scars are visible all over, disfiguring her otherwise graceful looks. Likewise, Vaeri's exposed flesh, the rare times one can see them initially appear smooth and untouched, but upon closer inspection are covered in scars and barely contain wiry muscle below. Vaeri dresses as a lady of the cloth should, with a dark blue full body cloak. The fabric is adorned with intricate patterns in white to provide visual contrast and indicating her status as a clergywoman. Around her neck and outside the cloak, Vaeri wears a necklace bearing the holy symbol of her god. However, underneath the cloak is a full set of leather armor, battle ready and kept in top shape at all times. Skills: Sense Motive, Knowledge (Religion), Knowledge (Nature), Climb, Jump, Sleight of Hand, fletching arrows, surviving out in the wild Natural Abilities: Keen senses, the ability to see better than humans in low light Magic/Spells: Heal: can decide how good this is Tongues: Allows the caster to speak any language for the duration of the spell Turn Undead: Vaeri can attempt to make Undead flee from her presence temporarily. Powerful Undead can resist this. Divine Might: Holy power infuses the caster, temporarily making them more powerful and resilient Flame Strike: Smites foes with holy flames Additional Information: Vaeri worships Menhit, lion-goddess of War. (Fun fact her name means She who massacres) Weapons: Vaeri carries a shortbow and a two-handed battleaxe Possessions: Vaeri carries a backpack that can hold more than you think it would and what Vaeri wants from the bag will always be at the top (the item in question must have been put in the bag beforehand for this to work). Inside the bag are her necessities (tent, rope, bedroll, tarp for the tent, soap, cooking utensils, oil, a lamp, flint and steel), holy texts, and about 2 weeks worth of rations. She also has a coin purse with about 20 gold pieces in it. On her hip is a quiver with 20 arrows. Personality: To strangers, Vaeri appears to be a gentle elf, always keen to help those in need and be a travelling force of good in the world. However, as you get to know her, slowly she morphs into an entirely different person, brash, head-strong and a braggart, this true face of Vaeri shows exactly why she worships the goddess she does. The elf loves battle of all kinds and will gleefully jump into battle whenever she can. History: Vaeri grew up in a forest village mostly populated by other elves to a carpenter. IN her childhood, she began learning the bow as all children did. Her prowess with weaponry was admired just as much as her excessive enthusiasm for using them was worrying. One day while out hunting alone she was overcome by a vision of the lion-goddess Menhit who commanded Vaeri to go out into the world and find a man with two right hands. After this experience, Vaeri began following the goddess of war and has dedicated her life to this mission. The cleric has been following this notice for strong adventurers as a possible lead for locating this mysterious man.

Je ne sais même pas ce qu'est un elfe, Derrix a admis clairement. Il la regarda jouer avec ses oreilles et leva la main comme pour tester sa propre oreille. D'où vient un elfe?

Name: Illyd Dyill Age: 18 Alignment: neutral Race: Human Class: Shepherd Appearance/Clothing: Illyd Dyill stands a modest six and has a wiry yet firm frame. His body is covered in old tan robes draped over loose pants and worn fur boots. He has shaggy black hair much like the sheep he used to herd, and two light brown eyes that peek out from his youthful and defined tanned face. Skills: farming, understanding of animal anatomy, mundane understanding of self defense and fighting with a crook, tracking, Natural Abilities: In depth thinking, to the point that this guy might be possessed Magic/Spells: Additional Information: He was a shepherd as long as he could remember, and as long as he could remember, he wanted to be a hero, but this one tiny voice in his head prefers a different direction Weapons: A Shepherd's crook Possessed: Yes Personality: He is curious, adventurous, slightly lazy, and naive. However, a secondary thinking voice in his head is definitely different than his usual gentle nature; as it is aggressive, violent, lustful and greedy.. Luckily this isn’t the voice that controls the body, mostly. History: A simple Shepherd’s son, out in the big world to become an adventurer (possessions: Crook, clothes, worn out harp) So I already have a bunch of ideas on how this guy’s posts would look, a lot of in mind arguing and play, as well as crude suggestions and general character development

