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Kazuo s'est assis en regardant toute la scène jouer. On dirait que la naine faisait son affaire pour énerver tout le monde dans cette grotte, faire des "avances" à des hommes au hasard, insulter des apparences de gens essayant de converser, lui montrer de la nourriture mâchée au gars avec les cicatrices bizarres. Mais elle lui a donné de la bière. Avec sa main de secours, il a saisi la fiole et l'a regardée. Sa mère lui avait appris à ne pas boire d'alcool. Il a terni les sens et ruiné votre coordination et votre capacité à penser, peut-être votre plus grande force dans un combat. Aussi ça sentait plutôt mauvais, mais il n'allait pas dire ça à haute voix. La récompense de Shela pour son incroyable comportement était d'avoir une demi-carcasse de sanglier jetée sur ses genoux. Kazuo regarda la fine tranche de viande entre ses doigts, à la carcasse, à l'homme écarlate, puis retourna à sa viande. Il s'était assuré que la tranche était si fine qu'elle était moins qu'une bouche, rien qui ne manquerait, mais... "Si tu le veux, ça ne me dérange pas." Kazuo étend la viande. Le vide dans son estomac ne valait pas l'inimitié du gars avec sa grande épée.

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 tenait son arc, avec la flèche en place, dans une main alors qu'elle courait sa main libre à travers ses cheveux mouillés et soupirait profondément. C'était un peu pour même le meilleur des jours, mais avec tout ce qui s'était passé, elle a senti l'envie d'aller de l'avant et de jeter le nain avec sa flèche et de le dépasser. Elle s'est penchée sur Derrix, prenant un peu de recul au fur et à mesure que les événements se déroulait. Apparemment, elle n'était pas la seule à en être fatiguée, mais sa réaction semblait être un peu plus agréable que les options qui dansaient dans sa tête. Shela, d'autre part, s'est assise là, enflammée sur sa pipe comme si c'était un événement quotidien et un large sourire est venu sur ses traits alors qu'il lâchait les porcs à l'arrière dans son tour -- Eh bien, je n'ai pas un beau cul depuis longtemps, je suis très obligé! Elle s'écria alors qu'elle tapait le cul du bourreau et se mit à en tailler d'autres. "Qui d'autre en veut?" Elle a dit qu'elle avait fourré un morceau dans sa bouche, tenant toujours le tuyau entre ses dents comme elle l'a fait. Elle a repris sa flasque d'Ale et a pris une longue perruque. "C'est de ça que je parle! De la bonne nourriture, de la bière et des amis! Santé!" "Amis?" Sana siffla et secoua la tête. "Oh merde, je serai avec Derrix," Sana a dit d'attraper son carquois et de le jeter sur son dos, avant qu'elle parte de la grotte. "Woman va attraper sa mort de froid errant là-bas rien que dans quelques pansements et pas de bottes," Shela a commenté en avalant le morceau de viande. "Alors, Red, qu'est-ce que vous faites ici en plein milieu de nulle part?" Shela a demandé alors qu'elle soufflait sur sa pipe et a commencé à couper des morceaux de viande, en distribuant quelques-uns à Kuzuo. "Allez, mangez!"

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 regardé en arrière rapidement l'autre voleur qui s'est assis avec le nain, le garder, il est à vous. Le nain commença à aboyer des mots qui tombaient aussi flous sur les oreilles de l'homme alors qu'il continua son retrait de la grotte, sifflant à son cheval. La bête blanche lui a trottiné, des gouttelettes qui la descendent sur les côtés musculaires. Derrix battit l'étalon en gros et, avec un mouvement rapide, il monta pour s'asseoir sur la selle en cuir trempé. Il s'est jeté les pieds dans les étriers et a sorti une flèche de la cartable latérale et l'a pincé lâchement dans la main avec laquelle il tenait la corde de l'arc. Avec le froid du vent dispersé du bois passant par ses minces vêtements mouillés, un arc robuste courbé dans sa main, et un cheval en dessous, il se sentait comme s'il était à nouveau dans les plaines, presque. Il y avait un certain sentiment que les plaines avaient que cette forêt juste n'émule pas, et un certain respect qui juste n'était pas ici; cette terre se sentait vide et en conséquence, il a ajouté une pagaille douce et douloureuse au battement dans le creux de son cœur déjà tendu

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

Ayant pu s'attendre à ce que le reste de la nuit lui donne l'occasion de se reposer et de se détendre et de se préparer pour le lendemain, Fiona était un peu exaspérée par la situation. Elle compatissait avec l'insulte de Derrix dirigée contre le nain, et avait pensé à des choses similaires elle-même, mais clairement ce Shela était le type de femme qui ne faisait que se nourrir de telles choses. Le fait de montrer qu'elle s'était mise sous leur peau ne ferait que l'embellir. Ce qu'elle avait certainement réussi à obtenir sous Fiona déjà, et avec les deux Derrix et Sana s'envolant, il semblait tomber à Fiona pour être l'hôtesse de la grotte, pour ainsi dire. C'était un travail qu'elle ne voulait pas ; le sommeil semblait plus agréable, mais elle ne pouvait pas jusqu'à ce qu'elle soit raisonnablement certaine que ce nain, ce cadavre, et cet autre nouveau venu étaient assez dignes de confiance pour baisser sa garde. Elle a pensé à appeler Sana pour essayer de la faire revenir, mais elle s'est arrêtée à la dernière seconde, pensant que si quelqu'un le faisait, ce serait Hugh. Une personne de moins pour l'aider à traiter avec les nouveaux arrivants, il semblait. Elle soupira, lassivement, en courant une main à travers ses cheveux encore humides et en essayant de travailler quelques enchevêtrements, avant de regarder le nain assis. En supposant que "Red" faisait référence à elle, elle a répondu à la question. « Nous sommes au travail », a-t-elle expliqué. "Collecter des ingrédients pour aider à traiter un cas rare de maladie de la cendre qui est apparu dans un orphelinat de village. Nous avons recueilli l'une des cinq choses dont nous avons besoin, et nous sommes en route vers la prochaine."

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.

Alors que l'homme appelait son cheval et partait après le départ de la femme tzigane, Kazuo sauta le morceau de viande dans sa bouche et remit sa paume à son lieu de repos sur le sommet de son épée. C'était plutôt bien, mais le voir mâché il n'y a pas une minute l'a rendu pire dans sa bouche qu'il n'aurait dû l'avoir et il n'était pas enclin à en avoir plus. Son autre main agita à Shela, baissant la viande qu'elle lui offrait. Pourtant, le peu de nourriture l'a aidé à se détendre, son corps s'est visiblement desserré alors qu'il se penchait en arrière et a étudié les gens bizarres avec lesquels il s'est retrouvé assis dans la grotte. Trombe exhala fort derrière Kazuo alors que Shela parlait dans sa direction. Le cheval ne semblait pas l'aimer. "Facile, facile." Kazuo a dit doucement à la bête. Il battit le flanc du cheval quelques fois avant de revenir sur la conversation à portée de main. C'est la maladie du cidre? Il était presque sûr d'en avoir entendu parler avant. S'il pensait à la bonne chose, c'était comme se faire brûler de l'intérieur. Des trucs naseux. C'était bizarre pour une tâche aussi simple d'avoir besoin de tant de gens. La maladie du cidre n'avait pas vraiment la réputation d'être si difficile à guérir. Ce n'était pas ses affaires. -- Qu'est-ce qui vous amène à cette partie des bois, Shela? Il était assez évident que tout le monde dans cette grotte, mais lui et Shela étaient un peu à l'écart. Peut-être qu'en parler un peu plus d'elle-même aiderait à désamorcer la tension. Ou la question pourrait faire demi-tour et énerver tout le monde encore plus. Ça valait le coup de jouer. Après tout, ils n'auraient qu'à passer cette nuit. Le temps n'avait pas l'air de se maintenir jusqu'au lendemain.

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

Le Corps Oscar était parfaitement immobile alors qu'il attendait l'inévitable. Des épées, des torches, des rugissements et du sang. L'un d'eux, le sans chemise, avait déjà réagi à sa présence, ressortant dans l'effroi. Il ne voulait pas les tuer. Puis, quelque chose d'inattendu s'est produit. Une voix fragile et légère vient de quelque part... une salutation? Et l'un de ceux qu'il n'avait pas pu voir s'est clairement écrasé vers lui, et a tenu une main vide. Le cadavre l'a regardé... il faisait trop sombre pour qu'il voie clairement, mais il est arrivé assez tôt. "Mort... comme moi." Une mémoire s'est glissée dans son cerveau brumeux. La main voulait dire quelque chose... il était censé faire quelque chose avec? Limply, Oscar s'est branlé le bras en avant et a giflé la paume de l'autre mort-vivant avec la sienne. Assez près. Quelqu'un de nouveau est arrivé, et tout le monde parlait. Deux des humains sont partis dans un huff, manifestement déplaisant avec les nouveaux venus. La voix venait de quelque part de nouveau, comme l'autre mort est parti. Oscar a laissé sa tête retomber et n'a répondu en aucune mise en scène particulière. "Réveille-toi? J'étais mort... Je ne sais pas." Il a saccagé son cerveau en décomposition, essayant de trouver les bons mots pour le temps. "Des années, maintenant. Plus d'un? Ça fait longtemps que je marche." Oscar s'est ébranlé, tout son corps s'est convulsé, mais a continué impassiblement. "Je peux rester ici? Qu'est-ce que c'était? "Rain?" Le voleur Tobias s'est éloigné de Fiona alors qu'ils tout le parti s'est mis à ne pas éclater dans un tourbillon de zombie-slaying, toussant tranquillement. "Eh-heh... de toute façon," a-t-il dit, tapotant l'épaule de la fille sans esprit. Le voyou était calme au fur et à mesure que la scène se déplaçait. Quelqu'un de nouveau s'est pointé avec une drôle d'épée, Derrix et Sana ont jeté un coup d'oeil sur la nourriture et s'est envolé, Shela le nain a tout pris avec une bonne humeur enviable, et Fiona essayait d'expliquer leur situation. -- Eh bien, dit-il, en applaudissant ses mains pendant que la scène se détendait. "Ces deux-là ne savent pas s'amuser." Le voleur s'est assis à côté du feu, regardant le spasming zombie dans le coin de sa vision. Tout le monde peut se contenter de l'avoir dans le camp, mais Tobias ne l'était pas. "Je resterais du bon côté de Sana, cependant. Bien plus facile à dire qu'à faire, je sais, mais elle a un caractère sur elle." Il se blottit légèrement, se procurant un peu de pain rassasié de sa meute et grignotant dessus. Ça a rappelé le voleur de la maison, d'une certaine façon. Il a hurlé de façon encourageante comme celui avec l'épée - Kazuo - a demandé au nain pour son récit. "Ouais, faisons des histoires! Après ça, je raconterai à celui-là comment j'ai tué un géant et m'en suis sorti avec ses trésors! »

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

Sana a gardé sa flèche en place alors qu'elle commençait à s'éloigner de la grotte. La pluie s'arrêtait, mais le froid était encore dans l'air et Sana n'était pas habillée pour un tel temps. Deux morceaux de tissu enveloppés autour de ses zones les plus délicates étaient tout ce qui la protégeait des éléments, ses pieds nus tombant doucement dans la boue et la boue du sol de la forêt pendant qu'elle grondait à elle-même. Elle comprenait la colère de Derrrix à un certain niveau, l'un n'allait pas seulement dans le camp d'un autre et s'installait dans un magasin. Sana n'était pas une femme particulièrement couth, mais il y avait des lignes qu'elle n'a pas croisées. Elle s'enfonça dans la forêt, s'arrêtant à un arbre et s'appuyant contre lui alors que la pluie coulait des feuilles au-dessus d'elle. Hier avait été horrible, aujourd'hui ne s'est pas avéré être beaucoup mieux. Courant sa langue sur ses lèvres, elle lécha l'humidité alors qu'elle baissait la tête et regardait le sol, regardant ses orteils se remuer dans la boue comme elle se perdait dans la pensée; son corps tremblait violemment du froid. De retour dans l'a donné Shela gonflé contentement sur sa pipe, sculptant des morceaux de viande et les distribuant à ceux qui voulaient certains et prenant périodiquement une longue traction de sa fiole de bière. Une épaisse rose de front comme Fiona a mentionné la maladie du cidre. "Oh oui, j'ai lu un dépliant à ce sujet dans quelques villes en arrière. C'est peut-être un cendreur de merde. Pire qu'une nuit de cuisine elfique », a-t-elle dit alors qu'elle tirait le collier de sa chaîne elfique sur le côté pour révéler une grande cicatrice noire sur sa poitrine qui ressemblait aux restes d'une carcasse sur cuite. "Burnes comme l'enfer, mais le pire, c'est quand l'un des ébullitions éclate", dit-elle. "Boom!" Elle a crié en jetant les mains en l'air. "Soyez si chaud que ça ressemble à des bulles d'acier fondu sur le foyer. Des terres autour de vous mettent le feu à tout ce qu'il touche, vos chars de chair comme il guérit. Il m'a laissé ce vilain petit rappel. Dites-vous ce que je préfère danser avec un était sous une lune pâle plutôt que de traverser cela à nouveau », dit-elle en lâchant sa chaîne alors qu'elle mâchait sur le bout de sa pipe. "Moi? Oh, je voyage juste. Tu sais, voir ce qu'il y a là-bas. J'ai fait de l'aventure depuis longtemps, plus longtemps que vous n'étiez en vie. Eh bien, peut-être pas celui-là", a-t-elle dit en pointant vers Vaeri. « Ne peut jamais être sûr de l'âge de l'un d'eux, ils n'aiment pas comme nous les gens normaux », dit-elle en enlevant une autre bouffée de sa pipe. "Une histoire, hein? Eh bien, je suppose que je pourrais vous dire de la fois où mes potes et moi étions dehors plongée donjon pour le trésor, mais n'était pas rien de très excitant que cela. Oh, j'en ai une que vous aimerez peut-être », a-t-elle dit alors qu'elle tirait un collier sous son courrier et tenait une dent presque aussi grande que sa main. "Je pourrais vous dire comment j'ai eu cette dent Dragons. Bonne histoire là-bas, beaucoup de haute aventure et plus de plaisir que le baril à cheval sur la rivière White!"

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.

Personne n'est propriétaire d'une grotte. Tant que vous n'essayez pas de nous manger, vous devriez être bon, Z-man. Kazuo a mis ses cheveux mouillés derrière ses oreilles pour qu'il puisse mieux entendre ce que Shela avait à voir. On aurait dit qu'elle avait une bonne histoire ou deux. Peut-être qu'une bonne histoire était vraiment tout ce qui était nécessaire pour obtenir tout le monde autre que les deux étrangers et l'elfe endormi pour se détendre. En parlant de l'elfe, quand Shela a pointé sur elle, Vaeri s'est tourné vers le côté. Cela ne semblait cependant pas être plus qu'une coïncidence. "Je pense voyager pour une raison similaire à celle de Shela. Aventurant. Voir le monde. De plus en plus fort. Tu sais. Des trucs habituels." Les éternuements ont été ponctués par un éternuement qui était assez calme pour se sentir plus comme des excuses qu'un éternuement. Peut-être que la pluie l'avait affecté un peu plus qu'il ne le laisse entendre. Quoi qu'il en soit, ses vêtements et ses cheveux s'assèchent assez rapidement. Il ira sûrement bien.

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.

Drizzak secoua de nouveau le sommeil de ses yeux. Est-ce qu'il s'est encore enfui? Il était tellement détendu et calme près du feu, avec ses alliés. Pas de bagarre pour une fois. Pas de conflit. Alors que c'était amusant, même il en a eu marre parfois. Tout le monde semblait aller bien dans la grotte, et Drizzak a vu que de nouveaux visages se joignaient à eux. C'était sympa. De nouveaux alliés à combattre et à saigner. Parle et ris avec. Il y avait du plaisir à avoir. Des batailles à gagner. Et il dormait sur le sol d'une grotte près du feu et les agitait comme un idiot. En pagne et rien d'autre. Il aurait autant pu se présenter. "Je Drizzak. Je me bats." Comme c'est embarrassant. C'est-à-dire, s'il se sentait embarrassé.

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'.

La nuit s'était finalement enroulée alors que le soleil se couchait à l'est, mais des nuages sombres se roulaient encore dans le ciel, cachant la lune de vue; le froid dans l'air s'intensifiait alors que les vents s'éteignaient. Sana s'inclina la tête en arrière et regarda vers les feuilles pendant qu'un frisson coulait sur sa colonne vertébrale. Il y avait un problème. Le froid était une chose, mais ses brûlures étaient au moins assombries dans leur désir d'en causer la douleur. Il y avait quelque chose d'autre dans l'air, quelque chose qui n'aurait pas dû être là; quelque chose d'hostilité. Les yeux de Sanas se rétrécissaient au fur et à mesure que la traction dans son intestin commençait à se nouer, sa tête descendait et tournait à droite, puis à gauche lorsqu'elle examinait la forêt autour d'elle. Il était si silencieux, elle ne pouvait même plus entendre les autres parler dans la grotte. Elle n'avait pas erré assez loin pour un tel silence pour envahir ses sens. Le coup d'une brindille a brisé le silence et son cœur s'est senti comme s'il ricochait sur le mur de sa poitrine alors qu'elle retenait son souffle. Ses doigts lui tendirent l'arc en tirant la ficelle en arrière; des taches d'ambre clignotant contre les orbes sombres de ses yeux pendant qu'ils s'éparpillaient. Un souffle lent passa à travers les lèvres séparées alors qu'elle filait vers le son et se dirigea vers le but, mais il n'y avait rien; rien d'autre qu'un brouillard dense qui roulait rapidement. Ce qui a fait le bruit caché dans le brouillard? Le brouillard est entré rapidement comme si c'était un truc vivant et respirant. Sana se sentait impuissante alors que les vrilles sortaient du brouillard, l'enveloppaient et l'envoyaient dans une stupeur perplexe. Un cri arraché de ses cordes vocales alors qu'elle lançait son arc et sa flèche à la boue à ses pieds avant qu'elle ne soit tirée au fond du brouillard. Soudain le brouillard s'en alla aussi vite qu'il était apparu, avec Sana. Il ne restait plus que son cri en l'air, son arme au sol et ses empreintes de pied dans la boue. Dans la grotte, Shela s'appuyait sur son coude, soufflant sur sa pipe avec une expression amusée sur son visage en entendant le faible éternuement. Espérons que vous maniez une lame mieux que vous éternuez, qu'elle menaçât de rire dans sa voix. On dirait que nous sommes tous à la recherche d'une bonne bagarre. Donc l'un d'entre vous voit une action à partir de tard? Je n'ai pas été capable d'évacuer quoi que ce soit depuis des semaines et je pense que le marteau devient une fois de plus assoiffé de sang. Moi, je pense que je m'en tiens à vous tous. Cendrillon est méchant mais traquer quelque chose sur la route pendant que vous regardez tous pourrait être un bon moment fracassant! Oui, c'est ça! Demain, je fais un tour avec toi, pour te montrer ce qu'une vraie folle peut faire. Nous avons quelques grandes histoires à raconter en un rien de temps," elle s'est exclamé comme elle s'est redressée et s'est giflée le genou, fière de la décision qu'elle avait prise. Tandis que le goblin parlait, elle tournait la tête, ses dents broyaient contre le bois de la pipe pendant un moment, n'avaient jamais trop aimé leur genre mais ses mots courts suffisaient à briser un sourire sur ses traits. - Un combat de drizzak? Il a dû combattre quelque chose de puissant pour devenir de l'or. Bientôt, tu seras plus mort que vivant avec cette jolie peau," elle a piqué avant qu'elle entende le cri déchirer à travers la grotte. "Dit cette femme qu'elle a attrapé quelque chose errant là-bas comme ça, sonne comme quelque chose fait l'a attrapée," elle a dit qu'elle se poussait à ses pieds et lui sautait le cou. Elle a dit qu'elle se dirigeait vers le bord de la grotte, de lourdes traces tombant contre le sol à mesure que chaque pas grandissait plus vite et qu'elle construisait de la vitesse. Elle n'attendait pas une réponse; la chance d'une bataille était alors trop attrayante.

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.

Kazuo est resté silencieux à Shela et au goblin d'or, les mots de Drizzak. Pas par opposition ou par supériorité, mais parce qu'il n'avait rien à dire. Oui, il aurait pu répondre « J'essaie d'éternuer tranquillement pour qu'il ne donne pas de conseils à chaque bête sauvage à moins d'un kilomètre de moi », à Shela et, « Cool, je me bats aussi », à Drizzak, mais cela n'ajouterait rien à la conversation. Ce cri, cependant, le ferait. Il pouvait laisser une femme, même une qu'il n'avait pas vraiment rencontrée, mourir dans la forêt. De sa position assise, Kazuo se berça vers l'avant, se coucha la tête et roula vers l'avant sur ses pieds. "Trombe, il est temps de courir." Le cheval bourdonna en réponse et se tint, permettant à son maître de monter avant de galoper dans la direction. Shela aurait probablement une avance non négligeable, donc son premier but était de la rattraper. "Vous voulez un ascenseur?" Voyager en deux réduirait les chances d'être embusqué comme l'était probablement la femme tzigane, mais si elle choisissait de ne pas décoller, il était presque sûr que Trombe apprécierait de ne pas avoir à courir avec un nain lourd en pleine plaque dans le remorquage.

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.

Charroux se blesse à travers les arbres épais. Ses grands sabots ont pilonné le paillis humide du sol de la forêt, brandissant des taches brunes sur ses jambes blanches bouchées. Derrix scannait chaque ombre avec diligence pendant qu'il montait sur son cheval. En n'utilisant que ses genoux pour guider Charroux, il tenait son arc avec une flèche encochée, prête à tirer sur tout danger qui aurait pu causer le cri déchirant qu'il avait entendu rebondir des arbres. Le vent s'est précipité devant la paire de chargement, et même si la pluie s'était arrêtée, leur force à travers l'air humide a humidifié leurs visages et laissé des perles de rosée dans les cheveux foncés de Derrrix. L'air frais, déjà plus léger, s'est soudainement transformé en épais et humide alors que les deux continuaient leur sprint. L'absence soudaine du froid de la pluie a apporté une tension aux jambes musculaires de Charroux et le cheval ralenti. Derrix s'inclina avec sympathie vers son cheval, ne voulant pas se séparer de son arc pour battre l'animal. Une douce teinte de lumière rayonnait des hommes montés lui et son cheval continuèrent dans l'ombre de la forêt, impatient de trouver Sana, et la source de pourquoi elle avait crié. Le sol est devenu boueux, et Derrix a glissé de son cheval, réalisant l'occasion de traquer. Comme si le ciel envoyait, l'homme trouva rapidement le contour d'un pied nu pressé dans la boue, et un autre, et un autre. Derrix regarda son cheval et balança son arc sur son épaule en faveur de son épée, qu'il tira du fourreau avec un frêne criant. Marcher sur le côté les empreintes qu'il pouvait faire de la boue, il a continué, Charroux en remorque.

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

Fiona Ça n'a jamais fini, il semblait. Fiona ne savait pas quoi faire quand elle a entendu le cri. Elle savait qu'elle devait aider, mais elle n'était pas prête, à moitié déshabillée et désarmée. Il n'y avait pas le temps, cependant, d'amener Fiona à enlever la couverture autour d'elle et attacher un chiffon plus léger autour de ses hanches beaucoup comme Sana avait fait, au moins la laisser bouger rapidement et préserver une certaine quantité de modestie. Rapidement, elle a écopé sa ceinture d'épée du sol et l'a serrée autour de sa taille. Pied nu, Fiona glissa son pied dans un étrier et se tira sur son cheval, en vérifiant brièvement si ses armes étaient en ordre, avant qu'elle ne roule et ne tende la main vers Tobias. "Coming?" Zoenya La fête d'aventure n'était pas la seule attirée par le cri de Sana. Une jeune femme était montée au sommet d'un cheval de trot qui se déplaçait à un rythme régulier et détendue sur la route. Elle semblait avoir évité le pire de la tempête, bien que ses cheveux noirs longs et épais et ses vêtements soient encore humides avec les pluies plus légères qui se produisent actuellement. À en juger par le regard sur son visage, l'une d'une plaisanterie presque absente d'esprit, elle n'a pas été dérangée par cela. Zoe a voyagé de nombreuses nuits. Parfois, elle ne se sentait pas fatiguée, et en apprenant que la dernière ville n'avait rien pour elle, elle ne voyait aucune raison de rester après que la tempête ait commencé à se calmer. Elle a roulé pendant un moment, s'arrêtant quand elle a remarqué que le soleil se couchait du mauvais côté du monde. C'était assez étrange, et un signe sûr de magie. Elle a attendu un moment, se tenant immobile et se demandant si tout le monde avait vécu ça, ou juste elle. Quand le cri de la femme a traversé l'air calme de nuit, elle a été attirée vers elle plutôt que loin. C'était sa curiosité qui surpassait toute peur, comme d'habitude. Il y avait des choses dangereuses dehors et à peu près la nuit dans les bois sombres comme toujours, mais Zoe pouvait gérer elle-même. Elle s'est dit ça, de toute façon. "La lumière mène le chemin" elle s'est dit joyeusement, tenant un poing fermé. Lorsqu'elle l'ouvrit, paume vers le haut, un orbe magique blanc apparut et flotta, s'installant au-dessus de la tête de Zoe et orbiteant là-bas, fournissant une illumination impressionnante pour la zone immédiatement autour d'elle. Elle continua, ralentissant son cheval jusqu'à une promenade, se dirigeant vers la source du cri. Finalement, elle a trouvé un arbre avec des empreintes tout autour, au fond de la terre douce, mais ils ne venaient que d'une seule direction. Quelqu'un, probablement cette femme, avait marché jusqu'à cet arbre, s'était arrêté, et puis... "Poupée?" Elle s'est dit, se démontant et s'accroupissant par l'arbre. Il y avait un arc ici, et une flèche. Posant sa lance contre l'arbre, Zoé prit l'arc et la flèche, les examinant. C'était très étrange. Pourquoi une femme errerait-elle seule dans les bois la nuit? Elle aurait besoin d'une raison... Zoe a essayé de penser un moment si le cri semblait familier, mais ne pouvait pas décider. Probablement pas. Il est préférable de ne pas tirer de conclusions. En attendant, elle est restée près de l'arbre, en regardant de plus près les empreintes, l'arc, la flèche, en utilisant la lumière plane de son sort au-dessus d'elle pour l'aider.

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.

Je vais bien, Shela a rétorqué à l'offre. Bien qu'elle fût courte et large en stature aussi bien qu'armée, elle se déplaça rapidement à travers la forêt vers l'endroit d'où venait le cri. Garder la tête baissée, elle a construit la vitesse comme elle a suivi les empreintes dans la boue de l'archer qui avait pris l'assaut dans ses undies. Lentement, ses yeux se dirigeaient vers l'avant et jusqu'en face d'elle, voyant l'homme qui lui avait donné le beau bout de cul au loin ainsi que quelqu'un qu'elle n'avait pas vu auparavant. Elle s'est arrêtée et a glissé dans la boue quelques pieds avant de s'arrêter. "Bloody enfer, tu n'es pas celui qui a crié," Shela a grondé plutôt évidemment. Prenant une large position, elle a saisi son marteau en regardant la femme tenant l'arc qu'elle avait vu pointer Sana vers elle plus tôt dans la grotte. "Ce que tu as fait à la bouche forte?" Shela a demandé dans un ton accusatoire de voix. Elle ne connaissait pas cette femme, étant donné qu'elle ne connaissait Sana que par son nom jusqu'à présent, mais c'était un pas en avant par rapport à celle qui l'a précédé. "Et qu'est-ce qu'elle fait avec son arc?"

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 voleur Le cri est entré dans les oreilles de Tobias et a habité dans son cerveau, rejouant encore et encore comme dans une chambre d'écho, devenant plus fort et plus ennuyant à chaque fois. Qu'est-ce qu'il y a? Sana s'était égarée dans un hitsyfit, et maintenant elle s'était déposée dans l'eau chaude. Cela semblait parfaitement bien pour Tobias ; il lui servit le droit, en fait. Si elle réussissait à faire sauter le crâne, quelle que soit la brume qu'elle avait dans ses griffes, elle reviendrait à les diriger - sinon, l'aventure pourrait se poursuivre sans elle, surtout maintenant qu'ils avaient tous ces nouveaux... personnages dans leur lineup. Seulement deux choses lui ont donné une pause dans cette résolution : une, Fiona était évidemment préparée à aller aider, et lui tendait la main. Pour une raison étrange, le voleur était détesté de la décevoir... et de laisser la fille sortir sans son aide. Une sensation intéressante, qui nécessiterait un examen. Deuxièmement et (il s'est dit) plus important, il ne pouvait pas laisser passer la puanteur de merde avec laquelle il pourrait s'en sortir s'il aidait à sauver Sana. C'était bon d'être un héros. Tobias a calculé tout cela en un clin d'œil alors qu'il a attaché ses poignards à sa ceinture et a saisi la main de Fiona, lui permettant de le tirer sur son cheval. "Bon équipe, allons poignarder quelque chose de différent de nous!" Le Corps Oscar était toujours debout près du feu, mort au monde, quand le son a pénétré le voile épais de ses sens. C'était un bruit qu'il avait entendu avant, plusieurs fois, quand le rouge est venu sur lui, quand il a dû déchirer, blesser et casser. Criant. Mais ce son exactement, faible et creux tel qu'il était au moment où il a pénétré son esprit pourri, lui a rappelé quelque chose d'autre. Une mémoire, une mémoire spécifique. Quand il était en vie. Il est passé d'un arrêt à une course morte presque instantanément, se déchargeant dans la direction du bruit, de la vitesse de construction, de ses bras traînant et s'élançant derrière lui. Un grand grondement venait de derrière ses dents brisées alors qu'il courait, sa voix épouvantable et étrange criant dans les ténèbres. "Katherine! Katherine, j'arrive! Attendez! » Il ne savait pas où il allait, ce qu'il disait, ni quel était son plan. Il gagnait de la vitesse, les bonnes bases devenaient de plus en plus difficiles à trouver. Il ne devrait pas aller aussi vite. Il se passait quelque chose. Il l'arrêterait. Il l'arrêterait.

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

Pas de peau sur mes os, pensait Kazuo. Trombe était un cheval élégant qui a trouvé peu de difficulté à glisser dans la forêt et quand il a pensé à elle, avoir Shela sur ne serait pas seulement énerver le cheval, mais aussi réduire considérablement sa maniabilité. Il a suivi juste derrière Shela et au loin a pu repérer le gars cicatrice avec un gros cheval blanc et une nouvelle fille. Derrière lui se trouvait le zombie qui criait au sujet d'une Katherine, mais qui s'élançait en avant comme un chariot à fruits sans surveillance sur une colline et la fille à tête rouge ne serait probablement pas loin derrière. Kazuo est monté sur la scène à côté de Shela. Bien qu'il n'ait pas tiré son épée, il a gardé ses mains fermement serrées sur la gaine et la ruche, prêt à dessiner à un moment donné, s'il en avait besoin. "Oui, ce qu'elle a dit." Kazuo s'est presque fait la tête pour avoir dit ça. Il aurait pu dire n'importe quoi, et il a choisi ça de toutes 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.

Fiona est arrivée sur les lieux de la disparition de Sana peu après Shela et l'autre nouveau venu, Kazuo, l'a fait. Derrix n'était pas loin derrière, elle savait, mais pour l'instant, il n'y avait pas de combat à portée de main, ce qui était à la fois bon et mauvais. D'un côté, cela signifiait qu'ils n'avaient pas besoin de combattre tout en étant à peine préparés, épuisés, et à moitié déshabillés, mais de l'autre, cela signifiait que pour le moment, Sana était simplement partie. La fille qui se tenait à la place de Sana, avec l'arc de Sana, accroupissant sur les empreintes de Sana, n'avait pas l'air menaçante, et certainement rien de digne de crier dans la terreur, mais si cette orbe de lumière éclairant un cercle autour d'elle était une indication, elle avait une sorte de magie, et Fiona savait que la magie pouvait faire des choses assez grandes et terribles. Fiona n'a pas tiré son arme, mais a regardé la fille avec insistance alors que son cheval s'arrêtait. "Moi? Je n'ai rien fait. Je suis venu voir le cri, comme vous », répondit Zoé, debout avec l'arc à la main. Ses yeux emmenaient chaque nouvelle personne à leur arrivée, tous amis de la femme disparue, apparemment. "Quant à l'arc... Je ne sais pas, je cherchais juste. Quelqu'un le veut?" Elle la tendit à la naine, puis l'homme se prépara à tirer son épée, puis se leva à la tête rousse sur le cheval, pour voir si quelqu'un le prendrait. Sa lance était encore enfoncée contre l'arbre. "J'étais à cheval quand j'ai remarqué ce truc bizarre avec le soleil qui tourne dans le mauvais sens, alors je me suis arrêté et j'ai attendu, parce que c'est magique tu sais, le soleil ne fait pas ça tout seul. J'ai entendu une dame crier, elle est venue vérifier." Elle a pointé vers le bas sur les traces en dessous d'elle avec la flèche dans son autre main. "D'après ce que je peux dire, elle s'est arrêtée ici, stupéfaite un peu, et puis..." Elle a lâché. "Poupée."

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.

Drazig était par lui-même, un bruit épouvantable remplissait l'air et l'obscurité l'enveloppait, rendant impossible l'évasion dans le linceul d'ombres. L'Ogre avait peur, et il était tout seul dans l'obscurité effrayante. Soudain, il se sentait froid. Il s'est branlé du sentiment soudain, est-ce qu'un fantôme vient de passer à travers lui? Est-il gelé vivant en ce moment même!? Qu'est-ce qui se passait? Il a essayé de se lever, mais son corps ne l'a pas permis, est-il possédé en ce moment!? Drazig bougea la tête pour trouver la chose qui le gardait enfermé en place, et sa vue s'arrêta bientôt à son ventre. Quelque chose n'allait pas... où est sa couverture? "Drazig! Arrête de bouger, j'essaie de dormir," a grondé Dorat. "Oh, désolé." Drazig a répondu avec un visage vide. Il est resté dans cette pose pendant plusieurs secondes, son cerveau essayant de trouver quelque chose, mais il n'a pas pu le dire. Il n'était pas tout seul, il avait Dorat. Double 'oh'! Il pouvait voir dans le noir, les ombres ne peuvent pas lui faire de mal. Triple 'oh'! Le squeaking eeire venait du wagon qu'ils voyagent actuellement à l'intérieur. Qu'est-ce que... qu'est-ce que... qu'est-ce qu'il y a? Il s'est senti froid, parce que Dorat a pris son côté de la couverture... Attends, Dorat vient de prendre son côté de la couverture... Drazig s'est rendu compte le plus important que son partenaire venait de prendre son côté de la couverture, et a frappé son propre bras. "Oh! Pourquoi as-tu fait ça!" Dorat s'est réveillé, un peu en colère qu'il pouvait aller dormir et qu'il venait de se faire frapper par l'autre moitié. "Donne-moi ma couverture!" Drazig a encore frappé son propre bras, en pissant Dorat encore plus loin. "Votre moitié du corps est plus grosse! Tu donnes plus de chaleur corporelle que mon côté!" Dorat a expliqué, en essayant de déconner Drazig pour qu'il reste trop grillé dans le wagon. Et ça semblait marcher. Jusqu'à ce que le visage de Drazig se retourne de la confusion à la colère une fois de plus. "Je ne sais pas ce que ça veut dire!" Drazig était juste sur le point de frapper le bras de son propre corps une fois de plus, mais soudain, un cri lointain a été entendu au loin, arrêtant l'ogre en colère. Dorat l'avait entendu aussi, et regardait son partenaire. "Hé, Drazig. Tu veux aller sauver quelqu'un?" La colère du visage de Drazig a disparu, et elle a été remplacée par la joie. "Oui! Allons sauver quelqu'un! Je peux être ami avec eux aussi!" Tout le corps s'est rapidement déplacé comme un, les deux moitiés fonctionnant en parfaite synchronisation. Ils ont sauté du wagon, le bois mourant enfin obtenir son repos de l'énorme poids des deux. Le conducteur du wagon a rapidement arrêté le cheval, et il a regardé en arrière les deux. "Que faites-vous?" "Offrez-vous pour faire de l'aventure!" Drazig s'est évanoui. La moitié de Dorat a vite sorti un sac de pièces de monnaie, et les a jetées au chauffeur du wagon. C'était le salaire qu'ils devaient leur donner pour le trajet complet jusqu'à la ville suivante. Le conducteur du wagon sourit aux deux. "Bonne chance pour votre aventure! Même la nuit, vous vous débrouillez toujours bien." Le wagon a recommencé à bouger, le cheval était également heureux que les sept cents livres supplémentaires aient disparu. Drazig et Dorat se sont regardés, ils ont tous les deux hoche la tête et ont commencé à passer au cri. La vue de l'Ogre était impeccable dans l'obscurité, on pourrait même dire qu'ils voient mieux sans lumière! Les deux se dirigeaient rapidement vers la scène du crime, mais avec leur taille, c'était plus comme courir vers un humain moyen. Les arbres étaient aussi assez ennuyeux pour la paire, ils ont peut-être été déplacer ce corps pendant les soixante dernières années, mais il est encore assez difficile de manœuvrer ce grand corps à travers des ouvertures minces données par la forêt. Les branches et les feuilles ont rapidement commencé à coller à leur armure, le bois tranchant ne pouvant pas pénétrer à travers la peau épaisse de l'ogre. Bientôt, leurs yeux ont repéré quelque chose. Un grand groupe d'aventures ont été rassemblées autour d'un endroit, qui devait être la scène de crime! Drazig a augmenté leur vitesse, la sonorité bourdonnante était de plus en plus forte pour le groupe devant, et l'obscurité n'a pas vraiment aidé l'imagination de l'étranger. Dorat, tout à l'heure, s'est rendu compte des implications d'un Ogre se retrouvant dans un groupe au hasard hors de nulle part, mais il était trop tard pour arrêter Drazig. L'Ogre sauta dans la clairière, les feuilles et les rameaux éparpillés à travers la clairière. Il était clairement excité, et le monstre de dix pieds s'est bientôt lancé dans le groupe, incapable de contrôler le volume de sa voix. "Qui a fait ça?" Dorat, à l'heure actuelle, avait gelé par la stupidité pure que Drazig venait de faire, et ne pouvait pas expliquer qu'ils étaient bons, au lieu d'un monstre à deux têtes voulant assassiner tout le groupe.

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

Tout ce qu'il a fallu c'était un cri pour faire bouger Drizzak. Un cri familier et il était debout dans un éclair, pleinement éveillé et prêt à agir. Il était nu en dehors de sa longe, bien sûr, mais les mettre pourrait signifier la mort pour lui. Le froid était trop froid. Au lieu de cela, il a pris pour sa lame et a fait pour la direction du cri. C'est Sana qui a crié, il s'est souvenu du son de leurs précédentes aventures ensemble. C'était une femme dure, et elle n'a crié que quand les mauvaises choses étaient bonnes et vraiment mauvaises. Il a atteint les autres relativement vite, ses jambes plus courtes ne faisant pas obstacle à sa vitesse alors qu'il sprintait sur les lieux du crime. "Qu'est-ce qui se passe? Où Sana? Pourquoi as-tu l'étrave?" Drizzak aboie au groupe, et à celui qui tient l'arc de Sana. Il sentait des odeurs étranges à l'air, mais son nez n'était pas aussi bon qu'il le souhaitait. Il s'échauffait. C'était très mauvais, qu'est-ce qui aurait pu l'emmener? Quelqu'un l'a sûrement vu?

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'.

Les sourcils épais de Shela s'archent alors que sa tête tourne vers Kazuo, devant tenir son sang-froid, mais s'échouant lamentablement. "Haha, ce qu'elle a dit," elle a dit snigger sous son souffle. Apparemment, peu importe l'âge de la naine, elle a toujours l'esprit d'un adolescent quand il s'agit de certaines choses. Une grande partie du groupe est venue s'élancer assez rapidement sur les lieux, mais d'autres, ils semblaient s'attarder derrière, ce qui semblait assez étrange pour Shela. Sana semblait avoir la plus grande bouche dans le groupe, ce qui indiquait généralement le chef. Si ce n'est pas le leader qui a attiré le plus l'attention et ce cri avait été plutôt piquant. Ce n'était pas un cri de colère ou de rancune, c'était un cri de terreur pure et de laisser l'arme derrière elle seulement ajouté au mauvais juju qui semblait tourner autour. Qu'est-ce que tu veux dire par "poof"? Les peuples ne font que partir *poof*! Peut-être qu'ils le font quand ils sont pris dans le feu du dragon, mais que ce soit plus d'un grésillement et de cendres qu'un *poof*,, Shela a grondé tandis qu'elle marchait et a arraché Sanas arc de la femme et a ramassé la flèche hors du sol, en serrant les deux à sa ceinture. Ce n'est pas votre fille, a-t-elle ajouté avant de regarder vers la tête rouge ardente. Oui, cette fille qui est partie, elle a un cheval, n'est-ce pas? Shela a dit avant qu'elle ne regarde son estomac et ne mette sa main contre elle comme le sol semblait trembler. D'accord, cette fois-ci elle m'a dit de regarder vers le haut et ensuite autour avant qu'elle ne se promène dans la direction de la cause du grondement à travers la terre. "Bloody enfer," elle cria alors qu'elle griffait son marteau serré dans ses doigts et baissa sa position comme une monstruosité sortit de la forêt. Être plus des choses qui rampent hors des bois que de disparaître en eux. Pourquoi cette chose ne va pas *poof*?, elle a dit regarder les deux ogres à tête deux. Je veux dire, je pense que si quelque chose a besoin d'aller *poof* et que les choix sont une brindille trempée ou une tournure,, elle a commencé à bouger avec ses doigts épais. C'est quoi, ce truc? Eh bien, je parie que je suis au courant que je vais faire ça! "C'est toi qui fais partir les femmes dans la nuit?" Shela a demandé d'un ton dur pointant à la fois la nouvelle femme sur les lieux et le juggernaut imposant.

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.

Oui, prends-le, merci! Zoe a dit, heureux que la femme naine enlève l'arc de ses mains. Ça causait bien plus d'ennuis que ça en valait la peine. Il y avait un goblin ici maintenant, et un homme pointant une épée sur elle, lui demandant son nom, et la rousse fille n'avait toujours pas descendu de son cheval ou a cessé de la regarder. Ils étaient très en colère, ces gens, et alors que Zoé avait un peu de magie, rien de tout ça ne pouvait faire disparaître les gens. Fiona tira son cheval le long de Shela, tenant sa main dans l'attente. "Je m'incline, si ça ne vous dérange pas. Je pense que ça pourrait aller mieux si Sana me le rend." La naine et Sana n'avaient pas fait la meilleure première impression l'une sur l'autre, comme elle l'a rappelé. Ça, et Shela n'avait pas l'air de prendre le meilleur soin de ses biens. Elle aurait pu se tromper, mais c'était juste une intuition. Avant qu'une transaction puisse être faite, cependant, une tour à deux têtes de viande et de muscle piétinée sur les lieux, exigeant de savoir qui était parti pouf. Fiona n'a pas pu s'empêcher de tirer son épée, resserrant les yeux sur l'ogre et tenant son cheval stable. Zoe avait profité de l'occasion pour prendre à la fois elle et sa lumière flottante derrière l'arbre, les mettant plus ou moins entre elle et l'ogre. Quand il n'a rien fait pour attaquer le lot d'entre eux, cependant, elle s'est retirée, son visage s'est mis dans un schowl dur, bien qu'elle avait l'air tout sauf effrayante. "Écoute, d'accord? Tout le monde se calme." Elle tendit les mains comme si cela aiderait à repousser toutes leurs vilaines émotions et leurs pulsions violentes. "Vous prenez tous un peu de pouf trop littéralement. Tout ce que je sais, c'est qu'elle est venue ici, et qu'à mon arrivée, elle était partie. Il n'y a pas de traces qui s'éloignent d'ici, donc... peut-être que quelque chose l'a attrapée, qui ne va pas sur le sol. On pourrait vérifier les arbres pour n'importe quel signe d'elle. J'ai de la lumière avec moi ici, je peux l'utiliser pour regarder autour de moi." Elle se retourna et regarda Derrix. "C'est Zoe, au fait. J'ai un nom plus grand, mais on le gardera quand on sera amis." « Je suis Fiona », dit la jeune fille rousse, en se présentant à Zoé et à l'ogre, bien qu'elle se méfie de la créature, et qu'elle n'ait pas encore pris son épée. "Si nous sommes décidés à ne pas nous entretuer," Fiona a poursuivi, "J'aimerais regarder autour de n'importe quel indice de Sana. Ne pas faire de bonne position ici."

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.

Kazuo s'est tapé les lèvres au snicking de Shela. Il le méritait. Mais l'important était que cette dame Sana avait disparu, soit par une magie étrange, soit peut-être emportée par un oiseau géant. Quand l'ogre géant à deux têtes éclata à travers les arbres, il dut retirer une main de son épée pour empêcher Trombe de s'élever. "Facile, facile." Il n'était toujours pas sûr de pouvoir faire confiance à cette Zoé ou s'il devait couper l'ogre, mais vraiment, il n'était pas sûr de quoi faire du tout. Regarder à travers le désert pour des gens qui se sont levés et ont disparu n'était pas son costume fort. Il faisait sombre et bien que la magicienne (en supposant qu'elle n'était pas celle qui pouflait Sana) avait une boule de lumière avec elle, elle ne pouvait qu'illuminer tant à un moment donné. Plus il y pensait, plus cela semblait être une cause perdue.

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

Le sentiment d'enchantement de Drazig commença bientôt à s'évanouir alors que la situation autour de ce groupe devenait déroutant pour l'ogre. Tout le monde criait l'un contre l'autre, la plupart se dirigeaient vers lui, et les gens faisaient sortir leurs armes avec la même situation à propos des cris. Il n'a fallu à Drazig que quelques instants avant que les rouages de son cerveau ne commencent à sortir une autre idée, ce qui était assez incroyable car Dorat était habituellement celui qui le ferait! Cependant, ce n'était pas le moment de penser à lui-même, Drazig avait besoin de dire à tout le monde qu'il n'était qu'un monstre amical à deux têtes! L'Ogre a vite essayé de faire son discours, le discours qui lui sauverait la peine de combattre ces aventures. "Uh... Je ne suis pas un monstre... mais je ne suis pas un mauvais monstre... N'est-ce pas?" Drazig, en questionnant sa propre logique. "Oui! Oui! Nous sommes de bons samaritains!" Dorat a parlé alors que Drazig continuait d'être confus, "Nous ne voulons pas vous nuire, nous étions juste attirés par les cris, et nous voulions aider comme les bonnes aventures que nous sommes, c'est tout." "Oui! C'est bon! C'est bon! Qui est devenu pouf?" "Drazig... S'il vous plaît, laissez-moi parler dans ces situations." Dorat regarda le groupe qui l'entourait, la plupart des gens semblaient désireux de l'attaquer, une réponse raisonnable à un monstre de leur taille. Cependant, il semblait y avoir quelqu'un qui au moins a essayé de raisonner avec les deux au lieu de le regarder froidement comme certaines personnes dans le groupe. L'Ogre Mage s'est débarrassé de la gorge et a regardé la personne qui s'appelait Fiora. "Oui, bonjour. Laissons tomber nos armes, pas besoin de s'attaquer les uns aux autres, nous sommes de bons gars comme nous l'avions dit plus tôt," Dorat regarda à nouveau le groupe, ils n'attaquaient pas encore, c'était bien, "Je suis Dorat, un Ogre Mage alors que mon partenaire ici est Drazig, un Ogre. On veut dire que vous n'avez aucun mal, on aimerait être pote avec tout le monde ici, c'est bien? Pouvons-nous revenir à la situation principale qui nous attend? » "Nous, les gentils." Drazig s'est redressé.

