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Topic: Peradyse Lost
Subject: Coming to Terms.
Even though he knew there was very little room for doubt... his body wouldn't respond to the signals that his brain was commanding. He had intended to cast more arcana towards the encumbered enemies... preferably before they were able to escape... but the site of the hordes closing in on his allies, along with the stressful knowledge that he did grim work, levied his actions useless. He hadn't had a lot of experience in the outside world... and even after leaving the abbey, mostly he had gone in search of other libraries and benevolent mages who were willing to share their knowledge with him.
He had killed before, in order to survive against the odd foe that crossed his path, such a the tiefling assassin sent to him by some cult whose purpose in life was apparently book burning. It just so happened at the time, that Cerric Khalidran had in his possession many books. This made him a scholar in the eyes of the cult... which was not so far from the truth. However, the tiefling had obviously not counted on the fact that he was a wizard of some fair rank...
Shaking out of his internal conflicts, and preposterously vivid recriminations of the past, another three spikes of light began to shine through the cracks of his fingers, and as they split, they shot forth unerringly towards three more unlucky goblins. They seemed to possess considerably less endurance, and as such, were prime targets of such simple spells. He would help reduce the number of enemies as quickly as possible, and worry about the quality of his victims after the fodder had been done away with.
****
Having effectively made contact with his target, Char did not linger around the Orc for any amount of time. He soared off high into the air, to watch the battle from a greater perspective, mapping out all points of interest for his master's perusal. Beady eyes squinted in the twilight trying to capture all the detail it could muster from the luminescence of the sky.
Posted on 2007-10-17 at 16:22:44.
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Topic: Peradyse Lost Q&A
Subject: The Only Living Legacy...
Sorry Dragon Mistress. I haven't been paying too much attention to the inn as of late. There has been a major slow down in the other games I'm in, and I didn't see a latest five update for your campaign. I will post tomorrow if that is all right, I hope it isn't too late by then.
Posted on 2007-10-16 at 12:53:23.
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Topic: Peradyse Lost
Subject: A Jolt to the System
The raven lurks in the air above the metal clad orc, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Char awaits the empathic signal from his master Cerric, before finally descending upon his target from behind. He feels the jolt of electricity pass into his form, as if at once he knew what it was like to be a streak of lightning, coursing it's way towards the earth, a battle of thunder raging in the distance as the world trembles before it's sheer impact. Though the little brain was not so inclined to metaphors, the bird wondered nonetheless, if this would make the orc the earth to be split in two.
(Short post... ah well, can't win them all. Been a busy few weeks for me, anyhow. Cerric has just cast Shocking grasp on his raven, and the raven is doing a touch attack against the orc that he had been targeting. I would like to mention for your convenience that shocking grasp gains a +3 circumstance bonus to attack if the target is wearing metal. Also, I would like to mention, because of something I saw in a previous post, that I am considered a level 5 mage for all intents and purposes. I know this is made obvious because I am indeed a mystic theurge, but I saw myself posted as a level 3 mage when I cast in the first surprise round in combat. It's important in this instance because it is the difference between 3d6 damage, and 5d6 damage.)
Posted on 2007-09-23 at 13:32:32.
Edited on 2007-09-23 at 13:32:55 by Philosopher
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Topic: Dim Lights of Sharn - Eberron
Subject: Bemusement
Though at first my stumbling was necessitated by blood loss, the sudden urge to fly overcame me when a very probescent tickle overcame my body. It felt as though pure energy flowed through my veins, it felt... good. It was a soothing blast of magic as well, I soon came to realize, feeling the wounded flesh around my shoulder begin to seal and flatten, the irritation and swelling waning. I knew of only one of the Blades that had the ability to mend in this manner, and that was Discq, the same man who even without raising a sword, had been his greatest ally during the battle, and indeed, many battles previous. Often it was his music that kept him going, kept the insanity of the pitch at bay.
I thanked him shortly before he addressed us with the proposal of his absence. It seemed quite odd to me, because he had been the first to sign up with our good friend the politician. We still had a murder to solve, and it seemed as though this fact bothered him not in the least.
I stumbled through the rain, listening to the footsteps of my comrades, allowing my trail to follow that of the ebb and flow of Draven's black gravity. He stopped momentarily and laughed, saying, “I thought I was the only one who wanted to stick him….that’s all.”
Did he mean Maurd... could it possibly be? I swelled up in utter confusion, feeling the dizziness of the situation unfold before me. Could Draven truly be so cold? My answer was somewhat answered after I stumbled upon the body of a small child. A child with facial hair? Perhaps it were a goblin, or a gnome. Though this was obviously who Draven had been talking about, or so at least I had hoped, I did not understand why he would have wanted to stab the little one at any rate. Perhaps he had seen something I could not have, which was to say he saw anything at all...
Posted on 2007-09-15 at 15:44:24.
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Topic: Dim Lights of Sharn - Eberron
Subject: Sorry I'm Late!
Even though I knew my wounds would require some tending, the events to come prickled ever more slightly than the dull thud of pain that came from my split shoulder. Nel and the others were busy pilfering through the bodies, or so I had assumed. It was after all, only fair that the possessions of the fallen become a part of our estate. I heard Nel call out in her most suitable bout of nobility, and I admired her words. I hadn’t ever been much of a public speaker. There were few words in my arsenal to convey my point of view. Surely, there were damages to the establishment. Broken chairs and tables, bloodstained floors, and shattered glasses. I could not know these things from a glance. I could not speak these truths with honesty.
Tenderly I ran a finger into the split of fabric where the blade had cut. There was still blood trickling out of my body, and my shirt was dampened by it. The edges of my skin felt cold. They did not hurt; it was a lack of hurt that concerned me. I had been told before that scars were the matter of the dead, that the skin would be the absence of sensation evermore.
Though Nel had made quite a compelling speech to the owner of the tavern, he rejected her proposals with vehemence. It was enough to make my hand clench around my spiked chain. The answer to her proposition was, nevertheless, one filled with rejection and disbelief. It was obvious that we had overstayed our welcome in this rutty place. I would have to venture out to see a surgeon before my injury became infected by the constant stagnation of this rainy season. Gangrenous decay could very well be the end of any man, regardless of his social status.
