I have so far received only one C sheet, so would everyone who expressed and interest in playing please let me know that you do indeed wish to play and let me know when you expect to have the C sheet emailed to me.
I would hope to have this adventure underway prior to the weekend. Thanks!
The tantalizing smell of roasting boar floated across the nearly empty tavern and found a place to dance on the nose of a sleeping traveler. “Good friend I am sorry to wake you but your meal is ready.” The slow opening of one eye indicated the old man heard the soft voice of the tavern wench. “Many thanks, if it tastes half as good as you look I am sure it will be a delight.” The old man winked and slipped a half-silver into the apron of the young girl. “Sir, you are too kind. I cannot accept that. Why that would buy meals such as yours for a week.” Both eyes focused on the young lass, and on her eyes not her bosom as many others had, as the man spoke again. “Tis mine to give and I will be insulted if you refuse it. Now, please call me Elttom as I have asked before.” It had been nearly a month since Elttom had arrived at the Slumbering Wyrm and in that span he had become a nightly fixture in the common room. Much of the time he spent in silent observation of the myriad of travelers and adventures that passed thru this part of Gridonia. On nights like this one, when there were but a handful of guests, he often told stories. “Will there be a tale this evening Elttom?” asked the barkeep. “Might be an ale or two in it for you if the patrons tarry and drink instead of heading to bed early.” “Let it not be said that I did not do my part to see that the Slumbering Wyrm continues to provide a place of refuge for weary sojourners. Yes, I shall weave a tale this eve. That is if my parched throat will allow it.” Elltom turned his well used mug upside down and shook the last drops into his open mouth. “A hint well taken, I will fetch another. Speak loud so I can hear the whole story.” whispered the lass as she hurried off to refill the empty mug.
Have I told you the story of young William Fletcher? Now there was a lad with shoulders the size of a frost giant, a heart fit for a gold dragon and a brain that would have been a curse to a mule. Nearly 7 feet tall he stood and weighed neigh unto 8 measuring stones at age 18. He was the son of a poor peasant farmer and spent his early years pulling the plow as the family horse failed to make it thru the harsh winter of the 3rd Year of Argold’s reign. Some said he was a better puller than the old horse ever was. Others said the horse probably would have outwitted the young lad. On the eve of his 18th birthday, his father sat with him beside the hearth of their humble dwelling. “Son, tomorrow you become a man and must set out to find your way in the world. If you stay here in this village there can be only two fates for you. Either you will labor here until I die and then you shall take my place until they lay you next to me or the Duke will impress you into service as an infantryman in the peasant militia. You must flee this village and travel west into the wild lands. There you can find you own life for there are no nobles there and each man is judged by deeds not by birth. Heed my words and put your trust not in things of magic for such is the art of the weak. Trust in muscle, sweat and steel for they alone will protect you. There is little I can pass to you except for this. The old man began to clear the dirt from a section of the floor that looked no different than any other. To William’s amazement a wooden trap door appeared. “Father, what is that?” “Tis a hiding place for the one thing my father left to me. For 16 generations the eldest son has passed to eldest son what I now pass to you.” From within the shallow hole, the man withdrew a long object wrapped in rags. One by one he peeled away the bits of cloth and finally revealed a gleaming sword. The flickering candlelight danced across the nearly five and a half feet of gleaming steel resting on the man’s lap. The handle was wrapped in deep black leather and a single onyx was inlaid in the pommel. “This is yours now son. Take it and make a life worth something for yourself. Within this sword is the heart and soul of all your ancestors; they will aid you in times of need.” William cautiously grasped the great sword and swung it thru a lazy arch. For years he had trained with sticks and iron rods but today he swung a true sword for the first time in his life. Almost by instinct it seemed that he knew exactly when to shift his weight and balance such that the sword followed his every desire. In fact, it was almost as if the sword actually anticipated his movements. “Father, this must be the finest sword ever crafted. I am honored. One day I will return and you will be proud of me.” William turned and walked out into the night. He never heard what turned out to be his fathers final words to him; “I am already proud of you Billy”.
