Chaka
Cuddle-fiend
Added a houserule on Perfect Defenses to the original post.
Lunars, anyone?
- Thread starter Chaka
- Start date
Red Shadow Claws
Six Thousand Club
Actually, the idea behind the Flaws of Invulnerabilty is that you can choose which flaw to use with it, and it also allows you to pick two or more Perfect Defenses, each with a different Flaw, so it's less likely to be used against you.Chaka said:
Chaka
Cuddle-fiend
Yeah. And yet the rule stands, because a character with low conviction and high compassion should not be taking the Conviction flaw first time out. If you want to take an alternate flaw, you buy the charm again.
Chaka
Cuddle-fiend
My exams finish on the 14th. I will be beginning the game after that.
Axelgear
General Wontwit
So you want us to post teh full character sheet or merely a concept?
Chaka
Cuddle-fiend
Concepts are fine. Cletius, I have one Solar already and I'm afraid that's really all I'm willing to take. The plot is going to be very Lunar-centric.
Axelgear
General Wontwit
Wouldn't Followers be more appropriate? Command represents large amounts of soldiers, after all, and Followers is more appropriate for a small band of escorting people.
Plus, Command is just soldiers placed under your command, not personally loyal to you.
Plus, Command is just soldiers placed under your command, not personally loyal to you.
Chaka
Cuddle-fiend
Followers is probably more appropriate, probably. I'll have a look over the backgrounds.
risaphoeniix
Somewhat Distractable
gonna guess that this is full.
Mm, I thought Command might make sense, seeing as this was an official mission sanctioned by the Silver Pact.
@Axelgear: Actually, I think you can have soldiers directly loyal to you if you have equivalent dots in Resources, Backing or Influence.
"If they are personal forces, the character should have Resources equal to his rating in the Command Background to make sure he has sufï¬cient funds to handle provisioning and outï¬tting a military operation."
But yeah, followers works fine too, not like I'm going to have more than two dots in the Background anyway
@Axelgear: Actually, I think you can have soldiers directly loyal to you if you have equivalent dots in Resources, Backing or Influence.
"If they are personal forces, the character should have Resources equal to his rating in the Command Background to make sure he has sufï¬cient funds to handle provisioning and outï¬tting a military operation."
But yeah, followers works fine too, not like I'm going to have more than two dots in the Background anyway
Anyway, character done.
Sheet:
Name Jaison, Song of Broken Cages
Exalt Type and Caste Full Moon Caste Lunar
Concept Well-intentioned Extremist
Anima A Large Falcon with wings outstretched, as if in flight
Spirit Shape A Falcon
Tell Unnaturally slanted and piercing eyes
Motivation End Slavery in all Creation
Attributes
Physical
Strength â— â— â— â— â— (6 dots in War Form)
Dexterity â— â— â— â— â— (6 dots in War Form)
Stamina â— â— â— â— (5 dots in War Form)
Social
Charisma â— â— â— â—
Manipulation â— â—
Appearance â— â—
Mental
Perception â— â— â—
Intelligence â— â—
Wits â— â— â— â— â—
Abilities
Archery
Martial Arts
Melee â—â—â—â—â—
Thrown
War â—â—â—â—â—
Integrity â—â—
Performance
Presence â—â—â—
Resistance â—â—
Survival â—
Craft
Investigate
Lore â—
Medicine â—
Occult
Athletics â—â—
Awareness â—â—
Dodge â—â—â—
Larceny
Stealth
Bureaucracy â—â—
Linguistics â—â— (Skytongue, High Realm, Low Realm)
Ride â—
Sail
Socialize â—â—
Knacks
Deadly Beastman Transformation, Perfected Hybrid Interaction,
War Form
Armored Hide (4) + Wolf's Pace (1) + Inexhaustible (2)
In War Form Broken Cages takes the shape of a massive eagle-headed man. His hands turn into claws, and his legs elongate slightly, giving them even more power than usual. The feathers of his body take on an unnatural sheen, turning rock-hard and giving Broken Cages even more protection
Charms
Stamina
Ox-Body Technique
Relentless Lunar Fury
Hide-Toughening Essence
Strength
First Strength Excellency
Impressions of Strength (Undeniable Might)
Dexterity
Second Dexterity Excellency
Secure Cat Stepping
Golden Tiger Stance
Charisma
Second Charisma Excellency
Maintaining the Pack
Backgrounds
Resources â—â—
Artifacts â—â—
Heart’s Blood ◠(Wolf [Alpha Male], Housecat, Shark)
Followers â—â—
Artifacts â—â—â—
Artifacts and Equipment
Moonsilver Daiklave
Moonsilver Reinforced Breastplate
Target Shield
Join Combat: 7
Defenses
Dodge DV 6
Parry DV 7
Soak: 13B/12L (17B/16L)
Health
-0 [ ]