A small hand gently rapped upon my shoulder, flowing down my arm until it gently caressed my fingers. Her predominant voice reverberated through the air beside me. “Blades, take what you can from the fallen, and move out. We're obviously no longer welcome here. We'll reconvene at HQ, and tend to what needs tending to there. My apologies friends if your evening's respite has come to an unpleasant end."
She gently squeezed my hand, before unlacing our fingers. I felt the air pull away from me, leaving me to my darkness, so that it may follow the brightness of her lead. Still, the darkness didn’t seem quite so enclosing; my fingers tingled gently, as if they were asleep. Wrapping my chain around my figure and my uninjured shoulder with tender resolve, making sure the precarious spikes faced outwards and away from my flesh, I concentrated on my location in the bar, trying to make a mental map of steps, and the barricades of chairs and tables. I knew the direction of the exit, and would now be so inclined as to stumble my way out of the establishment. Once I was across the bridge I would recount my steps to the square, where I recalled a small temple in the northeastern corner of the courtyard. Priests had always made for good bedfellows. Perhaps they could mend my flesh to a satisfactory condition, without sponging my pockets clean of gold.
Posted on 2007-09-09 at 18:39:33.
Edited on 2007-09-09 at 18:42:21 by Philosopher
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Topic: ^ < V game
Subject: Quirky. I Think I'll Play.
^ collects Harry Potter action figures!
< wiggles his ears without touching them!
v likes skydiving without a parachute!
Posted on 2007-09-04 at 20:17:18.
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Topic: Peradyse Lost
Subject: The Flight of the Soul Bearer
As the horde of goblins and orcs broke through the walls of the forest, Cerric felt a shiver run across his spine, as though it were about to sprout wings and fly away. His mind however, remained focused on the important things at hand. He fought for the lives of the people around him, as well as those that would suffer when these monsters ransacked the town in which only he and his fellow defenders lie between. The priest had momentarily taken his eyes off of the battlefield, and swept them upon the sleek bird that rest upon his shoulder. "Char, you must take flight," he began to say, speaking in the draconic language that he had taught the familiar after many tedious hours of rehearsal, "be the extension of my soul, so that we may punish these abominations!" Though in his original plans, Cerric had only meant to provide curative support. He realized that the most effective way to keep his allies alive would be to dwindle the ranks of their foe to as little as possible. To do this he would expend as much energy in the realm of the arcane as necessary, reserving his divine power for the much needed blessing of Oghma, and the knowledge of mending flesh and bone.
With a twitch of it's little head, the bird seem to nod in agreement. He stretched out his wings, testing the night air. It had begun to chill, which made stiff the cold-blooded creature, who had been relaxing on his master, as if he were a flesh made perch. With a caw into the night sky, he flapped his wings surreptitiously before responding to the mystic theurge's command with a simple, "I go."
Off into the night the raven flew, scanning the war stamped clearing for the perfect target. Tiny eyes flickered from one orc to the next, until he set his sights upon the perfect candidate. The ironclad buffoon would be a prime choice for the spell that Cerric had most certainly been considering. Char would hover close enough to his target, so that when the electrical energy filled his hollow body, he would be able to swoop down into the fray and stop the heart of the feral warrior cold.
Meanwhile, Cerric had been sifting through the priceless knowledge of the arcane, much of which he had learned in the abbey's library so long ago... One particular spell he had learned in the dragon's tongue came to mind. It was simple, yet effective. Clapping his hands together as if he were about to pray, the priest began mumbling the precursive gibberish of the incantation, opening his soul up to the realms of magic and igniting the flame of power within himself. As the flow of energy began to pulse into his body, the mystic theurge closed his eyes, finding the power that surged into him almost unbearable to maintain. The magical force of powers too old to date flowed through him like he was little more than a channel etched into the earth by a glacier from millions of year previous. It sought escape, something that Cerric would be glad to provide. Tilting his hands away from the heavens to be parallel with the horizon, he opened his eyes and focused his mind on three of the goblins that had been trapped by the entanglements. Maintaining his concentration on those three goblinoid creatures, he clasped together all but his index fingers, to form a point... a place for the energies to be released from. As he did this, three pulses of light and sound shot forth, unerringly towards the three small human-like monsters, as if they stood upon a summit, with lightning rods in hand as they braved a mighty thunderstorm. It was as though they had provoked the wrath of the gods, except that in this case, it was the priest of Oghma that sought to deliver punishment. The lighting rods they carried were the choices they made. War for no virtuous reason, enough to raise the ire of this usually passive man.
His focus wandered between the goblins he had struck out upon, and his fellow guardians as they began their various encounters with the enemy. On this spectacular mount of his, it would be possible to reach his fallen comrades before they were sent to their final destinations. He hoped such fatal conditions would be avoidable, but knew hope was no replacement for preparedness.
(Cerric uses magic missile on three different goblins, dealing them each 1d4+1 damage. Char makes a double move towards an orc with metal armour. I am keeping him within a moves range of his target, so that I may attack with him after Cerric cast's a touch attack spell upon him.)
Posted on 2007-08-30 at 14:00:56.
Edited on 2007-08-30 at 14:54:15 by Philosopher
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Topic: Champions of Nomachron: Return to Arms (Mature)
Subject: Do Not Disturb!
'What manner of sorcery was this!?'Temper had thought to himself, watching the yeti shrink into a little ball of fluff. He had been robbed of his glory. His conquest of this lesser whelp! He turned to the elven girl in the corner of the cavern, eyes blood shot with a combination of adrenaline and fury. The remnants of her whispered cants echoed through both the cavern and his mind. The barbarian exhaled a great sigh, raising a gnarled claw to point at the girl. "You," he began, with a threatening growl, "Stay out of this wench!"
Just as he had finished spitting out the last word, Temper saw, far too late, two more yeti charging full force at him, and as such they were able to tackle him to the ground with an ease he could ill afford. Fists as hard as rock and heavy as lead smashed down upon his chest, and though Temper was wearing armour, it did very little to protect him from the massive blows of the abominable giants. Temper delighted in this furious struggle for life! It was as though his ancestors were calling out his name, and he could imagine exactly what they would say, "This is Jacob of the Fell tribe. Let him be tested. To be the eldest son of the Chieftan is an honour above all others. He must prove his strength. Measure him, let us see the weight of his power!"
