For A New Age (Full)

[MorkaisChosen]

MorkaisChosen: Ok, now I get what you are getting at. I don’t think there should be a problem as long as you are in the front line. We can explain it as a cultural thing. In fact there is real world historical precedence for this. In the ancient Greek phalanxes it was more prestigious to be in the front of the formation. It was usually the wealthier (and supposedly the most virtuous) citizens who served in the most forward ranks while the poorer citizens got stuck in the back pushing everyone else forward. So as long as you are in the front, leading the way I think we are good. The point is that it has to be heroic and brave.

I was taking as read that he was in the front rank, nothing else would suit him at all...


Thanks for the XP, I'll be spending that on Dex 3 and Archery 2. I'll get the sheet updated at some point and compile all the background in one handy post, but I'm a little short of time right at this moment.

 

[MorkaisChosen]

Making a new post, 'cause it's been an hour or so since the last one- reposting the sheet and all extraneous stuff. Of note is the XP spending (that extra 9XP I got) and a slight change to Intimacies; the Wyld Barbarians thing was, frankly, a bit of an afterthought, and Sworn Oaths are important. I've also added something about Four Foot and Jorik and their place in the Fangs' hierarchy.

Spoiler

Bjarn Stormtooth, named for the howling gales that shook the foundations of his father's longhouse both on the night of his conception and of his birth, was destined for greatness. The diviner of the Skandir, the clan to whose chieftain, Ragnar Ironthew, he was born, saw in the entrails and the smoke the fate of a mighty leader, bringing a golden dawn to his people- and his early life seemed to reinforce that belief. His proud father saw his first steps, his first words, and the first time he was able to lift an axe, and knew that his child had something rarely seen- the spark of heroism in his soul.


Raised on the sagas of heroes, villains and monsters, the young Bjarn was a child of many facets- serious pronouncements of the exploits that, one day, would be sung in his saga followed closely by exuberant wrestling and play-fighting with his peers made him popular with all but one of the children of Skand- his cousin, Hakir, the son of the chieftain's younger brother. Hakir's father was bitter that his chances to lead the clan were so clearly slipping from his grasp, and that attitude spilled into his son's demeanour.


Years passed, as they are wont to do, and the boys grew into men- Bjarn, the broad-shouldered warrior that seemed the image of his father in his younger, fitter days, the strength of his sword-arm exceeded only by that of his personality; and Hakir, a slender whip of a man with a dark glance and a poisonous tongue.


Bjarn took up is duties as the son of the chief, leading thirty of the clan's warriors in raids and defences against the beatss of the Wyld- and, in his time at the town, drinking copious quantities of ale- and going "walking" and "sailing" with some of the finer specimens of young womanhood the Skandir had to offer. Hakir's bitterness increased, and as Bjarn's exploits became closer and closer to legend, he took the chance to whisper in some ears- surely being son of the chieftain didn't allow all that privilege? Surely young Bjarn should be taught some humility... Still, matters never had time to come to a head.


Reports of a Wyld monstrosity approaching Skand gave Ragnar a chance, as he saw it, to prove his son's worth. He sent Bjarn and his thirty men and women to attack the beast, impressing on Bjarn the importance of- and the lack of shame in- returning for reinforcements if the beast was too great to conquer with the warriors he had.


So it was that the shieldwall, three ranks deep, made its cautious approach. Rounding a crag, they saw the beast before them- a monstrosity, twelve feet of what looked like a mixture of wolf and squid, and far larger than the rteports had suggested. Stepping backwards, they kept a wary eye on the beast, until a loose stone tripped one of the warriors and the beast sprung- faster than anything that large had a right to move. The speed gave Bjarn no chose.


Breaking rank, he shouted for his warriors to flee back to Skand- he would buy them the time to warn his father and prepare the defences. With a wordless yell of defiance, he leapt, the light of the morning sun glinting from his sword.


He never expected to do more than delay the beast. His astonishment as its skull split beneath his blade was evident on his face- as was the mixture of awe, surprise and horror on the faces of his warriors, childhood friends and grizzled veterans both. It was only when he caught the reflection once more in the burnished steel of his sword that he saw the golden sunburst, the mark of a soul-eating demon from the age of myth and legend, that he understood. The glorious fate foretold for him had been rent asunder, destroyed by the uncompromising light of the Sun.


It moved him almost to tears to command his loyal band to return without him to the village, asking only that they tell his father that he was killed along with his quarry and given a warrior's funeral there and then- after all, he was as good as dead to the Skandir- they, who were there with him, could see he was the man he always had been, but with Hakir's dagger-like tongue whispering in the ears of the people, he could never be accepted.


