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Vaeri ne savait pas exactement comment répondre à Derrix. De toutes les personnes à qui elle a dû expliquer cela, il a été le premier à exiger quelque chose de cette nature. Beaucoup d'humains l'ont écrit, mais une déclaration d'échange culturel était difficile à répondre. "Peut-être vous parlerai-je de'mon peuple' plus tard." Elle se sentait mal à l'aise d'utiliser le terme de son peuple. Vaeri avait une expérience limitée avec les elfes en dehors de son village. On lui avait parlé de quelques-uns des autres qui avaient grandi, et une fois tous les dix ans environ, un commerçant errant d'un autre pays arriverait portant des marchandises exotiques et demandant des nouvelles de la région, mais autrement elle savait tout simplement ce qu'elle avait appris de son enfance et dans les livres. C'est alors que la fée qu'elle avait vue traîner tout à coup pop dedans, se présenter et le squelette avant de partir. Pendant plusieurs secondes, elle fixa l'espace où se trouvait la petite chose, ne sachant pas ce qu'il fallait faire de ce qui venait de se passer.

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.

Avant que Derrix ne soit d'accord avec Vaeri, un gros bestiole fouetté par son visage. Instinctivement, il s'en alla, mais dès qu'il commença à parler, Derrix s'arrêta. Comme ses yeux ont ajusté sur la figure parlante, il a réalisé que ce n'était pas un bug, ou un qu'il connaissait au moins. Il s'est présenté et s'est déplacé vers un squelette assis. Les sourcils de Derrrix sillonnaient à la vue de l'être mort vivant, alors qu'il essayait de cacher la grimace qui voulait se former sur ses lèvres. Il avait vu pire, bien sûr, mais ça ne veut pas dire que c'est une vue agréable. Je pense que votre ami pourrait utiliser un peu de soleil, a répondu Derrix, essayant d'effacer son dégoût, il a l'air un peu pâle.

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 regarda Fiona, après avoir été lentement sortie du daze qu'elle était par ses paroles. Elle ne pouvait que faire signe lentement pour répondre à sa question, un peu trop en état de choc pour former des mots cohérents à ce moment-là. Sana avait une sœur mais la femme que l'enfant n'aurait pas pu être elle. La femme avait des cheveux foncés, ce qui n'était pas un trait de ceux nés dans la famille. Si c'était la mère d'Arianas, elle aurait dû se marier dans la troupe d'un autre groupe. La famille Rawn avait été grande, de sorte que la meilleure Sana pouvait conclure était qu'Ariana était une cousine sous une forme ou une autre. Quoi qu'il en soit, l'enfant était du sang, probablement le dernier parent vivant qu'elle avait. Soupirant légèrement, elle a pris une longue respiration et a tiré de l'étreinte des enfants. -- Eh bien, je pense que vous avez besoin de quelques choses, dit Sana d'une voix tremblante. "Est-ce que tu as mangé?" -- Oui, ouais, dit Ariana joyeusement en se frottant le ventre. Sana fit signe et se leva de chez elle, prenant la main des petits et marchant silencieusement hors de l'auberge vers le magasin général. Sana avait dit à la sœur qu'elle voulait lui donner des vêtements avant qu'ils ne partent, mais alors, ce qu'elle avait le plus besoin, c'était de l'air frais. Elle pensait que la marche jusqu'au magasin général était une bonne excuse. Elle avait dit à Hugh que s'ils ne mangeaient pas encore quand il descendait où ils seraient. Elle gémit intérieurement alors qu'Ariana sautait à côté de sa pensée sur tout ce qu'elle avait besoin de dire à Hugh. Cela pourrait s'avérer une conversation plutôt embarrassante. Soeur Agnes a regardé les événements se dérouler de son siège en silence, se demandant à elle-même ce qui allait se passer maintenant. En entendant une porte fermée à l'étage, elle regarda vers l'escalier pour voir Fiona descendre de l'étage. De son point de vue, elle se dirigea vers la femme aux cheveux ardents et sourit. -- Fiona, un mot? Elle a dit d'une voix aimable du bas de l'escalier. "J'ai parlé avec les gens du village. Ceux qui ont eu de l'influence. Hier matin, certains ont demandé ce que nous pouvions fournir et bien, il n'y avait rien d'autre que maintenant après les événements du reste de la journée, nous aimerions que vous preniez tous les chevaux qui étaient les esclaves ainsi que le wagon que vous avez ramené les libérés. J'espère que c'est bon, j'ai pensé que ça aiderait à faire que la quête aille plus vite en étant capable soit d'avoir tout le monde à cheval ou dans le wagon au lieu d'avoir à marcher constamment. Est-ce que ça va?"

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 accueilli Soeur Agnès avec un sourire lorsqu'elle a atteint le rez-de-chaussée de l'auberge, et a écouté ce qu'elle avait à dire. "Cela devrait s'avérer très utile, si le village n'a pas besoin des chevaux ou du wagon." Il y en avait au moins plusieurs qui étaient arrivés à pied, et avec le chariot même s'ils ne savaient pas monter, ils pouvaient suivre le rythme accru du reste du groupe. Fiona a hurlé d'accord. "Merci, ma sœur. Je veillerai à ce qu'ils soient bien pris en charge." Elle ne savait pas si c'était approprié ou le bienvenu, mais Fiona s'est aventuré un doux câlin, en poussant brièvement Agnes avant de la relâcher à nouveau. « Merci pour toute l'aide, vous travaillez sans relâche depuis notre arrivée. Nous serons de retour avec ces ingrédients dès que possible." Elle s'exhale, se hoche la tête, et donne une dernière tape à Agnes sur l'épaule. -- Maintenant, je devrais y aller, assurez-vous que ces chevaux soient prêts à partir. En sortant de l'auberge, elle a fait son chemin vers les écuries, où les cinq chevaux qu'ils avaient récupérés des esclaves l'attendaient. La plupart étaient en bon état, certainement mieux que les chiens qu'ils avaient trouvés. Il était logique, étant donné que ces montures étaient leur méthode d'évasion la plus fiable. Elle a vérifié chacun à son tour, en s'assurant qu'ils étaient correctement nourris et équipés pour sortir. Après cela, il était temps de préparer le wagon, qui avait d'abord besoin d'un peu de nettoyage. Pendant qu'elle l'éclaircissait, Fiona trouva un parchemin plié sous le banc principal, qui s'avéra être une carte lorsqu'elle regarda de plus près. En s'asseyant sur le banc, Fiona l'a étudié. C'était assez détaillé, des sentiers clairement balisés, ainsi que certains endroits que les esclavagistes évitaient en raison des concentrations de monstres. L'une de ces marques était une grotte située au nord-est de leur emplacement actuel, apparemment remplie de paupières. C'était quelques façons de passer le village suivant qu'ils traverseraient le long de la route. Il ne fait aucun doute que toutes ces informations leur seraient utiles. Repliant la carte et l'enfilant sous sa ceinture, Fiona a fini de nettoyer le wagon et de le préparer pour le transport, accrochant deux des chevaux nouvellement acquis à l'avant, et les menant hors des écuries. Quand elle avait tous les chevaux, y compris les siens, devant l'auberge et prête à partir, Fiona retourna à son propre cheval, et passa un peu de temps à étudier la carte plus, alors qu'elle attendait que les autres finissent par se préparer.

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.

Hugh a agité, un sourire joyeux sur son visage alors qu'il mentait au lit, observant Sana et Arianna quitter la pièce. Avec la chambre soudainement vacante, Hugh n'a pas perdu de temps à s'asseoir au bord de son lit. Il a atteint son pantalon, les tirant, lentement au fur et à mesure qu'il allait. Il n'était pas particulièrement déterminé à être en bas dans une précipitation, comme aujourd'hui ils semblaient sortir pour des parties qu'ils n'avaient pas voyagé auparavant. Hugh tira sa chemise, et le reste de ses vêtements, se terminant avec lui jetant sur son armure; la chaîne de courrier et ses poudrons. Il a attaché sa nouvelle épée trouvée à son dos, et a tourné le cou de côté en côté. Il s'est tenu grand et a tendu les bras, essayant d'être débarrassé de la sensation musculaire douloureuse. C'était une petite routine qui s'est terminée avec lui se sentant beaucoup mieux que pendant. Après cette petite bouffée d'activité, il s'assit et saisit le sac contenant sa pipe. Il a sorti le tabac et l'a écrasé à l'intérieur, l'empaquetant avec sa serviette. Il a pris son petit arc dans son sac et a commencé à l'utiliser pour faire tourner la serviette, entraînant finalement un charbon à s'accumuler assez pour le piéger jusqu'à ce qu'il fume. Après ce processus méticuleux, il s'est enflé à la pipe et s'est dirigé vers la porte, posant le sac de selle sur son épaule. Il l'a ouvert, avec un peu de bang pendant qu'il frappait le mur qui l'empêchait d'aller plus loin. Il est sorti, prenant un moment pour regarder autour de lui avant de marcher vers l'escalier. Il s'est effondré, prêtant plus d'attention à sa pipe, mais marchant simplement hors de l'habitude. Il est venu au bas des marches et s'est arrêté, son regard regardant sur l'auberge pour sa fête. Il observa l'étranger qui les avait sauvés la veille de converser avec la femme elfique, avec la compagnie du voleur. Hugh strode, ses pieds tombent lourdement avec le poids qu'il portait. Hugh se sentait légèrement largué par l'activité intense de la veille alors qu'il marchait, prenant une assiette et arrangeant des aliments sur eux. Il a serré ses dents tenant la pipe avec eux, comme ses deux mains étaient préoccupées par la nourriture et une tasse. Réclamant un siège à côté du voleur, Hugh a posé ses articles consommables devant la chaise sur la table. Il s'assit, prenant sa pipe de sa bouche et la posant debout sur la table juste derrière son assiette. Avec cela fait, il a crié "Bonjour! Tout le monde!" et se tourna en fait pour regarder tout le monde dans l'auberge, en commençant par n'importe quel étranger et en regardant de chaque membre du parti à un autre, leur donnant tous un sourire de clin d'œil et amical de reconnaissance. C'est ainsi qu'il se mit à manger poliment sa nourriture, pas particulièrement pressé alors qu'il alimentait son corps pour le jour à venir.

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.

Hanzo regarda autour de lui les coups de pied alors qu'il continuait à manger. Sana a amené l'enfant qu'elle a sauvé pour manger, à la recherche de tout le monde comme un parent avec leur fille. C'était un peu réconfortant de voir, même si Hanzo n'a pas essayé d'y penser trop profondément en raison de ses propres expériences. Mortosh était dans un coin, apparemment endormi, mais probablement plus précisément méditant - il n'a même pas remarqué le squelette jusqu'à ce que Zam est monté et l'a signalé au nouveau venu. En parlant de cela, ce chevalier d'hier se faisait connaître au parti, se présentant comme Derrix ; apparemment il entendait parler de la récente brûlure de la maladie de Cinder et voulait aider Soeur Agnes, et par procuration ce groupe d'aventuriers. Peu après, il s'est retrouvé dans une conversation avec l'elfe, Vaeri. Il semblerait donc qu'ils aient encore un allié dans cette quête... quel groupe! Hanzo a fini de manger peu après que Fiona soit montée. Il retourna poliment la vaisselle et, suivant l'exemple de Fiona, retourna dans sa chambre pour faire ses valises. Heureusement, ce n'était pas grand chose de commencer par - juste son portefeuille, ses vêtements, et ce rouleau magique qu'il a trouvé. Le moine avait été légèrement hors de lui hier soir, donc il est probablement aller une offre ceci au reste du groupe correctement avant qu'ils tous partent. Ou, peut-être, Hanzo pourrait l'utiliser sur lui-même. Les cicatrices de la bataille avec le mage encore sur sa poitrine, montrant une cicatrice avec un petit sceau de rouge profond autour d'elle... Agissant de nouveau sur une impulsion indéfinie, Hanzo a tiré ouvrir le rouleau- et puis il s'est rendu compte qu'il n'avait aucune idée comment lire la magie correctement. Quel geste stupide. Pourtant, il est revenu dans le sens, pour au moins offrir les autres avant d'accepter l'offre pour lui-même. Il est revenu rapidement en bas, voyant comment la plupart des gens étaient partis pour se préparer à leur départ (ou était déjà la plupart du temps ainsi). Dans ce cas, le moine a décidé de s'asseoir un peu à l'extérieur, de prendre dans l'air du matin encore frais avec la rosée du climat décidu. Il se tenait simplement à l'extérieur de l'auberge, se penchant parfois sur le mur de l'auberge. Par curiosité, il regarda au sud. Le feu était parti depuis longtemps, le pilier de la fumée qui l'a salué avant d'être plus. Il soupirait. Tant de vies ont encore été injustement prises, même s'il pouvait en dire autant de ceux qui ont été tués, ces esclaves. Hanzo se retourna, et remarqua que Fiona sortait cinq chevaux et une charrette des esclaves. Sa mémoire était brumeuse de la nuit dernière, mais il semblait se rappeler la charrette, et certains de ces chevaux ressemblaient aux montures des esclaves. Bien sûr, la meilleure façon de le savoir était de demander. Le moine s'approchait de l'endroit où Fiona installait tout ; elle étudiait actuellement une sorte de carte. "Ces mêmes choses sont-elles acquises des esclaves?"

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'attention de Fiona a été attirée loin de la carte par la voix de Hanzo, qui était apparu devant l'auberge, en regardant prêt à partir. Elle a hurlé en réponse à sa question. "Oui, on a trouvé ça au camp. Sœur Agnès m'a fait savoir que les chevaux et le chariot sont à nous d'utiliser, pour aider à accélérer les choses. » Son propre cheval estampille légèrement son pied quelques fois sous elle, et Fiona atteint vers le bas pour taper le côté de son cou. "Sauf Liam ici, il est à moi." Elle a regardé les autres chevaux, attendant des cavaliers, si quelqu'un en voulait un. « Ce sont de bons animaux, pas comme s'ils savaient à quoi ils étaient destinés. Quant au wagon, nous pouvons toujours l'utiliser pour transporter ceux qui ne veulent pas monter, ainsi que les fournitures excédentaires que nous recueillons, ou d'autres choses que nous voulons apporter avec nous. »

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 a remarqué le mouvement à l'extérieur et a quitté l'auberge pour voir ce qu'était la commotion. Alors qu'elle partait, elle a salué Hugh un bon matin et a fait ses adieux à Derrix. C'était assez gênant avec le silence qui venait de l'interruption de la fae dont le nom qu'elle avait oublié, en partant sans un adieu se sentirait encore plus étrange. Elle est arrivée à l'extérieur pour trouver les chevaux que les esclavagistes avaient précédemment utilisés et le wagon qui avait été utilisé pour transporter les anciens captifs. Heureusement, sa conduite avec Sana avait été courte, donc elle n'a pas éprouvé la douleur de conduite dont elle avait entendu parler, mais elle n'était pas désireuse de l'éprouver de première main. Sans oublier qu'elle préférait voyager à pied à travers les wilds. C'était plus facile de manœuvrer. Les chevaux étaient conçus pour les plaines et encombrants en sous-bois dense, donc si elle devait choisir l'une des options de transport présentées de façon flagrante devant elle, ce serait le wagon à chaque fois. Pour l'instant, elle traînait dans la zone générale de Fiona et attendait. Elle semblait être au-dessus des choses.

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.

Avec un peu plus à dire, Derrix a décidé de suivre tranquillement les autres. Alors qu'il sortait de la taverne, il glissa son casque en arrière, regardant les rayons du soleil du matin sombrer derrière sa restriction. Il a pris un grand huff de lavande et s'est tourné vers son destin blanc massif. la rosée du matin scintille dans sa fourrure d'argent et le glaçage d'un rouleau croûte le long de ses lèvres, mais un sourire de contenu général éblouit l'œil du cheval. Charroux, Derrix sourit chaleureusement derrière son masque, et l'étalon l'envoûta en saluant. Les deux têtes pointées un moment avant que Derrix ne glisse sur le côté des chevaux. Il arracha la lance liée et lâcha rapidement le noeud avant de se balancer jusqu'à la grande selle de cheval de guerre. Il a mis les étriers en marche et a relevé sa lance sous son aisselle comme un drapeau, le point aigu s'étendant bien au-dessus de lui. Derrix a armé sa main libre d'un bouclier de cavaliers qui était attaché aux sacs de selle de Charroux, et après un rapide regard autour, il était sûr qu'il avait tout ce qu'il avait apporté dans cette ville. Charroux tailla son sabot et Derrix regarda devant, tout était prêt.

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 soupirait profondément alors que la porte se refermait fortement derrière elle une fois qu'elle entrait dans la pièce. Glanking autour d'elle a trouvé ses affaires et a rapidement commencé à finir de se préparer; cela n'a pas pris longtemps et une fois qu'elle a fini elle a jeté son arc à la place et a saisi son sac avant de repartir. Elle se déplaçait rapidement en passant silencieusement ceux de l'auberge et se dirigeait vers Ariana, s'agenouillant devant la petite qui s'était amusée en tournant autour et en twirling dans sa nouvelle robe. "Tu te souviens de ce que je t'ai dit?" Elle a demandé à l'enfant alors qu'elle prenait ses mains et qu'Ariana souriait, hurlant vigoureusement la tête. "Ouais, ouais! Reste avec Soeur Agnès, dit-elle comme bercé sur ses talons. "Et?" Sana a demandé quand elle s'est approchée et a brossé les cheveux de l'enfant hors de son visage, le frappant derrière son oreille. "Tu seras de retour," Ariana a glouché. Sana a forcé un sourire et a tiré le petit près, l'étreignant serré. « C'est vrai », chuchotait Sana avant de se lever et de regarder vers Soeur Agnes. « Gardez-la en sécurité », a-t-elle dit avant de serrer la main de la vieille femme. -- Je le ferai, dit doucement la sœur. Avec ce Sana tourné, sortir de l'auberge rapidement sans dire un autre mot. Elle s'éloigna un moment de l'auberge et des écuries et marcha vers l'extrémité sud de la ville; voulant vérifier le pyre pour s'assurer que les choses étaient prises en charge avant qu'ils ne partent. Pour y arriver, elle a remarqué que les villageois l'avaient relité du jour au lendemain et maintenant il était mort, rien que des os, du métal et des cendres sont restés. Frappant le tas d'armures de l'ancien être qui avait demandé à l'enfant, elle a percé un sourcil comme quelque chose montré à travers les cendres, une bague s'est posée là à la regarder et briller dans la lumière du soleil. Elle l'a ramassée, l'a regardée, puis l'a jetée dans sa poche de ceinture, et a pensé qu'elle s'en occuperait plus tard. Satisfaite que les choses avaient été prises en charge de Sana tourné et a commencé à faire son chemin vers les écuries; voulant que cela commence le plus rapidement possible et essayant encore de comprendre comment parler à Hugh de tout ce qui se passe avec 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.

Tobias a repris l'élan extérieur du groupe assez rapidement, il semblait qu'il était temps d'obtenir ce spectacle condamné sur la route. Orphelins et or, Tobias. Orphelins et or. Le voyou monta à l'étage et prit peu de temps à faire ses bagages (et quelques - uns des vieux habitudes des autres moururent durement). Il est descendu à quelques bibelots, quelques changements de vêtements, des fournitures routières... rien d'extravagant. Tobias plongea sa meute sur son épaule et s'en alla à l'extérieur, où le reste du groupe préparait leurs chevaux. Il semblait que quelqu'un avait été assez aimable pour donner à la cause - quelques autres chevaux et un wagon étaient disponibles pour leur utilisation. Immédiatement, le voleur s'est hissé dans le wagon et n'a pas perdu de temps pour se rendre à l'aise, se reposer et se reposer la tête sur son sac. "Pour moi, les gars? Je suis flatté, tu n'aurais pas dû. Je suppose que sauver la journée est un travail fatigant... » le voyou lui a fermé les yeux et a commencé à ronfler à haute voix.

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

De longues nuits avec peu ou pas de sommeil... Ils ne sont pas les meilleurs, ils pourraient être les meilleurs, mais ils perdent tout potentiel réel d'être les meilleurs en dint d'être sans sommeil - beaucoup de gens aiment juste dormir. Melvus aime plutôt dormir, il essaie de le faire aussi souvent qu'il le peut, mais cela ne semble pas être aussi souvent qu'il le voudrait. Melvus était déjà réveillé quand le soleil s'est levé - plus comme poignardé ses yeux avec son éblouissement - il n'avait pas vraiment dormi, si cela n'avait pas été évident par les sacs sous ses yeux ou comment il s'est endormi dans la chaise dans sa chambre. Le sorcier se leva, rassembla ses biens et partit, il y avait longtemps que le soleil s'était levé, mais Melvus n'avait pas vraiment remarqué. En ouvrant la porte, il a remarqué que son manteau était accroché sur un crochet, près de la porte, habituellement réservé aux clés, il tenait le manteau juste trouver. Il avait été complètement nettoyé de tout le sang et cousu là où il avait déchiré. Il l'a attrapé et a glissé les bras dans leurs manches respectives et a fait son chemin en bas. Il s'assit et mangea son petit déjeuner tranquillement, sans se rendre compte de ce qui se passait autour de lui.

Removed

Sana regarda vers le sol poussiéreux alors qu'elle se dirigeait vers le groupe qui s'était rassemblé, prêt à partir. Ses yeux semblaient creux alors qu'une main s'approchait de ses temples, se frottant doucement en les badigeonnant vers les écuries qui avaient besoin de préparer Epona pour le voyage à venir. Son esprit nageait dans les pensées d'hier et d'aujourd'hui, tout ce qu'elle avait vécu, tout ce qu'elle avait appris, tout ce qu'elle avait vu. La femme aux yeux généralement brillants et bruyante se tenait là en se déplaçant d'une manière mécanique alors qu'elle plaçait la selle sur son cheval et serrait ses sacs. Tout tourbillonnant à travers son esprit semblait causer un bruit bourdonnant dans ses oreilles qui noyait ce que les autres disaient et le bruit du village agitant autour d'elle. Les souffles lents ont fait monter et chuter les épaules au fur et à mesure que ses mouvements s'arrêtaient et qu'elle s'éloignait de la pensée, essayant de se concentrer sur une seule mémoire éphémère et pourtant toujours tourbillonnante. Les souvenirs nouvellement créés étaient comme de la peinture humide sur toile, se déplaçant rapidement et se mélangeant ensemble. Secouant la tête vigoureusement comme pour essayer de brosser les pensées à part Sana est revenue à ce qu'elle faisait et a finalement mené Epona par les rênes hors de l'écurie et vers le groupe. Une botte placée dans l'étrier et une main sur la selle, Sana regarda les nuages en roulis; gris et odieux. Elle pouvait sentir le froid dans l'air alors que le vent soufflait dans la ville et sentait la tempête qui s'approchait à mesure qu'elle respirait. Le doux bruissement des feuilles lui vint enfin à l'oreille, car le froid soudain semblait apporter une clarté d'esprit à travers le brouillard. Prenant un autre souffle, elle repoussa le sol et balança sa jambe avant de s'installer dans sa selle et de trotter vers Fiona et les autres. Voyant Tobias se faufiler dans le wagon, elle repensa aux mots qu'ils avaient échangés hier après la première bataille et soupira intérieurement. Ils devraient travailler ensemble, non pas pour eux-mêmes, mais pour les orphelins. Il faisait peut-être froid mais les orphelins n'étaient plus son plus grand souci, elle voulait faire cela rapidement et revenir à Ariana le plus rapidement possible. Si elle n'avait pas déjà donné sa parole pour l'aider, elle aurait pu s'éloigner de toute l'entreprise, mais dans son esprit ce n'était pas une option à ce stade. Atteignant dans sa poche, elle sortit le Ring Of Chameleon Power qu'elle avait récupéré des cendres de la chute et la jeta à lui sans un mot, il atterrit doucement sur sa poitrine avec une légère crasse. En regardant vers Fiona, elle a remarqué le parchemin que la femme aux cheveux ardents avait traversé et percé un sourcil. "Qu'est-ce que c'est?" Elle s'est enquise de ce que Fiona avait réalisé.

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 sourit à elle-même tout en continuant à regarder sur la carte, l'expression apportée par l'arrivée de Tobias au wagon. Il n'avait certainement plus besoin d'être encouragé par elle à continuer d'agir ainsi. Honnêtement, elle s'est sentie un peu juvénile en trouvant certaines des choses qu'il a fait drôle, mais alors, il semblait avoir cet effet sur elle. Son attention a été attirée quand Sana est montée à côté d'elle sur son propre cheval, montrant ce que Fiona avait dans ses mains. "Oh, c'est une carte que les esclaves ont faite. Je l'ai trouvé sous le banc. Certains marquages utiles ici sur les zones dangereuses que nous pourrions vouloir éviter. Tiens, regarde. " Elle a légèrement tourné son cheval, avant de tenir la carte pour que Sana prenne. Elle a remarqué que le comportement de la femme était encore un peu paresseux. Avant, elle avait l'air rafraîchie, peut-être même un peu optimiste, malgré tout ce qui s'était passé. "Tout va bien?" Elle a demandé, doucement. Ils ne s'étaient connus que très peu de temps, après tout, et alors qu'ils se battaient ensemble tendaient à lier les gens rapidement, il était difficile de les appeler près tout de suite. "Si ça ne me regarde pas, dis le mot. Je n'ai pas l'intention de le faire."

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.