-1 [ ][ ][ ][ ]
-2 [ ][ ]
-4 [ ]
X [ ][ ][ ]
Mental Defenses
Dodge MDV 5
Parry MDV 4
Virtues
Compassion â—
Conviction â— â— â—
Temperance â— â—
Valor â— â— â—
Flawed Virtue
Conviction (Hungry Wolverine)
Intimacies
Slaves
Willpower:
â— â— â— â— â— â—
Essence
Permanent: â—â—â—
Personal: 15/15 (0 Committed)
Peripheral: 27/36 (9 Committed)
Bonus Points
15 = (2 Melee + 4 War + 3 Dexterity + 3 Strength + 3 Background)
Experience Points
50 – 20 (Charms) – 18 (Essence) – 8 (Knacks) = 4 (Banked)
Background:
Every day, a bugle call wakes the slaves. They throw on whatever scant rags they use for clothes, and dash out to the parade square, assembled before their overseers for another day of back-breaking work. The few who lie immobile on their bunks are too sick, too tired, or have just given up, wilting in the face of the impossible daily grind. They are dragged out before their numbed comrades and coldly beaten to death in a display of savagery designed to intimidate and terrify.
Their broken bodies are then strung up on gibbets, placed at even spaces along the road that their loads had laboured to build in life. The surviving slaves work from dawn to dusk, under the watchful eye of the omnipresent overseers and their erstwhile friends. No one makes a sound, for talking is not conducive to work, and is forbidden. No one asks for a break, for resting is not conducive to work, and is forbidden. And when a slave does something that is forbidden, the punishment is death.
No wonder then, that the slaves devote themselves to finding pleasure and recreation with whatever free time they have between sleeping and work. Crude board games are played, scratched out with sticks in the dust; and oftentimes a newer slave might be persuaded to add the stories of his ancestral lands to the collection gathering dust in his companion’s minds. And sometimes, just sometimes, a slave will manage to cross the seldom-watched divide between the male and female dorms, and find solace in the love of another human being.
Jaison was the result of one of these midnight assignations. The overseers were philosophical about the unwanted pregnancy. What was done was done, and while it was obvious that his father had to die, they would let his mother live, provided she still managed to contribute her daily share of work. After all, the baby she bore might actually live, and turn out to be an extra set of hands gained at no cost at all.
So Jaison’s mother worked every day despite the growing burden within her belly, and it was nothing short of a miracle that she managed to bring him to full term, much less deliver him, though she died shortly after, worn out by the pregnancy and back breaking labour. She had survived 3 years in the road-crews, a year more than average. It was an act of pure love that Jaison would never forget.
Pressed into the road crews as soon as he was old to walk, Jaison soon learnt the tragic story of his parents from the few surviving slaves who had been witness to the event. The overseers saw no harm in letting him learn of his parentage, for as far as everyone was concerned, he would live out his life as his parents had, never knowing the taste of freedom. Jaison though, had other ideas.
He was afforded the rare privilege of rest breaks, on account of his ridiculously young age, and used that time both to recover and to plot and plan. For while he might not have been old enough to understand the concept of freedom or justice, he was old enough to know the pain that comes from lack of maternal care, and old enough to want revenge. He grew up as hard and cold as the pick he wielded, body and mind inured to pain and fatigue by a lifetime of work and punishment. Other slaves, used to a previous lifestyle of relative comfort and decadence, managed to survive two years. He survived twenty.
His plans matured even has he did, turning from childish fantasies of vengeance to a coldly calculated campaign of retribution. And in time, through sheer force of will and reputation gained as longest surviving slave, he even managed to get his fellows to go along with it. They struck one night, as the slaves lay decamped on a lonely highway, halfway to their destination in the North. Overseers died screaming as their charges bore down upon them with flints sharpened by nights of furious grinding, led by a man they had known for twenty years, a man who most of them had come to trust. Jaison had done the impossible – freeing an entire work gang from control of the Realm.