“I am sorry to have woken you from your slumber sir; however I am pleased that you are enjoying the tale.” Elttom took a swallow from his mug to rewet his lips that had become parched while talking. He then motioned to the serving girl; “Bring bread and cheese for the table and put it on my tab. Story telling always makes me hungry and I am sure listening makes others hungry as well.” Elttom shifted slightly in his chair in attempt to find a comfortable spot. “Now where was I; oh yes, William had just left the village. Well, William traveled west avoiding both roving bands of goblins and patrols of the Duke’s soldiers. If the former had spotted him his life would have ended in a stew pot. If the latter found him it would be death just as surely for he would be impressed into service as a foot soldier and sent to the northern border where war raged against the giant kin. Being a farmer and accustomed to living off the land in addition to crops, William had little trouble finding food along the way. On several occasions he found small hamlets which he approached with caution. Tensions were high as he knew not if they would turn him in and the locals were ever wary of strangers. It was the freshly caught rabbits held in William’s hand that made him a welcome guest both times. As he sat at dinner with his new friends, he listened to their talk. It saddened him that conversation always revolved around not having enough food or goods because the soldiers came and took large amounts in the name of the Duke. Tales of rape and kidnap were common. There were no good or kind words ever preceding the Duke’s name, but he did learn some colorful new curses.
After several weeks of travel, William came upon a band of travelers. As they were headed in the same direction, William introduced himself to them and asked is he could travel with them. ‘Just what we need, another sword lugger.’ came a not so whispered reply from a young man dressed in black robes. A raven perched upon his shoulder eyeed William in a way that caused the hair on his neck to stand on end. ‘Oh be nice to him’ chided another robe cloaked figure, this one female. “If it makes you happy I shall do as you ask.’ replied the first with a flourished bow. ‘I am Algrek, the Black, and I have just graduated from the school of magic. These are my some companions: Chrystalinia, a fellow wizard; and Andue, a man of the woods. Hiker, come meet someone!’ Algrek yelled into the woods behind William. Moments later William stood stupefied as a half man, half horse creature appeared from the forest. ‘Hello and pleased to meet you’ the creature offered in greeting. Now we all know a centaur when we see on but poor William had never seen such before in all his life. ‘I, I, I ughh’ was all the startled young fellow could muster. Andue moved forward and grasped William on shoulder, ‘Hiker is a Centaur and my good friend. I take it this is your first opportunity to meet one of his race?’ William regained his composure and then stuck out his hand in friendship, ‘Pleased to meet you, I am William Fletcher.’ ‘My you are a big fellow. Not many can reach out and comfortably shake a Centaurs hand.’ After several minutes of greetings all around, the group with its new member moved on.
As they walked, the group talked; all that is except Andue, for he was most often either in front or to a flank searching for whatever rangers search for while on the move. William tried to strike up a conversation with Algrek but the young mage gave him the cold shoulder. Whether he felt William was beneath him in status as a non-mage or he was more interested in conversation with Chrystalinia it was hard to tell. Either way, William quickly realized that talking to the mages was out of the question. Not that Chrystalinia wasn’t polite to him; she just seemed to be preoccupied with talk about the School of Magic. So, out of necessity he began to talk to Hiker. Now those conversations must have been rather interesting indeed for neither of them could ever be described as overly smart. Come to think of it, even averagely smart would be giving them credit. However the two became good friends as time passed.
One day William found himself alone with Algrek as Hiker and Andue had gone to hunt for dinner and Chrystalinia had gone to bathe. ‘So, you like magic huh? My father wasn’t fond of it himself.’ I told you William wasn’t that bright and such an opening line didn’t go over well with Algrek. ‘My simple companion, magic is the art of the intellectual and the only true measure of worth. Are you not aware that in this province only mages can rule and to even suggest that magic is unimportant could get you into much trouble?’ William frowned as he recognized his mistake in conversation topics but he didn’t back down. ‘Father said that I should trust in steel and muscle to find my true path.’ Algrek smiled and the raven on his shoulder gave an eerie call that almost sounded like laughter. ‘In your case I would have to agree with him. He must be the smart one in the family. A mage you will never be.’ Unaware that Algrek’s comments dripped with sarcasm, William answered. ‘Glad you understand. I will not use magic or items possessed by magic for such would go against my father’s advice.’ William pulled out the family sword and brandished it in one hand. ‘This sword shall show me my destiny. Such is the tool of my kind.’ The raven on Algrek’s shoulder raised a raucous call at the site of the sword and sent a telepathic message to his master. ‘Strong magic of ancient origin lies within that sword.’ Now I know you are all wondering how a raven would know such. You see Algrek’s familiar only looked like a raven, in reality it was an imp perched on the mage’s shoulder as Algrek was an evil wizard. Lawful mind you and from what I am told his word was his bond and he never broke a law, however he paid very close attention to wordings of contracts and promises and often fulfilled the letter not the intent when it suited him. But I digress. ‘Where did you get that sword?’ Algrek asked. ‘Like I said, father gave it to me. It is a family heirloom of sorts though I don’t know how old it is. Nothing really special about it but it is a quality blade and is really easy to swing.’ Once more the imp sent a thought to Algrek, ‘The simple fool doesn’t know what he has. That blade is over 500 years old as shows not a bit of wear. Somehow it imbues the rightful owner with the battle skills of those who have held it before. He could be very useful in protecting us as long as he never learns the sword’s secret.’ Algrek nodded his head in agreement with his familiar’s thoughts. ‘So young William you would never use an item of magical origin you say, how would you know such an item?’ William scratched his head and his brow wrinkled in thought. ‘I don’t rightly know. Seems like something I would just know. Of course if someone told me an item was magic I would accept that as proof I guess and not use it.’ Algrek yawned and stretched, ‘Night comes soon my friend and I am tired. It was a most enlightening chat we have had. From the smell of things, dinner is just about ready and we should head that way. But first I want to give you a small token of friendship.’ Algrek rummaged thru his pack and took out a fine black cloak and handed it to William. ‘This cloak is far too large for me but would likely fit one such as you just fine. I retrieved it from a dead giant some time back. William took the cloak and wrapped it around himself. ‘An excellent fit my friend. May it offer you protection from the elements and all that seeks to harm you.’ The raven bounced up and down, flapping its wings and calling loudly. ‘Looks like Nightwing approves.’ Algrek added. ‘Thank you for your kindness. I will wear it well.’ William replied as he rose and walked away, the proud, unknowing owner of a second magical item.
Elttom leaned back to make way for the serving girl as she placed the bread and cheese on the table. ‘Will there be anything else you require?’ she asked. ‘Nothing that can be provided here and now.’ Elttom winked and the serving girl blushed and hurried back into the kitchen.
Elttom returned to his story telling. “Our adventures had just sat down to dinner when a most serious look came across the faces of Andue and Hiker. ‘Hobgoblins approach from the north, a fair sized band of maybe 20 or so.’ Andue was already on his feet and reading his bow as he spoke. Bowls of stew crashed to the ground as everyone made ready. ‘Do we hide now?’ asked William. ‘Hide from hobgoblins, no indeed.’ came the reply from Algrek. ‘This bunch will curse their luck, if any survive.’ Hiker and Andue moved quickly into the scrub oaks that flanked the east side of the campsite. Although Billy watched them enter the forest, in mere moments he could no longer spot them. Algrek and Chrystalinia pulled bits of some strange smelly concoction from pouches at their waist and moved to the south edge of the campsite. ‘Guess I better find a spot myself.’ Billy thought and then moved to a spot halfway between the fire pit and the north edge of the campsite. He would be the first thing the hobgoblins would see if they attacked. The wait wasn’t long and soon 4 hobgoblins rushed form the woods to the north yelling a battle cry and brandishing axes. Billy simply stood with both arms resting on the pommel of his sword. Now I don’t know about any of you but those hobgoblins took one look at a solidly built, nearly 7 foot tall man leaning on a 6 foot long sword dressed in nothing but a cloak and loin cloth and stopped dead in their tracks. In that moment of indecision, arrows pierced the throat of one goblin and the chest of another. With their number cut in half the remaining 2 seemed unsure of whether to charge or run. Billy heard a slight ‘whoosh’ noise on both sides of him and watched as balls of fire slammed into the remaining hobgoblins. In an instant their charred remains joined those of their companions. Billy was about to offer congratulations when 6 more hobgoblins burst from the wood line and rushed him. Billy swung his sword in a lazy arch and two more foes fell to the ground trying to hold intestines inside. ‘This is a fine sword, now I see why father kept it’ Billy thought. The remaining four attacked Billy with a fury. Quick reflexes saved Billy from the first attack as the axe found nothing but air where Billy’s leg had been moments ago. Unfortunately, that put him off balance and blood flowed from two cuts of his right arm. The hobgoblins howled with delight at having wounded their enemy. The last foe raised his axe and Billy waited for the pain that would surely come but the blade never fell. ‘Four on one is not fair’ Chrystalinia shouted as her hold monster spell took effect. Algrek simply walked forward and slit the beast’s throat without comment. It would remain frozen there with a gash until the spell wore off. Then in an instant its life blood would spill to the ground. Hiker and Andue sent a volley of arrows into the north woods and cries of pain rung out in return. The two fighters entered the campsite and flanked Billy waiting for the hobgoblins’ charge. Tension and adrenaline filled the air as they waited, and waited and waited. Apparently the remaining hobgoblins had seen enough and knew when an enemy was too powerful. Hiker made a quick search and found nothing but tracks leading away.