Temper would not argue with the requests of his envisioned ancients. The savage blood within him boiled. He possessed an empowered lineage. Blood from both Orc and Dragon, fighting over the tattered remnants of inferior human heritage. He reveled in the thought of leaving the weakness behind. The mortality of his human frailty. He would reforge himself as his aspect self. A creature who bowed down to nothing. There would be no superior. He would not kneel. His father would see...
There was no fear in the heart of the Dragon Disciple. He cared not about the lethality of these two accursed mammoths. He would rip them in half. His fury would resound in the caves for all eternity, for fear of his return. All of the channels of his body opened to the flow of blazing hot fury. Fueled by an uncontrollable rage, Temper lashed out once again at the yeti he had already grazed upon, aiming this time for the neck of the creature... with his teeth at least. His claws he attempted to wrap around the back of the yeti's head, so as to rip the scalp off of it's head. Perhaps this would make for a good hat in the future...
One by one... Temper would maim and kill these beasts, until the floor was a frozen lake of crimson. He would prove his strength. He would plunge his will into the search for his quintessential form, and would emerge... A Chieftan.
(Temper is going to become enraged... I believe I listed his enlarge/enraged bonuses on his sheet. Also, I am attacking With the full force of my natural weapons once more. If I have to stand up, I suppose this will take two rounds.)
Posted on 2007-08-29 at 13:45:07.
Edited on 2007-08-29 at 13:49:24 by Philosopher
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Topic: Corrupt a wish
Subject: Damn You All Mighty Smoter!
Wish granted, however you have been captured by bloodthirsty orcs at level one =Þ
I wish Lindsay Lohan would check into my house for rehab @_#
Posted on 2007-08-28 at 12:31:44.
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Topic: Corrupt a wish
Subject: As You Command...
Your wish is granted, but the toll of each additional wish is a loss of body parts, starting with the most important...
I wish someone would give me a Character Development point in Kaelyn's game, or at least another applaud. lol
Posted on 2007-08-28 at 02:51:41.
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Topic: Favorite Adventure/Setting
Subject: Dragon Paradise
My favourite setting has thus far been in the land of Drakenhorde. I do not want to say much more about it though. I am intending to make a game in the setting sometime, so watch for that!
Posted on 2007-08-27 at 13:34:55.
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Topic: What’s Your Favourite Edition?
Subject: My Favourite Edition
3.5
After I make heavy modifications, and rearrange almost every rule =Þ
Posted on 2007-08-27 at 13:31:06.
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Topic: most unusual/thrilling end to a campaign...
Subject: Indeed.
Well, my most thrilling ending had to be with Zook Turen, as before mentioned in Groovy Juicy Gamesessions!!!
However, there certainly was one very unusual game session, in which I made my one friend last a lifetime, and then another, and then another, simply because I failed to realize that sometimes a character is just supposed to die. In any case, The game was actually a war between the races of common, such as gnomes, dwarves, humans, halflings, and elves... against the races of the Orc Lord's Horde, which consisted of Orcs, goblins, hobgoblins, bugbears, trolls, kobolds, troglodytes, and hill giants. So yeah. Scary.
In any case, she had decided she was going to be a force for evil, and chose the roll of Bugbear. This bugbear went through hell and back. Fought against an advancing army of human allies, only to have his home burnt to the ground. Went on a quest through a dead swamp of tar, where he was forced into a competition, only to be killed by a red dragon there. This allowed me to make the bugbear into a ghost. This ghost helped in many battles, only to be reincarnated by one of his tribesman, into a Centaur!
Well, because the Centaur's were neutral and holed up in the forest... The Tribe sent him to be a spy, and mislead the Centaurs into believing the Alliance of Good races wanted the forest's for logging and living space, which wasn't actually that far from the truth. In any case, he managed to get the centaurs to assist in battle against the Good Alliance, and even used their forests to sneak the hordes forces past the Greatly Fortified walls of his enemy, only to later slaughter the Centaurs when their usefulness was gone. Oh YEAH! I forgot, somewhere in that midst, before he (the character was male) had become a ghost, I had him bitten by a weretiger, and he got infected. Also, I believe he was reincarnated as a Lizarfolk the first time, but died when his soul was taken by a spell that made him into a Kurst. I was always a very strange DM. One of these days I must tell you about my campaign entitled: The Island of Crazy Monkeys!
Posted on 2007-08-27 at 13:27:55.
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Topic: (least) Favorite Character Death
Subject: Least Favourite Death.
Well... I have only had one D&D death that counts, because I do not count the death of characters in video games. His name was Milo Greenbottle. He was a halfling cleric who worshipped Olidamarra I believe. He was with a group of other clerics in a dark campaign similar to the ravenloft series. The world in which he lived had been suddenly torn into by a dark realm of undead and evil, and he was forced to fight his way through the game. In any case, eventually the DM got tired of having so many character's around so he had us all fight one another in separate rooms without us realizing we were fighting each other, due to various glamours. The thing that annoyed me was that he obviously rigged the match, even going so far as to give the player I was fighting the chance to reroll his feats so that he had Die Hard. He didn't even make the prerequisite of Endurance. In any case, Milo died. That was the first real life campaign I was ever in. However, it got me hooked so... here's to the lame DM that did well enough in the story line, but if there was a smite button around at the time, I would have pressed it upon him a thousand times over.
Posted on 2007-08-27 at 13:04:08.
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Topic: who's your favorite charicter that you made and played?
Subject: My Favourite Character
Well. This is as many before me have said, a complex question. If I am to assume you are talking about Dungeon and Dragon's characters, then the answer is simple. Three Point. He was a fae creature from the Monster Manual: Faerun. The creature is a Hybsus. It is pretty much a small sized Centaur. Now this guy was quite the character. His favourite weapon was the lance. which worked well with the skills of his class. His class was one of my classic creations... The Chaos Warrior (though I realize the name is not stunningly original, I made it while I was young)! In fact, his favourite saying was, "I am Three Point, the Chaos Warrior, and that makes me..." at this point, as a roleplaying must, I took a deep, loud breath and ran my hands from the bottom of my rib cage up to my forehead in a rather Goldust like fashion, if anyone remembers that wrestler, finishing with, "and that makes me... Dangerous!"