It moved him almost to tears. The tears flowed uncontained when, to a man, to a woman, they refused his command and chose to follow him in self-imposed exile.


So it was that they left the ancestral home of the Skandir and began a wandering life not unlike that of the Valhal stock from which they were born. Fighting for money or food, they mixed mercenary work with raiding- protecting a town from Wyld barbarians one wmonththen assaulting their neighbours for much-needed food the next. Their exploits were many- Wyld beasts slain, towns defended, travellers rescued or raided for the jade or steel in their packs, even hiring out to protect a savant exploring First Age ruins for artefacts from opportunistic scavengers- she found more artefact than she could handle when a guardian-automaton was activated, but the practiced shieldwall of the Fangs of the Gale, as Bjarn's band had begun calling themselves, gave their leader the time he needed to climb its back and destroy its delicate control mechanisms. The scholar was so grateful, she gave Bjarn the pick of the spoils; accordingly, he chose a mighty golden axe named Skycleaver, the weapon of a legendary warrior who, it was said, fought off the elements themselves to defend his people.


Yet, as time went on, Bjarn saw more and more the looks in the eyes of his foes- not so much the barbarians, but the relatively blameless victims he imposed on for the good of his people- as they faced him, saw the eyes of friends and sworn comrades glaze over as their life bled out onto the snow, and could ignore it no longer. Taking more morally unambiguous jobs was not the whole solution- yes, defending a village from marauders is good work, but such work is not always available. He knew he had to find a more permanent life for his people- now Bjarn seeks a place where his Skandir warriors can settle, take up once more the ploughshares they left behind so long ago, and leave their axes by the doors of their longhouses until the cry goes out and brave warriors are needed once more to defend their brothers and sisters.





Size is the first impression anyone has of Bjarn Stormtooth. Certainly he is physically big- broad-shouldered and thickly muscled from years of swinging sword and axe- but it is not just that. He exudes an impression of might, of power, of awe, and there are few who can meet the steely gaze that peers from his dark brows for long.


His dark hair is bound at the nape of his neck, reaching past his shoulders, and his beard is usually either well-groomed or matted with the smoke and blood of war. He wears unremarkable brown, often covered by a chain hauberk, and bears across his back a mighty axe swathed in plain cloth to conceal the telltale glint of orichalcum. His round shield bears no crest but a field the gren of a storm-tossed sea- any more would be distracting from the essential nature of the item, whose only task is to be cloven in two rather than Bjarn himself.


Bjarn's anima banner burns with the blood-red light of dawn, shot through with bolts of lightning- as his power swells, it resolves into a warrior with a draconic head matching the figureheads seen on Skandir ships.


Bjarn's warriors have been joined by two relatively recent additions, swept along in the tide of Bjarn's radiant charisma- the master thief, Four Foot, who has taken to procuring the supplies they need to survive- without considering such petty matters as money and fair payment- and the hunter named Jorik Bjornsson, who Bjarn and the Fangs rescued from a pack of deadly wolves. At least, that's how Bjarn tells the tale, and people tend to believe him, for some reason.


The two Solars hold a somewhat strange position with Bjarn's band. They are clearly on a par with Bjarn in terms of ability, especially in their areas of expertise, and he tends to expect almost as much of them as he does of himself. They have proven themselves time and again to the Fangs, and have gained their trust, though the Skandir warriors were brought up to hate and fear the Chosen of the Sun as enemies of their heroic ancestors. Nevertheless, they cannot hope to reach the same place in the hearts of the warriors as Bjarn, who they have known from his childhood; they trust the other two Solars to keep them alive, but they would follow their chieftain into the Underworld and back.





Age: Bjarn was 17 Creation years at Exaltation (that's just over 21 in our money).


He doesn't have any children that he's aware of, and he hasn't spoken to his father since he left the Skandir- Hakir could be chieftain now for all he knows.


His attitude to power is that it gives the intwined right and responsibility to lead- his warriors will fight for him, but in return, he must fight for them.


He holds himself to higher standards than he would a mortal, but he knows mortals can do great things too.


He still holds many of the Skandir beliefs- they venerate the deeds of their ancestors and try to impress them with their own feats, and respect- but do not necessarily defer to- the spirits of wind, wave and earth. Since his Exaltation, he has come to see (from a combination of Skandir beliefs and fragments of others' legends) the Unconquered Sun as the ultimate warrior. He's already impressed the Sun with his valour, and he hopes to do so again; he occasionally prays, not for aid, but that the eyes of the Sun bear witness to his exploits.