‘Let me look at your arm Billy.” Andue was pulling a vial of foul smelling ointment from his pouch as he approached. ‘hmm, not too bad, not deep at all. This should fix you right up.’ ‘Ugghh, what is that smell?” Billy held his nose to try to counter the odor. ‘Why it is grandma’s finest healing balm. The secret recipe has been handed down for generations in my family. It is good stuff, trust me.’ Andue took a clean cloth and dabbed it in the ointment and then wrapped it around the wounds. ‘Leave it there until tomorrow wand you won’t even know you were cut.’ Billy frowned at the thought of smelling this way until morning. Then as his stomach rumbled and he saw the empty bowls and overturned stew pot he frowned even more. ‘Looks like stale bread and moldy cheese again!’ Hiker was literally jumping for joy at the prospect. Centaurs have strange eating habits to say the least. As the group gathered up their belongings, Algrek approached Billy. ‘Nice work. You certainly know how to swing that sword. Those hobgoblins that fled will tell stories of the giant that killed their friends no doubt.’ ‘All I did was defend myself. Never really been in a fight before. Just seems like I somehow know what to do. I thought it would be much harder.’ Algrek smiled. ‘For some people it is hard, but you seem to have a knack at it for sure. Of course it always helps to have some wizards behind you just in case.’ Billy nodded remembering the axe blow that never came thanks to the magical attack. ‘I guess magic has a place but just not on me or my stuff. I told you all I needed was my sword.” ‘Agreed, you seem to do well enough on your own.’ Nightwing laughed that course raven laugh.
Name: Captain Septimus Sandalwood, also known as the Seventh Death or more commonly, The Sea Serpent.
Status: Legendary criminal. Wanted DEAD in all major ports for 1,000,000 guineas.
Race: Human, with faint elvish blood
Languages spoken: Common and Elven
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Weapon proficiencies: Dagger, cutlass, javelin, staff, long sword
Religion: Cardista, Goddess of the Sea
Weight: 140 lbs
Eyes: Golden Emerald, a feral shade.
Place of Birth: Reylmoen, currently residing in Corelan
Group Affiliation: Sea Reavers of Corelan
Ship: The Acheron, a black frigate with blood-red sails.
Septimus possesses a gaunt beauty, one that he flaunts openly, often accentuating the pallid hue of his skin, a hue that climate and sunshine have been unable to change, by wearing the intimidating and rather dashing colours of ebony and emerald. He wears a long woven black cloak with a deep hood, with silver accents that seems to have some sort of magical property that hides him effortlessly in the shadows and is reputed to be of Elven make.
Beneath his cloak he wears a black linen fencing shirt with wide, flowing sleeves and over this a vest of fine leather with seven buttons and a wide baldric over his shoulder. He wears a dragonskin belt about his slender waist with beads, small bones such as teeth and other odd objects hanging from it. He wears simple drop-front trousers that are tucked into his knee-length kid leather boots that are cuffed (inspired by the fashion of eighteenth century buccaneers). The boots are embellished by silver spurs.
He wears elbow-length snakeskin gloves, which serves a particularly important array of uses. One, it repels the poison he enjoys using, and two, it covers the tattoo of a seven upon his left hand which serves as his identification mark. As he is a Wanted man, this is immensely important, and he never removes those gloves.
He is considered attractive, even though he is of a slighter build then most Men. He has feral emerald eyes that often seem to have a blatantly feline aspect to them; they are hard and cold against the world, unyielding and cunning. They can be piercing to the degree that they burn like cool flame, or reptilian and impassive, but always with a certain degree of insanity. His hair, typical of rogues, falls in a tangled snarl to his shoulders and over his forehead, and is pitch black, contrasting shockingly with his pale skin. It is often tied back by a crimson bandanna to keep it from obscuring his vision. He has a straight, noble nose that is slightly aquiline in profile and a thin introspective mouth. He has a thin scar that runs through his left eyebrow and two bullet scars upon his chest. A thick scar winds its way up the underside of his right forearm.
His body language is effortless and graceful, but consistently tense, giving the impression that he could spring into action at any moment. He has, as jewelry, a ring that consists of a little silver serpent making a circlet of his body by biting his own tail. He always wears a simple woven necklace that he wears constantly. It contrasts with the rest of his lavish attire, and is of a childish make. However, his oldest child, a daughter, who was slain three years ago, along with his partner and infant son, made it for him, and he keeps it for sentimental value. The notoriously cold and distant Septimus holds it as his dearest possession.