In any case, working with the improved two-handed weapon bonuses of the class, and adding additional damage on his charge, he was an extremely powerful character who was famous for his "bum rushes" as they were so poetically referred to as by my peers. Man he was a lot of fun. I will have to bring him to the inn one of these days.
Posted on 2007-08-27 at 12:51:36.
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Topic: Goofy Burf-day stuff
Subject: On a similar note.
Confucius say girl who dies virgin, bound to be laid in coffin!
Posted on 2007-08-27 at 12:39:33.
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Topic: Goofy Burf-day stuff
Subject: The Black Dove
I must be the black sheep of my Dovely tribe, so to speak. I do not see myself in the description set forth. I say that someone at the fortune cookie factory will be getting fired today...
Posted on 2007-08-27 at 12:38:42.
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Topic: Dim Lights of Sharn - Eberron
Subject: Silence
In a flash of pain the world around me faded to nothing. It was quiet... so unbearably quiet. For three heart beats I had lost of sense of self.The battle raged on as if I was being told in detail, but hadn't actually been involved. I had been struck; the voices inside my head had told me so. They said to me, that the blood was red. I had been taught about colours, though to this day it seemed a worthless effort. Why should I even learn the words, when I could never know the truth behind the hue of the sight bound world...
Suddenly, reality came whirling back upon me. The enemy had defeated my defenses, ushered in a lapse of concentration. Was this shock? The pulse of my heart felt out of place... it lay now in my shoulder, and how it pounded. It was as though a migraine for my body, as if the blood had found an opening, and rushed to escape the vessel of eternal damnation. After all, blood was the slave of the living. It carried within it the hope of all breathe. It was the current of the river of life, that flowed through man made canals far greater than any that were carved from sea to sea.
Still my shoulder throbbed, but I had little else to do but tune out the drum of my heart, and focus on the senses of my mind. The enemy was strong. It was clear to me that he possessed a physical power far greater than my own. It would be his downfall... that much I had decided. A dissatisfied grunt from the creature told me he was frustrated by my continued survival. Slowly, I let my hands rest at my waist, holding my spiked chain with a gentle grip, each hand grasping an outer ring, with the middle lying slack, just above my knees. Was there wind in the establishment? I felt my hair crawl of my forehead, curling to the sides... It was music, notes that filled the soul with hope, and the room with a hurricane of substance.
For reasons beyond my comprehension, taking time away from the focus of my combative goal, and towards the sounds of lyrical magic had actually brought me vision that one needn't require eyes for. When the foe struck forth, what gave him away was the sound of the blade, ringing from the tone of the harp, resounding of the metallic surface of the large sword. Whipping my right hand up, and smashing the blade with the side of my chain, I deflected the blow, stepping left as it sung past me in a cutting wail as it dulled on the wind of loss. My right foot kicked forward with force, spinning my body in a smooth curve, as I raised my left arm upwards. The spikes connected with the face of his unknown enemy, his weigh off-balanced, his surprise fatal. He wailed and wailed, until he was nothing but silence, and then a thud on the floor. My blow had not been so substantial. It beckoned anger, and screams, but not death. Who of the blade had ended him then? Draven wasn't near enough, I could feel that now. His darkness lay behind me. Discq was somewhere farther still, he played his harp, and had not stopped. Nel... she was in combat with the catalyst of these heavy laden events. Adysine? She hadn't spoken to me often. Probably feared me for my difference, but this showed at the very least, she saw me as one of them... if even I was seen from the towers below, as they perched above in respite.
There was no time for the contemplation of choices as the people around me suffered. My footing became solidified after the inertia of the spin had faultered. With a stricter mind I gauged the direction of the antecedent enemy by the sound of the battle still continuing, and the void of Draven's eerie presence. If the other enemies had fallen as easily, then he would be with Nel... if not, then it was necessary to end this creature's existence and regroup as a full unit. Creeping forward I focused my mind on the energy of people, the sounds that crept from every creak of leather, every clink of steel. With sudden clarity I released the hold I had on the chain, one ring at a time, until both hands came together to grasp the centerpiece... and then I struck out with as much force as I could muster with my human born flesh.
Over years and years my mentor trained me to see the enemy without truly seeing him. The defensive stances had been by far easier to learn. My senses had been keened to the rush of violence that sprung forth towards me... and were honed ever more to this day. It was the offensive training I had been loath to endure. I had sparred with my master for over two years before I had even laid a single hit upon him. After that however, the world had changed for me, yet again.I had remembered the stages of the attack, the counter of his defenses. Each focused strike I made found its way to him, beyond his outstretched arms, through his wall of dexterity and instinct.
When I was younger... I had thought myself quite insane, though I could not place that word in the blank spaces of my mind at the time. Though I could feel the loving embrace of my mother's arms, and strength of my father's hands, I knew not the sounds of speech. It hadn't been until the monk had arrived that anything entering my mind made sense. With his invasive psionics he reeducated my brain, changing the patterns of thought within, and engraving the roots of language upon it with his forceful will. It had been merely days before I was speaking my first words... then finally, after six of the longest years of silence I was able to speak to my parents, the way a three year old might. As a six year old child who had just been given comprehension, I was far behind the youth of my time. In truth, I had never caught up. There is very little of the world I understand. However, I remember. I remember the wisdom of my mother, my mentor, and the power that belongs to me, even without the sight of most other world born men.
Without sight I struck towards the beast of darkness, so as to purge the ink of my world, to scourge this torrent from the veins of fate. I would cauterize the wound of his flesh, and mark the venture of a soul into the outward spires of the astral circus. He would join the fallen jesters, who failed to make their tyrant kings roil. He was truly a puppet, being pulled by the strings of foul destiny. Were it his fault or not, it was past time the strings be severed. Cut down by the Crimson Blade, whose edge was stained darker then blood.
(Pretty much, I move towards Groar until within range, and use Sightless Strike to attack.)
Posted on 2007-08-26 at 01:05:55.