His attitude to his fellow Exalts is varied. He sees them as equals, and therefores holds them to similar standards, at least in their own areas of expertise- but he expects to be respected and, wher necessary, obeyed in his own sphere.





Name: Bjarn Stormtooth


Concept: Viking-style raider chieftain


Motivation: Build a permanent home for the Fangs of the Gale.


Attributes:


Strength: oooo


Dexterity: ooo (8XP)


Stamina: ooo


Charisma: ooooo


Manipulation: ooo


Appearance: ooo


Perception: oo


Intelligence: oo


Wits: ooo


Abilities:


Archery: oo (1XP)


Martial Arts: oo (1XP)


Melee: ooooo (Grimcleaver +1, In Formation +1) (3BP)


Thrown: oo


War: oooo (1BP)


Performance: ooooo (To Warrior Class +1) (2.5BP)


Presence: oooo (1BP)


Resistance: ooo (Poisons +1) (0.5BP) (Yes, that's obviously Resistance: BEER +1)


Sail: ooo (1BP)


Integrity: oo


Bureaucracy: o


Survival: o


Awareness: o


Athletics: o


Linguistics: o (Native: Skytongue (Skandir- Valhal dialect?), Seatongue)


Virtues:


Compassion: ooo


Conviction: ooo


Valour: oooo


Temperance: oo


Willpower: ooooo o


Essence: ooo (7BP)


Personal: 15/15


Peripheral: 34/39


5 committed


Backgrounds:


Followers: oo


Resources: ooo (Spoils of his time as a mercenary and raider; most valuables held as small, portable things such as jewelery.)


Artifact: oo (Orichalcum Grimcleaver, "Skycleaver")


Charms: (32XP)


1st Melee Excellency


1st War Excellency


1st Performance Excellency


1st Presence Excellency


Rout-Stemming Gesture


Mob-Dispersing Rebuke


Fury-Inciting Presence


Heart-Compelling Method


Husband-Seducing Demon Dance


Hypnotic Tongue Technique


You Can Be More


Hungry Tiger Technique


Ox-Body Technique x3 (-1 x6)


Durability of Oak Meditation


Iron Skin Concentration


Intimacies:


The Fangs of the Gale- a powerful mixture of respect, protectiveness and the bond that forms when you've saved someone's life and they've saved yours so many times you lose count.


Feasting- Bjarn enjoys a nice carouse, and, when he has the chance, you'll frequently find him stood on a table with a tankard of ale in one hand and a buxom maid in the other, bawling out a ribald song in a surprisingly rich bartone voice.


Sworn Oaths- according to Bjarn's father, there is no sin greater than breaking a sworn oath- except perhaps neglecting one's responsibilities as a chieftain. This lesson, Bjarn learnt well.


Weapons: "Skycleaver", Orichalcum Grimcleaver


Speed: 5 Accuracy: +3 (Pool: 11) Damage: +12L/4 (Pool: 16L/4) Defense +1 (Parry DV: 6) Rate 3


Straight Sword


Speed: 4 Accuracy: +2 (Pool: 9) Damage: +L12L/4 (Pool: 7L) Defense +1 (Parry DV: 4) Rate 2


Social Combat:


Performance


Speed: 6 Pool: 10/8 Rate: 1 (Affects all who hear)


Presence


Speed: 4 Pool: 9/7 Rate: 2 (Affects a single target)


Soak: 8L/10B (Chain Hauberk: +6L/+7B, mobility -3 (-4 shield), fatigue 2)


Target Shield


Dodge DV:2


Mental Dodge DV: 6


Mental Parry DV: 5


Health Levels:


-0 x1


-1 x8


-2 x2


-4 x1


Incapacitated x1





Attributes:Strength 3, Dexterity 3, Stamina 4; Charisma 2, Manipulation 2, Appearance 2; Perception 3, Intelligence 2, Wits 3


Virtues: Compassion 2, Conviction 3, Temperance 2, Valour 4


Abilities: Archery 2, Athletics 3, Awareness 3, Bureaucracy 1, Craft (Fire) 2, Dodge 2, Integrity 3, Investigation 2, Linguistics 1, Lore 1, Martial Arts 3, Medicine 2, Melee 4, Occult 2, Presence 2, Resistance 2 (Poison +1), Sail 3, Socialise 2, Stealth 2, Survival 3, Thrown 2, War 3


Join Battle: 6


Attacks: Punch: Speed 5, Accuracy 7, Damage 3B, Parry DV 4, Rate 3


Kick: Speed 5, Accuracy 6, Damage 6B, Parry DV 2, Rate 2


Clinch: Speed 6, Accuracy 6, Damage 3B, Parry DV -, Rate 1


Exceptional Axe: Speed 5, Accuracy 8, Damage 9L, Parry DV 3, Rate 2 (Same Resources value as a chopping sword; took +2 Defence, +1 Damage)


Knife: Speed 5, Accuracy 8, Damage 5L, Parry DV 3, Rate 3


Spear: Speed 5, Accuracy 8, Damage 7L/10L, Parry DV 4 (without shield), Rate 2


Soak:6L/11B (Chain hauberk, 6L/7B, -3 mobility)


Health Levels: -0/-1/-1/-2/-2/-4/Incap.