Besides being emotionally unstable, Septimus commonly expresses a profound and innate disappointment in the fallibility and inferiority of other people. As a protagonist, many aspects of his personality are the antithesis of what might be expected from a person of relatively good intentions, or even the classic definition of a hero. He never seems to miss an opportunity to exercise his cunning and biting wit, and spends a great deal of time picking people apart and mocking their weaknesses. He does not suffer fools gladly; further, he seems to regard most people as fools.
He has a strong sense of charisma and a wry sense of humour, but is intimidating and difficult to approach. He also is resistant to social etiquette, criticizing it for its uselessness and apparent lack of rational purpose. Septimus appears to enjoy deciphering—with startling accuracy—people's motives and histories from aspects of their personality and appearance. This is useful both for unraveling potential allies, and enemies and, apparently, for his own amusement and displays of intellectual superiority. He also possesses a strong non-conformist or anarchistic streak. Consistently, he displays sardonic contempt for figures in positions of authority.
He is often unpleasant bordering on cruel, coarse, abrasive and dislikes mandatory politeness in all its forms even going so far as having nothing but disdain for optimism and sometimes going to unusually brutal lengths to prove that humans are in essence selfish, predictable liars, and that any kind gesture or intent is meaningless. This seems to bud from the death of his family. This misanthropic outlook frequently puts him at odds with other people and as a result he has few allies and many, many enemies. Life as the youngest brother of seven made him quick to seize opportunity when available.
As a character, Septimus is hedonistic and irresponsible, self-centered almost to the point of solipsism, and often extremely insensitive to the feelings of those around him. He is moody and difficult to decipher, as well as notoriously untrustworthy. His natural cunning sets him apart from the standard criminal, and makes him a deadly opponent as well as particularly talented in his field of sea thievery.
He is introspective and distant, often to the point of ignoring others completely. He is bitter and egocentric, and refuses to trust anyone, as he banks on personal experience, and has a tendency to hold spectacular grudges. He is amazingly intelligent, but has difficulty in society. He is quite calm most of the time, but prone to dangerous and unpredictable rages, which are made even more lethal by his rapid reflexes and formal training in swordplay. His crew of the Acheron was quick to dub him the Sea-snake for the quickness of his attacks and his reputation for treachery, not to mention for his ability to escape capture and his knowledge of serpent venom. His favoured creature is a serpent, and his crew of rather loud and ungainly men are dubbed the Bears who walk in the Viper’s shadow.
He is one of the most well-known of the Sea Reavers, for his eccentric mannerisms, intelligence, the coins on his head, one of the highest bounties in Corelan, his ability to escape capture, and reputation as a ladies man.
Septimus Sandalwood was born in the small town of Reylmoen, which is well known for its tolerance of piracy. He was born to one Adan a successful merchent and Una, a wealthy prioress, and was the youngest of seven sons. His brothers were Primus, the eldest, Secundus, Tertius, Quartus, Quintus, and Sextus. His mother died giving birth to him which created a very strained relationship with his brothers.
When his father died, there was a question of who would take over the shop, and his personal possessions. Primus, because he was the eldest, was set to inherit all his father had to offer. Quintus, the brother who connected most with Septimus, who was a rather quiet child, dared his younger brother to kill Primus and attempt to take the inheritance for himself. Septimus was already considering this, and at the age of ten, he killed his brother with a poisoned dagger (the dagger is still in his possession, he calls it his Kiss). Quintus however turned on him and told the authourities. Wracked with terror and grief, Septimus was forced into hiding for his life.
As a homeless boy at ten, he managed to subsist on petty thievery, finding a talent in this. In the city of Corelan, he joined a boy’s gang headed by an ancient beggar. He lived in this gang until the age of fifteen, when the beggar suggested piracy as a career; as he was getting old, and could no longer protect his young wards.
Bright-eyed and determined, Septimus convinced a small-time pirate captain named Glenn Fenris, to hire him as a cabin boy. Taking to the sea to avoid the authourities and to find his fortune, the young teenager grew up into a young man, going from ship to ship, learning the trade, soon becoming in great demand for his talent at swordplay and seamanship. Securing a sizable fortune from his plundering, he eventually became first mate on one of the most reputable frigates in the area, the Golden Falcon at the age of eighteen. Enjoying his youth, he went to a nearby tavern to celebrate his promotion and new found infamy, and fell in love with a tavern wench working there named Lily. They had a long, stormy affair, eventually culminating in the birth of their daughter Rose.