Sana a percé un front mince à Fionas description de ce qu'elle tenait dans sa main, peut-être qu'il serait utile. À l'écoute, elle s'approcha et prit le parchemin usé de Fiona comme on lui l'offrait et le regarda lentement; ses yeux dérivent sur les marques et prennent les chemins et les routes qui étaient tracés. Alors qu'elle voyait une zone sur la carte, elle a sorti le morceau de papier que Wylsen avait donné à certains membres du groupe la veille et a examiné la liste des ingrédients. À la question de Fionas sur son bien-être, ses yeux se levèrent lentement de leur foyer et cherchèrent les yeux des combattants. "Pas vraiment," dit-elle d'une voix creuse avant d'éviter ses yeux et de reprendre leur attention à l'endroit où ils avaient été. "Et c'est bon, tu n'es pas en train de prier", a-t-elle dit alors qu'elle plié la liste des ingrédients et l'a recollée. Replacer le sujet sur la carte, elle a signalé la grotte au-delà du village suivant. « On dirait que c'est notre prochaine destination », a-t-elle dit en pointant le doigt vers la note de l'aile oculaire sur la carte. « Du regard des choses, il faut quelques jours pour atteindre le village suivant, puis un autre jour pour atteindre la grotte », a-t-elle dit en remettant la carte à Fiona. "Bon endroit pour commencer comme n'importe quel." Reposant dans sa selle, elle regarda autour d'elle et prit un compte rapide de qui était là et qui n'était pas. Hugh étant l'une des personnes qui n'étaient pas encore là, elle se sentait à la fois soulagée et inquiète. Elle avait besoin de lui parler et lui de ne pas rester près d'elle était bizarre mais puis encore une fois, elle n'agissait pas exactement comme son moi habituel non plus. "Alors, qui va conduire ce truc?" elle a demandé autour en général. Trois d'entre eux avaient déjà leurs propres montures personnelles, au moins une de plus, si ce n'était plus, et quelqu'un devait prendre le contrôle du wagon.

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 ouvert les yeux quand il a senti quelque chose de doux dans sa poitrine. Il a regardé vers le bas et a vu une petite bague sans ornement. Le voyou a soulevé un sourcil pendant qu'il l'inspectait - était-ce un anneau de ruse? Trappé d'une façon ou d'une autre? Non, physiquement, c'était ce qu'il semblait - juste une bague. Il a cherché qui l'avait jetée et mis une expression de joie moqueuse quand il l'a vue. "Sana?" Il a dit, en lui portant une main à la bouche. "Pour moi? C'est tellement inattendu! Je ne sais pas quoi dire. Je veux dire, j'espérais toujours, mais je n'ai jamais osé rêver..." il s'enfuit. "Ouais, cette blague fait son chemin." Le voyou s'est levé et s'est défoncé, se déplaçant autour de la charrette. "Artful dodger à la rescousse - Je vais prendre le siège du conducteur. Ne vous inquiétez pas, je sais comment - faire semblant d'être un conducteur de voiture est une très bonne façon de pénétrer dans les endroits. » Alors qu'il passait devant Sana, il se penchait pour chuchoter. "Vous et moi devons parler. Seul. Pas un combat, un... d'accord." Il marchait comme si rien n'avait été dit, s'avançant sur le siège du conducteur. "A la grande aventure! Que tout tremble au passage des terreurs de Tobias! C'est pas vrai? Les furies de Fiona? Les héros de Hugh? Les Vipers de Vaeri? Les Hélions de Hanzo? Les enfoirés de Sana? Nous pouvons l'atelierer."

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 regard de Hugh monte à Sana alors qu'il lui sourit joyeusement, agitant sans souci dans le monde. Tout lui semblait pêcheur. Il n'a pas remarqué au début que Sana avait soufflé sans un mot, comme le petit était venu à lui rempli d'excitation et de joie à ses nouveaux vêtements, détournant avec succès son attention avant qu'il ne puisse discerner quoi que ce soit de négatif de Sana. Hugh ne pouvait que saluer Arianna avec joie, car il était plus qu'heureux de voir son visage souriant et de lui montrer la robe et les chaussures. Cela l'a rendu remarquablement heureux, et il n'a pas été un à laisser aller pour le moment. Il riait et même applaudissait pour elle, le sourire collé sur son visage. Il n'a pas commencé à montrer l'usure, jusqu'à ce qu'il ait entendu Sana mentionner à la sœur que le petit resterait avec la nonne. Son sourire s'est presque complètement évanoui, tandis que ses yeux erraient sur le sol, regardant à blanc. Son moment a été interrompu par une main tombée sur son épaule et son attention est montée vers le nouveau venu. C'était, en fait, la religieuse. "Je pense que vous avez besoin de parler." Ses paroles étaient faites avec une expression très quizicale de Hugh. "Okaaaay." Dire qu'il était confus était un euphémisme. Bien sûr, Hugh a commencé à comprendre un peu comme Sana lui a de nouveau soufflé dessus sans aucune reconnaissance. Il l'a regardée dans l'admiration, il s'est juste demandé. Il était perplexe. Il se leva, fit quelques pas avant de finir debout devant Arianna, et squatta devant elle. "Hé, ma petite princesse." Il a ramassé une de ses petites mains avec ses doigts, "Nous ne serons pas longs. Nous reviendrons. Je te le promets." Il a dit. Avec ça, il lâchait sa main, et courait en haut. Quelques instants plus tard, il descendit avec un sac à dos sur le dos. En faisant des pas rapides vers la table qu'il était auparavant, il a balayé son sac à selle à la main, et a placé sa pipe dans sa bouche. Avant de sortir de la pièce, il a allumé le tuyau, et a agité le petit, donnant un dernier adieu avant qu'il parte faire quelque chose strictement pour l'argent et les orphelins. Il a glissé dehors, faisant son chemin vers les écuries. Il y a trouvé son ami le plus cher, Rodger. Le cheval l'a accueilli en lui jetant la tête et en snint en reconnaissance. Hugh sourit heureux à la vue de son vieil ami, et commença à le conduire des écuries. Avec son cheval en plein air, il a acquis la selle et l'a jetée sur le dos de Rodger. Il le fixa fermement à lui, lui jeta les rênes, les arrangeant méthodiquement. Puis Hugh attacha ses sacs de selle à l'arrière de son cheval, et s'enfonça dans la selle, ses pieds fermement placés dans les étriers. Hugh se sentait fier alors qu'il montait son cheval dans la rue depuis les écuries. Un sourire semblait être fixé sur son visage, alors qu'il émergeait. Peu de temps après, Hugh et Rodger se tenaient à côté du wagon, prêts à partir et à aller vers des pâturages plus justes, ainsi que l'aventure et le danger.

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.

Wylsen est finalement sorti de sa boutique d'apothicaire, portant une caisse assez grande de flacons et de bouteilles. En marchant vers le groupe, ses vieilles caractéristiques semblaient fatiguées mais heureuses. Il avait terminé ce qu'il essayait de faire, puis certains se sentaient bien qu'il allait pouvoir fournir d'autres articles qui aideraient le groupe qui avait déjà beaucoup aidé son village. En se promenant à l'arrière du wagon, il a posé l'embarcation et a pris une longue respiration. D'accord, j'ai quelque chose pour vous tous, il a dit fièrement alors qu'il a commencé à soulever diverses potions qui ont été étiquetées et auraient pu être facilement lues pour que les gens voient ce qu'ils étaient, mais il voulait leur donner une rapide rafale de tout de toute façon. Il a d'abord tenu un ensemble sombre de potions pourris, il y en avait quatre au total. D'accord, ils ont été faits à partir du sang du chien de l'enfer. S'il est placé sur un vêtement, il aidera à résister aux dommages causés par le feu; magique ou naturel dans la nature, a-t-il dit avant de l'abaisser et de le placer en toute sécurité dans la boîte. De là, il a continué comme il a montré diverses potions de guérison de différentes forces, potions qui élimineraient le poison, ceux qui rajeuniraient le sens comme s'ils avaient dormi toute la nuit, et quelques potions de vue qui aideraient les gens à voir dans diverses situations. Il y en avait un autre qui semblait être un peu odieux dans la nature, mais Wylsen leur a assuré qu'il était inoffensif. Maintenant, celui-ci, c'est une potion de dernier recours. Si vous arrivez à un point où vous vous perdez et n'avez nulle part où vous tourner, quelqu'un doit boire ceci. C'est une potion de vision. Il n'a pas fait de mal et il n'a pas fait votre chemin clair comme jour, mais il peut vous donner un indice. Mais soyez avertis, les visions peuvent être brutales, un vrai esprit brouillé et ils ont tendance à prendre l'énergie de la personne qui les a et de les égoutter presque complètement. Alors soyez prêt que celui qui boit cela aura très probablement besoin d'être porté à pendant plusieurs heures après et malheureusement les potions de rajeunissement ne contre la fatigue, a-t-il dit avant de glisser dans l'embarcation et de faire ses adieux à tout le monde. Il aurait aimé les voir partir, mais il avait été debout plus de vingt-quatre heures à ce moment-là et il est à peine revenu au lit qu'il avait installé à l'arrière de sa boutique avant qu'il ne s'évanouisse dans un profond sommeil. Dans l'auberge, Ariana sourit à Hugh et lui donna un grand câlin avant qu'elle ne le laisse s'échapper pour partir. Soeur Agnès lui dit adieu et bonne chance avant de prendre le petit par la main et de l'amener à la table où Sana avait déposé les paquets. Divertissant l'attention des enfants pendant que le groupe partait en ouvrant les paquets et en lui demandant à Ariana de lui parler de chaque article que Sana avait acheté pour elle. Le gardien de l'auberge leur sourit alors qu'il passait avec plusieurs grandes cartables pleines alors qu'il se dirigeait vers la porte d'entrée. En regardant autour de lui, il agita le groupe pendant qu'il se préparait à partir, se précipitant vers eux aussi vite qu'il le pouvait. Un instant, il a appelé avant de jeter les sacs à l'arrière du wagon. Il a dit qu'il avait giflé un des sacs. Nous avons des peaux d'eau pleines, des viandes, des fruits, des fromages, des pains, tout ce qu'un groupe comme vous aura besoin pour maintenir votre force sur la route à venir. Compliments du village pour tout ce que vous avez déjà fait pour nous. Des voyages en toute sécurité et je promets un festin quand vous revenez! » Il a dit heureux alors qu'il se promenait vers chaque membre et secouait la main, un sourire reconnaissant sur ses traits avant qu'il ne s'est infiltré dans l'auberge pour aider à prendre soin des gens qui étaient là. Sana secoua la main des hommes et regarda le reste du groupe, sur le point de suggérer qu'ils partirent, mais elle fut coupée à mesure qu'une femme sortit du magasin général avec un de ses commis portant plusieurs paquets de papier brun emballé. Certaines couvertures, démarreurs de feu et d'autres chances et finit vous pouvez tous avoir besoin. Merci beaucoup pour ce que vous avez fait, la femme a dit comme son commis chargé le wagon. C'était encore quelques minutes avant que tout soit arrangé dans le wagon et que le reste du groupe soit prêt à partir. Sana s'assit là sur Epona silencieuse, ne voulant pas vraiment parler à tous ceux qui venaient. Peut-être aurions-nous dû sortir sous le couvert de l'obscurité, mais elle chuchotait à Fiona, ses mots avaient peut-être l'air froid, mais au moins il y avait un peu de limace à sa voix qui montrait qu'elle était d'humeur plus piquante qu'elle ne l'avait été lorsqu'elle est sortie de l'auberge plus tôt. Une fois que tout le groupe était ensemble, soit sur leurs propres marches, soit chargé dans le wagon, Sana regarda autour et s'inclina. D'accord, besoin d'un volontaire qui a son propre pied et qui est un cavalier accompli pour aller avec moi à quelques miles d'avance pour s'assurer que le chemin reste en sécurité et pour fournir un avertissement si nécessaire. Nous resterons en avant jusqu'à ce que le crépuscule commence à se mettre en place, puis trouver un emplacement de camp pour le groupe et vous attendre tous. Des preneurs?

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 levé son bouclier en reconnaissance des paroles de Sana. Il s'est porté volontaire, désireux d'être utile plutôt qu'un homme stagnant couvert de métal. Il a creusé un talon dans Charroux et le cheval de guerre puissant trotté silencieusement jusqu'à la montagne de Sana. Le regard d'or de Derrix brille comme une bougie clignotante au-dessus de son casque alors qu'il prenait en vue de qui dirigera la quête, c'est la première fois qu'il a vraiment eu la chance de l'observer. Après son casque rapide et discret à l'échelle cachée, il a hurlé bientôt, « prêt quand vous êtes ».

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 a sauté, s'emparant du côté et grimpant dans l'endroit à côté de la place du conducteur, juste à côté de Tobias. -- J'espère que ma présence ne vous dérange pas, Sir Tobias. Ici, elle aurait la meilleure vue de la route devant et elle n'aurait pas à être près de tous les approvisionnements qu'ils venaient de charger sur le wagon. Elle préférerait voyager à pied, mais ce ne serait pas si mal. Compte tenu de la chance que ce groupe semblait avoir, cet air de joie et de détente ne durerait pas longtemps. Après tout, les aventures n'étaient pas toutes des promenades de poney au soleil de mai.

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.

Sanas brow s'est légèrement relevée en entendant Derrix parler et se porter volontaire pour le travail de l'accompagner au scoutisme avant ; elle ne s'attendait pas à ce qu'il soit celui à aller de l'avant, mais elle n'était pas sûre à quoi s'attendre des groupes plus récents arrivées. Sa tête tourna lentement en regardant dans sa direction et le regarda un moment, pensant à la veille quand il avait chargé l'Anti-Paladin. Il était évidemment un cavalier accompli, de sorte qu'elle n'aurait pas à s'inquiéter de ne pas le suivre; ce qui était une bonne chose parce qu'elle semblait déjà avoir assez en tête pour s'inquiéter actuellement. Se dirigeant vers Hugh, elle se demandait s'il serait d'accord avec cet arrangement; il restait avec le groupe proprement dit pendant qu'elle marchait devant quelqu'un qu'ils ne connaissaient pas. À l'intérieur, elle gémit parce que cela peut causer des problèmes, mais alors la pensée d'être loin de lui pour pouvoir penser était attrayante. C'était peut-être pour le mieux en ce moment. Cela lui donnerait un jour pour qu'elle puisse régler ses pensées sur la question et ensuite s'approcher de Hugh. Bien que, en toute honnêteté, la façon dont elle se sentait quand la pensée de lui parler a traversé son esprit lui a fait vouloir juste combattre l'Anti-Paladin à nouveau au lieu de s'en occuper. Ce serait un pont qu'il faudrait franchir à un moment donné, mais ce n'était pas le moment. Elle savait que si elle devait ouvrir la bouche, soit elle se transformerait en une de ses culottes, soit elle serait juste un gâchis d'émotions qu'elle ne savait pas comment gérer. Se redressant dans sa selle, elle tenait une posture parfaite alors qu'elle tirait le capot de son manteau vers le haut et laissait son manteau drapé à travers le dos d'Epona. Comme quelqu'un qui s'était croisé avec Derrix dans le passé, Sana s'est montrée volontaire. "Très bien," elle a dit dans un ton assez stoïque avant de regarder sur Fiona. Nous trouverons un camp au crépuscule et vous attendrons tous là-bas, à moins que quelque chose ne vienne, a-t-elle dit avant de regarder vers Tobias hors du coin de ses yeux. "Restez en vie et nous parlerons ce soir," elle a dit comme un sourire est tombé sur ses lèvres avant de nudger Epona en avant. Venant à côté de Hugh, elle le regarda, il était évident qu'elle essayait de tenir son calme ensemble, ressemblant tellement plus à la femme qui avait d'abord marché dans une Taverne Oasis il y a si longtemps, lointaine et debout de poisson que la femme plus chaude qu'elle était devenue au fil de leur temps ensemble. Elle s'assit là pour un court moment, le regardant simplement avant que ses lèvres s'éclaircissent dans un sourire forcé. Elle dit à Derrix que son attention s'est brisée de Hugh, ses talons creusant dans les flancs de son pied et déchirant vers la destination suivante; laissant le reste du groupe sortir par eux-mêmes quand ils étaient prêts. Renforçant son emprise sur les rênes, elle se penchait vers l'avant et laissait l'air frais couper à travers elle alors qu'Eponas hooves pilonnait dans le sentier poussiéreux qui mène hors du village et vers le nord. Elle savait que Derrix et elle devaient pour l'instant mettre une certaine distance entre eux et le reste du groupe pour qu'ils puissent s'occuper de l'aspect scoutisme du voyage. Elle a pensé qu'elle pourrait ralentir le rythme qu'elle avait fixé après un certain temps, mais pour l'instant le besoin de hâte pour grand. Tant pour la sécurité des groupes que pour son propre esprit. Tout viendrait à la tête à un moment, mais pour l'instant elle se concentrait seulement sur le sentier avant elle et les sons de la forêt de chaque côté du sentier qui les emmènerait au village suivant.

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 hurlé pour confirmer qu'elle comprenait Sana, puis a regardé alors qu'elle et Derrrix partaient pour scruter en avant. Elle se serait portée volontaire, mais Derrix l'avait battue. Quoi qu'il en soit, elle pensait qu'ils auraient besoin d'échanger leurs tâches régulièrement; elle s'occupait du scoutisme quand elle en avait besoin. Pour l'instant, le reste du groupe devait se déplacer. Doucement, elle pressa son cheval vers l'avant, regardant de nouveau à Tobias, qui avait les rênes des chevaux tirant le chariot. "Nous ferions mieux de bouger. Je vais prendre la tête." En entrant dans tout ce Fiona ne s'imaginait pas comme un leader, et bien qu'elle ne l'ait pas encore fait, elle devenait au moins un peu plus à l'aise avec le groupe. C'était un très bon départ de travailler seul comme elle était plus habituée, mais jusqu'à présent elle ne s'en souciait pas. Fiona les a conduits à un rythme régulier hors du village et le long de la route, en gardant une vitesse qui n'était pas exactement précipitée, mais toujours faire du bon temps tout le même. Le vent était froid et mordait parfois, mais Fiona s'était habillée assez chaudement pour le tolérer, et c'était une fille du nord d'ailleurs, habituée à des conditions comme celle-ci. Elle s'occupa surtout en affûtant sa lame avec une pierre de whetstone, le mouvement presque subconscient pour elle alors que ses yeux restèrent debout, regardant leur environnement. Sa lame nouvellement acquise, de l'Anti-Paladin, n'avait pas besoin d'affûter autant qu'elle pouvait le dire, et elle restait attachée à ses sacs de selle dans une gaine de fortune, mais son épée plus légère avait vu une bonne quantité d'utilisation, et s'était usée comme toute autre lame commune. Vu l'ampleur du danger qu'elle avait connu la veille, il semblait sage d'être aussi préparé que possible.

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.

Hugh a levé un sourcil et a donné une expression quizicale à Sana alors qu'elle a pris le chevalier comme son scout après qu'il s'était porté volontaire. Il était conscient que l'homme était un excellent cavalier, et n'avait pas encore de mauvaise opinion de lui. À part ça, il sentait une étrange colère se lever à l'intérieur de lui. Il semblait que des pensées jalouses pervertissaient son esprit, le remplissaient de colère. Ce n'était même pas la moitié. Elle a dit au voleur comment ils parleraient ce soir. Sa réaction était pour le moins confuse. Il regarda Sana quand elle passa près de lui et fit un contact visuel. Il n'a même pas essayé de sourire. Il a gardé une étrange expression quizicale sur son visage quand elle l'a passé. Quand elle semblait sourire, les yeux de Hugh s'éloignaient d'elle. Il était plus que évident à quel point le sourire était forcé et il n'était pas enclin à le reconnaître, laissant son visage devenir droit et sans émotion. Hugh semblait se fixer pendant un moment, la confusion, la tristesse, la colère et la jalousie le remplissaient. La seule façon de réagir était d'être assis dans sa selle complètement calme, avec des yeux sombres. Pourquoi a-t-elle donné un sourire si naturel à tout le monde? Pourquoi a-t-elle été forcée envers lui? Qu'est-ce que ce sentiment amer a bâti en lui? Son accent a été complètement coupé car il a laissé le cheval le conduire avec le chariot après Fiona confirmant qu'ils avaient été assez loin devant eux et avaient pris la tête. "C'est bon pour nous." Il a murmuré. Il n'était pas tout à fait enthousiaste, il avait presque envie de tourner son cheval juste alors et là et de retourner à l'auberge. Peut-être qu'il pourrait s'occuper d'Arianna lui-même, mais qu'est-ce qu'il ferait? Une figure de père et pas de figure de mère? Il a rejeté la pensée et a maintenu sa trajectoire, le long de la route à côté du wagon. Il a frappé les côtés de Rodger juste un peu et a rattrapé les chevaux qui menaient le wagon, restant à côté d'eux et à l'écoute de Fionna et Tobias. Il n'avait pas grand-chose à dire, sa tête remplie de trop de choses à gérer.

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 n'arrêtait pas de pousser vers l'avant, conduisant son cheval de plus en plus loin sur le sentier; son manteau fouettant dans le vent comme le froid dans l'air lui a piqué la peau exposée mais elle ne s'en souciait pas. Elle était trop perdue dans la pensée pour que les éléments s'inscrivent à ses sens. Les vingt-quatre dernières heures avaient mis son monde hors de contrôle et elle était incapable de comprendre comment gérer les émotions qui tournaient à travers elle. Il semblait revenir à un endroit qu'elle avait pensé longtemps mis derrière elle, ce même sentiment d'impuissance qui l'avait chassée de la famille qu'elle avait connue il y a si longtemps. En voyant Hugh saigner presque le matin précédent, elle avait fait naître une colère qu'elle n'avait jamais cru possible. Une brutalité qui lui faisait autant peur que l'idée de le perdre. Son esprit clignait avec le souvenir de la rage qui carbonisait dans son sang quand elle regardait ceux qui lui avaient fait du mal et ça lui faisait froid dans la colonne vertébrale. Elle ne voulut plus jamais ressentir ce genre de désespoir et, bien qu'elle éprouvât des remords pour la mort dure qu'elle avait causée par ses mains nues, elle savait que, s'il y avait lieu de lui faire du mal d'une telle manière, elle n'hésiterait pas à le répéter à nouveau. C'est ce qui l'aurait conduite dans un comportement froid qu'elle était, mais les jours de dureté n'y avaient pas pris fin. Au campement des esclaves, elle y avait trouvé son père, attaché à un poste et son dos s'ouvrait encore et encore par le fouet de l'esclave qu'elle avait combattu. Ses mots sonnaient encore dans ses oreilles que sa famille était partie, échouait de son dernier souffle devant ses yeux fermés pour ne plus jamais s'ouvrir. La perte piétinée d'une manière qu'elle n'avait jamais imaginée et il n'y avait pas de condoléances pour la fille d'un gitan. Trouver la douce Ariana avait aidé à briser l'obscurité qui commençait à la consommer, mais ce n'était que pour un court laps de temps. La paix apparente brisée par la saleté qui les pourchassait sur son chien de l'enfer. Sana avait tellement perdu en un seul moment qu'elle s'était enflammée seule contre un tel ennemi et avait failli perdre sa propre vie dans le processus. Son corps a encore souffert de la veille, sa poitrine étant écrasée et son dos brisé. Elle avait été guérie mais les restes des nerfs endommagés restaient, peut-être qu'ils le feraient toujours. Son monde avait filé et était devenu hors de contrôle, retourné à l'envers et elle avait été laissée en marge pour regarder l'homme qu'elle adorait faire face à l'Anti-Paladin avec les autres, peur de remonter en elle que la même chose arriverait à eux qui lui est arrivé. D'un côté, elle ne savait pas qu'elle avait assez de volonté pour chanter. Elle avait pensé qu'il n'en viendrait rien, mais quelque chose avait changé et une capacité qui avait mis la dormance pour toute sa vie s'est libérée et est arrivée à la réalisation. Son esprit s'écria à Hugh après la bataille et, bien qu'il ne connaisse pas les détails de la mort de son père, il ne lui vint aucune condoléances pour sa perte. Aucune reconnaissance n'est venue de ses lèvres de son changement. Il connaissait bien ses chansons et savait qu'elle ne pouvait pas jeter et pourtant pas un mot n'a été prononcé. Elle avait tous les deux crayé jusqu'à l'excitation de la bataille et à l'heure tardive de la journée, mais il bâillonnait encore qu'elle avait tant traversé et qu'on ne chuchotait pas un mot. Ajoutant à tout cela n'était pas tellement Ariana, parce que l'enfant apportait un sourire à ses traits et réchauffait son cœur, mais les implications de sa présence des choses compliquées. Hugh avait été plus heureux que Sana ne s'était jamais souvenu de l'avoir vu depuis l'apparition du petit et cela a apporté de la joie au cœur de Sanas mais il lui a aussi fait peur. Sa plus grande peur depuis qu'elle a appris la perte de Hughs était qu'elle finirait par être rien de plus qu'une femme et une mère de remplacement; c'était une préoccupation que Hugh avait été informé il y a si longtemps et qu'il avait promis que cela ne se produirait jamais. Pourtant à Sana, il semblait que cela pourrait très bien arriver maintenant. Ariana était une Rawn, donc peu importe ce qui s'est passé Sana pensait que l'enfant était sa responsabilité mais que se passerait-il entre elle et Hugh à cause de toute la situation? Ils n'avaient jamais parlé de mariage ni d'enfants, ne profitant que de leur présence mutuelle et vivant autant qu'ils le pouvaient. Sana se souciait profondément de Hugh, il était son seul amour bien qu'elle n'ait jamais prononcé les paroles, et bien qu'elle pensait que Hugh ressentait la même chose d'elle, il n'avait jamais prononcé les paroles non plus. Sana avait voulu lui dire quelque temps, mais n'avait jamais voulu le pousser à sentir qu'il avait besoin de les dire juste parce qu'elle l'avait fait attendre. Peut-être avait-elle trop attendu? Soupirant profondément, elle s'est repliée sur les rênes et a amené Epona à un trot stable. Elle savait que Hugh ne savait pas ce qui se passait dans son esprit, mais il pétait qu'elle avait vécu tellement de choses qu'il savait et son changement émotionnel était si évident; mais il n'a toujours pas offert de réconfort quand elle était autour de lui ou même une seule question. Ceux qui venaient de la rencontrer, qui ne savaient rien d'elle, savaient que quelque chose n'allait pas chez elle. L'homme qui l'adorait ne l'a pas fait? Où est-ce que ça l'a laissée? Respirant profondément, elle tira le capot de son manteau plus loin pour couvrir son expression mélancolique et continua, essayant de se concentrer sur son environnement et le chemin qui se trouvait devant elle. Tentative de pousser la tourmente tourbillonnant à travers elle hors de son esprit ou du moins l'enterrer profondément à l'intérieur, mais c'était difficile. Comment pourrait-elle parler à Hugh de ces sentiments s'il ne semblait même pas reconnaître le changement. Le regard sur son visage quand elle est partie blessée, elle avait souhaité qu'il ait parlé, a dit n'importe quoi, mais il a regardé loin d'elle. Peut-être qu'il n'avait aucun indice sur toute la situation, mais si c'était le cas, qu'est-ce qui s'est passé? Elle ne savait pas et cela a causé la crainte de se nouer dans la fosse de son estomac pour quand le crépuscule s'est approché. Serait-ce une autre soirée de silence? En gémissant légèrement, elle regarda vers son compagnon de voyage pour cette partie du voyage avant de regarder loin et de revenir vers la route. Peut-être qu'elle devrait dire quelque chose, essayer d'être polie mais elle n'a pas semblé être en mesure de rassembler de telles plaisanteries alors.