Dodge DV: 3/0 Willpower: 7


Essence:1


I think that's everything this time...

 

[Sherwood]

Here is my DK's background story

Spoiler

Asyk Vaysel - Pterok breed Dragon King - Background story


He stands perfectly still as the arrow prepares to fly, waiting for the right moment in time where everything lines up perfectly to make the shot. Even something so small as the wind from a passing butterfly could make his arrow off by inches given the extreme range he was at. Soon, soon, NOW! The flight is true, and once more the target is struck. Seven out of eight is not bad work when the target is over a hundred wing-beats away. Asyk picks up another arrow and begins the process once more when he is interrupted by one of the younger members of the Aeire, recently returned to sapience. "Excuse me, but the High Lord wishes your presence in the tower." Asyk nods. "Tell the High Lord I will be there shortly. I must prepare." The youngster bows deeply and backs away.


The High Lord summon me. A decision must have been made! We are going to finally do something to help keep Creation from slowly being killed by the Great Contagion. But there has been so much death. I wonder if there is really anything that can be done other than to keep the sick away from our doors until the pandemic has burned its way out. Well. I shall soon have the answers I seek. Asyk once more dons the robes of his office and slips the bow into its pouch for easier carrying as he leaps from the open window of his tower and takes the short flight to the Tower of High Assembly. Built with no entrance lower than a thousand feet to the ground, it served to make even the mighty Solars have to find a way up in order to stand before the High Lord. Lunars have an easier time of it, after all, most have the decency to learn to fly before comming out to join in councel with those of the Aerie.


The first thought is that there are many guards, many more than usual. A flurry of activity fills the halls as servants run back and forth on orders from the High Counsel. It looks like we're packing everything up to abandon the Aerie. But why? Don't we plan on defending our homes? What am I walking into? Moving with purpose, Asyk flies the rest of the way up to the level of the High Chambers before settling down to walk. Once more he found himself feeling pitty to the other three breeds that lacked his gifts of wings and the ability to soar across Creation as the Sky Lords they were.


He enters the high chamber and is quickly noticed and called over to be seen by the High Lord. Asyk kneels before the ruler of the Aerie and waits for permission to stand. "Come now, my boy. Now is not the time for such formalities. Stand and approach. We have made a decision regarding your petition." Asyk looks around as he approaches the Councelors. "I am glad to finally be given a chance to bring order from the chaos that spreads death at all corners. I should have taken my Tenscore Fellowship out months ago to begin our field work."


Uneasy looks pass back and forth from the councelmen and the High Lord. "You misunderstand. That is not why you are here today."


He nearly stumbles. "Forgive me, my lords, but if not for some sort of decisive action to protect our lands the Contagion will burn through our people as it has in every other city and town across Creation. We will die by the thousands."


"Millions. Our reports of the death toll stagger the mind. The counsel has considered your words carefully, and we have come to a sad conclusion. If we had acted earlier as you first requested, the disaster that is now upon us may have been prevented. As it is, we are too late. The disease has already crept upon us and has begun taking its first victims. Soon, the Aiere will be lost, home only to the dead and dying."


Asyk chokes back on his rage and stops himself from pecking the eyes out of the idiots that let this happen. "So, you have called me here so that I might write our epitaph? Shall I mention the political infighting that has taken so long that will cause the death of all that we now hold dear?" His fists shake with rage.


The High Lord stands. To the others, he commands, "Leave us. Make your other preperations. I will speak with my son about the sad duty he must now perform for his people."


"Father? You have never let our relationship determine how we act to one another, never shown me any favors. What do you want of me?"


"Our people are dying, Asyk. There is nothing we can do to stop it, so we now make plans to recover what is lost and rebuild. Your mixed knowledge of the different Paths, while have always been a source of strife between us from your lack of focus may yet prove to be your greatest asset. Walk with me." Asyk has to hurry to keep pace with his father. "Where are we going?"