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

Shela a hurlé et a remis l'arc et la flèche à Fiona, aucune peau de moi de dents. » Respirant elle regarda autour tandis qu'elle abaissait lentement son marteau, en écoutant les deux étranges tête à tête semblent se disputer et être d'accord avec elle-même simultanément. D'accord, vous avez l'air haut, I'air bas et vous trouverez l'air chaud avant moi, Dit-elle alors qu'elle commençait à traverser la boue à la recherche de n'importe quel signe de ce qui était arrivé à Sana. Ses yeux balayaient le sol mais il n'y avait rien, aucun signe de quoi que ce soit qui la frappait comme étrange. En regardant le groupe, elle a porté ses lèvres, rien ici, quelqu'un d'autre voyant quoi que ce soit? – Elle a demandé quand elle a commencé à marcher vers la grotte, se demandant s'il y avait des signes qu'ils auraient pu manquer quand ils sont arrivés. Je me demandais s'il y avait des signes de quelque chose qui n'allait pas. En arrivant à la grotte, elle s'arrêta dans ses traces alors qu'elle regardait un brouillard assez dense et contre nature s'enrouler rapidement. C'est vrai, elle s'est bafouée. En regardant dans la grotte, elle a vu quelque chose encore plus loin. Sanas cheval et les choses étaient dans la grotte et elle était partie, même avec deux autres dans le groupe maintenant. On en a encore deux, elle a crié au-dessus de son épaule. Il n'y avait aucun signe du demi-orc qui avait été assis dans la grotte plus tôt ne rien dire ni le moine chauve à la tête, armes et possessions étaient encore là. Pour ajouter à la confusion Hugh était parti, celui Sana avait catégoriquement revendiqué comme sa propre. La différence entre la disparition de Hughs et le reste était que tous ses articles étaient partis aussi bien et il y avait des traces de son cheval allant de retour à la route où elle avait suivi au camp en premier lieu. Elle cria alors qu'elle lâchait son marteau sur le sol, s'appuyant contre elle en rinçant les lèvres et en frottant le menton. Ailleurs, chacun des trois qui avaient disparu trouverait qu'ils se réveilleraient à une scène différente. Le moine se trouvait jeté derrière une taverne dans une ville inconnue, le demi-orc était dans une grotte avec le bruit d'ailes battantes au-dessus de lui, et l'archer se retrouvait lié et bâillonné derrière des murs et des barres en bois; sentant le rocher doux d'un wagon pendant qu'il la tirait à travers un champ ouvert.

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 mis l'étrave dans un sac de selle ouvert pour le moment. Elle trouverait un meilleur moyen de le stocker plus tard. Pour l'instant, il y avait des recherches à faire, car il semblait que l'ogre n'était étonnamment pas un danger pour eux. Pour l'instant. Elle a couvert son épée et lui a donné un clin d'œil fatigué. Drazig et Dorat... elle n'était déjà pas sûre de ce qui était. Elle n'aurait jamais aimé quelqu'un avec deux têtes avant, c'était sûr. Et maintenant, d'autres ont disparu? Hugh et Lob... qu'est-ce qui leur est arrivé? Sana avait été la première à disparaître... ils avaient besoin de la trouver, et vite. "Je vais essayer au nord," a-t-elle suggéré, regardant vers le bas à Zoe. "Ou... Je pense que c'est le nord." Il était difficile de savoir avec certitude si le soleil s'était couché du mauvais côté. Fiona a dû admettre qu'elle ne faisait pas vraiment attention. "Tu vas me suivre avec la lumière?" Elle aurait une meilleure vue pour regarder les arbres du haut de son cheval, et Zoe était une petite chose, en plus. Elle avait l'air de voir la logique derrière ça. "Bien sûr." Les deux se déplaçaient lentement dans cette direction, se dirigeant vers la route d'où Zoe venait, bien qu'à un angle légèrement différent. La lumière au-dessus de Zoe planait légèrement plus haut, afin d'être plus utile à Fiona, qui a étudié soigneusement les arbres, éventuellement en tenant une main pour s'arrêter. « Il y a de l'écorce qui en a fait tomber, a-t-elle souligné. "De l'escalade, j'imagine." "Tu crois que c'est la femme disparue?" Zoé demanda, se penchant sur sa lance, qu'elle avait plantée dans le sol. "Ou... quelque chose d'autre?" "J'ai hâte de le dire. Continuons de bouger, voyons s'il y a une piste." Il y avait, comme il s'est avéré, plusieurs arbres en direction de la route après avoir fait tomber l'écorce de l'escalade. Fiona l'a appelé au groupe, et a suivi la piste. Il ne serait pas difficile pour les autres de s'en tenir à cela, car la boule de lumière flottante de Zoé avait fait d'eux une sorte de phare dans les bois sombres. Finalement, ils sont arrivés sur la route voisine, où le sentier s'est terminé. « La route est trop escarpée et a voyagé pour suivre quelque chose de plus loin », a dit Fiona, un peu consterné. Elle ne voulait pas laisser Sana à la merci de ce qui l'avait emmenée, mais il était clairement dangereux de se séparer et de fouiller, et essayer de la retrouver dans le noir pourrait bien être impossible. Peut-être qu'il valait mieux se regrouper dans la grotte, attendre jusqu'au matin, et... elle ne savait pas. Sana avait été le genre de leader impromptu avant, et avec elle partie... ça tomberait à Fiona? Elle ne savait pas si elle était prête.

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.

Kazuo n'a pas fait beaucoup de recherche active, il faisait sombre comme de la merde et il ne voyait pas grand-chose qui n'était pas déjà autour de cette fille Zoe. Il n'aurait pas grand-chose à regarder, mais il pourrait garder un œil sur les nouveaux étrangers. Aussi innocent qu'elle semblait, Zoe était un utilisateur magique, et ils étaient glissants, des types indignes de confiance pour commencer, qui sait si ce sort qu'ils sont sur le point de lancer n'est pas censé vraiment vous sacrifier à quelque chose impie de l'enfer? Les clercs étaient un peu plus dignes de confiance, mais ils adoraient peut-être un dieu maléfique de tromperie et de trahison, et vous ne le sauriez pas. La magie n'était pas naturelle et on ne pouvait pas lui faire confiance. L'autre gars était un ogre à deux têtes. Il a payé pour garder votre distance, peu importe la situation. S'il a trébuché, ça serait nul d'être le dessous de lui. Kazuo s'assit et regarda Zoe et la jeune fille à tête rouge trouver un chemin et se diriger vers le bas tandis que Shela trouva deux autres personnes apparemment poofées par le brouillard. Mec, putain de magie.

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

Le voleur Tobias, pour sa part, se comportait d'une manière presque totalement étrangère à lui - il suivait Fiona autour et gardait sa bouche fermée. La situation était passée anormale - d'abord un nain, puis un zombie 'ami', puis un autre voyageur, puis Sana a obtenu 'poofed' par quelque chose, comme expliqué par une étrange fille-spear magique que personne n'avait jamais rencontré avant, et puis un demi-sophisticé deux ogres tête a éclaté sur la scène, cherchant à aider plutôt que de manger la tête de n'importe qui. C'était bizarre. Enfin, alors que Fiona et Zoe discutaient du prochain plan d'action, Tobias a parlé. "Oui, bonjour? La voix de la raison ici. Je suggère que nous prenions tout le peuple..." il a lutté un moment, jetant ses yeux autour de l'assemblée. "Ou, eh bien, des choses sensibles, et nous faire tous nous asseoir avec le dos l'un à l'autre dans un gros cercle jusqu'à ce que la nuit tombe. Il y a quelque chose de "poofing" des gens - pas seulement des gens, non plus, c'est Sana Skullfucker dont nous parlons, ainsi que le monstre à moitié orque et le gars qui frappe les sabres. C'est une mauvaise nouvelle, et on est dans sa maison, non? Donc, je pense que nous devrions tous mordre la balle, avoir une inconfortable comme nuit d'enfer, et espérer que nos chers amis sont encore en vie le matin, quand il y a moins de chances que nous nous flaçons avec eux." Le voyou s'est claqué les mains. -- Tous en faveur? Le Corps Enfin, Oscar ne pouvait plus maintenir son sprint - le corps mort a trébuché et s'est lancé en avant, atterrissant fort et détruisant complètement une arbustive comme il l'a fait. Avec un peu de difficulté, le cadavre a lutté jusqu'à ses pieds et a jeté ses yeux vitreux autour des bois alors que les autres chercheurs l'ont rattrapé. "Katherine!" Il est tombé dans l'obscurité. "Kather...ine?" Sa voix est morte. Qui était Katherine? Le cadavre a lutté avec sa mémoire pendant un moment. Il cherchait une femme. Qui avait crié dans les bois. Il la cherchait... pour une raison. Ça n'avait plus d'importance. Les autres, ils la cherchaient aussi. Mais maintenant ils parlaient, un tas de silhouettes sombres dans une conversation faible, et d'après ce qu'Oscar a pu comprendre, la femme était partie. Pouflé? Quelque chose de nouveau était arrivé, quelque chose de grand avec deux voix, et Oscar a tendu ses muscles raidis pour l'affronter. Il n'a pas fait de mouvements hostiles, cependant, et donc le corps a laissé cela être. Il jeta son regard vers le haut et vit la noirceur, l'étouffement, profond, infini. Il s'est jeté dans la gorge et a posé une question - ne sachant pas s'il parlait aux autres ou à l'abîme. "Qu'est-ce que je fais? Trouvez-la. Je dois la trouver." Il a répété la maxime dans son cerveau pourri, se forçant à la pousser à travers son esprit encore et encore. Trouvez-la. Trouvez-la. Trouvez-la.

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

Derrix est rapidement d'accord avec Fiona, il semblerait qu'il l'ait fait.Il murmurait irrité alors qu'il suivait les deux filles à travers les bois et à la route dentelée. Ses oreilles s'ouvrirent aux paroles de Tobias, mais ses propres pensées se mêlèrent en dehors de la suggestion du voleur. Il a pointé de l'autre côté de la route, nous pourrions vérifier de l'autre côté et voir si les pistes prennent, sinon alors nous devrions tous nous réunir et décider de la meilleure ligne d'action en tant que groupe.

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

Une absence Les yeux de Shela avaient manqué lors du premier balayage était le sorcier, Melvus. Ses affaires étaient encore dans un coin caché, mais lui et ses vêtements étaient partis, animés par le même brouillard. Melvus s'est réveillé pour se trouver quelque part sombre, et mouillé. Il lui apparut aussitôt qu'il était sous l'eau, et du goût dans sa bouche, de l'eau salée. Il n'y avait pas de terrain dans le voisinage immédiat, mais il pouvait arrêter un peu de lumière au-dessus. Il semblait que la surface de l'eau était d'environ 10 pieds au-dessus.

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.

Oscar Slow down Crised Zam alors qu'elle Chased après le sprinting Zombie, grâce à sa petite taille, elle a facilement volé à travers le feuillage épais de la forêt quand Oscar s'est finalement arrêté elle s'est repositionnée sur son épaule, puis a regardé autour d'elle et a vu qu'ils ont perdu "Oscar? Où sommes-nous?" Mortosh avait suivi le groupe pendant qu'ils cherchaient les autres "Où auraient-ils pu aller Zam?" Quand il n'a pas rejoué, il a cherché Zam Zam? Il ne sentait pas sa présence "Zam, où es-tu Zam?"

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

Dorat soupira de soulagement, il avait semblé que son discours éveillant avait travaillé sur le groupe d'aventures! Il a frappé sa longue barbe, quelque chose qu'il fait toujours quand il se sent fier de lui. Il semblait encore que les gens autour des deux étaient encore assez las d'eux, mais il savait que Drazig allait grandir sur eux comme il le fait avec chaque personne qu'ils rencontrent. Cependant, il y avait quelque chose d'étrange qui se passait autour de ces parties des bois, les gens disparaissaient comme s'il n'y avait plus de style et il n'y avait presque aucune trace des gens qui avaient disparu. C'était très probablement l'utilisation de la magie, elle peut être très puissante entre les mains des bonnes personnes, mais cela inclut aussi les personnes qui ont de mauvaises intentions. Donc, alors que Dorat était profondément réfléchi, libérant son contrôle du corps à Drazig comme il le fait normalement, l'Ogre sourit. "Oui! J'ai le corps! "Ah ha ha!" Drazig a rebondi, s'équilibrant sur un pied et passant à l'autre avant de se lasser de la petite danse. L'Ogre s'est vite rendu compte que le groupe ramassait un certain type d'indice, et ils partaient sans lui! Drazig ne rattrape rapidement que quelques pas avant de suivre le groupe de petits amis. Après l'arrivée du groupe sur les lieux du crime, qui était une route boueuse, les indices étaient épuisés! Oh non! Drazig regarda son partenaire, toujours dans la pensée profonde, et bientôt quelqu'un cria dans leurs deux cents dans les situations. Ils parlaient avec peur, ou du moins lâche comme laissant des amis derrière eux était quelque chose que Drazig refusait de faire! Et si le brouillard venait à Drazig! Il briserait le brouillard jusqu'à ce qu'il soit mort! L'Ogre regarda Tobais et lui frappa la poitrine d'un bras. "Non! Laisser les gens derrière eux, c'est mauvais! Je pense que nous continuons à trouver des amis! Les amis sont bons! C'est pour ça qu'ils sont amis! N'est-ce pas?"

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

Vaeri s'est réveillé d'un sommeil sans rêve pour retrouver tout le monde parti. Le feu s'était assoupli, le cul du sanglier était sanglant et négligé sur le sol, les effets étaient laissés parsemés et le seul dans la grotte autre qu'elle était un nain dans une armure à pics lourds avec un marteau. Toutes ces informations ont été traitées en quelques instants, et sans aucun commandement de son esprit, son corps est sorti des draps et dans une position défensive basse au sol et presque sauvage dans la nature. "Qu'avez-vous fait de tout le monde?" Quelque chose dans l'arrière de la tête de Vaeri a dit quelque chose sur le fait qu'elle ne se serait pas trouvée dans une situation comme celle-ci si le nain devant elle avait fait quelque chose au reste du groupe. Le reste de son esprit a noté que son sac était à portée de main, et elle pourrait en sortir sa hache en 10 secondes. 10 secondes qu'elle n'aurait pas eu dans une bagarre. Elle pouvait sentir le symbole sacré contre sa poitrine, de sorte qu'elle pouvait encore jeter. Il ne semblait y avoir personne d'autre à traiter. Pourtant, elle ne ferait aucun mouvement tant qu'elle n'aurait pas obtenu un mouvement hostile du nain. Les pics poseraient des difficultés, mais le clerc était confiant qu'elle pourrait trouver un moyen de les contourner si elle le devait.

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 soupira alors qu'il rentrait de l'autre côté de la route, "rien," il grondait alors qu'il commençait à passer devant la paire de filles qui avait mené le chemin. Il s'est tourné vers les deux, nous devrions nous réunir à nouveau dans la grotte et de déterminer notre stratégie et le plan général de maintenir. Sans attendre une réponse, il leva la main comme s'il était sur le point de saluer sur son regard d'or, mais alors un regard d'hésitation s'empara du visage et il s'inclina tout simplement avant de marcher, ses bottes glissant dans la boue avec des sons humides.

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

Oui, Drazig, Fiona a dit patiemment, raisonnablement certain qu'elle a dit le bon nom. "Mais la recherche en ce moment devient trop dangereuse. On ne peut pas se séparer, les gens disparaissent comme ça. Derrix et Tobias ont raison; nous devrions nous regrouper à la grotte et décider de notre prochain mouvement." Vraiment, Fiona voulait juste dormir. Ils étaient debout tôt et montés depuis longtemps, ont traversé une tempête, et maintenant ont dû faire face à ces disparitions dans la nuit. Ce n'était pas le même genre d'épuisement que d'avoir survécu à plusieurs combats en une journée, mais elle était extrêmement las, tout de même. Zoe n'en avait pas vraiment l'air, alors qu'ils retournaient ensemble vers la grotte. Elle s'est percutée quand la conversation s'est calmée dans le silence, et ses paupières n'ont montré aucun signe de chute. Fiona a appelé quelques fois dans les bois sur le chemin de leur retour, disant à quiconque toujours en train de chercher à revenir avec elle dans la grotte. Quand ils sont arrivés, elle a immédiatement remarqué la tension entre Shela et le Vaeri récemment réveillé, qui avait manqué tout ce qui s'était passé, et tout le monde avait été trop occupé pour la réveiller. "Facile, Vaeri. Elle n'est pas un ennemi." Fiona était sur le point de l'appeler amie, mais s'est alors rendu compte que le mot ne s'appliquait pas encore, à part qu'elle n'était pas activement hostile. "La balise de Sana a attiré quelques nouveaux arrivants. C'est Shela, ici Zoe, le sabreur là-bas est Kazuo, et... eh bien, il y a aussi un cadavre et un ogre. Le cadavre est Oscar et l'ogre est Drazig et Dorat, je crois. On a eu des problèmes. Certaines personnes ont disparu, d'une manière ou d'une autre. » "J'aime l'idée de Shela", a crié Zoe, marchant dans la grotte et jetant un coup d'oeil autour. Avec un fil de sa main, l'orbe de lumière s'estompait, laissant seulement le feu qui brûlait encore pour éclairer l'espace autour d'eux. "Nous devrions aller, et rester ensemble. Peut-être qu'on trouvera les gens sur la route quelque part. Peut-être qu'on ne le fera pas. J'espère que ça ne vous dérange pas, mais... personne n'a l'air trop brisé à ce sujet." Préoccupée par d'autres disparitions, bien sûr, mais il n'y avait personne qui recherchait frénétiquement un être cher ici. Comme Zoe l'a vu, il n'y avait aucune raison de ne pas avancer. "Allons, ramassons-nous", a-t-elle dit, bien qu'elle-même n'ait rien à faire. En montant dans la grotte, elle mit sa lance contre un mur, et monta rapidement jusqu'à où Sana avait accroché les vêtements mouillés, s'emparant d'articles et les jetant au sol. "Chop, chop, pas de temps à perdre, n'est-ce pas?" Fiona soupira, en descendant de son cheval. Il semblait qu'il n'y aurait pas encore de sommeil pour 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.

Le voleur Tobias roula les yeux sur les mots du nain et laissa sortir un gémissement moqueur. « J'adore quand les femmes me parlent sensé », a-t-il dit, déjà en train d'aider Fiona à rassembler leurs affaires. Il se tourna pour s'adresser à l'ogre à deux têtes alors qu'il empilait des vêtements ensemble, gonflant légèrement à la taille de la créature. "Hé, ogre-garou - ou les gars, je suppose - vous êtes doués pour faire peur aux chevaux?" Il s'est branlé la tête jusqu'au wagon, toujours dans les limites étroites où il l'avait habilement laissé. "Ceux-là pourraient avoir besoin d'un coup de pied pour y aller à cette heure." Il tendit le dos et se frotta les yeux, grimpant légèrement en inclinant quelques-unes des cicatrices les plus récentes. "Tu sais quoi? Je ne voulais même pas dormir ce soir. C'est bien." Le voleur a souri avec vivacité à Vaeri alors qu'il marchait devant elle. "Bonjour, starshine. Qu'est-ce que tu fais à l'heure tendre de la merde? Le Corps Oscar s'est encore adressé à la voix. "Je ne sais pas où nous sommes. Mais on devrait rester avec les autres. Pour qu'on puisse la trouver." Il était toujours en stock pendant que les autres discutaient de leur situation. Enfin, ils ont commencé à bouger, et il est devenu évident pour Oscar qu'ils essayaient de partir. Stifflement, sans vraiment regarder, le cadavre a commencé à saisir des objets qui semblaient appartenir à des gens et à les jeter à l'arrière d'un wagon. Il a entendu Tobias parler de sommeil, et a travaillé la question silencieusement dans son cerveau un moment avant d'ouvrir sa bouche en décomposition. "Vous voulez dormir? Je peux te porter, si tu veux dormir..." il s'enfuit, et regarda dans la noirceur de la silhouette ogre. "Pas... toi, cependant."

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

Vaeri s'est élevée pour se tenir comme une personne civilisée et a regardé tous les nouveaux arrivants avec un œil sceptique. Une naine couverte de pics, une autre morte sale qu'elle ne pouvait pas justifier se couper immédiatement en petits morceaux, même si celui qui n'a pas apporté avec lui un Le train de pensée de Vaeri s'est arrêté. Qu'est-ce que Zam exactement? Il y avait une fille aux cheveux foncés avec des capacités magiques qui regardaient l'âge de Fiona. Puis encore une fois, Vaeri était mauvais pour estimer l'âge humain au-delà des termes vagues. Ils vieillissaient si vite. Un humain ennuyant et ennuyant avec une épée étrange et des relents d'elfe dans son visage à bord d'un étalon noir à réaction et d'un ogre à deux têtes de dix pieds de haut. Dans l'ensemble, un miroir du groupe qui avait été assemblé hier. Vaeri soupira et ramasse ses affaires. Ses vêtements et ses armures étaient encore humides, alors elle a jeté son sac et son armure dans le wagon et a posé sa chemise et son manteau sur le côté pour finir de sécher. "Bonjour, Sir Tobias. Je suppose que je fais la même chose que toi, en essayant juste de m'adapter aux conditions en constante évolution autour de moi." Vaeri a effectué un court métrage à Tobias, en utilisant le bas de la chemise trop grande de Derrix comme un remplacement pour la robe plus traditionnelle. Elle monta jusqu'au siège où elle avait passé la plus grande partie de la journée et traversa les bras. Dans le coin de sa vision, elle a repéré le sabreur, celui qu'elle s'est souvenu de Fiona présentant comme Kazuo monter à la femme naine et lui dire quelque chose. C'était assez calme que la plupart des humains ne l'attrapent pas s'ils ne faisaient pas attention. Malheureusement, les oreilles d'un elfe étaient à la fois une bénédiction et une malédiction. "Alors, allons-nous laisser ce cul derrière?" Vaeri ne pouvait pas voir, mais Kazuo pointait sur la carcasse de sanglier assise dans la grotte. Son dégoût était retombé dans sa faim, mais demander activement de prendre la nourriture des autres était encore de mauvais goût.

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.

Shela regarda par-dessus son épaule vers l'elfe et rit. "Dats ce que vous obtenez pour dormir à travers tout. Je ne suis pas takin, personne d'ici. Ils s'en allèrent *poof*, demandez à Red, "Shela roulait pendant qu'elle se tenait là. Comme Fiona est venue, elle a hurlé. Voir vous l'a dit. Un peu de brouillard vient un rollin et pouf plusieurs sont allés. Excepté ce grand garçon, la bouche forte semblait avoir quelque chose à faire. Il s'en alla avec son cheval de son plein gré, mais elle dit qu'elle recula son marteau à travers la cravate en cuir qui s'étendait à sa taille, la laissant balancer contre sa cuisse. La bouche va être furieuse si on la revoit et qu'il n'y a pas d'endroit où être vu, elle s'est moquée. Tattoo m'a donné le cul, mais vous êtes plus que les bienvenus. Rendre cette pièce est,,, elle snigged comme elle s'est étiré vers le chemin qui a conduit à la route. Se dirigeant vers Zoe, elle se haussa légèrement. Je n'ai aucune raison d'être déchiré au sujet de ces gens qui vont *poof*, qui ne les connaissent pas. Peut-être qu'ils manquent à quelqu'un quelque part, peut-être pas. Dun importe, nous continuons à bouger. On les trouve peut-être, peut-être pas. La vie sur la grande aventure, hein? Les gens vont *poof* par le brouillard ou l'acier ou les pieds. Ils partent tous à un moment donné. Allez les gens, allons déménager, ça va être une longue nuit de marche et d'équitation, elle a dit qu'elle marchait devant eux. J'ai vérifié la route et j'ai attendu, elle a ajouté avant de courir sur le chemin avec son sac sur son épaule. "Peut-être que j'y vais "Elle riait à moitié en défiant le brouillard pour venir pour 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.

Quel est notre plan d'action? »Derrix a annoncé haut et fort, un regard sérieux sur son visage alors qu'il se tenait le coude profond dans un sac qui s'est accroché à Charroux, par que je veux dire quel est le plan réel? Les rails se détachent dans la route, il y a deux directions sur cette route. On peut supposer que le kidnappeur est descendu sur la route d'une façon comme il n'y a pas de pistes de l'autre côté, mais on ne sait pas pendant combien de temps ou s'il ou elle est allé d'un côté ou de l'autre. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Et toi, Derri a pointé vers le nain. Il s'est arrêté quelques secondes avant de fermer les yeux. Où est un muscle géant qui gonfle la grammaire corrigeant barbare quand vous en avez besoin, Il pensait à lui-même que les mots nains frottaient contre ses oreilles comme du papier de sable à un cactus de pierre.

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

Et bien, Kazuo a dit, alors qu'il décollait en direction de la grotte pour obtenir un morceau de cul juteux, "Si tout ce qui a pris ces gens était quelque chose qui pouvait être suivi, il n'y aurait pas plus de pistes à l'intérieur et à l'extérieur de sa grotte. À part le nôtre? Et n'y aurait-il pas aussi un signe de bagarre? Je veux dire la beauté endormie là-bas était encore endormie quand Shela l'a trouvée." "Je ne sais pas. On dirait qu'il y a des conneries magiques. Je me fiche où on va, mais on devrait rester ensemble jusqu'à ce qu'on sorte de cette forêt. De cette façon au moins si quelqu'un disparaît, on verra qui l'a fait et peut-être comment." À la fin de son spiel, Kazuo était revenu avec un morceau de viande d'environ la taille de deux poings pressés ensemble. Avec l'aisance pratique, il reprend le dessus de son cheval et commence à couper des morceaux de viande et à les mettre dans sa bouche. Vaeri est resté silencieux tout au long de la question de Derrix et de la réponse de Kazuo. Elle n'avait aucune idée de tous les détails. Elle allait juste s'asseoir dans le wagon jusqu'à ce que quelque chose soit décidé.

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 n'a pas pu s'empêcher d'espérer que la femme naine ait pouf. Bien sûr, elle se sentait mal à propos de telles pensées, mais Shela vient de la frotter de la mauvaise façon pour une raison quelconque. Elle savait que certains des autres n'étaient pas exactement son genre, mais le nain l'a juste irrité, avec le manque de manières, se forçant sur leur compagnie, et en général sa callosité. Fiona espérait que c'était juste en raison de son humeur, après avoir été debout pendant si longtemps, et maintenant face à la perspective d'être debout encore plus longtemps. Le fait que cette autre nouvelle fille jette encore des vêtements humides sur sa tête pendant qu'elle essayait de prendre la sienne n'a pas aidé. En s'emparant de sa veste et de son pantalon, elle a fui le bombardement, en la jetant sur sa selle et en détachant le tissu autour de ses hanches. Le pantalon était assez sec maintenant, alors elle s'est pressée à nouveau dans eux, avant de trouver une paire de chaussettes sèches dans ses sacs et puis de tirer sur ses bottes encore ensevelis. Elle a regardé les autres tout en les lançant, l'ayant fait assez de fois pour ne pas avoir besoin de regarder. « Nous avons encore un travail à faire », a-t-elle rappelé au groupe. "Je pense que nous devrions continuer vers le village suivant, puisque nous ne savons pas de quelle façon regarder. Nous garderons un œil dehors, bien sûr, et nous aiderons si nous le pouvons, mais Sana est dure, et peut veiller sur elle-même. Les orphelins n'ont qu'à les aider." Il faisait un peu froid de se détourner de ceux qui avaient disparu, mais il semblait qu'ils étaient obligés de choisir entre continuer avec leur travail, ou perdre encore plus de temps à chercher... ils ne savaient même pas quoi. -- Très bien, dit Zoe, je sautais une fois que le dernier des vêtements était dans une jolie petite pile sous elle. "C'est un travail intéressant. Je suis tout pour aider les enfants. Et oui, rester ensemble semble bien. Il n'y a pas de désir de se faire piéger ici."

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

Le voleur Tobias sauta dans le siège du conducteur du wagon et dirigea les chevaux après le nain, ses possessions se jetèrent sur son dos. La pluie s'est jetée sur son dos nu comme des aiguilles, ce qui l'a amené à gagner car elle a touché quelques-unes de ses cicatrices. Il avait eu pire. Le chariot rattrapé le nain bientôt, et presque immédiatement commença à courir sa bouche, plus pour éclairer sa propre humeur que toute autre chose. "Alors, qu'est-ce qui pourrait être en train de faire le pouf? Des vampires? Des loups-garous? Des dragons? Des démons? Tu crois que ça m'apprendra à faire ça? Être capable de pouf comme ça serait vraiment pratique pour moi, dans ma ligne de travail. Comme, tu sais, un... entrepreneur. Vous avez l'air d'un type expérimenté. Tu as déjà tué un enfer? Parce que je l'ai fait. Fiona a aidé, mais c'était tout moi." Oscar s'est emparé silencieusement après le wagon, prenant soin de ne pas effrayer les chevaux avec sa présence.

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

Lob gémit encore pour la énième fois ce jour-là. Quand l'homme de magasin lui a dit que personne d'autre ne mangerait la viande de chien, il a choisi de manger son remplissage et de gagner son pouvoir avant d'enterrer le reste. Quelque part entre cinq et quinze livres de viande de chien a dû avoir sa vengeance sur lui car le barbare était malade comme un chien le lendemain. Il avait rampé dans l'arrière du wagon et s'était enroulé aussi petit qu'il le pouvait sur son côté. Il avait les chiens rouges peau sur sa peau d'ours noir maintenant comme protection supplémentaire, mais la pluie fraîche se sentait merveilleuse comme la course pour la plus grande partie de la journée. Soudain, la pluie s'était arrêtée, comme toute la conversation. Le silence l'excita alors qu'il regardait autour de lui la grotte massive dans laquelle il se trouvait soudainement, il y avait de la lumière à une extrémité jusqu'à ce qu'une flèche vole, et à l'inverse il brillait d'une lumière verte d'herbe à la suite des bruits d'eau dégoutante et de chauves-souris qui flottaient dans l'obscurité. Lentement, très lentement, Lob s'assit et prit les parfums de la région, il put trouver la puanteur du guano et décida que la première chose à faire était de cacher son parfum. D'abord, il s'est lavé dans les bassins d'égouttage avant d'être harcelé par une poignée, il l'a mis dans sa peau pour se cacher par le nez d'un autre. Ensuite, il a pris quelques instants pour revenir sur terre ce qu'il avait pris et se débarrasser de la dernière viande de chien de la veille. Soulagement et plus dans autant d'agonie. L'orc arboricole s'empare du mur avec des « prises » dans ses dents, il y avait beaucoup de poignées de main pour le grimpeur habile à utiliser alors qu'il se dirigeait vers l'obscurité, en se fiant à son infravision et à son instinct pour le garder en sécurité dans la grotte alors qu'il passait entre les stalagtites comme des troncs d'arbres. Il trouva un affleurement d'une centaine de poignées de main dans la grotte et s'arrêta pour prendre une nouvelle offre de son environnement, la lumière de la sortie maintenant complètement disparue. La lumière verte était maintenant alimentée par des roches brillantes, des pierres étoilées comme d'autres tribus l'avaient appelé. Il a pris un moment pour décorer son club et a amené l'os de libellule s'écraser sur la formation de cristal pour en faire un lâche. Il espérait que la pierre étoilée lui apporterait bonne chance ou serait bon pour un cadeau à la dame avec la hache quand il revient aux autres. C'était quelque chose d'étrange, il ne sentait aucun des autres quand il s'était réveillé, tout aussi fort un silence que quand il ne les entendait pas. Il l'a senti mais c'était tout, il était vraiment seul dans la caverne et cela l'a fait marcher plus prudemment.

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

Shéla Shela a attendu que le reste du groupe rattrape, regardant la route à la fois au nord et au sud alors qu'elle réfléchissait à ce qui se passait avec toutes les *poofing*. Espérant que c'était fini avec elle a balancé dans l'arrière du wagon alors qu'ils sont montés et ont largué son équipement dans l'arrière. Se dirigeant vers l'avant du wagon derrière le siège du conducteur et s'emparant du bord supérieur de la rampe en bois fissurée avec ses doigts épais. À l'écoute de Tobias, elle mâchait l'extrémité de sa pipe et se blottit légèrement. "Non, je n'ai jamais tué un chien de l'enfer, mais un dragon," a-t-elle dit alors qu'elle tenait la dent qui penchait autour de son cou. C'était un bon moment de rafraîchissement avec celui-là! » Elle s'est exclamé excitée. Un enfoiré vert, pas trop vieux, pas trop jeune. Juste comme une bonne bière à la fin de la journée. Il était avec un groupe, beaucoup comme ça. Moi et moi, on était sous contrat, je ne me souviens pas pour qui, mais ils veulent de la peau de dragon. Le paiement faisait partie de la peau, alors j'ai dû suivre. C'est une grande armure et des boucliers qu'il fait!" "Nous avons suivi pendant des mois, vous voyez, les dragons sont difficiles à passer, mais nous avons enfin trouvé le bestiole. C'était un vrai combat dur. Ils bougent vite et sont forts, mais ils sont intelligents aussi », a-t-elle dit en tapant son casque par son temple. "La lutte a duré des heures, nous sommes fatigués mais le groupe a poussé. Comme si c'était une tempête dans un château. Le feu a déchiré ici et là, carbonisé notre voleur jusqu'à un croustillant! Rien que des cendres qu'il soit au moment où le feu est mort! Juste debout sur ses genoux, même l'expression douloureuse moulée dans la cendre! Jusqu'à ce que la queue du dragon tourne autour et qu'il soit fait aux vents en une bouffée! N'oublie jamais ce petit arnaqueur. Quel était son nom?" Elle a dit qu'elle se tapait le menton quelques fois. "Quoi qu'il en soit, nous nous sommes battus et nous avons dû y mettre fin. Un combattant qui nous a rejoints à la fin m'a ramassé et m'a jeté! J'étais livide! Ne jetez jamais un nain! Mais il l'a fait et j'ai atterri avec moi les jambes étendues droit sur les bêtes musquées en regardant dans ses yeux!" Elle a dit pointer ses doigts vers ses yeux. "Mes bras ne sont pas longs comme les tiens, et bien c'était comme un enfant sur un taureau! Mais j'ai réussi assez longtemps à jeter un de ces bébés », dit-elle en tapant le grand pot de céramique qui sortait de son côté, « directement dans sa bouche! » "Puis je suis laissé aller et l'homme je volai au sol comme un marteau à une enclume. Juste à temps pour, cette petite diddy est partie et BOOM!" Elle a crié en jetant ses bras dehors. "Le crâne de bête est allé partout! Il m'a pris de la viande pendant des semaines. La seule chose qui restait de sa tête, c'était ça », a-t-elle dit en tapant la dent. "Bon petit souvenir pour un bon moment!" Grotte des yeux La grotte continua et on entendit lentement le bruit des ailes plus clairement qu'auparavant; elle était encerclée de cris. Sur le sol se trouvaient des cristaux durcis comme des piscines qui semblaient autrefois avoir été une sève sombre. L'odeur d'acide même dans leur état sec et brûlerait au toucher si quelqu'un osait leur mettre de la peau. Puis il s'est produit, il y avait un tourbillon et couper à travers la grotte était une grande créature qui avait un seul oeil que la taille de son corps avec des ailes de chauve-souris se déplacent à travers la grotte. De l'œil, le liquide sombre ozed et sur les extrémités de chaque aile, des doigts étaient de longues griffes. Il planait là-bas, son oeil regardant sur Lob pendant qu'il clignait. L'ooze tombe au sol, se cristallisant instantanément.

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.

Lob a entendu l'échafaudage et s'est figé. Le nouveau son n'était pas le chirp des chauves-souris comme avant, c'était différent, un mauvais son comme le helhound qui chatouillait son sentiment de danger avec l'odeur acride d'acide qui lui a coupé le nez aussi sûrement qu'une botte de chardon. Lentement, il s'est déplacé pour une position de traque pour frapper d'en haut. Puis il l'a vu à lui, un oeil aussi grand que lui, un oeil avec des ailes. Une lueur! Il laissa sortir un rugissement terrifiant, utilisant la grotte pour renforcer son cri primitif au sommet de ses poumons pour essayer de faire peur à la chose alors qu'il jetait la hache jonglante sur la bête. S'il pouvait enlever une aile ou même son énorme oeil, alors il devrait sûrement tomber au sol et être une proie facile.

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

Kazuo est monté à côté du chariot, une expression blanche sur son visage. Fumez le regard de lui, il était en zonage comme un moyen de passer le temps et de laisser Trombe faire tout le travail de marcher et de suivre le reste du groupe. Vaeri a sorti un de ses livres et a versé dessus dans l'obscurité. Aucun d'eux ne semblait avoir écouté l'histoire de Shela.

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.

Au fond de la grotte, les yeux rebondissaient alors qu'ils flottaient. Ces créatures n'ont jamais dormi et elles n'ont jamais atterri, quelque chose d'autre a été dit pour leur donner leur endurance inébranlable de rester apparemment pour toujours dans le loft. Son seul œil se concentrait sur le demi-orc avant lui, il ne l'avait pas vu comme avant, mais ce n'était pas inhabituel. Très peu sont apparus dans la grotte et, lorsqu'ils l'ont fait, c'était généralement un homme malchanceux dont un brouillard s'était enroulé et en avait fait tomber. Presque comme un sacrifice proverbial. Qu'il s'agisse ou non des intentions de brouillard, il reste à voir, mais c'est là qu'il s'agit. Un autre à tuer pour le sport. La hache est venue rapidement et les yeux, même si jamais ils regardaient, n'ont pas eu le temps de s'éloigner assez loin du chemin. La lame déchirant à travers la troisième et vers la peau sur l'aile droite, faisant tourner la créature dans l'air et perdant sa grâce. Il s'est battu dur pour rester dans l'air et a tiré une acidité ooze vers Lob, il a manqué, frappant une stalagtite à côté de lui et durcissant au contact.

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 Charroux, et le cheval regarda en arrière, leurs deux yeux paraissaient las, mais pas d'épuisement. Avec un shrug Derrix grimpait sur le cheval et se penchait vers l'avant sur la selle alors qu'ils suivaient le chariot, traînant légèrement derrière. Les lèvres marbrées de Derrix écoutaient tranquillement les mots tandis qu'il s'appuyait vers l'avant, les oreilles du cheval secouant de l'essoufflement de son souffle qui échappait aux mots. Un doux pleurnicheur a secoué la tête des chevaux et Derrix est retombé dans son siège, un petit sourire sur son visage.

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

Fiona ne savait plus comment se sentir. Elle est montée en silence, à la tête du groupe, en essayant de lutter contre ses paupières effrénées pour garder une surveillance décente sur leur environnement. Elle était bien au-delà de l'humeur d'écouter des histoires de Tobias ou le nain, qui semblait sortir d'eux simplement de l'habitude, avec probablement seulement les plus petites lambeaux de vérité. La dent que Shela portait avait l'air assez réelle, donc elle pensait qu'il y avait plus de vérité que ce que Tobias avait trouvé. Pourtant, le blabbering aidait à la garder éveillée, bien qu'elle ne savait pas si cela valait le coup. -- Vous savez, dit Zoe, à côté du chariot, je pense que demain sera une bonne journée. Ou au moins un intéressant." Elle s'empoigna lâchement de sa lance près de la tête, la collant à plusieurs reprises dans le sol pendant que son cheval marchait. Son regard avait tendance à être un peu absent, mais elle faisait toujours attention, mis en évidence par les rires qui se sont évanouis d'elle pendant l'histoire de Shela, malgré les événements horribles que le nain décrivait. Elle a regardé le ciel à peu près autant qu'elle a fait le monde autour d'elle, apparemment content de se promener avec un groupe de gens étranges qu'elle venait de rencontrer.

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.

Comme la hache était dans les airs, le club sortait de son dos. Il sauta après cela comme d'autres guerriers et leur utilisation de l'étreinte pour maintenir la pression sur l'ennemi, c'était un piège que le chasseur de sa dernière tribu lui enseignait. Il n'a même pas eu à esquiver le large gland en éclaboussant dans un toit de la grotte, il a grimpé sur le monstre sans grâce d'une main et s'est emparé d'un morceau de roche. Malheureusement, qu'il s'agisse de la faiblesse de la roche des larmes acides ou de la force de l'impact du saut. Mais la pointe s'est cassée et a envoyé le barbare tomber au sol de la caverne. Heureusement, il a réussi à atterrir sur ses pieds avec le choc agitant ses cuisses au lieu de tomber sur son côté ou de se faire empaler sur le « soltooth » Mais maintenant, il était sur le sol alors qu'il était encore dans l'air perdant grâce, il a donné un moment plus à tomber ou à fuir avant d'agir à nouveau avec le club maintenant dans les deux mains qu'il devrait être.

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

Le groupe principal La nuit passait lentement mais sans incident, le brouillard ne revenait pas et il semblait qu'il ne disparaissait plus de vue, mais plusieurs avaient marché de leur propre gré et il n'y avait plus aucun signe d'eux maintenant. Shela s'est serrée à elle-même et a continué à draguer toute la nuit et a bien passé après le soleil s'est brisé. Chaque conte qu'elle sortait plus landish que la suivante, mais elle semblait toujours avoir une cicatrice ou une bifurcation qu'elle avait gardée comme souvenir fournissant au moins un peu de vérité à l'histoire. Ses paroles ne sont jamais apparues comme des mensonges purs, mais peut-être de graves embellissements. Si quelque chose la femme avait de l'endurance, ne semblait jamais la fatigue de parler. Elle a bien aimé entendre sa propre voix et a tout naturellement supposé que d'autres ont fait de même. Le lendemain, avant l'arrivée du village suivant, les nuages roulaient encore sur la tête, mais l'odeur de la pluie sur l'air était disparue. Le village était plus petit que le dernier, une seule route qui serpentait à travers elle avec seulement une poignée de bâtiments. Ils n'avaient même pas l'air d'avoir une bonne auberge, juste une vieille écurie qui semblait avoir été transformée en un trou d'arrosage de toutes sortes. Les gens dans les rues ont gelé quand ils ont vu le groupe d'aventuriers et dispersé dans les quelques maisons, les portes se fermant fortement. C'est un bon accueil froid, Shela s'est cognée en mâchant sur sa pipe. La grotte des yeux La bête battit et se tenait dans l'air, mais elle descendit lentement, tissant ainsi et que lorsqu'elle tentait de tenir son altitude, mais il n'y avait pas grand chose pour elle. La larme de la hache dans son aile a jeté l'équilibre et les capacités des yeux. Il clignait sous la souche et avec chaque clignote une autre goutte d'acide tombait seulement à cristalliser comme il a frappé la pierre. Il n'en faudrait pas beaucoup pour mettre la chose hors de sa misère mais les griffes à la fin de chaque aile sur les ailes coupées à travers l'air brusquement avec chaque rabat truqué et l'acide était jamais présent.

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 suppose qu'ils n'aiment pas les gens, Zoe a dit, frôlant. "Je ne sais pas pourquoi quelqu'un serait comme ça. Je ne peux pas imaginer qu'ils aient tous eu une mauvaise journée en même temps." Fiona était au-delà de l'épuisement à ce stade. Écouter Shela toute la nuit l'avait laissée avec un mal de tête pulsant, mais elle n'avait pas envie de dépenser l'effort pour essayer de la faire arrêter. À ce stade, il semblait que le nain s'en tenait à eux, qu'ils la voulaient ou non. Fiona a presque souhaité un combat, de sorte que Shela pourrait en fait se révéler utile. « Je vois pourquoi ils ne nous accueillent peut-être pas », a admis Fiona en regardant le groupe. Ils étaient un groupe redoutable, vraiment, et sans connaître leurs intentions, ces gens avaient raison d'être prudents. Nul doute qu'ils connaissaient les expériences de l'autre village avec les esclavagistes et les bandits. Il ne fallait pas faire confiance à tous les étrangers. "Toujours... ça semble un peu bizarre." -- Eh bien, rien d'autre à faire que de faire le tour, n'est-ce pas? Zoe a demandé, à partir de l'avant. "Pas la peine d'attendre ici. Peut-être que quelqu'un ici a vu un de vos amis disparus."

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.

Lob a encerclé les yeux qui tombaient, marchant dans l'un des yeux tombés. Il apprit rapidement sa folie, car le vieux froid était encore acide et toujours un danger! Il a sombré dans un marcheau de crabe alors qu'il s'est enfoncé dans une piscine (alcaline) pour laver l'acide en collant le pied jusqu'à ce que la brûlure s'arrête. Maintenant, il savait que les larmes étaient une chose dangereuse à éviter comme il regardait dans un bas sourcil et attendait jusqu'à ce qu'il puisse sauter haut avec les deux mains derrière lui pour un coup de tête éclatant. Il commençait à deviner s'il l'avait tué, ça pourrait apparaître comme un vrai globe oculaire et envoyer ce brulard partout, mais c'était un risque qu'il était prêt à prendre pour les enfants. Il a senti les griffes mordre profondément dans sa tentative frénétique de le monter pour être dans l'air, mais il espérait ajouter son poids à l'écrasement au sol et peut-être l'empaler sur le plancher en bas.

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

Shéla Shela secoua légèrement la tête pendant qu'elle s'éloignait du wagon et s'emparait de son équipement. Je l'ai jetée sur son épaule avec un grognement. En tenant le tuyau entre ses dents, elle a soufflé dessus quelques fois en regardant autour de lui. Ses gros sourcils se sont levés et elle a rapidement enlevé la pipe de ses lèvres et a pris une profonde respiration. "Jasmine? Il s'agit d'une odeur rare dans ces parties », murmura-t-elle avant de se recroqueviller alors qu'elle recollait le tuyau dans ses dents. "Oh bien, va prendre une pinte et puis dorment quelques-uns où," a-t-elle dit avant d'aller à l'ancienne écurie/bar. Passant à la barre de rickety, elle monta sur une benne de foin qui était empilée devant elle puisqu'il n'y avait pas de sièges convenables et enleva son casque, le mettant sur la feuille de bois qui était le soi-disant bartop. "Pint of ale", a-t-elle dit en frappant une pièce sur le comptoir. Grotte des yeux Si les yeux pouvaient scruter il aurait comme le club massif est venu barricader sur elle, l'attraper le long du sommet de la créature sphérique et le faire atterrir avec un bruit. L'œil bourdonnait mais n'éclatait pas. Le cuir épais comme le couvercle fermé comme l'acidité ooze pooled sous elle. ce qui touchait le sol endurci mais ce qui s'accrochait encore aux créatures encore chaudes corps restait liquide. Il y aurait assez pour remplir plusieurs flacons si on le fait avec précaution.

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.

Lob l'a fait! Il l'a fait, il... n'avait pas de flacons pour attraper les trucs dedans! Il n'y a pas de malédiction à Elvish, Entish, ni les langues des hommes pour cette ironie. Maintenant, Lob a dû réfléchir, pas son costume fort. Lentement, lob marchait autour de la grotte et ramenait des « prises » en arrière alors qu'il essayait de trouver ce qu'il fallait faire. Il avait besoin d'une glande pour obtenir ses larmes, mais il n'en avait jamais coupé une auparavant, donc il n'avait aucune idée de comment ils fonctionnaient. Alors qu'il trébuchait, il a frappé une cravate en onre des petits cristaux de ses larmes et a donné un rugissement de frustration. Ce rugissement s'est ralenti quand lob y a pensé et a frotté un peu de sommeil de ses yeux... Pour se mettre au travail, Lob a fermé l'œil d'une main alors qu'il utilisait le plat de sa lame pour frotter l'œil au-dessus de l'œil fermé alors qu'il soufflait dessus, le regardant se cristalliser dans l'exposition à l'air. Maintenant, ce serait assez bien scellé pour qu'il le ramène. Avec un grognement heureux à lui-même. Lob jeta le globe oculaire sur son dos, régla les rochers dans son entrejambe, et retourna à l'entrée de la grotte.

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

Vaeri a lu le voyage. C'était assez facile de dire que suivre les contes de Shela comme elle l'a fait avec Tobias ne serait pas aussi amusant. Donc si parler ne lui distrait pas l'esprit de ce supposé brouillard qui éloigne les gens, ses livres le feraient. La réponse froide qu'elle a reçue des villageois n'était rien de nouveau pour elle. Vaeri s'est inclinée dans son siège en décidant de regarder les affaires de tout le monde pendant que le reste du groupe faisait tout ce qu'ils allaient faire ici. Kazuo ne semblait pas particulièrement intéressé par la discussion, ou beaucoup de tout ce qui se passait. L'expression sur son visage était si vide, il était difficile de dire s'il dormait ou s'il était éveillé. À l'arrière de sa tête, il voulait en quelque sorte que le brouillard revienne. Au moins, c'était quelque chose d'intéressant. Kazuo resterait dans son état presque zen d'ennui jusqu'à ce que quelque chose se soit passé ou qu'il ait été directement traité.

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

C'était un peu un endroit dingy, mais Fiona ne s'en souciait guère, car la présence d'une boisson décente était suffisante pour noyer les doutes qu'elle avait. Elle a pris un siège devant le bar et s'est commandé une bière aussi bien, prenant un long verre dès qu'elle l'avait dans ses mains. Le village ne leur semblait pas trop amical, mais au moins ils étaient prêts à leur servir quelque chose. Zoe a choisi de ne pas prendre part à la boisson, au lieu de s'asseoir entrecroisé contre le mur à l'extérieur, son cheval paissant paresseusement sur tout ce qu'elle pouvait trouver à proximité. Sa lance était horizontale sur ses genoux, et la posture de Zoe était très détendue, mais pas somnolente ou endormie. Elle regardait avec intérêt les maisons autour, avec leurs portes fermées et le manque total de personnes visibles. Le manque d'activité à cette heure de la journée était intrigant.

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.