Positioned far enough from the Realm to avoid immediate detection, and near enough to the cities of the North to forage some sort of food, the slaves were in an enviable position. Had fate spun it’s threads another way, the world might soon have trembled at the might of a tall warrior with bronzed skin and blond hair, leading armies not to conquer, but to liberate. Yet fate, in a cruel trick, chose to send Jaison a wholly different destiny. The Wyld Hunt had been in hot pursuit of a pack of Lunars who had recently been uncovered in the North, and by happenstance the chase led them to the very same camp Jaison and his comrades had so recently freed.
Most of the slaves died running, or begging for mercy, reduced to whimpering wrecks by the presence of adversaries capable of warping the fabric reality itself. Jaison attempted to rally his fleeing comrades, to no avail. His courage amused the Terrestrials, who found it inconceivable that a mere slave would dare stand against them. They saving him for the last, toying with him for hours after the last slave had fallen, only casually dealing the finishing blow when Jaison collapsed from exhaustion. Leaving him slowly choking on his own blood, the Terrestrials moved on, eager to make up for the lost time this little distraction had caused them.
As Jaison lay slowly dying, his eyes turned up towards the sky, taking in the stars and the moon for one final time. As his soul wavered in the moment between life and death, the moon spoke to him, deep within his heart, talking not to Jaison the man, but to Jaison the beast – the beast who had always longed to be free and untamed, who had kept on fighting even when all reason told him to stop; the beast which took the form of an eagle, the freest of all birds. The breath that should have been his last caught in his throat, as a surreal beam of moonlight lit up his dying body. Miraculously, he felt a new vitality within his body – vitality that could shake off even this terrible wound. With the vitality came a new well-spring of power, the untapped resources of the beast that had for so long lay dormant within Jaison’s heart. And with the power came a new sense of purpose. Before, he had only been a man, but now he would take to his fight for freedom with the power of the gods themselves.
Jaison was retrieved by a group of Lunars soon after his exaltation, the very same pack the Wyld Hunt had been chasing. The irony was not lost on him. While thanking the leader of the pack for saving his life, he still harbors resentment deep in his heart; for he blames them for the death of the slaves he hoped to have lead.
In the years since, Jaison has kept a low profile, focusing instead on honing his skills and abilities, both to fight and to lead. He has tried to participated in the Thousand Streams project, but found it far too subtle and slow for his taste. Gathering a group of former slaves around him, he hopes one day to lead them back into Creation, to end slavery wherever it may be found. He will stop at nothing to achieve his goals.
Sheet:
Name Jaison, Song of Broken Cages
Exalt Type and Caste Full Moon Caste Lunar
Concept Well-intentioned Extremist
Anima A Large Falcon with wings outstretched, as if in flight
Spirit Shape A Falcon
Tell Unnaturally slanted and piercing eyes
Motivation End Slavery in all Creation
Attributes
Physical
Strength â— â— â— â— â— (6 dots in War Form)
Dexterity â— â— â— â— â— (6 dots in War Form)
Stamina â— â— â— â— (5 dots in War Form)
Social
Charisma â— â— â— â—
Manipulation â— â—
Appearance â— â—
Mental
Perception â— â— â—
Intelligence â— â—
Wits â— â— â— â— â—
Abilities
Archery
Martial Arts
Melee â—â—â—â—â—
Thrown
War â—â—â—â—â—
Integrity â—â—
Performance
Presence â—â—â—
Resistance â—â—
Survival â—
Craft
Investigate
Lore â—
Medicine â—
Occult
Athletics â—â—
Awareness â—â—
Dodge â—â—â—
Larceny
Stealth
Bureaucracy â—â—
Linguistics â—â— (Skytongue, High Realm, Low Realm)
Ride â—
Sail
Socialize â—â—
Knacks
Deadly Beastman Transformation, Perfected Hybrid Interaction,
War Form
Armored Hide (4) + Wolf's Pace (1) + Inexhaustible (2)
In War Form Broken Cages takes the shape of a massive eagle-headed man. His hands turn into claws, and his legs elongate slightly, giving them even more power than usual. The feathers of his body take on an unnatural sheen, turning rock-hard and giving Broken Cages even more protection
Charms
Stamina