Lily persisted Septimus to relinquish his dangerous occupation and lifestyle for their daughter, and although he loved them both, the call of the open sea was too much to bear. At twenty-two, after the birth of their second child, a son Septimus named Luka, Septimus left on another voyage with the crew of the Falcon. While he was away, his brother Quintus, who had become the leader of the Sea Reavers, tracked down his budding family and killed Lily and their two children. Returning after that particularly long voyage, he was given the news and immediately went to slay his brother for the death of his family. This tragedy was seen as the changing point, where the bright-eyed and determined lad that was the young Septimus was killed swiftly and violently, and was replaced by the bitter and efficient Septimus that is known today.
He never managed to slay his brother, however. Quintus, although a criminal, was an unknown, extremely wealthy and influential one. Septimus however did not have that advantage. He had hesitated at the vital moment, his better nature keeping him from repeating the same mistake. Quintus took advantage of Septimus`s nature, and held a blade to his throat, threatening not to kill him himself, but to hand him over to the authorities to be hung. However, seeing his younger brother’s potential, he decided to allow him to live if he worked for his piracy guild. Furious, but above all, self-serving, Septimus accepted and was given his own ship (the Acheron, the sister ship of Quintus’s frigate, the Sea Wolf,) and his own crew. Now he is one of the highest-ranking Sea Reavers, a man of great wealth and power, but also of great bitterness and anger. More then freedom, more then plunder, he wishes for an opportunity to slay the brother that thus enslaved him.
Equipment and Belongings:
Septimus allows his clothing to express his wealth, and tends to travel light. He is heavily armed, as befits his class, but also has in his possession some sneaky objects indeed.
The Kiss, Poisoned Dagger:
Hidden in his left boot is a deadly poisoned dagger, his favourite weapon, even though he is a talented swordsman. The dagger is decorated with a long winding serpent with emeralds for its eyes. Near the top of the hilt there is a small compartment where he loads the poison, and the poison, when the dagger enters flesh, exits near the serpent’s mouth at the tip of the blade. He calls it affectionately his Kiss, and favours the poison of the rare sea snake to make his kills. It is very beautiful and of a deceptively small size. It is also very rare. There is no other one like it in the world.
It takes only the lightest scratch for the lethal poison to enter the bloodstream.
A wide baldric is slung over his shoulder and into it is thrust carelessly his hanger (a weapon that is slightly longer then a cutlass, Septimus prefers as much distance as possible). The sheath of the hanger is leather and snakeskin and deceptively simple, while the make of the hanger is very complex and gives the impression of both classical and tribal make, and is covered by intelligible runes.
Shortbow and Loaded Quiver:
His third choice of weaponry is a narrow ebony shortbow and quiver. His arrows are unique because they only have two feathers, instead of the usual three, and his feathers are always from the common raven. Within the quiver he carries repair kits and even at times small trinkets he picks up on his travels, especially if they are shiny or unique.
As Septimus normally travels by horseback, his belongings are usually kept in the saddlebags, which are constructed of soft deerskin with simple flaps and drawstring cords. The items within are as follows:
Flint & Steel:
Septimus often finds himself in situations where a flint and steel would be useful. Traveling alone, he relies on this simple piece of equipment to create fire to cook his meals when he finds himself away from his native town and ‘on the road’, so to speak. Fire is an effective way to keep wild animals at bay and also to discourage insects from entering his camp.
Septimus is a wanted man and there are certain situations in which he needs to disguise himself in order to escape undetected. Within the kit are the staples of disguise, including simple costuming pieces and facial pieces.
Septimus is not well known for sobriety, especially now, in his depression. In this wineskin he carries a mixture of water and rum, which makes a rather weak alcoholic beverage known as grog, and he refuses to travel without it.
Septimus often enjoys a good smoke to pass the time and acknowledges that he is too set in his ways to break the habit. In this category he owns a Pipe, Smoking, and a small pouch of Tobacco.
To eat on the trail, he has a single smoked fish, exotic spices, a salted fish and enough dry rations for one day of travel.
His most prized possessions go in this bag, which he always has on his person. It is a simple deerskin bag of tribal design and is covered with intricate and enigmatic beaded patterns. Within it you can find…
Every thief needs the tools of his trade. In this collection he owns a collapsible grapple, a rope ladder, a lock pick, pliers, certain herbs, such as ANSERKE, COLEWORT, DEADLY-NIGHTSHADE and THROW-WAXE, as well as his own personal touch, vials of serpent venom from some of the deadliest creatures in the world. A dark frosted glass vial is within his reach.