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.

Les yeux de derrrix s'étirent de l'arbre à la roche à l'arbuste. Il s'est cogné la tête comme un hibou, en s'assurant d'étudier chaque centimètre de l'entourage. Même si son puissant cheval de guerre ralentissait pour correspondre à Sana, son regard d'or rebondissant ne cessa pas. Son esprit était vide, et c'était cool et rafraîchissant. L'étreinte froide du travail a pris le relais, et a envoyé un froid frais dans tout son corps, comme de l'eau glacée par une journée chaude. Le corps occupé, après tout, a gardé un esprit clair. Puis un gémissement s'est emparé de son casque dans les trous de l'oreille et a rebondi autour jusqu'à ce qu'il perçoive ses oreilles. Il a tourné la tête vers Sana, juste à temps pour prendre un coup d'oeil dans sa direction d'elle. La chaleur de la pensée a commencé à s'infiltrer dans son esprit froid calculé mis sur le travail, et il a failli apporter une fronce à sa bouche. "Le souffle soupirant chuchote un esprit plein," Derrix a déclaré simplement, comme si s'il trempait sa phrase d'un vieux livre, "un esprit plein n'a pas de place pour de nouvelles observations, avez-vous des problèmes?

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 porta ses lèvres légèrement pendant qu'elle s'asseyait là, son dos droit et son expression stoïque au mieux; Des mots de Derrix venant à ses oreilles et causant un remorqueur dans son cœur. Même quelqu'un que rien d'elle ne pouvait dire à son esprit grouillait de problèmes et pourtant Hugh semblait évident. Il a causé la douleur à piquer comme du sel dans une plaie ouverte. -- Oui, répondit Sana d'un ton morose, alors qu'ils continuaient sur le chemin. Elle ne savait pas quoi dire, elle ne connaissait pas l'homme, alors pourquoi s'ouvrirait-elle à lui? Même si elle ne connaissait pas bien le reste du groupe, la moitié d'entre elle souhaitait que Fiona ou Vaeri soient là avec elle; ils savaient au moins que son père était mort, donc elle aurait quelque chose à ouvrir. Les pensées de Saunas dérivent vers son père et ce qu'il a dit, au sujet du reste de sa famille étant parti. Pour elle, cela signifiait que sa mère et sa sœur Ramara avaient aussi péri. Cela a ajouté à l'agitation qui traversait son cœur. Surtout la pensée de Ramara, quelqu'un qu'elle avait tant aimé et chéri; une qu'elle ne reverrait plus jamais. Soupir alors qu'elle roulait, elle a réussi à faire un peu de bruit à travers la douleur, en adoucissant ses traits et ses émotions avant de tenter de parler. « Penser à ceux que j'ai perdus récemment, entre autres choses », a-t-elle réussi à le dire avant de se taire une fois de plus.

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.

"La perte n'est jamais facile à supporter," Derrix a dit sèchement, regardant en arrière l'environnement environnant et sucant dans une profonde respiration, comme si ce n'était pas juste une bouffée de lavande. Apprends de la fleur,Derrix soupira, tirant de vieilles paroles dans son esprit en espérant que ses livres étaient à son nez pendant qu'il parlait, et nous profitons de sa vue, mais pleurons ses flétrissures. Cependant, si nous nourrissons la pensée de lui passant, nous pourrions oublier sa vie. Concentrez-vous sur l'avoir, pas sur la perte, même si la fleur n'est plus. Et rappelez-vous que nous devrions nous rappeler le rose des pédales au printemps et non le brun de la tige en hiver. Derrix a failli croiser les yeux sur ses paroles, ne sachant pas si les vieux proverbes étaient vraiment utiles. Il a toussé et s'est hurlé, tu es intelligent, je pense que tu sais ce que je veux dire. Il ferma la bouche et se recentra sur son environnement, s'assurant qu'il n'y avait pas un bruissement ou une secousse manqué son regard de scoutisme.

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 leva un petit sourcil tandis que l'homme commençait à parler, il semblait aimer parler d'une manière fleurie. Elle s'assit là alors qu'ils chassaient le long du chemin, en gardant un œil sur leur environnement, mais en prenant ce qu'il a dit et en y pensant un moment avant qu'elle ne décide de parler une fois de plus. "La perte en hiver est attendue, elle est préparée pour, brassée pour et pour certains même désirés." Elle demanda alors qu'elle tirait le capot de son manteau et la laissait tomber autour de ses épaules. Se tournant pour le regarder et ne voyant que ses yeux à travers la fente du casque. "Et qu'est-ce qu'on fait quand la fleur est brûlée aux cendres dans l'été de sa vie?" Elle a demandé avant de se détourner une fois de plus. Elle ne s'attendait pas vraiment à une réponse et n'en voulait pas si elle était sincère avec elle-même. La mort s'est produite, elle savait que et avec le temps la douleur a diminué soit de la simple terne que le temps a entraîné ou de trouver quelque chose qui a aidé à guérir les blessures de la perte. De nouvelles blessures devaient être ouvertes à respirer sinon elles ne guériraient jamais, bien que malheureusement ce n'était pas une façon qu'elle pratiquait.

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.

"Rappelez-vous le rose," Derrix réitéré. Il a regardé son partenaire de scoutisme. Son apparence couverte lui donnait l'impression qu'il parlait à un moine de la forêt ou à un pèlerin de toutes sortes, ce qui n'a jamais été une mauvaise façon de passer du temps. Elle lui rappelait quelqu'un qu'il connaissait autrefois, un vieil homme qui marchait dans les nombreux bois entourant sa ville natale. Les deux se posaient des questions, et passent parfois des jours à méditer sur le sens de la réponse ou même de la question, et d'autres jours, ils ne répondraient même pas à la question. Parfois, le bonheur était suffisant. Derrix sourit derrière son casque aux souvenirs et tourna la tête loin de Sana.

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 tira lentement la capuche de son manteau, lui ramassant les cheveux comme elle l'a fait; le vent et le froid dans l'air étaient devenus visibles quand elle retirait sa capuche et avec tout le reste tourbillonnant dans son esprit, il prenait ce qui était normalement une expérience très agréable pour elle et le rendait moins que cela. En se dirigeant vers Derrrix, elle a laissé sur ses lèvres une mince forme de sourire doublé. « Celui qui est colorave ne peut pas profiter du rose », a-t-elle rétorqué avec un léger rebondissement à sa voix avant de regarder de nouveau loin. Bien que le nichon pour tat qu'ils semblaient avoir n'était pas lui donner de vraies réponses à quoi le faire était au moins pousser ses problèmes à l'arrière de son esprit et lui donner quelque chose d'autre à se concentrer sur. Parfois, c'était tout ce qu'il fallait pour trouver une solution. La solution ne s'est pas encore présentée mais, pour l'instant, l'absence d'esprit est une amélioration indispensable de l'agitation dont elle est actuellement victime.

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 froncé, ne s'attendant pas à une telle question, le raisonnement derrière l'analogie reste le même. Chaque événement n'est qu'un souvenir de ce que nous choisissons de nous en souvenir, et nos déplaisirs sont donc plus sous notre contrôle que nous ne le savons. Si nous choisissons de nous laisser consommer par des pensées négatives, nos émotions seront également consommées par la négativité et le plus grand déplaisir, qui peuvent également être corrigés en passant nos pensées à des choses positives, et à leur tour nos émotions suivront. Bien sûr, je dis ces choses comme si elles étaient faciles, Derrix a ajouté rapidement, en regardant de nouveau son compagnon révélé. D'un coup d'œil, elle avait presque l'air familière, mais une telle image fantôme fut rapidement dissoute, ne laissant qu'une démangeaison dans ses pensées, ne pouvant pas y mettre son doigt.

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

Pensées et sentiments sont deux monstres différents, Sana a dit qu'elle était assise là, atteignant et pattant Epona un moment pour l'encourager sur. « Même lorsque les pensées de difficultés et de négativité sont repoussées ou même oubliées, la douleur peut rester. Comme le sentiment fantôme d'un membre perdu il y a longtemps », a-t-elle ajouté avant de respirer, laissant entrer l'air frais dans ses sens. « On ne peut pas chercher la logique dans les chambres du cœur », a dit Sana à la légère alors qu'elle regardait vers lui. "Si nous pouvions, il n'y aurait pas besoin de telles discussions." Prendre un moment et décider de changer le sujet. "Je sais pourquoi je couvre mes traits, mais pourquoi couvrez-vous les vôtres?" Elle a demandé à se déplacer vers son casque. "Ou la réponse est-elle évidente? Juste en cas d'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.

Derrix a ouvert la bouche pour réfuter son observation, mais elle avait déjà changé le sujet, donc il a senti qu'il était sage de le laisser tomber. Il a tapé son casque une fois avec le bord de son bouclier puisque ses mains étaient pleines, la protection. Et votre capuche?Derrix a répondu à la question.

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

Donc l'évidente, Sana s'est légèrement glissé à sa réponse, secouant un peu la tête avec la réponse. "Quant à moi, plusieurs raisons. Le plus évident est le froid dans l'air. Je suppose que la deuxième option la plus claire est de garder les expressions cachées quand j'ai choisi, donc mon propre type de protection », a-t-elle dit avant qu'elle ne lève un petit sourcil, il arqué comme elle regardait vers lui hors du coin de son oeil. « Je me demande si j'ai besoin de la protection en ce moment », a-t-elle entendu parler à haute voix avant de continuer. « C'est ça, dit-elle, qu'elle a atteint le col de sa chemise et l'a tiré un peu sur le côté pour révéler les brûlures fraîches qui se sont parsemées d'un côté de son menton, dans son cou et ont disparu sous sa chemise au-dessus de son épaule et dans son dos. Ils semblaient avoir été guéris quelque peu, mais comme si ce que la magie avait jamais utilisé pour les guérir avait été défectueux ou même tout simplement inachevé. La sœur avait fait de son mieux la nuit précédente, mais Sana avait tant de dégâts, les brûlures étaient les dernières à être soignées et, par conséquent, il n'y avait plus rien à faire que de les sceller et d'arrêter l'infection. Sana pouvait gérer les cicatrices, elle n'avait jamais été une pour se soucier de son apparence. Malheureusement, Sana aurait dû apprendre à vivre avec un autre élément de la brûlure qui n'avait pas été tendu, la douleur d'eux restait. Abaissant la main, elle a ajusté son col et a légèrement redressé le capot de son manteau. « Avoir l'habitude de s'y habituer peut prendre un certain temps », dit-elle d'une voix douce alors qu'elle s'emparait une fois de plus des règnes.

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 regarda ses brûlures et ses yeux scintillent comme des bougies derrière son casque, que vous pensiez ou non que vous deviez me cacher des expressions est à vous, de toute façon, je ne juge pas. Quant aux cicatrices physiques, il a dit clairement, comme s'il l'avait pensé plusieurs fois, j'aime penser que tout le monde les a, au point qu'il n'y a pas beaucoup d'usage pour les cacher.

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 se moquait légèrement de ses paroles, pas de lui, mais de la situation en général. « Oui, je sais », dit-elle d'une voix de cœur léger, la première avec laquelle elle avait parlé de temps en temps. "Les cicatrices ne me dérangent pas, la douleur prendra un moment pour s'adapter. Cela ou peut-être que j'aurai assez de chance et il neigera », a-t-elle dit en regardant les nuages qui roulent depuis le matin. Ils sont devenus plus sombres et plus foncés à chaque instant passé, le soleil étant maintenant complètement bloqué par eux et une ombre est tombée sur les terres. «Grâce, ma chance n'a pas été exactement en ma faveur depuis tard», a-t-elle dit en regardant en arrière vers le chemin qui se trouvait devant eux. La pluie venait, elle espérait que ça ne durerait pas longtemps. Trouver un camp était une chose, trouver un endroit où rester sec pendant la nuit était une autre chose. Sana avait une tente et elle pensait que d'autres l'avaient fait, mais elle doutait que chaque personne en avait une et qu'il y avait aussi les chevaux à penser.

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.

Mortosh s'était mis dans une position confortable dans le wagon avec son capot levé et sa tête se reposant contre le dos des sièges du conducteur Zam se reposait dans son trou hideux gémissant dans la douleur grâce à une douleur d'estomac de manger à beaucoup "Te t'as pas à manger tellement Zam" Mortosh a dit alors qu'il regardait vers le bas dans la poche que Zam résidait en lui juste regardé vers le haut et a dit "Fuck Off Mort" "Langues Zam tu peux avoir deux cent ans mais cela ne signifie pas que tu peux utiliser ce genre de langue avec moi" Zam vient de hocher sa tête dans le désintérêt ce n'est pas la première fois que Mortosh l'a critiquée pour avoir juré "Tu crois que tu peux voler et dire quelque chose à Tobias pour moi?" "Pas le vol, mais je peux lui dire, mais tu m'auras élevé jusqu'à lui" Mortosh Noté sa tête et a pris Zam et a doucement placé son épaule Tobias "Uh Tobias était là? Uh Mortosh dit qu'il peut prendre le volant pendant les nuits car il n'a pas besoin de dormir" Zam a expliqué au voleur twitchy "Voulez-vous aussi que je me repose ici? Il devient un peu étouffant dans Mortosh's Pocket"

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 soleil se lève, le soleil se couche et est remplacé par la lune qui suit. Les jours, les saisons... le temps continue. Melvus a reconnu la sanctification de la veille, il ne l'avait pas réalisé à l'époque, il ne sait toujours pas de qui elle provenait. C'était le bruit de la perte, il l'avait entendu assez pendant qu'il luttait pour qu'Esil sache ce que c'était. Ça aurait pu être un villageois... Mais il courait le risque d'être l'un de ses compagnons, ce serait très troublant. Qui auraient-ils perdu? Et pourquoi ne l'ai-je pas reconnu plus tôt... Le vagabond avait déjà fini son repas et a fait son chemin à l'extérieur de l'établissement, les autres membres de leur groupe semblaient prêts à quitter le village et finalement se sont mis à trouver le reste des ingrédients qui pourraient sauver les enfants de leur maladie de la cendre, avant qu'ils ne brûlent au moins. Nous avons acquis l'enfer de fang... c'est un article avec lequel nous n'aurons pas besoin de nous embêter... Melvus avait sa liste du magasin, toujours caché dans son manteau. Aile des yeux Plume de Pegasus Griffe d'Hellhound Whisky de Gnoll Sang de Mist Dragon L'assistant a décroché la liste. Sana a probablement déjà tracé quels articles nous acquérons et où ses pensées ont été interrompues par l'aubergiste. L'homme a saisi la main de Melvus et l'a secoué furieusement en remerciement pour son service au village jusqu'à présent. Avant qu'il ne puisse répondre, l'homme était sur le prochain membre du parti. Il a pris connaissance du wagon après le départ de Sana. Tout semble se passer si vite... pas une chance de s'interroger sur les choses... je suppose que je vais aller où le vent m'emmène... c'était à peu près quand il a remarqué le vent, son manteau et ses robes planant sur le froid mais son visage a été découvert. Il a trouvé son cheval, attaché à un poteau près de l'auberge. Il a marché la bête à la simple, mais grande charrette et l'a attaché à l'un des rails de dos sur la charrette. Il monta alors à bord, l'homme, Tobias, prit les rênes du chariot et, comme tout le monde montait et montait, ils partirent. Il n'a pas fallu longtemps pour que Melvus se sente somnolent, mais il ne voulait pas s'endormir, il voulait plutôt parler avec ses compagnons et apprendre à mieux les connaître - ils devraient se connaître s'ils vont se battre les uns les autres. Assis sur le banc près de l'avant du chariot, son cheval trottinant par derrière, Melvus a parlé. Vaeri, c'est ça? Un elfe aidant les humains? Je ne veux pas manquer de respect, je suis simplement curieux.

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Bien sûr, ma chère Elfe, Tobias a répondu quand Vaeri s'est assis à côté de lui. "Où ça? Allons-nous visiter les bois émeraudes de l'Extrême-Orient, où les fées dansent au crépuscule? Ou les plaines enneigées du nord, où il est dit que les cieux eux-mêmes peuvent ouvrir la nuit leurs veines pour notre merveille? Dois-je t'essayer à un désert lointain du sud, et t'habiller comme une princesse exotique en soies et bijoux mal acquis? Ou peut-être les mers saphirs, où je surpasserai les sirènes et tuerai de grands léviathans en votre honneur?" Le voleur a gâché. "Désolé. Les citadins adorent cette merde." Tobias poussa vers les chevaux pour suivre Fiona, et le voyage commença. La rogue n'était pas un grand voyageur - il n'avait jamais ressenti l'appel de la seule route dans ses os. Au cours de la semaine dernière, cependant, il avait trouvé un antidote à l'ennui de la route, à savoir, parler de l'oreille de Fiona. Avec le reste de la fête tout autour, il semblait juste qu'ils partagent la diatribe. Peut-être que la compagnie était bonne pour quelque chose, il pensait très bien. "Alors. Quelqu'un a attrapé le nom du cheval? Il me fait flipper. Comme s'il ne nous disait rien. Je parie que c'est un espion secret, peut-être qu'il travaille pour le dragon de la brume? Qu'est-ce qu'un dragon brumeux? Est-ce un dragon qui vit dans la brume? Qu'arrive-t-il aux jours secs, alors? Ou peut-être un dragon fait de brouillard? Mais alors comment le tuerions-nous? C'est probablement juste un dragon de la couleur de la brume - les gens sont toujours si poétiques sur les monstres, ils ne voulaient tout simplement pas l'appeler "dragon bleu clair-gris". J'ai parlé à un dragon une fois, tu sais. C'était alors que j'étais en train de cambrioler ses aventures hordes pour un voleur aussi entreprenant que moi. C'était vraiment un charmant gars, en plus d'essayer de me manger. Il s'avère que l'astuce avec les dragons est de faire appel à leur ego - ce sont d'énormes créatures narcissiques, naturellement. Non pas que tu saches quoi que ce soit à ce sujet. Alors, qu'est-il arrivé à l'enfant? On aurait dû l'emmener. J'aurais pu l'élever avec de bonnes vertus, comme l'égoïsme! J'aurais pu lui apprendre à grimper des choses, mentir aux gens, voler des choses, Vaeri aurait pu lui apprendre la magie de la forêt, Hanzo pourrait lui montrer son étrange coup de poing, Fiona pourrait lui montrer quelle fin de l'épée est la pointue, Hugh pourrait faire... quelque chose... Quand est le déjeuner? Je savais que j'aurais dû prendre plus de nourriture avec moi. Je pourrais m'habituer à ça, juste faire la queue et choisir ce que je veux manger gratuitement. Comment ça s'appelle? Un buff-et? Peut-être qu'après être devenus riches et célèbres aventuriers, rois et reines nous inviteront à buff-ets dans leurs palais. J'adore les palais. Ça me rappelle le moment où j'ai volé la couronne dorée d'émeraude d'un roi maléfique en prétendant être un diseur de fortune! Ah, des souvenirs." La fée s'est emparée et a apporté un message au voleur. "Oh. Dites à notre cher ami parti qu'il peut certainement conduire la charrette, à condition qu'il promette de ne pas manger mon cerveau. Ou n'importe quelle partie de moi. Et, euh... Bien sûr, tu peux faire la sieste ici si tu veux, petit... "C'est un truc."

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

Melvus n'était pas sûr si l'elfe l'a entendu au-dessus du conducteur. Quelque chose sur les dragons et les voleurs, en tout cas - le sorcier n'a pas compris l'homme. Moi aussi, j'ai rencontré un dragon, il n'a pas essayé de me manger. Pas moi en particulier, c'était un village. Ce village a brûlé bien que... il n'y avait pas beaucoup de choses que je pouvais faire, franchement je ne suis pas habitué à combattre les dragons. Mais oui, je lui ai parlé brièvement, plutôt narcissique, tout semblait être sur lui-même et tout ce que j'ai dit, il ne semblait pas entendre ou se soucier. Bien que cela puisse être que ma voix ne pouvait vraiment pas dominer la sienne., Il a pris un souffle, en supposant qu'il pourrait demander à l'elfe à nouveau dans l'avenir si elle ne l'avait en effet pas entendu. Mais oui, un dragon de brume est fait de brume. Nous pourrions vouloir trouver des potions qui respirent de l'eau ou quelque chose de similaire avant d'y faire face - il pourrait facilement nous noyer.

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Je suis un Petal a répondu Zam qui a été un peu bafoué à Tobias pour avoir pensé que Mortosh tenterait à son cerveau "Vous n'avez pas à vous soucier de ce Mortosh ne ferait pas cela même s'il ne pouvait pas je ne pense pas que vous remarquez mais il manque une mâchoire inférieure" elle a dit avant qu'elle se leva et mis son oreille contre la tête de Tobias tapoté sur elle puis tiré en arrière et a dit avec un grincheux "À côté il semble qu'il n'y a pas beaucoup pour lui à manger" Elle s'est ensuite couchée sur l'épaule de Tobias avec le sourire "Est-ce que l'un d'entre vous a une histoire intéressante à raconter?"

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

Derrix a regardé le ciel et a tendu ses yeux, J'aimerais qu'il neige aussi. Il regarda vers le bas le Charroux blanc, dont les oreilles se déchiraient à l'air humide qui se formait. Naturellement, il aspirait dans un souffle pour tester l'air lui-même, mais bien sûr, tout ce qu'il a récupéré était de la lavande épaisse. Son nez chatouillait et il fronça, soulevant son grand casque sur son menton et le reposant sur le pont de son nez alors qu'il laissait sortir un éternuement soudain. Son nez balayait la liberté et alors que l'air se précipitait dans ses narines après l'éternuement, la riche saveur de la pluie dansait dans ses sens.

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

Bénis toi, Sana dit d'une voix aimable comme il éternuait, regardant vers lui un moment avant de regarder de nouveau loin. Ils avaient déjà voyagé une bonne partie de la journée, passant le temps avec la conversation et des moments de silence. Il n'avait pas été une mauvaise expérience et heureusement autre que la tempête entrante il semblait que les choses étaient plutôt calmes. Respirant, Sana remarqua l'odeur de brûlure et tourna la tête; voyant une tour blanche de fumée bien au loin et légèrement derrière eux. Il a été laissé de l'incendie qu'elle avait commencé la veille, comme s'il avait finalement brûlé. Ils étaient maintenant au vent des restes du feu, de sorte que l'odeur des cendres tournoyait avec la pluie à venir. « Guess nous sommes à la moitié de notre objectif pour la journée », a-t-elle commenté alors qu'elle reculait dans les rênes et faisait arrêter Epona au milieu de la route. En revenant, elle a creusé dans son sac qu'elle avait attaché à l'arrière de sa selle pendant quelques instants avant de se redresser une fois de plus. En tirant quelques articles, elle a étendu des viandes séchées à Derrix. « Ne serait-ce pas une mauvaise idée de manger un petit quelque chose au fur et à mesure que nous continuons », a-t-elle dit d'une bonne voix.

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 complètement levé son casque et l'a reposé sur ses genoux. Il a clignoté quelques fois ses yeux dorés, s'adaptant à la vue plus large et plus brillante qui était auparavant restreinte par la visière de son casque. Il a accroché son bouclier sur un crochet de métal sur la selle, reposant son bras de bouclier pendant qu'il s'étendait pour recevoir le cadeau de Sana. Il a mis la nourriture dans sa bouche et l'a rapidement mâchée avant d'avaler. Le sel assaisonna sa bouche sèche, et donna un coup de pied à son estomac qui se vide lentement. Merci, il s'est contenté d'avoir hurlé. Il s'est redressé et s'est serré l'épaule en entrant dans un sac en cuir attaché au croupion de Charroux. Il a sorti une peau d'eau et a pris une petite balançoire de liquide encore froid avant de l'étendre silencieusement à Sana.