Nous sommes comme vous les humains, mais différents. Des oreilles plus longues, une structure faciale différente, des constructions plus maigres, un système squelettique légèrement différent et une musculature, et une durée de vie significativement plus longue sont quelques-unes des différences physiques les plus évidentes entre nous. Vaeri a parlé comme quelqu'un qui a dû donner cette explication à beaucoup de gens. La plupart des gens de la région avaient au moins une connaissance des elfes, mais dans beaucoup des petits villages où elle était allée, ils n'avaient aucune expérience de son genre et supposeraient qu'elle était déformée ou une sorte de fée. Quelques fois elle s'était trompée comme une sorte de diable, une accusation qu'elle n'avait pas bien prise dans les deux cas. L'astuce était de donner la bonne expression d'être différent sans sortir comme légitime ou trop impliqué soi-même. Beaucoup de gens avaient eu l'idée que les elfes se croyaient au-dessus des humains, et alors qu'elle connaissait beaucoup d'elfs qui étaient coincés, ce n'était pas quelque chose d'intégral avec la course. Plus perplexe étaient une catégorie distincte de personnes qu'elle rencontrait qui semblaient croire que, puisqu'elle était un elfe, elle serait d'une certaine manière surnaturellement sage/grâce/beau. Peut-être que les histoires de son peuple ont envahi le monde étaient exagérées. "Nous avons tendance à nous isoler dans des villages généralement composés entièrement des nôtres, bien que vous trouverez les elfes distribués ici et là dans les établissements humains. Je viens d'un village forestier peut-être à 100 miles d'ici connu sous le nom de Lianyu."

Name: Vaeri Dryearurdrenn Age: 143 Alignment: Lawful Good Race: Elf Class: Cleric/Barbarian Appearance/Clothing: Vaeri is an innocent looking elf, standing at about 5' 7" (170 cm) with long, straight raven hair that extends down to the base of her back, pale skin and bright blue eyes. At a glance she's quite beautiful with full lips, a small button nose, thin eyebrows and high cheekbones, when one takes a closer look, several tiny scars are visible all over, disfiguring her otherwise graceful looks. Likewise, Vaeri's exposed flesh, the rare times one can see them initially appear smooth and untouched, but upon closer inspection are covered in scars and barely contain wiry muscle below. Vaeri dresses as a lady of the cloth should, with a dark blue full body cloak. The fabric is adorned with intricate patterns in white to provide visual contrast and indicating her status as a clergywoman. Around her neck and outside the cloak, Vaeri wears a necklace bearing the holy symbol of her god. However, underneath the cloak is a full set of leather armor, battle ready and kept in top shape at all times. Skills: Sense Motive, Knowledge (Religion), Knowledge (Nature), Climb, Jump, Sleight of Hand, fletching arrows, surviving out in the wild Natural Abilities: Keen senses, the ability to see better than humans in low light Magic/Spells: Heal: can decide how good this is Tongues: Allows the caster to speak any language for the duration of the spell Turn Undead: Vaeri can attempt to make Undead flee from her presence temporarily. Powerful Undead can resist this. Divine Might: Holy power infuses the caster, temporarily making them more powerful and resilient Flame Strike: Smites foes with holy flames Additional Information: Vaeri worships Menhit, lion-goddess of War. (Fun fact her name means She who massacres) Weapons: Vaeri carries a shortbow and a two-handed battleaxe Possessions: Vaeri carries a backpack that can hold more than you think it would and what Vaeri wants from the bag will always be at the top (the item in question must have been put in the bag beforehand for this to work). Inside the bag are her necessities (tent, rope, bedroll, tarp for the tent, soap, cooking utensils, oil, a lamp, flint and steel), holy texts, and about 2 weeks worth of rations. She also has a coin purse with about 20 gold pieces in it. On her hip is a quiver with 20 arrows. Personality: To strangers, Vaeri appears to be a gentle elf, always keen to help those in need and be a travelling force of good in the world. However, as you get to know her, slowly she morphs into an entirely different person, brash, head-strong and a braggart, this true face of Vaeri shows exactly why she worships the goddess she does. The elf loves battle of all kinds and will gleefully jump into battle whenever she can. History: Vaeri grew up in a forest village mostly populated by other elves to a carpenter. IN her childhood, she began learning the bow as all children did. Her prowess with weaponry was admired just as much as her excessive enthusiasm for using them was worrying. One day while out hunting alone she was overcome by a vision of the lion-goddess Menhit who commanded Vaeri to go out into the world and find a man with two right hands. After this experience, Vaeri began following the goddess of war and has dedicated her life to this mission. The cleric has been following this notice for strong adventurers as a possible lead for locating this mysterious man.