Shela s'assit là, allant entre la prise de longues prises de sa bière et la bouffée sur sa pipe, en envoyant de petites gorgées de fumée dans l'air et en créant une mince brume autour d'elle. Regardant les autres un moment avant de tourner son attention vers la seule personne qui avait décidé de prendre un verre avec elle. "Alors, Red, qu'est-ce qui se passe exactement ici? Tu as commencé à chercher des trucs pour guérir cette maladie de Cinder et maintenant ton peuple disparaît? Ou juste s'en aller? Elle me semble bizarre », me dit-elle alors qu'elle reposait le verre vide sur le toit du bar et laissait sortir un belch assez bruyant et odieux. Le nez de Shelas s'est un peu balancé, puis elle a éternué. "Quoi dans les flammes. Je ne vois pas de jasmin par ici, pourquoi je continue à le sentir?" Elle a demandé avec un gémissement. L'odeur semblait être autour de la ville en général, mélangée avec l'odeur douce de cèdre frais. L'odeur se dirigeait vers la grotte des yeux vers le nord-ouest, mais semblait être la plus forte de la ville, puis vers l'est.

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.

Lob a suivi l'odeur de l'air frais à l'entrée de la caverne, Il n'a pas réalisé à quel point il sentait là-dedans jusqu'à ce qu'il ait l'air pur pour le comparer aussi. Il y avait d'autres envoyés sur le vent, plein de feux et de pains, des animaux, une ville. Il pouvait aussi trouver de la fleur de jasmin au vent avec son cheval et un soupçon de cannelle. Ça sentait la ville qu'ils ont quittée, mais pas l'odeur des corps brûlants. Peut-être qu'ils s'étaient perdus et sont revenus en ville, il n'a pas senti tout le monde pour qu'ils se séparent à nouveau après plus d'esclaves. Il a fait son chemin vers la ville, une vue étrange pour être sûr avec un "orc" sauvage trompant dans la ville avec Dieu sait ce que sur son dos être porté par sa queue avec des ailes couvrant l'œil. En reniflant et en reniflant, il se dirigea vers la taerne avec sûrement un garde sur ses talons. En entrant, il sentait encore le griffon de chauve-souris se frottait tout sur lui-même alors qu'il battait les yeux sur la table pour que tous le voient. "C'en est une!"

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

Derrix s'appuya contre le mur à côté de Zoe et prit une bouffée de respiration, en s'imprégnant seulement de l'odeur fantomatique de la lavande. Il s'est secoué la tête, même sans le casque, il s'est séparé de lui. Il a regardé vers le bas à la dernière addition et a dit clairement, "Alors, quel est votre nom encore?"

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

Fiona tourna la tête lentement pour regarder Shela, les doigts sur une de ses mains peignées dans ses cheveux rouges. Ses sourcils ont été levés. "Vous me demandez?" Elle s'est arrêtée, prenant un verre. "Je ne sais pas ce qui se passe. Ce n'est pas l'habitude pour moi." Elle n'a jamais pensé que ce serait facile, mais d'une manière ou d'une autre elle pensait que ce serait plus ordonné, plus clair qui était de son côté et qui ne l'était pas, et certainement elle ne pensait pas que la magie commencerait à faire disparaître ses alliés au milieu de la nuit. Elle voulait que Sana soit là. Puis, hors de nulle part, Lob a réapparu, couvert de... quelque chose, et claquant un oeil mort sur la table, faisant sauter Fiona en arrière, les yeux larges. Elle regarda la créature pendant un moment, clignotant, et assez stupéfait. "Oh... wow. C'était excellent, dit-elle, que Lob avait rassemblé pour eux une autre des choses dont ils avaient besoin, mais cela n'expliquait guère les choses. "Que t'est-il arrivé? Certains d'entre eux aussi ont disparu. Avez-vous vu l'un d'eux?" À l'extérieur, Zoe avait regardé la peau verte entrer dans la taverne avec un intérêt de passage, notant la carcasse sur son dos, avant qu'elle tourne la tête à pair à Derrix, le saluant avec un sourire éclatant. "Je suis Zoenya dar Ravaris ill Marrakech. Vous pouvez m'appeler Zoenya. Ou Zoé. Peu importe ce qui marche." Elle écoutait alors que les yeux étaient claqués sur la table à l'intérieur. « Jamais un moment prévisible avec ces gens, n'est-ce pas? »

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.

Lob sourit de l'oreille à l'oreille, un chiot fier qui ramena le bâton. Mais comme d'autres questions se posaient, sa tête se câlinait légèrement sur le côté et la capuche de l'enfer soulevait un quiz de l'oreille. Il a reniflé et s'est faufilé un moment avant de reparler alors qu'il trouvait du jasmin sur le vent, mais il s'est évanoui. Mauvaise viande, malade, sommeil. Réveille-toi dans une grotte, trouve ça, tue ça. Trouvez-vous, apportez-vous. Sens alpha, le lever du soleil alpha. Probablement plus d'une conversation que la plupart d'obtenir de lui, il a pointé vers l'est avec un grand sourire et s'est épinglé sur la table en saisissant une pomme de terre d'une assiette et en la mangeant.

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

Shela a élevé un brun épais en regardant le demi-orc entrer dans la taverne dite et jeter les yeux vers le bas sur le haut de la barre. Tilting sa tête sur le côté, elle a sauté de la caution de foin, bottes lourdes frappant le sol avec un bruit avant de marcher sur elle. "Je dis, je dis, c'est un bon travail!" Elle a dit qu'au moment où elle l'a ramassée, ce serait l'aile. "Ceux-là sont de vilains petits enfoirés seuls, s'ils essaiment, ils sont ces choses dont on fait des cauchemars. Et vous l'avez scellé, bien fait bête d'une créature, bien fait! Elle a dit avant de la déposer sur le haut de la barre et de marcher jusqu'au wagon, ramper dans le dos et faire calmer le ruckus pendant qu'elle a creusé quelques flacons de la boîte. "Alpha? De qui il parle? Cette bouche forte avec l'arc?" Shela demanda alors qu'elle s'enfonçait et marchait jusqu'à Fiona. "Yo Red, tiens ça pendant que j'ouvre ce truc. Ce goo a frappé n'importe quoi sauf les yeux de la peau ou du verre et il va durcir et être inutile. Donc, une fois qu'il commence à couler, remplissez un flacon et branchez le flacon avec un autre poussé dans le haut et ne le laissez pas toucher votre peau ou vous pouvez dire au revoir à ce joli teint de votre."

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'expression de Vaeri s'est immédiatement éclairée quand elle a vu Lob revenir triomphant au groupe, les yeux dans la main. Les gens qui se sont fait piéger n'ont pas été tués après tout! Peut-être juste pris ailleurs. Peut-être que s'ils avaient de la chance, les autres pourraient être trouvés en quelques jours. Elle a sorti son sac du chariot et est entrée alors que Shela expliquait l'accord avec Eyewings et le mucus(?) Ils se sont sécrétés. Bien qu'elle soit heureuse que Lob soit de retour, elle a gardé sa distance avec lui. C'était évident de l'odeur dans laquelle il s'était couvert, et elle connaissait bien la technique, mais même sachant que, personne ne veut se tenir à côté du gars couvert tête à orteil en poo. Le clerc a produit 2 flacons et bouchons en liège de son sac, en remettant l'un à Fiona, en gardant l'autre pour elle-même. "J'espère que ça ne vous dérange pas que j'aide aussi." Vaeri a mis le flacon entre ses doigts une fois avant de préparer le tube de verre pour capturer le deuxième ingrédient en 2 jours. C'était plutôt chanceux, vraiment. Heureusement pour une fois. C'était presque si la déesse du destin décidait de leur voyage en roulant dés la façon dont tout changeait constamment.

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

Le visage de Lob s'éclaircit au fur et à mesure que le clerc se joignait à lui, atteignant sa taille, il rummaga autour jusqu'à ce qu'il produise le grand rocher vert brillant et le retena pour l'approbation de Vaeri. Il semblait perplexe en l'évitant, mais finalement son cerveau remarqua le nain qui parlait et se brouillait avec son meurtre. "Qui est le petit?" Il a demandé au groupe tout en prenant u une autre poignée de nourriture sans surveillance, mais s'arrêtant de nourrir sa mache alors qu'il sentait sa main et faisait un visage. Il n'était plus dans la caverne, il n'avait plus besoin du déguisement et maintenant ça l'a fait se démarquer à l'extérieur de la grotte autant que ne pas le sentir l'a fait se démarquer à l'intérieur de la grotte. "...le lob pue."

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

Fiona n'a pas été surprise que Lob ne puisse pas leur fournir les informations les plus claires sur ce qui s'est passé. Même s'il avait une meilleure compréhension de communiquer avec eux, il était probable qu'il ne savait pas ou ne comprenait même pas ce qui s'est passé. Quand il a parlé de l'alpha, et Shela a demandé à ce sujet, cela a donné une pensée à Fiona, quelque chose qui ne lui était pas arrivé plus tôt, probablement en raison de son énergie épuisée. "Il parle de Sana, oui. Elle sentait un peu le jasmin, n'est-ce pas? » C'était plus fort ici, évidemment, si le nain faisait des commentaires à ce sujet, mais c'était encore une étrange coïncidence. Autre chose étrange à propos de la ville. Pour l'instant, cependant, ils avaient recueilli l'ingrédient suivant à traiter. Elle a accepté les flacons de Vaeri, suivant les instructions de Shela pour la collecte du liquide dans les yeux. Elle s'intéressait à demander après Sana, s'il y avait une chance qu'elle soit ici, mais elle ne voulait pas non plus se brûler, et devait se concentrer.

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.

Shela a sorti une petite dague et a réussi à travailler, en coupant soigneusement à travers le sceau que Lob avait créé. Alors qu'elle traversait le matériau cristallisé, le couvercle de l'œil s'ouvrit et le ooze commença à couler. Un par un, elle a pris les flacons et les a remplis avant de les remettre soigneusement à Fiona et Vaeri. Malgré son attitude brutale et ses doigts épais, elle a travaillé avec facilité et a gardé sa bouche fermée. Concentré sur le travail à portée de main, sa pipe s'est serrée entre les dents pendant qu'elle travaillait. Une fois qu'elle a fini, elle a pris la créature par l'aile et est sortie de la taverne de quart de travail, a passé le reste du groupe et sur la route certains. Quand elle a senti qu'elle avait placé assez de distance entre la carcasse et le groupe, elle s'est enfuie et a fait un clin d'oeil. « Reculez », a-t-elle averti en tirant une petite hache en céramique de sa ceinture qui avait une corde étrangement colorée qui collait le haut de l'arbre qui traversait la barbe de la hache. Une frappe rapide sur le dessus de la corde avec le côté arrière de l'anneau de regard argenté sur son doigt et il allumé. En franchissant un pas, elle jeta la petite hache, qui vola dans l'air et la lame s'inscrivait dans le globe oculaire de l'Aile. Un moment plus tard, la hache s'est brisée dans une explosion et a soufflé les restes de l'Eyewing en morceaux de cendrage qui ont accordé pour cristalliser les cendres dans l'air avant de tomber au sol. « Eh bien, ça prend soin de ça », a-t-elle dit alors qu'elle bouffait sur sa pipe avant de retourner au groupe. "D'accord, grand garçon, je suis Shela," dit-elle en regardant vers Lob. "Tu vas te laver, tu sens le rang que tu es." Retourner au reste alors qu'elle montait à l'arrière du wagon. "Je dis qu'on dort et puis on suit le nez des grands garçons, il y a une grande ville portuaire dans la direction qu'il a pointée." Elle s'est reposée sur son sac et a fermé les yeux pour dormir.

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

Vaeri a suivi les instructions de Shela, ses doigts se déplaçant rapidement pour recueillir le liquide et lièger le flacon avant que n'importe qui puisse cristalliser. Satisfaite, elle a glissé la fiole remplie dans le vide inconnaissable de son sac à dos. Yawning, elle s'étendit et quitta le bâtiment, retournant au wagon pour que les provisions du groupe ne soient pas sans surveillance. À proximité se trouvait Kazuo, endormi sur le dessus d'une Trombe à l'aspect morne. Le cheval avait un air de démission à ce sujet, comme s'il s'agissait d'un type de chose courant.

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

Lob regardait avec un air de curiosité regarder un autre traiter le corps, il avait aussi un air répugnant émanant de lui aussi. Quand les morts ont été fait, il a suivi derrière pour voir ce qu'elle faisait avec le corps quand elle a jeté sa « prise » dedans et a sauté en arrière une grenouille effrayée pendant que sa hache explose. "BON COUP!" En regardant derrière lui, il a vu qu'il avait heurté un baril de pluie qui était plein de la nuit dernière. D'abord, il a plongé la tête et a pris un verre profond avant d'escalader dans le baril pour se laver, les vêtements et tout. Il a fallu faire et presque se noyer dans son propre "tub" mais il a réussi à se redresser et monter pour l'air avant que les anneaux de cooper s'affaiblissent à sa masse. Il a renversé le canon et a rampé à quatre pattes avant de se secouer comme un chien et de remonter sur le chariot avec le reste.

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

Fiona est revenue aussi bien au wagon une fois le travail terminé, presque peu disposée à croire qu'elle allait enfin dormir. Un autre monstre, ou un fort étranger, passerait et ruinerait la paix. Poussant les pensées négatives à part, elle trouva un espace dans le dos pour sa couverture et déballa son armure, l'arrangeant dans une pile soignée à côté d'elle. « Si quelqu'un veut un sommeil plus paisible », a dit Zoe, venant à l'avant du wagon, « Je peux aider avec cela. Préviens-moi. Je serai encore éveillé pendant un moment... assurez-vous que ce village ne soit plus animé quand nous dormons tous, vous savez?" Elle a grimpé doucement dans le siège avant et a pris une posture détendue, regardant les différents membres du groupe s'installer pour un certain repos.

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.

Je serai réveillée aussi, Derrix a dit raideur alors qu'il s'appuyait sur une épaule contre Charroux. L'homme avait peu à dire au groupe, dont la moitié n'avait aucune idée de qui ils étaient ; bien il avait leurs noms... mais ce n'était pas Charlin, et un nom ne disait que tellement en dehors de ses frontières. Tout ce que Derrix savait, c'était que porter une armure de plaque tout le temps vous écaille quelque chose de mauvais, et qu'il avait besoin de voir cette quête terminée et terminée.

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

La nuit s'est bien passée et, lorsque le soleil s'est levé le lendemain, les villageois sont restés cachés, semblant ne pas vouloir avoir quelque chose à voir avec le groupe qui était venu la nuit précédente. Shela reniflait un peu pendant que la lumière frappait ses yeux, sa pipe se tenait encore serrée entre ses dents. En gémissant, elle s'asseyait et se blottit au bord du chariot, les pieds s'accroupissant au-dessus du bord. Elle bâillait profondément dans l'air du matin. -- Oui, jasmin encore! Elle s'est plainte de se frotter le nez et d'éternuer. Secouant le sentiment que l'éternuement a laissé derrière elle, elle a tendu ses bras courts au-dessus de sa tête avant d'atteindre le dessus et d'attraper une pomme de son paquet et de prendre une bouchée. "Ok, où est le grand garçon? Il a besoin de suivre son nez jusqu'à la bouche forte », a-t-elle dit alors qu'elle grimpait à l'avant de l'arrière 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.

Lob était vraiment parti ce matin-là. Pas par le mauvais brouillard, mais simplement prendre dans le village environnant pour des vues et des odeurs. Beaucoup étaient partis du groupe, que ce soit dans leur sommeil comme lui ou pour d'autres raisons. Mais il a regardé et attendu des signes d'ennuis puis s'est ennuyé et est rentré à la maison à la voiture. "Dimez, on y va." Il attendait que tout le monde se nourrisse et soit prêt à partir avant qu'il ne s'en aille. Il n'y a pas d'envoi comme avant ou d'antipaladine pour se battre dans la nuit. La moitié de l'orc a mis son os dans son dos et son nez à la meule alors qu'il reniflait sur tout le cheval de sansa pour obtenir un bon poumon de son parfum et était bientôt en tête du chemin. ***Pièce pour les postes d'autres personnes ici*** Comme il l'avait déjà fait avec les esclavagistes, il est parti par là et cela, en traversant la route ou en tirant sur un arbre au fur et à mesure que le vent se déplaçait. Il vit un renard passé, mais il le laissa partir, les n'étaient pas dehors pour les nourrir de nouveau, mais il s'arrêta à un chêne, vieux et sage. "De la nourriture!" Le barbare a déclaré qu'il avait balayé son club de libellules contre la branche inférieure et a laissé les glands pleuvoir d'en haut, sans parler de quelques écureuils. Il s'en retourna et rassembla les glands dans sa longe avec le cristal vert éclatant que le guérisseur n'avait pas voulu. Maintenant avec une poignée de noix entre ses jambes, il a continué à traquer la femelle alpha tout en regardant les nouvelles au groupe.

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

Vaeri s'est réveillé tôt et a préparé le wagon et les chevaux pour le voyage. Tout semblait bien, et même si le sort de jasmin était étrange et quelque peu obstruant, il était assez simple d'ignorer. Jasmine n'a jamais été un parfum qui était vraiment coincé dans le nez comme le romarin, l'oeuf pourri ou le museau. Maintenant qu'elle y a pensé, hier avait été la première fois qu'une journée s'est évanouie sans que quelque chose de cataclysmique se produise. Peut-être que ce schéma pourrait continuer. C'était un faible espoir, mais au moins c'était un espoir qui n'était pas infondé. Après avoir participé aux préparatifs, elle a passé une bonne demi-heure en prière alors qu'elle attendait le retour de Lob et qu'elle menait le chemin. Pour le petit-déjeuner, le clerc mangea un humble repas de certaines des rations qu'elle avait dans son sac pendant qu'elle observait la ville au ralenti. Cela ne l'a pas vraiment dérangée que les habitants les évitaient. Elle vient d'ajuster le capot de son manteau et de garder son regard baissé. Le museau d'un étalon noir entra dans son champ de vision, elle tourna la tête pour voir le cheval d'un des nouveaux voyageurs, son nom était Trombe si elle se rappelait assez bien. Sur son dos était son propriétaire, le sabreur, Kazuo. Curieusement, elle a cambriolé la tête du cheval quelques fois avant qu'il ne parte, apparemment satisfait. Kazuo ne s'est réveillé que lorsque le groupe a voyagé pendant quelques heures. Une Trombe ennuyée a fait la plupart du travail de la jambe de se tenir debout. Kazuo pouvait le dire parce que tout son corps était merdique. Il lui a fallu une bonne minute pour se réveiller et observer ses environs. Il y avait un gars vert qui rampait autour de renifler le sol devant le groupe. Kazuo est monté jusqu'à l'homme en armure et s'est penché près de lui. "Qu'est-ce qu'il y a avec le type vert?" Il chuchotait à un volume qu'il était sûr que la fille de l'elfe n'entendait pas. Grandir autour d'un demi-elf l'a assez familier avec les sens améliorés du Fair People.

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 se sentait mieux après avoir dormi, mais ce n'était pas le plus confortable à l'arrière du wagon. Elle dormait encore pire, et bien qu'elle ne se sente pas complètement restaurée, elle se sentait à nouveau fonctionnelle, et c'était suffisant. Elle a mangé à la légère aussi, une fois qu'il était évident que ce village n'était pas intéressé à leur fournir quoi que ce soit. Elle a aidé à préparer le wagon avec Vaeri, et elle s'est assurée que son cheval était nourri et arrosé pour le tour de la journée. Après cela, il s'agissait simplement d'accompagner le groupe et de garder le silence. Zoe l'a fait sur les bords, changeant souvent de position, les yeux brillants et éveillés. Elle était énergique apparemment par nature, bien qu'il ne soit pas clair combien de sommeil elle avait eu la nuit précédente. Elle s'est un peu rigolée en regardant Lob se casser l'arme avec enthousiasme contre un arbre.

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.

Derrix mâché à l'intérieur de sa joue alors que la lune s'élevait haut, il blunk, et comme ses yeux s'ouvraient, il fut salué par le rose rouge de l'aube. C'était presque comme s'il avait dormi, presque. Ou du moins il le pensait, il n'était pas trop sûr de ce que dormait désormais, mais il s'est souvenu que c'était rapide comme ça. Il était sûr cependant qu'il était éveillé, qu'il pouvait sentir la magie s'écoulant à travers lui, perçant sa peau dans des boules d'oie et chevauchant le long des tranchées les cicatrices creusées dans sa peau. Les gens se réveillèrent lentement et il les regarda comme une sentinelle.

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

Le groupe a voyagé et ils ont voyagé, toujours suivre Lob comme l'odeur s'est renforcée. Jasmine a commencé à se mélanger avec l'odeur du sel dans l'air alors qu'ils voyageaient au nord et à l'ouest du dernier village. Trois jours de voyage et rien ne s'est passé, heureusement pour le groupe. Il semblait que les choses allaient en leur faveur, mais le groupe s'est réduit. Le manque d'excitation semblait repousser les autres ou peut-être qu'ils avaient autre chose à faire. Shela n'en a pas moins continué, du moins pour l'instant. Ils cherchaient quelqu'un alors qu'ils cherchaient ce dont ils avaient besoin pour la maladie du cidre. Le soir commença à tomber quand ils approchaient de la ville portuaire de Trien. De grands murs de pierre entouraient la grande ville et les sons étaient bruyants alors que les gens parlaient et échangeaient, travaillaient et combattaient. « Apportons quelque chose à manger, à boire et à s'installer », a suggéré Shela alors qu'ils roulaient dans une taverne locale au cœur de la ville. Si Sana était ici, il allait prendre un certain temps pour la trouver avec tant de gens, tant de bâtiments et ils étaient sur la route depuis des jours sans un endroit approprié pour dormir. Shela était fatiguée de tirer des attelles de son arrière en dormant dans le wagon. "Des preneurs?" Elle a demandé alors qu'elle regardait le reste du groupe.

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.

Lob s'inquiétait, trois jours de traquer le jasmin et... c'était tout. Pas d'autres chevaux, pas d'autres feux de camp, pas d'autres personnes pour mélanger l'odeur. Il n'avait jamais suivi une telle odeur depuis si longtemps sans qu'elle se brise ou se mêle à d'autres. La distance horaire et le temps ne semblaient même pas affecter la force de l'odeur. "Alpha odeur, odeur magique." Il traquait le jour, dormait la nuit, sur les trois suivantes, il dormait de plus en plus près du nain, en utilisant le hérisson comme oreiller plus d'une fois après avoir dragué son armure cachée sur elle comme une couverture, puis il se fronçait à côté d'elle. Il gardait toujours le cristal brillant dans sa longe avec les bouts de nourriture qu'il recherchait pour les autres. Une partie de lui s'inquiétait du nombre de petits qui mouraient à cause de cette recherche de l'alpha, trois jours sans autre partie pour la maladie. Pas même un bandit gnoll, un parfum qu'il connaissait trop bien en frottant son front écarlate. Curieusement, alors que l'odeur du sel passait son nez, il commença à se faire une idée en sortant le papier d'ingrédients. Il a tenu les notes apothécaires avec deux des cinq éraflés. C'était un grand endroit avec beaucoup de traders, sûrement quelqu'un a dû avoir ce dont ils avaient besoin. "Prenons quelque chose à manger, à boire et à s'installer. Des preneurs?" "Alimentation, oui. Lit, oui. Acheter des pièces?"

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

Vaeri est sorti les trois jours de voyage principalement en silence. Bien sûr, c'était inquiétant que personne d'autre ne soit venu et Lob ne semblait pas très à l'aise avec le fait que son suivi n'a pas donné de résultats, positifs ou négatifs même après 3 jours, mais il n'y avait rien qu'elle puisse faire mais reposer sa foi dans les dieux pour effacer cela. Elle priait, mais en fin de compte, ses compétences de survie n'aideraient pas vraiment, d'autant plus que Lob n'a jamais eu de mal à garder une bonne compréhension de l'odeur de Sana. Vaeri a pris un souffle d'air de mer, la première qu'elle avait eu en environ une demi-décennie. La mer était agréable, mais pas vraiment son truc. C'était trop grand, chaotique et vide pour qu'elle ait un lien avec elle comme elle l'a fait dans la forêt. Les déserts et les plaines sont peut-être aussi vastes et immuables, mais ils n'étaient pas autant à la merci du temps que faisaient les océans. Peut-être qu'elle préférait la terre sèche. "Qui n'accepterait pas l'offre de nourriture et de repos?"

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.

Tant mieux! C'est pour moi! Shela s'est exclamé alors qu'il regardait autour de lui. Elle était sur le point de se diriger vers la taverne lorsqu'une grosse brute d'un homme avec un ours sauvage s'est effondrée par les portes de la taverne et s'est étendue devant le groupe avec son visage planté fermement dans le gravier et la saleté. Plus d'une douzaine d'hommes sont venus se précipiter après lui et ont formé un cercle autour de l'homme, le taquinant alors qu'il crachait le sol de sa bouche. Lentement, depuis l'entrée sombre de la taverne, apparaît la figure d'une femme. Long cheveux corbeaux avec des stries d'argent tombant bien au-delà de ses épaules a incliné sa tête sur le côté et a regardé un homme à travers ses yeux bleus de l'océan. Elle a l'air de longs pas dans les bottes à talons hauts et son visage, bien que plus vieux, semblait tenir une belle jeunesse royale et la vie à elle. "On ne met pas ses mains sur une dame sans sa permission", dit la femme d'une voix calme et commandeuse. Shela se moquait de l'homme, le visage couvert de terre, mais alors que la femme parlait, elle en élargissait les yeux et elle tournait sur ses pieds épais. "Le jour, si ce n'est pas la reine de la mer! Regalia, je vois que tu continues à te faire foutre, » a ri Shela alors qu'il se moquait de la femme. La femme sourit et s'agenouille, câlinant Shela serré, évitant soigneusement les pics de l'armure des nains. "Et au bord des mers, je te vois que tu es toujours aussi sauvage que jamais mon vieil ami," Regalia a dit d'une voix aimable avant de te tenir debout. -- Qu'est-ce qui vous amène à ces parties? Regalia a demandé curieux. "Une longue histoire, prendre un verre?" Shela a demandé. "Je ne renierais jamais mon vieil ami, surtout pas après la cascade que tu as tirée avec ce dragon," Regalia a glissé doucement avant de tenir un doigt. "Si vous voulez bien m'excuser un instant, j'ai des affaires à régler avant de me joindre à vous." "Ne t'arrête pas", se moquait Shela alors qu'elle braquait son sac sur son dos. "Je suis à l'intérieur", elle s'est cognée avant de s'envoler. "Allons les gens, buvons!"

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

Vaeri se tint en arrière et regarda Shela parler à son amie à blanc. Son oreille était un peu bizarre. Peut-être qu'un mouchard y est entré. Il ne s'est pas passé beaucoup de choses. Elle ne connaissait pas cette ville et elle n'était pas sur le point de diviser la fête pour essayer de chercher une auberge et potentiellement se perdre du reste du groupe pour toujours.

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 s'est cogné les yeux à Vaeri. Elle a un micro dans l'oreille, il s'est dit. Il secoua la tête et regarda autour de lui la splendeur de la ville. Cela lui rappelait presque Lrev, mais l'architecture était tout faux, et cet endroit lui s'est évanoui; il est resté dans l'impasse avec un soupçon de lavande. Il regarda le casque dans sa main et gémit. Lavande.

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

Menthe Focus...Foocuuss...Foocuuuss... Le petit sorcier fixait une flamme de bougie, dessinant la lumière avec sa volonté, la poussant avec la force de l'effort mental. Il l'a fait plier à gauche puis à droite et même changer de couleurs de l'ambre à l'azur. Tous les tours merveilleux, mais pas ce sur quoi il était censé se concentrer! La carte en face de lui était comme n'importe lequel des 78 autres qu'il regardait depuis des semaines allongé sur des mois, son dos maroon était soigneusement peint avec un diamant bleu à l'intérieur d'un diamant maroon à l'intérieur d'un diamant bleu ad-nauseam jusqu'à ce qu'il soit trop petit à dire. Il savait qu'ils étaient faits supposément de feuilles d'ivoire à partir d'une dent de dragons, mais pouvait tout aussi facilement être la défense de n'importe quelle autre grande créature, mais plus crédible comme le visage d'un éléphant. Au moment où il fixait le dos de la carte, mais il avait besoin de savoir ce qu'il y avait sur le devant de la carte, pour tous ses sorts de divination, il n'a jamais étudié la clairvoyance proprement. Il pouvait lire l'esprit de quelqu'un qui tenait la carte, ou il pouvait utiliser le crâne d'animal sur l'étagère derrière la carte pour regarder sur, mais ces méthodes utilisé quelque chose d'autre pour voir à travers, il devait être en mesure de faire la même chose sans un support. En ajoutant l'insulte à la tentation, il y avait même un miroir incliné juste pour qu'il puisse regarder de l'autre côté de la pièce s'il quittait son siège pour voir la carte. Il savait que le miroir était là pour le tenter de tricher. Il a cherché à toucher la carte. Pas le retourner, mais peut-être s'il mettait son accent sur l'objet réel par le toucher, il pouvait lire ce qui était de l'autre côté. Alors que sa peau touchait l'ivoire peint, il vit un éclair d'enfants se jeter et se retourner dans le lit, des cloques comme de la lave s'écoulant des cendres sur leur visage jusqu'à ce qu'elles éclatent dans des flammes hurlantes. Il est retourné dans la chaise qui, à son tour, est retombé avec un crash alors qu'il a traîné hors du mobilier dans les bottes d'attente du chef tzigane. "Tu vois quelque chose que tu aimes?" La Voda du clan a parlé avec ce même sourire. Un sourire est la façon la plus polie de montrer vos dents à quelqu'un et il savait que celui-ci portait plus d'un de ces « couteaux de repliement » sur lui sous trois couches de dessus avec une écharpe pleine de poches, dans les manches, dans la ceinture ou dans les bottes. Soit c'était enchanté soit il avait vraiment plus d'une douzaine de choses damnées sur lui, de toute façon, Jymsine était plus que le joli visage de son peuple. D'autres éléments de preuve seraient le « wagon de switches » dans lequel ils étaient tous les deux. Stéréotypiquement, il était réservé à la mère aînée de la tribu qui avait « la vue » qui a même amené Penish où il était, à sa grande surprise de trouver cet homme comme un chat les conduisant tous avec plus d'un chapeau sur sa tête. "Oui-non. Oui, j'ai vu quelque chose de la carte, mais pas ce qui était sur la carte elle-même. J'ai vu le feu, criant des enfants avec des larmes noires." Le plus grand s'est versé autour du vaardo faire l'autre côté de la table et a pris la carte. Son pantalon foncé courait alors qu'il s'asseyait et mettait la jambe au-dessus du genou comme s'il prenait le thé avec ces yeux de couleur ciel qui le regardaient puis au demi-tour, il renversait la carte sur sa tête plutôt que autour de son côté. "Cinq épées, quand elle est tenue droite, cela signifie un fort sentiment de déception et d'échec est inhérent aux cinq épées. Il se peut que dans une quête de pouvoir, des tactiques malhonnêtes aient été employées - des mensonges, des ragots et des envies sapent tout le monde, y compris vous-même. Il se peut que la déception ait été nécessaire pour imposer un plan d'action plus réaliste. Lorsque vous suivez un chemin où rien ne semble fonctionner, ce n'est peut-être pas votre meilleure voie. La seule chose affectée si vous changez d'avis sera votre fierté. Lorsque les Cinq d'Épées sont inversées, il est temps de réduire vos pertes. Parfois, vouloir prouver que nous étions dans le droit devient plus important que d'avoir raison. À ce stade, vous avez déjà perdu ce combat, peu importe ce que vous dites ou faites d'autre. La jalousie, l'orgueil et l'égoïsme peuvent vous garder dans la bataille, mais il est temps d'embrasser la défaite et de partir. Acceptez ce qui s'est passé, apprenez-en et recommencez." Fonçant furieusement, le petit sorcier s'est redressé et a pris une position ferme. A-t-il été congédié? Avait-il échoué à l'épreuve même après des semaines de servitude sous contrat au camp? "Tu m'as perdu quelque part, qu'est-ce que cette carte a à voir avec ma situation." « Absolument rien, c'est exactement ce que signifie la carte dans une lecture. Le fait que vous ayez vu une vision en utilisant la carte est ce qui vous retient ici. Tu n'as pas vu la carte, mais tu as vu par la carte... ça suffit pour l'instant. Maintenant va prendre à notre nouvel invité de la nourriture et de l'eau. Si elle essaie de te tuer pour t'échapper, ce n'est pas une perte pour moi." S'arrêtant avant qu'il ne soit enflammé, le petit salua et partit. Il a fait son chemin vers la caravane de cuisinier et a ouvert u un des paniers suspendus du côté plein de simples pour les enfants à entrer. Il a arraché une pomme, un œuf et un poing de fromage avec un rouleau de pain noir et a commencé à les jongler alors qu'il se dirigeait vers les gardes d'or à l'extérieur de la porte. Il les connaissait et il savait qu'il pouvait les prendre chacun dans un battement de cœur. Cette pensée le fit sourire alors qu'il se mit à jeter la nourriture et entra dans la tente. "Dîner." Lob "DUREZ!" C'était la guerre dans le bar bruyant qu'ils étaient sur le point d'entrer. Il s'est accouché le nez et est entré derrière le nain, l'a attrapée par sa ceinture et l'a placée dans une chaise pour sauver son embarras d'essayer de faire en sorte que cela fonctionne en sa faveur. Il aimait celui en pics, elle était simple dans ce qu'elle a dit et a fait, il a été facile à suivre. Et elle avait une très bonne hache! Il préférait s'accroupir, mais sa hauteur le laissait encore reposer son menton sur le bar, il reniflait alors qu'il regardait leurs environs, n'ayant pas pu aller très loin dans la dernière auberge, sauf pour le petit déjeuner de nettoyage des assiettes d'autres personnes avant l'arrivée du raideur. Quand le barman regarda le monstre pour son ordre, il fallut plus de temps que d'habitude à Lob pour trouver le mot. C'est Kumis! Il a appelé, c'était un lait de jument fermenté que son peuple avait obtenu pour le commerce avec les chevaux-rideaux. La parenté avec les animaux parlait beaucoup à Lob alors qu'il se rappelait les hautes herbes de ses plaines et espérait revenir à eux, mais il n'y avait plus de son peuple à revenir ainsi revenir aussi semblait que cela ne ferait pas de bien. Il a mal à la tête.

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

Sana regarda sur son épaule et regarda celle qui lui parlait de la nourriture. Ses yeux se rétrécissaient légèrement et elle se retourna alors qu'elle enveloppait les bras autour d'elle. "Je n'ai pas faim", a-t-elle craché. -- Vous devez manger Mlle Rawn, dit Jymsine, alors qu'il regardait dans la tente. "Vous ne serez pas bon pour moi si vous n'avez pas votre force," a-t-il ajouté avec un sourire sournois grincant ses lèvres. "Oh, fais chier! Comme je m'en fous de ce que je suis pour vous, vous feriez mieux d'être heureux que je ne me soucie pas de garder ma force pour vos besoins, sinon je vous mettrais à travers cette tente et dans une tombe précoce », a-t-elle sifflé. -- Alors, fais-le, défia-t-il alors qu'il marchait vers elle et plaça ses mains sur ses épaules. « J'ai peut-être la tête chaude, je ne suis pas stupide », a-t-elle dit avec un sourire. "Je partirai quand le moment sera venu." -- Vous partirez quand je vous le dirai, murmura Jymsine à l'oreille. Sana l'a arrachée de sa main, mais il l'a filée autour et a attrapé son visage. "Vous ferez ce qu'on vous dira quand on vous dira ou que la petite beauté blonde de retour au village sera votre remplaçant." Sana a senti son cœur sombrer dans son estomac et elle s'est soudainement sentie malade. Sa peau devient blanche alors que ses yeux s'élargissent légèrement. « C'est vrai, nous savons qu'il y a un autre Rawn qui marche. Soit on fait ce qu'on vous dit, soit je la cherche et cette sœur ne pourra pas m'arrêter », a-t-il dit alors qu'il pressait les lèvres sur son front avant de tourner et de marcher vers le rabat de la tente. « Assurez-vous qu'elle mange, nous atteignons la ville portuaire ce soir », a ajouté Jymsine avant qu'il ne sorte. Sana était là figée, quoi qu'il ait prévu, elle n'avait plus le choix. Lentement, elle coula à genoux et descendit la tête. Elle ne pouvait rien laisser arriver à ce précieux petit ange. C'est pour ça qu'on est là. Regalia a attrapé l'homme par l'arrière de son collier et l'a jeté à son équipage avant de se défouler les mains gantées. En tournant, elle perça légèrement un sourcil et passa vers le soi-disant poète. "Derrix, ça fait longtemps. Je me demandais ce que tu devenais. C'est bon de te voir encore respirer. Joignez-vous à Shela et moi si vous le voulez », a-t-elle dit avec un sourire doux avant de se retourner sur ses guérisons et de pousser dans la taverne, laissant son équipage prendre soin de l'homme qu'elle avait jeté à leur façon. Elle regarda autour d'un moment avant de repérer Shela au bar, se promenant sur elle s'assied à côté de son vieil ami et sourit alors qu'un verre de vin était mis devant elle. Elle tira gingembrement les gants de ses longs doigts qu'elle s'arrêta en les couchant dans sa ceinture. "Toujours le bon," snigger Shela. -- Qu'est-ce qui vous amène ici? "Les Rois appellent, il y a un bal de mascarade ce soir. Apparemment, c'est une fête, mais on ne dit pas grand-chose. La seule chose que je sais, c'est qu'elle est censée être grande. J'ai été envoyé et me voilà. Je me suis dit que ça ne pouvait pas faire de mal et qu'il y avait une paire assez remarquable qui chantait ce soir, tu me connais. Je suis un tel amant de tout art, même de ceux qui chantent." Shela perça un gros front et regarda vers le reste de son groupe qui restait. "Une chanteuse? Tu ne dis pas," ils ont dit plus qu'à Regalia, qui lui sirotait du vin. "Oui, apparemment une troupe de deux gitans différents, une première apparition," Regalia dit alors qu'elle courait son doigt sur le bord de son calice.

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

Vaeri a suivi Lob jusqu'au bar et s'est assis sur le tabouret à sa droite. Comme elle a mis son poids sur le bois dur, elle a senti l'emplacement du poste de siège. Expérimentalement, elle a déplacé son poids de l'autre côté et le tabouret s'est renversé vers cela. Elle regarde vers le bas et voit que deux des jambes sont plus courtes que les autres. Des chiffres. "Une pinte d'hydromel." Vaeri a sorti son sac qui pourrait être appelé un porte-monnaie et a sorti quelques morceaux de cuivre croustillant et les a placés sur le comptoir. Grandir dans la forêt, les abeilles étaient assez facilement disponibles. Et avec la collection de miel est venu sa fermentation en alcool. Mead était à peu près partout, presque plus commun que l'eau, et certainement plus précieux dans le commerce qu'elle. N'importe quel trader humain qui se présenterait était désireux de l'acheter. Ils ont dit que l'étiquetage de la boisson comme Elven leur a permis de la vendre pour beaucoup plus et beaucoup plus vite que plus de traites domestiques. Vaeri a trouvé qu'elle n'aimait pas tout à fait la mélasse qu'elle trouverait à l'étranger autant que ce qu'elle aurait à la maison, mais elle ne dirait pas que c'était tellement pire que «elven made» serait un marqueur de qualité supérieure. Pourtant, elle aimait commander de l'hydromel parce que cela lui rappelait Lianyu et aidait à éviter le malaise occasionnel de la maison. Alors qu'elle attendait sa boisson, Vaeri regarda le comptoir et songea ingénieusement aux divers événements. Pourquoi l'odeur de Sana semblait les avoir menés ici, quel serait le prochain ingrédient pour la maladie de Cinder, comment ils auraient jamais pris un Dragon Mist. C'était une grande incertitude lorsque tout le monde s'était réuni pour la première fois, et maintenant leur nombre a été réduit de moitié. Je suppose que c'est un problème dont nous devrons nous soucier quand nous y arriverons. Vaeri soupirait alors que la tasse d'hydromel apparaissait devant elle. Ce n'était pas la peine de s'énerver sur quelque chose qui pourrait arriver alors que c'était le moment de se détendre. La tête inclinée vers le dos, le premier de ce qui pourrait être beaucoup de boissons a été chugged vers le bas. "Un autre, s'il vous plaît." Vaeri a demandé quand elle a posé la tasse avec un clink décisif.

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.

Menthe Penish a regardé à l'échange, jetant silencieusement les sorts qu'il savait pour lire les pensées de surface, la perspicacité vaut son poids en or. Il a attendu que le chef parte avant de s'approcher. Il a gardé la distance de sécurité de sa portée et de sa portée à nouveau au cas où elle trouverait un cudgel ou commencerait à pratiquer ses compétences de lancer. Si elle n'a pas essayé de le cerveau, il a essayé de s'approcher suffisamment pour parler doucement aussi loin que possible des gardes à l'avant. Il y avait encore le risque d'une sorte de dispositif d'écoute, mais il faudrait qu'il s'agisse d'un risque calculé. "Je suis un étranger tel qu'il est, et vous êtes un oiseau d'une cage dorée. Même si l'un d'entre nous dit de l'autre, son suspect au mieux. Alors, qu'en est-il de la moitié des rations, de la pomme et du fromage et je ne suis plus dans tes cheveux. Mais, vous pouvez peut-être m'expliquer pourquoi il vous garde. Il me tient ici sur la promesse d'une nouvelle magie à apprendre. Mais si tout ce que vous voulez est sorti, et que vous m'aidez à obtenir ce que je veux, je peux vous aider sur votre chemin." Lob Lob fut ignoré par le nain avec sa vieille meute, et maintenant il était assis à côté du chaman du groupe. Il descendit et tira la pierre verte éclatante comme le lait de juments fermenté lui fut donné dans un grand bol de service. Il l'a pris dans les deux mains pour s'incliner vers le dos pour se glousser dans de longs goupilles, avant d'essuyer son visage sur ses bras poilus. "Tu n'aimes pas Lob. Beaucoup y vont, vous n'y allez pas. Pourquoi rester?" Tout espoir que Lob soit secrètement un alcoolique brillant est sorti par la fenêtre car il a essentiellement bu une bouteille entière de vin dans une seule séance que d'autres prendraient pour boire juste un verre. Il a remis le bol en place et a regardé le guérisseur et a attendu qu'elle réponde. Il regarda de nouveau le nain et tenta de comprendre de quoi ils parlaient, mais il s'échappa en ce moment, alors il regarda de nouveau l'elfe.