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

Oh, s'il te plaît ne lui demande pas de raconter une histoire, Fiona gémit de devant, regardant de nouveau la petite chose, le Petal comme elle s'appelait, sur Tobias. "Tu n'as aucune idée de ce que tu veux." Elle ne pensait pas qu'elle le serait au début, mais Fiona s'était en fait habituée à ce que le voleur parle presque constamment sur la route. Ce n'est que les premiers jours que Fiona s'est sentie obligée de dire quelque chose en retour. À un moment donné, elle a commencé à comprendre que ce n'était qu'un mécanisme du sien, un réflexe qui a donné un coup de pied lors d'un voyage, et bien d'autres fois. D'une manière ou d'une autre, ça ne l'a plus dérangée. "Nous camperons pour les nuits, donc pas de chariot dans le noir. Plus sûr comme ça, et même si certains d'entre nous n'ont pas besoin de repos, les chevaux le font." Espérons que Sana et Derrix trouveraient une place décente pour eux, avant qu'ils n'atteignent le village suivant. Coulant sur Hugh, sur le côté et se tenant à l'écart, Fiona a ouvert un de ses paquets et a récupéré la pomme la plus belle qu'elle ait pu trouver, parmi les quelques-unes qu'elle avait attrapées. En trottant lentement son cheval jusqu'à la portée du bras de Hugh, elle s'arrêta à côté de lui, tenant la pomme dans sa main. "La faim?" Elle avait remarqué son... triste, peut-être qu'on pourrait l'appeler, comportement, et puisque les autres semblaient bien faire la conversation sur le wagon, elle pensait qu'il serait prudent de le surveiller. "Tu sais, si tu t'inquiètes pour Sana, je suis sûr qu'elle ira bien. Vous deux avez de bons chevaux, et elle est très capable, tout comme Derrix." L'invitation à lui parler son esprit a été laissée sans réponse, mais là tout de même. Encore une fois, Fiona n'avait pas envie d'essayer là où elle n'était pas voulue, mais elle n'était rien si elle n'était pas une amie et auditeur, surtout pour ceux qu'elle soupçonnait en avoir besoin.

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.

Sana l'a regardé enlever son casque, pour la première fois en prenant son apparence. Il ne ressemblait à personne avec qui elle avait eu affaire dans le passé, mais cela n'avait pas d'importance pour elle. Une dans le groupe qu'elle regardait comme un ami et il était peut-être le plus étrange à regarder hors d'eux. En repensant au groupe, elle a modifié son opinion quelque chose. Peut-être pas l'un des personnages les plus étranges, mais sûrement l'un des plus différents de leur groupe d'aventuriers. Elle s'inclina légèrement à ses remerciements alors qu'il prenait la nourriture et la mangeait rapidement. « Bien sûr, dit-elle en s'asseyant là-bas avant de lui prendre la peau d'eau et de la lever légèrement en remerciement. « Et merci, » dit-elle d'une voix reconnaissante avant de prendre un verre, laissant le liquide frais se laver sur son palais avant de l'abaisser une fois de plus et de le lui remettre. Elle pressa ses talons dans Épona et continua sur son chemin; une main sur les rênes rassemblées et l'autre tenant sa propre nourriture, prenant de petites bouchées ici et là pendant qu'ils voyageaient. "D'où venez-vous? Si je ne le fais pas en demandant », demanda-t-elle. Il semblait être une personne intéressante à un certain niveau et puisqu'ils voyageraient ensemble à travers cette aventure, elle voulait en apprendre un peu plus sur celle qui était à côté d'elle.

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.

Vous êtes le bienvenu, il a souri. Alors que les chevaux se déplaçaient une fois de plus, Derrix glissa son casque épais, manquant immédiatement l'odeur de la pluie. Il a léché sa langue à travers ses dents, en prenant le dernier du sel. Il regarda Sana alors qu'elle interrogeait son origine. Une terre très lointaine, a dit Derrix avec une voix creuse, et toi? Vous venez d'un lieu de neige?

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

Eh bien, ce n'est pas mystérieux, a dit Sana d'une voix douce et puis légèrement ébranlé. -- D'où je viens, je ne sais pas, répondit-elle en repensant à son enfance. « Je viens d'une troupe itinérante de gitans appelée The Rawn », a-t-elle admis. "Nous avons voyagé de ville en ville et de ville en ville pour autant que je me souvienne. Parfois, nous étions là où la neige est tombée profondément et les vents ont coupé à votre os. D'autres fois, nous serions là où les sables arrachés à travers votre peau comme il a brûlé en raison de la chaleur. On n'est jamais restés dans un endroit trop longtemps. Mon espèce n'a jamais été regardée favorablement par ce que l'on appelle la société civilisée », a-t-elle dit, comme elle s'est souvenue de nombreuses fois lorsque sa famille a été chassée d'une ville juste pour leur simple présence. Il n'a pas fait pour les conditions les plus stables de grandir dans, mais il était une qu'elle a trouvé excitant comme une enfant. C'était jusqu'à ce qu'elle s'éducât assez pour savoir quelle était sa place dans la troupe et il semblait alors que peu importe jusqu'où ils voyageaient ou quelles vues ils voyaient qu'elle était emprisonnée à une vie qui ne serait jamais vraiment libre. « J'ai quitté cette vie il y a longtemps, mais il est étrange que peu importe la distance que l'on voyage, ils semblent toujours revenir là où la vie a décidé il y a longtemps qu'ils devraient être », a-t-elle ajouté dans un ton légèrement sombre. -- Alors, homme d'un pays lointain, qu'est-ce qui vous en amène si loin? Elle s'enquiert alors qu'ils pressaient.

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 hoche soigneusement les mots de Sana, prenant ce qu'elle avait à dire, jusqu'à ce qu'elle demande comment il a fini ici. Un petit rire si rare à Derrix arraché de sa gorge, parfois je me demande la même chose. Je suppose que la meilleure façon de le dire est que j'ai obtenu le bout court d'un long bâton, et par coïncidence il m'a poussé si loin de la maison. Parfois, je me sens mal au pays, mais comme vous l'avez dit, la vie a notre parcours tracé pour nous, derrrix a dit de déplacer sa voix d'un ton léger et réfléchi à un baryton de conclusion, debesides, car maintenant ma seule préoccupation est d'achever mes devoirs à cette quête.

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 hissé dans la compréhension, pas tant de compréhension est passé ou ce qui l'a amené là-bas, mais peut-être un peu de clarté à qui il était; qui lui semblait être une personne assez compliquée mais puis, encore une fois, n'était pas la plupart si vous avez pris assez de temps pour apprendre à les connaître. « C'est vrai », a-t-elle fait remarquer en référence à la vie ayant tracé un chemin pour nous. -- Peu importe ce que nous voulons, semble-t-il. S'accrochant à ses paroles qui suivirent, elle regarda vers lui. « Être concentré sur la tâche actuelle peut être une chose sage, mais a-t-elle été votre seule préoccupation? Cela ne vous laisse - t - il pas vide à la fin d'une tâche avant qu'une autre ne vous soit présentée? Une lacune dans l'existence même des uns? Rien pour relier une tâche à la suivante? Qu'est-ce que tu fais alors?" Elle a demandé un peu perplexe. Sana a vécu sa vie depuis qu'elle a quitté sa troupe errant d'un endroit à l'autre, avec peu d'orientation ou de but autre que de vivre et de profiter de la vie, mais pour elle qui a été assez. Les gens qu'elle avait rencontrés, les aventures qu'elle avait eues, ils ont tous contribué à ce qu'elle était devenue, autant que ceux qui l'avaient élevée, peut-être encore plus. Bien que sa principale préoccupation ait été à l'époque de terminer une tâche, chacun a été tissé avec l'autre en attendant avec impatience les voyages entre les deux et en voyant quelque chose de nouveau. Elle ne pouvait pas imaginer ce que ce serait d'avoir une seule préoccupation à la fois, peut-être était-il libérateur de ne pas se concentrer sur plus d'une chose à la fois.

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 fronça et regarda Sana, le mal du pays. Entre mes tâches, j'attends de rentrer chez moi, sa voix avait changé à celle de la pensée, et si je peux aider autant de personnes que je peux avant de me reposer par les feux de ma maison et sentir le confort de mon propre lit, alors soit-il, tout sera mieux pour elle.

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

Je ne peux pas prétendre savoir ce que ça fait, a admis Sana. Elle n'a jamais vraiment eu de maison ou d'endroit pareil. Grandissant, elle voyageait et les nuits, ils dormaient dans des wagons et même les wagons étaient comme une maison sur roues qu'elle avait quittée il y a longtemps. Il y a eu des moments où elle a voulu le son d'un violon et des moments où elle a manqué certains membres de sa famille qu'elle n'avait pas vus depuis tant d'années, mais elle n'a pas voulu appeler ce mal du pays par toute l'imagination. "Comment est votre patrie?" Elle a demandé, un peu intriguée à ce que c'était puisque c'était quelque part où elle ne s'était pas aventurée avant dans sa vie.

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.

Peut-être trouverons-nous les côtes cristallines des mers au Nord. Vaeri a dit, jouant avec sa personnalité d'être un héros idéalisé qui a fait ce genre d'aventure régulièrement. Ou trouvez un bosquet magique rempli de créatures dont vous n'entendez parler que dans la légende qui peut vous enseigner les secrets de la nature. Ou nous irons sur une grotte sombre contenant une hydra sauvage. Au début, vous seriez presque submergé par les nombreuses têtes, mais vous comprendrez bientôt qu'en coupant chacune des têtes et en brûlant les souches que la bête tombera. La piste est à vous, Sir Tobias." Vaeri sourit étonnamment quand Tobias s'excusa et mentionna que les citadins aimaient ses mots romantiques de haute aventure et de trésor. Patiemment, elle a attendu que Tobias termine sa brique improvisée de questions avant de revenir pour répondre à la question de Melvus. "Est-ce vraiment si étrange pour moi d'aider les humains? Je suis une femme de foi, nos races n'ont pas d'importance pour moi. Une personne dans le besoin mérite mon aide." Vaeri s'est arrêté un moment avant de continuer. "Peut-être vous posiez des questions sur la raison pour laquelle je voyage même. Je suis en mission de Dieu. Je cherche un homme avec deux mains droites." Vaeri a levé les deux mains dans l'air pour mettre l'accent. "Ma déesse m'a ordonné de sortir et de le trouver. Et je l'ai été depuis 3 décennies. J'espère que vous répondrez de manière satisfaisante à votre question.» Vaeri se retourna pour affronter Tobias à nouveau, prenant une profonde respiration. "Et pour vous, l'homme sur l'aile blanche s'appelle Derrrix Nightbane Herchiv. J'ai eu une conversation prolongée avec lui hier soir. Il semble être un homme secret, mais avec une profonde compréhension de la spiritualité. Je ne crois pas qu'il cache quelque chose de malveillant, mais c'est une chose que nous ne pouvons jamais vraiment savoir. Il n'a pas l'air de partager son passé. Je suis presque sûr qu'il n'a aucun lien avec les dragons que nous pourrions rencontrer. Moi-même, je ne sais pas ce qu'est un Mist Dragon, mais la définition de Melvus semble correcte. La plupart des dragons sont classés par leur couleur, qu'il s'agisse d'une couleur unie comme le rouge ou métallique comme le bronze, de sorte que votre point sur l'appeler un dragon bleu-gris clair est sans objet. Si vous aviez l'occasion de parler au dragon, je crois que vous voleriez le dragon, mais sans doute vous avez réussi à échapper à ses terribles attaques respiratoires avec ruse de votre part, se rétrécissant en évitant qu'il se gâte avec beaucoup de son or à la main. Peut-être quelques pierres précieuses? Cependant, je garderai vos conseils à l'esprit si je rencontre un autre dragon sur mes voyages. Je crois que Sana a quitté Arianna avec Soeur Agnes pendant qu'on voyage. Après tout, ce sera dangereux, et aucun endroit pour une jeune fille comme elle. Je ne préférerais pas qu'un jeune soit blessé ou tué à cause de notre insouciance. Je suis sûr que vous seriez un parent bienveillant, mais je doute que la plupart des autres voudraient que de telles vertus soient imprimées sur elle. Bien que j'aimerais être si talentueuse que de pouvoir enseigner la magie arcane aux gens, je n'ai pas la tête pour ça. Ma magie est divine dans la nature, pas bien, naturelle. Je ne serais capable d'en encadrer qu'un avec une foi comme la mienne." Vaeri s'est arrêté un instant pour respirer. "Je suppose que le déjeuner est dans environ 4 ou 5 heures. Je ne connais pas votre terme pour cela, mais nous avons une chose similaire dans mon village que nous avons appelé vasa'loki. Elle se traduit à peu près par « Un serpent de nourriture ». Ils sont grands à l'occasion, mais il devient vieux et gaspillé si fait trop souvent. Je pense que les rois et les reines ont simplement leurs serviteurs à préparer un repas de ce qu'ils veulent manger au lieu de créer de longues lignes de nourriture qu'ils ne mangeront pas tous eux-mêmes. Je trouve les palais trop pierreux à mon goût. Je préfère me tenir debout et être entouré de terre et de flore, pas de roches coupées. Je suppose que la couronne du roi contenait un joyau magique qui lui donnait injustement le pouvoir de gouverner, et en la prenant, vous avez libéré le peuple de sa main tyrannique. Ce n'est qu'un homme de ton calibre. Autre chose que vous voudriez discuter, Sir Tobias?"

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 était profond dans la pensée, sa pipe toujours fermement placé dans sa bouche pendant qu'il soufflait loin à elle. Sa retraite de la réalité fut soudainement interrompue par la présence de Fiona, la femme guerrière. Il a levé les yeux, il a hurlé en reconnaissance de son offre. Il s'est griffé le menton pendant un moment, puis a tendu la main, l'étirant autant qu'il le fallait. "Merci!" Il l'a arraché de sa main et l'a mordu. "Délicieux." Elle lui accorda alors quelques mots réconfortants, qui ne suffiraient pas, car il ne s'inquiétait pas de sa sécurité. Il était perplexe par la façon dont elle semblait l'ignorer. Il n'en avait aucune idée, mais il n'arrêtait pas de l'écraser dans sa tête. "Ce n'est pas sa sécurité." Il soupira, "Je suis juste confuse pourquoi elle ne m'a pas parlé. A peine même reconnu moi." Il a dit tout cela d'un ton plutôt glauque, monotone et déprimant. Avec une pensée rapide, il a pris sa pipe de sa bouche et l'a atteint jusqu'à Fiona, "Voudriez-vous? C'est du bon tabac!" Il a dit avec un sourire amical. Ce n'était pas complètement forcé, mais ses pensées le dérangeaient définitivement pour l'instant. Pendant ce temps, il prenait de petites bouchées de la pomme alors qu'il attendait sa réponse à son offre.

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.

Alors elle m'a entendu... "Une mission de Dieu, vous dites? Trouver un homme avec deux mains droites? C'est plutôt intéressant... j'aimerais voir cet homme... peut-être s'enquérir de ses doubles appendices - sont-ils tous les deux de son côté droit? Ou ses deux pouces sont-ils à gauche? En parlant de cela, a-t-il aussi une main gauche? ─ Il a pris un souffle, espérant qu'il n'était pas trop harcelé, il pourrait probablement être vu sur son visage. Même si vous n'avez peut-être pas reçu toutes ces informations... Il a pensé un moment, à rien en particulier, mais il n'en a pas moins pensé. Moi-même, je cherche ma famille depuis longtemps... Le sorcier pensait que celui qui voyageait tant pouvait peut-être éclairer leur situation. Il y a une quinzaine d'années, tout mon village a disparu à l'exception de moi-même, il y en avait peut-être d'autres, mais s'il y en avait eu, ils étaient partis avant que je ne les remarque... J'ai cherché depuis. Les perdre... ça m'a changé... d'habitude je ne suis pas du genre à continuer à parler comme ça... mais j'ai pensé que j'aurais demandé si tu aurais pu voir quelque chose comme ça avant? Dans vos voyages... un village entier, trois mille personnes, disparaissant toute la nuit...

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Fiona a laissé un court "uh" s'échapper en se voyant offrir la pipe, avant qu'elle ne se retrouve en train de l'accepter, sentant pour quelque raison que ce soit qu'il serait impoli de ne pas l'accepter. C'était une habitude à elle, vraiment, être incapable de refuser poliment les gens qui essayaient d'être gentils. Prenant la pipe, elle s'enflamma brièvement, révélant immédiatement qu'elle n'avait pas pris l'habitude de fumer par la façon dont elle toussait légèrement, puis la remit, un peu d'un sourire embarrassé en place sur ses lèvres. « Merci, » a-t-elle réussi, prenant un moment pour se recueillir, et donner sa réponse une certaine réflexion. C'était un terrain difficile à parcourir, peu sûr de ce qui serait trop loin à supposer, trop loin à dire. Mais il était assez évident pour elle qu'il était dans une sorte de douleur, et Sana était clairement, aussi. Fiona n'avait pas beaucoup d'expérience dans les relations; jusqu'à présent, aucune de ses relations n'avait duré tant de temps, pas plus qu'elles n'avaient beaucoup d'aventure en jeu, étant donné le manque d'expérience dans la vie du village. Elle ne savait pas si elle pouvait aider, mais elle pouvait essayer. "Eh bien... elle a traversé beaucoup de choses hier. Elle vous l'a dit, n'est-ce pas? Après le combat avec l'Anti-Paladin?" Fiona ne s'en souvenait pas parfaitement, mais elle pensait avoir vu les deux converser après le combat. Et ils étaient ensemble tout au long de la nuit, donc sûrement il a appris à un moment donné ce qui lui était arrivé. « Je pense que c'est compréhensible, étant donné tout ce qui s'est passé, qu'elle soit plus préoccupée par d'autres choses que de manifester de l'affection. » Fiona a dû comprendre qu'à l'heure actuelle, aussi longtemps qu'ils aient été ensemble, que les deux savaient que l'autre se souciait profondément, et n'avait pas besoin d'une reconnaissance et d'une attention constantes pour le prouver. « En plus de tout, elle a mené ce groupe largué sur ses genoux, et elle fait de son mieux avec ça. La plupart des gens auraient démissionné après ce qui s'est passé hier, mais Sana n'est évidemment pas la plupart des gens." Fiona regarda un moment en avant, dégageant quelques brins de cheveux rouges de son visage quand le vent les poussa dans le chemin. "A mon avis, elle avait besoin de temps pour réfléchir aux choses. Et s'il n'est pas trop audacieux de suggérer, je pense qu'il serait sage pour vous d'avoir une conversation avec elle quand vous aurez une chance. » Elle soupirait doucement. Discuter des relations n'était pas vraiment quelque chose qu'elle pensait faire quand elle s'est réveillée ce matin-là, mais elle voulait aider. "Tu sais... assure-toi qu'elle va bien. Parlez de ce que vous voulez faire. Je suis juste presque sûr que tout va bien se passer. » Franchement, Fiona pensait que c'était un peu égoïste pour lui d'attendre la reconnaissance et l'attention de Sana en ce moment, quand c'était son monde retourné à l'envers hier. Mais elle s'attendait à ce qu'elle n'ait pas vraiment à dire ça.

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.

Il fait froid près des montagnes, chaud à l'intérieur des foyers et des maisons enflammées, et les arbres dominent toutes les plaines centrales, où le champ est aussi inébranlable que le ciel bleu.Derrix a décrit avec satisfaction, l'imaginant tout dans sa tête, et sentant le vent glacial des montagnes qui se sont souvent emparées dans les plaines. Les chevaux les plus grands et les plus forts sont nés là, et leur esprit et leur intelligence sont inégalés jusqu'à ce que je l'ai vu.L'homme a atteint et patté son destin blanc, et le cheval massif reniflé en réponse, comme s'il était d'accord.

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 s'est tournée vers sa droite, face à Melvus de nouveau pour qu'elle puisse lui faire face quand elle a répondu à ses nombreuses questions. « On ne m'en a pas dit plus, mais j'imagine qu'à la place de la main gauche, c'est la droite. En l'état, c'est encore une chose difficile d'essayer de se cacher, si vous essayiez de le faire. » Vaeri a mis quelques secondes à réfléchir à la situation de Melvus. "Cela ne semble pas familier du tout. Je ne peux même pas penser à des histoires religieuses à propos d'un tel événement. Si je devinais ce qui s'est passé, je devrais peut-être l'attacher à une force d'arcane extérieure. J'ai entendu des histoires de magie arcane se déchaîner de façons terribles. Je ne suis pas érudit de telles recherches, donc je peux montrer mon ignorance ici. »

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 sourit doucement alors qu'elle écoutait Derrix décrire sa patrie, on aurait dit que c'était un endroit vraiment magnifique, mais elle avait encore une fois vu de nombreux pays étonnants dans ses voyages. Ce qui rendait la description tellement plus profonde que ce qui était à la surface des mots était la façon dont il en parlait. Il y avait un certain amour qui flottait quand il en parlait, et cela l'a aidée à comprendre, même si seulement un peu, ce que cela signifiait d'avoir une patrie. C'était quelque chose que Sana n'avait jamais eu mais elle pouvait comprendre le tirage. Peut-être que sa patrie pour lui était comme son amour de la chanson et de la musique. C'était juste quelque chose que le cœur pouvait battre. Qu'il s'agisse de ne jamais terminer les champs ou d'une seule note retenue pour être prise sur le vent. Peut-être chez soi dans l'âme, pas dans l'esprit. "C'est joli," dit-elle d'une voix aimable. Même si Sana et Derrrix n'avaient pas beaucoup parlé de ce qui l'ennuyait, la conversation générale avait été agréable et elle a aidé à la mettre plus à l'aise. Il était mystérieux mais sous ce mystère était une gentillesse. C'était quelque chose qu'elle pouvait apprécier. -- Et oui, votre bâton semble vraiment remarquable. Même si je dois me demander si c'est le cheval ou son maître », a-t-elle dit alors qu'elle regardait vers lui. "Peut-être un peu des deux," a-t-elle ajouté avant de regarder autour et de prendre note d'un chemin du côté de la route. "Hrm, je me demande," elle murmura à elle-même alors qu'elle tirait sur les rênes et dirigeait Epona vers la forêt. Après quelques minutes de suivre le chemin, elle s'arrêta et ses lèvres se séparaient comme un doux "wow", échappant à ses lèvres. Juste au-delà de la vue de la route était une grotte naturelle formée qui semblait être coupée dans la face rocheuse non par l'usure du temps mais formé par un seul grand chêne qui a grandi au-dessus de deux falaises et ses racines ont formé le sommet de la grotte elle-même. Les racines s'étendaient au-dessus du sommet et poussaient sur le côté de la roche jusqu'au plancher de la forêt où elles rencontraient un petit étang d'eau à la base. Le sol de la grotte lui-même était couvert d'un lit de cailloux verts luxuriants. « Je pense que cela se fera pour la soirée », a-t-elle dit alors qu'elle regardait vers Derrix. "Qu'en pensez-vous?" Elle a demandé, voulant son avis. Le sentier n'était pas aussi large que la route, mais il suffisait pour le wagon de traverser s'ils étaient prudents et l'ouverture de la grotte était assez grande pour un beau camp de taille sous les racines de l'arbre.

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 pouvait que regarder comme l'elfe assis à côté de lui délibérément, point par point, répondait à chaque partie de sa diatribe. Même après qu'elle ait fini, il est resté silencieux un moment, sa bouche s'ouvrant et se fermant comme un poisson. C'était nouveau. Heureusement, la conversation a continué sans lui pendant un moment, permettant au voleur de s'adapter. Atteindre dans son sac, Tobias a sorti une pomme rouge qu'il avait sauvé du petit déjeuner et en a pris une forte morsure, en parlant avec sa bouche encore pleine. « C'est comme si un magicien l'avait fait », a-t-il dit à Melvus. "Ou des démons. Des zombies? Des malédictions anciennes? Ou, hey, peut-être qu'ils sont tous partis en vacances et que tu as raté le mémo? Tu devrais retourner vérifier. Cette pomme craint. Je connaissais un gars avec ça une fois, Vaeri - attends, non, c'était deux pieds droits. Bien plus normal. Il pouvait à peine marcher, cependant - trébuché et est tombé dans un puits un jour. Les gardes l'ont pêché. Honte, le gamin avait les doigts les plus rapides de tous ceux que j'ai rencontrés, sans me compter. Quelqu'un fume? Ça sent la maison. Il suffit d'ajouter du fumier, des ordures et des corps et je serai en voyage nostalgique." Le voleur s'est tu un instant - assez longtemps pour entendre des éraflures de la conversation entre Hugh et Fiona. "Je ne sais pas, Hugh, tous les hommes n'ont pas une femme qui va complètement jeter tous ses raisonnements et principes moraux et commencer à agir violemment parce que leur amour s'est fait poignarder. Vous avez de la chance. Ou peut-être pas. Ça dépend de la façon dont tu la regardes. En tout cas, je serais plus qu'heureux d'aider si tu as besoin d'aide pour faire la belle fille. Tu es peut-être un peu terrifiant, mais Tobias t'aura un bon amant à l'ancienne en un rien de temps. » Tobias prit une autre bouchée de la pomme, tenant les rênes d'une main et se bourdonnant en regardant la route.

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

Un homme aux deux pieds droits n'aurait-il pas appris à gérer sa déformation depuis qu'il a vécu avec elle toute sa vie? À moins que cela, je crois qu'il utiliserait un bâton de marche pour se donner la capacité de maintenir l'équilibre. Vaeri fixa Tobias, incapable de cacher le muselé sur son visage alors qu'il tentait de consoler Big Brut Pally Hugh sur ses problèmes apparents avec Sana. Elle avait remarqué qu'elle traitait la BBPH différemment aujourd'hui qu'elle l'avait fait la veille, mais les problèmes de relations des autres n'étaient pas quelque chose avec laquelle elle avait pris l'habitude de s'inquiéter. "Et vous, Sir Tobias? Comment avez-vous fini par voyager avec une femme aussi jeune que Fiona? Peut-être est-elle votre protégé, apprenant l'art de la noblesse et de l'aventure de votre part? » Vaeri a fait de son mieux pour éviter de rire ou de sourire trop large comme elle l'a dit. Il n'y avait que si loin qu'elle pouvait prendre la charade avant de craquer après tout.