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Topic: Champions of Nomachron: Return to Arms (Mature)
Subject: Posting For Kaelyn: Vesper & Drakar
The rain had been falling for nearly four solid hours and the mountain passes of the Nabaresh were now treacherous in their passing. What little footing could be found upon the shallow routes and sparse footholds was now almost nonexistent, as the little pebbles fell freely with the slightest of vibrations, and the earth itself was now slick with rainfall. Looking down upon the landscape below stood more than two score men each bearing the heraldry of some distant land; their black cloaks and white dragon emblems now a muted grey in the downpour which assaulted them constantly. The sound of rain upon their shielded dome echoed like thunder rolling upon the plains. The pitter patter had consistently rung in the weary soldier’s ears for what seemed an eternity, enough to drive any but the most stalwart man insane.
The soldiers had been through hell since their exile to these foreign lands. Days without food, nights without rest, and now they found themselves half way up a mountain trying to make for the kingdom of Trice, the greatest known kingdom upon the continent according to Alexander who was heading there himself in hopes of marching against those who took everything from him. Perhaps there they would find some new cause to swear allegiance to, some new meaning for their livelihoods. The Altressian’s were born and bread for combat, and now they were upon distant shores with no way to--or even knowledge of-- returning home, the men were restless and on the verge of breaking down. Steel clattered inside their scabbards as their bodies shook from the cold, and it took everything Arthass had as a leader to keep the men from breaking ranks and taking off into the snow swept mountains.
His men were a loyal bunch, but not nearly as trained or disciplined as he was, nor were they equipped with a magical ring which provided energy and nourishment. They would have to find food soon lest they risk starvation along with hypothermia for the poorly equipped Altressian brigade. Alexander Slash however was a native of the land, he traveled wherever the wind, and the gold took him. As a soloist he prepared for everything he could think of, and even now while the other’s huddled together under tattered shields for warmth, the adventurer lay wrapped under layers of travel clothes next to the light of his lantern, within the confines of his tent. Many of the Altressian’s loathed Alexander, simply because he wasn’t Altressian, but none could deny his prowess in battle, and none dare speak their mind to his face lest they find themselves at the end of his blade.
As the night pressed on, the huddled mass which had for some time been shaking from frigidity, soon their involuntary movement coming from something else. Something was moving beneath them, something…large.
Alexander stirred from his sleep when his haversack fell over upon his legs. He opened his eyes to see his entire tent vibrating, the contents upon the ground cover shifting back and forth as something beneath him came closer and closer. The Altressian’s drew their weapons at their leader’s behest, together they were strong he had told them. Together they would tackle anything that stand against them he had assured them, together… They were one large buffet table.
Smashing through the rock and snow came a pair of massive creatures the likes of which the Altressian’s had never seen. They were armored and heavy, resembling an enormous shark atop four incredibly thick legs. As they broke through the surface, a rumbling began to course through the mountain, and the Altressian’s and Alexander found themselves in quite the predicament. They were nestled atop a small plateau no more than 40 ft in diameter, and they had carefully navigated handholds to make it this far. There were no simple paths down which they could retreat, there was only up the perilous mountain face, or down –and there was a lot of way down—where countless jagged edges and blunt rock lay to courteously break their fall… and necks.
The land sharks emerged right in midst of the Altressian’s sending them tumbling outwards like the ripples caused by a pebble thrown into a still pond. Most stammered to their feet, the cold chill of the night air replaced with the warmth of adrenaline as they prepared for battle. Three however were unfortunate in that they were cast too close to the edge, and their combined weight broke it free from the mountain and collapsed down the mountainside with them in tow.
In these tight confines it would be tough to navigate, almost impossible to retreat, and the land sharks were ready to feast.
(Picture a Fireball blast radius grid from the DMG with the top 4 rows cut off representing the mountain face. The Altressian’s were huddled filling the next 4 rows in a 5longx4high square/circle signifying their huddle, but now are scattered about that area from the land shark’s attacks. The bottom two rows in a 2x4 chunk are now missing from the resulting collapse taking 3 Altressian followers with it.) The land sharks are now in the middle of where the Altressian’s were huddling. Alexander’s tent is safely 15 feet away from where they emerged, and is currently in his tent. Welcome to Nomachron boys)
Posted on 2007-08-23 at 02:30:58.
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Topic: Champions of Nomachron: Return to Arms (Mature)
Subject: Temper is a Heat Source
This… is this what he had toiled over? The fisherman’s claims were as many fearful people, exaggerated. Temper scanned the walls of the cavern, watching as the lizard pup crawled into the corner, seeking what he could only conclude to be protection from this elven wench. His sloth-like mind whirred for what seemed like ages, but still he found no resultant explanation for the dragon’s actions. Were it not a noble creature, more than the flesh and blood of mortals? Why did it flee from this yeti, this monster of mere mortality? The half-orc turned his attention to the yeti once more, who had seen him now, and roared with such boisterous strength that the enclosure around them shook, and the frozen water that stretched to stab the earth with vengeance threatened to stream down upon them and claim its prize upon the backs of flesh and hide.
Oh, great giant of old, what thunderous roars my scythe could dig into the very stomach of you, so that the rumble might vibrate through the nonsense of your worthless bones… or so he thought. But this was no duty to be had of his ‘Thunder’. Temper had wanted a fight, a test of his mettle. Proof of his strength. This young pup he could blow away with acidic vomit of a mutant’s foul breath. The dragon was little but an amusement. This yeti possessed the same hunger as the barbarian, though more primal… but what was more primal then dominance? Predation was founded through dominance. Temper would be the top of the chain. He would be all consuming, and there would be nothing left that could survive his fury, if ever provoked.
The large barbarian tossed aside his ‘Thunder’, and cracked his knuckles with a clench of his fists. Blood dabbled from his palm to the floor of the cave, soaking the tracked in snow with crimson. Thick and knotted nails proved to be the cause of this blood letting. Nails that had been sharpened to a point, ready to tear out eyes, and gouge flesh. Still his grasp tightened, and his skin steamed. The air around him blistered, and his skin began to crawl. His muscles flexed and waned, growing bolder and more violent in their wave as the time passed. He began to sprout upwards towards the knives of ice, until soon he was tall enough to look the furred monstrosity in the face. He grew still, his muscle exploded, and his skin cracked and sealed, making veins out of scars, as if this underskin had witnessed such stress before. Within moments, a second giant stood amongst their midst, his eyes storming like a silver blizzard.