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

LE PROCHAIN 'PÔT DE POT' sera fixé à 18 heures, 9/1/2020. – 9 janvier 2020 Début de l'IC. – Soyez gentils et courtois l'un envers l'autre, ce qui signifie à dieumoder, jeu de pouvoir, métagaming etc... – Attendez deux posts avant d'afficher à nouveau vous-même pour empêcher l'affichage de vitesse. – Mentionnez les joueurs avec lesquels vous interagissez afin qu'ils soient avertis, comme. Nom du caractère Lieu: lieu ici Interagir avec: mentionne ici

Basic Information | Name | Alistair Ruaraidh Queen | Date of Birth | December, 1324 | Gender | Male | Sexuality | Bisexual | Occupation | Landlord – Alistair owns a great deal of property in Edgetoun, and has done for about a century. This passive income, as well as close to seven centuries worth of savings, allows him to spend more time socialising, schmoozing and collecting rare occult texts (the likes of which impoverished student witches can only dream of). | In-Depth Appearance | Alistair was changed in his mid-to-late twenties (the uncertainty natural for vampires of his era or older) and as a result has been frozen at such an age for close to seven centuries. While he lived a haggard life and doesn't appear too baby-faced, he does attempt to look older for reasons of respect. Generally he does so by wearing easy business suits, woolen jumpers with checkered shirts underneath; by letting his stubble grow out and furrowing his brows enough so that dark lines form between them; and, of course, the reading glasses that are only present during the day when he's not having fun. He stands at about 5'9" – tall for his time period of malnutrition and famine and illness but only slightly above-average nowadays in Britain. A lean build betrays an upbringing where food wasn't plentiful, and might also explain the way he abstains from drinking blood for at least a week before chowing down on some poor ICU patient in a hospital. With blonde hair, brown eyes and a jawline to die for, Alistair can definitely be considered ruggedly handsome. Pale skin doesn't look too unusual in London, and he's more than experienced in smirking in just the right way so as to hide his elongated fangs. Alistair hides the bite scar on his neck from when he was turned with a variety of turtle-necks and scarves, though he does have other ones from his time working for the Collective. Did you know he's been run through with a sword in the very distant past? Am I? | Personality | ♦ Aloof ♦ Dreamer ♦ Flirtatious ♦ Self-Deprecating ♦ Alistair has always been ambitious for as long as he can remember. When he was impoverished, illiterate and very likely to die young, he wanted more; when he was making a name for himself in the vampire community, he wanted more; when he was middle-class; when he was rich; when he was a socialite... Nothing ever satisfies him: he's chasing dreams of his youth and can be seen as quite greedy as a result. There is no doubt an aspect to his life goals that is largely hedonistic. When he's charitable (which is quite often, actually) it's more for his sake, to make himself feel good. He's the first person to admit all of this – he tends not to have a positive view of himself and is actually quite self-aware. "You miss 100% of every shot you don't take." This is certainly something Alistair lives by, hence his tendency to flirt shamelessly and without reservation and take risks in his private and professional lives. It's also what is prompting him to come out as a vampire to the public, joining the small number providing interviews and information. He is curious, and he does believe the best of humanity for now. Despite being warm and friendly and on occasion humorous, Alistair hold his cards close to his chest. He likes to know more about other people than they know about him, and is not very forthcoming on answering personal questions without a good reason to do so. He much prefers to change the subject, or question the other person instead. He is a good listener, with a long memory when it counts: he'll remember someone's favourite movie and why he's holding a grudge against them at the same time. | Likes & Dislikes | ✔ Historical movies and documentaries (the more wrong, the better). ✔ Alcohol. Getting utterly pissed at least two nights a week. ✔ Kids. ✔ Drinking lots of blood – particularly from the terminally ill. ✔ The invention of electricity. ✔ The invention of Tinder. ✔ 1960s culture and film and especially music. ✔ Trashy erotica novels targeted at women and ancient manuscripts, equally. ✘ Dhampires – it's not fair that they die so fast. ✘ Wars. World Wars, supernatural wars, everything to do with conflict. ✘ English bank notes (the Scottish ones look nicer). ✘ Aristocracy, as old habits die hard. ✘ Illness, disease and death of loved ones. ✘ Journalists and the Media, especially with current events. ✘ Similarly, liars. | History | If asked, Alistair remembers very little about his human life – the only time when his memory has failed him yet – but in reality he is quite reluctant to talk about it. Born in the 1300s, he was neither rich or middle-class and could instead have been considered the very bottom of the barrel. His mother was a prostitute, suffering from ill-health for most of her life, and thus Alistair was raised communally, left to wander the streets as he liked. He was kicked out at age eight, a year before his mother died, and spent most of the rest of his life as a gutter rat, picking pockets and stealing to live (and for fun). He would have died from the bubonic plague, something he avoided until the very end of the period it was most virulent in, if it hadn't been for a vampire looking to bolster his forces. His preference for sickly blood arose here, because as a fledgeling, he was allowed only to feed from the very worst people on the way up to the Highlands to fight a war with other vampires. Said war he glosses over, except the fact he ran from it (joining the opposite side, a young Northern Alliance) and was stabbed. Twice. Alistair stuck around with the northern vampires for a good fifty years, becoming useful to the at-the-time leader and making a bit of a name for himself, but he decided that a life of petty politics and infighting and enforcing the rules of vampirekind wasn't for him, and moved down south to join the Collective... which was more of the same thing. Still, while in London, he learned how to read and write – skills he was long overdue in requiring – and although he left yet another large organisation after only a few decades, he found a home in the sprawling capital. So, over the centuries he acquired wealth from working in a variety of professions, rarely for more than a few years. At one point he was a diplomat for the King which made it all the easier to hide his aging, especially when he was on the other side of the world. In the 19th century in particular he became something of a well-known figure, generous to supernatural creatures who had found themselves to one of the most powerful countries in the world and calmer than he had been in years previous. He worked as a teacher for a while in a non-public school, acquired land in Edgetoun (before it was a London borough) and spent most of the rest of his money. 20th and 21st century, other than siring a few dhampire children by accident, has been spent collecting old relics of the past – of his past – and magical textbooks. When the Other were revealled recently, he had to deal with his daughter (who shares the same surname as him) coming out as a dhampire and explaining what it means to be one on live television as well as rehouse a few of his tenants for privacy reasons. | Family | Louis Queen, 35 – Son, a dhampire who lives on the other side of London that Alistair sees infrequently. Seems to have distanced himself as much as is possible from the whole supernatural dealings, although strained phone calls have revealed that health issues related to his half-breed status are finally catching up to him. Lorna Queen, 16 – Daughter, another dhampire who lives with her mother, a prominent journalist for the BBC. Alistair still has visitation rights, which he tries his best to make use of in his spare time. His daughter was interviewed as a part of the initial outbreak of moral panic at the reveal. Otherwise, he has two ex-girlfriends, both amazingly still alive thanks to the wonders of modern medicine, and in the past has had quite a few more children, all of which died before their time due to the perils of being a dhampire. | Strengths | Well-read and knowledgeable of the history of the supernatural (especially vampires). Tries his best to stay connected to the occult population of Edgetoun, and London as a whole. A long history of enforcing the rules of the Collective on unruly and unforgivable vampires. | Weaknesses | Pacifistic – refuses to admit that sometimes there are situations that words can't get you out of. Even though he collects them, he doesn't like to call in favours or accept any help whatsoever. Does everything solo. Likes humanity, if in a bit of a condescending way, and can't conscience doing wrong by them. Other | Theme Song | Winter Sound – Of Monsters and Men ”Stop, you're cold against the skin Take me in your arms when walls are closing in And I run, I run, I run, awakening my heart But you overwhelm my lungs and it's tearing me a-part.” | House Number | 19 Avalon Point – A large-ish house with a sizable back garden that he moved into eight years ago or so. 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, and one of the bedrooms he tends to rent out to a supernatural in need. | Extra Information | Speaks and understand several languages (French, Gàidhlig, German, Japanese) but can only read and write in English. Blake Preston "I own the house she rents. It feels a wee bit unethical to watch her YouTube videos." Alistair didn't even know earning a living with homemade videos was even possible before he met his tenant, unless one was in a certain industry (Nikita, please). While Blake skipped on rent a few times, paid it late on others, he always let it slide easily and without further reproach – something a lot of landlords might not have done. Maybe it was because he had a soft-spot for go-getting entrepreneurs or maybe it was for a pretty face; who knows? Daniel Belson "Do you think if I recite the Lord's Prayer he'll sneeze? 'Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name...'" You can take a boy out of the church but you can't quite shake the catechism from his blood. Alistair doesn't consider himself to be rather Christian, or really religious at all, really, but he hides behind the debt he owes to the church itself for keeping him alive and from the clutches of starvation so he could reach an age to die of the plague. Demons like Daniel make him feel uneasy, perhaps because they bring with them reminders that he was taught to avoid sin and vices – and, as a poor child with not a penny to his name, especially envy. Mariska Costas "Believe it or not, sometimes I like to live life like the upper class. Listening to jazz is part and parcel of that, isn't it?" Generally, Alistair likes to know what everyone around him is, supernatural-wise. He can pick out a normal human from a distance, mostly based on how nice their blood is, but sometimes there's tricky ones like Mariska. He's certain she's not a vampire, but that's all he knows, other than that he heard her first when she was making her debut in lounges in the 1930s. One day, he tells himself, he'll chase her up to find out what she actually his. 'Curiosity killed the cat,' is a warning that stays forever in his mind. Nikita Yankovsky "So, Nikita is a policewoman now. At least if it doesn't work out she has a new uniform to use in her 'day job'. Authentic." Alistair likes Nikita, in a completely unromantic way. Friend, friend with benefits – what's the difference? There never used to be one in the 19th century, or at least not in his social group. There is some hope that his own position as a supernatural pariah (when it inevitably comes out into the open like airing a dusty cupboard) doesn't affect hers. She seems to be doing quite well for herself, for a demon. It might seem shallow, but he considers that the only reason they wouldn't work out. Alistair is well-aware that he is apprehensive as fuck around demons. Mordred Hame "I might have liked his music when I was an angsty thirteen year old with nothing to live for. Now that I mention it..." If asked, Alistair will say that it is greatest shame that he once listened to Mordred Hame's music. It's not bad, objectively, but it's not his "scene", his "jam" or whatever it is the kids are calling it these days. That they play it in those alternative clothing stores that he just so happened to be in to buy a cute backpack for Megumi was enough of a dose for him. Small quantities of this music only, please, as it should be. On a more serious note, he worries that it's going to give bad preconceptions to the supernatural community. John Taylor "What the fuck is he..?" Okay, so nobody ever said that Alistair wasn't a drama queen, but the point still stands. John is one of his tenants (Faraday Heights, 28A if he remembers correctly) and... somewhat human? But not edible? But disgusting for no apparent reason? Alistair trusts his senses for the most part: they let him know if someone close to him has a terminal illness; they let him know when there's a meal to be had in the area and not the home-cooked kind, but they simply don't function as they should around John – not if he's a normal human. Which he can't be. He can't be. Eve Lumière "Now there's a lust demon if ever I saw one. Rooming with Blake Preston. Not going to think too hard on that one." Eve's an ironic name for a demon, isn't it? That was the first thing he noticed when he met her, because obviously he had experience enough with Nikita to know one almost by sight. The bar she works in isn't the best – I should know, I own the building – but usually when I drop by I'm tipsy enough so as not to complain. I like her, but she's French. That's just begging the question, even if half-hearted: 'Voulez-vous couchez avec moi, ce soir?" Opallum "He's not human, is he? It's a shame, but even some of our own fall through the cracks." Alistair is naturally curious: is it an addiction problem? Is it a matter of pride? Is it incompatibility with the modern world moving on from whenever the guy – the Other – was born? He could help with any of that, just like he always slips a tenner into a cup when he sees a homeless person begging on the streets. Soft-hearted? No, not really, but he knew what it was like in a time before warm jackets and a good chance of a warm meal everyday. He can sympathise. Andrew Mordekai "I swear to God – or whatever ones he worships – if that activist group turns sour. I'm done with London." Alistair has seen enough peaceful protests in his life go sour that he has a natural distrust for activist groups. While hearing that one wants to represent him is heart-warming really, from what he's seen of the witch (always from afar) and heard of from a friend in the magical circles, someone who's an elemental mage with a talent for fire of all things shouldn't be the leader. Volatile, very volatile. He'll be watching that movement, and a small part of him is expecting arson from it. Suriel White "Dr. White, we have a problem! There's a patient going into cardiac arrest in Ward 3. Cause of death: exsanguination by my hand." Alistair is deeply, deeply sorry for his loss of control. The event happened almost two years ago, an inability to control his bloodlust after a long period of abstinence, and it was a coma patient who suffered – their family losing out on having their last moments with them. He remembers very little for that night, having slipped behind a curtain with a bunch of flowers to pretend he was in the area to visit another patient shortly after his accident to watch the affair, and Dr. White was one of them. Not human. He hopes the good doctor didn't see him then. Miles Catrose "I cut my own hair because I'm thrifty – is this guy a good alternative? Anybody know?" Write what they actually think about this character here. Yukiko Abe "I know she's not as young as she looks, but how old? It gets hard to tell after a certain point, usually when you stop counting birthdays.." Write what they actually think about this character here. Mona "Dead. Young, too, by the looks of it. Just a kid." Alistair believes in ghosts. He sees her wandering around every so often, and he rents out the flat to Felix Underwood, so he knows of this Mona's prolonged existence. A part of him is morbidly curious around ghosts. When you've lived as long as he has, questions of the after-afterlife begin to pop up, because technically (by church standards) Alistair is already dead. Will he end up like her after somebody shanks him? Probably not – his life is fulfilling enough and he's certain he won't leave anything behind as a vampire anyway. He wonders what Mona's unresolved issue is. Faron Romane "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Nicolas Black "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Maggie Spencer-Adyemi "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Megumi "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Katharine Haynes "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Elise Callaghan "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Claire O'Malley "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Barachiel Alexander Eamon "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Ethan Cooper "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Alfie Liau "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Michael Harel "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Emerson Maddox "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Talia Halbrook "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Loki Van Stenberg "I'm just waiting for the day the police show up at my door asking me where he is, and I have to lie and say I'm not hiding him." Alistair is a pacifist: he prefers words to actions, diplomacy to force, socialism, freedom of speech but not the freedom to harm others... But he hasn't always been like that. Loki's a "tad" older than him, most likely smarter than him, and for the longest time, Alistair was a little starstruck – especially shortly after their first meeting many centuries ago. Ambition ran in his blood back then, and he always did learn by rote, or mimicry. For a time, Alistair copied Loki, became just as violent as him; twice as bloody. He grew out of that when he learned to read, properly, and broke free enough to start making a name for himself in different fields. Alistair is a firm believer that despite his disinterest in bloodshed and violence, and his hope that the worlds of the supernatural and humanity will one day merge, he is not incompatible with his once best friend, with whom he had the foolish, almost childish belief of taking on the world. After all, Alistair is nothing if not dedicated, and no matter how much he dislikes killing, he would for Loki. That's what best mates are for. That, and banter. Aiden Phillips "I turned him. I always did have a thing for blondes." Write what they actually think about this character here.

Bonjour, quelques conditions de conduite difficiles aujourd'hui dans le sud de l'Angleterre et dans certaines régions du pays de Galles avec le froid qui continue dans sa troisième semaine sans aucun signe d'arrêt à tout moment bientôt. N'oubliez pas de terminer chaudement et d'être prudent sur les routes car il y a un avertissement jaune couverture pour la glace à travers toute l'Angleterre avec les quartiers extérieurs de Londres – Redbridge, Waltham Forest et Edgetoun – avec un avertissement ambre pour la plupart de la journée. Les passagers de l'aéroport de Heathrow devraient s'attendre à des retards en raison de mauvaises conditions météorologiques et d'une faible visibilité due au brouillard qui se déverse. Les Unseelie Fae ont envoyé un avis en ce sens que la tempête de neige que nous vivrons à 15h – tout comme les écoles sont libérées – continue de protester contre les déclarations du gouvernement en attendant une décision sur les droits de la Créature, alors que le Met Office n'a rien prévu à ce sujet, il est recommandé de planifier votre itinéraire autour d'une perturbation inattendue à ce moment-là. Maintenant, à la prévision... ÊTRE COMME CHARGÉS D'UN MANSLAUTHTER FONDS DE CAPTIVITÉ PÉTITION À BAN WERWOLVES ET VAMPIRES: 1 MILLIONS DE SIGNATURES D'UN JOUR DÉCLARATION DU PREMIER MINISTRE SUR LES DROITS DE CRÉATURE Nick Bloodfang est mort, comme vous l'avez découvert ce matin. Il a tué une fille, et nos sources disent qu'il allait être relâché avec des charges légères en raison de son "petit problème de fureur". Nous l'avons résolu pour vous. De rien, Grande-Bretagne. Lui et son espèce, et tous les autres types là-bas, sont des meurtriers, et le gouvernement britannique ne devrait jamais laisser aucun d'entre eux s'en tirer. Demandez à n'importe quel loup-garou s'ils ont déjà tué une personne. Demande à n'importe quel vampire. Je parie que la réponse n'est pas du tout une réponse. Le groupe Mortals First a la bonne idée : on ne devrait pas leur permettre de vivre dans ce pays, et peut-être même pas dans ce monde.

Basic Information | Name | Alistair Ruaraidh Queen | Date of Birth | December, 1324 | Gender | Male | Sexuality | Bisexual | Occupation | Landlord – Alistair owns a great deal of property in Edgetoun, and has done for about a century. This passive income, as well as close to seven centuries worth of savings, allows him to spend more time socialising, schmoozing and collecting rare occult texts (the likes of which impoverished student witches can only dream of). | In-Depth Appearance | Alistair was changed in his mid-to-late twenties (the uncertainty natural for vampires of his era or older) and as a result has been frozen at such an age for close to seven centuries. While he lived a haggard life and doesn't appear too baby-faced, he does attempt to look older for reasons of respect. Generally he does so by wearing easy business suits, woolen jumpers with checkered shirts underneath; by letting his stubble grow out and furrowing his brows enough so that dark lines form between them; and, of course, the reading glasses that are only present during the day when he's not having fun. He stands at about 5'9" – tall for his time period of malnutrition and famine and illness but only slightly above-average nowadays in Britain. A lean build betrays an upbringing where food wasn't plentiful, and might also explain the way he abstains from drinking blood for at least a week before chowing down on some poor ICU patient in a hospital. With blonde hair, brown eyes and a jawline to die for, Alistair can definitely be considered ruggedly handsome. Pale skin doesn't look too unusual in London, and he's more than experienced in smirking in just the right way so as to hide his elongated fangs. Alistair hides the bite scar on his neck from when he was turned with a variety of turtle-necks and scarves, though he does have other ones from his time working for the Collective. Did you know he's been run through with a sword in the very distant past? Am I? | Personality | ♦ Aloof ♦ Dreamer ♦ Flirtatious ♦ Self-Deprecating ♦ Alistair has always been ambitious for as long as he can remember. When he was impoverished, illiterate and very likely to die young, he wanted more; when he was making a name for himself in the vampire community, he wanted more; when he was middle-class; when he was rich; when he was a socialite... Nothing ever satisfies him: he's chasing dreams of his youth and can be seen as quite greedy as a result. There is no doubt an aspect to his life goals that is largely hedonistic. When he's charitable (which is quite often, actually) it's more for his sake, to make himself feel good. He's the first person to admit all of this – he tends not to have a positive view of himself and is actually quite self-aware. "You miss 100% of every shot you don't take." This is certainly something Alistair lives by, hence his tendency to flirt shamelessly and without reservation and take risks in his private and professional lives. It's also what is prompting him to come out as a vampire to the public, joining the small number providing interviews and information. He is curious, and he does believe the best of humanity for now. Despite being warm and friendly and on occasion humorous, Alistair hold his cards close to his chest. He likes to know more about other people than they know about him, and is not very forthcoming on answering personal questions without a good reason to do so. He much prefers to change the subject, or question the other person instead. He is a good listener, with a long memory when it counts: he'll remember someone's favourite movie and why he's holding a grudge against them at the same time. | Likes & Dislikes | ✔ Historical movies and documentaries (the more wrong, the better). ✔ Alcohol. Getting utterly pissed at least two nights a week. ✔ Kids. ✔ Drinking lots of blood – particularly from the terminally ill. ✔ The invention of electricity. ✔ The invention of Tinder. ✔ 1960s culture and film and especially music. ✔ Trashy erotica novels targeted at women and ancient manuscripts, equally. ✘ Dhampires – it's not fair that they die so fast. ✘ Wars. World Wars, supernatural wars, everything to do with conflict. ✘ English bank notes (the Scottish ones look nicer). ✘ Aristocracy, as old habits die hard. ✘ Illness, disease and death of loved ones. ✘ Journalists and the Media, especially with current events. ✘ Similarly, liars. | History | If asked, Alistair remembers very little about his human life – the only time when his memory has failed him yet – but in reality he is quite reluctant to talk about it. Born in the 1300s, he was neither rich or middle-class and could instead have been considered the very bottom of the barrel. His mother was a prostitute, suffering from ill-health for most of her life, and thus Alistair was raised communally, left to wander the streets as he liked. He was kicked out at age eight, a year before his mother died, and spent most of the rest of his life as a gutter rat, picking pockets and stealing to live (and for fun). He would have died from the bubonic plague, something he avoided until the very end of the period it was most virulent in, if it hadn't been for a vampire looking to bolster his forces. His preference for sickly blood arose here, because as a fledgeling, he was allowed only to feed from the very worst people on the way up to the Highlands to fight a war with other vampires. Said war he glosses over, except the fact he ran from it (joining the opposite side, a young Northern Alliance) and was stabbed. Twice. Alistair stuck around with the northern vampires for a good fifty years, becoming useful to the at-the-time leader and making a bit of a name for himself, but he decided that a life of petty politics and infighting and enforcing the rules of vampirekind wasn't for him, and moved down south to join the Collective... which was more of the same thing. Still, while in London, he learned how to read and write – skills he was long overdue in requiring – and although he left yet another large organisation after only a few decades, he found a home in the sprawling capital. So, over the centuries he acquired wealth from working in a variety of professions, rarely for more than a few years. At one point he was a diplomat for the King which made it all the easier to hide his aging, especially when he was on the other side of the world. In the 19th century in particular he became something of a well-known figure, generous to supernatural creatures who had found themselves to one of the most powerful countries in the world and calmer than he had been in years previous. He worked as a teacher for a while in a non-public school, acquired land in Edgetoun (before it was a London borough) and spent most of the rest of his money. 20th and 21st century, other than siring a few dhampire children by accident, has been spent collecting old relics of the past – of his past – and magical textbooks. When the Other were revealled recently, he had to deal with his daughter (who shares the same surname as him) coming out as a dhampire and explaining what it means to be one on live television as well as rehouse a few of his tenants for privacy reasons. | Family | Louis Queen, 35 – Son, a dhampire who lives on the other side of London that Alistair sees infrequently. Seems to have distanced himself as much as is possible from the whole supernatural dealings, although strained phone calls have revealed that health issues related to his half-breed status are finally catching up to him. Lorna Queen, 16 – Daughter, another dhampire who lives with her mother, a prominent journalist for the BBC. Alistair still has visitation rights, which he tries his best to make use of in his spare time. His daughter was interviewed as a part of the initial outbreak of moral panic at the reveal. Otherwise, he has two ex-girlfriends, both amazingly still alive thanks to the wonders of modern medicine, and in the past has had quite a few more children, all of which died before their time due to the perils of being a dhampire. | Strengths | Well-read and knowledgeable of the history of the supernatural (especially vampires). Tries his best to stay connected to the occult population of Edgetoun, and London as a whole. A long history of enforcing the rules of the Collective on unruly and unforgivable vampires. | Weaknesses | Pacifistic – refuses to admit that sometimes there are situations that words can't get you out of. Even though he collects them, he doesn't like to call in favours or accept any help whatsoever. Does everything solo. Likes humanity, if in a bit of a condescending way, and can't conscience doing wrong by them. Other | Theme Song | Winter Sound – Of Monsters and Men ”Stop, you're cold against the skin Take me in your arms when walls are closing in And I run, I run, I run, awakening my heart But you overwhelm my lungs and it's tearing me a-part.” | House Number | 19 Avalon Point – A large-ish house with a sizable back garden that he moved into eight years ago or so. 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, and one of the bedrooms he tends to rent out to a supernatural in need. | Extra Information | Speaks and understand several languages (French, Gàidhlig, German, Japanese) but can only read and write in English. Blake Preston "I own the house she rents. It feels a wee bit unethical to watch her YouTube videos." Alistair didn't even know earning a living with homemade videos was even possible before he met his tenant, unless one was in a certain industry (Nikita, please). While Blake skipped on rent a few times, paid it late on others, he always let it slide easily and without further reproach – something a lot of landlords might not have done. Maybe it was because he had a soft-spot for go-getting entrepreneurs or maybe it was for a pretty face; who knows? Daniel Belson "Do you think if I recite the Lord's Prayer he'll sneeze? 'Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name...'" You can take a boy out of the church but you can't quite shake the catechism from his blood. Alistair doesn't consider himself to be rather Christian, or really religious at all, really, but he hides behind the debt he owes to the church itself for keeping him alive and from the clutches of starvation so he could reach an age to die of the plague. Demons like Daniel make him feel uneasy, perhaps because they bring with them reminders that he was taught to avoid sin and vices – and, as a poor child with not a penny to his name, especially envy. Mariska Costas "Believe it or not, sometimes I like to live life like the upper class. Listening to jazz is part and parcel of that, isn't it?" Generally, Alistair likes to know what everyone around him is, supernatural-wise. He can pick out a normal human from a distance, mostly based on how nice their blood is, but sometimes there's tricky ones like Mariska. He's certain she's not a vampire, but that's all he knows, other than that he heard her first when she was making her debut in lounges in the 1930s. One day, he tells himself, he'll chase her up to find out what she actually his. 'Curiosity killed the cat,' is a warning that stays forever in his mind. Nikita Yankovsky "So, Nikita is a policewoman now. At least if it doesn't work out she has a new uniform to use in her 'day job'. Authentic." Alistair likes Nikita, in a completely unromantic way. Friend, friend with benefits – what's the difference? There never used to be one in the 19th century, or at least not in his social group. There is some hope that his own position as a supernatural pariah (when it inevitably comes out into the open like airing a dusty cupboard) doesn't affect hers. She seems to be doing quite well for herself, for a demon. It might seem shallow, but he considers that the only reason they wouldn't work out. Alistair is well-aware that he is apprehensive as fuck around demons. Mordred Hame "I might have liked his music when I was an angsty thirteen year old with nothing to live for. Now that I mention it..." If asked, Alistair will say that it is greatest shame that he once listened to Mordred Hame's music. It's not bad, objectively, but it's not his "scene", his "jam" or whatever it is the kids are calling it these days. That they play it in those alternative clothing stores that he just so happened to be in to buy a cute backpack for Megumi was enough of a dose for him. Small quantities of this music only, please, as it should be. On a more serious note, he worries that it's going to give bad preconceptions to the supernatural community. John Taylor "What the fuck is he..?" Okay, so nobody ever said that Alistair wasn't a drama queen, but the point still stands. John is one of his tenants (Faraday Heights, 28A if he remembers correctly) and... somewhat human? But not edible? But disgusting for no apparent reason? Alistair trusts his senses for the most part: they let him know if someone close to him has a terminal illness; they let him know when there's a meal to be had in the area and not the home-cooked kind, but they simply don't function as they should around John – not if he's a normal human. Which he can't be. He can't be. Eve Lumière "Now there's a lust demon if ever I saw one. Rooming with Blake Preston. Not going to think too hard on that one." Eve's an ironic name for a demon, isn't it? That was the first thing he noticed when he met her, because obviously he had experience enough with Nikita to know one almost by sight. The bar she works in isn't the best – I should know, I own the building – but usually when I drop by I'm tipsy enough so as not to complain. I like her, but she's French. That's just begging the question, even if half-hearted: 'Voulez-vous couchez avec moi, ce soir?" Opallum "He's not human, is he? It's a shame, but even some of our own fall through the cracks." Alistair is naturally curious: is it an addiction problem? Is it a matter of pride? Is it incompatibility with the modern world moving on from whenever the guy – the Other – was born? He could help with any of that, just like he always slips a tenner into a cup when he sees a homeless person begging on the streets. Soft-hearted? No, not really, but he knew what it was like in a time before warm jackets and a good chance of a warm meal everyday. He can sympathise. Andrew Mordekai "I swear to God – or whatever ones he worships – if that activist group turns sour. I'm done with London." Alistair has seen enough peaceful protests in his life go sour that he has a natural distrust for activist groups. While hearing that one wants to represent him is heart-warming really, from what he's seen of the witch (always from afar) and heard of from a friend in the magical circles, someone who's an elemental mage with a talent for fire of all things shouldn't be the leader. Volatile, very volatile. He'll be watching that movement, and a small part of him is expecting arson from it. Suriel White "Dr. White, we have a problem! There's a patient going into cardiac arrest in Ward 3. Cause of death: exsanguination by my hand." Alistair is deeply, deeply sorry for his loss of control. The event happened almost two years ago, an inability to control his bloodlust after a long period of abstinence, and it was a coma patient who suffered – their family losing out on having their last moments with them. He remembers very little for that night, having slipped behind a curtain with a bunch of flowers to pretend he was in the area to visit another patient shortly after his accident to watch the affair, and Dr. White was one of them. Not human. He hopes the good doctor didn't see him then. Miles Catrose "I cut my own hair because I'm thrifty – is this guy a good alternative? Anybody know?" Write what they actually think about this character here. Yukiko Abe "I know she's not as young as she looks, but how old? It gets hard to tell after a certain point, usually when you stop counting birthdays.." Write what they actually think about this character here. Mona "Dead. Young, too, by the looks of it. Just a kid." Alistair believes in ghosts. He sees her wandering around every so often, and he rents out the flat to Felix Underwood, so he knows of this Mona's prolonged existence. A part of him is morbidly curious around ghosts. When you've lived as long as he has, questions of the after-afterlife begin to pop up, because technically (by church standards) Alistair is already dead. Will he end up like her after somebody shanks him? Probably not – his life is fulfilling enough and he's certain he won't leave anything behind as a vampire anyway. He wonders what Mona's unresolved issue is. Faron Romane "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Nicolas Black "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Maggie Spencer-Adyemi "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Megumi "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Katharine Haynes "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Elise Callaghan "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Claire O'Malley "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Barachiel Alexander Eamon "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Ethan Cooper "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Alfie Liau "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Michael Harel "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Emerson Maddox "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Talia Halbrook "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Loki Van Stenberg "I'm just waiting for the day the police show up at my door asking me where he is, and I have to lie and say I'm not hiding him." Alistair is a pacifist: he prefers words to actions, diplomacy to force, socialism, freedom of speech but not the freedom to harm others... But he hasn't always been like that. Loki's a "tad" older than him, most likely smarter than him, and for the longest time, Alistair was a little starstruck – especially shortly after their first meeting many centuries ago. Ambition ran in his blood back then, and he always did learn by rote, or mimicry. For a time, Alistair copied Loki, became just as violent as him; twice as bloody. He grew out of that when he learned to read, properly, and broke free enough to start making a name for himself in different fields. Alistair is a firm believer that despite his disinterest in bloodshed and violence, and his hope that the worlds of the supernatural and humanity will one day merge, he is not incompatible with his once best friend, with whom he had the foolish, almost childish belief of taking on the world. After all, Alistair is nothing if not dedicated, and no matter how much he dislikes killing, he would for Loki. That's what best mates are for. That, and banter. Aiden Phillips "I turned him. I always did have a thing for blondes." Write what they actually think about this character here.

Yukiko Abe Yukiko s'est renversée et a regardé son réveil bourdonnant avec une poupe. Elle a giflé paresseusement le haut de l'horloge en appuyant à peine sur le bouton d'alarme et en roulant sur son dos et en poussant les cheveux de son visage. Elle s'assit et regarda autour de sa chambre, ramassant rapidement les lunettes dont elle n'avait pas besoin et le jean qu'elle a absolument fait. Ses pieds froids marchent doucement sur le plancher de bois dur plus froid qui fait son chemin vers la cuisine. Ses mains ont agi sur la mémoire musculaire, en commençant un pot de café et en plaçant un pot sous la machine pendant qu'il allait au travail. Elle s'est pliée pour choisir une poêle dans l'armoire, en s'assurant de ne pas réveiller Maggie ou Stef avec l'éclaboussure de la poêle. Elle se pencha rapidement vers sa droite en tournant le poêle en bas à droite jusqu'à sept sur dix. Elle a placé la poêle sur le poêle et a pris un couteau dans le tiroir avec son autre main, elle a glissé le bâton de beurre qui était sur le comptoir et en a tranché quelques-uns en laissant glisser sur la poêle qui chauffe rapidement. Après avoir délicatement placé le couteau dans l'évier, elle a récupéré quatre œufs de leur carton dans le réfrigérateur. Expertement, elle a craqué chacun, deux à la fois, et laissé leur jaune mijoter dans la poêle. Elle a aussi pris un peu de pain et l'a placé dans le grille-pain en attendant que les œufs soient cuits, quand elle attendait que ceux-ci finissent, elle a récupéré un petit verre et a versé un peu de jus d'orange dedans, pas de pulpe. Finalement, finissant la préparation du repas, elle a gratté les œufs sur une assiette, récupéré le toast doré et le verre de jus d'orange et les a placés sur un petit « petit-déjeuner au lit ». Elle s'est rendue jusqu'à la porte menant à la chambre de Stef et a doucement frappé, attendant une réponse. Quand elle n'en a pas eu, elle a ouvert doucement la porte et s'est laissée entrer quand elle a vu la jeune fille dormir calmement. Yuki se tenait dans la porte pendant un moment, un sourire chaleureux se matérialisant sur son visage alors qu'elle se rendait rapidement mais silencieusement au chevet de Stef, plaçant le plateau de petit déjeuner près de son lit et regardait vers son propre réveil. Elle a ri et a remis l'alarme de Stef à nouveau cinq minutes – juste pour s'assurer qu'elle dormait. Elle a sorti les couvertures de Stef pour la rencontrer et s'assurer qu'elle était chaude et confortable. Yuki quitta rapidement la chambre de Stefs et ferma silencieusement sa porte avant de s'enfuir dans la douche. Prête pour sa journée, elle a finalement pris place sur le canapé dans son salon et a décidé qu'elle attendrait Stef ce matin, ils pourraient marcher pour travailler ensemble. Elle a flippé aux infos et... Une vidéo intitulée «Helsing» a été postée sur YouTube a pris la responsabilité de la mort de Nick Bloodfang. En utilisant de larges déclarations indiquant que les loups-garous sont des tueurs, les vampires sont... C'est une maudite maudite Yuki sous son souffle qui recule à la porte de Stef. Le racisme n'a jamais changé, ils viennent de trouver une nouvelle cible.

Eve Lumière. Demon | Asmodeus | Lust Basic Information | Name | Evelyn De Les Beauchamp et Lumière - Eve | Date of Birth | 1923 | Gender | Female | Sexuality | Is a Lust demon | Occupation | Eve tends bar. | In-Depth Appearance | Listening to Eve’s voice triggers similar in one’s mind to sitting in a warm bath after a long day sipping on expensive wine that you didn’t have to buy. It is alluring, relaxing and most of all French. She carries a confident posture, often leaning in towards others or making prolonged eye contact. She tends to arch her back when she walks as instructed by her mother and most feminine figures in her life. She has learned to perform small things that make people like her, laugh at their jokes, touch their leg, give in to their poor sense of humour, even complimenting them on their forced fashion. It’s one of the reasons he is such a talented bartender. Eve typically wears a nice clothing, whether that be designer or otherwise. She can be seen typically lounging in a dress shirt and either shorts or her underwear and likes to wear a nice sundress when going on walks. To work she’ll typically wear a tanktop and a pair of jeans and if she is going out somewhere nice it’s a little black dress. Though she has been seen in a leather jacket from time to time it’s irregularly worn at best. Eve some scars and notable markings. Firstly she has some deep scaring on the small of her back from an incident in which she attempted to raise herself higher in stature among another demon. It didn’t work out. She also has very light scars covering random portions of her body from rather extraneous nights in which she managed to live up to her livelihood as a demon. Eve typically wears her hair down, though she has been known to sloppily place it into a messy bun when she is bored, nervous or anxious – it’s a form of fidgeting, though it is much more likely to be the former. Who Am I? | Personality | ♦ Confident ♦ Opinionated ♦ Aggressive ♦ Laid Back ♦ At her worst, Eve is an aggressive, slightly sociopathic alcoholic. At her best, she’s rather laid back confident in herself and rather accepting of others. As a Asmodeus demon Eve has found herself attracted to most people. Because of this she consistently finds herself looking at the best parts in others. However, when turned away, denied or persecuted by her peers she finds herself much more emotional than one typically would be, personally offended without a doubt. One thing eve is notable for is having a hard time keeping committed in a relationship. As a lust demon Eve has a certain amount of satiation she attempts to find in her life, because of this she is consistently unsatisfied. However the idea of a lust demon simply lusting after sex is a stereotype older than the old Demon’s themselves – as such simply being adventurous and drinking does seem to satisfy her lust to an extent. This is how she attempts to balance herself. Eve – while easily offended is incredibly laid back until she becomes so. She doesn’t care about rescheduling, and when someone is being honest with her she is happy to oblige them. She has been regarded by other demons as uncomfortably nice, which she takes as a compliment most of the time. However, among other demons Eve finds herself without as much of a filter as she usually keeps up around others. As a much younger demon than some, Eve is regularly finding herself attempting to go at her own pace – very wary of the idea that she could blow herself over at any moment attempting to catch up with other demons. Eve finds herself most attracted to those who are confident in their own skin. However, Eve tends to mind the line between confident and cocky although she crosses that line daily. She looks for those who show her something new, something different. When she was travelling in Canada in her earlier life as a demon she met a wide variety of people and made them close friends, as such she isn't typically impressed by bravado and pick up lines. For a lust demon - Eve shows a rather incredibly amount of restraint in almost all things. However, she is quite susceptible to temptation due to who/what she is. | Likes & Dislikes | ✔ French anything (even fries!) ✔ Romance – when done correctly ✔ Spicy foods ✔ Dramatic films ✔ Any show of real talent ✔ Attractive people ✔ Confident people ✔ Funny people ✔ People ✔ Birds ✘Fakeness ✘Lies ✘Bland food ✘Bad Jokes ✘Puns (with the fury of 10000 suns) ✘Films with poor writing/plot ✘Country music | History | Until the age end of World War 2 Eve believed she was born to a rather modest family in Marseilles, France. She had three sisters and two brothers, they were a family. Her father - somewhat ironically a father at their church, her mother a housewife and an artist. While their family was raised in somewhat less than reasonable conditions, Even affectionately remembered her mother teaching her and her sisters how to eat as if they were dining with royalty. How to speak, sit, walk, and talk. As such she has her mother to blame for her somewhat noble demeanor. When World War 2 began, it was a just cause. Every young man in Marseille wanted to join the war and her brothers did. They prayed for each of them every time they sat to ate, sleep or found a silence hanging in the main room. However, the war seemingly became unjustified after not too long. When France began to lose, when they realized that they were what stood between Britain and Germany, every day felt like the second hand on a timepiece steadily counting down the hour of freedom they held. They were many more hanging silences then. In November of 1942, Marseille was officially occupied by Germany. Every time Eve would walk near the window her father would clutch a rosary, commonly her and her sisters hid in the basement, their photographs burned when the Germans occupied. If the Nazi's were asking, Eve's mother was fertile. It took a couple months for Eve's family to receive notice of their son passing away. The German's found new ways to punish Eve's father that night, when they discovered his children. It wasn't until August 28th in 1944 that Eve would discover that the small hamlet she took pleasure in was not her own. She had always known she was different. In classes, boys didn't bully her, she was stronger than most girls, she got her way more often. But August 28th was still... Unexpected. Eve went to a bar. Marseille was told that Germany was to leave the next morning. She was 22, she needed a drink after what could only be described as the slowest years of her life. She arrived at the bar and there lay in waiting two German officers. They threatened her, complained that they hadn't seen her in two full years of occupation, promised her a night she would never forget. Truth be told, it wasn't problematic to her that she killed them. The real problem lay upon the blame that would fall on her parents. She only truly felt for them. She stayed out that night. The next morning a man, or something resembling a man, dressed in the garb of a Canadian soldier saw what she had done. She remembered he stood in front of her for a long while without uttering a word. He nodded once - shook his head another time but continued to stare at her bleakly looking up at him covered in blood. Finally when he opened his mouth he told her he could teach her, about herself, about her abilities, what made her different. By noon she had donned a nurse's outfit and hopped on a boat. For the next three decades she lived in Lake Louise, Alberta. Learning English and Quebecois, learning to fit in with the everyday person. She had to learn how to fit in with people because the revelation that she was a lust demon came as... A bit of a shock. She found that the knowledge of who and what she was seemed to 'activate' that side of her. She found herself drawn to people like she had never felt before, she found herself staring at the bottom of a bottle much more commonly than she ever had. It didn't take long for her to end up in a 24A Faraday Heights. Tending bar and... Well she's been taking it easy. | Family | Her family is long dead, and she is unaware of her demonic lineage. | Strengths | Bilingual (French and English) Very good vocalist Very good (Almost demonically so) at convincing people to do things. The more likely they were to do it before, the more likely she is successful. | Weaknesses | Emotional Cocky Unstable The Other | Theme Song | "Crazy" by Gnarls Barkley, Covered by Daniela Andrade. ”Who do you think you are, Ha ha ha bless your soul You really think you're in control.” | House Number | Faraday Heights 24A (If I've got that right ?.?) | Extra Information | My heroes had the heart to lose their lives out on a limb And all I remember is thinking, I want to be like them Ever since I was little, ever since I was little it looked like fun And it's no coincidence I've come And I can die when I'm done Eve Lumière Blake Preston "Blake? She’s my roommate, wonderful girl really. Has a pretty popular blog too, I wish I could speak to groups of people like that. At first she wasn’t very receptive to me but we’ve gotten closer now. I’d say we’re pretty comfortable around one another." Blake is someone I want on my side. She’s loyal, compassionate and if nothing else, willing to go with the flow. Humans are always nicer than demons. Daniel Belson "Dan? He’s a bartender as well, you’ve got to respect someone who shares your profession. Kind enough I suppose, haven’t had all that much contact with me." He is a human cactus. He is pokey when you touch him, but I have to imagine he’s a pretty good guy on the inside. He can keep pace with me, probably outlast me when it comes to bantering though – that’s troubling. Alistair Queen "Al is... Well He’s odd really. He’s owns the bar I work at and past that I’ve not hand any issues with him. However, whenever I have to pay him something he makes me do it in Scottish notes. Something about how they look." Al’s a good guy for the most part. I mean, he’s a good guy because being a good guy makes him feel good, but it doesn’t mean he isn’t a good guy. He’s flirty, but as a Lust demon he isn’t that flirty. He doesn’t seem to share much though, somewhat troubling. Mariska Costas "Mariska reminds me a lot of myself. She wants attention, she’s mature beyond her years, probably seen some shit. For that reason I like her just fine." I don’t know all too much about Mariska which can be a little worrisome from time to time. But I’ve not ran into much reason to suspect her of anything I wouldn’t do, so how bad could she be? Nikita Yankovsky "Nikki is a great girl. One after my own heart for sure." As a lust demon, it takes one to know one and I notice similar signs in her. She's got the same itches and scratches. I can see it in her eyes, when she glances, when she inhales. It's a look you get used to seeing in the mirror I s'pose. Ah well, I’m sure she’s not gonna crucify me or anything. Mordred Hame "Mordred is okay I guess. But he’s not so into the fact that I drink a lot. I don’t know. " #demonalert, I mean I could be wrong – I just don’t think I am. Although, he could be an Angel too. They’re annoying like that sometimes. He’s always chiding people, kind of obnoxious. John Taylor "Every time I see the poor kid I wanna buy him a burger. I mean he’s built like a goddam oak tree but he must weigh as much as I do." He’s worrisome. I have no idea what he is but it’s an other. There’s no doubt about that. That being said the kid knows how to drink so I can’t really hate him. Catharine Reid "Cara’s an interesting gal. Not too sure how to discern either way, but she’s a real cutie that one. She does some event planning, so I think she’s just asking for someone to ask her to plan their wedding or something like that. It’ll be sweet." She reminds me of Al in some ways. Probably their managing skills, he owns the bar she plans some stuff. She's got that bad bitch walk that I love though. Opallum "He’s homeless and he likes wine. Well I work at the local watering hole so I’ve seen enough of the guy." My demon sense tingle with this one, not too sure where he’d fit. Maybe sloth, but I don’t know him well enough to make the call. Andrew Mordekai "Andrew is a nice kid. Plain and simple he’s likable to a fault." I just like the guy, he’s pretty nice. Though taking it easy could be a nice thing for him to try out every once in a while, he’s always got that I should be somewhere face on. Looks exhausting. Suriel White "No comment." Yeah I’m pretty sure she’s got me figured out into a bit of a corner if we’re being honest. But I’m pretty sure she won’t get all diving retribution on me as long as I haven’t been nabbing people in the dark and making deals and what have you. Miles Catrose "Miles once walked into the bar insulted the dubstep on the radio and the vodka on the rack behind me. I like Miles. Also I see him when I need a trim." He’s nice. You wouldn’t know it but I’m pretty sure he’s actually older than me by a fair bit. Which I suppose makes him an other as well. Unless he’s a pride demon I don’t think he’s a demon at all. Too excited about life, to the point of being arrogant really. Yukiko Abe "Yuki’s a sweet girl. She works as a tattoo artist at the parlor downtown. She doesn’t talk much but she’s got a smile that makes my damn heart still." I couldn’t tell you what she is or how old she is. She keeps that damn trap shut so much half the time she talks I can’t get even a small read on her. They always say watch out for the quiet one’s but I myself tend to look at the people who warn others. Shifting blame on the quiet ones seems like a half-decent way of avoiding suspicion if you ask me. Mona "Who?" Seriously who? Wait, is that the… Nah. I don’t think so. Faron Romane "Faron’s got to be… Well. He’s a got a better heart than most and I suppose that’s truly what matters. Y’know? He’s got something about him that I find intriguing. Kids seriously in touch with nature though. " Kid’s smart. Smarter than people give him credit for. He’s just not smart in the stupid ways, that’s huge. One to watch undoubtedly. Nicolas Black "In business there’s a pretty common philosophy. You can charge a premium or you can make your shit cheap. Idea is, if you find the right balance you make the most profit. Nick says fuck that, buys all the cheap whiskey I’ve got when I’m tending bar. He gives you that kind of vibe – go to him if you need help." What is there to say? He’s a hot detective who drinks cheap shit and is probably only five days from retirement should the tropes continue. Apparently he digs cats too. They can be fun I guess. Maggie Spencer-Adeyemi "She’s sweet. Real holistic type, long walks in the woods, talks to trees, hugs her plants. I don’t know much about her." Eh she’s essentially the type of person that is ‘better than you’ but she’d never say it. Nor does she probably believe it. If nature stands a chance of surviving humanity though it’s in her backyard. Megumi "She’s fucking adorable." I don’t know. Something about her – definitely an other. She acts like a child that all checks out but… Call it a sixth sense, call it a woman’s intuition. Call it I’m staying away. Katherine Haynes "She’s cute." She seems down a lot – on the other hand somewhat confident. Just paradoxical to fit in to the new world of others. Felicia Underwood "Felix? Yeah Felix is well liked. She’s the kinda girl that knows you’re having problems before you do." I’m calling it here. She’s a telepath, a mutant maybe like the comics. That’s it. I should’ve known I left the oven on. Hm? Well, no, she didn’t tell me I left the oven wrong but she looked at me like she knew. Elise Callaghan "Elise? Yeah she’s a little cold but she’s something I’ll tell you." So she’s not a lust demon. I suppose she could’ve been half lust demon but that’s not it either. I don’t know what it is but it’s weird. She walks in a room and she’s there. I look at her, and she’s gone and I’m thinking ‘where’d she go?’ I don’t know why or how to explain it. It’s… I don’t know. Stefani Roche "Stef is the sweetest, you catch her giving you these looks sometimes, what can I say puppy eye dogs and a fake that isn't the worst and I serve her." Stef is a good girl. She's being raised by the older lady up by Faraday so I think she's safe, but she walks in a I get a little protective, I won't lie. Maybe it's all this shit in the news recently. Ari Amari "He's a nice young man, but I'm relatively sure he predates the wheel. He also makes a face whenever I order a gin and gin." Seriously I caught him talking about Vesuvius this one time, describing it's eruption. Which means this mother fucker is ancient. Probably has every right to treat Yuki like a child, which is somewhat horrifying. Claire O’Malley "Haven’t really met her yet, she walked into the bar once I think." Kind of reminds me of Andrew. That being said I couldn’t say for sure. Ari Amari "He's a nice young man, but I'm relatively sure he predates the wheel. He also makes a face whenever I order a gin and gin." Seriously I caught him talking about Vesuvius this one time, describing it's eruption. Which means this mother fucker is ancient. Probably has every right to treat Yuki like a child, which is somewhat horrifying. Barachiel "I’ll pass." Nope. Ethan Cooper "He fights with Danny like an old housewife. They also live with that one girl, Aila. Are... Is Danny playing house over there?" Nice kid, if Danny weren’t so head over heels with him I’d try something but he is and I doubt he’d be too into me anyway. Alfie Liau "Not really my taste." He just seems so young. Could be older than me for all I know but he’s just so small. Astrid Kitchener "She’s cute, I might have to pay her a visit soon." What? I’m a lust demon not a nun, the girl’s got nice eyes – get off my back. Michael "Good looking guy with a better taste in music." The record store is a nice cozy little place. He does pretty well there apparently. Aila Atleo "She’s cute, doe eyed girl." Personally, I think she’s seen too much shit to be in a relationship. She’s got those eyes, saw those kind of eyes a lot when I was a young kid. Emerson Maddox "A lawyer? Maybe I should wrap him around my finger." Seriously rent ain’t paying itself. Tips have been a bit slower recently too. Talia Halbrook "She’s certainly sure of herself." Mmmm hot damn, don’t mind a piece of that if I say so myself. Loki Van Stenberg "Don’t know him." There’s that dealer, goes by Low Key – I’m not into that kind of shit. With Ryan as a cop – I don’t think most people would get away with that kind of thing. Freddie Hughes-Jackson "Freddie’s a funny kid, cute – nice butt." I like to fluster him, it gives me a little satisfaction. Still got it Eve. Liam Woodsworth "I don’t know the kid." No really, who is he? Aiden Phillips "Doc? Oh him and I go way back, yeah… Well no, but he’s cute so I sure would like to." Mmm doctors… Ryan Croft "The cop? Yeah he seems like a good man with a little too much on his shoulders." He comes by the bar, double whiskey. Seems rough putting the city on your shoulders like that. Eternity Loveless "She is… A lot to take in all at once." Do we need to have a talk? ‘Snowstorms and why you shouldn’t make them happen?’ Patrick Kershner "A little young. A little overly concerned perhaps." Good kid overall though. Don’t tell him that, he needs to find balance in his ego and his worries. Nicodem Kaminski “He’s got that George Clooney, sexy older man thing." How old is a big part of the question though isn’t it? He’s Ryan’s Deputy and I think that might’ve ended up being life partners. Living in the same place and all.

Opallum Lieu: Debout à l'extérieur du fève précoce Interagir avec: Personne, actuellement "Hmm. C'est ce que j'ai dit. ." Aujourd'hui, c'était particulièrement frigide, même pour un ifrit comme Opallum. Le démon de la colère se méfiait de l'arrondissement depuis d'innombrables heures aujourd'hui, à peine rien ne le poussait à l'esprit. Ce qui a réussi à attirer son attention et à l'énerver rapidement, cependant, c'est que l'objectif de ses lunettes de soleil a continué à brouiller à cause du froid. Une nuisance, vraiment. Comme d'habitude, il n'y avait pas d'arrêts ou de courses spécifiques à faire, et, en l'absence d'un calendrier réel à suivre, il n'y avait pas grand-chose pour le garder occupé. Edgetoun avait beaucoup à offrir, et Opallum le savait, mais rien de ce que l'on pouvait apprécier sans avoir un cours légal -- quelque chose qu'il manquait entièrement, en ce moment. Pendant une scission de seconde, l'ifrit envisagea d'obtenir un emploi, mais il renversa rapidement l'idée de son esprit. Il préférait la "liberté absolue". De plus, Opallum a toujours réussi à gagner quelques dollars en passant par Londres et en demandant gentiment à ses habitants de ne demander que quelques dollars. Presque toujours travaillé. Quoi qu'il en soit, il semblerait que la seule façon d'éviter un mal de tête ennuyeux plus tard serait de trouver un type de stimulation juridique qui ne l'obligeait pas à payer. Déjà, il avait grandi un tad lassaire de converser avec tant de gens au cours de la période de trois jours. Être ennuyé était certainement une fosse fatigante pour tomber dans et sortir de. Finalement, après s'être battu sans but autour du quartier, Opallum a réussi à repérer un sigil familier inscrit sur le verre juste par son visage. Il était venu sur The Early Bean. Les nouvelles sont allumées, n'est-ce pas? D'habitude, c'est le matin, pensa-t-il. Bien qu'il ne puisse pas se permettre un café (ou autre chose, d'ailleurs), il y avait encore une télévision LCD de taille moyenne établie dans le coin supérieur gauche du magasin qu'il pouvait repérer à travers la vitre qui satisferait son ennui pendant un certain temps. Secouant les mains dans les poches de son pantalon de cargaison, une décision lui est venue : entrer dans le magasin sans argent et flirter maladroitement pendant qu'il regardait la télé, ou juste rester dehors dans le froid et toujours pouvoir regarder la télé? Opallum a décidé de se prononcer sur cette dernière option. Il ne faisait aucun doute que le froid était légèrement amer pour lui même avec sa température anormalement élevée du corps, mais il a senti qu'il était impoli d'ambrir et de prendre un siège sans pouvoir se permettre quoi que ce soit. Ça aurait été bizarre aussi. Après que toutes ces pensées se sont glissées dans sa tête, le fait même qu'on lui ait permis de voir les nouvelles lui a suffi. Une fois que la femme météo eut fini de divulguer l'extrait sur la tempête de neige et la Cour Unseelie, Opallum s'est contentée. "Bon pour ces faefolk. Le fait d'avoir un ruckus provoque habituellement un certain changement, oui?" il murmura, les coins de ses lèvres courbant vers le haut dans un sourire mince. En toute honnêteté, l'ifrit savait peu de choses sur la fae et sur leurs progrès, mais ils s'étaient en vérité révélés être une foule diverse, physiquement et selon leur personnalité. En se penchant sur l'idée d'une tempête de neige, on a trouvé une certaine discorde au sein d'Opallum. Les sans-abri de Londres en souffriraient. Ce sera l'enfer. Étant sans abri lui-même, il savait qu'il serait également confronté à la menace de mordre le froid wintry. Supposons que je puisse rester dans un bar jusqu'à ce que ça se calme. C'est le moyen le plus facile de s'en sortir. Outre qu'il se penchait contre le verre avec sa jambe droite croisée sur sa gauche et regardait à l'intérieur du journal, un silence s'est posé sur le corps d'Opallum, et sa conscience de l'environnement s'est progressivement dissipée. Il semblerait que son attention portait uniquement sur l'information affichée sur l'écran de télévision. Étant donné son manque d'accès à Internet en raison de son statut de pauvreté abjecte, il n'attraperait pas le vent du message "Helsing" ou les titres sur la page d'accueil de la BBC -- du moins, pas encore.