"To prepare you for the task ahead. My only regret is that I will not be able to help you from yourself anymore, my son. But your unconventional ways may be what saves us all in the end." The two Dragon Kings take a lift that quickly lowers them deep below ground to the hidden chambers used by the High Counsel. Asyk looks around as much as he can as his father leads him deeper below ground to a massive crystaline structure.


"The burden I now place upon your shoulders is a heavy one, Asyk. But I see the strength of the ironoak in you. If any can do what must be done, it is you. Now quickly, remove your robes and set aside that bow. You will no longer be needing it."


"Father, I don't understand! What is going on? Why do you talk as if you are alread dead?!"


"I am dead, condemed for not seeing the dangers to my people until it was too late. I have some gifts for you that I hope will help you on the next step of your journey." He turns to display a finely crafted suit of armor, a living sword, and a Powerbow of the kind used by the Solars. "These things...they are yours Father. Why are you giving them to me?"


"You will need them to bring our people back. This disease has already taken thousands, and many more will die. But you will be protected here from the ravages of time and sickness until it is safe to once more walk these halls. Once you awaken, the Contagion will be over and you will need to use your skills to bring the ferel children back here, teach them that they are not just mindless savages, and to begin to bring our people back from the brink of extinction. I do not know how long you will be sleeping; the chamber is set not to let you out until it is safe to do so. Just remember that while you have a heavy load to bear, I would not have chosen you for it if I did not think you couldn't do this. Save our people, Asyk. Save them from themselves."


He slept. When he finally started to wake, he had no idea how much time had passed from the day he first climbed into the crystal chamber. The presence of a Essence user had triggered the revival process, and now Asyk opens his eyes to see a Solar. The Children of the Sun have returned! How long have I been asleep? Years? Decades? Longer? The Dragon King now begins his struggle to come to terms with the many years that has gone by as he looks over the ruins of the now destroyed civilization of his people.

 

[MorkaisChosen]

Now that's going to be interesting.


See, I imagine there's going to be a certain degree of amazement when a warrior brought up on tales of an age of heroes and dragons- a warrior who's already become a hero like in the tales, and discovered that the stuff about soul-eating demons is a little inaccurate- meets a dragon that was alive back then.


One other thing for Archivist, on dialects: Bjarn obviously speaks the dialect of his Skandir home. I mentioned in the background that they're of Valhal stock; is that enough to give them the same dialect as the Valhals, or would you prefer that it's a different one, just with a few shared idioms?

 

[Luck1]

Alright, so this was the pic I wanted to base a character from

Spoiler

And thus, I created a sheet like so

Spoiler

Name: Billy


Concept: Brew Master


Player: Luck


Motivation: Brew a drink to bring prosperity to all of creation


Caste: Full Moon


Spirit Shape: Yeti


Anima: A snow covered mountain rises up, then an avalanche occurs and the snow crashes down around Billy


*-----------------------------------------*


Attributes


*-----------------------------------------*


[X] Strength â—â—â—â—


[X] Dexterity â—â—â—â—


[X] Stamina â—â—â—â—


[X] Charisma â—â—â—


[ ] Manipulation â—â—


[ ] Appearance â—â—


[ ] Perception â—â—


[ ] Intelligence â—â—â—


[ ] Wits â—â—â—â—


*-----------------------------------------*


Abilities


*-----------------------------------------*


WAR


[ ] Archery


[ ] Athletics â—â—


[ ] Awareness â—


[ ] Dodge â—â—â—


[ ] Integrity


[ ] Martial Arts â—â—â—â—


[ ] Melee


[X] Resistance â—â—â—


[ ] Thrown


[ ] War


LIFE


[ ] Craft â—â—â— (Water, Wood, Fire) (+3 Beverages)


[ ] Larceny


[ ] Linguistics â— (Sky-tongue, Forest-tongue[N])


[ ] Performance


[ ] Presence â—


[ ] Ride


[ ] Sail


[ ] Socialize â—â—


[ ] Stealth


[X] Survival â—â—â—


WISDOM


[ ] Bureaucracy


[ ] Investigation


[ ] Lore â—â—â—


[ ] Occult â—â—


[ ] Medicine â—â—


SPECIALTIES


[ ] _______________ [ ][ ][ ]


[ ] _______________ [ ][ ][ ]


[ ] _______________ [ ][ ][ ]


*-----------------------------------------*


Backgrounds 7


*---------------------------------------*


Artifact â—â—â—


Familiar â—â—â— (Dog)


Heart’s Blood ◠(Mammoth, Ice Weasel, Mountain Goat)


*-----------------------------------------*


Charms/Knacks/Spells


*-----------------------------------------*


Name Cost Page


*-----------------------------------------*


Knacks


Hybrid Body Rearrangement (horns, armored hide, air adaptation, wolf’s pace)