Ox-Body Technique
Relentless Lunar Fury
Hide-Toughening Essence
Strength
First Strength Excellency
Impressions of Strength (Undeniable Might)
Dexterity
Second Dexterity Excellency
Secure Cat Stepping
Golden Tiger Stance
Charisma
Second Charisma Excellency
Maintaining the Pack
Backgrounds
Resources â—â—
Artifacts â—â—
Heart’s Blood ◠(Wolf [Alpha Male], Housecat, Shark)
Followers â—â—
Artifacts â—â—â—
Artifacts and Equipment
Moonsilver Daiklave
Moonsilver Reinforced Breastplate
Target Shield
Join Combat: 7
Defenses
Dodge DV 6
Parry DV 7
Soak: 13B/12L (17B/16L)
Health
-0 [ ]
-1 [ ][ ][ ][ ]
-2 [ ][ ]
-4 [ ]
X [ ][ ][ ]
Mental Defenses
Dodge MDV 5
Parry MDV 4
Virtues
Compassion â—
Conviction â— â— â—
Temperance â— â—
Valor â— â— â—
Flawed Virtue
Conviction (Hungry Wolverine)
Intimacies
Slaves
Willpower:
â— â— â— â— â— â—
Essence
Permanent: â—â—â—
Personal: 15/15 (0 Committed)
Peripheral: 27/36 (9 Committed)
Bonus Points
15 = (2 Melee + 4 War + 3 Dexterity + 3 Strength + 3 Background)
Experience Points
50 – 20 (Charms) – 18 (Essence) – 8 (Knacks) = 4 (Banked)
Background:
Every day, a bugle call wakes the slaves. They throw on whatever scant rags they use for clothes, and dash out to the parade square, assembled before their overseers for another day of back-breaking work. The few who lie immobile on their bunks are too sick, too tired, or have just given up, wilting in the face of the impossible daily grind. They are dragged out before their numbed comrades and coldly beaten to death in a display of savagery designed to intimidate and terrify.
Their broken bodies are then strung up on gibbets, placed at even spaces along the road that their loads had laboured to build in life. The surviving slaves work from dawn to dusk, under the watchful eye of the omnipresent overseers and their erstwhile friends. No one makes a sound, for talking is not conducive to work, and is forbidden. No one asks for a break, for resting is not conducive to work, and is forbidden. And when a slave does something that is forbidden, the punishment is death.
No wonder then, that the slaves devote themselves to finding pleasure and recreation with whatever free time they have between sleeping and work. Crude board games are played, scratched out with sticks in the dust; and oftentimes a newer slave might be persuaded to add the stories of his ancestral lands to the collection gathering dust in his companion’s minds. And sometimes, just sometimes, a slave will manage to cross the seldom-watched divide between the male and female dorms, and find solace in the love of another human being.
Jaison was the result of one of these midnight assignations. The overseers were philosophical about the unwanted pregnancy. What was done was done, and while it was obvious that his father had to die, they would let his mother live, provided she still managed to contribute her daily share of work. After all, the baby she bore might actually live, and turn out to be an extra set of hands gained at no cost at all.
So Jaison’s mother worked every day despite the growing burden within her belly, and it was nothing short of a miracle that she managed to bring him to full term, much less deliver him, though she died shortly after, worn out by the pregnancy and back breaking labour. She had survived 3 years in the road-crews, a year more than average. It was an act of pure love that Jaison would never forget.
Pressed into the road crews as soon as he was old to walk, Jaison soon learnt the tragic story of his parents from the few surviving slaves who had been witness to the event. The overseers saw no harm in letting him learn of his parentage, for as far as everyone was concerned, he would live out his life as his parents had, never knowing the taste of freedom. Jaison though, had other ideas.
He was afforded the rare privilege of rest breaks, on account of his ridiculously young age, and used that time both to recover and to plot and plan. For while he might not have been old enough to understand the concept of freedom or justice, he was old enough to know the pain that comes from lack of maternal care, and old enough to want revenge. He grew up as hard and cold as the pick he wielded, body and mind inured to pain and fatigue by a lifetime of work and punishment. Other slaves, used to a previous lifestyle of relative comfort and decadence, managed to survive two years. He survived twenty.