"Frankie Knuckles was something else, I'm telling you." Opallum Demon - Sathanus - Wrath Basic Information | Name | Opallum | Date of Birth | 1936 - Unknown month and day | Gender | Male | Sexuality | Heterosexual | Occupation | Currently unemployed. | In-Depth Appearance | Opallum’s assumed form is that of an African male around 5’9” in height with a considerably athletic build and heavy stubble spanning from his sideburns and curving about his prominent chin in a clean, chinstrap fashion. In regards to heftiness, though, Opallum maintains a somewhat healthy body weight of 135 pounds. Age-wise, he looks to be in his early twenties. His posture when standing is upright and resolute, and he sports a fairly large, black afro which retains a relatively kempt and properly picked out fashion. When sauntering about the borough of Edgetoun, no matter the weather or day, his body is adorned in baggy khaki pants which is usually a size above his actual fitting, and held up by a gray fabric belt. A plain white tank top covers his torso, and two black, beaded necklaces hang around his neck. The only other type jewelry he has in possession are two gold, hooped earrings which he is always seen wearing. Often, the only type of shoes he's known to slip on are a light brown pair of moccasins or black ankle strap sandals. On most days, Opallum prefers to throw on a pair of overbearing and worn Versace sunglasses. Over time, one would notice that this is the same outfit that he wears almost every single day, save for special occasions, where he somehow manages to acquire appropriate attire for the occasion. Opallum is more on the muscular side, holding a comparatively lean fat to muscle mass ratio with notably pronounced shoulder blades. As for his true form (which isn’t all that impressive), there are few -- but noteworthy -- differences. Stubby tusks protrude from his upper jaw and outwards till it reaches the front of his upper lip, and the color of his eyes are altered -- black sidera, with pupils and irises a distinct carmine color, a distinct shift from the usual white sidera, umbrous pupil, and dark brown iris. This form has no real function other than to serve as a means of identification to prove that Opallum is an Other, or to intimidate, but only when he finds it absolutely necessary. Who Am I? | Personality | ♦ Erudite ♦ Heathen ♦ Free-spirited ♦ Curious ♦ More often than not, Opallum is spotted with a light frown which frequently signifies his usual state of boredom. Even though he's fairly young, all the experiences that he's endured and the individuals he's met have seemed to finally take its toll on him. It's likely that he was far too eager to face the intricacies and wonders of the world in his even more youthful stages of life, and now all those encounters over time -- sensual, combative, or dire -- have ultimately resulted in the exhaustion of his initial fervor. Opallum's djinn classification is a distinct green, denoting youthfulness and a particularly mischievous nature within the mystical djinn society. Although he might not always seem to fit this frame on the surface, he is, at heart, one who seeks to derive entertainment from those around him and eventful occurrences. This ifrit is one who commonly prefers to back out of petty or intense drama and instead observe from a safe distance so that he may gather whatever information he can on those involved in the verbal scuffle. In some instances (and if safe enough), Opallum might decide that it would be most beneficial for his own entertainment to instigate "healthy" amounts of strife between individuals. Opallum is a djinn who simply tries to enjoy life whenever, as the ember of excitement that once resided in his eyes is swiftly fading away. On approach, Opallum is a generally affable fellow. A kind greeting would come to those who wished to speak with him, and he can hold a fairly decent conversation no matter the topic. At any point which he can interact with others tends to alleviate the burdensome wave of ennui that had previously struck, and thus his suffering is lifted for a time. However, if someone manages to bore him (which isn't quite difficult to do), he has no qualms with outright ignoring them and ambling off elsewhere -- one of the ruder gestures he's recently taken up. It is rare to ever see him become enraged or even slightly perturbed, but it is possible if enough effort is exerted in order to invoke that reaction. This ifrit's nature is especially pervasive throughout most of his relationships and he's prone to treating most people like this unless they've managed to somehow prove themselves to be rather entertaining characters to him, worthy of spending time with. At this point, one would be able to experience his slightly more open personality, where he's more willing to share secrets and even admit to some his own temperamental facets. | Likes & Dislikes | ✔Spicy and savory foods ✔Humid or mild weather ✔Underground locations and decrepit, rundown city buildings ✔Large dogs (e.g., great danes, mastiffs, and St. Bernards) ✔Dark fruits ✔Wines and sweet liqueurs ✔Loose-fitting clothes ✔House music ✘Felines ✘Horror films ✘Witches ✘Tight or wooly clothing ✘Winter ✘Awkward situations (one thing he really cannot deal with, no matter how many times he's experienced them) ✘Country music | History | All that was needed to birth Opallum into the Earthen realm was a medium burst of fire not covering a span of even five square meters in the dank, murky underground of subterranean London’s tunnel system. At first, he was a humanoid being of pure flame, but within less than a minute of existence, the flames cooled, ash and dust from his surroundings began to coagulate about his form, bringing him skin, flesh, and other bodily necessities took their position and resulted in the body which he . The entire process was over in less than two minutes. When he was finally imbued with the concept of sentience, a name reverberated throughout the chambers of his mind: Opallum. The unfamiliar and booming voices were unrelenting in their verbal assailment, until the newborn ifrit had decided to utter the name. It was then that the voices halted. Allowing himself a moment to recuperate, the ifrit staggered back against the curved tunnel wall, very nude and confused. Looking about warily, Opallum murmured a query primarily directed towards himself. “Now what?” Since his unexpected birth (and finally managing to escape the vast array of tunnels that obstructed him from reaching the surface), Opallum was able to amass enough knowledge from citizens on the street to gain a fundamental understanding that he should be clothed, first. Afterwards, the rest of his life was spent being a vagabond -- perpetually confused for the first fifty years of his life, Opallum had decided to take advantage of the lack of boundaries and overwatch kept on him and indulged in whatever curious wonders the world were offered. Over time, he picked up on rumors which detailed the existence of Others. Promptly, with an attraction akin to a magnet, Others eventually managed to bump into him throughout his life, and he was exposed to the world of Others. Ghosts, demons, faefolk, and other various types of creatures and eldritch entities were known to him. His endeavor to learn about the world came to a satisfied fruition after gathering enough information on both the psyche and inner workings of the humans and the Others. Still wondering the streets of England, he eventually came upon the seemingly friendly borough of Edgetoun. The idea to stick around for a while rather than move on struck his mind quite suddenly. Others have been spread out in England for quite some time, but now, here in Edgetoun, there was a proper gathering that could potentially usher in a period of peace with their interactions, or one of chaos with a new target being placed on them by humankind. Both outcomes pleased Opallum greatly, and so he decided to stay grounded for the moment, awaiting the introduction of any observable conflict or tranquility. | Family | Father - Nafran Mother - Mah'jan Relationship? Opallum is incredibly estranged from the both of them. After his manifestation into the human realm, his parents came to a mutual decision that they should abandon him and return to enjoying their existence within the ethereal realm of the djinn. Given the exclusivity of these two elder ifrits, not much is known about their nature, personality, or influence. | Strengths | Knowledgeable Tolerant (relatively) Creative | Weaknesses | Any form of magic that doesn't directly involve fire A fear of magic using creatures A tad bit too lethargic at times, despite his nature, and thus prone to zoning out constantly Takes the path of least resistance. Definitely not a fighter, whatsoever The Other | Theme Song | Miso Shiru - Gush "Yo . . . I read some shit about how, Someday the universe will expand to a point where it won't be able to exist." | House Number | Homeless. | Extra Information | Novice Fire Evocation Fire evocation is the practice of evoking fire in different shapes and forms from using the infernal energies imbued within an ifrit's body. Due to Opallum's origins as an entity of fire, however, the skill should come naturally . . . Unfortunately, with a lack of training and inexperience with his own physiology, the most he can do is light a cigar with a brief spurt of flame. Flying: The ability to hover and weave through the air with ease is by far one of the more useful abilities Opallum has. While he might not be able to soar up to the clouds and travel through the skies at Superman-level speeds, flight has gotten Opallum out of tense and dangerous situations a multitude of times. Due to his level of skill, though, he may only stay afloat for a maximum of fifteen minutes. Opallum Blake Preston "Her? Fun as hell to be around, I can imagine. She's like a firecracker -- an inferno, rather -- that never dies down, y'know?" She might be insane. Love her energy, though. Super laid back, too. Surprised she doesn't get into more fights, what with all that fire-in-the-heart gusto she has going on. And she's pretty fun-sized, which is definitely one of my preferences when it comes to women. Hope she sticks around. Daniel Belson "Mmm . . . Only seen that guy around once or twice, maybe. He seems . . . Alright? I'unno." Don't know enough about the fellow. For all I know, he could be a sod or a genuinely nice guy. Until I meet him properly, I'll stay neutral with this one. Alistair Queen "Rich vamp. I've shared a conversation with him once -- a short one. I've got to praise him for the work he's doing. Really helping out." He's like a guardian of some sort for the people in this borough. I'm probably just thinking that because he's the landlord, but . . . Putting himself out there and assisting all these Others is just . . . good? Yeah. Not sure what he's like on the inside. Probably just as empty and unfulfilled as the rest of the elderly vampires lounging around. Mariska Costas "Heard that girl singing when I passed by a joint and decided to step in. She's got that voice, no question. Strange genre of sound, though. Can't tell if its jazz or bossa nova -- or maybe a mixture. Interesting, uhm . . . hairdo, too. Stylish. Seems like a tomboy, in my opinion. Don't know much else about the lady. Should try to get to know her eventually. Nikita Yankovsky "Hott. With two t's." I've caught her walking around the city before. Nice legs. Could do with less make-up, maybe. Don't know much else about her. Mordred Hame "Mordred . . . Hame. Oh, right! I've seen him around. Dig the white hair." Some passerbys were conversing and I overheard them talking about him. No insults or anything like that, but just an idle 'yeah, he's pretty cool' and something about his music, I think. Then, another time, when I was loitering around in some alleyway, these two guys came through and were going on about him. I couldn't tell what else they were saying, unfortunately, because they were speaking so damn quickly and silently. John Taylor "Good ol' Johnny Boy. Yeah, I've shared a drink or two with him. He's got a nice beard." To be honest, I can't recall a single one of the conversations we've shared. I know that I've spoken with him before, but I just . . . My memory is trash when it comes to things like verbal discourse, sadly. I'm sure he's a great guy. I'm sure if I asked him for a favor or two he'd gladly help out, so there's that. Eve Lumière "She gives me alcohol whenever I've scraped together enough money to afford a drink. She's good in my book." Succubus, for sure. Has to be. Her face is . . . weird, though. Otherwise, she's pretty attractive. Also pretty sociable for a bartender -- at least, from my own personal experiences. Catharine Reid "I'm . . . not too sure who that is. Seems familiar, but I can't quite put my coin on it." I might have seen her around. Don't think I've spoken with her, though. Andrew Mordekai "Sick tattoos. Almost makes me want to get some." He seems real tense. Always looks like he's prepared to have a fight with someone. I always like to think that he's some Jason Bourne-esque guy who's being hunted down or something. Past ties, enemies chasing him, laying low for now -- that kind of stuff. The entire idea of that actually being true is stupid, but . . . Who knows. Suriel White "Suriel . . . ? Sounds like . . . Mmph. No, I don't think I've heard of her -- him? Her? Her. Sounds like a girl's name." I've never had the pleasure of meeting this lady. Although, the "-iel" component of their name raises some suspicion within me. This suffix is . . . Angelic-sounding. Miles Catrose "From what I've gathered, he sounds like an even cunt-ier version of that one American pop star. Justin Beaver? Bieber. Looks like him too, in my opinion." I do like people, but he's probably the last person I want to hang around. Yukiko Abe "Not sure who that is." Should meet her at some point. Mona "Huh?" No goddamn clue who that is. Faron Romane "Uh . . . " I can't tell if that's a name for a girl or a name for a guy. Nicolas Black "A cop? Eeh . . . Kudos to him for keeping our streets safe." I hope he doesn't approach me. I do not like dealing with the police. I mean, they're probably nice, but . . . I don't know. I'm wary around them. Maggie Spencer-Adyemi "Cool girl." College student, and that's about all I know. There are plenty other college students, so I really don't talk or focus on just one. She must be alright, though. Most students are. Megumi "Asian child? Oh yeah, I've seen her around! Adorable, really." I see her walking about with that Alistair fellow. Maybe he's her . . . bodyguard? I don't fucking know. Katharine Haynes "Oh, uh . . . I think I might know them? Oh, wait, I think I've spoken with her before. Yeah! The Early Bean, that was it. When I finally get my hands on enough dosh and go to the Bean to buy some coffee, she's there sometimes. Nice enough, especially when she knows that I'm a bum." I generally tend to view those who give me things well. Don't know her personally. Felix Underwood "I've never seen the guy around." No one I know all too well. Elise Callaghan "Sorry, not a clue." Nothing up in my head about her . . . Claire O'Malley "Uhm . . . Eh." Yeah, no. I don't know this girl. Barachiel Alexander Eamon "Some posh-looking fellow. All I know." There's that "-iel" again. Fishy, fishy . . . Ethan Cooper "Not a clue." Seriously, I don't know this person . . . Alfie Liau "Heh. The chocolatier, yeah?" I haven't had chocolate in years. Maybe I should try and get a few dollars together and try to buy some. Even a few pieces would suffice. I bet the kid is nice, though.

Alexandre Eamon Lieu: Churchill Gardens, 2A Barachiel a pris une autre gorgée de sa tasse à café. Une habitude qu'il semblait reprendre de son temps à expérimenter avec des cafés. La chaleur du liquide à vapeur est vraiment ce qu'il attendait aussi vers l'avant, espérant qu'il combattrait le froid amer qui devenait trop routinier ces deux dernières semaines. Son cœur coula et les épaules se sentirent lourds tandis que la télévision continua d'annoncer que le loup-garou qui était au centre de ces récents événements était décédé. Une autre âme tachée de péché dans ces circonstances malheureuses. C'est dommage. Une prière rapide est venue à ses lèvres pour tous ceux qui ont participé à l'incident avant qu'il n'éteigne la télévision. Il a soufflé sa poitrine étirant à la fois les bras et les ailes remplissant le petit appartement avant de retourner à sa chambre. Il était temps de faire son costume d'affaires. La chambre était très simple, tenant seulement un lit de taille complète couvert de draps blancs et de couette, stand de nuit avec un réveil et un téléphone cellulaire sur le dessus, et petit placard. Le placard contenait cinq chemises à manches longues blanches différentes, cinq paires de pantalons bleu marine assortis et de vestes de costume, et trois cravates, un rouge, un bleu clair et un argent. Aujourd'hui, c'était comme un jour bleu clair. Finissant lui-même les vêtements, Barachiel prit une autre gorgée de son café avant de prendre son téléphone portable et de regarder ses notifications. L'application de la BBC a fait défiler par environ un "Helsing" revendiquant la responsabilité de la mort de la créature la télévision mentionnée plus haut. Son intérêt a culminé il a cliqué sur la notification de lecture de l'histoire en sirotant son café. Encore une fois, il sentait ses épaules devenir lourdes comme la douleur lavée sur Barachiel. L'homme n'a jamais cessé de s'éloigner du chemin. Elle est revenue dans la zone commune en espérant trouver Suriel. Ils étaient sages sur le sujet de la compréhension de l'humanité, peut-être qu'ils pourraient aider à donner une explication dans ce cycle du péché l'homme semblait maintenant penché avec le surnaturel. Et peut-être qu'ils pourraient même donner des conseils sur la façon de réagir si cela saignait dans ses affaires au travail. Jusqu'à présent, il ne l'avait pas affecté du tout là-bas, mais il y avait eu une rumeur qui circulait au sujet d'un grand-parent d'un enfant voulant prendre la garde d'un enfant parce que le tuteur actuel était accusé d'être quelque chose d'autre que humain. Trouver son prochain ange pas immédiatement dans la petite zone commune, il a mis sur la fin de son café et le nettoyage de l'ustensile qui l'avait autrefois tenu, laissant son esprit errer à l'autre question de débat juridique en cours sur les droits des créatures. Juste quand il s'était habitué à agir comme un humain, il pourrait avoir à montrer ouvertement ses différences. Non pas qu'il ait eu peur d'admettre à d'autres qu'il s'agit d'un ange, mais cela pourrait causer des difficultés avec les parents et les tuteurs plus ignorants qu'il a souvent à traiter. Cependant, les enfants semblent aimer la neige.Un sourire serein a traversé ses lèvres à la manière beaucoup plus agréable de la pensée.

The beard makes me look bad ass right? Patrick Kershner Werewolf Basic Information | Name | Patrick Kershner. Not Patty. Patty is a girl’s name got it? | Date of Birth | 28 July 1996. | Gender | Male | Sexuality | Bisexual | Occupation | Investigative Analyst | In-Depth Appearance | Imagine that nerdy kid that got stuffed in school lockers and dragged into the bathrooms by the school bullies because that kid is Patrick. Standing a lanky five foot ten, it’s as if his body went through all the functions of puberty but his arms and legs forgot that they were supposed to reach a certain atheistically pleasing ratio with the body during this period. This combined with the hell that was high school left the young man with a seriously lacking amount of self confidence and it shows on his face and the way he carries himself. Patrick has a high pitched and what can sometimes be called nasally voice which he believes is the root cause of his tendency to mumble and speed through his sentences when he talks. But on the plus side his choice in clothing is fantastic despite the fact that he’s constantly defending it when he is around his know associates. Everyone knows skinny jeans are in nowa days. To counter his meager, nerdy looking human side, at nights Patrick is a different man all together. Thick dark black hair will protrude from every office, and his nails will extend, and thicken to a sharpened point to resemble claw. His ears begin to resemble that of a dog or wolf, and his eyes enlarge taking on animalistic fierceness. Oh and there’s always the contorting transformation of his body into a six foot seven, two hundred sixty-five pound hulking mass of terror. But on the bright side this whole werewolf thing has allowed him to grow a beard which he thinks really helps him look more manly and cooler. You could say, I had my life together for a whole week before it fell apart again. Who Am I? | Personality | ♦ Shy ♦ Introvert ♦ Loyal ♦ Caring ♦ Being tortured most of your adolescent life tends to leave its scar on you. Patrick would rather fade into a crowd, yet secretly wants to be the center of attention. He simply wouldn’t know what to do once he was there and he’d probably just break down in panic attack. So he’ll just stick to the fading into the crowd bit. He generally hates the sound of his own voice so he tends to whisper and mumble around people he isn’t comfortable with but when he doesn’t think or know anyone is paying attention he’ll have full blown conversations with himself. Something to help ward of the loneliness he thinks. He’s serious push over with no real back bone to go against the tide and stand up for himself, some idea, or belief, even though he has a really strong moral belief on what’s right and what’s wrong. Really his whole outer shell is just a giant fake façade he puts on for the world, except its not… because you know you’re supposed to be able to stop a façade. On the plus side when he’s around one of the few people in his inner circle that he’s comfortable with he’ll act without a care in the world. And not only that he’ll be extremely caring and loyal. Where he wouldn’t be willing to squash a fly for himself, he’d take on a whole coven of pissed of witches for one of his friends. Or if it would cheer a friend up at three in the morning he’ll literally run across town (the recent werewolf thing has helped with this) to buy the last chocolate bar being sold. So those are the positives. | Likes & Dislikes | ✔His computer, God knows what he’d do without it. ✔ Squirrels, you can’t say you’ve ever seen an ugly squirrel. ✔ Dogs, I know. Cliché with the werewolf bit but you like what you like. ✔ Thrills. At first he’ll say it’s a horrible idea but by the end he’s really glad he went along with it. ✔ Patterns, like patterns in numbers and studies and shit. Not like floral. Jesus. ✔ His room, good luck getting him out of their without a good deal of complaining. ✔ Texting, it’s so much easier than talking in person. ✘Large Crowds, that’s just asking for a panic attack. ✘ Authority figures, yet another cause of anxiety. ✘ Getting in trouble, nine times out of ten that’s gonna stay with you for the rest of your life man. ✘ Sports, just another excuse to get beaten up. ✘ Spiritual talk, makes him really uncomfortable. ✘ Flirting, did that once. Didn’t turn out so well. ✘ Vegetables, now he has a good excuse to not eat them. | History | Patrick’s life has been that of any normal nerd who gets picked on a lot in school for the most part. Good grades, leads to college, where you think things are gonna turn around for you until your anxiety reminds you that you are still you. So instead you spend most of your free time in your room on your computer playing games, while everyone else is going out and experimenting away. He really didn’t have any serious complains. A significant other would have been nice from time to time so he didn’t have to keep going to Rosey Palms. But that’s what really got him into trouble. After getting out of school, Patrick landed a job with the London police force as a investigative analyst tracking crime patterns. It was actually a pretty decent time. The guys on the force treated him pretty well and he actually started to feel like a welcomed part of a group. In fact he had even been lucky enough to be asked out on a date one morning while he was standing in line waiting for coffee. She was a cute looking girl, who as far as Patrick could tell had a lot more experience at these things than he did. She asked if he wanted to go out to a club with her and a couple of her friends that Friday and eventually when he was done with his dorky gawking and stuttering he got out a yes. Now suffice to say Patrick had never gone to a club before in his life. The whole thing was intimidating as hell. The girls all had some kind of guy on their arms and Patrick was pretty positive they could each mug him with just their pinky fingers. The getting patted down before being allowed into the club didn’t do much to calm his nerves as he had never guessed that was necessary before he entered. Once he got out onto the dance floor he shuffled around looking what he could only assume was like a complete idiot. He kept thinking that the girl was going to ditch him, but she stayed with him an actual smile on her face. Just when he let his guard down and actually started relaxing and having fun she pulled on his hand and led him off to some back room. That was where things got really bad. He had never felt so much pain before and pain had been a pretty constant factor back in school. They shredded his skin, clothes, muscles, everything. He was pretty sure he was going to die right then in there killed by creatures that were never supposed to have existed on what had been the best night of his life. But they let him live. Next thing he knew he was in the hospital, the nurse telling him his brothers had brought him in. But that was really odd considering he didn’t have any siblings. A little after that his pack arrived and everything Patrick knew about the world was turned upside down. He didn’t dare refusing joining the Bisclavret pack fearing what they’d do to them if he didn’t. Ever since then he’s been begrudgingly joining them in their sneaky little joining ceremonies, though he’s rarely and active participant leaving some to begin questioning his real loyalty to the pack. | Family | John and Stacey Kershner: His parents live in a small town off in the country and Patrick rarely ever speaks to them regardless how much they bug him. He’s never really felt all that connected to his parents and was plenty happy moving to London requiring him to talk to them even less. That being said he does love them and will check in from time to time. | Strengths | Intelligent. Patrick is a smart cookie if nothing else making him very good at his job. And he’s pretty good at catching on to things quickly. Isn’t very emotional and can deal with just about anything thrown his way. Made him a little numb his life has. Extremely loyal to those close to him. | Weaknesses | A major push over and all around scaredy cat in most regards of his life. Socially awkward to the extreme. Never engaged in any serious relationship with another person that didn’t end in a giant joke. The Other | Theme Song | Loser - Beck ” And my time is a piece of wax Falling' on a termite Who's choking' on the splinters” | House Number | To be discussed. | Extra Information | Nothing as of now.

Stefani Roche Situation: Appartement le plus confortable que vous ayez jamais vu: AKA Appartement 30B, Faraday Heights Interagir avec: Yuki Quel meilleur moyen de se réveiller que l'odeur d'oeufs fraichement frits et de toasts? Il a certainement battu l'enfer de son réveil agaçant, c'était sûr - et après avoir enfin ouvert les yeux, Stef s'est rendu compte avec un sourire que Yuki l'avait retourné quelques minutes de plus. Quel amour cette femme était. Allumant l'alarme avant que le bourdonnement irritant ne remplisse ses oreilles, Stef s'assit dans son lit, frottant le sommeil de ses yeux. Maintenant pleinement éveillée, elle pouvait entendre Yuki potter à propos de l'appartement; si elle se concentrait assez fort, Stef serait même en mesure d'entendre la respiration de Maggie à côté... pas qu'elle voulait faire ça. C'est flippant. Drainant son jus d'orange dans quelques goupilles (Yuki s'était même souvenu de lui obtenir la substance lisse; selon Stef, il n'y avait rien de pire que d'avoir des petits morceaux solides flottant autour de votre boisson. Sauf si c'était comme des chips de chocolat dans un milkshake, alors elle ne pouvait pas se plaindre), ses œufs et toasts n'ont pas duré beaucoup plus longtemps après cela. "Dieu merci, j'aime toujours la nourriture normale. Je pense que je m'en sortirais si tout ce que je pouvais manger c'était du sang." Stef se pensa alors qu'elle tombait du lit, étouffant un bâillement alors qu'elle s'embrasait à sa porte, plateau à la main. Par les bruits des choses, Yuki a dû déjà se doucher - et avec Maggie probablement encore endormi, cela signifiait qu'il resterait beaucoup d'eau chaude pour elle-même. "Hé Yuki. Merci pour les œufs - vous les avez cloués, comme d'habitude." Stef a dit avec un sourire doux et reconnaissant qu'elle entrait dans le salon ; il suffit de rattraper le commentaire de Yuki sur les nouvelles. "Qui sont les connards? Est-ce quelque chose à voir avec le temps à l'extérieur?" Elle a demandé quand elle a commencé à rincer sa vaisselle; avec ses cheveux sales et son chemise de nuit, elle avait probablement l'air de douze ou quelque chose. Non pas qu'elle s'intéressait à Yuki, ou même Maggie à ça - il n'y avait aucune raison de simuler des choses avec eux. "Oh, et ai-je le temps de prendre une douche? Je peux attendre jusqu'à la soirée, si vous voulez vous mettre au travail avant que la tempête de neige ne s'aggrave. » Elle a offert en après-pensée - Stef avait regardé à travers ses rideaux avant de quitter sa chambre; au début se sentant un bref moment de joie à voir toute la neige avant de se rendre compte à quel point les nuages étaient gris. Un peu de neige était grande - mais pas à la vitesse à laquelle il tombait. Heureusement, le Tube ne serait pas affecté par tout ça. Nicolas Noir Lieu : 5631, avenue Spruce Interagir avec : M. Pissy-Fangs Rex - les deux autres sont-ils encore réveillés? "Ah, neige. Merci à Fae. Mon travail a été beaucoup plus facile avec cette merde qui s'accumule sur le sol." Les premiers mots de Nick du matin - dit avec un soupir lassaire alors qu'il regardait à l'extérieur de sa fenêtre. Tirant sur un jean et décidant que ce serait assez habillé pour le petit déjeuner, Nick a marché en bas, en courant une main à travers ses cheveux indisciplinés et le repoussant. Il ne semblait pas que Nikita ou Faron étaient encore éveillés; une petite victoire, pour l'instant. Ça voulait dire que Nick avait la cuisine pour lui. Eh bien, une fois qu'il a nourri Rex, c'était. "Rex! Taisez-vous, je sais, j'y arrive!" Nick chuchotait irritablement à son chat, qui se mouvait fort à l'oreille en griffant son chemin vers le haut du dos de Nick pour se percher sur les épaules. Ignorant la grognement qui venait de Rex, Nick versa de la nourriture sèche pour chat dans son bol, puis reremplit à la fois les bols d'eau de Rex et de Minnie. Il ne serait pas utile de donner à Minnie de la nourriture pour l'instant - Rex, étant le peu avide qu'il était, mangerait les deux bols. "Mangez, sale petit enfoiré." Nick bourdonnait avec un animal de compagnie rapide de la tête de Rex, avant que le chat saute de ses épaules. Maintenant, il pourrait se concentrer sur son propre petit déjeuner. Et son corps criait pour le cochon, comme d'habitude. En jetant des éruptions de bacon et des saucisses dans une poêle à frire, Nick a filmé l'ancienne télévision qui était assise sur le comptoir de la cuisine aux nouvelles. Il n'était pas content de ce qu'il a vu. Tout d'abord, la mention de Nick Bloodfang - assez mauvais qu'il ait partagé le nom du gars, mais ils étaient tous les deux loups-garous. Non pas que Nick aimait s'accrocher aux côtés de la plupart des loups. Deuxièmement, il a été informé qu'il avait été tué. Par "Mortal First". Qu'est-ce qu'il y a de pisse! "Fils de pute..." Il a juré tranquillement, grondant à la télévision. "Bagner les loups-garous et les vampires? Si ce n'était que si facile... » Tourner la télé pour muter, Nick a ajouté des œufs, des champignons et des tomates à la poêle, avant d'ajouter un peu de toast sur le côté et une tasse de thé comme une touche finale. Un petit déjeuner parfait. Honte le matin n'a pas tenu autant de bonnes choses à ce sujet, jusqu'à présent. Assis avec son assiette empilée à la table, Nick perché sur une chaise, les pieds reposant paresseusement sur le siège en face de lui comme il mangeait.

Stefani Roche Vampire Basic Information | Name | Stefani “Stef” Roche Previously Isabella di Diavolo | Date of Birth | Born 12th August 2003 Turned 13th August 2019 | Gender | Female | Sexuality | Pansexual | Occupation | Does some part-time work in Yuki’s tattoo parlour – secretarial work, and the like. Is looking for some more jobs to avoid boredom, and maybe get some more money. | In-Depth Appearance | Standing at just 5’1, Stef is a hardly imposing figure. Her body has some remnants of curves, and a decent sized bust for a girl of her age. However, the recent changes she has gone through will be the only further developments her teenage body will undergo – pale skin which is for the most unmarred, barring a bite mark on her neck. It’s quite easily covered up with make-up or some form of clothing, but she dislikes it all the same. As for her heart-shaped face, it is a sweet one to look at. Dark blue eyes are framed by long dark lashes, atop of which sit brown shapely brows; paired with full lips and a button nose, it is quite easy for her to look as young as thirteen at some points... or older than eighteen. It depends on how she looks. Her teeth are white and straight, and of course, her fangs are ever present. Severly annoyed that they weren’t retractable as so much media showed, Stef has made do by trying to not smile with her teeth so much. Atop her head sits long hair of a dark chestnut colour – light can easily pick out subtle red and gold tones within her naturally coloured hair – of which the style rarely stay the same. Some days it’ll be up in a lazy bun, others it’ll be either straightened or pulled into gorgeous waves. Depends on her mood, really. Her clothing style also changes with the wind – she’s not really fussed on what to wear, only picking out certain outfits more carefully when she’s trying to make an impression. Going somewhere that cheap for kids? Wear something cutesy. Going to a bar? Make-up and heels, girl. Her accent is a strange one – although majorly American, she’s tried to cover it up somewhat with a generic sounding English one; what with being classed as missing and all. But the accent slips sometimes – when she’s particularly emotional, her native Italian accent will take the lead, some Italian words (Usually curse words, at that) slipping in too. Who Am I? | Personality | ♦ Sharp ♦ Hot-Headed ♦ Vulnerable ♦ Dorky ♦ As per the fact she’s still a teenager – regardless of her new immortality – she still acts like a teenager at times. Stef’s temper can be erratic at times, almost as if puberty were still effecting her. And my goodness, it’s a fiery one – when brought forth, slammed doors and a fast rant in Italian will burst forth. However, it doesn’t really last long, as she hates the very word of “sulk” – reluctant apologies will soon follow, unless she feels she’s particularly in the right. However, even when her temper hasn’t been snapped, her words can often come out sharp to those that irritate her. Not only that, but she is sharp in every sense of the word – not just in tongue, but in wit. She’s a quick-thinker, that’s for certain, and can easily get herself out of trouble quickly. When growing closer to her, two things will become obvious: One – she’s a total nerd. She loves sci-fi, fantasy, all that jazz, and is quite happy in expressing it. She won’t care if someone judges her negatively for it either – she enjoys her nerd status. It’s pretty easy to be dorky online too, where nobody will suspect you being a Vamp, nor will she accidently rip their throats out. Everybody wins! :D And the second thing one will notice is her vulnerability. She went through quite a lot in a short amount of time, and she still hasn’t gotten over it yet. Relaxing around people she trusts will show that more obviously, especially in times of stress or worry. So far, it’s only Yuki who’s seen this side of her. And for the time being, she’s happy keeping it that way. | Likes & Dislikes | ✔Drawing, painting; any form of art, really. ✔Listening to music (Mostly some form of rock) that is unhealthily loud. (Not for immortal eardrums, bitcheesss) ✔Sass. Lots of sass. ✔Horses & Horse riding ✔Blood, unfortunately. ✔The Killers ✔France; culture, food, language, art... anything. ✔Fire, from matchsticks to wildfires to fireworks. ✔Taking walks at night-time ✔CHOCOLATE ✔Sleeping late and waking late – she’s always been a night owl in that regard. ✔All things nerdy and geeky-like, all fandoms great and small! (Except MLP – FuckMLP.) ✘Blood, unfortunately. ✘Close spaces, thanks to her less than comfortable journey from Venice to London. ✘Waking up early. ✘Waking up early because of nightmares. Yay, exhausation! ლ(ಠ益ಠლ) ✘Bright lights – although not starting out as a Vampiric thing, it’s certainly become more of an issue from being turned. ✘Bugs – she may be a creature of the night, but moths, wasps and spiders can go fuck off back to the depths of hell from whence they came. ✘Peppers. If they’re hidden away in her food, she’ll pick ‘em out, just watch her. ✘Woolen clothing – it’s so itchy! ✘Extended solidarity. | History | Born in Colorado, America to Italian and French immigrant parents, Stef – or rather, Isabella, as she was at the time – was a girl of two worlds. She’d grown up speaking Italian, only learning English when she began attending Elementary school; as such, this set her apart from the other students at first. However, she soon integrated, balancing her Italian and American identity well for such a young girl. She visited her parent’s home country a lot, growing up with places like Rome and Florence as a second home. She even had a brother, older by three years, to look out for her. Other than a few troublesome boyfriends (and girlfriends) and a very brief perky cheerleader phase, Stef didn’t really have much to worry about. That was until her sixteenth birthday. It began pretty nicely – the usual “Sweet Sixteen”, with her parents surprising her with a last minute trip back to Italy. This time, to Venice; a place they hadn’t visited before. Naturally, she was bouncing with excitement, despite the fact they were going during summer. The heat in Italy was not kind during those months – but Venice had the promise of cool canal rides in the gondolas, and of course, real Italian Gelato. They’d arrived on the 9th of August, hoping to spend a good week before heading back home to Colorado; and they enjoyed their time there immensely, up until the Friday. “Friday the 13th – let’s avoid bad luck today, I think?” Her Dad had joked as they walked along the burning stone streets of Venice. She and her mother had laughed it off, in high spirits as their holiday came to an end. Except, by nightfall, it came to an end all too horribly. Venice was filled with alleys and narrow streets between tall buildings – a necessity, considering how the foundations in the bay were built. They always seemed safe and busy. But on that night, the one they chose was not busy, bar one figure stood on the other side. One second they were stood there, and the next they were beside her Father – just giving the man enough time to widen his eyes in shock before his throat was cloaked in red after a blurring movement from the stranger. It had slit his throat, and Stef and her Mother barely had time to scream before her Father succumbed to his own blood. Her Mother had screamed at her to run, and run she did – not that it made much difference. Her Mother’s screams were cut off almost instantaneously, and Stef had barely gained a few feet before finding herself pinned to the floor on her back. White hot razors tore the flesh on her neck, but with a cold hand over her mouth, her screams did nothing to alert any aid. When she awoke, the stranger was gone, along with the body of her Mother. Her father’s corpse lay still in the street, and all the shaking and crying she did, did nothing to rouse him from his permanent sleep. From there, she realised that she herself had changed. She had fangs and her once tanned skin had become much paler and colder to the touch. And in a world that considered Vampires to be a myth, Stef went into hiding. Cleaning herself of blood and stealing clothes in the night, she took what remaining money her family had kept in the hotel room, and directed her way towards the nearest dock. She knew she couldn’t get out of Italy by any legal means, and she had no idea to go from the port in Venice anyway. Instead she found herself being aided by two Romanian Immigrants; hoping to join their family in England without getting one of those pesky visas. The trio smuggled themselves in the lowest decks of a cargo ship, and stayed there in darkness for the ten day journey. However, by day two, Stef felt a gnawing hunger within her. The Romanians had brought some staples with them, but it did nothing for her. It wasn’t her stomach grumbling, but her very essence. She felt like a trapped animal in a cage – the close quarters they were hiding in barely made it better. By day three, she finally understood what was wrong with her. She wanted blood. And the only source of blood she had were from the two kind immigrants who had helped her. No... She wasn’t going to hurt them. Not after what they’d done for her. Day four, she woke up with blood, and two corpses that had been mangled beyond all recognition. Stef felt sickened at seeing them – surely she hadn’t done this? She didn’t remember hurting them, it must have been something else! The last thing she recalled was the older one cutting his arm on a rusty bit of metal – and then... nothing. The rest of the voyage was an awful one. Although the hunger had disappeared for now, the stench of the bodies grew worse every day. She didn’t know what would be worse – being discovered with the two dead men, or sitting through the entire journey with them getting worse every day. She chose the latter – although venturing out as the last day drew close, Stef was pleased to see her first breath of fresh air in days to be accompanied with the smoky silhouette of the London skyline, the sun having only just set. Rather than waiting until docking, Stef abandoned ship by jumping off once further away from the mouth of the river; she didn’t want to risk being seen. From there, she was well and truly lost. She wandered, wet and cold, before happening upon a homeless woman, who had been obliged to help her. Stef was hesitant at first – after what had happened to the other men... but surely that had been because of the ship and confined space? Yes, she could find other sources of food in a place like London. So Stef accepted the help, giving a fake name and remaining with the woman for a few days. She was even able to steal some pig’s blood from an abattoir to sate her thirst. It tasted disgusting, but it got rid of her hunger. Not that it helped the woman. Only a few hours after feeding, the woman had cut herself on a stray nail in the wall of the dank tunnel the two were staying in. And the blindness took Stef again; and when she awoke, there was blood spattered in the street. She didn’t understand! Why did this keep happening?! She fled from the scene, heaving sobs and covered in speckles of blood before finally coming to a stop in a deserted alley way. There was nobody here that could she could hurt...except it wasn’t that simple. It was a week – and two more horrific homeless killings – before Stef was happened upon by a strange woman one morning. Stef had assumed she was hidden, but this woman saw her, and took her in. Except, she didn’t smell like... everyone else. She didn’t smell like prey. This Yukiko was not human, just like Stef – and as she accepted aid one last time, she finally found a home again. Yuki took care of her, getting Stef back on her feet and almost feeling normal again. While the horrors of what had happened and what she has done is still fresh in her mind almost six months on, Yuki’s motherly care is helping her overcome it all. She hopes so, anyway... and the “coming out” of the Other community has hardly made things easier for her. | Family | Amelie di Diavolo: Her Mother was declared as missing along with herself, but it seems the case has slipped into Cold Case territory. She doubts she’s still alive, and wishes she could have stayed with her in her last moments rather than running. Giovanno di Diavolo: Her Father – a sweet man that she misses dearly alongside her Mother. | Strengths | Strength: She’s quite capable of ripping somebody limb from limb when she’s in her bloodlust state. Whether she can do it normally, she doesn’t know – but there’s some relief there that she can protect herself if the scenario ever demands it. Quick-Learner – she’s picking up the ins and outs of London pretty well, and is even learning some other skills considering she can’t go to College. Amicable – Once she’s settled in a situation, it’s easy for her to make friends with a lot of people, regardless of their personality. | Weaknesses | Bloodlust – seeing or smelling human blood sends her into an uncontrolled, frenzied state where anything with a pulse becomes food. She’s been able to control it more now after she’s already fed, but if she’s feeling hungry, there’s nothing she can do. Immature – despite sometimes looking and acting older than her age, Stef has still lived a somewhat sheltered life as a human. She can be quite naive about certain things, and she still has a lot to learn. Age – being turned at 16 is a real bitch. She’s never going to grow up or even finish puberty. The only times it’s hard for her is when people dismiss her due to being too young, or getting into places that are off-limits to kids. However, a fake ID can easily deal with that problem – getting people to take her seriously is the hardest thing. Possibly depressed – she shows symptoms of the disorder sometimes, but it’s not like she can just walk into a therapists’ office and tell them what happened. Most of the time she’s okay – it’s usually just bouts of nightmares, flashbacks or lethargy that bother her. The Other | Theme Song | Arsonists' Lullaby - Hozier ”When I was sixteen my senses fooled me, Thought gasoline was on my clothes I knew that something would always rule me I knew the scent was mine alone All you have is your fire, and the place you need to reach, don't you ever tame your demons always keep them on a leash” | House Number | Faraday Heights - 30B | Extra Information | Would like some form of pet, but would have to ask Yuki first. Stefanie Roche Blake Preston "I’ve tried to stay away from her. She’s not like Maggie – there’s no way for a human to protect themselves against me." I wish I could spend more time with her, as she’s pretty awesome – and I love her videos. But I wouldn’t be able to relax around her properly, and then she’d think I’m a weirdo or something. However, she seems to be pretty at ease with the whole Other-thing going on. Would she understand if I was a Vampire? ~ Daniel Belson "*wolf-whistles* You could cut a diamond on that jawline. I know plenty of girls (and guys) back home who would be throwing themselves at him. However, I think he’s spoken for..." I don’t go into the bar he works at that much. I don’t think Yuki would like me going – and I’m also still trying to get a fake ID. Anyways, he lives a few floors below us, and he seems pretty cool. Could lose some of the snark though. I can easily fulfil my daily quota of sharp comments myself without him helping along. ~ Alistair Queen "The first Vampire I met here in Edgetoun – the look on his face was priceless when he saw me for the first time. “Where’s your Sire?! Why are you wandering around by yourself?! You’RE JUST A BABY-“ Haha. Asshat." Al’s pretty okay. Once he got over his outburst – and Yuki talked to him – he gave me some pointers on “Vamp life”. I swing by his house sometimes to irritate him; or just to visit Megumi, the sweet little cupcake that she is. ~ Mariska Costas "One of John’s roomies, right? The singer?" We’ve met in passing a few times, but not for very long. She seems alright, and different. I like different. Oh, and I saw some videos of her singing online – hell of a voice, but I’m not really into that genre of music. ~ Nikita Yankovsky "She comes off a bit intimidating, at first. Is it the quietness? I think it’s the quietness." She has one of those looks that’ll be analysing your every move or facial tick. I’d hate to play poker with her, that’s for sure. However, I’m sure she’d be fun once you get to know her more. I mean, she has to be more fun than Officer Werewolf McMoonMoon. ~ Mordred Hame "Oh, that’s John’s other roommate. He’s got the looks, the style, the money and the voice. I don’t think he’s going to stop till he has the fame though." He doesn’t seem very dependable to me. I’m pretty sure he’d throw someone under the bus if it meant getting further in his career. But that’s probably pretty normal for demons, right? ~ John Taylor "Ah, John is a total sweetheart! Not fazed in the least by what I am... I’d feel the same towards him, except I don’t know what he is. I don’t really care: nothing can stop him from being awesome." I love his tattoos; the designs are just so perfect. I sometimes show him the doodles I do when I’m supposed to be working at the front desk, and he hasn’t once considered them to be bad or stupid. Also, the guy cracks hella fine puns. I love me some puns. ~ Eve Lumière "Eve reminds me a lot of my ex-girlfriend. Actually, she reminds me of all my exes. Which shows I have problems with a certain type. It also shows that I may develop a crush on her in the near future. Fuck. " I’m pretty comfortable with her, for now. She’s the kind of woman who would buy you alcohol if you asked for it nicely enough. Not that I have asked her to do that just yet. ~ Catharine Reid "There’s something comforting to me about having a Vampire live next door. That way if I go apeshit, I know she’ll be able to handle things. Hopefully..." Other than the obvious perks of having another Vampire nearby, Cara is real nice. Sweet and feisty – perfect combo. ~ Opallum "Um, try coolest guy ever?! He can summon flames, and fly. I swear, if I had my own place, I’d let him camp on my couch or something, rent free.." But I guess I’ll just have to make do with spare change and cups of coffee for now, I suppose. He seems pretty happy despite his situation. ~ Andrew Mordekai "Eheheheheheheheehehe. Fire." I think it’d be kinda rude to introduce myself as someone who just wants to see him blow up stuff with his hands, so I’ll reign myself in there I think. Maybe just say who I am, first of all. ~ Suriel White "If the Winchester’s have taught me anything, it’s to trust Angels just about as far as you can throw them. Wait... I could probably throw her pretty far. Bad analogy – lemme think of another..." Ehh... I’ve never been much of a church goer. Not that I think she’d strike me down for it, but still, there’s something off-putting about her. ~ Miles Catrose "More than one Vamp has told me to stay away from Miles. Apparently fairy blood is pretty irresistible to our kind. *sigh* As if my drinking problem wasn’t bad enough. Because I’ve been told to avoid him, I don’t know that much about him, other than he’s a Pixie, he’s a hairdresser, and he’s pretty arrogant. ~ Yukiko Abe "There aren’t words that describe how I feel about Yuki. She didn’t just save my life – she saved me from losing who I am, from becoming a monster. And she helped me remember that there are things worth living for still. I’ll never be able to repay her for that." Yuki has been beyond generous towards me – giving me a place to stay, a place to work, new clothes and things for my room... and beyond just caring for me, she actually cares about me. I hope I can repay her in some way... all I can do now is help her out in any way possible. And I know I’ll protect her from anything. ~ Mona "We have a ghost? Here? In this building?! That’s so cool! And creepy... I hope she’s not like the freaky ones from Amityville or something. " I don’t think I’ve met her yet, but it sure would be interesting. I’ve never met a ghost before. Well, not as far as I know, anyway. I was always pretty sure my old school in Colorado was haunted. Apparently a bunch of parents murdered this pedophile Janitor and burned hi- wait, no. That’s Nightmare on Elm Street. My bad. ~ Faron Romane "I’ve swung by his Mom’s shop a few times and talked to him a bit. He seems nice – do you think he’d give me some weed if I asked? Wait, would I even get high now?" Apparently he can talk to dead people. I don’t see why that makes him so special. After all, half the people in our neighbourhood are dead. ~ Nicolas Black "Who, the Big Bag Wolf? The guy stepped straight from an 80’s noir film into our streets. Not that I’d say that too his face, that is." I’m not sure how I feel about him. I feel like he could easily protect me from something, but he’s always on edge – like waiting for the worst to happen. I suppose around me, that isn’t such a bad thing, actually... ~ Maggie Spencer-Adeyemi "Maggie is great! Her flowers are really pretty – I just there weren’t so many growing inside the flat. Bugs dig plants, and I hate the little critters.” It was difficult living with her, at first. I was always worried that I’d snap one day and hurt her. Still feeling that way now, actually. It’s always better to be on guard. But Yuki keeps me in check a lot, so I think Maggie is good. Which I’m happy about – she’s so nice to me. ~ Megumi "Oh, Megumi is just about the most adorable thing to enter my life! It’s nice to talk with someone young- well... I guess she’s not young, but certainly childish." I love spending time with Megumi – she can generally brighten my day if I’m feeling down. She reminds me of the little sister I never had – despite probably being centuries older than me. She also doesn’t smell like food, which is always a bonus among friends. ~ Katherine Haynes "She lives in our block, right? A few floors down?" Sure, I’ve seen her around before. Again, the whole “human” issue crops up, so I haven’t talked to her that much. ~ Felix Underwood "Yeah I’ve seen her – and smelt her. Man, that incense she wears is enough to distract her from her natural scent. " Another witch, right? I think she and Maggie may get along... despite the whole “dead” thing she has going on. I much prefer Mags’ plants, actually. ~ Elise Callaghan "I don’t think I’ve ever seen her talk – but I think she’s mute. I wonder if she knows sign language?" I’ve always wanted to learn it – seems like a useful tool. Then again, I’m sure a pen and paper is just as easy. ~ Claire O’Malley "She seems... loud." I have no idea how she teaches kids. Speaking as a teenager, I can safely say most of us are little shits. If I had her job, I’d end up drop-kicking a student out of a top-floor window for talking trash. ~ Barachiel Eamon "Man, this guy swanned straight out of Supernatural, never mind that last one. And he works with kids?!" I need to brush up on the Winchester’s Enochian sigils. These guys are hella creepy. ~ Ethan Cooper "He’s the hot guy staying with Daniel, right? Man, I can’t decide which guy is luckier." He’s a student or something, I think. Makes me kinda jealous – must be nice to be able to go to College. Wait, sorry – University. I really need to lose these Americanisms if I’m gonna blend in any. Yeesh. ~ Alfie Liau "I don’t think I’ve met him, but I’m pretty sure I’ve walked past his chocolate place a few times. Man, the fun times I could have in that place... *passes out drooling*" I wonder if his place is hiring? Wouldn’t mind another part-time job to get some more money for the rent and stuff. Also, I freakin’ love chocolate. Who am I kidding, I’d either blow my entire paycheck on the stuff, or get fired for swiping chocolates that are for sale. ~ Aila Atleo "Aila? Hella rad. I can’t tell you how relieved I was to find someone awesome to talk to, who I wasn’t in danger of eating, and who’s been through just as much shit as I have. Also, we’re from the same continent, so we’re practically related." Well, maybe not related, that’s weird. Is it weird that a Vampire and a Werewolf can be buds? Or is it like a forbidden relationship, like Romeo and Juliet? Oh cripes, I just compared us to Romeo and Juliet. Erm... yeah, we talk, it’s cool. Makes me feel better about a lot of things. ~ Conrad Aldhard "OH MY GOD. HE’S THORIN INCARNATE. YUKI & CONRAD FRENEMIES 5 LYFE.." Yeah, he’s Thorin Oakenshield all over. Only, y’know, not a Dwarf. Or is he just a really tall one? HOLY SHITSNACKS ARE DWARVES A THING?! YUKI! YUKI ARE DWARVES REAL- ~ Astrid Kitchener "She seems nice – I wish we could draw together or something. However... yeah, you already know what the issue is." I swear to God, why can’t there be like a spell or something that makes humans smell nasty to Vampires? Why haven’t the Witches invented that yet?! ~ Michael Harel "Oh yeah. Hella nice butt for an Angel. Nice tunes too I got my CD player and all my discs from his place – he seemed disgusted at the lack of 80’s stuff though." That reminds me, I’ve been meaning to get some AC/DC, and some Iron Maiden. Some people have complained about my loud music, so I may as well treat them to some real rock and roll. Might buy some Queen too – love me so Freddie Mercury.. ~ Loki van Stenberg ” I’m sorry, I just get so amused every-time I hear his name – you do know what Loki looked like in the Marvel comics, right? Hahahah.." Anyway, he’s a chemist or something, right? I don’t know much about him, but I'm pretty sure he's a Vampire. I wonder if he has anything that would help me with my little problem? Would chemists even have something like that? I don't even know if regular drugs would work on me anymore. ~ Talia Halbrook "I can’t believe this chick is a realtor. She looks way too badass for that. Seriously. " Why?! Why would she sell houses? She looks like she should be selling state secrets to the Russians or something, hell, I don’t know. Selling homes is just too boring a job for someone like her, I think. ~ Emerson Maddox "He looks slippery. Reminds me of the preppy guys back home who’d threaten to have their family’s lawyers sue you for scratching their Porsche or something. Dicks." I may be doing him an injustice by judging him so quickly, but I’m usually good at sensing people’s characters. And his is not one I want to be involved with. ~ Ari Amari "Crazy cat guy, right? He smells funny to me – I can’t quite place it. Something I smelled in Italy? I don’t know." He really loves cats, from what I’ve heard. He also looks old – like, super old. I heard from a friend who heard from another friend that he fought in the Civil War... the English Civil War, as in the War of the Roses, in the 15th Century? Yeesh. ~ Liam Woodsworth "Man, and I thought I’d gotten the short straw in life. I just want to hug him until he feels better, y’know?" Poor guy. I don’t blame him for living such a wild life, considering it may just be cut short. Can’t believe Vampires would even breed with humans, knowing the outcome could be something as unfair as this. I know I certainly wouldn’t, if the chance arose. Thankfully, I’ve heard female Vampires are infertile. ~ Freddie Hughes-Jackson "Heh – he looks like someone who would fit in well at Hogwarts. And I’m pretty sure he’s read the books, considering his job, and obviously geeky disposition. I’ll have to ask him what house he’d be sorted into!" I’ve talked to him a couple of times in the library – with the amount of old books in there, I don’t really focus so much on the scent of humans; there’s just so many musty, crisp books to inhale. Ahhh. Nothing beats old, leather-bound books. ~ Aiden Phillips "Doctor Dracula!" I’ve only heard about him, I haven’t met him as of yet. I probably should though – maybe he could give me some pointers on Vamp life? He’s younger than Ali, so he probably understands a baby like me a bit better. ~ Ryan Croft "I’m sorry, everytime I hear ‘Commissioner’, I think of Jim Gordon from Batman. Gary Oldman is my life, dude." Anyway, Croft. He seems okay, from what I’ve seen him. Seriously rocks that beard of his. Speaking of Batman, I get a severe “Justice is everything” vibe from him. I’ll be on the lookout for any Vigilante Superheroes cropping up. ~ Eternity Loveless "I don’t understand privileged people like her. She’s rich, but rents a place at one of the cheapest, worst places to live in Edgetoun. Some poorer person could have used that flat. It’s just selfish." Regardless of the whole “You’re-Fae-so-let-me-tear-your-throat-out” thing, I wouldn’t want to spend time with her. I come from a Working-Class background, so people like her who take everything for granted just rub me the wrong way. ~ Patrick Kershner "What, there’s another wolf working at the Station? Are they hiding like, dognip or something at that place? Is dognip a thing? Would it even work on Wolves? I’ll have to research that one... use it on Aila. Heheheheheheehe." He seems a lil jumpy. I guess I can understand that – getting attacked and turned into another species isn’t easy on the psyche, you know? ~ Nicodem Kaminski "Ahah... well, erm, no he’s... pretty rad.....OKAY HE’S AWESOME AND I WILL LOVE HIM FOREVER OKAY" Oh sweet baby Jesus, he looks like he walked straight out of Game of Thrones or Lord of the Rings or something. And that speaks to my precious nerdy heart, okay? I swear, if Yuki wasn’t hot for chicks, I’d set her up on a date with him just so I could bask in his awesomeness more often. In fact, I may set on up anyway. ~ Anastasia Psomas "Yissss, another hella geek like myself. Me, Aila and Allison need to get together for a girls night, get drunk while watching all eight Harry Potter movies or something. OOHH WE SHOULD INVITE FREDDIE AND GIVE HIM A MAKEOVER." I don’t know what creature she is, but it’s something hot. Girl just radiates heat, and speaking as a pretty much permanently cold, dead, no blood pumping walking corpse, is wonderful. In fact, Wolves run pretty high temps too, and I’m pals with Aila. Am I subconsciously collecting walking space heaters?! ~ James Bright "I’ve not seen him before, but Aila’s mentioned him. I’d hate to live – or rather, exist, would be the better term? – the rest of my ghosty days in a Police Station." Apparently Nick’s been working on his case. I hope he finds out what happened soon.