Towering Beast Form


Mountainous Spirit Expression


New Friend Aroma pg.177


1st Charisma Excellency


Dog-Tongue Method pg.163


3rd Strength Excellency


Tearing Claw Atemi pg.145


Yeddim’s-Back Method pg.146


Ox-Body x4


*-----------------------------------------*


Attacks


*-----------------------------------------*


Punch: Speed 5, Accuracy +1, Damage +0B, Defense +2, Rate 3. Tags: N


Kick: Speed 5, Accuracy +0, Damage +3B, Defense -2, Rate 2. Tags: N


Clinch: Speed 6, Accuracy +0, Damage +0B, Defense (NA), Rate 1. Tags: C, N, P


*-----------------------------------------*


Willpower


*-----------------------------------------*


[X] [X] [X] [X] [X] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ]


{ } { } { } { } { } { } { } { } { } { }


*-----------------------------------------*


Virtues


*-----------------------------------------*


Compassion Conviction


[X][X][X][ ][ ] [X][X][ ][ ][ ]


{ }{ }{ }{ }{ } { }{ }{ }{ }{ }


Temperance Valor


[X][X][ ][ ][ ] [X][X][ ][ ][ ]


{ }{ }{ }{ }{ } { }{ }{ }{ }{ }


*-----------------------------------------*


Dodge DV - 6


*-----------------------------------------*


Dodge MDV -


*-----------------------------------------*


Parry MDV -


*-----------------------------------------*


Soak


*-----------------------------------------*


B - 4 L - 2 A - 0


*-----------------------------------------*


Anima


*-----------------------------------------*


*-----------------------------------------*


Health


*-----------------------------------------*


~0 [ ]


~1 [ ] [ ]


~2 [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ]


~4 [ ]


Incapacitated [ ]


Dying [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ]


*-----------------------------------------*


Essence


*-----------------------------------------*


[X] [X] [X] [X] [ ]


Personal 14 | 14


Peripheral 38 | 38


Familiar 5 | 5


Committed


*-----------------------------------------*


Limit Break


*-----------------------------------------*


[ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ][ ]


*-----------------------------------------*


Virtue Flaw


*-----------------------------------------*


The Curse of the Mother Hen


Other Shapes


*-----------------------------------------*


Yeti (Large)


S/D/S


7/3/6


Atk (S/A/D/R)


Claw: 4/8/8L/2


Bite: 5/6/10L/1


Dodge DV/S


5/3L/6B


Mammoth


S/D/S


14/3/10


Atk (S/A/D/R)


Trample: 3/8/15L/1


Dodge DV/S


5/5L/10B


Ice Weasel


S/D/S


4/4/4


Atk (S/A/D/R)


Bite: 5/8/6L*/1


*Jaw Lock


Dodge DV/S


6/6L/10B


Mountain Sheep


S/D/S


4/4/4


Atk (S/A/D/R)


Bite: 5/8/4L/1


Headbutt: 5/8/7L/1


Dodge DV/S


6/3L/5B


Experience


*-----------------------------------------*


15 BP (0)


10 Essence


2 MA 4


3 Craft specialty


50 Xp (5)


4 Resistance 2,3


4 Survival 2,3


10 Yeddim’s Back Method


27 Essence 4


For the artifact â—â—â—, I'd like to propose an artifact meteor hammer with the following base stats:


Speed 6, Accuracy +0, Damage +14L/5, Defense +1, Rate 1. Tags: 2, M, R, O, P


Speed 6, Accuracy +1, Damage +6B, Defense NA, Rate 1. Tags: C, M, P, R


Minimum: Str 4, Dex 4, MA 4


Attune 8


The second line is the same as dire chain clinch stats. I tried to make the first line similar, but slightly worse, than a grand goremaul, since the weapon can also be used to clinch with.


I'd like to forgo a hearthstone setting in favor having the head of the weapon double as a winter's breath jar, to be used for beer storage.


I stopped writing the background when I thought the game was full, but I'll finish it up and have it submitted soon too.

 

[Archivist]

MorkaisChosen: Everything looks great for the character Morkais. It’s obvious you put a lot of effort into the character.


We can make the Skandir and Valhal languages similar enough that they can easily communicate (with only a few different words and accents inhibiting communication a little bit). So one language would cover them both.


Sherwood: Great looking character. 5 EXP for connection, and 4 EXP for character creation. Should be intriguing to see how he works in a world fallen from what it was.


Luck: Looks good thus far I think. Seems like a unique character. I wait to see what your backstory is.


Looks like this is going to be one crazy Circle.