He roared, as vicious and booming as the yeti, only from twelve feet high. Temper stepped forward, unafraid of the ravenous beast, knowing his hunger was by far the greater danger. The fall of his foot was like the thud of a boulder, as though he pushed the earth from underneath his mass. He was the weight of himself eight times over, and indeed measured more than a ton. He was an earthquake that would consume this pitiful creature. Thus, Temper charged, his jaw, unhinged like a snake preparing to devour his meal, and his claws sprung forth to tear the hide off, and sink into the very heart of the yeti, so that he may grasp the last beats of his life, and feel them seep through his fingers.
(I know this is a two round post… firstly, I cast enlarge, and secondly, I attack. If I cannot reach him from 10 feet, which is my newly acquired range as a large creature, then I will charge, and bite. If I can reach him, then I will use a full attack. A full attack with my teeth and claws are exactly as shown on my character sheet, with my bite being the primary weapon, and my claws being my secondary. Oh, and one more thing, if I am only 15 feet away, treat that step forward as an actual step, which is a non-action, and will not disrupt my full attack, yet it will get me within range.)
Posted on 2007-08-18 at 23:53:56.
Edited on 2007-08-19 at 12:25:46 by Philosopher
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Topic: Peradyse Lost
Subject: Underneath The Killing Trees
With a nod and a, "Yes, mi'lady." Cerric strides over to the tree Vatta had been climbing, looking through the thick of branches and limbs to see if he can capture a glimpse of her eyes. It was certainly an interesting position. From the trees she could probably gain a great vantage of the battlefield, he only wondered if her bow would be effective within the foliage. Surely, she could find the gaps...
It was an odd sensation, sitting below an elf in a tree, bow poised preparing for the kill, whilst he himself straddled a very mystifying creature, from an experiment in magic and summoning brought to him by an elven paladin riding a legendary moonstrider. Here he stood, below this Killing Tree, of one would so call it, awaiting a battle, one in which they stood outnumbered, but yet the only fearful one of the lot, was he.
Even Char looked eager for things to begin, perhaps he was considering the joys of pecking on the fallen's flesh. It was at this moment, the mystic theurge decided that it was not always beneficial to be empathically attuned with such a creature... though he wondered at the thoughts of a rat, if he had so chosen that as his familiar.
Posted on 2007-08-18 at 22:47:23.
Edited on 2007-08-18 at 22:47:51 by Philosopher
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Topic: Dim Lights of Sharn - Eberron
Subject: Will
“Concentrate. You must focus on the energy surrounding you. A warrior must not fear the unknown. He cannot control the skill of his enemy, or the number of his foe. You, my child, cannot control the fault of your eyes… but you can overcome it.” The monk had spoken to me these words, so long ago. It seemed as though the person he addressed was a stranger to me, one in whom I had never met, and never seen. Was that still me? Did I fumble in the dark like a beggar through the waste of richer men?
“Yes, it is true that you do not command the strength of your enemy, but you may choose to be stronger. No, you have no power over the forces that they command, yet, you may dwindle them with your will… you have the ability to say who lives or dies, if not by your voice, then by your hand, or any extension of such.” These were the words that rang through my head, so many years back. I had been abandoned, my army fled against the masses of our fallen. However, there was nowhere to run. Not for me. So I fought, and I fought, and though my arms were no longer mine, but lead forged in the furnace of the earth, still they moved with a liquidity much akin to quicksilver. Though the spears, and swords of soldiers so hated picked and pried, wept the blood from my bones, I made a choice. I lived. The monk had once told me of a sinister experiment, where an orphanage would take half of its newborn, and neglect them. Surely, they would feed them, change them, but there was no love for them. It was an early test of humanity, even if not all of the subjects were indeed human. The idea behind the test was to see if nurture made a substantial difference on the lives of young children. As it turned out, more than half of the babies simply turned over and died. It would seem they could not live without love. It was as though their souls committed suicide.
The monk had been one such test subject, though one of the few that lived. He spoke of choice as if the blade of a sword would not pierce the skin, if the mind did not permit it. He digressed that he had been a victim of love. That it was not afforded to him. The gods had decided, he was not worthy. Then, I witnessed his words, his heretical rage, as he told me, with the vigilance of a paladin smiting an evil from the face of existence, “The gods are a wanton lot! What mere mortals fail to grasp is that their power lies within us. Who are the gods if no one believes in them? Hmmm? Do they even exist without the support of their followers? If their books were burned, and their patrons slain, what would tell their tale? Choice is my god. Life, it is my divine intervention! Bring me the wrath of them, and I shall show you the scorn of solid will…”
Concentrate. I could feel the breathe of my enemy upon my face, he was sour, as though he ate the death of a thousand worms. As he overcame my personal boundaries, I could feel his strike, as if it were a line of hot coals that burned a hole in me. His weapon struck forth, but I had known this from his fury, and had traced the line of fire back to its source. Our weapons collide, and entangle, but it is not enough. I have not thrown his course aside. With a twist of my body I felt the slice of his terror come streaming down. It was a waterfall, but I stood in the cave behind it. I cannot see through the curtain of water… but I am dry.
I focus on his frustration. Surely, he will redouble his efforts. Does he fear me now? Is that his last mistake, or am I simply a man who lives by chance, as though I were lucky to be fighting now. I stand within a circle of pitch, one in which my end may come from any radian. Thus, all lines to my core must remain locked. The sword will not pierce my soul, even if it may break my skin.
(Mongiere will continue his Circle of Defense, taking full advantage of his counterattack if my concentration roll is to beat his attack roll by an overwhelming degree.)
Posted on 2007-08-18 at 02:26:56.
Edited on 2007-08-19 at 01:25:34 by Philosopher
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Topic: Peradyse Lost
Subject: The Swelter of the Sun
Dear old knowledge... truly it was taken for granted. Without it, we would not know of the gods, and without them, there will little in the way of divine intervention. This man he had been healing, this Logan, he had been in dire condition just moments before. By the grace of Oghma, he was spared the repercussions of such injuries. Repercussion that very well could have included death.