Lieu: 19 Avalon Point – Maison. Interagir avec: Megumi Quatre téléphones différents disposés sur la table basse, et tous bourdonnants. C'était presque comme s'il était un trafiquant de drogue ou une partie d'une autre profession illicite qui nécessitait une foule de téléphones brûleurs, mais non – Alistair avait été là, fait cela, et c'était juste la panique morale de tous les vampires qu'il avait rencontrés au cours des sept derniers siècles lui envoyant des messages sur Facebook, par le biais de texte, à travers tout. Il y a des chances qu'il reçoive une enveloppe un peu tard dans le parti demain, aussi, parce que certains immortels n'ont jamais quitté la scène du stylo et du papier. BBC Breakfast était en arrière-plan, et il le regardait depuis six heures, se familiarisant avec les gros titres. -- Oui, je sais, dit-il à son téléphone de travail après qu'il l'ait laissé sonner trois fois, mais avant de le prendre. Inévitablement, la conversation de son côté s'est déroulée comme : « Oui, oui, je le vois. Oui, ça va être une journée chargée. Attendez, avez-vous dit Helsing? Comme les films?" Il a toujours dit qu'avoir une poignée d'amis dans le Collectif était utile s'il voulait entendre les nouvelles trente secondes après qu'il ait été diffusé, mais c'était quelque chose de nouveau, et il a retourné son attention à son ordinateur portable, en parcourant les vidéos de chat les plus virales d'Internet jusqu'à ce qu'il voit l'écran sombre – "Helsing" – et a regardé le manifeste avec une grimace sur son visage. Génial. La discrimination massive a toujours été grande. Alistair ne se considérait pas particulièrement cultivé, mais il savait ce qui s'était passé aux États-Unis au siècle dernier (au moins) et avant cela il y avait eu des problèmes dans son pays d'origine, au cours de laquelle il avait été à Londres. Il semblait que l'histoire était vouée à se répéter, mais maintenant il deviendrait l'une des nombreuses cibles de celle-ci. "Non, non, tu as raison, je ne vais pas envoyer Megumi à l'école aujourd'hui... 'cos de la neige, aussi, ouais. Oh, ils sont fermés? "Fab." Alistair a aspiré dans une profonde respiration que le vampire de l'autre côté du téléphone a battu pendant quelques minutes de plus. "Merci de me l'avoir dit. Je viendrai vérifier les serrures dès que possible, alors, si vous êtes inquiet de vous faire chasser." Un cul à long vent. Il a glissé le téléphone sur la table avec un clunk et s'est incliné sur le canapé pendant quelques minutes, fermant les yeux jusqu'à ce qu'il soit sept heures. Il avait beaucoup à faire aujourd'hui, clairement – se présenter dans l'une de ses maisons de locataires pour inspecter une fenêtre cassée, changer ses propres serrures (de nouveau), se saouler de nouveau – ce qui signifiait qu'il devait commencer tôt, mais il ne pouvait pas vraiment le faire sans d'abord réveiller Megumi. En s'éloignant de son siège confortable, il s'est précipité dans les escaliers et a frappé sur sa porte de chambre, l'ouvrant juste une fissure aux couleurs vives à l'intérieur. "Megumi! Il est temps de se réveiller – les écoles sont à l'arrêt aujourd'hui! »

Basic Information | Name | Alistair Ruaraidh Queen | Date of Birth | December, 1324 | Gender | Male | Sexuality | Bisexual | Occupation | Landlord – Alistair owns a great deal of property in Edgetoun, and has done for about a century. This passive income, as well as close to seven centuries worth of savings, allows him to spend more time socialising, schmoozing and collecting rare occult texts (the likes of which impoverished student witches can only dream of). | In-Depth Appearance | Alistair was changed in his mid-to-late twenties (the uncertainty natural for vampires of his era or older) and as a result has been frozen at such an age for close to seven centuries. While he lived a haggard life and doesn't appear too baby-faced, he does attempt to look older for reasons of respect. Generally he does so by wearing easy business suits, woolen jumpers with checkered shirts underneath; by letting his stubble grow out and furrowing his brows enough so that dark lines form between them; and, of course, the reading glasses that are only present during the day when he's not having fun. He stands at about 5'9" – tall for his time period of malnutrition and famine and illness but only slightly above-average nowadays in Britain. A lean build betrays an upbringing where food wasn't plentiful, and might also explain the way he abstains from drinking blood for at least a week before chowing down on some poor ICU patient in a hospital. With blonde hair, brown eyes and a jawline to die for, Alistair can definitely be considered ruggedly handsome. Pale skin doesn't look too unusual in London, and he's more than experienced in smirking in just the right way so as to hide his elongated fangs. Alistair hides the bite scar on his neck from when he was turned with a variety of turtle-necks and scarves, though he does have other ones from his time working for the Collective. Did you know he's been run through with a sword in the very distant past? Am I? | Personality | ♦ Aloof ♦ Dreamer ♦ Flirtatious ♦ Self-Deprecating ♦ Alistair has always been ambitious for as long as he can remember. When he was impoverished, illiterate and very likely to die young, he wanted more; when he was making a name for himself in the vampire community, he wanted more; when he was middle-class; when he was rich; when he was a socialite... Nothing ever satisfies him: he's chasing dreams of his youth and can be seen as quite greedy as a result. There is no doubt an aspect to his life goals that is largely hedonistic. When he's charitable (which is quite often, actually) it's more for his sake, to make himself feel good. He's the first person to admit all of this – he tends not to have a positive view of himself and is actually quite self-aware. "You miss 100% of every shot you don't take." This is certainly something Alistair lives by, hence his tendency to flirt shamelessly and without reservation and take risks in his private and professional lives. It's also what is prompting him to come out as a vampire to the public, joining the small number providing interviews and information. He is curious, and he does believe the best of humanity for now. Despite being warm and friendly and on occasion humorous, Alistair hold his cards close to his chest. He likes to know more about other people than they know about him, and is not very forthcoming on answering personal questions without a good reason to do so. He much prefers to change the subject, or question the other person instead. He is a good listener, with a long memory when it counts: he'll remember someone's favourite movie and why he's holding a grudge against them at the same time. | Likes & Dislikes | ✔ Historical movies and documentaries (the more wrong, the better). ✔ Alcohol. Getting utterly pissed at least two nights a week. ✔ Kids. ✔ Drinking lots of blood – particularly from the terminally ill. ✔ The invention of electricity. ✔ The invention of Tinder. ✔ 1960s culture and film and especially music. ✔ Trashy erotica novels targeted at women and ancient manuscripts, equally. ✘ Dhampires – it's not fair that they die so fast. ✘ Wars. World Wars, supernatural wars, everything to do with conflict. ✘ English bank notes (the Scottish ones look nicer). ✘ Aristocracy, as old habits die hard. ✘ Illness, disease and death of loved ones. ✘ Journalists and the Media, especially with current events. ✘ Similarly, liars. | History | If asked, Alistair remembers very little about his human life – the only time when his memory has failed him yet – but in reality he is quite reluctant to talk about it. Born in the 1300s, he was neither rich or middle-class and could instead have been considered the very bottom of the barrel. His mother was a prostitute, suffering from ill-health for most of her life, and thus Alistair was raised communally, left to wander the streets as he liked. He was kicked out at age eight, a year before his mother died, and spent most of the rest of his life as a gutter rat, picking pockets and stealing to live (and for fun). He would have died from the bubonic plague, something he avoided until the very end of the period it was most virulent in, if it hadn't been for a vampire looking to bolster his forces. His preference for sickly blood arose here, because as a fledgeling, he was allowed only to feed from the very worst people on the way up to the Highlands to fight a war with other vampires. Said war he glosses over, except the fact he ran from it (joining the opposite side, a young Northern Alliance) and was stabbed. Twice. Alistair stuck around with the northern vampires for a good fifty years, becoming useful to the at-the-time leader and making a bit of a name for himself, but he decided that a life of petty politics and infighting and enforcing the rules of vampirekind wasn't for him, and moved down south to join the Collective... which was more of the same thing. Still, while in London, he learned how to read and write – skills he was long overdue in requiring – and although he left yet another large organisation after only a few decades, he found a home in the sprawling capital. So, over the centuries he acquired wealth from working in a variety of professions, rarely for more than a few years. At one point he was a diplomat for the King which made it all the easier to hide his aging, especially when he was on the other side of the world. In the 19th century in particular he became something of a well-known figure, generous to supernatural creatures who had found themselves to one of the most powerful countries in the world and calmer than he had been in years previous. He worked as a teacher for a while in a non-public school, acquired land in Edgetoun (before it was a London borough) and spent most of the rest of his money. 20th and 21st century, other than siring a few dhampire children by accident, has been spent collecting old relics of the past – of his past – and magical textbooks. When the Other were revealled recently, he had to deal with his daughter (who shares the same surname as him) coming out as a dhampire and explaining what it means to be one on live television as well as rehouse a few of his tenants for privacy reasons. | Family | Louis Queen, 35 – Son, a dhampire who lives on the other side of London that Alistair sees infrequently. Seems to have distanced himself as much as is possible from the whole supernatural dealings, although strained phone calls have revealed that health issues related to his half-breed status are finally catching up to him. Lorna Queen, 16 – Daughter, another dhampire who lives with her mother, a prominent journalist for the BBC. Alistair still has visitation rights, which he tries his best to make use of in his spare time. His daughter was interviewed as a part of the initial outbreak of moral panic at the reveal. Otherwise, he has two ex-girlfriends, both amazingly still alive thanks to the wonders of modern medicine, and in the past has had quite a few more children, all of which died before their time due to the perils of being a dhampire. | Strengths | Well-read and knowledgeable of the history of the supernatural (especially vampires). Tries his best to stay connected to the occult population of Edgetoun, and London as a whole. A long history of enforcing the rules of the Collective on unruly and unforgivable vampires. | Weaknesses | Pacifistic – refuses to admit that sometimes there are situations that words can't get you out of. Even though he collects them, he doesn't like to call in favours or accept any help whatsoever. Does everything solo. Likes humanity, if in a bit of a condescending way, and can't conscience doing wrong by them. Other | Theme Song | Winter Sound – Of Monsters and Men ”Stop, you're cold against the skin Take me in your arms when walls are closing in And I run, I run, I run, awakening my heart But you overwhelm my lungs and it's tearing me a-part.” | House Number | 19 Avalon Point – A large-ish house with a sizable back garden that he moved into eight years ago or so. 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, and one of the bedrooms he tends to rent out to a supernatural in need. | Extra Information | Speaks and understand several languages (French, Gàidhlig, German, Japanese) but can only read and write in English. Blake Preston "I own the house she rents. It feels a wee bit unethical to watch her YouTube videos." Alistair didn't even know earning a living with homemade videos was even possible before he met his tenant, unless one was in a certain industry (Nikita, please). While Blake skipped on rent a few times, paid it late on others, he always let it slide easily and without further reproach – something a lot of landlords might not have done. Maybe it was because he had a soft-spot for go-getting entrepreneurs or maybe it was for a pretty face; who knows? Daniel Belson "Do you think if I recite the Lord's Prayer he'll sneeze? 'Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name...'" You can take a boy out of the church but you can't quite shake the catechism from his blood. Alistair doesn't consider himself to be rather Christian, or really religious at all, really, but he hides behind the debt he owes to the church itself for keeping him alive and from the clutches of starvation so he could reach an age to die of the plague. Demons like Daniel make him feel uneasy, perhaps because they bring with them reminders that he was taught to avoid sin and vices – and, as a poor child with not a penny to his name, especially envy. Mariska Costas "Believe it or not, sometimes I like to live life like the upper class. Listening to jazz is part and parcel of that, isn't it?" Generally, Alistair likes to know what everyone around him is, supernatural-wise. He can pick out a normal human from a distance, mostly based on how nice their blood is, but sometimes there's tricky ones like Mariska. He's certain she's not a vampire, but that's all he knows, other than that he heard her first when she was making her debut in lounges in the 1930s. One day, he tells himself, he'll chase her up to find out what she actually his. 'Curiosity killed the cat,' is a warning that stays forever in his mind. Nikita Yankovsky "So, Nikita is a policewoman now. At least if it doesn't work out she has a new uniform to use in her 'day job'. Authentic." Alistair likes Nikita, in a completely unromantic way. Friend, friend with benefits – what's the difference? There never used to be one in the 19th century, or at least not in his social group. There is some hope that his own position as a supernatural pariah (when it inevitably comes out into the open like airing a dusty cupboard) doesn't affect hers. She seems to be doing quite well for herself, for a demon. It might seem shallow, but he considers that the only reason they wouldn't work out. Alistair is well-aware that he is apprehensive as fuck around demons. Mordred Hame "I might have liked his music when I was an angsty thirteen year old with nothing to live for. Now that I mention it..." If asked, Alistair will say that it is greatest shame that he once listened to Mordred Hame's music. It's not bad, objectively, but it's not his "scene", his "jam" or whatever it is the kids are calling it these days. That they play it in those alternative clothing stores that he just so happened to be in to buy a cute backpack for Megumi was enough of a dose for him. Small quantities of this music only, please, as it should be. On a more serious note, he worries that it's going to give bad preconceptions to the supernatural community. John Taylor "What the fuck is he..?" Okay, so nobody ever said that Alistair wasn't a drama queen, but the point still stands. John is one of his tenants (Faraday Heights, 28A if he remembers correctly) and... somewhat human? But not edible? But disgusting for no apparent reason? Alistair trusts his senses for the most part: they let him know if someone close to him has a terminal illness; they let him know when there's a meal to be had in the area and not the home-cooked kind, but they simply don't function as they should around John – not if he's a normal human. Which he can't be. He can't be. Eve Lumière "Now there's a lust demon if ever I saw one. Rooming with Blake Preston. Not going to think too hard on that one." Eve's an ironic name for a demon, isn't it? That was the first thing he noticed when he met her, because obviously he had experience enough with Nikita to know one almost by sight. The bar she works in isn't the best – I should know, I own the building – but usually when I drop by I'm tipsy enough so as not to complain. I like her, but she's French. That's just begging the question, even if half-hearted: 'Voulez-vous couchez avec moi, ce soir?" Opallum "He's not human, is he? It's a shame, but even some of our own fall through the cracks." Alistair is naturally curious: is it an addiction problem? Is it a matter of pride? Is it incompatibility with the modern world moving on from whenever the guy – the Other – was born? He could help with any of that, just like he always slips a tenner into a cup when he sees a homeless person begging on the streets. Soft-hearted? No, not really, but he knew what it was like in a time before warm jackets and a good chance of a warm meal everyday. He can sympathise. Andrew Mordekai "I swear to God – or whatever ones he worships – if that activist group turns sour. I'm done with London." Alistair has seen enough peaceful protests in his life go sour that he has a natural distrust for activist groups. While hearing that one wants to represent him is heart-warming really, from what he's seen of the witch (always from afar) and heard of from a friend in the magical circles, someone who's an elemental mage with a talent for fire of all things shouldn't be the leader. Volatile, very volatile. He'll be watching that movement, and a small part of him is expecting arson from it. Suriel White "Dr. White, we have a problem! There's a patient going into cardiac arrest in Ward 3. Cause of death: exsanguination by my hand." Alistair is deeply, deeply sorry for his loss of control. The event happened almost two years ago, an inability to control his bloodlust after a long period of abstinence, and it was a coma patient who suffered – their family losing out on having their last moments with them. He remembers very little for that night, having slipped behind a curtain with a bunch of flowers to pretend he was in the area to visit another patient shortly after his accident to watch the affair, and Dr. White was one of them. Not human. He hopes the good doctor didn't see him then. Miles Catrose "I cut my own hair because I'm thrifty – is this guy a good alternative? Anybody know?" Write what they actually think about this character here. Yukiko Abe "I know she's not as young as she looks, but how old? It gets hard to tell after a certain point, usually when you stop counting birthdays.." Write what they actually think about this character here. Mona "Dead. Young, too, by the looks of it. Just a kid." Alistair believes in ghosts. He sees her wandering around every so often, and he rents out the flat to Felix Underwood, so he knows of this Mona's prolonged existence. A part of him is morbidly curious around ghosts. When you've lived as long as he has, questions of the after-afterlife begin to pop up, because technically (by church standards) Alistair is already dead. Will he end up like her after somebody shanks him? Probably not – his life is fulfilling enough and he's certain he won't leave anything behind as a vampire anyway. He wonders what Mona's unresolved issue is. Faron Romane "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Nicolas Black "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Maggie Spencer-Adyemi "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Megumi "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Katharine Haynes "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Elise Callaghan "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Claire O'Malley "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Barachiel Alexander Eamon "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Ethan Cooper "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Alfie Liau "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Michael Harel "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Emerson Maddox "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Talia Halbrook "What your character will say out loud about them." Write what they actually think about this character here. Loki Van Stenberg "I'm just waiting for the day the police show up at my door asking me where he is, and I have to lie and say I'm not hiding him." Alistair is a pacifist: he prefers words to actions, diplomacy to force, socialism, freedom of speech but not the freedom to harm others... But he hasn't always been like that. Loki's a "tad" older than him, most likely smarter than him, and for the longest time, Alistair was a little starstruck – especially shortly after their first meeting many centuries ago. Ambition ran in his blood back then, and he always did learn by rote, or mimicry. For a time, Alistair copied Loki, became just as violent as him; twice as bloody. He grew out of that when he learned to read, properly, and broke free enough to start making a name for himself in different fields. Alistair is a firm believer that despite his disinterest in bloodshed and violence, and his hope that the worlds of the supernatural and humanity will one day merge, he is not incompatible with his once best friend, with whom he had the foolish, almost childish belief of taking on the world. After all, Alistair is nothing if not dedicated, and no matter how much he dislikes killing, he would for Loki. That's what best mates are for. That, and banter. Aiden Phillips "I turned him. I always did have a thing for blondes." Write what they actually think about this character here.

Dr Suriel White Lieu: Edgetoun Memorial Hospital Interagir avec : le personnel hospitalier et les patients L'hôpital fonctionnait comme la plupart des hôpitaux le font. Les médecins et les infirmières se précipitèrent dans les couloirs, les voix murmurèrent des chambres et des lobbies, les moniteurs cardiaques et d'autres machines bipèrent violemment, et la puanteur persistante de l'antiseptique remplit l'air. L'environnement était assez chaotique pour qu'il puisse presque vous distraire de ce que cet endroit était vraiment: un foyer pour les malades et les mourants. Ce serait la manière pessimiste de penser, mais Suriel considérait cela comme le meilleur moyen de guérir les corps et les âmes. C'était le matin du jeudi 9 janvier 2020. À 10 h, Suriel était dans leur dernier quart de la semaine. Après avoir suspendu un stéthoscope autour de leur cou, Suriel a suivi le flux des corps vers le bas de l'aile B de l'hôpital. L'aile B était largement connue par le personnel de l'hôpital comme étant l'aile « gériatrique », car la plupart des patients âgés y étaient gardés dans les lits. Les collègues les plus morbides l'appelaient la « rangée de la mort »... Suriel ferma volontiers les remarques insensibles et cruelles lorsqu'ils étaient exposés à eux. Pourquoi une neurochirurgie résidait dans l'aile gériatrique? Eh bien, il y avait un patient d'intérêt neurologique particulier ici. Madame la Présidente. Oswald, comment allez-vous ce matin.L'ange a demandé d'un ton apaisant qui a fait penser au lait chaud et au miel avant de se coucher. Suriel a vérifié les cartes de la femme avant de prendre place à côté d'elle. Mme Oswald regardait absent à Suriel avec des yeux gris qui n'étaient que des échos d'une nuance bleue autrefois brillante. La vieille femme était belle, Suriel pouvait voir que - l'ange pouvait voir cette femme à chaque étape de sa vie, tout à la fois, même la dernière. La femme a parlé avec un lilet confus à sa voix. Pour quoi faire, Mme Oswald?" Suriel a demandé, peut-être que c'était un signe de progrès, peut-être qu'elle se souvenait de quelque chose. Pour que mon Johnny rentre de la guerre. Mme Oswald a craqué. Les yeux de Suriel s'adoucissent et ils placent leur main sur les vieilles femmes. Johnny était en effet le fils de Mme Oswald, mais il n'avait jamais été dans une guerre. Il était mort 10 ans auparavant dans un accident de voiture, survécu par sa fille et sa femme. C'était une de ces situations moralement ambiguës quand il s'agissait des patients d'Alzheimer... était-il préférable de les corriger sans égard aux dommages émotionnels, ou d'encourager leur illusion en la reconnaissant? Suriel n'a choisi aucune option, de tels choix ont été trop difficiles pour même un corps céleste comme eux - mêmes à faire. Vous avez un visiteur qui arrive aujourd'hui, Mme Oswald. Lisa sera bientôt là. » Suriel a dit dans l'espoir que cela pourrait égayer son humeur sombre. « Qui? » Mme Oswald a demandé, la confusion obscurcissant encore une fois ses caractéristiques. "Tu es petite-fille, Johnny"s petite fille." Suriel a expliqué chaudement. Mme Oswald a hurlé, mais le moindre froncement s'est emparé de ses lèvres - une tristesse malavisée pour le fils qui ne rentrerait jamais de la guerre. Suriel tapait doucement la main de la femme et l'étudiait. Une croix d'or accrochée à son cou. C'était le seul bijou qu'elle portait, et l'un d'eux a insisté pour qu'elle reste vêtue, malgré la confusion avec laquelle cette maladie l'avait maudite. Mme Oswald était une femme pieuse, et quand elle a rencontré sa fin terrestre dans ce lit même de l'hôpital, Suriel savait qu'elle monterait au royaume des Pères. Il n'y avait rien à faire pour l'ange que de lui apporter du réconfort dans ses derniers jours. Les infirmières seront bientôt là pour vous préparer à votre visite. » Suriel a dit et s'est levé de la chaise. Je m'arrêterai de nouveau avant la fin de mon quart pour m'assurer que vous allez bien.Ça a suffi pour faire sourire la femme. Elle a attrapé la main de Suriel avant qu'ils puissent s'en aller. Tu es un bon garçon. Vous allez faire un bon médecin un jour. » Mme Oswald a dit et a ensuite libéré son emprise sur le poignet de Suriel. Merci, Mme Oswald... Suriel a dit avec un sourire lumineux avant de tourner leur attention à la télévision chier avec les nouvelles du matin dans le coin de la salle. Il semblait que la récente tempête de neige était grâce aux Fae. Les fae étaient... intéressantes. Les prières étaient comme un mélange séculaire entre les anges et les démons. Suriel n'était pas tout à fait sûr de ce qu'ils ressentaient à leur sujet, et ils n'étaient pas certains de ce qu'ils ressentaient à propos des autres dont on parlait si ouvertement. Les seules personnes qui connaissaient le statut angélique de Suriel étaient celles qui pouvaient le comprendre, principalement d'autres eux-mêmes, et ils espéraient le garder ainsi jusqu'à ce que leur tâche ici soit accomplie. Suriel a filmé la télé à Mme Oswald's favorite, la station de cuisine, avant de sortir de la pièce. Suriel avait une chirurgie cérébrale supervisée à préparer pour à 11:00 qui prendrait la majorité du reste de leur quart. Au cas où vous vous demandiez, oui, les anges peuvent se sentir nerveux, et cette opération à venir les a eus se sentir très bien.

Loki Vampire Basic Information | Name | Loki Van Stenberg The former name he was born with, kind of, the latter was chosen most recently because he liked the dramatic flair. He moves around a lot, mostly keeping to Europe, and changes his name with every move. Aliases/Nicknames include: Low Key, Kingpin, and the Trickster | Date of Birth | Born to a Vikingar couple in the Summer of 830, give or take a few decades. His most current falsified documentation lists July 13th, 1992, though. | Gender | Male | Sexuality | Primarily heterosexual, though living as long as he has, he’s dabbled elsewhere to spice things up. | Occupation | Legal Profession? He is a Senior Chemist at the research lab in Redbridge, earned a bonafide PhD and everything! He has a passion for the sciences. Having a well-paying job like this makes for a good cover on how he really got the fancy cars and mansion up on Avalon Point. Real Profession? Loki runs the London underground. Narcotics, hallucinogens, uppers, downers, you name it! If it exists, Low Key has a man running the stuff on the streets. And the Kingpin doesn’t just cater to the humans, hell no, he’s got the stuff to get the Sups just as fucked up. He has just plain ol’ blood too, for those too morally weak to do their own hunting, but willing enough to look the other way on how said blood was obtained in the first place. Loki’s real pride and joy, though, is O-neg. Being a vampire scientist with unlimited access to state-of-the-art laboratory equipment, Loki figured out a way to genetically and chemically alter human blood so that it gives vampires the effect of being high - a previously unattainable state for vampires, aside from the very mild effects one could gain from tainted blood. Pressed into tiny red tablets emblazoned with an ‘O’, O-neg does different things for different vamps; For some it feels like ecstasy, some just pot, and some experience hallucinations like with acid. O-neg could take you all the way up to the clouds, and then promptly let you crash through the floorboards. It’s the real deal, and when you’re working with vampire lifespans and immunities, what the hell else do you have to do with your time? Come on, you know you want to try it... | In-Depth Appearance | Devilishly handsome, is that enough? No? Okay then. With soulful blue eyes and a tidy crop of chestnut curls, one might almost be convinced that Loki is innocent. But that ever present five o’clock shadow and crooked smirk betray that he is up to absolutely no good, just like the god he was named for. He stands at 5’11” with a toned and muscular build, but not overly so. Appearances are of utmost importance to the viking - old habits die hard, I guess - and as such, he is hardly ever seen without at least a two piece suit, or a lab coat, if he’s working. Scars? Aye, he got a few of them raiding and trading his way across the Scandinavian homelands back in his human years, but most are easily hidden by his apparel. Who Am I? | Personality | ♦ Flirtatious ♦ Manipulative ♦ Logical ♦ Hot-headed ♦ Loki is double-edged sword, simply put. Listening to him talk is easy, a trait that made him a good college professor in his past lives. He is very intelligent and tells some of the best stories you’ve ever heard - who knows how true some of them are, though. And, hell, he could charm the pants off of just about anyone; Can, and has, most likely. Even with boatloads of charisma, he can be quite the egotistical dick sometimes. It is glaringly obvious that his own favorite person is, indeed, himself. And though vikings are known for having treated most people relatively equally long before it was the popular opinion, Loki can come off as a bit of a chauvinist. But hey, nobody’s perfect, and that’s something the Trickster never strived to be. If you can sand down those abrasive, crusty edges, you’ll find a real softy inside Loki. He just wants what everyone else wants: to have people truly care about him. | Likes & Dislikes | ✔A thick, hoppy brew ✔Having drinks with his best mates ✔Getting high, but only occasionally ✔Living in luxury ✔Blondes ✔Gingers too ✔Learning other languages ✔Calling women luv and doll, regardless of how well he knows them ✔Himself ✘Mead, Drink of the Gods or not, the shit tastes like candied piss ✘The French… no real reason why there ✘Unkempt people ✘Religion, as a vampire and as a scientist ✘The telly ✘People who can’t keep secrets ✘Humans, most of the time ✘That hideous mockery Marvel has made of his namesake | History | This section could go on for pages, but brevity is in fact the soul of wit. Flóki Björnsson was born to a jarl and his wife in 9th century in the lands now known as Sweden. Growing up in the Vikingar lifestyle was as much as one might expect: tough, violent, bloody, but also noble, adventurous, and enriching. Vikingar ideals make up a lot of who Loki is today, and don’t believe all the clichés and stereotypes you hear about the Vikings, they aren’t the savages history books paint them to be. Flóki’s human life ended in a brutal battle across the sea in what is now Poland. It was a warriors death that would make his father proud, and earn his place in the halls of Valhalla, or Fólkvangr, he wasn’t picky. At least, that wouldn’t have been the case, if he hadn’t woken up after, bloodied in a field among his fallen brothers and sisters with a burning thirst in his throat unlike any he’d ever known. Naturally, he went on to murder the nearest living, breathing thing… or ten. And the rest, they say, is history! In modern times, Loki makes his mark by finding new ways to turn heads in different locations around the world. Every few years, mostly when people might start to question why he isn’t aging, Loki moves and takes on a new name and identity. He takes his business and the money it makes with him, of course, and though his legal surname changes, his aliases remain, as does his first name. Low Key is not fond of the mass outing of the supernaturals, preferring to keep his nature like his business, underground. Nothing good can come of the humans knowing about the Others, not that he feared them. No, they were a fickle race that was likely to bring about their own demise just to get there point across… and that would make finding a good meal a hell of a lot harder. | Family | Jarl Björn, father, died in battle. Jarl Ragna, mother, died shortly after, giving birth to Loki’s sister. Frida Björnsson, sister, unknown… | Strengths | The quintessential businessman Quick thinker, and often correct in that thinking With age comes wisdom | Weaknesses | Flounders when not in absolute control of a situation. Acute paranoia, well, maybe not so acute. Prone to violent outbursts when pushed too far. The Other | Theme Songs | The Dope Show – Marilyn Manson ”The drugs they say make us feel so hollow We love in vain, narcissistic and so shallow … There's a lot of pretty, pretty ones That want to get you high But all the pretty, pretty ones Will leave you low and blow your mind” | House Number | 36 Avalon Point | Extra Information | Want to know more? I guess you have to come figure that out. Loki Van Stenberg Blake Preston "Ahh, the Youtuber. I suppose it’s a good a way as any for a pretty girl to make a penny." I like blondes, but tend to keep away from the human ones… especially when they can’t keep their noses out of business that clearly isn’t any of theirs. Her interest are apt to get killed one day, not that I care. Daniel Belson "Now this one is a real master of his craft. I’ve spent many a night with my mates whilst he tended bar." Seems like a decent bloke. I don’t know him well, but I’ve always enjoyed the company of demons. Plus, I think he’s one of the few men in this city that could match me in a drinking contest. Alistair Queen "What good is a King without a Queen?" Handsome, well-dressed, ambitious… hell, it’s basically like looking in a mirror. What can I say? He’s my best mate, and has been for a few lifetimes. He runs things above ground while I, well, he’s the only one outside of my force that knows what I really do. Mariska Costas "Does someone smell… fish?" Jokes aside, I don’t have much to say about this one. She has a nice enough voice, good background music when drinkin’ at the pub. Nikita Yankovsky "Wonder why she traded in the fuzzy cuffs for real ones..." Yeah, I don’t like cops. Three guesses as to why. She seems like one of the better ones though, probably smokes pot on her days off. While she isn’t really my type, I’d be up for a little roleplay session. “I’ve been a real bad boy, Officer!” Mordred Hame "Great talent, but what is with that hair?" Another demon, yeah, this city is crawling with them - most are, what better places to rustle up some chaos? Viking Metal is my genre of choice, naturally, and Cloak of Shame is among the best metal bands London has to offer. John Taylor "Again with the hair, I don’t get it." He did my latest tattoo, the eagle on my shoulder here. Great work, in all honesty. I’ll definitely be going back to him for my next piece. Eve Lumière "Uggh, the French. Don’t get me started." That accent almost makes the drinks taste bad. Drop dead gorgeous though, so it’s always worth the visit. I wonder what she’s like in bed, hopefully quiet. Catharine Reid "Girl knows how to run a business, I can appreciate that." The vampires in this city pretty much all know of each other. I like her spicy personality, should get to know her even better. I’m sure we’d be chums in no time. Opallum "Untapped potential, what a shame." I’ve had my eye on this one. Many of my men went from rags to riches under my employ. Hopefully he’ll accept my offer, I always have use for a man who knows his way around the streets. Plus, I know he has junkie friends. Andrew Mordekai "He makes a real strong, HOT cuppa!" Blood, Booze, and Tea. Those are the beverages of choice listed in order of importance. Mr. Mordekai makes takes care of the third every morning before I head to the lab. The real lab, in Redbridge. Just to clarify... Suriel White "What the fuck is that?" Listen, I’m all for doing whoever you please. But the kids these days with their LGBTXYZ alphabet-soup personalities! Honestly, is that a man? A woman? Don’t confuse me like that, mate! I don’t want to have to guess about what’s in your trousers... Miles Catrose "He’s a local hairstylist. He gave me a cut once, I won’t be hurrying back any time soon." Not because he wasn’t good, no. Faeries just smell like pudding. Delicious… irresistible pudding. I’m glad I didn’t fang out and devour him then, that would have totally blown my cover. I’m not looking to pack up and change my name again, London suits me. I keep my distance from this kid for both our sakes, even though one of my men is his dealer. Yukiko Abe "I saw her at the shop where I got my ink. She’s one of the other artists… I think she owns the place too." That isn’t all I know about her. Alistair told me about her. She is playing Mum to London’s Youngest Vampiress. Too cute. Mona "Looks… familiar." Though, I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of meeting this one. Faron Romane "That shop he works at screams witchcraft, I’m surprised the bigots haven’t torched it." Pothead kids are a dime a dozen around here, but I can’t complain. Business such as his pays from my morning cuppa from Andrew, every little bit counts! Nicolas Black "Good Afternoon, Detective Black." *cue devilish smirk* A cop and a werewolf. I’ll keep my distance, wouldn’t want him shedding on my new Kiton… or sniffing about my rear. Maggie Spencer-Adyemi "She works at the plant nursery where I bought those succulents over there." *gestures to cacti* I don’t know much else about her. Smells human, but possibly a witch. You get a keen eye for picking things like that out when you’re this old. Megumi "That’s Ali’s ward… Kids aren’t really my thing." That’s a lie. I think she’s adorable… but definately creepy. It’s hard to believe that she’s as old as she is, with the bouncing around and primary school bit. She definitely livens up Alistair’s cliché abode, though… well, I’m not sure livens up is the right phrase, given that neither of them are really alive. Stefani Roche "Looks familiar… ahh, yes! She was the receptionist at the tattoo parlor." There she is, London’s Youngest Vampiress. Pretty as a peach, she is. Alistair gave her a few pointers on “Vamp life”. I wouldn’t mind giving her a pointer or two myself. In due time... Ari Amari "Ari’s another close mate of mine." I met the Sphinx when he moved in a few blocks down. He’s one of my best paying customers, though he doesn’t know that he is essentially buying the stuff from me. What can I say? Anonymity is everything to me and, though he’s always fun to party with, I don’t know that I can trust him just yet - especially if the blimey bastard think the Egyptian gods are better than the Norse, that’s some fine coke yer snortin’, mate! Katharine Haynes "Hmmm..." Is that the girl who works with Andrew? Or is she from the other shop… I can’t remember. Felix Underwood "I’ve seen her at the library on occasion." Judging from the pentagram jewelry and thick cloud of incense about her, I’m pegging this one as a witch too. That, or she’s a human wannabe witch. I don’t know what would be worse... Elise Callaghan *Hums one of her compositions* What can I say? Classical music is the only vampire cliché I indulge. Okay… maybe it’s not the only one. That’s, that’s beside the point! She’s lovely. A bit curious that she doesn’t speak, what’s that about? Maybe it’s just part of her stage persona... Claire O'Malley "This one is Irish, I’m guessing." I don’t know her well, I’ve just seen her and all her freckles at the grocery store once or twice. Barachiel Alexander Eamon "Ugh, what an awful suit… he must have gotten it from a charity bin." I don’t know him other otherwise. Gods, man, were you even trying to look good? Ethan Cooper "..." This stranger is surprisingly attractive. Alfie Liau "Oh, Alfie! I like Alfie." Some vampires are just a hoot to be around, and he’s one of them. I’ve never seen him mope about what he is, unlike most ‘monsters’, and I adore his “grab life by the balls” attitude. I’m glad we’re neighbors, and friends. Astrid Kitchener "She works at that bistro nearby." I’d rather make a meal of her than be served one by her. Very pretty girl, woefully human. Michael Elior Harel "Stopped in his Record shop once before… piss poor selection." That’s not true. I’m just not a fan of “God’s warriors”. I miss the days of old, when the gods displayed their power and might by walking among men. Angels are nothing but egotistical pricks. Aila Atleo "I don’t know her, sorry." What? I’m not lying, I really don’t know her. Should I? Emerson Maddox "Can’t trust a lawyer...." He’s too young and far too cocky to be a good lawyer. And no, I’m not anti-lawyer by any means. In my line of work, you need to have a few friends that know their way through and around the law. How do you think I get my fake papers every few years? Maybe if I get arrested locally and need help in a pinch - which could happen, admittedly - I’ll use my phone call to ring him. How could you not remember that number, what with the annoying jingle the telly plays on his commercial… all the more reason to not watch the telly. Talia Halbrook "That’s the doll that sold me this lovely home." She’s easy on the eyes, too bad she’s not a lust demon. Liam Woodsworth "What a life? Yes, that was sarcasm." I can't pretend to know what it's like do be a Dhampire. It seems gods awful, I can't believe Ali managed to bring kids like him into the world. Weak, sickly creatures... I hope I haven't made any! Shit... I should be more careful. Anyway, there are those who know how to party, and those who take it too far. I'm sure you can guess where this bloke falls on that spectrum. Freddie Milton Hughes-Jackson. "He's new in town, works at the same library as that bird we talked about earlier." Freddie may be the only witch in town that I don't mind. I've only chatted him up a time or two, but he doesn't seem as flippant as some of the other witches, and I can tell he's a good study. Despite all it's fantastical mysticism, magic is a science that deserves just as much study, dedication, and practice as any other. It's never a bad idea to have at least one witch in per city on my side, he just might shape up to be my London Witch. Ryan Croft "Those glasses are... what's the word for that style? Hipster? Yeah, I think that's it." Head of the five-0 and an angel? He just might be the worst bloke in this city. I'll pass on any false pleasantries here. It's best that he doesn't ever see my face... something tells me he'd just know if he did. Too risky. Aiden Lewis Phillips "He's hit on me at the pub before, along with practically everyone else there." Aiden's a nice enough bloke. Pretty young for a vampire, but has a brilliant mind. It's nice to be able to hold an intelligent, scientific conversaion with him. We aren't best mates by any means, but we've only just met. Eternity Loveless "Hmmm. Can I keep this picture?" *smirks* Never met her, but I'm really hoping that changes. Love the hair. Patrick Kershner "You know how you can sometimes tell what a person is like just by looking at them? Well... he looks boring." He's also another werewolf on the police force. Why the hell do I like living here again? I guess this is one way to make eternity pass by in an interesting manner... Nicodem Kaminski "Oh, Nic... I don't think he likes me much." Yeah, we met quite a few years back. We played a game of poker and I made out with a good sum of his money. He didn't take too kindly to that. Now he's a police commissioner where I currently live. Whoops? Anastasia 'Alison' Psomas "Is that the best photo you could get of her? She looks... tired." But that's just my shallow first impression, I don't know this girl. Maybe she's a dhampire? She kinda has that 'run ragged' look going on. Or maybe she's a junkie... James Bright "Looks like he's just a high school kid." I've never seen him around before.