 

[Persell]

Luck: That's a hell of a brewmaster. Does he make Yeti Imperial Stout? Because it would be cool if he did.


MorkaisChosen: Good tie in. I like it.


Only question is are the Skandir and Valhal languages subsidiaries of skytongue? I'll drop the points to know it if not.

 

[MorkaisChosen]

I was assuming they'd be Skytongue, I can shuffle a little otherwise (drop Seatongue for Skytongue as a second language).


EDIT: Also, would it be unreasonable to give all twenty of the Fangs both a spear and a self bow? They're Resources 1 purchases, so it's not stretching Bjarn's resources at all, and it allows for a bit more tactical flexibility- which a small mercenary band would need, I think.

 

[Persell]

Does this background work for you?

Spoiler

Shortly after being thrown out of Gethemane, and to borrow a turn of phrase, I do not mean he was politely told to leave, Four Foot wandered east. It is of interest that during this time period, when theft was the easiest to accomplish, the young Solr actually did very little of it. The people there eked a hard life out of difficult conditions while still managing to show startling generosity. They had nothing worth purloining simply for the sake of acquiring and offered the blond haired man what they did out of generosity. He took to stealing from the tides, pulling forgotten treasures from the sea, and paid for his sustenance with a generosity that vastly outweighed the quality of food he was provided.


That all changed when he came to Cherak. The Realm's presence there was an inescapable temptation in light of his extended period of austerity. Four Foot walked into town, lifted the purse from a fat merchant, and had a crooked card game going within a day. His personal fortune was doubling every twelve hours for the week following that, and it was with great astonishment that the newcomer was named the city's Most Wanted without ever committing a crime of violence. It took him slightly over six days to do it, too, which was another first. Profoundly impressed with himself, Four Fout fled the city ahead of a wrathful pitchfolk wielding mob lead by the barrel-clad regional governor who desperately wanted back his pants. The people of Cherak, Four Foot concluded, were just as prone to overreacting as those of Gethemane. It took him nearly a week to evade the infuriated horde.


Unfortunately, Four Foot was still new to his abilities, and ran much too close to the Pinnacle of the Eye of the Hunt. The largest wyld hunt was gone on an errand, and the few Dragon-Blooded who remained were injured from the calamity of the Tepet legions. As such, he could have left without ever being noticed if he hadn't stolen the Pinnacle's banner. And the flag pole it flew from. And the sigil on the front gate. And some of the silverware, but really that last one was incidental. They overreacted as badly as everyone else had. It wasn't like he also took the last scrap of toilet paper when the Abbot was indisposed. Oh, sorry. He did. Honestly, that was probably what did it.


From thence they really got uppity. Four Foot went fleeing across the arctic north with close to a dozen elder terrestrials after him, and if they weren't injured to begin with, that would have been the end of him. This was the first time consequences nearly caught up with the young kleptomaniac, and he very nearly died on those frozen wastes.


What saved him was a bit of luck. A party of Seventh Legion commandos were in the area, taking action against a nascent shadowland as part of a training/preemptive strike exercise, and they were taking refuge in a small vale. As it was the best place to hide, by pure coincidence Four Foot tried to hide there as well. Lead by a Fire-Aspected officer of a minor Gens, they took umbrage at the furious Dynastic scions. It wasn't so much that they thought Four Foot was innocent; (though that would have been a refreshing and new experience) they just didn't like the Realm. Swords were drawn, conversation was effectively precluded, and in the end the wyld hunt left empty handed. Ironically, they never even knew that their target was Anathema.


Assara Seria was their commander's name, and upon seeing her Four Foot was instantly smitten, both figuratively and literally. Figuratively because she had all the charisma, presence, and force of will the children of Hesiah were known for, and literally because she punched him unconscious on general principle during the melee. As soon as he awoke he was mesmerized by her. Having recently been in several Realm strongholds, he had information that Lookshy's intelligence community wanted very badly. They held him quite voluntarily for a while, as he told them everything they asked. So willingly did he answer their queries that it was only because they did not know all the right questions to ask that the entire secret defense plans of the Realm's northern line remained intact. Four Foot would have happily given them that, having stolen it at some forgotten moment when he was bored, had they asked directly instead of trying to be subtle.


For the man was undeniably and utterly besotted with Seria. Every one of her wiles was devastatingly effective on him, even when she didn't want it to be. He memorized the way she moved, the way she walked, laughed, and talked. He rationed out his knowledge only because he wanted to bask in the smoking hot redhead's presence more. This was also literal, for she had freakishly strong breeding for one of a minor Lookshian Gens, and she smoldered when she got angry. That happened quite often, for now Four Foot discovered another sublime gift. He could really piss that girl off.