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.

Derrix a regardé sur la grotte luxuriante extrêmement pratique et puis de retour à Sana, je conseille que nous l'examinons plus près. Il me semble confortable, et dans la nature je ne peux que supposer que je ne suis pas le premier à penser ainsi. L'homme a piétiné Charroux lentement jusqu'à lui avant de se balancer de son grand cheval et d'attacher sa longue lance à la selle, palpitant le pommeau de son épée à la place. L'air humide a commencé à rosser son armure métallique alors qu'il s'approchait lentement de la grotte. Un rasoir lent sonnait alors qu'il lâchait sa lame de couleur ashen de son fourreau de piégeage.

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 hurlé d'accord alors qu'elle a balancé une jambe et a glissé, ses pieds atterrissant doucement dans le lit des cloves. Retirant le capot de son manteau, elle déstitua son arc du dos et enflamma une flèche en place; gardant la pointe de la flèche dirigée vers le bas, elle s'approcha de l'embouchure de la grotte. Ses yeux dardaient alors qu'elle regardait autour de lui, il semblait aller assez profondément en arrière avant que le lit de trèfle ne s'arrête pour pouvoir garder le groupe à l'abri. Il n'arrêtait pas de revenir en arrière alors que le vert cède la place au gris et brun des cailloux et de la saleté. Aucun autre bruit que la goutte d'eau des racines dans le petit étang semblait résonner à travers l'espace. S'élançant vers le haut, Sana a remarqué que les racines semblaient être étroitement enroulées, laissant aucune lumière se briser. « Eh bien, j'espère que quand la pluie viendra, elle nous gardera au sec », a dit Sana alors qu'elle lançait sa flèche dans son carquois. En retournant à Derrix, elle en a mis quelques-uns sur ses lèvres avant d'affliger. « Guess c'est un endroit aussi bon que n'importe quel », a-t-elle remarqué avant de tourner son arc et d'y retourner. Prendre des rênes d'Eponas, elle l'a emmenée à l'étang pour prendre un verre. "Je peux commencer à ramasser du bois pour un feu. Tu veux bien retourner sur la route principale et garder un œil sur le reste? Je crierai s'il y a quelque chose qui arrive », a-t-elle dit alors qu'elle regardait vers lui. "Ou je peux aller attendre et vous pouvez ramasser le bois, ou bien travailler pour moi."

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 glissé son épée dans son fourreau comme la sérénité de la grotte s'est rendue à ses sens. Il tira son casque, polluant l'air de la forêt avec son parfum de lavande et taquinant ses yeux dorés avec la vue de la zone mystique. Silencieusement, il passa devant Sana et retourna à Charroux, en pensant. Il s'assit le casque sur la selle du cheval alors qu'il décrochait la lèvre d'un étui d'étrave attaché au croupion des bêtes, en face des sacs d'approvisionnement. Ses doigts agiles ont rapidement reçu un petit arc composite récourbé de l'étui ainsi qu'une poignée de flèches. Derrix a sucé dans l'air de la forêt, gonflant ses poumons avec elle, longtemps cherché la saveur, et a accroché l'arc autour de son épaule avant de se tourner à Sana, Je vais rester ici et mettre les choses en place, le groupe vous reconnaîtra avant qu'ils ne me font. L'homme s'est tourné vers son cheval et a hoche la tête, tu es avec moi ici ou tu veux aider la dame? L'étalon reniflait à Derrix et marchait jusqu'au petit étang avant de le tremper dans une grande tête blanche avec une vigueur gloutonne. Le casque équilibré sur le cheval s'est effondré sur le sol humide entourant l'eau avec un cran qui a fait rouler les yeux de l'homme. "Lazy," Derrix a dit, ses lèvres formant une ligne non amusée.

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

Très bien, je serai de retour avec le reste du groupe, a-t-elle dit avant de donner une pat douce à Epona. En tournant, elle y laissa son pied à la grotte avec Derrix et commença à marcher vers la route principale; en voyant qu'Epona pouvait se reposer de la porter presque toute la journée. Levant le ciel, elle soupirait légèrement, ce serait une longue et triste soirée, mais j'espère que le matin apportera une journée plus brillante à de nombreux niveaux. Tirant le capot de son manteau vers le haut, elle a jeté des brins d'or en dessous. Le tonnerre roulait à travers la campagne alors qu'elle pressait à travers la forêt, sur le chemin qui menait à la route principale. Le vent fouettant à travers les feuilles comme l'air froid a été ramené de l'atmosphère au sol en dessous; un frisson courant à travers les sens de Sanas alors qu'elle tirait son manteau serré autour de sa forme. Alors qu'elle atteignait la route qu'elle regardait, ce serait quelque temps avant que la partie principale du groupe ne les rattrapât. En regardant vers un arbre, elle a placé un pied devant l'autre; faire un sprint rapide avant qu'elle saute; doigts atteignant et enveloppant autour du membre inférieur d'un érable, son corps arqué pour la tirer autour et en haut. Relâcher sa prise, elle atterrit doucement sur la branche, le mouvement des feuilles est inconcevable en raison des vents qui les traversent déjà. Glissant dans le tronc de l'arbre, elle s'est reposée sur la branche, laissant une jambe s'allonger librement pendant qu'elle s'asseyait là et s'est penchée pour se mettre à l'aise. C'était aussi bien un endroit que n'importe qui pour surveiller, lui permettant une vue claire de la route sans exposer sa propre présence. Reposant sa tête en arrière, elle regarda la route; le vent fit monter la poussière du sentier pendant que la tempête roulait. Une profonde respiration et elle pouvait goûter à la pluie qui venait d'arriver; il serait là avant que le reste du groupe n'arrive à moins qu'ils ne hâtent leur rythme. Sana a utilisé ce temps seul pour penser au jour passé et aux événements qui se sont produits, essayant de trouver où sa vie irait d'ici. Elle savait peu importe combien elle pensait sur le sujet qu'il ne changerait pas le chemin établi avant elle, mais un chemin aveugle fait pour les voyages tendus. Soupirant profondément que ses mains reposaient dans ses genoux, se cachant doucement avec la dentelle de son corset, elle espérait le meilleur mais se préparait au pire. Il n'y avait plus rien qu'elle puisse 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.

Les yeux dorés de Derrix ont vu Sana disparaître sur le chemin du retour à la route principale. Un vent de bruissement de feuille lui brisa le regard, et il se tourna pour regarder quelques feuilles vertes flotter sur le sol. Un sourire simple traversa son visage et se tourna vers son cheval, qui avait submergé la première moitié de son museau dans l'étang. "Don" ne travaille pas trop, "Derrix humour avant de tomber à plat sur son cul avec un fort clan de métal. Entre les berceuses des oiseaux, la sérénité du bosquet et le manque de sommeil, un épuisement engourdissant secoua les sens. Il secoua ses gants de métal et étendit ses doigts nus et cicatrices, laissant la brise fraîche de la tempête les rajeunir. Le sommeil était tentant, mais Derrix a rapidement secoué l'idée même aussi vite qu'il est venu. À vrai dire, l'homme voulait qu'il se dise: «Je ne me souviens pas de la dernière fois où j'ai dormi, mais il connaissait exactement le jour et l'heure, et ce n'était pas là où il était maintenant à temps. Il se souvenait vaguement du choc du sommeil, et comment il enveloppe lentement le corps et l'esprit jusqu'à ce que soudain les yeux s'ouvrent à un nouveau jour, presque comme si magiquement voyageant à une nouvelle aube. Derrix se souvient des petites visions que l'esprit endormi ferait pour amuser la conversation consciente et frapper le matin. Mais surtout, il se rappelait pourquoi ces nuits étaient parties. Un froncement a capturé son visage et il gémit presque aussi silencieusement que le vent pour lui-même. Il leva les mains et les ferma ensemble, se filant les doigts l'un autour de l'autre jusqu'à ce que ses deux mains forment un gros poing. Avec un grognement, il se déplaça sur ses genoux, posa son front contre ses poings, et ferma les yeux. Les lèvres de Derrix se mouvèrent silencieusement alors qu'il chuchotait des mots très familiers. Alors qu'il murmurait, une lumière douce commença à se former au centre de ses mains attachées, comme une berline prête à être nourrie dans un feu. À chaque souffle, il respira de son mot chuchoté sur sa main, la petite lumière s'éclaircit et s'éclaircit, jusqu'à ce qu'en fin de compte, avec un vent de vent et un pouls de lumière, la lumière prit une flamme blanche comme un feu de joie et étendit ses bras, ses épaules et son cou, avant d'entourer sa tête d'une lueur éclatante. Tandis que les derniers mots étaient chuchotés, la lumière se dissout en néant et Derrix ouvrit ses yeux d'or et décrocha ses mains. Tout était le même, sauf pour une abondance d'énergie nouvelle qui a traversé l'homme, comme si, il pensait, il avait une nuit pleine de sommeil. Le temps de ramasser du bois, Derrix se rappela tranquillement alors qu'il se levait lentement, faisant glisser ses gantelets en arrière.

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

Hugh a pris la pipe de sa main, légèrement amusée par son manque d'expérience avec le tabac. Ce n'était rien d'être troublé par; tout le monde n'a pas apprécié la feuille autant que Hugh. Il a toujours eu un effet apaisant sur lui, surtout quand son esprit n'était rien d'autre qu'en paix. "De rien." Il m'a dit de lui remettre la pipe dans la bouche et de la gonfler. La prochaine chose était d'écouter ce qu'elle avait à dire. Il n'avait pas l'intention d'écouter quelqu'un de bien plus jeune que lui, mais la pratique n'a jamais été néfaste. Bien sûr, il n'arrêtait pas de l'écouter et de l'écouter, en prenant la première partie de ce que Sana lui avait dit hier; quelque chose qui, à cause de son comportement à l'époque, il avait subconsciemment rejeté l'idée de réconfort. Il n'avait pas eu l'esprit, alors qu'elle avait fini par parler de la mort en riant, puis rapidement plié la question de la façon dont sa journée avait été. Normalement, quand les gens s'attendaient à des condoléances ou quelque chose qu'ils n'ont pas tendance à mettre fin à leur peine en riant ou en en jetant complètement une question. Hugh avait été mis dans les circonstances regrettables de ces deux en même temps. Il y avait ça, il avait foiré. Pas de pitié. C'est l'heure de payer la pénitence. Hugh serait plus que obligé de parler à Sana dès que possible, bien qu'elle semblait avoir des engagements antérieurs concernant le scoutisme et une conversation avec Tobias le voleur, qu'il n'avait pas une idée sur le sujet. Le vieux combattant est revenu dans la conversation juste à temps pour l'entendre dire "Je suis juste assez sûr que agir comme si tout allait bien ne va pas tout arranger." Il lui a donné un regard confus, pas sûr comment répondre après cette dernière pépite de sagesse. Il l'a laissé tomber et a permis à ses caractéristiques de revenir à la normale. "Oui, j'avais l'intention de lui parler. On dirait qu'elle se rend distante exprès. C'est plus difficile de commencer la conversation." Il a simplement dit. "Mais je le ferai." Après qu'il eut terminé ses paroles, plus de mots suivirent, mais d'une autre source que Fiona le combattant. C'était Tobias le voleur, donnant ses pépites de sagesse à Hugh. Ils ont été accueillis avec la politesse habituelle de Hugh, avec le sourire embarrassant ajouté et un clin d'œil à ses paroles. Son sourire est devenu plus sincère et amusé, après les derniers mots de Tobias. C'était le plus proche de rire de quelque chose que quelqu'un lui a dit le plus longtemps, et de loin a éclairé son humeur. "Je vais bien, mais merci pour l'offre." Il a dit, avec son sourire joyeux étendu 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.

Je ne m'attendais pas à ce que vous sachiez... je pensais que demander pourrait ne pas faire de mal. Melvus ferma les yeux et arrêta de penser un instant. Il n'entendait que le sabotage des sabots et le basculement de la charrette pendant qu'elle rebondissait le long de la route de terre rugueuse. Lentement, il a commencé à permettre à d'autres entrées sensorielles de combler le vide. Les oiseaux chantaient, les voix fanées de ses compagnons en parlant et il n'écoutait pas, le bruit des arbres bruissant dans le vent. Peut-être devrais-je trouver un but..? J'ai perdu mon précédent quand Efrida est devenue reine de Drisbane... je pouvais trouver un nouveau seigneur après ça... ce... Melvus a ouvert les yeux et a vu les nuages sombres dans le ciel, tournant le jour à la nuit. Que dois-je faire ensuite? Le sorcier ne savait pas. Il n'a jamais fait... la plupart de ce qu'il a fait était basé sur sa situation actuelle. S'il devait deviner, après la quête, il devrait en trouver un autre pour se débarrasser de l'impossible et revenir à la réalité du monde. La vie continue... Ce qu'on entend par envoler va s'envoler et ce qui est censé mourir va mourir... Mon village, ma famille - ils sont morts et j'ai besoin de mettre fin à cette décennie et demi, sans fruits, à la recherche... Le vagabond déplacé dans le chariot à une position plus confortable. Non... je ne pourrai jamais mettre fin à la recherche... pas avant de les trouver... ou leurs cadavres où qu'ils soient... Oui... peu importe ce qui mourra, mais ce qui est perdu doit aussi être trouvé ou il restera perdu et oublié pour toujours... Je ne suis pas un dieu, je suis un homme et je le ferai... peu importe le temps qu'il faudra... je les trouverai... Garth lui a tiré le capot sur la tête, le cachant du monde et de ses distractions. Il n'a pas fallu une minute pour qu'il tombe dans le monde des rêves.

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Fiona avait lutté pour cacher une crinière quand Tobias a choisi de se mêler de sa tentative de parler avec Hugh. Elle n'avait aucune idée de comment ça allait se passer avec lui, et ici elle avait essayé de faire de son mieux pour être douce et éviter tout ce qui pourrait être un sujet sensible. Il s'est avéré qu'elle n'avait pas besoin d'être inquiète, comme Hugh semblait le brosser assez facilement. C'était bien. Cependant, il ne semblait pas très intéressé par ce qu'elle avait à dire. Elle pensait qu'elle l'avait surpris en train de vérifier mentalement pour la plupart de ce qu'elle a dit, ce qui la rendait un peu maladroite. Des efforts ont été faits pour aider, du moins. S'il ne se souciait pas de son opinion, c'était son choix. Elle pensait que c'était stupide d'attendre le contraire. Elle était encore trop jeune, ou quelque chose dans ce sens. Au moins, il allait parler à Sana, maintenant qu'elle avait pris le temps d'évacuer sa tête. Ce n'était pas le problème de Fiona, et elle n'avait pas l'intention d'en faire son problème. De retour aux côtés de Tobias et de la charrette, elle a pris la fin de la question de Vaeri et s'est préparée à rouler les yeux sur la réponse de Tobias. La réponse n'était pas si mauvaise, même si elle doutait que Tobias la fournirait. "Nous devrions prendre le rythme un peu, je pense," Fiona a suggéré, regardant les nuages à venir. "Si nous voulons trouver un abri avant d'être trempés, c'est-à-dire."

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.

Et le groupe se retrouve une fois de plus voustu.be/35EfY2yBiv8 Les minutes tictées par chaque si lentement que Sana était perchée dans l'arbre, une jambe l'a tirée à la poitrine avec les bras enveloppés autour. La tête de Sanas se repose sur son genou alors qu'elle garde toujours vigilante sur la route vers le sud ; attendant, attendant toujours qu'ils entrent en vue. L'autre jambe s'enfonça avec le vent, les nuages bloquant le soleil au fur et à mesure de l'obscurité du grain. La pluie a commencé un rap doux contre les feuilles; robinet de robinet pouvait entendre percussionner contre la verrière tendre au-dessus. La poutre de gouttelettes tombant au sol en dessous, la couleur crème légère de la route se tournant rapidement à une riche teinte d'acajou que la pluie a saturé les grains de terre. Sana a incliné la tête en arrière en tirant le capot de son manteau loin, laissant l'eau couler à des caractéristiques. La tempête semblait imiter le maelstrom au sein d'elle et son esprit dérive à un air d'il y a si longtemps que les sons de la pluie ont été portés à ses oreilles. Relever sa main essuyait l'humidité qui s'accrochait à sa peau exposée comme un soupir chuchotait de ses lèvres, rugissant alors que sa main courait sur ses brûlures; une douleur avec laquelle elle devait apprendre à vivre. Donc, c'était ce que ça voulait dire d'embrasser une partie de vous qui avait été enfermée, elle pensait à elle-même. Tout a déclenché un souvenir, une chanson et a causé un besoin inébranlable de le libérer. Roulant ses yeux dans la frustration, elle a tiré sa couverture vers le haut et laissé ses mains claquer contre le membre sur lequel elle était assise, en écho aux sons naturels qui l'entouraient déjà. Un doux ronflement a résonné de sa gorge alors qu'elle regardait la pluie tomber, sa tête bourdonnant à temps avec le battement de la tempête alors qu'elle arrivait complètement dans la région. Les lèvres poussiéreuses se séparaient alors que les mots commençaient à couler de la mémoire dans le présent, une belle mélodie coulant d'elle dans les vents. Quand demain viendra, serai-je seul? Se sentant effrayée par des choses que je ne sais pas quand demain viendra?, elle a chanté creux, les deux derniers mots résonnant à travers la forêt autour d'elle. Sa tête s'inclinant en arrière pour regarder vers le haut alors que la tempête commençait à faire rage, des nappes de pluie tombant sur la terre en dessous des cieux en haut; la vision étant coupée à rien d'autre que quelques pieds devant ses yeux. Et bien que la route soit longue, je regarde vers le ciel et dans l'obscurité j'ai trouvé l'espoir perdu que j'ai gagné la mouche et je chante le long,,, elle a chanté, les mots continuant à résonner en harmonie avec sa propre voix que la note rebondissait du rocher, de la pierre et du pinceau. Une douce lumière a commencé à émettre de sa forme, une douce teinte d'ardoise a commencé à fouetter autour d'elle dans le vent, attraper ses notes et les porter comme une balise pour couper à travers l'obscurité et le crépuscule. J'ai tout ce dont j'ai besoin quand je t'ai eu toi et moi, je regarde autour de moi et je vois une vie douce. Je suis coincé dans le noir mais tu es mon flash de lumière. Vous m'obtenez quand même la nuit. Commence mon cœur quand tu le brilles dans mes yeux. Je ne peux pas mentir, c'est une vie douce. Je suis coincé dans le noir mais tu es mon flash de lumière. Vous m'obtenez par la nuit, parce que vous êtes mon flash de lumière, Elle continua, son air brisant à travers les claquements du tonnerre et roulant avec le tonnerre; le faisceau de lumière de son coulant et déchirant dans les nuages au-dessus, une colonne de lumière qui pouvait être vue de loin pour guider le reste de son groupe. Lumière et chant les appelant à les faire descendre en toute sécurité sur le sentier pendant que l'écrasement du ciel pleurant soufflait. Je vois les ombres longtemps sous le sommet de la montagne. Ne craignez pas quand la pluie ne s'arrêtera pas parce que j'éclairerai le chemin, qu'elle chanta alors qu'elle saisit l'écorce ramollie de l'arbre, se tirant à ses pieds et debout là sur la branche qui s'est balayée par la tempête; le vent et la lumière battant son manteau autour d'elle, il baissant dans les rafales fumantes. Sana n'a pas combattu à nouveau la chanson et juste laisser passer, chaque note devenant plus facile à contrôler comme elle a accepté sa capacité nouvellement déverrouillée. J'ai tout ce dont j'ai besoin quand je t'ai eu toi et moi, je regarde autour de moi et je vois une vie douce. Tu es coincé dans le noir mais je suis ton flash de lumière. Je vais te faire passer la nuit. Commence ton cœur quand je le brille dans tes yeux. Can't mentir, c'est une vie douce. Dans l'obscurité, mais je suis ton flash de lumière qui t'a fait passer la nuit, elle a caroolé encore et encore, laissant le verset répéter comme l'écho du tonnerre. Chaque fois que le dernier verset répétait, il a grandi en intensité et en puissance pendant qu'il traversait la tempête. Comme le groupe est venu dans la vue de derrière le rideau de la tempête un regard de contenu est tombé sur ses caractéristiques, il avait fonctionné et c'était une chose dont elle pouvait être heureuse. En avant, elle sauta de la branche qui avait été sa maison pendant peu de temps; ses bottes débarquaient avec une douce éclaboussure dans la flaque au-dessous d'elle. Ne craignez pas quand la pluie ne s'arrêtera pas parce que je vais éclairer le chemin, un éclair de lumière vous faisant passer à travers l'obscurité de la nuit, Elle a chanté en sortant de l'arbre et le long du côté de la route à côté du chemin qui mènerait au camp. Retirant le capot de son manteau, elle s'est mise en pleine vue du groupe en s'approchant, un sourire doux jouant sur ses lèvres alors que la lumière s'est encore répandue d'elle. Bien que la lumière fût assez brillante pour briser la tempête et la pluie, il n'y avait rien de plus qu'une lueur douce et réconfortante à voir. C'est ainsi que nous avons trouvé refuge, Elle a parlé d'une voix aimable qui portait encore sur les vents, la lumière s'évanouissant de sa forme et la balise s'évanouissant; Son manteau tomba lentement des vents qu'il avait été pris et enveloppant autour d'elle. La pluie s'accrochait à ses cheveux trempés et à son manteau, roulant sur sa forme et coulant des bords de ses vêtements jusqu'au sol en bas alors qu'elle se déplaçait vers le chemin. En marchant sur le côté du chemin, elle se déplaçait dans la direction qu'ils devaient suivre. "Soyez prudent, le chemin se rétrécit en parties," dit-elle en regardant le groupe et en attendant qu'il continue. En regardant vers Hugh, elle sentait une forme de nœud dans la fosse de son estomac. Elle savait qu'il fallait parler, mais elle redoutait la conversation. Il ne s'agit pas d'être enfin capable de parler, d'arriver, espérons-le, à une compréhension et peut-être de voir ce qui lui manquait, mais de voir que ses craintes sont peut-être fondées. De toute façon, elle avait besoin de réponses et elle pensait qu'il pourrait aussi bien. Quel que soit le résultat nécessaire. Respirant, elle le regarda sur Rodger et lui donna un petit sourire nerveux, mais c'était un vrai sourire cette fois et ce n'était pas forcé. Sana souffre. Il a commencé à pleuvoir, beaucoup, vers le bas, ne peut pas voir de merde dehors quelques pieds devant toi maintenant Sana chante, faisant monter une colonne de lumière d'où elle est au ciel en haut - vous pouvez voir ainsi par la pluie et vous pouvez entendre le chant sur le son de la tempête Tout le monde est trempé! Le chant et la lumière vous mènent sur la route jusqu'à l'endroit où Sana est Elle arrête de chanter, la lumière s'arrête Points à suivre pour accéder à l'abri Trouvera Derrix à la fin du chemin dans l'ouverture de la grotte, j'espère Sana attend de se déplacer jusqu'à ce que le groupe s'éloigne de la route et se dirige vers l'abri. Sana essaie de sourire à Hugh Donc oui, des conneries sont arrivées.

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 la tempête a commencé, Vaeri a retiré le manteau de sa robe sur sa tête. Alors que la pluie tombait, son désir de conversation fut supprimé, tout comme la boue molle sous les roues du wagon. L'eau ruinerait tout livre qu'elle tentait de lire, alors elle passa son temps à regarder à travers les arbres de la forêt. Elle savait exactement ce qu'elle cherchait. Les menaces possibles, la disparition de la faune, le scoutisme, quelque chose qui sort de l'ordinaire. Non, rien de tel. L'observation était peut-être suffisante. Peu importe ce qu'elle a observé, car elle savait instinctivement que tout ce que l'on voit maintenant, tout ce que la pluie a touché disparaîtrait en un instant. Les arbres, les chevaux, le chariot, ses compagnons. Toutes ces choses seraient parties avant qu'elle puisse finir de cligner des yeux. Peut-être que si elle avait de la chance, elle pourrait rester assez longtemps pour quelques clins d'œil, mais elle aussi disparaîtrait. Une goutte de pluie frigide est tombée directement sur l'œil de Vaeri, la sensation de froid aigu l'a ramenée au présent. La goutte était une petite chose, mais un rappel qu'en ce moment elle pouvait profiter des petits plaisirs et être irrité par les petites bites. Elle leva les yeux et vit la colonne de lumière dorée et entendit la voix de Sana. Il semble qu'ils aient trouvé une certaine protection contre les éléments, ce qui serait une bonne chose puisqu'elle a remarqué que ses vêtements et son armure étaient presque entièrement trempés. Aujourd'hui n'était pas le bon jour pour porter une chemise presque blanche.