His plans matured even has he did, turning from childish fantasies of vengeance to a coldly calculated campaign of retribution. And in time, through sheer force of will and reputation gained as longest surviving slave, he even managed to get his fellows to go along with it. They struck one night, as the slaves lay decamped on a lonely highway, halfway to their destination in the North. Overseers died screaming as their charges bore down upon them with flints sharpened by nights of furious grinding, led by a man they had known for twenty years, a man who most of them had come to trust. Jaison had done the impossible – freeing an entire work gang from control of the Realm.
Positioned far enough from the Realm to avoid immediate detection, and near enough to the cities of the North to forage some sort of food, the slaves were in an enviable position. Had fate spun it’s threads another way, the world might soon have trembled at the might of a tall warrior with bronzed skin and blond hair, leading armies not to conquer, but to liberate. Yet fate, in a cruel trick, chose to send Jaison a wholly different destiny. The Wyld Hunt had been in hot pursuit of a pack of Lunars who had recently been uncovered in the North, and by happenstance the chase led them to the very same camp Jaison and his comrades had so recently freed.
Most of the slaves died running, or begging for mercy, reduced to whimpering wrecks by the presence of adversaries capable of warping the fabric reality itself. Jaison attempted to rally his fleeing comrades, to no avail. His courage amused the Terrestrials, who found it inconceivable that a mere slave would dare stand against them. They saving him for the last, toying with him for hours after the last slave had fallen, only casually dealing the finishing blow when Jaison collapsed from exhaustion. Leaving him slowly choking on his own blood, the Terrestrials moved on, eager to make up for the lost time this little distraction had caused them.
As Jaison lay slowly dying, his eyes turned up towards the sky, taking in the stars and the moon for one final time. As his soul wavered in the moment between life and death, the moon spoke to him, deep within his heart, talking not to Jaison the man, but to Jaison the beast – the beast who had always longed to be free and untamed, who had kept on fighting even when all reason told him to stop; the beast which took the form of an eagle, the freest of all birds. The breath that should have been his last caught in his throat, as a surreal beam of moonlight lit up his dying body. Miraculously, he felt a new vitality within his body – vitality that could shake off even this terrible wound. With the vitality came a new well-spring of power, the untapped resources of the beast that had for so long lay dormant within Jaison’s heart. And with the power came a new sense of purpose. Before, he had only been a man, but now he would take to his fight for freedom with the power of the gods themselves.
Jaison was retrieved by a group of Lunars soon after his exaltation, the very same pack the Wyld Hunt had been chasing. The irony was not lost on him. While thanking the leader of the pack for saving his life, he still harbors resentment deep in his heart; for he blames them for the death of the slaves he hoped to have lead.
In the years since, Jaison has kept a low profile, focusing instead on honing his skills and abilities, both to fight and to lead. He has tried to participated in the Thousand Streams project, but found it far too subtle and slow for his taste. Gathering a group of former slaves around him, he hopes one day to lead them back into Creation, to end slavery wherever it may be found. He will stop at nothing to achieve his goals.
Chaka
Cuddle-fiend
Terrifying Beastman Alteration is an Essence 4 knack.
Red Shadow Claws
Six Thousand Club
Also, Deadly Beastman Transformation specifically says you cannot take the Large mutation, so your Strength and Stamina cannot go beyond 1 extra to your warform until Essence 4.
Chaka
Cuddle-fiend
Thanks SRC. I knew there was something else niggling me about the warform stats.
Axelgear
General Wontwit
Here's my sheet:
Name Little Pascal the Exile
Exalt Type and Caste Solar Night Caste
Anima A purple ring-tailed possum with blazing golden eyes, surrounded by white-gold flame
Motivation To end the perception of Solars (and other Anathema) as evil demons
Attributes
Physical
Strength â—â—â—
Dexterity â—â—â—â—â—
Stamina â—â—â—
Social
Charisma â—â—â—
Manipulation â—
Appearance â—â—â—
Mental
Perception â—â—â—â—
Intelligence â—â—â—
Wits â—â—
Abilities
Archery
Martial Arts â—â—â—â—
Melee
Thrown
War
Integrity â—â—â—
Performance
Presence â—â—â—
Resistance â—â—â—
Survival â—â—â—
Craft
Investigate â—
Lore â—â—â—
Medicine
Occult â—â—â—
Athletics â—â—â—â—â—
Awareness â—â—â—â—
Dodge â—â—â—â—
Larceny â—â—â—
Stealth â—â—â—â—â—
Bureaucracy
Linguistics â— (Riverspeak. Native language: Old Realm.)