Emplacement: 25B Hauteurs de Faraday Interagir avec: Felix Les fantômes n'ont pas dormi. Des nuits sans fin ont rappelé à Mona ce fait crucial. Des nuits sans fin, sans fin. Elle pouvait mémoriser les couleurs du ciel avec combien de fois elle le regardait pendant le crépuscule, elle pouvait énumérer chaque nuance d'obscurité trouvée ci-dessus; le rouge-violet du crépuscule, le bleu-noir de neuf heures du matin, les reflets violet et rose de la lumière de la planète qui se formait juste à l'heure des sorcières. Et puis le matin viendrait, le soleil convoqua les plus belles nuances de blanc, de rose et de bleu. Des nuages rayés parsemaient ces beaux matins, des images que Mona pourrait assembler dans une autre rêverie. De magnifiques matins ont conduit à des pensées magnifiques, et des jours paresseux. Mais aujourd'hui n'était pas un beau matin. Alors que Mona traçait les nuages d'orage blanc-gris au-dessus, elle soupirait. Ils n'avaient pas déménagé depuis la fin de la nuit dernière, et elle avait passé son insomnie à ne rien regarder. Gray n'était pas une jolie couleur, c'était ennuyeux et familier, parce qu'elle aussi partageait un tel ton. Monochrome, ennuyeux. Où est ma jolie matinée? Mona se plaignit silencieusement alors que son dos pressait contre l'air à quelques pouces au-dessus du toit de Faraday Heights. La lumière avait finalement atteint leurs rues sombres et elle n'avait pas de bonnes choses à penser, ces matins banals étaient censés se plaindre! Dans un huff paresseux, le fantôme s'est levé, en se balançant sur rien alors qu'elle brillait dans les rues vides en bas. Les gens comme les créatures erraient là-bas assez tôt, mûrs pour l'imagination, mais maintenant rien qu'un frisson qu'elle ne pouvait se sentir dansée à travers le ciment. ennuyant ennuyant ennuyant Un bâillement paresseux s'est déplacé de ses lèvres, les séparant mais ne formant aucun bruit ou brume, et Mona s'est redressée haughtily avant de descendre dans le toit. Les chambres, les chambres et d'autres chambres brillaient devant elle, seulement un instant, et elle a juré qu'elle entendait quelques bruits choqués de quelques-uns d'entre eux. Bien sûr, voir une fille translucide descendre de votre plafond n'était pas ce que vous attendiez normalement le matin, mais vraiment ils devraient être habitués à cela! Mona n'était pas une pour avoir dit désolé, pas plus qu'elle n'était une pour rompre la routine. Ils criaient tous les deux jours! Un rire étouffé résonnait dans une maison non éclairée, puis elle était enfin à la maison, se reposant sur un canapé qu'elle avait placé là un mois environ avant. La chambre Mona dans le 25B était au mieux clairsemée. Le canapé bleu-blanc au-dessous d'elle était essentiellement le seul meuble, sauf pour une chaise en bois dans l'autre coin et un siège d'alcôve. Beaucoup d'endroits à s'asseoir, beaucoup d'endroits à rêver. Spray peint des murs blancs et divers livres et cartes constitué le reste de la pièce, tous trouvés, aller à elle, et Mona soupirait confortablement tandis qu'elle tournait et s'installait visiblement sur le canapé. Ses cheveux se fronçaient automatiquement au-dessus de sa tête, se déplaçant, se formant et bouillonnant comme s'ils étaient suspendus pour toujours dans l'eau. Elle a regardé l'effet tranquillement, peignant ses mains grises à travers les crans et les boucles pendant quelques longues minutes avant de s'asseoir et d'écouter les sons du reste de la maison. Felix était réveillé. Mona le savait parce que automatiquement ses oreilles ont commencé à sonner et son corps se sentait un peu plus lourd. Les médiums étaient bruyants, son esprit lui rappelait, et Mona soupirait et se hurlait dessus avant de dériver vers la porte. Elle l'ouvrit par politesse parce que, vraiment, elle aimait Felix, et ne voulait pas l'effrayer avec des apparences soudaines. Alors qu'elle errait dans la pièce principale de l'appartement, regardant dans l'attente pour le médium, sa voix douce et murmurante s'est formée et a demandé doucement, "Felix"? T'es réveillé? Lieu : 5631, avenue Spruce Interagir avec: Mlle Faron aimait les cigarettes le matin. Il aimait la façon dont ils ont goûté (abysses, fumées, craies), il aimait la façon dont ils sentaient. Il aimait la façon dont ils formaient des formes et des spirales pendant que la fumée quittait ses lèvres et disparaissait dans l'air froid de janvier. La seule chose qu'il détestait à leur sujet était, bien sûr, la façon dont ils étouffaient lentement ses poumons. Si Faron vivait trente, il serait surpris -- c'est combien de fois il fumait. Cependant, il a été facile de mettre de côté une pensée aussi sombre, car Faron a pris une autre traînée de la pédé et s'est penché plus loin par la fenêtre. Edgetoun était calme comme une tempête de neige brassée au-dessus. Faron savait seulement que c'était une tempête de neige à cause de l'ancienne radio assise à côté de lui, qui éclaboussait maintenant une chanson de pavot bizarre autour de craquements statiques. Il a pris une autre, plus longue traînée que les mots de la radio enterrés profondément dans sa tête, certainement l'intention de jouer pendant et pour le reste de la journée. Des chansons de vers d'oreille pourraient être damnées en enfer, Faron pensé avec un léger sourire, sucant dans une dernière bouffée que la cigarette est tombée dans la cendre entre ses doigts. La brume gris-noir qui s'est vaporisée du nez et de la bouche a rempli l'air complètement et, pendant un moment, Faron a juré qu'il voyait apparaître un visage. La radio s'est effondrée dans le bruit blanc, et des murmures ont rempli son esprit. Un fantôme qui cherche l'attention. fay fay fay fay fay fay fay fay fay fay Ils ont appelé, taquiner. Faron a regardé le changement de fumée avec chaque voyelle, une bouche courbée filant le nom sans fin. Il s'appuya dans sa main, agitant un doigt sur l'esprit alors qu'il tentait d'entrer dans sa chambre. - Oui, mademoiselle. Je ne peux pas te laisser entrer ici. Pourquoi ne pas passer pour l'instant? » Sa voix est sortie tendue et sans émotion, bien qu'un sourire amical ait gardé sa lumière du visage. La brume blanche s'échappa maintenant de ses lèvres, balayant dans l'esprit avec un autre vent froid qui le fit frissonner, et l'esprit se rétrécit les yeux fumés et devint aussi triste qu'ils pouvaient devenir. Encore une fois, les murmures pleuraient, fay fay fay fay fay fay fay fay fay fay fay fay fay fay fay Et encore Faron secoua la tête et se pencha de plus près, yeux sombres étincelant dans la demi-lumière du jour nuageux, J'ai des gens qui vivent avec moi, luv. Il n'y a plus de place pour un autre. Je suis certain que vous n'apprécieriez pas ma chambre non plus; je suis tout à fait boyish, si vous obtenez ce que je veux dire.L'esprit accroché indifféremment devant lui, le regardant suspectement, et puis un soupir formé à partir de la radio. Le bruit blanc a cessé, et l'esprit s'est enfoncé dans la tempête qui s'est accrochée entre les bâtiments. Elle ne passait pas, Faron le savait, mais elle l'ennuyait sans cesse. Il lui fit signe, souriant encore, puis elle partit dans une soudaine rafale d'air froid, prenant avec elle l'étrange sensation d'être regardée et le petit confort de ne pas avoir à écouter la musique pop du matin. Plus tard, Faron a appelé à l'air vide, tirant en arrière à l'intérieur et clignotant la fenêtre fermée. Il se retourna vers le centre de sa chambre encombrée, trébuchant sur les tapisseries et les manteaux tombés jusqu'à ce qu'il fût en mesure de s'installer sur le bord de son lit non fait. Neat mains patted chaleur et la vie de retour à ses épaules glacés, et Faron a allumé quelques bougies fondues avant de s'effondrer sur ses draps. E regarda l'horloge sur sa table de nuit, puis bâilla. Il était encore tôt. Je pourrais dormir encore une heure.

rudy will be placed here too when finished | Name | Mona | Date of Birth | Forgotten | Gender | Female | Sexuality | Homosexual | Occupation | Forgotten | In-Depth Appearance | "Huh, what? I do not look like the Mona Lisa!" Faceless at first glance, bland at the next. Mona is not particularly eye catching, to say the least. In her after-life she has assumed the often forgettable body of a ghost, appearing almost translucent and formless in certain lights. Even when her ghost-ness isn't notable, she is rather stark, baring the usual pale skin and dark hair of most Londoners. Full lips and white cheeks are often pulled back into a spacey grin, even if she has no reason to smile, and those close enough to view her face would be able to count the gathering of light freckles that bridge over her nose. If there were anything to notice about Mona, it would probably be her eyes. From afar they aren't much, just a dull hazel, but when hit by the light they burst into a mixture of blue and brown. Expressions and her true feelings play easily through her eyes, though she has yet to realize this fact about herself. Everything else above her face, from her gentle jaw to her wide forehead, is framed by a dark bob and hidden way behind bangs. Due to her ghost nature, every part of her body, excluding her eyes, is monochromatic. Mona is of average height, standing a mere five feet and four inches off the ground when standing, though she often floats a few extra inches to give the illusion of height. Of course, she is weightless, and even if she did have some depth it wouldn't be much due to her frail, thin figure. Her fashion sense is wildly uneventful, jeans, work boots, and graphic tees make up most of her after-life and she really wouldn't have it any other way. | Personality | ♦ Spacey ♦ Forgettable ♦ Dishonest ♦ Heart of Gold ♦ To describe Mona in words would be like giving a verbal personality to the wind itself. They both blow in and out of places with a single gust, sometimes silent, sometimes howling, always chilling. Those who are able to catch the breeze, perhaps by seeing the kicking up of leaves or the rustling of the branches above, are not often humbled or impressed by it. This very feeling goes towards Mona as well. She is unnervingly stark at first glance, so easily forgettable that most probably don't even mindlessly dream of her face like they would with other strangers. And her quiet, spacey attitude definitely doesn't help her blandness. She seems to find much more enjoyment in daydreaming than the ever sought human interaction most crave. Her mind, after all, is much more colorful than the dreary streets of London will ever be. Just because she is flighty doesn't mean Mona is emotionless. On most occasions where she is surrounded by good vibes and good friends she can be particularly smiley, often laughing at nothing at all just to enjoy the feeling of laughter. Happiness is her favorite emotion, and even when she is feeling glum Mona would never allow another soul to know. Her sadness is her own, her rage is her own. The wind would never let others in on its sorrow, and Mona is the same way. The wind is solitary and lonesome, and so is Mona. But she doesn't mind it, there are times when she in fact adores to be alone. When she daydreams or sleeps, when she is cleaning or singing too loudly to her music, those are her loneliest times as well as her happiest. Rage is an emotion Mona doesn't feel often, but, like a brewing storm, everything that annoys her in life is often stored away to be expelled later in a variety of slurs and floating objects. Her sorrow forms in similar ways, with huffed sighs and gales that come from nowhere. Mona, again, dislikes showing off negative emotions, and because of this she has developed an unhealthy habit of going completely mute when feeling bottled up. She will take out her emotions when alone, either by screaming in an empty room or crying into a pillow she can barely grab. Mona is a storm of a dead-person, even if she hates to think of herself that way. | Likes & Dislikes | ✔Tarot cards, palm reading, dream reading... Basically anything occult. ✔Daydreaming (of a better world or day, usually) ✔Graffiti, both viewing and creating. ✔Spacing out, lazing around, sleeping. ✔Daytime television (especially soap operas) ✔Listening to others talk ✔Acting Lying ✔Birds and bird watching. ✘Cats AND dogs ("they're bloody frightening!") ✘Darkness, especially in enclosed rooms. ✘Horror movies, romance movies, movies in general really. ✘Mediums. They're noisy. ✘Police and other forms of authority. ✘Elderly people. ✘Food and watching/hearing people eat said food ✘Cloudy days. | History | dark dark dark dark dark why is it so dark please help me im scared it hurts dark dark dark bang Mona woke up one day on the floor of an abandoned house with a simple case of amnesia. She was nameless, aching, and alone, just like the house she was left behind in. Days turned to weeks, and she prowled through that empty house with no rhyme or reason, moaning and groaning over her aching head. She moaned so loud that, apparently, it attracted the attention of another person. Well, another ghost, a ghost who introduced themselves as 'Luce'. Luce, after failing to get a name out of her, gave her the nick name Mona and then went on to explain her situation. Needless to say, the new discovery of her now dead state stunned and angered Mona. She eventually left the house behind and found herself wandering the streets of London, rediscovering familiar but still fuzzy street names and faces, old fears, and so much more. Time was at a stand still for her, until she happened upon Edgetoun. Friendly spirits and supernaturals alike attracted her to stay, and she has been living in a small loft with two mediums ever since. | Family | Forgotten | Strengths | Generous Unassuming Dreamer | Weaknesses | Dishonest Stark Easily frightened Lazy | Theme Song | Ghosting – Mother Mother ”I won't put white into your hair I won't make noises in your stairs I will be kind and I will be sweet If you stop staring straight through me” | House Number | 25B Faraday Heights | Extra Information | Doesn't really understand much of anything. Mona is basically relearning life during the course of this rp. | Name | Faron "Fay" Beryl Romane | Date of Birth | October 31st, 1997 | Gender | Male | Sexuality | Bisexual | Occupation | Cashier at his mother's shop Blue Lily, Lily Blue. Faron also does a variety of odd jobs just for the experience. | In-Depth Appearance | He's the Witch's son, the Witch's son, the Witch's son! At least, that's what everyone call hims. Faron often rolled his eyes at the name because, a) it was true, and he couldn't change it, b) there were more witches in the world than just his mother, and c) he couldn't see how he could be insulted by such a thing. Faron's witch of a mother blessed him not only with innate spiritual abilities but stunning features and a dazzling attitude towards life. His father though, a faceless man to him, left behind for Faron a strong jaw and broad shoulders. This combination of genes presents itself through Faron in alien ways. Hair once kept mousy and short has since blossomed into an ever crazed mane around Faron's face. He normally keeps his hair tied behind his head, and though he complains about it getting in his eyes or mouth during his work hours he wouldn't dare cut it. It manages to frame his strong-jawed face just in a way that makes him attractive.... At least, that's what his mother says. Days spent sleeping in the sun has gifted even a London-born witch like himself an averagely healthy skin tone and quite a few freckles that are only seen in certain lights. Faron's face is held expertly together with nerves and skin and bone, painted in such a way that he could appear quite girly to certain eyes. Strong cheek bones and full lips are the main basis for this illusion. Luckily for him, though growing facial hair is no issue, and this alone is enough to give him the look of a grizzled, normally high hiker. Faron is tall, standing high above most at a healthy 6'4". He keeps his weight under wraps, though most assume he is well over 150lbs. Due to his interest in adventuring through green groves and hidden alleyways, Faron is often caught with bruises and cuts on his arms and legs, and scabs coat his knees like some kind of sick ornaments. Clothing wise, Faron prefers comfortable t-shirts and skinny jeans. Muted rainbows and stripes are his favorite designs. | Personality | ♦ Spiritual ♦ Air-headed ♦ Obsessive ♦ Genuine ♦ "Oh, that Faron! What a bloody idiot!" "Wouldn't a fuckin' Witch's son be smarter?" Faron has been called an idiot through most school life, and for good reason. He trips over his own two feet, asks the most obvious of questions, and gawks in confusion when other people realize his stupidity and make fun of him for it. He has since grown out of his initial obliviousness (kinda) once he realized he had inherited some of his mother's magic. A wish to hone his skills has led him to studying, long and harder for hours a day, and this new practice gave him some cleverness and some skills to use against others. Sadly, he is still a bit of an airhead, and still the clumsiest being in the world. Around friends and family Faron is quite kind, acting as a sort of mother figure. He worries for the sake of others and always seems to have whatever they need in his wallet, band aids and painkillers included. Being the son of Opal Romane gave him this carefulness, perhaps, because she is as motherly as they come. Faron himself learns things through experience, and growing up with such an overbearing parent rubbed off on him quite cleanly, giving him the skills of a house wife and the worries of a flighty mother hen. If anyone is in need, Fay will be there, bringing a smile and advice and anything they could use in their life because that is how much he values others. Life is life, no matter how weak or powerful it is. When it comes to his studies, Faron is extremely studious and closed-minded. He could spends day alone in his room, enthralled in the studies of some long dead witch, obsessed with gaining the skills they possessed. The pressure of the witch community and his mother has led him to study the arcane arts to a dangerous degree. He has attempted spells using his own blood and flesh, which ultimately ended up with a few house fires and ever lasting scars. This obsession has been deemed unhealthy by both his mother and the various doctors he was assigned to visit, and this simple fact can make him a bit irritable. His usual chill persona can shift if someone gets in the way of his studies, and he has been said to actually get mad at those who dare interrupt him. And a mad Faron is a rare and frightening sight to see. Other than all that, Faron is a cheery individual. He is kind to strangers and friends alike and is more than willing to help those in need. He can be a bit overbearing, but that is just his nature. Fay is hopeless air headed and clumsy, and normally high if out and about for no particular reason, but that's fine because it's who he is, and nothing can change that. | Likes & Dislikes | ✔Candles, scented or not. Likes to watch the flames flicker. ✔Gems, stones, rocks, anything that can hold energy really. ✔Animals, especially cats and corvids. ✔Bathing (with homemade bath bombs!) ✔Smoking, mostly marijuana, sometimes just regular cigarettes. ✔Spiritual anything, music, clothes, books, ect. ✔Studying magic, mostly clairvoyance because of his mother. ✔Crowds, friendly people in general. ✘Technology, he can't understand it. ✘Planes, trains and automobiles! He's terrified of all loud, big, mechanical objects. ✘People who insult his loved ones. ✘Skeptics ✘Sudden, loud noises. ✘Overly excited people, they tire him out. ✘Thinking of his future. ✘His own magic, his own dreams. | History | Faron was brought into this world without a father and with a sense of hope, because he was Opal Romane's son. Opal, being the right-hand lady to the head of The Brithonic Coven, gifted Faron first with the idea of being some kind of popular figure head in the future, and the the thought of having powers similar to her's. Clairvoyance, to see the future. Faron became obsessed with the idea of being like his mother, beautiful and powerful, but as he grew older he realized he had another kind of magic within in. Spirits whispered in his ears, distant voices of the dead, and knowledge unfurled in his mind as he grew into his teen years. He wasn't a clairvoyant like his mother, but a medium. A portal for the spirits around them all. And not only were his powers unwanted but they were also difficult to control. He lost sleep listening to those distant voices, and accidentally summoned a few poltergeist typhoons to classrooms where he was feeling a bit trapped. After graduating high school, Fay spent most of his time studying the magic he could not obtain and working in his mother's shop. With his unruly powers, the other witches began to see him as nothing more than a freeloader kid. The future became a taboo subject in the Romane household. Faron spoke less and less to his mother, mind focused instead on staying calm even as the weight of everything threatened to strangle him, and then one night he said out right. "I can't stay here. I'll suffocate. I'm moving out." London treated him well. Being an Irish born kid, he hadn't spent too much time wandering the streets after their move a few years prior, but after he moved out it became his life goal to memorize every alleyway and street corner and shop. To be completely honest, the first week after he moved out Fay was basically homeless. He slept at friends' houses until he found a place in Edgetoun with a very pretty cop as a roommate. For now, it would do. This new life would be enough to clear his mind. | Family | Opal Romane, Mother (47): A woman blessed with a brilliant mind and the powers to match. She is the single mother to Faron and the proud owner of Blue Lily, Lily Blue, a popular tourist pit stop and witchy ingredients shop located just off of Piccadilly Circus. Opal herself is a master of Divination and offers tarot readings and psychic advice for a price to mortals and supernatural beings alike. Faron loves her more than life itself, though there are times she can be a bit overbearing as most mothers are. | Strengths | Gentle Honest Maternal | Weaknesses | Impatient Clumsy Weak constitution Stubborn | Theme Song | Home – AlicebanD ”Coal flicker candles swelling Thoughs come of fire burning Everything you made will end up broken” | House Number | 5631 Spruce Ave | Extra Information | Carries around charged herbs and stones for good luck. He often passes them out to others if he senses they have bad juju. Fay is also a hardcore vegan, though he doesn't let others know too often. Has a cute lil kitty cat named Minnie.

Mordekai Emplacement: 27B Hauteurs de Faraday Interagir avec: Katie et Claire Dans l'obscurité de la chambre d'Andrew, un petit écran s'allume, accompagné d'un groupe de heavy metal dont il ne connaissait pas vraiment le nom. Une main, accompagnée d'un gémissement, sortit du tas de consolateurs et commença à faire des gestes coulissants sur tout l'écran jusqu'à ce que l'un d'eux finisse enfin la cacophonie. Andy détestait le heavy metal, mais c'était suffisant pour le faire monter et lui faire vouloir l'éteindre. S'éloignant paresseusement du lit, la jeune Sorcière trébucha en vain jusqu'à l'interrupteur de lumière près de la porte, trébuchant sur un enchevêtrement de livres. Une fois la lumière poignardée dans ses yeux, le chaos contrôlé qui était sa chambre est venu en vision. Des papiers accrochés au mur, dénotant plusieurs incantations et inscriptions runiques, ainsi que des fétichistes magiques accrochés tout autour de la pièce pour éviter l'énergie négative. Ou... ne la laissez pas s'étendre, en fait. S'élançant dans le salon froid, Andy seulement dans un tank blanc et un short de gym, il a fait son chemin vers la kitchenette pour commencer le café pour lui-même, Katie et Claire. Il avait dû nettoyer l'appartement avec Katie emménageant, car il ne voulait pas la mettre mal à l'aise avec toute sa merde de sorcière. Elle était nouvelle, et elle était un peu secouée. Mais elle faisait un effort pour comprendre, se sentait Andy, et donc il voulait la mettre à l'aise. Pas besoin d'effrayer la fille à mort. Claire était une autre affaire. C'était aussi une sorcière, et alors que son école de magie était...moins que la préférée d'Andy, elle était une bonne femme autant qu'il pouvait le dire. Il respectait l'attitude des enseignants et était heureux d'avoir des sorcières représentées dans le système scolaire. Tant qu'elle n'a pas lasso dans aucun autre. Leur kitchenette était reliée au salon, un bar séparant la zone de préparation du reste. Andrew a pris la télécommande du bar et a cliqué sur la télévision de l'autre côté de la pièce, regardant sur le canapé en cuir brun à l'écran plat. Tandis que l'écran s'inscrivait, il versait le café moulu, un joli rôti noir grillé, dans le panier filtrant et remplissait le réservoir, renversant la machine et laissant couler l'ichor sombre et lubrique du Ciel dans la carafe. Pendant que ça brassait, Andy s'est rapidement installé dans le couloir et a fait un rap sur celui de Katie, puis sur la porte de Claire. "Levez-vous et brillez aime, les 9 à 5 becons!" Il a appelé, un léger sourire se formant sur ses lèvres. C'était sympa d'avoir des gens avec qui faire la navette, et de partager les frustrations de la journée... Quand il est revenu dans la chambre, les nouvelles du matin étaient allumées. Andy s'est retrouvé en tête à la mention de l'Unseelie causant la tempête, admirant silencieusement leur travail. Bien sûr, il pourrait y avoir des dommages sérieux de la tempête, et n'était pas vraiment son style, mais il a obtenu le message à travers... et il ne s'attendait pas à différent de l'Unseelie. Parler d'épaules froides. Il s'est vexé d'avoir réveillé Claire après que les annulations d'école aient commencé à défiler à travers l'écran. Il devrait s'excuser... Et puis la mention de ces putains de "Mortals First". Une bonne matinée s'est passée au sud très vite. Les runes tatouées sur les bras d'Andrew ont commencé à briller légèrement, comme des braises mourant sur sa peau. Ou essayer d'allumer la vie. "Qui leur a donné le droit? Je vais les torcher..." Il murmurait furieusement, réalisant ses bras et essayant de les soumettre. Ses colocataires seraient bientôt levés.

Liam Woodsworth Dhampire Basic Information | Name | Elliot Liam Woodsworth He prefers the informality of Liam | Date of Birth | October 19, 1992 | Gender | Male | Sexuality | Homosexual | Occupation | Liam works as an IT assistant at a local tech shop, mixes music as a hobby, and volunteers at a blood bank for his less savory needs. Yes, the last one is morally dubious, but he’s not going to be around long enough to actually care, now will he? On the music note, he tends to whip up tracks with heavy bass and high tempos, as he finds them euphoric...almost as euphoric as the recreational drugs that may eventually overtake his work ethic. | In-Depth Appearance | ”That poor boy...darling, do you eat? ”Damn my boy, have you seen a doctor? Pale as a ghost, ya are.” Sickly. Liam is sickly. He is tall, gaunt, pale...and he isn’t even fucking sick most of the time. He blames it on his lineage, daddy was an awfully stereotypical bloodsucker. Maybe it’s the rapidly degenerating body? Maybe it’s his refusal to indulge his hemo-cravings until absolutely necessary? He doesn’t care, really. Liam’s got places to be, stunts to do, and a short life to live. This is apparent in his messy medium-long brown hair, disheveled fashion of band shirts and loose ripped denim, and a general air of “I really don’t give a fuck, come not give a fuck with me”. His brown eyes speak of a troubled past and a carefree future, of resignation and of the triumphant freedom in that revelation. Liam’s voice is soft, enticing, as though it itself realized the throat it was bound to was horribly unfitting and made a show to be better. To be a selling point. When you’re a local pariah, ya have to have something going for ya, right? Who Am I? | Personality | ♦ Morbid ♦ Relaxed ♦ Indulgent ♦ Welcoming ♦ There is a comfort in knowing death is coming. You become prepared. You enjoy every moment, every pain, every sensation that smolders on the neurons. Liam has accepted this, and he relishes it. It’s relaxing, and he exudes this calm repose around him. Those that aren’t aware of his supernatural bastard status are always laid back around him, if not worried by his random pains and sickly pallor. Those that are...well, he’s not obnoxious enough to warrant a lynch mob yet. But who knows what’ll come in the future... sure would save him pill money. Pill money that could go towards more fun pills! Since he knows his time is short, Liam takes every chance he gets to explore the unsavory and wonderful of the world. Drugs, alcohol with dubious origins and long names, ancient rituals that cause really weird spirit trips, (he had to give a “favor” to a Witch for that one but damn was it worth it. Ever see ancient cosmic deities play limbo with a meteor belt? Liam has.), are all things he has and is willing to try. Dangerous stunts are also kinda fun, when the crippling pains aren’t hitting hard. There are no limits to what he’ll try. Of course it’s dangerous, sometimes deadly. Sometimes it’s kind of like daring Death to make its move. Sadly, this applies to people too. He blazes through relationships and sex like it’s nothing but a carnal transaction. Maybe one day he’ll find someone that quences his cravings. Likely? Liam doesn’t think so. But in all respects, Liam wants friends. He doesn’t want to be alone. He wants stories passed around about him after he moves on from Edgetoun. Stories about that crazy ass pale kid that did a somersault off a building after three lines of coke and a tab of acid, lived, and then ran a 500. Okay...that’s excessive and he’d probably be dead after the first part of that, but...the point is there. As such, he doesn’t want to hurt people either. The option to get that street shit from dealers was a tempting one, but that blood could come from anyone. Anything. Through...less than fun means. At least at the blood donor center, that was willingly given. No violence or pain, even if it’s stealing...he tries to take what’s in abundance, none of the important rare shit. He doesn’t deserve that. In the end, when you have a very short time to experience life, you shouldn’t waste that life on brooding and sorrow. Get out there, live...no matter what everyone says. No matter if you’re the monster they say you are. | Likes & Dislikes | ✔Electronic music No words. No hidden meanings. Just raw emotion. It’s delightfully primal. ✔Adrenaline rushes Ya know when you’re on a coaster and your balls just go right up in your stomach? Yeah. That’s what I like. ✔New things So much to do, so much to see, so much to- Alright, I’ll stop. Sorry. ✔Fall England’s nice in the fall. Cloudy, damp...it’s comforting. ✔A good adventure graphic novel The art, man! Plus, less words, faster reading, meaning more awesome shit for me. ✔Jaffa cakes Tiny. Portable. Orangey. They are my one true love. ✔So many drugs. Specifically acid and coke, and any eldritch shit he can get. Oh the places you will go… ✘Staying home As much as I’d like it to, my mix board doesn’t usually talk to me. Usually. ✘Those who waste what they have Almost everyone has so much left to live. So much to give to society. Why the fuck would you throw that away? ✘Sulky folks Aw, cheer up mate. Wanna grab ice cream? Fucking love ice cream. ✘Violence Come on. Talk your shit out. You start busting heads, I’ll split you the fuck up. Got it? ✘Salad. Or anything vaguely green. It's crispy fucking water. That's gross. ✘Sunny weather. Fuck you, dad. ✘Dependency. I'm a strong, independent abomination. Well...less strong, more independent. Ya get me, yeah? | History | The fall brought with it cool air, warm homes, a time for families to come together… And produce an awful bastardization of life. Liam came into the world a screamer. Like he already knew, day one out of the womb, that he was already on his way out. He got all of his screaming out then. Born to a middle class mother and a bloodsucking poppa that bolted the minute he knew one of his dark little swimmers hit home. Yeah, typical daddy issues, blah blah...Liam never really cared much past passive aggressive comments and normal annoyances. His mother Trisha lived with her parents then, the three of them taking care of this sad, ill child. It was rough, and they never really understood what he was. The father had the eventual courtesy, about five years in, to inform poor Trisha about what exactly she’d brought into the world. She didn’t believe the fucker, of course. Until Liam really started liking raw meat. Not the meat itself, but the leftover blood in the package. Terrified, confused, and just feeling awful all around, she had to reorganize her life and her idea of parenting to fit this child. She packed up and they moved to the countryside. And so began the “Don’t Bite” motto of life. Liam learned not to hurt folks to stop his own pain, to enjoy what he had...like a mother that didn’t try and kill him with a stake. She cared more to give her son what he needed...blood. Her blood. Just enough to keep him sated. Liam learned respect, caring, and restraint, qualities sometimes not found in his full-blooded kin. There was a rough spot in secondary school when Liam learned that he wasn’t going to live a long, happy life. The pain was a sign. The slightly quick growth, another. And once he ran into a couple vampires that were flying under the radar, they made him understand how low he was. That he was a mistake. Suddenly, parties became enticing, every new drink and drug an experience worth dying for. Trisha had to go through hoops to keep doctors from drawing his blood, let alone run any drug tests on him. Their relationship was strained around then, and once Liam graduated he left for London to cool down and mature. Fast-forward, and Liam’s working a menial job to make ends meet in Edgetoun. IT work fit him, since he spent a large portion of his teens messing with electronic instruments and computers his few friends had. Plus, lots of people needed help with their newfangled gadgets and gizmos, and he was happy to help and talk to them. Recently, he’s back in touch with his mother and patching things up...while not telling her about all the crazy shit he does for fun. No need to worry her. But how can she not be worried when her pariah of a son is on the ass end of a bloody race war? | Family | Trisha Woodsworth | Mother : A kind, gentle woman, with a fair bit of paranoia. You get that when your kid’s kind of on the chopping block. | Strengths | Incredibly open-minded Curious Protective | Weaknesses | No real restraint Locked to his path, sees no other future; “Blinders” on Lacks any sort of commitment The Other | Theme Song | Marry The Night – Lady Gaga ”I'm gonna marry the night I won't give up on my life I'm a warrior queen Live passionately tonight” | House Number | Churchill Gardens 5B | Extra Information | Liam has a lizard named Squeaks. That fucker knows shit.

Emplacement - 30A Faraday Heights (Maison) Interagir avec la salope cliente Mme Bennett et Elise "Oui, oui, je l'ai écrit-" Une voix étouffée coupa la brune, la faisant presser sa paume contre son front alors qu'elle écoutait avec une frustration croissante. "Oui, l'allergie aux noix est listée, s'il vous plaît Mme Bennett, je peux m'en occuper. Tu n'as pas besoin de t'inquiéter pour la fête d'anniversaire de ton fils." "Bien sûr, ma chère, je sais que mon Johnny va faire une merveilleuse fête d'anniversaire à vos soins. Mais ce sont les fées qui m'ennuient, ils ne sont pas humains, pourquoi auraient-ils droit aux mêmes droits que nous? Cette protestation continue ne fait que ruiner les plans d'anniversaire! » Elle a pleuré, et Cara a à peine réprimé une dispute. Des salauds d'hypocrites. Cara a plutôt réfléchi, alors qu'elle bourdonnait pendant que Mme Bennett continuait à se plaindre des faes qui causaient les tempêtes de neige en signe de protestation. C'était encore trente minutes jusqu'à ce que Mme Bennett ait fini, Cara allaitant son front alors qu'elle ressentait un mal de tête qui grondait à l'arrière de sa tête. C'est à cause d'humains comme Mme Bennett qui ont empêché Cara de révéler sa nature vampire. Bien sûr, elle pouvait tout simplement s'enfuir, comme elle avait fait toute sa vie, mais pour une fois Cara voulait simplement vivre en paix. Et avec du sang. Ce n'est pas comme si elle pouvait protester pour l'innocence des vampires de toute façon, puisqu'elle savait qu'elle aussi était un meurtrier, même si cela n'était arrivé qu'en raison de son inexpérience avec le sang de vampire. Soupirant à nouveau, Cara est entrée dans la cuisine pour se faire une tasse de thé, la nouvelle jouant toujours en arrière-plan alors qu'elle essayait de pousser les pensées hors de son esprit. Ça n'avait plus d'importance. Pour des gens comme Mme Bennett, Catharine Reid était humaine, rien de plus, et Cara était d'accord avec elle. En s'emparant d'un cuppa à la vapeur, Catharine a regardé dans le couloir alors qu'elle se demandait où était sa colocataire. Elle s'est dirigée vers sa porte, amenant ses doigts vers le haut et frappant à haute voix contre la porte en bois. "Wakey wakey miss dormy", Cara a chanté à travers la porte, prenant une gorgée de sa boisson encore chaude. "Si tu veux que je fasse le petit déjeuner, sors dans quinze minutes. J'ai besoin d'aller travailler."

| Name | Catharine "Cara" Elsie Reid | Date of Birth | 2nd April 1804 | Gender | Female | Sexuality | Closeted Bisexual | Occupation | Cara owns her own events managing business. | In-Depth Appearance | To say that Cara is short is an understatement, tiny is more like it. Standing at 1.57m, or only 5'1" and weighing in the lower 100 pounds, Cara looks as sweet and unthreatening as someone can appear. She's not one to be underestimated though, what she lacks in height, she definitely makes up in her large personality. Her body is somewhat curvy, hourglass shaped with little muscle and fat but definitely not runway worthy. Moving up to her face, she possesses lightly tanned skin with a dusting of freckles across her nose and forehead, most barely visible due to the way her hair has been cut and framed across her forehead. Her hair is of a light chocolate shade, barely reaching past her shoulders in tousled waves (unless straightened, then it is definitely past her shoulders). She used to wear straight bangs across her forehead, which now she styles apart as her hair has grown since the last time she had a chance to trim the locks. She has wide almond shaped brown eyes, framed with thicker, darker eyebrows giving her the innocent cherub look and adding to her already cutesy appearance (she's not cute, dammit!) Cara walks with confidence, her strides long and often with purpose. She's often found either with a smile, or a dreamy look as she's busy thinking about anything else other than bullshit. She also has deep dimples on each cheek, both which makes her somewhat insecure when someone points them out. Make-up and clothing wise, she does nothing too drastic. Okay, maybe her clothes are a little outgoing than she used to wear back in the 1800's, but what's a girl to do when she has more rights? She's often seen wearing dresses or shorts, anything that shows off her shapely legs in a variety of shades and patterns. Cara prefers not to wear heels, even if they do add to her lack of height, and instead opts for comfortable boots or converses. Her make up is kept natural, maybe except for some days where she applies red lipstick for the sultry look. | Personality | ♦ Stubborn ♦ Bold ♦ Control-freak ♦ Cynical ♦ A typical Aries woman, Cara is loud, bold and confident. And she proves it with her walk. Back straight, chin up and a usual cheeky grin on her face, Cara always looks like as if she has something on her mind. She is highly self-reliant and refuses to take help from others - whether it be because of her ego or her independent trait, it doesn't matter. If Cara is struggling with something, you sure as hell won't be told about it. Stubborn as a bull, she refuses to take no for an answer to her requests, but respects people enough to back off should she realise that she is definitely not going to get her way, no matter how much it irks her. Cara loves control, and will often look like a fish out of water when she doesn't have any control. Even if she likes to have control of her situation and surroundings, call her a control-freak, and she'll hate you forever. Her cynical and distrustful nature comes from what she calls the "Betrayal" (yes, with a capital B, too!) where her ex-lover turned her into the vamp she is now on the eve of her wedding. To put it bluntly, she is a mixture of a fearless warrior and a really stupid undisciplined child. She's impulsive and usually won't think twice if she's about to do something stupid (which usually causes her control-freakness to flare up when she realises she doesn't know what the actual fuck she's gotten herself into) and Cara will often sulk when she doesn't get her own way. | Likes & Dislikes | ✔ Watching trashy TV ✔ Being pampered ✔ Drinking special wine ✔ Animals (especially dogs) ✔ Being in control ✔ Smoking ✔ Children, especially when she can take care of them herself like her own ✘ Rats ✘ Any creature with more than four limbs basically fuck spiders ✘ Rusty metal ✘ Jewellery (she loses them too often) ✘ Being sleep deprived ✘ Pink ✘ People that call her a control freak | History | Born in the ending rein of the Georgian era, Catharine Elsie Reid was the fifth child to a farming family off in the country-side of England. With the growing usage of machines, introduced by the Industrial Revolution, crops and farming had doubled, bringing in wealth and profits to the large Reid family. Of course, they weren't the richest, but it was enough to feed their seven children and few cattle they owned. Catharine grew up in a rowdy household, being the second daughter to a family filled primarily with boys. Her mother, Elizabeth, attempted to keep the two girls in check, but would often fail with dealing severe punishments whenever she caught Catharine and Victoria (Catharine's elder sister) hiding out in the vast fields of the Reid farm. She was given little education, just enough to know how to read, write and calculate basic sums. Most of her skills relied on cooking and sewing, exactly what a girl was expected of during this era. By the time Catharine was fourteen, her sister had ran away with a rival farmer's son, leaving Catharine and her family to deal with the shame and consequences that came with such bold action. It was a secret, but even after Victoria had left, Catharine kept in contact with her - enough to know where her sister was and whether her husband was treating her well. Because of her sister, however, her strict father's eye remained on his remaining daughter, making sure she never stepped out of line to dishonour the family in any way. It worked, for about a few years until Catharine met a soldier fighting in the First Ashanti War. Their relationship was scandalous, he was twenty-nine and she was barely in her twenties, but she had done everything she could to keep it a secret. However, it wasn't long until their relationship was discovered and the two were separated from the other, with Catharine being arranged to wed another guy. The night before her wedding, Catharine was visited by her ex-lover briefly. He simply kissed her, before pushing her out of the window to fall to her death. Twenty hours later, Catharine was reborn. It was obvious she couldn't go back to her family - she couldn't go back to anybody now that she had just been raised from the dead. So Catharine did the one thing she knew: she ran away just like her sister had. For the next two centuries of her life, Catharine travelled wherever she could, taking each job that was available to pay for her travels. The outing of the supernatural creatures both relieved and scared her. Relieved bacause she didn't need to keep running to escape the usual "why isn't she ageing" questions, but scared because of the potential reaction from the humans around her. If she was told one day that there was a bunch of new species that were living under her nose, Cara knew even she wouldn't be very happy. Currently, Catharine (now going as Cara) has opened up her own small events business as an events organiser while taking night classes in the local college to get enough qualifications to move up the career ladder. She never found her lover - who she believes was the reason she's the creature of the night. Cara hopes to find him one day, if he's even alive and strangle that arsehole. | Family | Jonathan Reid | Father | Cara's relationship with her dead father was often that of a strict parent and a free-spirited child. It often ended with tears or slammed doors. It was her father's decision to get her married off to save face in society after her secret relationship was found out. Since Cara was turned,she never returned to see her father's reaction to her death, so she doesn't know whether her father was upset or glad because she was gone. Elizabeth Reid | Mother | A somewhat better relationship with her mother, Cara still wasn't as specially close with her mother either. She definitely preferred her mother over her father, however, due to her mother's caring and docile nature. One of Cara's biggest regrets that she never returned home to visit her mother at least once before her mother passed. Victoria Reid | Oldest sister | Victoria and Catharine's relatonship was stronger than two peas in a pod. They might as well have been twins rather than two children with over half a decade of difference in age. Cara was the only one in the family to know of her sister's whereabouts after her sister ran off to marry her lover. Cara was definitely inspired by her sister's love story, and was bitter when her own didn't end up as beautifully as her sister's did. Cara went to live with her sister for a month after she was turned, taking refuge in Victoria's house until Cara had enough funds to travel to Scotland and figure out her new life on her own. | Strengths | Free-spirit Independent | Weaknesses | Doesn't trust others very easily Has a big ego Impulsive | Theme Song | RIP 2 My Youth - The Neighbourhood "If you really listen, then this is to you Mama, there is only so much I can do Tough for you to witness it but it was for me too I'm using white lighters to see what's in front of me RIP to my youth” | House Number | 30A Faraday Heights | Extra Information | Cara's favourite country to live in by far is Italy. She even learnt the Italian language just so she could work in Venice for the better part of half a century. Cara hates the fact that she's infertile because of the vampirism. With each year that passes in her life, she's constantly reminded that she cannot have kids when she sees other mothers walking into her store requesting birthday parties and baby showers.

Mariska Costas Lieu: Faraday Heights; 28A Interagir avec : Mordred Hame (), John Taylor () S'il manquait absolument une chose à Mariska, elle se réveillait jusqu'au journal juste devant la porte d'entrée. Bien sûr, le journal était toujours en attente, tout le monde n'était pas sur leur flux d'information électronique et des mises à jour minute par minute qui s'affrontent à n'importe quelle publication de moitié décente churn dehors en cent quarante caractères ou moins. Mais au fur et à mesure que les temps se passaient, il était de plus en plus évident que la tenue et la lecture d'un journal physique étaient une façon désuète d'obtenir des informations sur les événements dans le monde. Mais Mariska, encore une vieille âme au fond, peu importe ce qu'elle a continuellement mis à jour les performances, était encore l'un de ceux qui ont vu l'attrait d'avoir une tasse d'eau à la table du petit déjeuner, en renversant les gros titres; sa technique de tournage et de pliage de page était putain incroyable. Des décennies de pratique le feront. La pensée des journaux entra et s'attarda dans son esprit alors qu'elle se réveillait bien trop tôt une heure, étant donné qu'il était trop tard quand elle put enfin s'endormir. Mariska s'était endormie à peu près dans ce qu'elle était rentrée porter, sans le pantalon noir qui était drapé sur la chaise de bureau contre le mur lointain de sa chambre: un chemisier à boutons blancs, des boutons défaits, et une paire, franchement, peu flatteuse d'incroyables. Elle a été essuyée la nuit précédente et n'a pas eu le temps ni le soin de perdre du temps à échanger avec une tenue de sommeil appropriée. Avec un bâillon, Mariska se leva de son lit, planant sa main gauche à travers la récolte de cheveux sur sa tête. Sa chambre, autre que le pantalon qui n'était pas placé dans le bac à linge, était assez immaculée et assez nue à la botte. En dehors d'une peinture de Romains de la décadence accrochée au-dessus de son lit - un vrai démarreur de conversation, que l'un - et des pièces plus petites et moins visibles d'artistes depuis longtemps hors de leur galerie de quinze minutes montrant, Mariska la chambre était plutôt impertinent. Mais alors, étant donné la petite nature, les rénovations et les options de décoration étaient limitées. La nymphe a fait son chemin hors de sa chambre, l'accaparant mobile chargé sur le chemin de sortie, et dans le salon principal proprement dit. Sur le canapé était l'un de ses amis, John, et Mariska n'était pas sûr s'il s'était endormi là intentionnellement ou accidentellement... mais a décidé que ça n'avait vraiment aucune importance. Elle n'a pas espionné Mordred, c'est-à-dire qu'il était son second conjoint, mais elle a supposé qu'il dormait ou qu'il faisait ce qu'il faisait le matin. Mariska n'aimait pas pry. Ils se sont assez bien entendus, elle les a comptés comme des amis même, pourquoi gâcher ça avec des regards inutiles dans les affaires privées. Mariska ouvrit la porte d'entrée de leur appartement mais soupira quand il n'y avait pas de journal pour la saluer, juste une brise vive qui la fit fermer la porte assez rapidement. « Les hivers anglais... » une courte murmure alors qu'elle reculait à l'intérieur, faisant son chemin vers l'endroit où les plats et les tasses étaient entreposés. Sa tasse remplissait d'une bouteille d'eau du réfrigérateur, prenant une gorgée de rafraîchissement froid avant de retourner à travers son portable au lieu d'un journal physique. "Il y a le chemin à parcourir, Fae, pour protester par mauvais temps. Bien joué," Mariska a parlé doucement, se moquant des actions de la Cour Unseelie. Pour certains, elle serait comptée parmi les Fae-kind, mais c'était une distinction à laquelle elle n'aimait pas penser; mais elle ne se compterait certainement pas parmi les Unseelie en tout cas. Son pouce brillait à travers les articles à un rythme accéléré, s'arrêtant quand elle voyait une mention d'un manifeste ou peu importe ce que c'était. "Mortal Fist? Ça ressemble à un nom de groupe, non? Il doit penser qu'il est malin. Je parie qu'il n'a jamais lu le roman. Des plébiens." Mariska secoua la tête avec un soupir. Les gros titres n'étaient pas agréables, mais... quoi d'autre était nouveau? Les choses ne pourraient qu'empirer avant qu'elles ne s'améliorent. Mais tant qu'elle avait sa tasse d'eau... elle pouvait oublier les nouvelles... du moins pour un petit moment.