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 hoche la tête à Fiona, son attention étant détournée vers le ciel, observant les épais nuages bulbeux qui se forment, tout un gris foncé qui rend le jour plus sombre. La lumière s'estompait lentement et les gouttes ont commencé à tomber au-dessus. Hugh a senti qu'ils reprenaient lentement le rythme, alors que la pluie a commencé à devenir plus forte et plus forte. Leur vision fut bientôt entravée par la pluie qui devint si épaisse, que tout le monde se mouille en quelques minutes. Hugh regarda tout simplement le sol, regardant le chemin au fur et à mesure qu'ils marchaient vers l'avant. Il a toujours ressenti qu'il était étrangement thérapeutique de se tenir sous la pluie pendant qu'il se lava sur lui. Leur voyage fut bientôt aidé par un chant, puis un faisceau de lumière devant eux. Cela amenait Hugh à développer une vision de tunnel, car il se sentait légèrement plus chaud à l'idée que Sana serait là pour les attendre tous. Il commençait à se soucier de moins en moins du fait qu'ils avaient un peu de mal à se parler, ou ce que ce sentiment lointain était. Il voulait juste regarder son visage à nouveau et sourire. Il voulait juste prendre ses traits et écouter sa voix pendant qu'elle parlait et chantait. À mesure que leur chemin vers la lumière s'amenuisait, Hugh pouvait distinguer la forme qui les guidait. Ses traits semblaient se détendre plus ils se rapprochaient, il poussait vers l'avant à un rythme régulier. Il sentait un peu de morsure et un frisson du froid de temps en temps, mais il l'ébranlait et ça ne le dérangeait pas jusqu'à l'autre léger frisson. Enfin, ils s'arrêtèrent tout comme le chant et la lumière, et Sana parla, ses paroles les réconfortant tous. Là, Hugh s'assit debout sur Rodger, la pluie les imprégnant tous les deux. Il garda le regard sur Sana alors qu'elle lui donnait un sourire qui le rendait plus heureux. C'était le sourire sincère qu'il aimait. Il n'a jamais pu prendre un faux sourire, et ce n'était pas un faux sourire. Hugh a tapé le cou de Rodger, "Merci encore, Rodger." Il s'est glissé du cheval, atterrissant avec une éclaboussure et un bruit, se penchant légèrement les genoux. Il s'est détourné de son cheval pour affronter Sana, un regard calme sur son visage. Pendant un moment, il sourit, mais ça s'estompa alors qu'il commençait à penser à la douleur qu'elle traversait. Elle avait tout perdu; Hugh connaissait le sentiment bien trop bien. Il ne souhaite jamais ça à personne. Il n'avait jamais connu ses parents, ni même s'il les avait eus. Il ne connaissait que la camaraderie de l'ordre, mais elle lui avait été enlevée en un instant. Sa seule famille. Quand il pensait avoir trouvé refuge et une vie paisible ailleurs, cela lui a aussi été enlevé. Il connaissait la douleur et le désespoir plus que la personne ordinaire et avait vécu une vie qui se sentait comme une malédiction; une malédiction pour revivre encore et encore toute la douleur, comme la plaisanterie de Dieu bienveillant. Il ne voulait pas que Sana le sente. Il ne voulait pas qu'elle traverse ça, mais il était trop tard. Elle était là, debout devant lui, lui montrant un sourire sincère et juste à quel point elle était forte. "Je..." Il s'arrêta, son cœur battit un peu car il n'était pas sûr de ce qu'il fallait faire. "Je suis désolé..." Il a commencé, s'arrêtant à rassembler plus de mots. "Je suis désolée que tu aies dû tout perdre." Soupirant, un sullen glum regarde à travers son visage alors qu'il réfléchit sur la façon dont il avait complètement manqué comment elle lui avait dit hier au sujet de sa famille mourant. "Je suis désolée de n'avoir rien dit hier. C'est impardonnable et j'aurais dû le savoir mieux que de l'avoir laissé dans la poussière, et juste..." Pausant, son visage devenant plus sulten et déprimé regard, "...a ignoré votre douleur." Hugh s'avança, mettant sa main sur son visage et traçant doucement les cicatrices sur sa joue et son cou. "Tu es belle." Il a dit, un sourire de contenu apparaissant soudainement 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.

Sana regardait le groupe s'approcher, reconnaissant qu'ils étaient arrivés et qu'il semblait que leur journée avait été beaucoup plus paisible que la veille. En voyant Hugh se serrer les mains sous son manteau, elle se branle en blanc de la pression comme embrayée ensemble. Elle a percé un sourcil pendant qu'il démontait Rodger et est venue vers elle, pensant qu'il préférerait sortir de la pluie et se mettre à l'abri avant qu'ils ne parlent; tous deux se tenant là trempés pendant que la pluie s'est déversée et le froid dans l'air n'était probablement pas agréable à quelqu'un d'autre que Sana à ce moment-là. L'air frais était la seule chose qui a apporté le soulagement des brûlures. Le voir sourire a apporté à la fois soulagement et anxiété. Soulagement parce qu'elle n'a jamais pris la joie de voir rien d'autre qu'un sourire sur ses lèvres, mais l'anxiété était là ; craignant qu'il soit encore ignorant de ses douleurs et de ses peurs. Puis le sourire s'est évanoui et elle est devenue inquiète pour la raison qu'elle ne savait pas, autre que l'inconnu. Son souffle s'empressa de parler, pas sûr de ce qui se passait au début, mais alors que ses paroles continuaient, elle put enfin respirer à nouveau. Ce n'était pas tout ce qui l'inquiétait, mais c'était un début. « Merci », dit-elle d'une voix douce avec un sourire doux sur ses lèvres. Alors qu'il se dirigeait vers l'avant et touchait ses cicatrices, elle s'en retourna rapidement, ronflant de douleur des doigts sur les brûlures. Sa main est montée et s'est emparée du poignet, secouant la tête. "Ne faites pas ça, ça fait mal," a-t-elle admis. Elle prit son autre main et le plaça de l'autre côté de son visage et de son cou où il n'y avait pas de cicatrices. "Ce côté," dit-elle avec un ronflement douloureux. Elle n'était pas en colère contre lui pour l'avoir touchée, c'était une erreur simple et quelque chose qu'ils auraient tous deux besoin de se rappeler pour être prudent à partir de maintenant. "Et pour ce qui est d'être belle, bien duh, je sais que j'ai chaud. Plus maintenant que jamais et ne l'oubliez pas », a-t-elle vanté comme elle l'a fait à maintes reprises avec lui. Elle s'approcha du côté de sa joue et soupira. « J'ai peur », murmura-t-elle alors qu'elle regardait dans ses yeux. Ce n'était pas quelque chose qu'elle pouvait facilement admettre parce que ce n'était pas quelque chose qu'elle ressentait souvent. Elle tendait à courir vers le danger et la peur ne l'empêchait jamais, mais elle se sentait paralysante. -- De vous, ajouta-t-elle. Elle voulait expliquer, mais elle attendait de voir s'il comprendrait pourquoi parce que ce n'était pas quelque chose qu'elle était sûre de pouvoir mettre en mots.

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 n'était pas étrangère au froid ou à la pluie, mais elle ne profitait pas, et se trouva bientôt complètement trempée, ses cheveux rouges s'assombrissaient et s'écoulaient sur elle. Ce n'était pas trop longtemps, cependant, avant l'impressionnant phare de lumière de Sana, créé à partir de sa chanson, les a guidés à leur point de repos pour la nuit. Une puissance utile, pour être sûr; Fiona avait été inquiet qu'ils pourraient perdre leurs éclaireurs, avec combien terrible la visibilité est devenue à un moment. Voyant Sana, elle a agité en saluant. Elle sourit alors que Sana et Hugh se réunissaient, apparemment avec plus de succès qu'ils ne se sont séparés ce matin-là. Fiona avait été sur le point de complimenter Sana sur son nouveau talent magique trouvé, mais a décidé qu'il valait mieux ne pas interrompre le moment où elle semblait avoir avec Hugh. En essayant d'attraper le regard de Tobias, elle a fait un geste avec la tête sur le chemin qu'ils étaient censés prendre le chariot. "Allons, sortons de la pluie", suggéra-t-elle, en direction du wagon. Ce serait un ajustement serré dans des endroits, mais si Tobias était un conducteur adéquat, il pourrait éviter d'être coincé sur n'importe quoi. À l'embouchure de la grotte, elle a accueilli Derrix avec une vague, marchant son cheval jusqu'à ce qu'elle ne sente plus de gouttes de pluie frapper sa tête, où elle a démonté. C'était un excellent abri, autant qu'elle pouvait le voir. Une bonne découverte de la part de leurs éclaireurs. En détachant son rouleau de lit de la selle, elle a choisi un endroit approprié et l'a posé pour qu'il puisse sécher. Il n'était pas complètement trempé, mais il faudrait du temps. Les couvertures dans ses sacs de selle étaient entièrement sèches, heureusement. Les mains de Fiona secouaient légèrement du froid alors qu'elles fonçaient avec les sangles lui tenant son armure. En peu de temps, elle l'a eu et a rangé soigneusement à côté de son rouleau de lit. Sa veste était à côté pour être délacée et mise de côté; la chemise en dessous était trempée, mais elle gardait cela, tirant une couverture de ses sacs et l'enveloppant autour d'elle.

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.

La pluie était si lourde, que Hugh n'arrêtait pas de clignoter les yeux pour le faire sortir. Il sentait un petit frisson planer sa colonne vertébrale de temps en temps, ce qui le faisait trembler un peu. Il ne faisait que secouer le froid et revenir à la normale comme si le froid ne l'affectait pas. L'astuce pour maîtriser le froid était de comprendre que vous ne vous sentiriez jamais à l'aise avec elle, surtout quand vous êtes mouillé. Hugh a appris il y a longtemps à embrasser l'inconfort. Le sourire de Hugh s'est soudain tourné vers un regard d'inquiétude que Sana a agrippé dans la douleur à son toucher. Il se sentait stupide, "Non, je n'ai pas-" Avant de pouvoir dire quoi que ce soit, elle avait saisi sa main et l'avait placée de l'autre côté de son visage, ramenant le sourire à la grâce de ses traits. Ses paroles l'ont fait rire, lui soupirant légèrement les yeux pendant qu'il se branlait. Son rire a cessé quand il a senti le toucher apaisant de sa main contre son visage. Il aurait formé un sourire, si ce n'était pour ses mots "J'ai peur". -- Quoi? Il a dit, un regard d'inquiétude sur son visage. Son visage devint bientôt très glum et son attitude sulten, comme il a pris dans sa réponse. "De vous." Ça lui a fait sentir qu'il s'est fait botter le ventre. C'était aussi déroutant. Elle n'était pas timide de son toucher, et même en coupant son visage de sa main, mais elle a dit qu'il l'avait effrayée. Ses yeux descendaient alors qu'il pensait à ce concept, en repensant aux jours précédents. Il était confus sur ce qui avait conduit à cela. Il savait qu'elle avait vu son moment de terreur pendant le combat qui avait pris tellement de son sang. C'était peut-être ça. Peut-être que c'est pour le bien de l'enfant Arianna, qu'il ne serait pas bon avec elle. Il ne comprenait pas, parce qu'il s'occupait du petit avec la tendre attention d'un père chaque fois qu'ils revenaient à elle. "Comment puis-je vous effrayer?" Il a dit, se rapprochant d'elle, une touche de cheveux d'elle. Tout ce qu'il savait, c'était qu'il avait besoin de comprendre cela et que l'écoute était la réponse.

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 sauté du wagon alors que Tobias s'approchait de l'entrée de la grotte, préférant marcher en elle-même. Elle a regardé dedans, la prenant un poumon de la fumée agréable. Le contraste de la chaleur de la grotte et de la pluie à l'extérieur n'a fait que faire sentir cet endroit beaucoup plus accueillant que la tempête à l'extérieur. La première chose que Vaeri a fait était d'arracher toute l'eau dans ses cheveux longs, éclaboussant tout le sol. Elle a ensuite trouvé un bel endroit de grotte près du feu et a regardé dans son sac pour trouver que tous ses autres changements de vêtements trempés aussi bien. Bien sûr. Vaeri a enlevé son manteau et l'a posé sur le sol de la grotte. Puis elle se mit à enlever son armure et à leur donner leur propre place pour sécher. Enfin, avec un peu d'hésitation, elle a enlevé sa chemise et l'a posée plus près du feu que le reste de son équipement. Les bêtes de Vaeri n'étaient pas grandes, seulement étant de légères protubérances de sa poitrine qui pourraient être manquées si vous ne prêtiez pas attention. Plus notable était les caractéristiques de son corps. Chaque partie semblait dure et rugueuse, comme un chêne en forme de femme. Avec chaque mouvement qu'elle a fait, un soupçon de muscle a jailli quelque part pas tout à fait congruent de l'endroit où il serait sur un humain. Il y avait des cicatrices sur son torse, mais elles étaient plus grandes, et beaucoup moins que n'importe où ailleurs sur son corps, peut-être 5 au total. En irritable, mouillée, à moitié nue, elle s'assit près du feu, un bras drapé à travers la poitrine, essayant de s'assécher le plus rapidement possible.

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 dans ses yeux quand elle regarda la confusion mise en place et le noeud retourna à la fosse de son estomac; il ne savait vraiment pas ce qu'était sa plus grande peur, c'est-à-dire qu'elle ne l'avait pas encore vu. Elle se tenait là, son cœur se tapait dans la poitrine alors qu'il s'approchait et elle tentait de former les mots pour l'aider à comprendre. Elle ne savait pas comment s'y prendre. Sana n'était pas une femme particulièrement délicate et quand la frustration s'est mise en elle avait une tendance à craquer ou à s'agglutiner ou les deux. Elle ne voulait pas lui faire de mal avec ses mots, mais il n'y avait aucun moyen de le dire délicatement, donc elle a opté pour la route la plus directe. C'était peut-être le plus douloureux, mais au moins ce serait fini rapidement, au moins elle espérait qu'il le serait. "Je..." elle a commencé et a senti qu'elle commençait à trébucher sur ses mots. En respirant profondément, elle a tout laissé s'éteindre le plus rapidement possible. "J'ai peur, après avoir vu comment vous avez agi autour d'Ariana et semblait bloquer tout, y compris ma douleur et mon changement, qui pour être honnête est assez évident vu que je peux jeter la magie maintenant et vous savez très bien que c'est quelque chose que je n'ai jamais été capable de faire. Mais oui, j'ai peur de toi. Tu avais une femme et une famille avant et bien, j'étais censé être courtisane. Eh bien, tu le sais, pourquoi je le répète maintenant au-delà de moi. Je ne sais pas, effet? Tu sais, je n'ai jamais voulu remplacer ta femme et c'est une peur avec laquelle je vis tous les jours... Si elle n'était pas morte, on ne serait pas là aujourd'hui. Alors bon sang, j'ai toujours l'impression d'être un fluke, tu sais. Que, soit seul si cet horrible événement n'est pas arrivé. Mais oui, maintenant Ariana est là et tu agis comme toute cette famille chaleureuse et confortable. Ce qui est gentil, mais ça me fait peur. Je veux dire bon sang, on n'a jamais parlé de mariage ou d'enfants, ou quoi que ce soit, tu ne m'as jamais demandé de t'épouser ou même de dire que tu m'aimais. Je pense que tu m'aimes mais même une brute comme moi veut l'entendre. Je veux dire, tu es l'amour de ma vie et je suis peut-être en retard? Oui, c'est vrai, j'adore ton cul têtu et têtu. Occupe-toi de ça. Et j'ai peur maintenant qu'Ariana soit là, et bien que tout ce scénario familial va jouer et je ne saurai jamais si c'est parce que tu m'aimes vraiment ou c'est juste parce que je suis un putain de remplaçant et que tu t'accroches juste pour récupérer ce que tu as perdu et vivre dans le passé. Donc oui, j'ai peur, pétrifié. Eh bien, pas pétrifié parce que je suis ici debout en rampant sous la pluie mais terrifié. C'est pourquoi j'ai peur de toi, j'ai peur de finir par devenir la courtisane que j'ai essayé de ne jamais être. Le deuxième choix, le remplissage. Le remplacement." Sana a tout rampé si vite, trébuchant sur les mots ici et là, mais elle a réussi à le faire sortir. Peut-être y avait-il plus, peut-être pas, mais ce qui était l'avant-garde dans son esprit et ce qui devait être traité d'abord. Elle s'est préparée pour la réplique, ce qu'il dirait ou ferait. Elle avait peur qu'il crie, ou qu'il soit en colère, mais surtout elle avait peur qu'il s'en aille ou confirme ses craintes. Elle s'y tenait quand la pluie coulait, prête à prendre ce qui lui avait été jeté.

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.

Ils adoraient la chienne de la lune, une voix égratignante faisait écho à l'oreille de la jeunesse. Le jeune adolescent, qui n'était pas encore assez vieux pour pousser même ses poils de menton, regarda le soldat enragé qui parlait, ses jeunes yeux bleus étudiant son maître des bras. Le griffon avait de longs poils de poivre et une barbe à assortir, et pourtant, malgré son âge aîné, de gros bras cordonnés de muscle ont protrudé d'une cape façonnée à partir de la peau d'un ours. Le garçon a indiqué ce que l'homme étudiait, un désordre de cramoisi et des éclats d'os nacrés, sang froid? L'homme corrigé, c'était en honneur, malgré leur nature déshonorante. Il n'y a pas de nom, l'homme a continué, claquant l'attention du garçon de nouveau à lui, il vaut mieux que personne ne nous interroge. Le garçon sans nom regarda sa main tremblante qui tenait une longue lame mince, dégoulinant d'écarlate. Il monta la frange de sa tunique et essuya lentement un côté de la lame avant de la retourner. Comme il l'a fait rythmiquement, ses curieux yeux ont commencé à errer autour de la chambre noire. Une statue d'une femme tenant un croissant lui a pris l'œil. Sa forme était enveloppée dans une robe en pierre, et seulement visible par la lumière des étoiles brisant à travers les fenêtres en verre brisé et éclairant les motes de poussière. C'était une église, le garçon murmurait. "Un repaire de menteurs et de païens, des adorateurs de salopes," l'homme barbu a failli rire alors qu'il prononçait ses dernières paroles. La statue a cligné des yeux, et une horreur froide a brisé la tête du garçon alors qu'il la regardait soulever le bras de son lieu de repos. Lentement la figure de pierre a commencé à agiter. Derrix clignait, et la main pierreuse tournait vers les Fiona. L'homme inhala brusquement, comme il se rappelait, il s'assit dans une grotte. Le froid de la pierre sous les clochers refroidit son cul, et avec son armure bien rangée dans ses propres paquets sur Charroux, l'air froid de la tempête lui baisa les bras nus et à travers sa fine tunique, répandant des boules d'oie sur son corps écarlate. Il regarda vers le bas le couteau mince qu'il tenait dans sa main qui planait sur le sanglier à moitié écorché, un trou béant dans son cou à partir d'un tir de flèche ferme. La bête rayonnait de sang humide comme il l'avait préparé. Il a pris la frange de sa tunique et essuyé un côté du couteau avant de le retourner dans sa main, "Hello". L'homme regarda Vaeri posé par le feu et reconnut sa nudité avec un clin d'œil. Ses yeux se sont ensuite effondrés sur la Fiona trempée. Il secoua la tête et se leva lentement de sa place par le sanglier, et disparut dans la pluie étincelante de la tempête. Il revint rapidement, agitant l'eau de ses larges épaules, et tenant le tissu plié sous ses bras de façon protectrice. Avec un petit sourire courbé, il s'agenouille par Fiona et lui remet un des tissus vert clair, le révélant comme une tunique de rechange. Avec un clin d'œil, il l'a laissé par elle avant de s'aventurer à Vaeri. Il maintenait respectueusement ses yeux à niveau avec les siens alors qu'il s'agenouillait par elle, étendant son bras et tenant une chemise sèche.

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

DrizzakPendant longtemps, Drizzak s'est contenté d'évoquer ses propres pensées et de débattre en interne après avoir parlé avec sœur Agnès dans les morts de la nuit, loin des oreilles de jugement des autres. Qu'est-ce qu'elle lui a donné avec ces perles? Ils étaient chauds et apaisants. Ils goûtaient terriblement, et pendant la plus longue période il pensait qu'ils étaient un cercle, mais il finit par s'installer pour les envelopper autour de son bras et les attacher là. Ils étaient assez beaux. Pas assez de dents, ou d'acier pour son goût, mais ils le feraient pour l'instant. Ils l'ont fait se sentir un peu mieux. Le reste de son temps avait été passé à gratter ses blessures pendant qu'ils guérissaient, les mêmes taches d'or montrant à travers de la potion de guérison particulière. Ces grands brassaient leurs potions différentes des gobelins. Pas de rat dedans du tout, ni la crache du mélangeur. C'est étrange. Il aimait ça. Ce qu'il n'aimait pas, c'était l'humidité de ses vêtements et de ses fourrures. La pluie n'avait pas été gentille avec lui lors du voyage dans la grotte. Il était tellement pris dans la pensée qu'il n'avait pas remarqué le froid du vent et de la pluie jusqu'à ce qu'il soit pratiquement mordant à ses os. Il éternue assez fort alors qu'il plie sur le feu et tombe tout simplement dans une position couchée. Il était fatigué. C'est écrit. Il y en avait d'autres ici, le saint prêtre Vaeri, le combattant Fiona et un autre nommé Derrrix à qui Drizzak n'avait pas été présenté, mais avait entendu le nom en passant. Ils avaient des noms similaires, peut-être qu'ils pourraient être amis. La nudité de Vaeri passait par son esprit d'une oreille et de l'autre, ne lui payant aucun moment de délibération. La même chose pour Fiona. Les gens étaient tout le temps nus, Goblins encore plus. De retour dans son clan, d'autres portaient à peine des pagnes autour des huttes et des fosses à vivres. Il a expliqué pourquoi, quand il a finalement commencé à se dépouiller des fourrures lourdes d'eau, il n'a pas hésité à se laisser en rien d'autre qu'un pagne. Puis il est retombé en se couchant. Il a bu de la fumée et du sang. Sa peau était palpitante et humide là où elle était normalement dure, mais à l'intérieur, il se sentait chaud. Il a été criblé de cicatrices coupées, poignardées et raclées, certaines sur son visage et ses épaules un peu plus fraîches que les autres. Mais ça n'avait pas d'importance pour lui en ce moment. Juste une question de temps avant qu'il soit chaud partout. Drizzak s'est tourné vers les autres. "Tout le monde va bien?"

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'.

Fiona s'est vite rendu compte qu'elle n'avait pas à gérer ce genre de choses en voyageant seule. Même au cours de la semaine, elle avait passé avec Tobias qu'ils n'avaient pas été pris dans des tempêtes de pluie, et a toujours trouvé un endroit qui lui a permis de changer d'intimité quand elle en avait besoin. Un arbre, sinon rien d'autre. Ici, il y avait juste la grotte, chaude et sèche, et la tempête dehors. Vaeri n'a pas été dérangé par la compagnie. Derrix a dû remarquer qu'elle tremblait, alors qu'il lui apportait une tunique fraîche, d'une couleur vert clair. « Merci », lui dit-elle tranquillement, souriant alors qu'il hurlait et allait à Vaeri. Fiona avait ses propres vêtements de rechange dans ses sacs de selle, mais pensait que la chaleur du feu et le manque de pluie dans la grotte l'assècherait assez rapidement. Mais pas dans l'habitude de refuser la générosité, elle a pris la tunique, et l'a posée là où elle pouvait facilement atteindre. "Je vais bien, Drizzak. Merci d'avoir demandé." Elle sourit de façon encourageante au goblin. En toute honnêteté, elle s'attendait à une expérience beaucoup plus désagréable de voyager avec lui, mais il semblait faire un effort pour être assez bien élevé autour d'eux. C'était surprenant, et pas du tout de mauvaise façon. Garder la couverture autour d'elle, Fiona a méthodiquement délacé sa tunique trempée et glissé hors de lui, le vêtement émergeant de sous la couverture et tombant au sol, où Fiona a saisi la fraîche et l'a tiré dans. C'était un peu grand pour elle, naturellement, mais c'était sec, et c'était la partie importante. Quand elle a fini, il y avait la moitié inférieure à gérer. Ses bottes qu'elle détacha assez rapidement, les jetant sur le côté. Le sol de la grotte était assez doux pour ses pieds nus, heureusement. Après cela, elle s'est levée et a retiré la couverture, la mettant bien en place. Il n'y avait pas de moyen efficace de le faire, alors elle a décidé qu'il valait mieux en finir. Elle déboîta sa ceinture et la laissa tomber, puis arracha ses leggings trempés, qui s'accrochèrent à sa peau. Ses petits habits l'empêchaient au moins d'être entièrement nue pour le bref moment. C'est fait, elle les a couchés avec le reste de ses vêtements, et a jeté la couverture à nouveau pour la chaleur. Des jambes nues qui débordaient de dessous, Fiona se dirigea vers le feu, et s'assit, appréciant la chaleur.

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 a accepté la chemise de Derrix avec sa main libre, elle a hurlé sur lui dans l'appréciation silencieuse du geste. D'une main, elle s'est faufilée pour mettre la chemise, mais a réussi à la mettre en moins d'une minute. La dernière chose qu'elle a faite quand elle a ajusté la chemise était de sortir son collier de sous la chemise. Même si elle était sans sommet, elle avait gardé son saint symbole. La chemise de Derrix était grande sur elle. Il peut même avoir été possible d'adapter une autre d'elle dans cette chemise et la ligne de cou a été conçue pour un grand homme l'amener à accrocher vers le bas pour montrer un peu plus de sa poitrine que Vaeri normalement (aucun du tout). Cependant, il était sec et chaud, ce qui est tout ce qui comptait. Vaeri s'est repliée pour permettre à son pantalon et ses pieds de mieux sécher pendant qu'elle réfléchissait à la question de Drizzak. Alors qu'il y a certainement des gens mauvais et impies dans le monde, la plupart d'entre eux n'ont probablement pas pensé à eux-mêmes en tant que tels. Et ils auraient presque certainement une certaine mesure en bien en eux, de l'affection pour les êtres chers, un idéal qu'ils tenaient cher, mais cela les a - t - il rendus bons? Et étaient-ils irrémédiablement mauvais? Certaines personnes sont - elles simplement nées du mal, ou les circonstances les ont - elles amenées à le faire? Ces questions ont été coupées quand Fiona a répondu qu'elle allait bien. "Oh. C'est ce que tu voulais dire. Je me sens assez bien. J'ai été mieux."