It is in this sack that he keeps his money, guineas, and rare coins from distant lands, jewelry and even raw uncut gems. It is so well hidden, and his reputation is so prevalent, he has never been stolen from. Also, maps of thin vellum mark him as a devoted treasure hunter. Rare objects, including a signet ring with a seven engraved on it, are kept with his plunder.
Septimus owns a light Friesian stallion named Sindal (Riverfoot) that was given to him as a gift from one of the merchants of Corelan. The stallion is only four years old and is 16 hands high with an ebony pelt and mane and ebony eyes. The stallion is equipped with an elaborate bit and bridle, a saddle blanket, horseshoes, saddlebags, an ornate military saddle, and a halter.
He owns a 120ft frigate with a 27 gun broadside and blood-red sails named the Acheron. He has a crew of 50 men.
The Blackened Path that You Tread
Baleful eyes flickered uneasily from face to face, his body held tense, with an air of aggression. The confrontation unsettled him deeply and a flush of high colour touched the normally alabaster canvas of his cheeks. It was when he transferred his energy from brooding to edgy and suspicious that he was considered most dangerous. Septimus was already well known to be notoriously moody, and many men had not had the opportunity to be surprised or awed at the deadly mood swings and even more lethal reflexes that had categorized him as one of the most unpredictable Sea Reavers ever to be seen on land or sea.
His gloved hand had transferred to the hilt of his weapon without thought, only to relax instantly.
It was because of this unpredictability that songs were sung of him by bards, who antagonized him against a favoured hero of old, and rumours of him were transferred from port city to city. It was because of this fearful unfathomness, viewed with the kind of fascination that is often given to disasters of nature that mothers told horror stories of him to their wide eyed youngsters, and when ill-tempered children fought with their siblings or argued with their parents, it was his name the adults evoked as a warning. He was emulated by children, feared by men, and desired by women. He was a legend of his own time.
He was absolutely miserable.
He seemed restless within his own skin, and uncomfortable with the fact that he was taking the time to speak with a person of the female persuasion. Females were not allowed on the ship Septimus commanded, and the few smuggled on board had been killed instantly. The goddess of the sea was fickle and jealous, and the competition of another female was not to be tolerated. Rather then tempt fate; the few females that had managed to avoid his watchful eye had been slaughtered quickly and efficiently by his crew. There was no room for disaster aboard the Acheron, and there was little to no tolerance for blasphemy. The only other experiences he had had with women had been the relatively impersonal sessions in taverns and inns, for Septimus had loved once, and vowed never to love another.
A less cautious woman could have conceivably been attracted to him, and this incident had happened on several occasions, when a bar maid or travelers became taken with his youth. His waifish figure, sad eyes, dark curls, and way with children endeared him to certain women. It was true; there were times when he appeared more the part of a poor little orphan boy then a wanted criminal, which had served him to advantage time and time again.
Like many criminals, he had a renowned place in the hierarchy of the underworld. But unlike most criminals, he was extremely intelligent, and this was probably the main reason he was still alive. Among his own crew he naturally assumed the position of leader, and ruled his men with an iron rod. Because of his particular talents, he often did most of the intellectual work, and while he did not have an entirely unearned reputation for doom and destruction, he carried out violence reluctantly. While atypical for a pirate, he had an unknown side that was oddly altruistic, and saving another person at the risk of his own safety was not an unknown occurrence, particularly if that person was a child. In battle he was reserved, killing when necessary with a mixture of deadly, complicated moves that put to use his considerable agility. It was noted that the destruction of the Golden Falcon, the previous flagship of one Glenn Fenris, marked the beginning of Septimus`s distain for violence.
Many legends had been told of that day, when the noble frigate was torn asunder by the flagship Sea Wolf. A hundred men strong had set out that day on a path for plunder. Eight men returned, Septimus among them. It was a cold day, a red day, a day when sharks swarmed and the seas turned crimson. When the rogue was checked into an inn in Corelan, carried upon the shoulders of an injured sailor, he was barely conscious. Eyewitnesses had reported that the youth had been shot twice, the bullets narrowly missing his heart.
Involuntarily Septimus felt his hand brush over the left side of his chest. Two half-healed scars marked the smooth skin below his flimsy fencing shirt. He closed his eyes for a moment and recalled.