Le petit sourire de Derrrix n'a pas quitté son visage alors qu'il écoutait attentivement Vaeri. À la fin de son discours répété, l'homme a mis sa main sur son coude et a parlé doucement, mais naturellement commandant, dans mes yeux, nous sommes un seul et même. Vous devrez me dire les voies de votre peuple, les elfes, et je vous parlerai des Charlinites et des Karkarthiens. Il y avait un regard humble dans ses yeux dorés, ainsi qu'un regard de compréhension d'une possible interprétation différente.

Name: Illyd Dyill Age: 18 Alignment: neutral Race: Human Class: Shepherd Appearance/Clothing: Illyd Dyill stands a modest six and has a wiry yet firm frame. His body is covered in old tan robes draped over loose pants and worn fur boots. He has shaggy black hair much like the sheep he used to herd, and two light brown eyes that peek out from his youthful and defined tanned face. Skills: farming, understanding of animal anatomy, mundane understanding of self defense and fighting with a crook, tracking, Natural Abilities: In depth thinking, to the point that this guy might be possessed Magic/Spells: Additional Information: He was a shepherd as long as he could remember, and as long as he could remember, he wanted to be a hero, but this one tiny voice in his head prefers a different direction Weapons: A Shepherd's crook Possessed: Yes Personality: He is curious, adventurous, slightly lazy, and naive. However, a secondary thinking voice in his head is definitely different than his usual gentle nature; as it is aggressive, violent, lustful and greedy.. Luckily this isn’t the voice that controls the body, mostly. History: A simple Shepherd’s son, out in the big world to become an adventurer (possessions: Crook, clothes, worn out harp) So I already have a bunch of ideas on how this guy’s posts would look, a lot of in mind arguing and play, as well as crude suggestions and general character development

Zam s'amusait énormément alors qu'elle volait autour de la table en observant tout le monde à la fête et il semblait qu'elle n'était pas la seule qu'il semblait que tout le monde qui était éveillé passait un bon moment. Enfer même Vaeri semblait s'amuser alors il y avait l'étranger dont elle nom appris était Derrix semblait parler de la table. Elle s'est arrêtée juste devant son visage et s'est présentée "Bonjour je suis Zam Mano et je voyage avec Mortosh Celjust" Mortosh qui méditait s'est arrêtée quand il a entendu Zam parler de lui, a tourné la tête pour regarder où elle était et a remarqué qu'elle parlait à Derrix alors il vient de leur donner une vague rapide puis est retourné à sa médiation.