When he introduced himself, The Mystic Theurge decided that the time for secrets had passed. This was a battlefield, and there were people dying. If he were able to assist them in any way, he would... this included any arcane means available to him. For the first time since being a part of this movement he admitted that he was indeed endowed with the arcane arts. As if on cue, the little black raven Char, who was his familiar swooped down from the sky and landed upon his shoulder, eying the little dragon suspiciously.
While the rest of the group was talking strategy he listened intently... he would not want to be caught off guard by any tactical changes. He was not very familiar with the face of battle, but he was precocious, and caught on quickly. Many had called him wise beyond his years. The term old soul had been used to describe the Priest on more than one occasion.
When the Elven Paladin advised Cerric against the use of fire magic, he cursed his lack of offensive spells. Besides the most effective scorching ray, he had only magic missile to offer... not including the daily miracles provided by his deity, of which he was sure there was something that he could do some damage with.
"Behold me friends, I am no warrior true. I have no armour, except for that which I hold in here," and with those last words, Cerric taps his forehead as if alluding to the brain held behind the thick of skull, "I do not wish to be too far behind the battle, if there is injury, I shall like to be near to mend it. I will provide support from an intermediate range as well, with whatever damage I can etch into the mar of our enemies..." and with that, he remounted his stunning horse, having said all that he need say.
Posted on 2007-08-17 at 01:09:40.
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Topic: Champions of Nomachron: Return to Arms
Subject: YES! SCYTHE!!!
Damn, my bad, I'm still editing it though, note the incomplete in the title =Þ, I shall fix it up. My history may need to wait one more day, but it is nice and juicy, believe you me!
Posted on 2007-08-16 at 01:10:33.
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Topic: Champions of Nomachron: Return to Arms
Subject: Philosopher's Character Sheet
Ability Score Rolls
1 5 6 6 Your total roll is 17, which included dropping your low roll of 1
4 5 1 6 Your total roll is 15, which included dropping your low roll of 1
1 4 4 5 Your total roll is 13, which included dropping your low roll of 1
3 1 5 1 Your total roll is 9, which included dropping your low roll of 1
5 6 3 4 Your total roll is 15, which included dropping your low roll of 3
6 3 4 4 Your total roll is 14, which included dropping your low roll of 3
HP Rolls
11 9 1 1 8 11 6 5 Your total roll is 52. (DD and Barb rolls)
2 Your total roll is 2. (sorc rolls)
Character Information
Name: Jacob of the Fell Tribe - Nickname: Temper
Class and Level: Barbarian (4th), Sorcerer (1st), Dragon Disciple (5th)
Race: Half-orc
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Deity: None
Size: Medium
Description
Age: 26 - Gender: Male - Height: 6'1'' - Weight: 255lbs
Eye colour: Silver - Hair: Black - Skin: Leathery Brown with flecks of copper scales
Jacob is a war-torn man, even for a half-orc barbarian. The top of his left ear has been torn off, and the bottom two molars in the right side of his mouth were poked out by a heavy pick, which has left a scar on his cheek the size of a gold piece. When he was nineteen years old a full blooded orc slashed his throat and left him for dead, and the scar is still quite pink to this very day. His left forearm is horribly scarred due to it being thrusted into a boiling cauldron by a particularly nasty witch's demon goon, and his feet are missing toes, the left is missing a pinky that was lost because of frostbite, and the right is missing the two closest to the big toe because of a close call with a greatsword wielding Blackguard. His skin itself is as tough as leather, and it looks to be made of it to boot. Though, more recently the copper scales of his dragon ancestor have become more and more apparent as Temper continues his bid for absolute power. His tusks are sharpened to a fine point as well, though there is a big chunk missing out of his left one, after an evil cleric smashed it with a mace.
Ability Scores
STR 23 +6 /27 +8 (While enraged) /29 +9 (Enlarged/Enraged)
DEX 15 +2 /13 +1 (While Enlarged)
CON 16 +3 /20 +5 (While enraged)
INT 8 -1
WIS 13 +1
CHA 12 +1
Vital Statistics
HP 96 (12 + Roll generator + CON) /116 (while enraged)
AC 21 (Armor 6, DEX 2, Natural 2, Deflection 1) /19 (while enraged) /17 (enraged/enlarged)
Touch 12 - Flat-footed 21
Initiative 2 (DEX) /1 (enlarged)
Speed 40ft (fast movement)
Saving Throws
Fort 11 (Base 8, CON 3) /13 (enraged)
Reflex 4 (Base 2, DEX 2) /5 (against traps) /3 (enlarged)
Will 8 (Base 7, WIS 1) /10 (enraged)
Combat
Base Attack Bonus 7
Grapple 13 (BAB 7, STR 6) /15 (enraged) /20 (enraged/enlarged)
Attack 1
Thunder(Sickle +1, Thundering, Keen)
Attack Bonus: +14/+9 (+16/+11 enraged, and enlarged)
Damage: 2d4+10 +3d8 Sonic on crit (2d4+13 enraged)(2d6+11 enlarged)(2d6+14 enraged/enlarged)(*power attack's bonus is doubled on two handed weapons)
Critical 19-20 X4
Type Slashing or Piercing
Attack 2
Bite
Attack Bonus +13
Damage 1d6+6(1d6+8 enraged)(1d8+7 enlarged)(1d8+9 enlarged/enraged)
Type Piercing/slashing/bludgeoning
Attack 3
Claws
Attack bonus +11/+11
Damage 1d4+3(1d4+4 enraged)(1d6+3 enlarged)(1d6+4 enraged/enlarged)
Type Piercing/slashing
Attack 4
Breathe Weapon
Save DC 18 (10 + DD Level 5 + CON 3)
Damage 2d8 acid (Copper Dragon Descendant)
Range 5x5x60(ft)
Skills
Bluff 4 (cha + snake familiar trait)
Concentration 15 (con + rank 12)
Knowledge (arcana) 7 (int + rank 8 )
Listen 3 (wis + alertness)
Spellcraft 5 (int +rank 6)
Spot 3 (wis + alertness)
Speak Language (draconic) rank 1
Feats
Power Attack
Cleave
Improved Sunder
Multi-attack
Special Abilities
Darkvision 60ft
Orc Blood
Fast Movement
Rage 2/day
Uncanny Dodge
Trap Sense +1
Familiar: Tiny Viper
-Alertness
-Improved Evasion
-Share Spells
-Empathic Link
Natural Armour +2
Ability Boost +4 STR
Claws and Bite
Breathe Weapon
Blindesense 30ft
Languages
Common
Orc
Draconic
Spells
Level 0: Detect Magic, Read Magic, Message, Arcane Mark
Level 1: Enlarge, True Strike
Spells per day: 0-level 5, 1st Level 8 (3/day, cha bonus, Dragon Disciple bonus +4)