Jorōgumo || The Binding Bride Basic Information | Name | Naomi Ishiguro | Date of Birth | The exact date is long lost to time, but Naomi celebrates a birthday on January 1. She is at least four hundred years old, birthdays stop mattering after a time. | Gender | Female | Sexuality | Asexual Hers is sex not for desire nor for need, but a different sort of pleasure. | Occupation | Have you ever watched the telly and heard a pleasant voice on an advert or announcing an ad break? Perhaps you've heard a voice on the radio that isn't just the disc jockey or the useless weather report, but a voice selling a product you suddenly find yourself wholly interested in. Naomi is one of those voices. Her vocal talents have taken her places, from fast food commercial narration to audiobooks, and now, at present, to a late night call in program on the radio. A Voice Actress and Radio Personality. Of course, everyone has their fronts. Naomi's true occupation, such as it is, is far less reputable. | In-Depth Appearance | Of the many phrases and sayings in the world, one of them happens to be 'you have a face for radio' which is an indirect way of calling someone not attractive enough to be on television. Or, rather, simple an offhanded remark to call someone ugly. Naomi has never heard that saying, and often gets asked why she chooses to stay behind the camera, isolated in sound booths and in radio studios. Naomi looks quite great for age, that age being somewhere in the realm of five hundred twenty, give or take. She's aged like the finest of wines, with a blemish free face that, despite being the visage of a woman in her late thirties, still seems as youthful as if she were in her early thirties. Naomi is an older woman that doesn't let a little number like age hold her back. She's tall, coming in at 5'10", with a rather svelte figure, though with the right amount of eye catching curvature to the hips. There's a hunger to be found in her deep blue, almost violet, eyes that only increases when the cosmetics draw attention to them; what the hunger is is often misinterpreted as something carnal...which is exactly by design. Naomi's hair never seems to grow beyond its current length, though its style ranges from a full volume affair to a messier, more sensual style; regardless of the style it always serves to enhance her present look. Said looks depend on what she manages to pull out of the closet on any particular day. Naomi doesn't like to toot her own horn or anything, but she pays little attention to fashion trends or styles and simply wears what looks good - and considering Naomi is someone that looks good in damn near anything, her options are quite endless. When she isn't wearing heels, she's barefoot - which is to say she's barefoot about seventy percent of the time, often removing her heels while working or travelling long distances on public or private transport. Naomi flaunts what she has, but not in an overly obvious way. The flip of the hair, the sideways look, the well timed smile, subtle tricks to ensnare and capture the attentions of the younger adventurous types...or the older and bored ones. And this is to say nothing of her voice, which doesn't have any hypnotic bend to it, but it just sounds like velvet in the ears...albeit velvet coated with a rather posh accent...that sometimes sounds absolutely put on. Who Am I? | Personality | ♦ Venomous ♦ Predatory ♦ Immoral ♦ Lascivious ♦ Some people that have seen Naomi looking towards them have had similar thoughts of 'this must be too good to be true' and if only they knew how right they were. Though when she's out and about (or offering advice and facilitating discussion to the lonely young people that call in) it's true that her appearance and attitude showcase a flirtatious, teasing demeanor...but most, if not all, of that is a perfected act. Naomi doesn't care about others, though humans especially so, and them being so easily manipulated by such simple things as a wink only reinforces her belief that those that fall into her web deserve what's coming to them. For Naomi, her little...let's call them 'indiscretions' are just a fun little game, one where she sets the rules and conditions so that she always manages to win. She isn't all bad, despite what her hobby and true occupation might have one believe, she's actual quite insightful and genuinely seems to take an interest in helping those that call her for advice. Most of the topics tend to be about love or sex, but even still she speaks not as some stuffy expert explaining things for idiots, but rather as one friend offering sage-like advice to another. Naomi even waves to the neighbors, gives all her change from transactions to the cashiers, and has talked up charity organizations on air. But of course, don't let that fool you. It's a shame, then, that she's too far gone down her own long twisted beliefs to become a good person, because she comes so close when she's working. Of course, that could all just be part of her intricate little game as well, after all...no one ever suspects the nice ones. | Likes & Dislikes | ✔ Online dating; she maintains several profiles on various websites...though not for hookups. ✔ Horror movies. Are there any better comedies out there than those? ✔ Adult entertainment; it utterly fascinates her the depths people will go to find odd pleasures ✔ Gambling; Not really an addiction or anything, but she enjoys the thrill of a game of chance ✔ Red wine, aged, of course ✔ Commercial breaks; she is just vain enough to love it when she hears her ads in person ✔ String instruments ✘ People. Just in general. People. ✘ Fire, be it from the fireplace or a match or a candle ✘ Wasps, especially the big ugly ones ✘ Lizards...they're incredibly gross ✘ She could go without birds, now that you mention it ✘ Mirrors ✘ Music produced on machines | History | There's a folk tale in Japan that tells of spiders gaining 'magical powers' and what a terrifying thought that would be. But of course, such tales could very well have a basis in fact...and Naomi is living proof of that. For the first four centuries of her life, Naomi had no name or identity, she was born and she had to do what it took to survive: trapping smaller insects in webs, being clever to avoid larger predators, watch and do nothing as others in her family were eventually picked off for being stupid. Time had little meaning for Naomi because she had no concept of it. To her, a year might as well have been a night. The only indication that things were changing was the expansion of beings that walked on two legs and swatted away the insects of the world without so much as a thought. A curious Naomi once tried to trap a human in the same manner she trapped all her food, but her web only served to annoy the humans. Yet Naomi continued to live on. And she continued to grow. She didn't quite know when it happened, again what did she know of time, but one morning she found that she felt...different, and that she had grown larger still. It was when a human came across her path and stopped to speak to her that she knew something was wrong. Naomi, then taking the appearance of a pale, black haired, young woman, had woken up as looking no different than a human, albeit one who was without clothing. She looked like a human...but she did not forget what she was, and neither did her body. That unfortunate human who was overcome with a carnal desire upon sight was dragged off to a cave and Naomi feasted for days. Naomi became a Jorōgumo, a spider that, after living for four centuries, became able to transform herself into a seductive woman in order to trap men and devour them. In her body was not blood but venom and her hair doubled as webbing strong enough to bind a human...she no longer had to fear them. Naomi then lived as a predator, living near enough to human settlements to gather attention just to lead the hapless victim to her dwellings where she took her time savoring what came next. Though her human appearance was nigh indistinguishable from the real thing, she came to learn that any reflection, be it from glass or water or any reflecting surface, would show her true self: her arachnid form. Over the years she became able to stay a human woman for longer periods of time, though she cannot maintain the form forever. Even in her present state she can go maybe ten hours straight and that's if she's feasted recently. She is, after all, human in appearance only. Naomi spent her years as Jorōgumo being a predator. She's long lost count of the men and women she's captured, poisoned, and gotten rid of over the years. Of course when a disturbing number of people go missing mysteriously...questions start getting asked and panic starts setting in. But of course, Naomi never left a body behind. Bones? Sure. But never a body. With a monumental chip on her shoulder and the transformation ability on lock, Naomi has only adapted her tactics with time. Now she is more than willing to let prey walk into her traps than to lure them herself. She enjoyed a great run of being an absolute monster but now that Others have been revealed to the world...matters have certainly become complicated. People already hate spiders. What would they think of a spider like Naomi? | Family | Naomi considers the spiders that live in her home to be her family. For...for obvious reasons. | Strengths | Resourceful. She'd have to be to keep up her activities this long Meticulous Crafty | Weaknesses | Insatiable bloodlust Irrational hatred for most things Easily panicked The Other | Theme Song | Sober – Elli Ingram ”And when the lights get low And I let it take control And I’m feeling so alone One more sip and then it’s gone And then I lose my soul To the poison then I’m on one But I can’t let it go to waste And I love the way it taste” | House Number | Churchill Gardens, 4A | Extra Information | She claims to be able to talk to spiders...and she probably can. Why else would she let them hang out on her walls. Solitary Fae || Yōsei Basic Information | Name | 'K', spelled as 'Kei' on official documents. 'K' is the very short form of her 'real name' which is a series of given names given to her over the years. Kei was the first, so 'Kei' it is. | Date of Birth | July 14, during the Meiji Period. For the sake of ease, she picked the year 1995 because it sounded funny | Gender | Female | Sexuality | Pansexual Kei just loves and that's all there is to it. | Occupation | In the most technical sense she's unemployed. However, she is often seen doing altruistic activities, from volunteering with the elderly, to helping out at charity functions, and being a translator for the hearing impaired at large social functions. In the broad sense of the term occupation, Kei would be a Volunteer. She doesn't take salaries but survives on both goodwill and generous donations, but she never asks for them. | In-Depth Appearance | For someone that is so quiet Kei's sense of style is rather loud. Though rather short, standing at just about five feet flat, she stands out due to her eccentric choice in attire. Rare is the day when Kei isn't wearing clashing, bright colors or mismatched articles of clothing or bogged down with so many accessories that she sounds like a piggy bank when she walks. There's a very childish quality to her style, like what one would imagine a child would dress like if their parents just let them go wild for a day. Though Kei wears bright, gaudy clothing, the brightest thing about her is her smile. She's always smiling, even towards people that she's never met, and her wide grin is matched by the wonder that is clear in her bright brown eyes. How her eyes are so bright is a mystery, but they're the brightest browns Kei has ever seen. Much like with her clothing, Kei's hair is eccentric though has periods where the style doesn't change, just the color. Often she'll go blonde for a month and then spend half a year with brown hair before deciding that she felt like streaking her hair in a rainbow. What makes her vibrant style all the more odd - as if there weren't enough oddities as is - is that she doesn't look like a child; she actually looks like an adult, albeit one that still possess the quality of life that several youths have. But there are blemishes on her skin covered up by cosmetics (which area also eyecatching and vibrant) and a sort of weary-eyed tiredness behind the wide wonderment. She's an especially slim woman, but with that comes a flexibility that always manages to get applause and oohs and aahs from those she's entertaining. Who Am I? | Personality | ♦ Childish ♦ Eternally Optimistic ♦ Vibrant ♦ Altruistic ♦ Kei only cares about one thing on any given day and that is making sure that anyone she meets leaves with a smile or, failing that, a brightened mood. She treats the world and the things she sees with a childlike wonder, impressed by the simplest things no matter how often she sees them. Kei is the type of person who is amazed every time someone turns on the lights in a dark room. This also has he unfortunate side effect of her being rather naive, or at least quite good at pretending to be naive. Kei doesn't see the bad in anyone, still believing after all these years that everyone is a wonderful person and that so-called 'bad people' are just people that don't know how good they truly are. Of course, because things are rarely so sunshine and rainbows as Kei would like to believe, she has been taken advantage of countless times in her life. People have taken every bit of money she had on her person and she would still wave them goodbye and wish them well. That she is so positive could very much be seen as dangerous, after all who was always so damn happy, but with Kei that's just how she is. There's no deep ulterior motive, she's just happy to meet you and happier to help you if she can. Even still, Kei has felt the years and the countless instances of strife, from small conflicts to larger, world affairs, and though she has remained so upbeat all this time...it's definitely taken its toll on the girl. Her greatest fear is in finding out what would happen if she should wake up one day and not feel positive. She doesn't believe she could handle such a powerful mood swing so she'll continue to smile until it hurts. And even then she'll endure it so long as it makes people happy. | Likes & Dislikes | ✔Children, and their innocent laughter and joy ✔ The satisfaction that comes with helping others ✔ Ice Cream. Such a sweet treat should be enjoyed year round! ✔ Walking under an umbrella on a rainy day, with company or alone ✔ Stand up comedians, but not the super raunchy ones. ✔ Handheld games, they're so colorful! ✔ Making snow angels or really any weather-related activity ✘ Rude, vulgar people ✘ Being ignored ✘ People that don't thank others for holding the door open ✘ Spicy foods, why do they have to be so hot? ✘ Action movies ✘ People that spend most of their day looking at their phones. You're missing out on life! ✘ Loud, abrasive music | History | For the longest time, Kei was alone. She was born, she believes, but she knew only the faces of her parents and the hushed whispers before things went dark. When she awoke, she was alone and lost, living near a mountain in relative seclusion. Animals fled from her; perhaps they could sense the magical energies present inside of her, magical energies which never seemed to manifest themselves. Still, Kei, then a nameless fairy, tried to keep a positive outlook on her situation. She was surrounded by such beauty, after all, the trees and grass, the clouds in the sky, the wind in the air...what was not to love about, well...life? Her first meeting with others came when her ears picked up the sounds of what sounded like singing. Curious, Kei followed her ears to find a gathering of humans who weren't singing but rather praying as they buried one of their own. Kei didn't say a word, she merely observed this curious act until it ended. As the humans were returning to their homes, Kei met the gaze of a young man; she waved to him but he was whisked away before any further interaction could be made. The man came back a few days later and attempted to converse with Kei. Kei had never heard the language before, but enjoyed listening to the speech. The man believed that she was like the spirits in the stories, the ones that could bring the dead back to life. The man took her back to his home where his mother had fallen gravely ill. He wanted Kei to save her but the only comfort Kei could bring was to make the sickly woman's last days brighter. The mother passed on with a smile and Kei was welcomed among the humans as someone to ease the transition fro life to death. She didn't exactly understand this, but she was needed, she was loved, and she was happy. Kei was given the name Kei, after the first man's mother, and she lived among the people, learning their language at a rapid pace. It wasn't long before she was actually having conversations with everyone. But time is a cruel mistress and the people Kei lived with eventually succumbed to their own end. But Kei wouldn't let sadness keep her down, she couldn't. So she traveled, finding another village and living among them. While she couldn't raise the dead, she could ease the dying and that was a valued commodity in those days. Kei's heart knew no evil and is what allowed her to remain so youthful and childish well into her years. With the advent of continental travel, Kei's horizons expanded, and for the longest time she simply found a place to settle and learn and interact with the population. Spoken languages were a minor hurdle but she learned quickly. Kei took to learning sign language because it was international. Her travels just so happened to coincide with her stay in the U.K. and because coincidences are a real problem, so too did the world find out about the Others. She counts herself among them, being that she is one of them, but she hopes that this revelation can usher in peace between the two vastly different cultures. Even Others know how to smile, after all. | Family | Kei considers everyone she's lived with to be her family, and that is far too long a list. But she remembers them all. Or...well...most of them. | Strengths | Never in a bad mood A people person Honest to a fault | Weaknesses | Naive, very much so Easily swayed Gets lost fairly frequently The Other | Theme Song | Hurry Up! – noanowa ”Being alone makes me feel like I’m about to lose all the time When I was sad, when I was happy, you were by my side all the time It was a miracle The world I saw with you It’s like soaring lightning in a storm I wish tirelessly for tomorrow to be a great day For it to be a great day” | House Number | Churchill Gardens, 7B or with anyone who lets her stay over | Extra Information | Negative

Maggie Spencer-Adeyemi Emplacement: 30B Hauteurs de Faraday Interagir avec (Yukiko) et (Stefani) Sur l'étendue blanche de son plafond, il y avait cinq fissures, dont trois n'étaient arrivées qu'après son arrivée au 30B et s'étaient installés dans cette place banale d'une pièce. La plus grande fissure, courant du coin regardant par-dessus le cadre de la porte et zig-zaging clair de l'autre côté, a couru une longueur de vignes épaisses au-dessous de la largeur de celle-ci, qui s'est ramifiée librement vers le haut de sa garde-robe située dans le coin de l'extrême droite. Les deux autres fissures qui étaient apparues dans la pièce depuis son apparence abritaient des feuilles plus fines, qui penchaient comme de minces rideaux, changeant de longueur à volonté pour toucher le sol ou se blottir vers le plafond. Les trois collections de flore, qui oscillent perpétuellement doucement dans une brise inexistante, germeraient des fleurs de n'importe quelle variété aléatoire, la race changeant et changeant en fonction de n'importe quelle variable, du moment de la journée à l'humeur et l'énergie de l'occupant des chambres. Maggie, de son point de vue a posé sur son lit en fer forgé, a dévié son regard d'où elle avait compté les fissures dans son plafond, et a regardé les vignes, qui a flatté et préné dans leur décoration pour le jour. Hibiscus, Maggie s'est muselée intérieurement, une main qui joue avec le casque épais de ses cheveux, généralement cultivé en Asie et fleuri au soleil. Elle tourna la tête pour se reposer contre son épaule droite, regardant à la fenêtre, couvert d'un jeu de stores de longueur de sol, et sans doute dissimulant le temps effroyable et froid de Londres en janvier à l'extérieur. Un petit sourire courbé dans le coin des lèvres de Maggies, ses plantes semblaient toujours avoir un sens de l'humour, ou du moins un vague sens de l'ironie. Avec un soupir doux, Maggie tira la main, qui avait joué avec les boucles grinçantes de ses cheveux, sur son visage, clignotant plusieurs fois à nouveau à son plafond, et pensa, à nouveau, qu'elle devait sortir du lit. Elle avait vérifié son téléphone, chargé sur sa table de chevet, dès qu'elle s'était réveillée, les mises à jour météo automatique déclarant la météo, une mise à jour d'accompagnement du site d'information de la BBC affirmant l'orage brassant, et expliquant la base derrière elle. Maggie s'est bien moquée de l'actualité et s'est enfoncée plus profondément dans sa couette de peluche alors que le vent faisait un autre gros hurlement à l'extérieur. Cette affaire avec les Fae n'avait pas grand-chose à voir avec elle, et en général, elle n'y a jamais trop réfléchi. Vraiment... depuis cette sortie internationale, cette explosion de créatures se révolte, exigeant des droits et une protection, face à tout cela Maggie venait tout juste de s'y mettre, elle est allée à des conférences, elle est allée travailler, elle s'est réveillée, elle s'est endormie. "La chose clé que tu dois faire ma chérie, c'est rester la même." sa Mère a conseillé, en s'efforçant de tout le salon, un murmure d'un sort de lèvres fermées et de danse magique entre ses doigts, "Faites ce que vous avez toujours fait, ne paniquez pas, n'évitez pas les questions et donnez simplement des réponses banales." Evelyn s'arrêta au centre de la pièce, grande et imposante, avant de faire une ligne soudaine vers les portes du balcon, stupéfiant un Yukiko au ralenti hors du chemin. Maggie regarda sa Mère courir une main de chant dans un X à travers chaque grand panneau, le verre pulsant alors qu'elle inscrivait une nouvelle salle. "Actez confus comme si c'était complètement ridicule qu'ils vous demandent ce genre de choses, faites-leur confiance, ne leur faites pas confiance" Èvelyn a commandé, regardant par la fenêtre du ciel avant de tourner en arrière pour s'adresser fermement à sa Fille, parlant d'un ton qui ne laissait pas de place à l'argumentation. "Vous ne pouvez pas leur donner de chances Maggie, vous ne pouvez pas leur faire confiance. Ils nous ont noyés, ils nous ont brûlés et pendus, et ce genre de haine, cette colère et cette peur, ça ne s'en va pas. Mais tout ira bien, vous pouvez vous cacher, faire confiance en moi et faire confiance au Coven, tout ira bien. Ils nous chassent depuis des siècles, nous avons appris à nous adapter. » Maggie a levé la main de sa couette, atteignant son téléphone et le déverrouillant, l'écran s'accrochant au rapport d'actualité tendance qu'elle avait lu précédemment. Ce manifeste «Helling» n'était plus rien de nouveau, chaque jour une nouvelle histoire, une nouvelle exposition, une nouvelle campagne de démêlage sur une page d'accueil, un hashtag mondial tendance, des sites évangéliques... Maggie lâcha un soupir lent dans sa couette, le son étouffé par le tissu de peluche, et plaça à nouveau son téléphone sur sa table de chevet, changeant lentement la chaleur de la couette hors d'elle. Elle balançait les jambes sur le côté du lit et se tenait debout, les orteils nus brossant les planches de bois nues froides de son sol pendant qu'elle s'étirait pendant quelques longues secondes, en courant une main à travers ses cheveux. J'ai pris la main pour saluer les vignes draguées qui s'accrochaient à son plafond, Maggie a fait pour sa chaise de bureau, ramassant l'épais pull en laine qui s'étendait sur la chaise et la tirant au-dessus de sa tête. En passant par le sol, elle s'approcha de sa porte, notant les voix étouffées dans la pièce principale, et ouvrit la porte, la fermant derrière elle. Maggie est restée quelques secondes à l'extérieur de sa chambre, donnant un petit humour en saluant le mur de vignes rampantes qui tournaient autour de sa porte et s'étendaient dans le salon/cuisine. Après que les vignes aient donné un court carquois en réponse, Maggie a déplacé la courte distance dans le couloir, arrondissant le coin dans la pièce principale et arpenté les événements du matin. Elle a espionné Yuki, arnaqué devant la télévision, habillé pour la journée et se pavané dans une colère délicate mais évidente, quand Maggie a regardé à l'écran et a vu les nouvelles qu'elle pouvait deviner pourquoi. Un peu sur l'ourlet de son sauteur, Maggie dérive en direction de la cuisine attenante, donnant un petit clin d'œil à Stefanie avant de tisser autour d'elle, rembourrant vers la machine à café. Soulevant l'une des tasses accrochées sur le petit mug arbre en bois à côté de la machine, Maggie se versa une tasse de café chaud, se tournant autour de ses yeux autour de la pièce, se penchant contre le comptoir alors qu'elle levait la tasse à ses lèvres et prenait une gorgée.

Margaret 'Maggie' Spencer-Adeyemi Witch Basic Information | Name | Maggie Spencer-Adeyemi | Date of Birth | April 14th 1999 | Gender | Female | Sexuality | Gay | Occupation | Undergraduate Student in Natural Sciences at University College London | Part-timer at a cafe/plant nursery 'Windowbox' in Brixton | In-Depth Appearance | Dressed with a quiet grace and unassuming presence, Maggie is never eager to take up too much space, instead taking to blending into the background like a classic wallflower. Small in a way that leaves no doubt she was a scrawny child, Maggie stands at a height of 5'3 with size 4 feet and gangly arms that seem just a little too long for the rest of her body. She's slim, an exhibit of thin arms and legs, but owns two hands rough with calluses, and a line-straight head-high posture born less of self-confidence and more of strict instillment. Her hair is thick and curly and usually worn down, save for when she's working or revising, in which case she ties it back. Clothing-wise Maggie has always preferred a quiet and smart outfit, enjoying neutral colours and geometric patterns. Her most frequent choice of outfit is a simple blouse and skirt pairing, though like any other student Maggie also owns a selection of skinny jeans, loose shirts and hoodies, most of which are worn at work. Near all of her outfits are matched with any pair of worn converse she hoards, or a fancy pair of ankle boots. Down the back of her left calve runs a long scar, nearly indistinguishable from her brown skin, but noticeable to an observant eye. Born in Surrey to a fairly upper middle-class family, Maggie speaks with a distinctly 'posh' accent. Who Am I? | Personality | ♦ Quiet ♦ Sensitive ♦ Curious ♦ Friendly ♦ Remarked upon by almost anyone who knows her as a quiet and intelligent girl, Maggie has never been 'a mystery' or 'an enigma'. Instead she's always been like a 'constant', as if an unmovable object in an ever changing scene that slowly fades into the background until it is just an accepted aspect of the background, not striking or unconventional, and just 'there'. Because of this it wouldn't be unfair to call Maggie insipid or, at worst, bland. What's more, Maggie herself embraces her lack of distinction, having always enjoyed her privacy and holds a fondness for a quiet place to breathe. By no means is Maggie a true introvert, but she is a lover for a clear mind, something she most often finds in the single seat tucked away in the corner, and the 5am walks along Southbank. Despite her regularly self-imposed isolation from most of society, Maggie is always nothing less than cordial when meeting new people, and expresses a friendly fondness for those few she would call friends, and a sincere devotion to those she considers closest to her. Bright and observant, Maggie is endlessly curious and a brilliant listener, and if you found yourself detailing your life story to her you wouldn't help but feel that Maggie held a genuine fascination for your words. Maggie is however much less willing to divulge too much of her own story, and perhaps you might theorize that her eagerness to listen was due to an inability to share, or to open up that quietly guarded disposition and reveal any number of secrets that would fade away part of the uplifted chin and quick graceful walk. | Likes & Dislikes | ✔Gardening ✔Long walks early in the morning ✔Strong coffee with no milk or sugar ✔Cult film screenings at the Prince Charles cinema ✔New Stationary ✔Patient people ✔Browsing the book market underneath Waterloo Bridge ✔Music with no lyrics ✘Very large crowds ✘Liars and cheaters ✘Waiting for a bus in the rain ✘Medicine ✘When time passes too quickly | History | Born into the world quietly and quickly early on a Wednesday morning, Maggie was named so for her Mothers Grandmother and for the exclamation that she was 'precious as a pearl'. The latest of a long line of Witches whose magic was isolated to the women, Maggie belonged to the Adeyemi family, a strong and accomplished clan descended from the Vodon Priests of Benin, immigrated to London during the Windrush years. Born to Phillip Spencer, a human Property Developer, and Evelyn Adeyemi, a Witch renowned amongst her kind, Maggie was raised in a comfortable and affluent household and demonstrated her first sparks magic at a young age. Her Mother, Evelyn, an alumni of the Brithonic Coven and a pragmatic statue of a woman, was keen to fashion her only child into a Witch of the Age, a talented and powerful individual of authority who would command respect and carry the Adeyemi name with honor. Unfortunately, in contrast to her Mothers ease of skill and confidence, Maggies abilities came slower and her manner shyer. Despite this, Evelyn would not be deterred and, when her marriage ended in divorce and Evelyn granted primary custody of her child, she took every opportunity to educate her child. For years, whilst her magic grew quietly at it's own pace, Maggie was participant to endless lessons, lectures and demonstrations under the watchful eye of her Mother, learning the back to front of magical theory and history. The constant magical environment eventually showed its benefits, as at the age of 14, Maggie finally came fully into her magic and surprised many by revealing her magic to correspond more to Elemental Magic, a rarity in her family. As her Mother specialized in Necromancy and could provide little basis for an education on Elemental Magic, Evelyn allowed Maggie her space to grow and learn on her own, setting the girl to private study. Through this Maggie attained an appreciation for isolation and developed into the quiet studious woman she is today. Leaving School with good marks, Maggie divulged her plan to move to London and attend University there, arguing that the freedom would allow her the proper space and time to properly learn all the intricacies of her magic and figure out just what it was she could bring to the family, as well as the world. Evelyn, who by this point was swamped with Necromantic contracts from all over the world, agreed to letting Maggie leave home, on the condition that her Daughter assimilate herself into the Brithonic Coven, so she would be kept safe living in the city. Keeping her promise, upon arriving in London Maggie sent word to the coven of her arrival and was welcomed, largely upon acknowledgement of her family name. Although the wealth of knowledge and history suddenly available at her fingertips as part of the Brithonic Coven was enticing, Maggie disliked the tighter community and strict rules, and dislikes frequenting the coven too much. Instead, she found herself wandering online more and more often, scouring the resources of the Circle of Sorcery and wondering if maybe, just maybe one day she could be brave enough and follow her curiosity. | Family | -Evelyn Adeyemi: Mother to Maggie and assuming Matriarch of the Adeyemi clan, Evelyn is renowned for her magic skill among her kind and is an accomplished Necromancer who is contracted all over the world. An example of her great talent lies in her companion, the reanimated and rejuvenated corpse of Ada Lovelace, the soul of which Evelyn summoned back to the Plain of the Living to assist her with her taxes, and has accompanied her ever since. A tall and striking woman of seemingly limitless confidence, Evelyn expects her Daughter to live up to the Adeyemi name. -Phillip Spencer: Father to Maggie and Founder of a highly successful property development company, Phillip is a fairly quiet man who is hard to surprise. A regular human who became aware of the existence of The Other through his ex-Wife Evelyn, Phillip prefers to almost ignore most things supernatural, and has little to no idea of how to treat his Daughter and her magic. Nonetheless he loves Maggie dearly, and pays the rent of Maggies flat in Faraday Heights. | Strengths | -Ecological empathy -Patient -Observant | Weaknesses | -Unwilling for sudden change, almost stubborn -Prefers isolation, doesn't seek people out -Curious to a fault, lacks a real sense of danger The Other | Theme Song | Dreamhead – Home (Lyric-less song) | House Number | 30B Faraday Heights | Extra Information | Though Maggies magic is Elemental it's strictly centered in Ecology, and shows itself largely through her talent with gardening and growing plants. Because of this empathy Maggie has many plants throughout her flat and several of them have grown so strong due to her presence that they've begun rooting into the floor and extending vines across the ceilings. Despite the fact that the plants in 26B flourish and quiver with her mood, Maggie has no real control over her plants, currently lacking the power and discipline. When first moving to London, Maggie opted to stay in a flat closer to the city centre, but had to move within a few months due to several incidents involving her burgeoning powers, the final straw being when a neighbours sudden abundance of weed has the police calling round and Maggie quietly moving out to avoid suspicion. For a long time after that Maggie lived with her Father in his house out in Bromley, and only recently decided to move out on her own again. Drawn to the concentration of Other in Edgeton, Maggie moved to the borough and subsequently into Faraday Heights. Maggies journey into flat 30B is short and simple, Maggie saw an ad by the building manager advertising two rooms, Maggie guessed she'd probably need at least two, and upon meeting her prospective flatmate Yuki and understanding they were 'kin', Maggie chose to stay.

Emplacement: Random Man=S Appartement → Les haricots précoces → Spruce Ave. Interaction: Mention d'Opallum, Parler à Nicolas Black Il y a eu des moments où Nikita ne pouvait pas dormir. Des nuits où elle a jeté et tourné dans son lit, la peau au feu, et la tête en train de mal et de frapper comme la basse constante d'une chanson. Elle a tout essayé sur Internet, tous les médicaments, tous les médicaments en vente libre. Elle a tellement utilisé la mélatonine qu'elle n'a même pas pu dormir pendant plus de quelques heures. Cependant, Nikita a finalement trouvé une solution à de telles nuits – il semble, hilarantement assez et fidèle à sa nature, rien n'a tout à fait mis Nikita à dormir comme une bonne baise. Et l'homme qui s'est retourné dans le lit Nikita était éblouissantement couché, jetant son bras autour de sa taille et se blottis dans son cou, n'était rien d'autre que cela. Nikita soupira dans son nez, frottant son maquillage en croûte d'œil pendant qu'elle s'asseyait, jetant le bras de l'homme de son corps. Sa bouche s'est glissée de l'imbécile de son corps inconscient et une ligne de drool s'est glissée du coin de ses lèvres fracturées. Nikita ne pouvait pas aider le bruit de dégoût qui a échappé à sa bouche, son curling à lèvres comme elle a glissé du lit en rien d'autre que son costume d'anniversaire. À ce stade de sa vie, surtout en considérant qu'elle est une succube de vingt-six ans, Nikita est devenue une experte en saut sur des stands d'une nuit. Plonger dans son jean serré et glisser ses bras dans sa veste en cuir, renoncer à un t-shirt et au lieu de empocher le tissu légèrement déchiré dans son sac, le succube ne pouvait pas aider les pensées dérisives de sa colocataire qui m'est venu à l'esprit. Bien sûr, étant une professionnelle (et bien, ex-professionnelle), elle a trouvé son devoir de sextumer sur le fonctionnement d'un corps féminin. C'était un dessin brut, avec peu de mots, et une simple flèche pointant vers ce que son objectif devrait être. Nikita a placé de la colle gorille sur la partie collante de la note collante, juste pour être sûr, et a pressé son pouce le long du papier de sorte que la colle a pris à la chair creased du front idiot. Nikita murmura, scindant la note par dépit, avant d'épauler son sac et de glisser hors de la porte. L'air froid d'Edgetoun respirait du gel sur la clavicule exposée de Nikita, et Nikita regrettait sa décision de ne pas s'habiller. En épongeant ses bras autour de son corps dans une tentative stupide de se réchauffer, Nikita erra près du café, quelque chose de haricot, avec l'espoir d'une bonne tasse de café pour réchauffer ses os et ses poumons. Ses bottes cliquaient sur le trottoir alors qu'elle passait par un démon sans abri – son nom lui échappait toujours ; mais, encore une fois, elle n'a jamais vraiment essayé de se souvenir de son nom – et, sans l'épargner un regard, elle a appuyé sur les portes ouvertes. La télé faisait un reportage ennuyeux que Nikita ne pouvait pas se trouver pour s'en foutre, au lieu de se concentrer sur la commande d'une tasse chaude de paradis caféiné. En attendant impatiemment que la barista la répare, Nikita a laissé ses yeux s'étirer à la télévision, ses ongles noirs épluchés tapotant avec de l'énergie non dépensée sur le comptoir. Nikki Thomas murmurait sur le temps et ensuite sur l'Unseelie – attendez quoi. Bien que Nikita n'ait pas donné de réaction extérieure, ses yeux se rétrécissaient encore impassiblement et ses doigts tapotaient sans cesse, le succube pouvait sentir ses veines pomper le sang chaud dix fois plus vite aux nouvelles. Comme c'est ennuyeux, putain de fae Unseelie. Bien que Nikita soit d'accord avec leur sentiment, elle avait un travail auquel elle devait aller et avoir un blizzard allait le rendre plus désagréable qu'il ne l'était déjà. Quelle bande de salopes, d'émirites?Les yeux de Nikita ont glissé sur la barista qui parlait, lui faisant glisser le café chaud avec un sourire aveuglant. Il était évidemment américain, et l'épingle américaine coincée à côté de son étiquette sur le nomtag vert a fait son éternuement un peu à ce patriotisme ennuyeux. Nikita a grondé en réponse, s'emparant du café et sortant de l'endroit le plus rapidement possible. Quand elle est arrivée chez elle, le café était surtout parti et son humeur était encore plus aigre qu'il ne l'était ce matin-là. Il y avait une colère pent-up dans ses muscles et une exaspération serrée dans toute la situation qui grinçait dans son intestin. Putain de loups-garous, ils étaient si sales. Nikita a claqué la porte derrière elle, se balançant dans la cuisine et ignorant le loup-garou qui vivait actuellement avec elle. Elle a versé de l'eau dans le Keurig et a sauté une tasse de café en place, appuyant sur le bouton deux fois, comme si cela rendrait la machine pomper les choses plus rapidement. Nikita tuerait pour un smoothie à ce moment-là – la fraise, sa préférée – mais il faisait trop froid et trop d'effort, donc le café le ferait. En attendant, elle traque une chaise à table, en face de Nicolas Black, et vérifie son téléphone pour obtenir d'autres mises à jour. "Avez-vous vu la vidéo?" Nikita s'est bourdonnée, sa voix s'est évanouie par manque d'usage, et ses yeux ont regardé l'Autre en face d'elle. Comme pour apporter des éclaircissements, Nikita s'est éraflée la joue alors qu'elle disait le nom le plus stupide d'avoir jamais existé pour un putain de manifeste: "Helsing, cette vidéo."

| N A M E | Nikita "Nikki" Irene Yankovsky | D A T E O F B I R T H | September 22, 1994 | G E N D E R | Female | S E X U A L I T Y | Pansexual | O C C U P A T I O N | Police Officer specializing in undercover investigations Ex-Adult Film Actress (18-21) | I N - D E P T H A P P E A R A N CE | Being a succubus didn’t exactly guarantee Nikita any particular beauty. Though she definitely is beautiful, it’s her style and swagger as well as her oozing confidence that give her the allure rather than her appearance. Matter of fact, if she were stripped of all that, men wouldn’t look at her twice. Because Nikita didn’t possess the luscious lips that her mother did, or the beautifully flouncing hair that men seemed to adore, and her eye color wasn’t particularly exotic. Rather, Nikita had a plain appearance – not too thick, not too thin lips that were often cracked and bare; greasy brown hair that wasn’t exactly curly, but the thickness was tangled and snagged that it gave it a certain amount of volume and it seemed so bedraggled and messy; her eyes were a hazel-green that only looked green up close, and regular brown from a distance. Her body isn’t particularly overwhelming – she’s short at 5’4” and has thick, strong legs and a nice curve to her waist; however, her cleavage isn’t the most impressive and her badonka is of normal size. Her makeup is of the grunge sort, as is her clothes, with heavy eye makeup and practically no lip makeup done. She prefers dark clothes and bared legs with her top is not usually particularly revealing, however it’s not rare for her to don something risqué every once and awhile. Her shoes are either perfectly shiny boots or ragged sneakers, but high heels and expensive brand names are never seen on her feet. Nikita never puts much thought into her appearance – unless it’s a jacket. Nikita is very picky and particular with her jackets; they are always kept in perfect condition and are very stylish. Her hoodies do not have a single stain on them and her leather jackets have never been worn cracked. Nikita’s voice is rather husky and low with a cockney accent; it often sounds gritty and raspy due to her sometimes going days without speaking. Being a succubus, Nikita doesn’t really have a demon form – there seems to be no point considering that her kind was explicitly made to seduce humans. However, whenever she’s sucking out someone’s sexual energy, her eyes tend to turn a vivid amber color. When Nikita walks, she exudes arrogance with her slouched swaggering way of walking and confident but not overboard sway of her hips. People may think she has a rather alluring smell, though no one can pinpoint exactly what it is. Nikita has a few scars on her back from BDSM gone wrong, but they’re rather small and on the corner of her shoulder. She’s covered them with a stereotypical tattoo of flying silhouettes of birds. | P E R S O N A L I T Y | ♦ Quiet ♦ Independent ♦ Apathetic ♦ Observant ♦ There is a certain air about Nikita, an aura of carefree attitude and sarcasm that simmers on the front, ready to lash out. Many perceive her as one of those rebels; the kind who obnoxiously shout their opinions and make their thoughts known, the type that are easily provoked and jump at every chance to fight someone. But Nikita was never like that, far from it. The truth of Nikita is that she’s quiet. She could go days without talking and still be perfectly content. When speaking, her words are decided upon deliberately, and every sentence and coherent thought spoken aloud has a certain amount of thought and weight placed on it. She hides her true feelings and thoughts behind a wall of iron and steel, her emotions imperceptible to those around her unless she specifically elaborates to others – which is a rare occasion in itself. Nikita hates the feeling of being vulnerable; she hates being at the mercy and pity of others, relying on someone else to help her, and perhaps this is why she refuses to divulge her problems when she has them. Instead of asking for help, Nikita would rather die because she couldn’t help herself than have to rely on the kindness of a friend or stranger. Because of her closed off nature, Nikita is a little bit of a loner. Not to say she doesn’t have friends, because Nikita has an abundance of too-loud friends that she drinks, parties, sleeps with on a daily basis but even with them, Nikita is an outsider. She laughs with them and reminisces, but they never ask her questions about her past or present, or how she feels – it’s just as she likes it. When it comes to her friends, they are in a sphere of just them, and everything on the outside doesn’t matter, not their work or failing relationships or mistakes. Nikita doesn’t like others help, she doesn’t like the burden of owing others and she hates the weight that dependency lies on her shoulders. If she wants something, Nikita is determined to get it herself through her own means. As such, independence is an important aspect of her life and Nikita would rather die than be trapped in a dependent relationship of sorts – whether it’s platonic, romantic, or toxic. Therefore, Nikita has a tendency to hold others at arm length rather than embracing a friendship or relationship, leading to Nikita’s relationships with family, friends, and significant others being rather difficult and ultimately failing. As a general rule of thumb, if you want to assume something about Nikita, assume she doesn’t care. Nikita finds it hard to care about anything and finds generally everything pointless. Her apathetic carelessness often leads to her hurting others, making mistakes, and pissing everybody off. When Nikita became a cop, she didn’t become a cop in order to protect others, but rather it was a steady source of income and she was good at it. She tends to not pay much mind to things that don’t directly involve her and in moments in which bad things do happen to her, Nikita simply shrugs it off. Being a rather quiet person who tends to keep to herself as well as an undercover cop, Nikita has become really good at reading others’ body language. This, of course, does not mean she knows exactly what other people are thinking – that’s impossible – but Nikita is rather good at picking up social queues and picking up when others aren’t acting like themselves or are being suspicious. Furthermore, Nikita has a lot of patience and is willing to wait for others to come to her when they want to talk rather than force it out of them. She prefers subtlety that way, and keeps secrets rather well, though most of the time she does so out of the pretense that it is none of her goddamn business rather than because she cares or feels obligated to. | L I K E S & D I S L I K E S | ✔Vanilla Ice Cream w/ Soy Sauce ✔Phone App Games (especially Angry Birds) ✔Incense ✔Strawberry Smoothies ✔Bad Movies/Parody Movies (Sharknado is currently her favorite) ✔Cat Videos on YouTube ✔Wet Weather ✘Green Food ✘Moths ✘Pretentiousness ✘Feather Pillows ✘Hot Weather ✘Day Drinkers ✘Unfashionable Jackets | H I S T O R Y | Unlike most other demons, Nikita doesn’t have to lie about her age – yet. Twenty-six years ago, on September 22, Nikita was born to Valentina Yankovsky. Nikita never knew much about her father; he was a random incubus stranger who was too unimportant to know his name and, apparently, the owner of a bad batch of condoms. Despite not knowing her father, Nikita never really questioned her mother about or let it bother her; family never seemed that important to Nikita. Perhaps it was because of her isolated upbringing, in which Nikita spent her time going to school and coming home to an empty house. Growing up, Nikita always knew what she was. She understood that, while she could go to school with humans and have a regular job like humans, humans would always be her prey in some way or another. Therefore, Nikita never bothered envying humans or wishing she could be normal, instead Nikita focused on what was rather than what could be. In school, instead of having close relationships with her classmates, Nikita spent her time doing homework, reading, and playing videogames. Her life at home was mostly lonely. Valentina loved her daughter, but they were both very secluded, withdrawn people and so they didn’t really bond or speak at all. Around the time when Nikita turned eleven, Valentina decided she could stay at home for long periods of time by herself, and began to leave for months at a time. When Nikita was sixteen, she didn’t see her mother for a whole year. Nikita never experienced a real romance, she didn’t have the presence of mind to even try for a romance. Her first time was in the backseat of a car of a random stranger who just happened to be incredibly handsome and vulnerable. That was as romantic as Nikita got. When she became legal, Nikita entered the adult film business in order to pay for university. At university, Nikita studied political science and, well, had a lot of sex if we’re being completely honest – like a lot. However, when Nikita was twenty-one, she got a call from a stranger claiming to be her long lost twin sister, named Nadia. Apparently, Nadia became aware of her through her adult films that her boyfriend seemed to like. Unfortunately, Nadia did not know of her succubus nature in which Nikita had to break it to her, which was an affair in itself. The idea of having a family member she didn’t know anything about pissed Nikita off and she confronted her mother, Valentina about it. Valentina shared that, when she found out she was pregnant with twins, she decided that two kids was too much for her, as simple as that. Valentina gave up Nadia for adoption and that was that – thoughts of her second (and oldest) child left her mind. With the truth known, Nikita set up a meeting between Valentina and Nadia which didn’t end up well (especially with Nadia being overly affectionate and warm and the Yankovsky duo being rather cold and impersonal). Having met Valentina, Nadia decided to introduce Nikita to her adoptive parents, who were rich business owners that were not too happy with a doppelganger appearing naked on the internet with her daughter’s face. Nadia’s parents blackmailed Nikita to quit the porn industry and, without the money to pay for her university, Nikita dropped out. With no further education than her basic High School Diploma, Nikita decided that a job in law enforcement was really the only way to go. She moved off campus and into Edgetoun as well as entered training school to become a police officer. The training period went by quickly and Nikita’s (albeit lacking) acting skills made her a good option for an undercover cop. Nothing much happened during this time period, Nikita pretty much ignored Nadia’s existence, except for the occasional coffee if Nikita felt particularly guilty that day, and Valentina was somewhere off in Asia, probably making more family members that Nikita did not want to have. However, with the arrival of knowledge that the human community attained, Nikita didn’t know quite what to do with herself. In the beginning, she had felt like panicking, but instead quelled it and pushed it down, pretending the problem didn’t exist. The following week, Nikita went to work and move about, pretending as if nothing was happening. Still is, though anxiety is quietly creeping up her spine. | F A M I L Y | ||Nadia Ackermann | 26 | Twin Sister|| - Nikita's long lost twin sister. Nadia found it odd when she saw her face in her then-boyfriend's newly bought adult film. After a little bit of digging, they made contact. While Nadia adores Nikita and wants to get closer to her, Nikita mostly ignores her sister's presence with the occasional birthday card a few days late. Nikita thinks of Nadia as a little bit of a dumb bimbo, with her dyed blonde hair and her love for acronyms, but Nadia is intelligent in her own way. ||Valentina Yankovsky | Unknown | Mother|| - Nikita's succubus mother. Nikita was raised by her mother, though they had a strained relationship. It's not so because they were different or that they didn't like each other, but mostly because they were both very private people and would not often share personal things with each other. When Nikita was in her tweens, Valentina saw her fit to become independent and would often leave for months at a time - even for a whole year, once. Nikita never blamed or held it over her mother's head, because she understood Valentina's need for adventure and for a life on the edge. However, with the news of a twin sister she never heard of, their relationship has been tenser than usual. | S T R E N G T H S | Observant Seductive Patient | W E A K N E S S E S | Apathetic Withdrawn Sex-Driven | T H E M E S O N G | Hurricane – Halsey "I'm a wanderess I'm a one night stand Don't belong to no city Don't belong to no man I'm the violence in the pouring rain I'm a hurricane” | H O U S E N U M B E R | Faircourt - 5361 Spruce Avenue | E X T R A I N F O R M A T I O N | Bilingual (Russian and English)

Lieu: Avalon Point – Maison. Interagir avec: Alistair Sous les couches de couvertures et une autre couche supplémentaire de peluches et d'animaux farcis, Megumi était enroulé autour d'un ours en peluche, endormi et dans le pays des rêves. Plusieurs de ses animaux farcis qui étaient soigneusement placés sur son lit étaient dispersés à travers le sol depuis qu'elle se déplaçait tellement dans son sommeil. Tout dans la chambre était lumineux, heureux et chaud, tout comme Megumi l'aimait. Les roses, les oranges et les jaunes étaient de loin ses couleurs préférées, et il y avait plusieurs images collées sur les murs avec ce schéma de couleur très. "Mmmmm...." Megumi remué, un léger froncement se formant alors qu'elle roulait. Elle s'est enterrée plus profondément et en toute sécurité sous les couvertures, allant jusqu'à tirer la couverture sur sa tête. Son lit était si chaud, doux et agréable, parfaitement cocooning son petit corps... Elle était dans la position parfaite dans son lit où tout était confortable et la suppliant de rester dans ses confins confortables. Cinq minutes de plus. Elle n'était pas prête à aller à l'école. Il devenait de plus en plus difficile de forcer ses pieds à aller de l'avant pour l'emmener à sa classe— Attendez. L'école? C'est parti? Une petite main pâle sortit du dessous de la couverture, repoussant la largeur des couvertures pour que son visage puisse jeter un coup d'œil. Les yeux blêmes étaient dirigés vers la voix alors qu'elle se poussait dans une position assise, ne regardant rien tandis que son esprit endormi luttait pour assembler ce qui vient d'être dit. Il y avait une confusion somnolente sur son visage avant qu'elle ne se transforme en une expression réfléchie avant qu'elle ne s'éclaircisse finalement en un sourire heureux. Toute somnolence oubliée, Megumi a mis de côté les couvertures et les animaux farcis pour sauter avec enthousiasme hors du lit. (Elle n'a pas oublié d'attraper la patte de sa poupée de lapin farcie.) Elle s'est arnaquée de l'autre côté de la pièce pour ouvrir la porte. Elle a dû incliner complètement sa tête vers le haut pour jeter un grand sourire à sa figure-père actuelle. Vraiment!? Dans son moment d'excitation, elle a complètement oublié qu'elle était censée parler l'anglais sur une base régulière.

| Name | Fiona Blake Preston If you call her Fiona, she will cut you. It's Blake. | Date of Birth | October 13th, 1997 | Gender | Female | Sexuality | Fluid | Occupation | High school dropout — Blogger/Youtuber and barista Blake was never a straight A student. She often cut class, didn't turn in homework, didn't study... It was only a matter of time until she dropped out. Fortunately for her, she's found minor success in blogging. While she doesn't rake in the a LOT of money, it's enough to keep her afloat. As long as she keeps her barista job at this little coffee shop, she can get by with a little extra left over for herself. | In-Depth Appearance | Despite the fact that she's always telling people to "FITE ME," Blake is a rather frail and petite. She may be tough, and she may bite and claw and kick and play dirty, but at the end of the day she's a petite lady that only stands at 5'2. She definitely does not look physically imposing whatsoever. Her threats are often disregarded for good reason — Blake is in no way able to hold her own in a fight. Blake is "unladylike" according to her mother. She doesn't sit up straight, and spreads her legs when she sits down. Even after years of being chastised by her mother, she hasn't learned (or rather, refused to learn) and her posture is the worst it's ever been and it makes her look even shorter than she actually is. There's usually a cigarette between her slender fingers, and when she's relaxing at all, she sprawls out all over the ground, bench, couch, chair... Whatever it may be. Yup, she's the type of person to sit at the edge of a seat and lean back, spread her arms and legs out and hog the entire thing. It's obvious from her own sense of style (it's grunge, by the way) that she doesn't particularly put too much effort into her appearance. Her unruly hair is always tied up in a messy ponytail without a second thought or any particular styling. Her naturally brunette hair is hastily bleached with her roots beginning to show. Her face is usually devoid of makeup — it's too much work, and too girly. Oh, speaking of which, Blake will always always always resist wearing skirts or dresses or heels. It takes a lot of convincing to force her into one of those things. She's content with her ripped jeans, combat boots and flannel thank you very much. "Blake Preston; Blogger, youtuber, queer extraordinaire, and general failure at life at your service." | Personality | ♦ Hotheaded ♦ Temperamental ♦ Aggressive ♦ Tomboy ♦ A girl prone to outbursts of emotions, Blake is someone who doesn't know the meaning of the word "restraint." She lets her emotions run freely and away, often leaving her more rational brain behind. She doesn't hold back whatsoever; when she's angry, she rages. When she's sad, she wails. When she laughs, everything about her lights up. She's passionate, and she experiences life to the fullest. Sometimes a little too fully. Her passionate moods have a tendency to be volatile and rampant, often swinging wildly out of her own control. There's little to no chance in reasoning with her when she's upset in any way. Blake has an adventurous streak that's unbound and unrestricted by rules. She bends and sometimes even breaks laws (to her, they're more like guidelines) to suit her needs. A lot of her interest was peaked by stories of the supernatural and the occult, so she's done her fair share of breaking into abandoned houses that were supposedly haunted and such. She's not a skeptic, she's a believer. There's just got to be something beyond humanity. It's a little cheesy, but her fascination with monsters, ghost stories, fortune telling... It's unparalleled. She's never been the type to sit down and study anything, but she's spent hours and hours poring over books concerning the mystical. She's rather aggressive and isn't afraid to get into anyone's face. She can often be heard telling people to "FIGHT ME" and "Wanna say that to my face!?" and "I can take ya!" while shooting death glares. She's all talk though, and although she wouldn't hesitate to punch someone in the face, she knows that she's a bit too weak to really fight someone. It doesn't stop her from egging someone on though. That's landed her in a lot of trouble in the past when she bites off a lot more than she can chew and pushes someone too far. Blake doesn't make friends very easily due to her temperamental and aggressive nature, but when she does make friends she displays a softer side. She cares a lot about many different things, and that includes the people close to her heart. She's overprotective, sometimes a bit smothering with her affection, and is a bit clumsy at being a friend, but she sure as hell is loyal and tries her very best. | Likes & Dislikes | ✔Occult, ghost stories and horror movies ✔Chocolate milkshakes with whipped cream topping and a chocolate drizzle on top ✔Tim Burton movies ✔Bending rules and sneaking around ✔Spicy snacks like hot cheetos and takis ✔Cheesy romantic movies, gestures and whatnot ✔Thrills and adventure ✔Nachos ✔Fortune Telling (notably palm-reading and tarot cards) ✔Playing guitar ✘Being feminine ✘Cheesy romantic movies, gestures and whatnot ✘Feeling trapped ✘Being forced to do something (like schoolwork) ✘Licorice ✘Cats — They're cute but she's very allergic ✘Fancy chocolates | History | Can you believe that the tomboy-ish Blake was once a girl that dressed in Mary Janes, flouncy skirts and ribbons in her hair? When she was younger, Fiona actually went by her first name, and she was her mother's little angel and dress up doll. Coming from a very traditional family that adhered to gender norms and such, she was expected to be quiet and ladylike, while her brother was allowed to be unruly and wild. She didn't appreciate that at all. Why did she have to stay indoors and play house and dress up her barbies when her brother was allowed to play outside in the dirt? It was around middle school when she started rebelling against her parents. You know, the dreaded "goth" phase that a lot of people go through when they're in the beginning stages of a teenager. She dyed her hair black, wore a ton of eyeliner, scoffed at the "prepz and pozers" and rejected everything that her mother expected her to be. Thankfully she grew out of it eventually, but she found herself a completely different identity than what she was supposed to be. And you know what? She never looked back. She ditched the skirts, the ribbons, all of the pink and lace — much to her mother's chagrin. That's when her relation with her parents plummeted. They couldn't comprehend why she was being so rebellious. What happened to the sweet little girl that they raised? Where did they go wrong? She rejected her birth name of Fiona, started staying out past curfew, ditching school, started hanging out with the wrong crowd... Her grades were suffering, she stopped caring about things and started living for herself. Needless to say, she didn't last too long at school or home after that. She dropped out of school in the middle of her Junior year, and moved out the moment she turned eighteen. She stayed at her friend's house for a few months, working the odd jobs until she had saved up enough to go rent her own place. For years, she's maintained a blog and a youtube channel. In her sophomore year, it started really picking up and gaining popularity. She has a large following that are dedicated to her — enough for her to start making money off of those. She's fairly well-known as a presence on the internet. She talks about a lot of stuff on the two, but notably she explores various supernatural theories and the occult. And now it's been confirmed that the supernatural do exist? Uh, can you say best day ever? | Family | Maria Preston - Mother — Maria Preston is Blake's strict mother. She had high expectations for her only daughter, and was extremely disappointed when she didn't grow up to be as she hoped. She wanted Blake to grow up to be a proper lady — educated, respected, independent, and to marry a nice man. A doctor, perhaps. Obviously Blake rebelled against it, and their relation has been strained ever since. They haven't talked to each other ever since Blake moved out a few years ago. Michael Preston - Father — Michael has always been out and about, flying all over the world for his job. He's been absent for a lot of Blake's childhood, so Blake harbors some resentment towards him. He came back in her preteen years, just in time for her transition into a new person. Along with his wife, he tried a bit too hard to push Blake back into a more appropriate direction. He's been absent for the majority of her childhood; what does he know? Andy Preston - Older brother — Blake has always been jealous of her brother; he always got to do all of the things that she wasn't allowed to. Nevertheless, the two have always managed to maintain a close relationship. He's her best friend, and is also the only family member she continues to contact every so often. | Strengths | Passionate Free-spirited Independent | Weaknesses | Stubborn Short-fused Overly and needlessly aggressive Rebellious "Don't you think that there's no way we're the only ones here? Science can't explain everything — There's something more out there. And I'm going to find out what; damn all the consequences. I want to know." | Theme Song | Bad Reputation – Joan Jett and the Blackhearts ”I don't give a damn 'bout my reputation You're living in the past, it's a new generation A girl can do what she wants to do and that's what I'm gonna do” | House Number | Faraday Heights, 24A | Extra Information | She has over 10,000 followers on various social media Fairly skilled with photography — nothing professional, but she has a good eye At one point she worked as a professional fortune teller "Bitch, you wanna go? Fight me."