Name: Mortosh Celjust and Zam Mano Age: last time he counted 696 (Zam is 200 a kid by her races standard) Alignment: Chaotic Good (Zam is Neutral Good) Race: undead but more specifically a Skeleton (Zam is a Petal For more information on those look for them on page 120 of monster manual III) Class: Cleric (Zam doesn’t really have a class as she is supposed to act as an item much like boo from Baldur’s gate) Appearance/Clothing: Mortosh wears an enchanted blue hood that obscures his entire face making appear as a black void with blue lights wear his eyes should be this is to hide his skull. He wears an iron chest plate with iron gauntlets his legs are hidden by a long blue skirt and iron boots (Zam’s Skin is light blue her hair is a darker shade of blue her bang cover her eyes she wares gray cloth dress her wings are the same color as her skin) Skills: For Mortosh it is Hide Diplomacy Knowledge (religion) Survival Heal ( For Zam it is Bluff and Gather Information Knowledge (nature) as Zam doesn’t actually have class I decided that it would be op to give her any more skills Natural Abilities: Undead-Life: as an undead you are immune to age effects and disease. Unbreakable: An undead has no death ticks. Undead appetite: The Undead are able to use the undead appetite encounter power. (Zam) Lullaby: Any creature within a 20-foot-radius that fails a DC 14 Will save is affected as though by a lullaby spell. A creature that successfully saves cannot be affected again by that petal’s lullaby song for 24 hours. The save DC is Charisma-based. Magic/Spells: Remove Fear: Suppresses fear or gives +4 on saves against fear for one subject + one per four levels Create Food and Water: Feeds three humans (or one horse)/level. Bless: Allies gain +1 on attack rolls and saves against fear Calming Embrace: By placing his hands on friends, or foes restores Mortosh will restore a bit of health as calm down bersekers Insect Plague: Locust swarms attack creatures (Zam) Chatter: A spell created by Zam And Mortosh To allow Zam to speak for Mortosh Calm Emotions: Calms creatures, negating emotion effects Light: Object shines like a torch lie. Additional Information: he is a cleric of Trew Barton The god of joy and undeath. The lack of a lower jaw makes it hard to speak so Zam usually translate for him she also sits on his shoulder. Mortosh sometimes will be overwhelmed with greed causing him steal without thought this has caused him to land into a whole heap of trouble in the past. Weapons: A Simple mace (Zam Like most of her race doesn’t carry a lethal weapons but she dose carry a blow gun which she uses to shoot darts laced with sleeping powder she doesn’t use this very often due to the ingredients used in the sleeping powder are quite rare) Possessions: Mortosh Carries a shrunken zombie around his neck (Zam Owns Shinobue a Side blown flute) Mortosh has a jar full of flower that he carries around for Zam he carries it around for so she doesn't faint from hot or thick air EDIT: Three vials of Moderate Inflict Wounds Personality: Mortosh is a very friendly Skeleton he is calm and hard to anger but his years of lacking the capability of speech has damaged his social skills quite badly which can make him come off as insensitive. while he is perfectly of take on offensive role he dose fell uncomfortable hurting others be they man or beast but he will not complain if fighting is necessary.(Zam is quite battle hungry once again by her races standard anyway she can’t really stand the thought of staying in one place to long she also has obsession with sugar give her some and shell be your friend for life ironically this is not the reason way she follows Mortosh) History: 696 Years ago Mortosh rose from his grave no memory of his past life the only thing he remembered was his cleric training Mortosh spent a good chunk of his first fifty years searching for his past to no avail Realizing that trying to search for a past that he no idea about or even the reason why he was searching so he gave up on searching and decided to just travel why? He didn’t know back then but now he know he was looking for purpose and he found it when he encountered a necromancer and a follower of Trew. He spoke to Mortosh and told him about Trew. Mortosh was intrigued with Trew so asked the necromancer how he could show his loyalties to Trew and the necromancer handed him the shrunken head. Confused Mortosh asked the necromancer about the head and he told him that the head was the symbol of Trew then he requested that Mortosh would spread the massage of Trew. Mortosh accept the his request but before he went he realized one thing. He would be run out of any village or town before he even toke his first step so asked the necromancer to enchant his hood so it would only show a void. So The necromancer enchanted Mortosh’s hood so with his enchanted hood on Mortosh thank the necromancer and went on his to spread the word of Trew and that how he spend his next two hundred years spreading the word that was until he angered a zealous paladin who broke his jaw to pieces. With no jaw all his words came out as mumbling so not being able to spread the word he turned to learning healing magic so he spent the next hundred years learning. this was around the time that Zam was Born two hundred years ago Zam was. Born in to a tribe of petals a race of tiny fey creatures she was treated well enough but she was still an outcast among her race she wasn’t as talented in art as the rest of her race. So she turned to other thing like spellcraft this is what taught her to speak all other tongues she would later encounter Mortosh when he would save her from a plague walker. Mortosh Seeing that Zam had gotten hurt would go on to heal all her wounds. Grateful for his deed Zam asked him what she could do for him. Mortosh lowered his hood and showed her his lack of lower jaw and he needed someone to speak for him as she was the only one that understood what he was saying she agreed and they have been traveling ever since