Withdrawn, he had leaned against the doorframe of their tiny cottage, watching his daughter play with her mother while his infant son Luka slept peacefully in a makeshift crib. He marveled at the likeness between them. His daughter Rose had been slim like her mother, and beautiful, with pale skin, rosy cheeks and lips, and shining blonde hair. But her eyes had been Septimus`s own, exactly like his had been before the tragedy, a golden-emerald that was strangely feral, alive and laughing. He had called her to him and held her to his breast. A tear had fallen and marked her faded cobalt dress. The girl looked up at her father and smiled into his face, and watched with wonder his wild eyes. “Why are you crying, Daddy?” she asked in her child’s treble. He could only close his eyes as she lowered her soft golden head against his dark, snarled one.
“You must promise never to leave me”, he whispered hoarsely.
“I promise”, she whispered back, pressing the necklace into his palm.
He found her body on a cold Monday morning, just when the mists parted and the rooster crowed and he staggered home, distorted visions through a haze of tears plaguing him. Tormented by physical agony and worry he threw open the door of the cottage and stared into the darkness. His world was darkness. There could be no more light.
Mother and daughter and infant son.
He covered his face with his hands and wept.
That had been three years ago.
Three years since he had adopted the sea as his mistress, the murderous, bloodthirsty wench who sailors adore. She abused him for three years, offering him happiness, but snatching it away in her cruel, guileless hands. She tormented him with loneliness and drove him close to the brink of insanity. But like an innocent child returning to its abusive parent, Septimus always returned to her as she poisoned his mind slowly and deftly, he loved her and his corroded heart was hers. For he did love her. More then he loved life itself.
Posted on 2007-11-07 at 20:32:47.
Edited on 2007-11-07 at 20:48:10 by Septimus Sandalwood
The second character is listed as Chaotic Good but the backstory is certainly descriptive of that. It is rather Chaotic Neutral at best and very close to Neutral Evil.
Descriptions of him as "criminal", ruling with iron rod and a belief that humans are at heart liars is would support the evil inclination.
Hate to bring it up so early but there is no way my character would ever travel with such a person.
Not sure how a 3rd level character is a sea captain with a long and infamous career and owns a 120 foot vessel and commands a crew of 50. A bit over the top for the level.
DM: Can you provide some guidance on what you see as "normal" for a 3rd level? One of the two of us is off; could be me. Also some info on what type characters are expected; I can change my character if needed.
Keeper - I understand your questions and have to agree with you a little. I do agree that the history does tend towards an evil alignment. And a 3rd level C that is a legendary figure seems a bit much. I am discussing options with Septimus to see how we will work it out.
The ship and crew would not have been an issue as it wouldn’t be available in this adventure anyway.
Your C is fine as I see it. Don’t change a thing.
There will be a delay in starting the game as others don’t seem to have 2nd edition info for making up characters.
Also, I would like to recruit another character as one person dropped out already because they don’t have any of the 2nd edition info and they have only played 3rd ed.
Please be patient I will get this underway eventually.
Hmm.. a question for those who requested to play in this adventure. Would you all prefer to use 3.5 edition in this game?
It seems that almost all of you have used 3.5 and would probably be more comfortable with it.
I have played some with it and have the SRD to use to learn about the combat, skills, etc. It would probably be easier for me to learn to DM with 3.5 than for all of you to learn 2nd ed.
Never played 3.5, I am old school. If you can convert my sheet I see no real problems as far as postings. Might have to bear with me for not knwing all the new terms and such. If it is easier for you and the others go for it.
Posted on 2007-11-09 at 13:37:39.
Brianna Not Dragon Mistress Karma: 105/32 2282 Posts
I could eaily redo any character in 3.5 All you backgrouns and history would fit right in, no problem only the effect of the statistics change and game mechanics that are mostly in the background. I love 3.5 Shoot me you stats and I can play with them and get you input on feats and skills you might want to take for your character
Pros: 3.5 gives you stat bonus raisee every fourth level. Bonus feats every three plus those given by class taken. Fighters get fests at Ist and then again at every even level. No more ThacOsm is a plus. Multiclassing is easy. You can really scult a character.
Cons: it is new but that does not effect your actually roleplaying-just mechanics.
Posted on 2007-11-10 at 02:10:01.
Edited on 2007-11-10 at 07:05:14 by Brianna
As I am a Cleric to a diety the has War as one of his domains, can I take levels in fighter? I would like to start out a Fighter 1 Cleric 2. Clerics can be fighters for the respective deities, but they dont' get the feats that they need to be a good fighter.