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 a hurlé avec tout ce que Sana a dit, incertain comment répondre, mais lui faire savoir constamment qu'il écoutait. Il était difficile de concentrer son esprit sur tout ce qu'elle a dit, à tel point que quand elle a finalement fini, il était légèrement attaché à la langue. Il ne pouvait s'empêcher de sourire quand elle lui a dit qu'elle l'aimait, car il espérait d'abord dire les mots. Le plaisir lui avait été rapidement enlevé, mais il n'était nullement en colère. Au contraire, il se sentait fier. Cependant, en d'autres termes, se rapportant à elle craint ses expressions faciales coulés pour être plus sullen. C'était un montagnes russes d'expressions faciales pour lui. Il n'est jamais facile de passer d'un amour du passé, comme une femme avec laquelle on a élevé des enfants, mais Hugh l'avait fait il y a longtemps. Cependant, il y avait quelque chose que les gens n'avaient jamais vraiment compris s'ils n'avaient pas quelqu'un comme lui auparavant. Hugh adorerait toujours son ancienne femme, mais il était difficile d'expliquer à quelqu'un qui l'a pris comme étant un second amour. Il avait grandi en paix avec le fait qu'il l'avait perdue et ne lui avait pas souhaité de nouveau dans ses bras, choisissant plutôt de vivre et d'aller de l'avant. Que pouvait - on dire d'un homme qui n'aimait pas leur femme après sa mort? Seules les mauvaises choses pouvaient être présumées d'un homme comme celui-là, et Hugh n'était pas cet homme. Hugh avait toujours aimé son ancienne femme, mais l'amour n'était pas une ressource finie. Il n'y avait pas de limite à combien Hugh pouvait aimer. On pourrait dire qu'il aimait encore sa femme, mais qu'il la laissait partir et qu'il laissait sa mémoire se reposer. Il ne s'en tenait pas à elle, ne la laissant que le faire, mieux vaut avoir perdu et aimé que d'avoir jamais aimé du tout. Il n'avait jamais cherché un substitut ou une nouvelle saveur, et ne s'attendait jamais à trouver une fille comme Sana. Tout ce qu'il cherchait, c'était de vivre, de guérir, et même de préserver par son existence même ceux qu'il avait perdus. Il était le souvenir d'une autre fois et il était ce qui les a tous gardés en vie. "Je t'aime." Il a finalement dit, brisant son silence. "Vous n'êtes pas un remplaçant. Je ne vous tiens à aucun niveau." Avec un sourire qui lui parcourt le visage, il a finalement dit : « Je t'aime pour toi, comme tu l'es. Pas pour ce que quelqu'un d'autre était ou quelqu'un d'autre signifie pour moi. Je t'aime pour toi." Enfin, un regard plus sérieux est tombé sur son visage quand il a mis sa main à l'arrière de sa propre tête et l'a griffé, regardant vers le bas. "Personne ne peut remplacer ma femme, personne ne le fera jamais." Il a regardé dans ses yeux, "Je ne vais jamais vous demander ça. Je n'ai jamais, et ne demanderai jamais à quelqu'un de la remplacer." Soupir, Hugh a dit : "Vous êtes irremplaçable. Tu ne pourrais jamais être un remplaçant. Tu es magnifiquement unique." « Nous n'avons pas besoin d'avoir une famille et de nous installer dans une existence paisible. On pourrait même mourir d'aventure. Peut-être qu'Ariana grandira en tombant des corps et en botteant le cul." Il soupira, un petit sourire ovin apparaissant sur son visage. "Je suis contente d'être avec toi. Je n'aurais pas d'autre moyen." Il ne savait pas quoi dire d'autre. Il ne pouvait pas répondre à toutes ses préoccupations, il pouvait juste espérer qu'il suffisait de montrer son amour et son affection pour elle tous les jours.

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 pluie s'est déversée autour d'eux, la seule rupture de l'éclaboussure était la canopée au-dessus d'eux pendant que la tempête continuait; le tonnerre roulait dans les arbres comme le sol secouait quand la foudre s'effaçait au loin. Sana se tenait là, figée en place en regardant Hugh, plus peur de ce qu'il dirait et comment il réagirait à ses paroles que tout ce que les cieux pourraient lui jeter à droite alors. Des gouttelettes d'eau enroulant ses traits, s'accrochant à ses cils et à ses lèvres alors qu'elle tirait lentement sa main de sa joue. Ce qu'elle avait dit n'avait pas été gentil, ni cruel. C'était simplement sa voix de ce qui se battait en elle depuis si longtemps, une douleur avec laquelle elle vivait depuis qu'elle a appris son passé. À l'origine, elle a été reprise, mais il avait aidé avec cette peur puis un peu et elle avait décidé de voir ce qui se passerait au fil du temps. Il semblait qu'une éternité s'était écoulée avant qu'il ne parle enfin et elle n'était pas sûre de quoi penser des expressions qui avaient traversé son visage. L'inquiétude a été plâtrée sur ses traits pendant qu'elle se tenait là, tremblant non pas du froid mais de l'anticipation. Tandis qu'il parlait l'inquiétude s'estompait et un petit sourire s'est brisé sur ses lèvres; bien que tout l'inquiétude n'ait pas disparu de ses yeux. Il était encore clair que même avec ce qu'il avait dit, elle était toujours très préoccupée. Elle souhaitait que ses paroles lui procurent la paix et étouffent toutes ses craintes, mais elle savait que cela n'arriverait pas, pas dans une petite conversation, peut-être jamais. Elle n'était pas sûre. Il y avait encore tellement d'inquiétude pour elle et elle donnait n'importe quoi pour que ça s'efface, mais avec tout le reste qui se passait et ce qui s'était passé, il semblait l'applaudir comme une maladie, il n'y a peut-être pas de remède pour. Soupirant profondément, elle a baissé la tête, se sentant horrible alors que le noeud retournait à la fosse de son estomac. Elle se sentait si coupable d'avoir ressenti ce qu'elle a fait. J'aimerais ne pas ressentir cette peur, elle murmura alors qu'elle s'emparait de la section médiane, ses doigts s'accrochaient aux lacets de son corset. Et ce que tu as dit... ça aide, mais je suis encore si terrifiée que tu vis encore dans le passé, qu'elle a dit que ses yeux traînaient dans sa forme et rencontraient la sienne. Vos flashbacks, je sais qu'ils ne sont pas quelque chose que vous pouvez aider. Tu les as eus plus longtemps que je ne le sais et je sais que tu les auras jusqu'au jour où tu mourras. C'est quelque chose que l'on ne peut pas aider, a-t-elle dit d'une voix douce remplie de sympathie. Mais chaque fois que tu en as un, j'ai l'impression de me battre avec le passé; me battre avec un souvenir qui te vole loin de moi. Combattre des fantômes pour te ramener à moi. Ça fait mal de te voir dans une telle douleur quand ils viennent et ça fait mal de penser que je vais devoir me battre avec ça jusqu'au jour où je mourrai. Ce n'est pas que je le ferais. Je suis prête à passer un temps de vie à vous guérir, peu importe la douleur qui m'entraîne," elle a dit avec un sourire triste sur ses lèvres alors qu'elle s'approchait et a placé sa main contre sa poitrine. Tu mérites toutes les larmes qui tombent, toute douleur, mais tu dois savoir que ça fait mal. Ça fait mal de savoir qu'une partie de toi est encore dans le passé, même un moment ici et là. Je ne sais pas, peut-être que je vivrai à jamais dans l'ombre de ton passé. J'espère qu'elle n'a pas dit doucement alors qu'elle se penchait vers l'avant et se reposait contre lui, une main tombant dans son dos. Tu m'as tous, ça m'effraie juste de penser que je ne t'aurai jamais tous, Elle murmura alors qu'elle fermait les yeux. Je sais que vous ne pouvez pas aider cela, mais s'il vous plaît sachez qu'avec autant que vous ne pouvez pas l'aider, je ne peux pas aider que cela fait mal. Elle espérait qu'il comprendrait ses craintes. Elle pensait qu'elle pourrait ne jamais être une remplaçante qu'elle était un bandage essayant de soigner les blessures de son passé. Il a mentionné qu'Ariana n'a pas aidé, son esprit flottant de retour à ce qu'elle avait appris à l'auberge. Soupirant qu'elle l'ait regardé, c'était quelque chose qu'il devait savoir. En ce qui concerne Ariana, elle ne sera jamais une fille, à aucun de nous, a dit Sana comme elle regardait dans ses yeux, la pluie qui s'accrochait à ses cils tombant et coulant sur ses joues. Elle est déjà une Rawn, une cousine peut-être ou peut-être même ma nièce, a-t-elle dit avant de revenir en arrière et de prendre un moment pour expliquer ce qui s'était passé au petit déjeuner pendant qu'il était à l'étage se préparer. À propos de la conversation qu'elle avait eue avec Ariana, à propos de la chanson, tout ça. Je ne la soumettrai pas plus à nous regarder comme des parents que vous ne me demanderiez de remplacer votre vie perdue. Je m'occuperai d'elle en tant que famille, mais jamais en tant que mère. Je ne pouvais pas lui faire ça.

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.

J'espère que vous et moi pourrions parler plus de religion bientôt, derrrix sourit un sourire amical à Vaeri alors qu'elle prenait sa chemise. Il a griffé un des tatouages cornés sur ses joues avant que ses yeux ne s'illuminent en souvenir. Il a hurlé alors qu'il se retirait de la poche fumée que Vaeri était assis. Derrix s'est levé jusqu'à ses pieds et a erré jusqu'au sanglier. Il plie dans le lit de trèfle par la carcasse et reprend son couteau, coupant un morceau du flanc lentement refroidissant de la bête. Il aspirait dans un souffle, prenant dans la puanteur métallique de la viande crue, ainsi que l'épais musc de la tempête humide. Il a gratté un petit bâton à travers le sol pierreux sous les clochers et l'a soulevé pour lancer la viande à travers. Derrix s'est tourné vers le feu crépitant, testant la capacité des bâtons à tenir le gros morceau en l'agitant doucement quelques fois avant de le léviter à propos de la flamme orange léchant. Les liquides de la viande se déversaient dans les flammes, avec un bruit chaud de grésillement, au-dessus du feu. Il se tourna vers la petite créature verdâtre qui avait accompagné le groupe pendant que la viande commençait à chauffer. "Petite," Derrix a annoncé clairement sur la pluie durs à l'extérieur, "pourriez-vous la première morsure?"

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

Tobias soupira intérieurement alors qu'il sentit la première goutte de pluie. Bien sûr. Au moment où le parti était arrivé à son camping, il était en train de verser. Comme il n'était pas prêt pour ce genre de mauvais temps, le voyou était rapidement trempé dans l'os. À la direction de Fiona, il dirigea le wagon vers la grotte, prenant grand soin d'éviter de glisser les roues sur n'importe quoi. Peu de temps après, la fête a eu un incendie. Les vêtements volés de Tobias étaient trempés, et serrés à lui. Dans l'ensemble, il pensait avoir l'apparence d'un rat de ville noyé, ce qu'il croyait être. Le voleur tenait ses mains sur le feu, les dents bavardaient. Vaguely, il a vu Hugh et Sana à une courte distance, ayant une sorte de conversation intense. C'est bon? Le voyou regardait toujours autour de lui, contemplant idly sa misère, quand il regardait de côté et regardait Vaeri, aussi nue que le jour de sa naissance. Rapidement, Tobias s'est détourné - ce n'était jamais une bonne idée d'escroquer les femmes qui pouvaient le briser en deux. Qu'il suffise de dire, il était plus qu'un peu surpris quand il regarda de l'autre côté et vit Fiona se déshabiller jusqu'à ses petits vêtements. Le voleur a regardé le feu, ses joues coloriant légèrement, et a réussi avec une grande force de volonté à serrer sur l'envie de faire une blague grossière sur la situation. Les femmes, cependant, ont eu la bonne idée - sortir des vêtements mouillés ne serait pas terrible. Tobias s'est décidé à retirer sa chemise volée et à la jeter de côté, révélant la tapisserie de cicatrices en colère qui lui couvraient le dos comme il l'a fait. Le goblin - Drizzak - avait demandé comment ils étaient. "Eh bien, je ne peux pas me plaindre. Je pourrais faire avec un repas chaud, un lit, et quelques-uns nus..." il regarda autour. "Un repas chaud et un lit, en tout cas." Comme si sur la queue, Derrix le cavalier est revenu et a commencé à rôtir une portion saine de la viande au-dessus du feu. Tobias clignait légèrement et leva les mains jusqu'au ciel de façon spectaculaire. "Jusqu'à ce lit!"

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 était assis avec les autres autour du feu et, comme la plupart des autres, il avait lui aussi enlevé un articulaire de vêtements qui était sa plaque thoracique et son capot. Ce n'est pas à cause de la chaleur ou de l'inconfort qu'il n'est pas tombé à l'aise en portant sa capuche alors qu'il n'était que lui et ses compagnons, donc il aimait profiter de toutes les occasions pour ne pas la porter, il a voulu aider d'une certaine façon il s'est senti inutile mais il a réalisé que les autres n'étaient pas morts comme lui alors que des choses comme la chaleur, le sommeil et la nourriture, si nécessaire pour eux, mais pas pour lui. Il se leva un hmm venu de Zam alors qu'elle le voyait marcher vers l'embouchure de la grotte "Où vas-tu Mortosh?" "Je vais garder la surveillance" a répondu Mortosh "Dites l'autre ils sont libres de me rejoindre s'ils veulent" et quand Zam a été demandé, elle leur a dit ce que Mortosh faisait

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

Hugh sentit la pluie rendre sa peau tendre au toucher, la rendant rose et ridée. Il sentit les gouttes d'eau se recueillir dans ses cheveux et s'égoutter sur son visage. L'eau ne l'a plus fait trembler, comme il se tenait là avec Sana. Il ressentait le désespoir d'avoir à faire face à ces visions qu'il allait souffrir, mettant une telle distance de Sana et lui. Il s'est souvenu de la difficulté de se réveiller dans les sueurs nocturnes des cauchemars qu'il ne pouvait échapper assez vite. Il aurait fait n'importe quoi pour être libre de son esprit chargé juste pour avoir une relation pleine et entière avec Sana et vivre comme si tant de mal ne s'était pas passé. Il pourrait toujours sentir cette séparation, mais c'était quelque chose qu'il n'arrêterait jamais de se battre pour s'assurer qu'il et Sana étaient ensemble. C'était une chose de combattre les démons qui sont venus causer des dommages physiques, mais quand ils sont venus de l'esprit de Hugh et l'ont mis dans son propre enfer, ce n'était pas une bataille si simple. Ses mots le piqueraient comme des milliers d'aiguilles. Il voulait juste qu'ils n'aient pas à se battre dans ce vide. Il ne voulait pas qu'elle vive dans l'ombre de son passé, mais il n'avait pas choisi tout ce qui lui était arrivé; tout s'était passé, qu'il le voulait ou non. Tout ce qu'il pouvait faire, c'était décider quoi faire du temps qui a été donné. Il ne faudrait pas beaucoup de délibération pour comprendre ce qu'il fallait faire de ce temps; il voulait le passer avec Sana, même s'il y avait ce fardeau qu'il apportait. Il continuerait à se battre. Bien que cela ait affecté ses habitudes, l'alcool lourd, au point où cela ne l'a plus affecté et il n'a même pas senti un bourdonnement de quantités d'alcool qui battraient d'autres personnes. C'était en soi une étrange bénédiction. Il avait commencé à boire il y a longtemps, avant de souffrir de ses chutes. Fumer avait été une autre habitude qui l'a aidé à faire face, mais il fumait pour le plaisir, pas seulement pour effacer le stress. S'il faisait plus de choses pour effacer la douleur, il serait faible. Il devait s'en occuper et l'affronter. Hugh a serré son corps contre le sien, absorbant tout ce qu'elle a dit. Tout ce qu'elle a dit était vrai, mais il l'aimait profondément et se souciait d'elle. Il n'allait pas laisser une chose stupide comme des cauchemars du passé l'éloigner de son côté. Il n'y avait rien de plus qu'il ne pouvait dire en se tenant contre lui. Il voulait qu'elle sache juste par ses actions qu'il l'aimait et qu'il ferait ce qu'il fallait pour combattre devant ses démons. À ce moment-là, il y avait une douleur à Sana que Hugh ne savait pas guérir. Quand elle s'est retirée, elle a laissé tomber une énorme surprise sur lui; la nouvelle qu'Ariana était en fait liée à elle. Il ne pouvait s'empêcher d'être d'accord avec elle sur la façon dont ils ne pouvaient pas forcer Ariana à les considérer comme des parents. Il ne voulait pas non plus qu'elle les voit comme des parents, car c'était cruel pour elle. "Je suis avec toi là-dessus. Elle devrait savoir qui tu es pour elle." Il a dit, hurlant, et montrant son accord.

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 pluie continuait de tomber autour d'eux et le froid dans l'air menaçait de couper l'os mais se tenant là contre Hugh, ses bras l'entourant aidaient à éviter le froid. Elle attendait qu'il dise quelque chose, quoi que ce soit ; crier, pleurer, murmurer, ça n'avait pas d'importance. Le silence était assourdissant; il sonnait à travers son cœur comme si c'était un millier de confirmations qu'elle était vraiment maintenant ce qu'elle essayait d'éviter depuis ce jour-là. En adoucissant ses traits, elle garda le silence sur la douleur dans sa poitrine comme il l'avait été à ses paroles. Il n'y avait rien de plus qu'elle puisse dire à ce stade sans se transformer en l'archer volatile qu'elle était connue pour être en temps de détresse. Bien qu'elle ait vu de nombreuses fois un regard de fierté dans les traits de Hughs quand elle allait exploser sur quelqu'un, elle doutait qu'il acquerrait un tel regard si elle était dirigée vers lui. Elle avait exprimé ses peurs et avait maintenant le silence. Elle ne pouvait pas savoir ce qui lui passait par l'esprit, donc elle n'avait aucun moyen de savoir ce qu'il tentait et juste alors, après tout, elle était trop fatiguée et dans beaucoup trop de douleur pour vouloir continuer. En se penchant et en écoutant ce qu'il avait à dire sur Ariana, elle a hurlé et un petit sourire s'est brisé sur ses traits; le sourire était vrai mais il était évident que le frisson dans ses yeux il y avait quelque chose de beaucoup plus profond qui se passait. Respirant et regardant vers le ciel, la tempête semblait commencer à se briser. « La tempête est en train de mourir », a-t-elle dit alors qu'elle s'approchait de ses deux mains et lissé ses cheveux dégoulinants en arrière et en bas du cou. De retour à Hugh, elle s'est reposée la main sur sa poitrine et a regardé vers ses yeux. « Nous devrions nous abriter et nous assécher », a-t-elle dit tranquillement avant de passer devant lui et de nous promener sur le chemin et vers la grotte, sa main s'emparant de sa chemise au-dessus du corset. Elle était heureuse de la pluie alors que quelques larmes poussaient à travers le mur émotionnel qu'elle créait pour se protéger. Sana respira profondément lorsqu'elle entra dans la grotte et passa jusqu'à Épona; heureux que son cheval eut assez de sens pour sortir de la pluie. Tirant la cravate sur son manteau, elle la laissa tomber dans un tas de mousseux à ses pieds avant de creuser quelques vêtements secs qu'elle pouvait porter jusqu'au matin et de le poser sur la selle d'Eponas. En faisant le tour de son cheval pour qu'elle ne soit vue que des cuisses vers le bas et que les épaules en haut, elle commence à peler les vêtements qui s'attachent à elle de sa forme; jetant chaque morceau sur son cheval et sur son manteau qui est couché sur le sol. Après quelques minutes, elle est sortie habillée, si on pouvait l'appeler comme ça. Ses pieds nus tombaient sur le sol truffé de la grotte. Elle avait ce qui semblait être une écharpe de lin foncé de toutes sortes enveloppée autour de ses seins et attachée dans le dos. Autour de sa taille, elle avait un lin assorti enveloppé autour de ses hanches comme un sarong. Ce n'était pas grand-chose mais il couvrait des zones intimes et ce tissu était assez facile à emballer quand il n'était pas utilisé et a pris très peu d'espace dans son paquet. Elle a commencé à ramasser chaque vêtement qu'elle avait jeté et a arraché autant d'eau qu'elle le pouvait. Là, on pouvait voir tous les dommages causés à ses blessures par la veille. La brûlure qui avait jeté un coup d'œil dans son cou n'était pas seulement là, mais elle courait toute la longueur de son cou, couvrant un côté entier de celui-ci. De là, elle s'étendit dans la poitrine jusqu'au haut de l'endroit où son corset se reposait habituellement, courant au centre de son assiette mammaire, au-dessus de sa poitrine, sous son bras et étiré au centre de son dos. Elle coulait sur son épaule et était complètement enveloppée autour d'un bras, se terminant par son coude. Il n'y avait pas assez de brûlure, il y avait des marques de perforation claires sur la même épaule des crocs du chien qui l'avaient attaquée ainsi qu'un ensemble de marques de morsure désagréables sur le dos d'un veau. Soupirant à elle-même, elle se mit à jeter les vêtements par-dessus sa bonne épaule avant de passer au mur de la grotte, c'est un visage de roche déchiqueté avec beaucoup de cales. Une rapide poussée d'haleine a passé ses lèvres avant qu'elle ne pose un pied nu sur le mur et a commencé à monter le mur rapidement jusqu'à ce qu'elle soit en mesure d'attraper une faible racine suspendue et de s'asseoir sur elle. Heureusement, grâce à la façon dont elle avait enveloppé le sarong comme une jupe, elle a pu maintenir sa modestie à mesure qu'elle grimpait. En prenant quelques minutes, elle a accroché ses vêtements de diverses racines autour d'elle avant de regarder le groupe. "Alors, quelqu'un d'autre veut que sa merde soit raccrochée à sec avant que je saute?" Elle a demandé quand elle les regardait.

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 serais heureux de vous parler, Derrix. J'ai rarement l'occasion de parler de telles choses. La plupart des gens que j'essaie d'en parler croient que je suis un évangéliste. Vaeri s'est penché sur le dos et a regardé la viande cuire. Aussi grand que la nourriture a senti, il n'a pas servi à rendre Vaeri se sentir affamé, mais a fait la grotte se sentir confortable et invitant. Elle avait deviné qu'elle ne se sentirait pas fatiguée avant le crépuscule, mais le froid amer de la pluie faisait qu'on se sentait las à ses os. Alors qu'elle regardait la cuisinière de viande, elle trouvait qu'il était de plus en plus difficile de garder les yeux ouverts. Vaeri n'a jamais eu la chance de dire à Sana qu'elle avait des vêtements qui pouvaient utiliser la pendaison, parce qu'au moment où la gitane a demandé, elle était déjà allongée sur le sol, inconsciente et respirant doucement.

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.

La grotte était froide, humide, chaude, humide et sèche. C'est tout ce qu'il y a de différent pour décrire la même chose en même temps. Melvus semblait avoir pris le pire moment pour s'endormir, ignorant apparemment le fait qu'il allait pleuvoir. Il y avait un feu et le chariot avait été emmené dans la grotte. Melvus ne bougeait pas, ses vêtements s'accrochaient à lui et étaient lourds à porter. Il était fatigué et donc, a choisi de ne pas bouger pendant un certain temps que le reste de tout le monde a séché, bavardé et généralement ralenti pendant la dernière moitié de la journée. Ils ne pouvaient pas voyager sous la forte pluie qui faisait le bruit fort du monde qui tombait hors de l'embouchure de la grotte. Melvus jeta son bras des cieux, ôta son manteau et la plupart de sa robe. Il les prit dans le bras et les retena au-dessus du feu alors qu'il s'étirait dans le chariot, dans la chemise à manches longues et le pantalon qu'il portait sous sa tenue. Ses vêtements encore trempés, il était là à attendre qu'ils sèchent ou quelque chose d'intéressant à prendre son attention.

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Fiona avait déjà vu les cicatrices de Tobias auparavant ; elle avait été dans un état moins qu'idéal à l'époque, ayant juste perdu un combat plutôt sain, mais elle s'en souvenait assez bien. La plupart du groupe avait une sorte de cicatrice, beaucoup de batailles, rendant ceux le long du dos du voleur quelque peu unique. Fiona n'était pas sûre si les cicatrices étaient quelque chose dont il fallait être fier. Elle pensait qu'ils pouvaient l'être, s'ils étaient gagnés pour une bonne cause. Tous les dommages récents de Sana avaient été gagnés en sauvant l'esclave, et bien que les cicatrices la marqueraient pour toujours, cela ramènerait, espérons-le, la mémoire d'un temps où elle avait fait le bien. Fiona n'avait que quelques petites cicatrices, rien de majeur pour l'instant, et pour cela elle devait se considérer chanceuse. -- Oui, un moment, répondit-elle, quand Sana était montée pour accrocher des vêtements. Elle regarda Mortosh partir pour prendre une montre, réalisant qu'il serait très utile d'avoir quelqu'un qui n'avait pas besoin de dormir ou de se reposer, et ne se souciait pas de la pluie. C'est alors qu'elle a remarqué que Vaeri s'était endormie, la fatigue ayant eu le meilleur d'elle. Debout, Fiona a considéré la femme elfique un moment avant de retirer la couverture enveloppée autour d'elle. Fiona l'a bien plié, et soigneusement glissé sous la tête de Vaeri, de sorte qu'elle n'aurait pas à se reposer entièrement sur le sol de la grotte. Clad dans juste ses sous-vêtements et la tunique Derrix lui avait donné, Fiona a fait son chemin à sa veste jetée et leggings, les scoops vers le haut et les remettre à Sana pour être pendu. Elle est ensuite retournée à son cheval, cherchant à travers les sacs de selle quelque chose d'autre pour se couvrir, se résolvant une seconde, plus petite couverture, qu'elle attachait lâchement autour de sa taille.