Gear
Mithril Shirt (+1, Light Fortification)
Type: Light
AC Bonus: +5
Mac DEX: +6
Check Penalty: 0
Spell Failure: 10%
Speed: 40ft
Bracers of Armour +1
AC Bonus: +1
Ring of Protection +1
AC Bonus: +1
Hand of the Mage: use mage hand at will
Other Possessions
Explorer's Outfit
Backpack
-Bag of holding
-Bedroll
-Winter Blanket
-Crowbar
-Flint and Steel
-Grappling Hook
-Rations (seven days worth)
-Hempen Rope (50ft)
-Signal whistle
-Waterskin
Spell Components Pouch
Money
Copper: 10
Silver: 30
Gold: 40
Platinum: 10
Carrying Capacity
Light Load: 200lbs or less
Medium Load: 201-400lbs
Heavy Load: 401-600lbs
Lift over head: 600lbs
Lift off ground: 1200lbs
Push or Drag: 3000lbs
Current Weight Carried: 93lbs
History:
Jacob is much unlike his half-breed kin, in the fact that his home is an unbroken one… That is to say that his conception was consensual. His mother is the possessor of Orc heritage. His father is a barbarian from the fell tribe. The story of this union is begun with war. Skirmishes between two tribes of people, one human, the other orc, nearly led to the extinction of both clans, on more than one occasion. If it were not enough that the world had been torn in two, and every day was a fight for survival, the majority of healthy young men were being slaughtered in pitched battles that lasted days. The wisemen of the tribes knew that there would be nothing left of the two groups whose fight was over what little territory remained lush and living within the scarred lands. They decided that only a pact would ensure their survival. Though at one time, the races had fought on different sides, there was only one battle that remained constant, life. The shaman of the orc horde, and the chieftan of the Fell tribe agreed that there would be a tribal unity. The children of the Fell would marry the spawn of the Grunkhe, as the orcish tribe was called. Bronkide, the Chieftan’s son, and Jacob’s father, married the daughter of the great Shaman Meedrack. The name of his mother was Niknash. Bronkide and Niknash were a powerful pair, a capable marriage that could keep the newly forged clan alive and prosperous in the shared territory of their ancestors.
Jacob, is the first son of Bronkide and Niknash, named after Bronkide’s father, the chieftan who along with the orc shaman had the insight to join houses, and set aside antique feuds passed down from gods long since dead. His eyes flow like mercury in the summer’s heat, his hair is worn in the Fell Tribe’s tradition, a Mohawk with a single braid that trails down his back. He was a strong son of the clan, though he was born simple, to say the least. His intellect was always lacking, and he had failed to grasp much of what his father told him about the history of the world. Furthermore, he regarded the stories about the gods as a concept far too inert to be believable. Or at the very least, he never understood the concept of things much greater than himself. To him, the tree is not blown by the wind, it simply moves, as if it were a limb of the earth.
In any case, he was as a young lion of a pride, cast away because of his impatience. Too many times he had challenged his father's authority, until one day it came to a head, and Bronkide forcefully exiled him. Though he was forced to abandon his tribe, he simply took it as a sign - he needed to gather more strength, more than any other who would challenge his authority, and when this was accomplished, he would return to the clan, and claim it as his own.
He began adventuring as a means to that end, finding magical artifacts, and important allies. Though, this was by far the lesser occasion, in truth, what he usually found was trouble. Fortune must have smiled upon young Jacob, as he blundered through trap ridden ruins, and hostile encampments. Just to look at him, it was obvious he had more than a few close calls. There was however, one particular battle that changed the very destination of his life... well, perhaps the correct word is transformed it.
Jacob had been hired for a simple job, he was to exterminate a camp of traveling slavers. They had been a particularly annoying thorn in the side of a nobleman residing over a fair bit of land. It seems these slavers had been capturing the peasants in the local area, and it had caused a shortage of labour in the fields. The mission had started off as a rather mundane event. He killed the guards, and freed the prisoners, showing little mercy to the underhanded slavers. He was... surprised however, by the leader of the syndicate, a half-dragon that went by the name of Gyragorn. Taking considerable injury from his lightning breathe, it was all he could to but fight with every last ounce of his strength, bending his will to the curve of his wicked scythe. In the end, it was not enough. He had been bested. For the second time in his life, a man more powerful had him subdued at his feet. It would have been the end of his clumsy existence, but one look into the eyes of Jacob, and the Slaver's Ringmaster was prepared to show mercy... Gyragorn had noticed the taint of dragon's blood within the barbarian, and decided that the boy would be able to work off his debt. Truly, Jacob was getting the better of the deal. Gyragorn educated him on the ancestrial power of dragons, and taught him how to speak draconic. After years of collecting loans, and breaking necks, Jacob had regained his freedom, and took up Gyragorn's offer to teach him how to utilize the power of the dragon within him.
Through much tedium and effort, Gyragorn had managed to squeeze out the innate arcane abilities lying dormant within the barbarian half-orc. Though he decided that there would be little more he could teach Jacob in the ways of magic. Instead, he went through the trial of determining the Half-breed ancestor dragon, and began educating him on the ways of a Dragon Disciple. After Jacob was knowledgeable enough about his new course, and the path to his apotheosis, he left the slaver's camp, with renewed ambition. He would leave the heritage of his father behind, to become something more than most mortals could dream... and with this power, he would dominate the tribe, and perhaps the entirety of the land he calls home.
Posted on 2007-08-15 at 01:37:30.
Edited on 2007-08-17 at 03:45:17 by Philosopher
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