Every single thing Four Foot did drove the woman up a wall. He sang her serenades, and the off key tone he used grated on her nerves. When he gave her flowers, the bees hiding in the bulbs stung her nose. He told her the Realm's military status in the north, and she thought he was lying, looking for a reward. When they turned him loose, he kept returning, so distracted by his brain shattering infatuation that he almost forgot to steal things. Finally, when hints, gestures, and even stout beatings failed to drive the man away, Seria sat the unknown Solar down and told him she despised him in no uncertain terms. The conversation went like this.


“Four Foot, I despise you. Go away.â€


“Aw, you're just playing hard to get.â€


“No, I'm not. I don't like you. I've never liked you. I never even pretended to like you. The only time I ever voluntarily touched you was with my fist, and it was to put your miserable soul to the rest of unconsciousness.â€


“I know. I remember the feel of your hand as you gave me that small mercy. I never wash that side of my face in memory.â€


“Ew. Just, ew.â€


In the end there was only one option. The commado team, mission complete and bearing valuable information, crept away in the night. (Seria wanted to knife the man and leave him in a shallow grave, but was overruled when other members of the group realized he was a valuable intelligence asset, and should be left alive for later utilization.) When Four Foot awoke, he knew at once what had happened. Heartbroken and miserable, his world was dark and cold. (The fact that it was winter in the abode of the Icewalker's may have helped, but he thought the metaphorical significance significance more important.) He felt so bad he almost repented stealing her priceless family blade as a memento, and he ran away to the north, leaving her far behind. He even start washing both sides of his face.


The man had had an effect on the mind of the woman, unknown to him. In fact, he'd driven her to a towering fury so beyond even the choleric norm for a Fire-Aspected Terrestrial that when she discovered he'd taken her sword, she very nearly went mad. (Mad as in crazy. The mad as in angry was pretty much assured already.) What was worse was that the intelligence information was time sensitive, and she couldn't give chase because she had to return to Lookshy and tell her superiors all she learned. What is undeniable is that when they are done debriefing her, she'll go looking for the miserable, despicable peasant bastard who stole her sword and can't sing, and murder the ever living rat spit out his stinking carcass. The Solar just wants to see her again, and listen to the melodious sound of her voice. Maybe they can have a beer and try to work all this out? Anybody around here make a halfway decent brew?


Mechanics: The Day Star


White jade reaper daiklave


The blade is around three feet long, but narrower than usual for that type of weapon. The pattern of jade alloy and metal resembles Damascus steel, drifting organically from the hamon to elaborate natural mandalas. It is single edged and sharply pointed for thrusting. The handle is full tang sheathed by ivory, wrapped in white and blue silk for a grip. On the pommel is a simple jade insignia of a five pointed star. This is the crest of Gens Assara, but Four Foot doesn't know it. It's sheathed in a unimposing lacquered scabbard that Four Foot had made custom. He only stole the blade, leaving the original sheath resting on his beloved's hip. (She thinks he did this to taunt her and bears it still as a reminder of his unforgivable insult.) He doesn't know anything of the weapon's history.


Stats are for a normal jade reaper daiklave. The pommel can be used to create authentic Gens Assara seals. They (the seals themselves) are not a forgery for charm purposes, regardless of their origin, though may be used to add legitimacy to forged documents. Documents augmented in this way gain [Larceny] automatic successes on any contested roll to pass inspection.


As to general question, do you foresee a lot of fighting vs creatures of darkness or not?

 

[Archivist]

Good news, as some of you have already seen I have a forum up for this game now. So feel free to move this conversation over there, such as under the Character Creation Thread. If I forgot to add anyone to the thread please say so so that I can get you wired up.


The Velhal speak Skytongue. Due to the fact that a good deal of the population is focused on the coasts and islands of the North-West, they interact heavily with the other populations in the region (either for trade, mercenary work, alliances, raiding, pillaging, and other such activities a Viking like group would partake in). There is still some tribal tongue that has worked its way into the local version of Skytongue, but that would not impede communication to a great degree.


MorkaisChosen: Considering you have the resources, they are members of a warrior culture that would have training in those weapons, and they are the elites of a Solar Dawn caste warrior, I see now problems with them having both a spear and a bow.


Miashara: You will be fighting a good deal of creatures of darkness. Undead likely being a prominent enemy.


Also feel free to pick a Solar mate out of this Circle’s Solars with their permission, or develop one in your background if you wish.

 

[MorkaisChosen]

Awesome, thanks. I'll get that added to the sheet.