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.

Moradines barbe, je n'aurais pas dû partir avec cette tempête brassant. Je suis trempé à mes os et je ne peux pas voir de merde, une voix de course grondait comme de lourdes traces s'écoulaient dans la boue et muck que la pluie versait dans des draps épais comme le plomb. Un chiffre court et stupéfiant a poussé à travers la tempête, ne sachant pas de quelle façon ils allaient à ce point et essayant juste de trouver un abri. Un casque pointu sonna avec des robinets tandis que l'eau tombait du ciel, évidemment une malédiction sur la terre pensait que l'un lourdement blindé. En regardant vers le haut, les yeux de rouge ambre clignaient alors que les sons commençaient à sonner à travers les rouleaux du tonnerre. Il faut que j'entende des choses, que je sois sur la piste trop longtemps,,, a grondé la figure que les mots chantés ont brisé à travers les sons du maelstrom. "Bloody enfer, maintenant mes yeux sont en train de jouer des tours sur moi. Je n'ai pas besoin de visions ici sur cette route abandonnée, a grogné la figure comme une lumière comme l'appel du ciel a éclaté à travers le sommet de la canopée de la forêt. Je ferais mieux de vérifier, si je vois ça, peut-être quelque chose qui vaut la peine de tuer et de manger. Pourrait utiliser de la viande fraîche, cette écorce séchée qu'ils sont callin. Après un ajustement rapide à la grande meute hissée sur une épaule blindée agrafée, la figure a poussé vers l'avant. Leurs yeux se focalisent sur la lumière à mesure que sa source s'approfondit. Il était difficile de garder une oreille dehors en raison des sons de la tempête mais la voix sur le vent n'était pas horrible. La figure se rassure avant de s'accrocher à la pensée d'écouter l'un d'eux chanter harpie. Tandis que le sourd s'approchait de la lumière, elle s'est soudainement évanouie. Eh bien, penchez-moi et transformez-moi en une prostituée, maintenant vous fermez la gueule?Une voix sifflait, mais continuait à presser et commençait à couper à travers les arbres. Heureusement, la pluie commençait à mourir et il y avait l'odeur de la viande à l'air. "Food," la voix a dit dans une voix un peu chipper avec une pipe qui avait longtemps été étouffée par la pluie s'est serrée entre les dents. Tilting une tête sur le côté, la figure s'arrêta dans la ligne de l'arbre alors qu'elle regardait un étrange rassemblement de folk se cachant sous les racines d'un grand chêne. "Eh bien, ain't que pittoresque," la figure murmura à eux-mêmes comme une femme en haut dans les racines enfermé ses jambes sous une autre racine et s'inclina vers le bas pour prendre des vêtements d'un jeune poilu ardent. "Okay Fiona, les a eus," Sana a dit alors qu'elle prenait les vêtements avant de se remettre dans les racines de l'arbre et a commencé à raccrocher les vêtements des combattants. Elle y resta alors qu'elle attendait de voir si quelqu'un d'autre avait besoin de ses vêtements avant de sauter, ses jambes maigres se balançant sur le bord de la racine. "Hopefully up here they"ll sec assez rapide mais je suppose que tant qu'ils sont secs au matin, il n'a pas de matière," Sana a dit avant de prendre n'importe qui d'autre vêtements qui lui a été remis et sautant des racines, atterrissant doucement dans le trèfle couvert plancher de la grotte de fortune. C'est vous qui étiez en train de se bercer dans la tempête plus tôt?La figure demanda alors qu'ils sortaient de la ligne de l'arbre et se rendaient dans la grotte, lançant leur paquet sur le sol à côté d'eux avec un bourbier. Qui diable êtes-vous? » Sana s'est exclamé alors qu'elle regardait la figure. Elle ne pouvait pas distinguer les caractéristiques des personnes en raison du casque et les cheveux plâtrés à leur visage, mais il était évident qu'ils étaient un nain de certaines sortes. Un casque était porté sur une grande tête sur un corps court mais très large qui était orné de la manière la plus étrange. Ils portaient une chaîne elfique sur leur torse qui était tenue en place par une ceinture qui était criblée de divers objets, dont le plus étrange était une collection d'axes qui semblait être la taille des poignards de lancer. Deux arcs de croix accrochés à l'arrière et deux marteaux de combat de chaque côté de la ceinture. Les bras des personnes étaient couverts d'armures pointues qui sortaient de leurs épaules et couvraient le haut de leurs mains. Qui êtes-vous?La figure a grondé en arrière. La salope qui est sur le point de te botter le camp, ça c'est qui," Sana a sifflé. Dans cela se lèvent?Le personnage riait, sa voix va légèrement plus haut en octave comme il l'a fait. Sana est passée de fou à stupéfait alors que la personne tirait son casque et poussait leurs cheveux blancs hors de leur visage pour révéler que c'était une femme, une naine sans barbe portant une femme. Ce que tu vas faire là-dedans, c'est attraper un rhume ou l'un de moi te pique le dos. Ce qui convient à votre fantaisie. Sana se tenait là, regardant la femme sous un léger choc. Elle avait rencontré des nains dans le passé, mais ils avaient été décents d'être autour et toujours des hommes. Elle pensait que les femmes dwarven étaient légendaires. Sana a regardé autour du reste du groupe, sa bouche légèrement agape. Je n'ai rien, les gars? Apparemment. Ecoute, je vais juste me reposer les haunches ici, espèce de cure-dent, la femme a déclaré qu'elle s'était plié les genoux et son cul est tombé dans le sol par le feu. "Oh oui, qu'il soit bien grillé," elle a commenté, ignorant totalement ceux autour d'elle comme elle a enlevé la pipe d'entre ses dents et a renversé les feuilles mouillées sur le talon de sa botte. En entrant dans son sac de ceinture, elle en a sorti quelques-uns secs et a emballé la pipe avant de la remettre entre ses lèvres. Courir le côté arrière d'une bague argentée sur son doigt, la pipe s'éclaircit rapidement en soufflant, un sourire de contenu sur ses lèvres. "Excusez-vous," Sana a dit alors qu'elle marchait devant la femme. "Excusez-vous, vous bloquant le feu," dit la femme avant d'atteindre et de pousser Sana par les jambes hors du chemin. Sana glissa sur le côté et regarda le reste stupéfait. Hé, découpe-moi un peu de cette bête, ça sent bon! "Je ne vais pas!" Sana siffle. La femme a dit avant de tirer un couteau de sa ceinture, en partant vers l'avant et en sculptant un morceau de viande. "Oh, nom soit Shela, qui êtes-vous?" Shela demanda alors qu'elle sortait la pipe de sa bouche et prenait une bouchée de viande. Oh oui, c'est délicieux!

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 Corps C'était une nuit sombre, la grande figure sombre décida alors qu'il montait dans le ciel. La plupart des nuits, il pouvait à peine faire disparaître des points de lumière lointains dans le ciel - il a agité son esprit pour leur parole pendant un moment. Des étoiles. La plupart des nuits, quand il a levé les yeux, ils étaient là-haut, tremblant de la noirceur. Mais pas ce soir, donc ce soir doit être une nuit exceptionnellement sombre. Il a dû aussi pleuvoir. Oui, c'était de l'eau qui tombait sur sa peau grise, qui trempait ses vêtements, qui courait dans ses membres. Il pouvait le sentir, quand il s'est concentré sur elle - la poutre de gouttes de pluie sur sa tête. Ça lui rappelait quelque chose de perdu jusqu'à l'âge. Quand il était en vie. Il a fait un pas, puis un autre. Il avait arrêté son rythme pendant un moment, car il avait pesé les informations sensorielles limitées du monde extérieur. Il n'était pas aveugle, ou sourd, ou quelque chose comme ça. Tout était juste... muet. Comme s'il voyait le monde de l'extrémité d'un long tunnel sombre, et la moitié de la couleur en était vidée. Son ouïe était comme si sa tête était submergée d'eau, et il sentait des choses comme si à travers plusieurs couches de... quelque chose. Du moins, c'est ce à quoi ça ressemblait, comparé à ce dont il avait peu de souvenirs... avant. Peu à peu, Oscar reprit la démarche fallacieuse qui définissait son existence. Toujours à marcher. Il y avait quelque chose au loin, une lumière pâle et clignotante. Comme une étoile. Mais les étoiles étaient toujours là-haut, et c'était ici... pas une étoile, alors. Un feu? Le cadavre a commencé à se diriger vers elle sans vraiment savoir pourquoi. Alors qu'il s'approchait, il commença à entendre des bruits. Des voix. Il y avait des gens, et ils disaient quelque chose - mais leurs paroles étaient encore trop lointaines pour leur sens de pénétrer l'engourdissement dans son cerveau. Plus près. Avant qu'il le sache, il était sorti de quelques buissons et dans la grotte, faisant une sacrée racket comme il l'a fait. Il s'est branlé la tête en essayant d'étudier chaque figure à tour de rôle. Un elfe, un homme sans chemise, un goblin, une fille aux cheveux étranges et brillants, une femme en colère, un nain et un vieil homme gris... Ils étaient armés. Oscar espérait qu'ils n'essayeraient pas de lui faire du mal. Il détestait quand les gens essayaient de lui faire du mal. Ses efforts pour mettre fin à des situations similaires n'avaient jamais vraiment fonctionné, mais il pourrait être utile d'essayer. Il s'est rasé la gorge à haute voix, et s'est brouillé les dents cassées. "Je suis... Oscar. Je ne te ferai pas de mal." Le voleur Tobias s'est levé et a remis sa chemise à Sana, faisant de son mieux pour ne pas regarder Fiona comme il l'a fait. "Tie ça aussi. Je garderai le pantalon, je ne voudrais pas qu'aucune de vous ne soit trop tentée." Il se retournait juste pour s'asseoir près du feu quand une raquette a explosé dans la grotte. Deux choses étaient instantanément claires sur la figure - c'était un nain, et c'était bruyant. Une seconde plus tard, Tobias est devenu assez sûr que c'était une femme, à en juger par le manque de barbe. Sana et le nain s'en allèrent instantanément l'un sur l'autre, et Tobias se sentit obligé d'intervenir avant que les yeux ne finissent sur des flèches. -- Doucement, Sana, dit-il, jetant une main sur son épaule (en espérant qu'elle et Hugh ne le poignarderaient pas pour la toucher pendant qu'elle était déshabillée). "Nous avons beaucoup à faire, n'est-ce pas?" Il a essayé d'entrer en contact visuel avec la femme, espérant lui fixer un message silencieux. Le nain pourrait être dangereux, et l'énerver ne la rendra pas moins. "Vous êtes un voyageur, n'est-ce pas? N'y a-t-il pas une sorte de... règle de l'hospitalité routière?" Il se tourna vers le nain et s'inclina brusquement. "Des excuses pour la rugosité, Lady Dwarf. Nous sommes l'humble groupe d'aventure connu sous le nom de... Cinder Seekers. Mon nom est Tobias, le joli visage du groupe. Enchanté de faire votre connaissance." Juste alors, une nouvelle figure est arrivée. Elle marchait comme une personne, mais un regard sur sa peau grise, ses yeux blancs et ses vêtements tabassés a permis au voleur de s'assurer qu'il n'en était pas un. Le monstre a dit quelque chose, mais Tobias n'écoutait pas. Le voyou est revenu et a attrapé Fiona, interposant la fille entre lui et la nouvelle arrivée. "C'est un zombie! Tuez-le, tuez-le par le feu!"

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

Les mots et la commotion semblaient s'envoler autour de Derrix alors qu'il s'habillait avec diligence avec son couteau tranchant, désireux de sauver autant d'animaux que possible. Pour une fois ses yeux se concentraient et ne voyaient pas ce qui n'était plus là, mais restaient plutôt en réalité, examinant sa tâche banale avec vigueur de contenu. Le mouvement répétitif a certes été relaxant pour Derrrix, si bien qu'il a réussi à noyer les arguments autour de lui avec des pensées et des idées simples. Sa lame d'acier égratignait la chair de l'animal alors qu'il séparait la peau du muscle, et l'odeur métallique l'a envahi, malgré sa proximité avec les morceaux aromatiques déjà cuits et salés qu'il avait préparés pour le petit garçon vert et paraphait ses autres nouveaux camarades à bras. Il a travaillé sur l'animal avec un petit sourire, heureux dans son état actuel de félicité simpliste. Derrix sentit le remorqueur des sangliers se cacher alors qu'il grattait la graisse d'un pli qu'il avait épluché du côté des sangliers. Son attention a été brisée et il a suivi l'inertie du remorqueur vers un nain qui volait son animal assez brutalement. "Excuse-moi," Derrix a commencé, son sourcil sillonné de confusion alors qu'il regardait la femme d'or, reflétant les lèches du feu devant lui. Mais ce sanglier n'est pas à toi. Une voix hurlante s'empara une fois de plus de son attention et il jeta sa vision sur la silhouette d'un autre visiteur de la grotte. Il a mis ses lèvres dans une ligne, en pensant que le silence était sa place dans l'affaire.

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

Bonjour Oscar Je suis Zam le Petal susmentionné s'est présenté au Zombie parce qu'il semblait assez amical, puis elle a pointé vers Mort et l'a présenté "Et ce Mortosh Celjust" En entendant son nom, le squelette sans mâchoires se leva et se tourna vers Zam et la vit rapidement avec Oscar.

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 mouillage humide des sabots marchant à travers la boue était le seul bruit dans la forêt mis à part le hurlement calme du vent et le tambourage constant de la pluie frigide. Le pied, sombre comme le charbon se promenait dans les bois portant son maître, un homme à l'aspect maigre dans des vêtements de rue communs, qui semblait légèrement ennuyé, mais autre qu'un clin d'œil occasionnel ne semblait pas reconnaître le temps autour de lui. Sa main gauche tenait lâchement sur les rênes du cheval, la droite reposant sur le pommeau d'une épée étrange gainée sur sa hanche. Depuis une heure, il voyageait vers un grand pilier de lumière qu'il avait vu. Il était à cheval depuis des jours. Il n'était pas vraiment sûr où il allait, mais cela avait été son modus operandi depuis 4 ans. Finalement, il a vu un petit sentier de fumée s'élever dans l'air s'élever des bois. Peut-être un campement? Il a dirigé son pied à tisser à travers les arbres, en venant à un grand arbre-caverne rempli de tout le nombre de personnages colorés. Il a marché son cheval dans la grotte, veillant à ne tomber sur personne ou quoi que ce soit et démonté. Il avait le visage d'un étranger, avec des yeux pointus, une peau de bronzage et des notes d'elvish pointues dans ses oreilles qui se collaient hors de ses cheveux. Il était difficile d'en dire beaucoup plus sur lui, car ses cheveux d'épaule étaient trempés et couvraient une grande partie de sa tête. "J'espère ne pas empiéter. J'apprécierais beaucoup un peu de votre nourriture." Comme il l'a dit, l'homme est passé et a sculpté une tranche de viande de porc sans attendre une réponse avec son couteau d'utilité. Il retourna à son cheval, maintenant couché sur le sol et s'assit à pattes croisées, ses sandales s'avançant dans les airs. "Nom est Kazuo." L'homme pointe au cheval, "C'est Trombe." Le cheval salue le reste du peuple dans la grotte,

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.

Fiona avait à peine fini de couvrir ses jambes quand un visiteur inopiné arriva dans leur grotte, une femme naine. C'était certainement quelque chose qu'elle n'avait jamais vu dans ses brefs voyages, et à en juger par la réaction de Sana, pas quelque chose qu'elle avait vu non plus. Immédiatement, il semblait se diriger vers une confrontation; la femme naine, Shela lorsqu'elle s'est présentée, était incroyablement grossière et s'est forcée sur eux, attendant l'hospitalité, et Sana semblait encline à la lui refuser, même si elle était pour la plupart nue. Derrix aussi n'a pas semblé désireux de se séparer avec aucun des sangliers. Elle aurait dû s'y attendre. La balise de Sana avait réussi à guider le groupe vers elle, mais sans aucun doute d'autres avaient été pris dans cette tempête, et ils seraient attirés à la lumière aussi. Fiona pensait qu'ils avaient de la chance que la femme n'ait pas attaqué à vue. Peu d'entre eux étaient prêts à se battre. Pour sa part, Fiona n'avait ni armure, ni arme, ni véritable énergie pour l'action. « Nous pouvons y arriver », a-t-elle dit, dès qu'elle a pensé que la plupart des membres du groupe l'entendraient. Tobias la soutenait, donc c'était bien. « Nous aurions tort de faire sortir les gens de la tempête s'ils ne nous faisaient aucun mal. Inversement..." elle regarda le nain assis, "ce serait assez impoli d'un invité d'exiger plus que ce qui leur est offert." Elle ne savait pas à quel genre de coutumes le nain était habitué, mais d'où Fiona venait, les visiteurs n'ont pas dépassé leur accueil, ou profiter de l'hospitalité donnée. Pas s'ils voulaient continuer à recevoir cette hospitalité. Bien sûr, puis un zombie est arrivé, se présentant comme Oscar, et Fiona a trouvé Tobias directement derrière elle, criant dans la peur et lui demandant de le tuer. Levant légèrement, elle songea à se rapprocher de son cheval, où son épée était attachée, mais Mortosh s'approcha de l'être à sa place et le salua. Ça n'avait pas l'air violent, donc... c'était bien. Et puis un autre est arrivé. Combien de voyageurs étaient dans cette région? La balise a-t-elle été visible aussi loin? Aucun d'entre eux ne semblait très prudent d'approcher un groupe bien armé et manifestement dangereux, ce qui était à la fois rafraîchissant et ennuyeux pour Fiona en même temps. Celui-ci, au moins, Kazuo, semblait un peu plus bien entretenu. « Je suis Fiona », a-t-elle dit en agitant brièvement les nouveaux arrivants. "Il y a de la nourriture à épargner, mais comme vous pouvez le voir, il y en a beaucoup d'entre nous maintenant. S'il vous plaît ne prenez que ce dont vous avez besoin." Ils seraient probablement en route le matin, une fois que la tempête s'est rompue. Bien qu'ils devraient être sûrs de garder une veille de nuit maintenant (un effectif) au cas où l'un de ces nouveaux arrivants prévoyait de leur voler dans leur sommeil.

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.

Zam s'était mise sur l'épaule d'Oscar, elle se penchait contre son oreille "Alors Oscar Mortosh se demandait depuis combien de temps n'êtes-vous pas mort? ou éveillée comme il se réfère à cela" elle-même était un peu curieuse sur la question. Mortosh se penchait contre un arbre parallèle d'entre eux observant l'autre nouveau venu Kazuo semblait être une sorte de bien entretenu d'origine possible elfique, Les maniérismes d'Oscar semblaient suggérer que, comme Mortosh préférait éviter la violence, The Dwarven Woman pourrait être compté comme le contre-partie d'Oscar où Oscar semblait être doux le nain était fort "Zam Stay With Oscar Je vais continuer ma montre"

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

Shela s'asseyait là en mûlant sur le morceau de viande qu'elle avait pris, si l'on pouvait l'appeler mûr. Elle a effectivement mis tout le morceau de viande dans sa bouche et était assise là à s'étouffer comme si elle n'avait pas mangé en un an; bouche agape pour tous de voir chaque mâcher comme elle masticait la chair, un sourire de orgueil sur ses traits. Elle a ignoré Sana qui était debout sur son côté en essayant de brûler un tout à travers elle avec l'éblouissement colère qu'elle tirait sur le nain. Alors qu'un autre nouveau venu s'approchait de Shela, levant un gros front, essuyant sa bouche de la paume de sa main. Par mes mines, quand la dernière fois que tu as mangé quelque chose? J'ai vu plus de chair sur un elfe que de s'accrocher sur votre sac d'os, J'ai remarqué que Shela continuait à mâcher, quelques morceaux de viande qui sortaient de sa bouche pendant qu'elle parlait. Elle murmura, ramassant les morceaux qui tombaient sur le sol et les ramenant derrière ses dents. Voir le squelette tenir sa main à l'autre maigre Shela a sillonné ses sourcils. "Pour l'amour du ciel, vous ne nourrissez personne ici?" Elle a demandé à regarder autour du groupe. Quand Tobias a parlé à Sana, elle lui a tourné l'éblouissement. C'est ce que l'on appelle les bonnes manières! » Sana s'est cassée, passant à Epona et en un mouvement rapide ramassant son arc et en hochant une flèche en place. "Oh hush it stick," Shela a grondé avant de regarder vers Tobias. Un beau visage? Tu as une barbe pleine et épaisse et tu t'appelles un joli visage. Maintenant, celui là-bas, il est un morceau de viande que je ne voudrais pas savoir, de Shela a essayé de dire d'une voix sourde vers Hugh qui a fini par sonner plus comme un orc en train d'être râpé sur des charbons chauds. Les yeux de Sanas se rétrécissaient aux fentes tandis que le nain tentait de faire un passage à Hugh, un grognement possessif passant par-dessus ses lèvres alors qu'elle tirait la corde sur sa flèche et prenait le but. C'est ma chienne, elle sifflait, prête à relâcher la flèche sur le crâne de Shelas. Elle n'était d'aucune façon d'humeur pour cette femme, et encore moins de faire une passe à son homme. Touchy, sensible. Très bien, il est à toi. Pas de perte pour moi. Peut-être que si elle a grandi cette barbe bien que je pourrais lui montrer vraiment amusant,, Shela a dit chuckling alors qu'elle a continué à mâcher sa nourriture volée. "Oh shh, pas besoin de tuer, il suffit de nourrir le truc et de le laisser être sur son chemin," Shela a dit qu'elle a regardé Tobias flipper sur le zombie. S'il a besoin de cerveaux, vous n'avez pas de mal. Elle vient de trembler après s'être tournée vers Tobias, puis a regardé vers Derrix et a dit que le sanglier n'était pas le sien. Shela a demandé avant d'ouvrir sa bouche large et de coller sa langue dehors, la chair masticée reposant sur sa langue épaisse. Elle l'a dit avec un chanfrein avant de tirer sa langue en arrière et d'avaler. "Mighty fine viande, vous avez du talent là-bas qui a déjà cuisiné ceci." Comment osez-vous entrer dans notre camping et voler notre nourriture? Ce n'est pas un peu gratuit pour tous les buffets vous bite frapper ale swiller! Shela dit alors qu'elle tournait la tête lentement et rétrécissait les yeux vers Sana, plaçant sa main sur la pointe du marteau. Elle était sur le point de tirer l'arme et Sana a failli libérer sa flèche alors qu'un autre nouveau venu est entré dans le camp. Eh bien regardez ici! Kazuo, c'était ça? Nomme Shela, ce sera une belle viande si je le dis moi-même! ─ elle a dit avec joie qu'elle sortait une grande fiole et a pris une longue boisson avant de la remettre à Kazuo. Elle a dit qu'elle l'avait poussé vers lui. "Qu'est-ce qui se passe?" Sana a dit confuse alors qu'elle regardait Fiona. C'est la dernière fois que je chante cette putain de chanson, qu'elle grogne.

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.

Avant que Derrix accepte de récupérer sa viande, le nain l'a avalé. Quelques pensées éclatèrent dans l'esprit de l'homme aux yeux dorés alors que l'agitation autour de la grotte commença à gonfler, mais une courte exhalation et une pensée froide lui rappelèrent qu'il n'était pas à Charlin, ce qui permit à la fois un mal de maison tordu le nausées ainsi qu'une fosse solide de déception. Avec des articulations raides, l'homme s'est levé jusqu'à ses pieds. Il a croisé ses bras ronds alors qu'il examinait tout le monde autour du feu, y compris le nouveau voleur qui s'était faufilé pour rejoindre le nain en le braquant de son meurtre. Ses yeux s'élançaient jusqu'à l'embouchure de la grotte, où la pluie brillait comme si elle tombait de l'argent à travers la bouche. L'homme a fait des pas rapides hors de la grotte, tout en s'attardant dans ses propres pensées. En quelques instants, il réapparut par la lueur du feu, et dans la nuée de fumée qui commença à polluer l'atmosphère supérieure de la grotte, dans sa main était son épée de couleur de frêne, il attrape le bord rasoir attraper le reflet rouge du feu, lui donnant une image épouvantable. Il se leva un sourcil en regardant au-dessus du nain, puis le nouveau voleur, puis retour aux autres. Il mordit sa lèvre inférieure et secoua lentement la tête cicatrice, comme s'il ponctuait ses pensées. Son épaule puissante s'est cassée en arrière et a balancé vers l'avant, en haussant la lame dans un flash à travers l'air, coupant le vent avec un sifflet. Un os se cassait fort et le bruit de chair s'écoulait sur le sifflet de la lame, tandis que l'épée enchaînée coupait le cadavre du cochon directement en bas du milieu, éclaboussant le cramoisi à travers les clapets verts environnants. Avec un lacet satisfait, Derrix arracha la moitié inférieure de l'animal par la queue et le souleva au niveau de la poitrine. Il a examiné la coupe alors qu'il abaissait son autre main qui tenait la lame. Il regarda le nain et s'inclina, un sourire satirique de respect s'inclinant les lèvres, de l'honneur je donne ce cul de cochon, à lui égal, un cul de cochon. Il s'est penché et a lâché la croupe sanglante sur le lap de naines avant de faire signe au reste de l'équipage de la caverne, et je laisse la tête à tous les autres. Derrix a essuyé sa lame de frêne de la tache écarlate du cochon sur sa tunique avant de la retourner dans sa main. Ses lèvres sérieuses se redressèrent une fois de plus en se retournant et en rentrant dans la pluie, mais pas avant d'arracher son arc qui était dressé contre le mur de la bouche.

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