Ride
Sail
Socialize
Backgrounds
Allies â— - Unfettered River
Artifact â—â— - Hearthstone Bracers
Manse â—â—â— - Elegant Emerald Pavilion
Artifact â— - Journal of the Exile
Merits
-Prehensile Tail
-Wood Adaptation
-Night Vision
-Impossible Joints
-Hand-Feet
Flaws
-Natural Emnity (Beastmen of Golden Widow Faction) +2 BP
-Diet (Can't eat meat) +1 BP
-Enemy (Shandra) +4 BP
Charms
[Excellencies]
First Ability Excellency - Dodge
Second Ability Excellency - Martial Arts, Presence, Athletics, Stealth, Awareness
[Charms]
Dodge
Shadow Over Water
Seven Shadows Evasion (Compassion Flaw)
Occult
Terrestrial Circle Sorcery
Resistance
Body-Mending Meditation
Ox-Body Technique
Spells
Emerald Countermagic
Health
-0 [ ]
-1 [ ][ ][ ]
-2 [ ][ ][ ][ ][ ][ ]
-4 [ ]
X [ ]
Virtues
Compassion â—â—â—â—
Conviction â—
Temperance â—â—
Valor â—â—
Virtue Flaw
Debilitating Doubt
Intimacies
-His Lunar Mate (Brotherly Love)
-Unfettered River (Extreme Gratitude)
-Doing kindness to others (Positive Feelings)
-Shandra (Utter Terror/Dread)
Willpower: â—â—â—â—â— â—
Essence
Permanent: â—â—â—
Personal: 15/15 (0 Committed)
Peripheral: 32/36 (4 Committed)
Bonus Points
-Mutations - 7 BP
-Abilities - 15 BP
Experience Points
Essence - 16
Abilities - 25
Charms - 8
Thaumaturgical Procedure (Rain Summoning) - 1
Background
Little Pascal the Exile, or Pascal for short, is hardly the most imposing of figures. Few would ever guess the quiet, gentle creature that is he could ever be one of the terrifying Anathema of legend. Shy, nervous and frequently overwhelmed by self-doubt, Pascal comes off as timid and even a consummate coward at times. However, any that doubt that greatness lies within this creature before them will find themselves rather sorely surprised as he proves himself.
Pascal was not born like most beastmen; as a part of a true-breeding dynasty created long ago by Lunars to act as their servants. Rather, he was spawned directly from the loins of his mother; the mighty Lunar known as Shandra, Queen of Spiders. The last of his particular breed to be born, Pascal was raised with equal parts tender, loving care and horrifying tutelage, the latter mostly in the form of the constant reminder that he lived in a place that could consume his very soul and that on all sides were enemies willing to slay him just for being a beastman. Raised from the moment he could walk to skulk through the forests and trained from the moment he could speak in the arts of stealing and assessing value, Pascal was a born thief and spy.
To describe Pascal, one must also describe his mother. Several centuries old, she Exalted during the time of the Great Contagion, raised on the lies spread during the Shogunate of the vile Anathema, only to become one herself. However, the revelation that the Anathema were not demons did not entirely wipe the beliefs from her mind and, after fighting in the following Fair Folk invasion, Shandra blamed the loss of countless millions of lives (somewhat rightly) on the Solars. It was, after all, their decadent ways in the First Age that led to the Usurpation; had they been less prideful and more conscientious, they could have been there to halt the Contagion, or the Fair Folk Invasion and Creation would have been a damn sight better off for it. It did not take long for her to soon become absorbed into a faction that was less than charitable towards the Solars and her attitude has not changed towards them in seven centuries.
Pascal, being raised by a centuries-old Lunar to act as one of her most favoured spies, was certainly given the full treatment of her philosophy, which resembled a warped version of the Immaculate Philosophy: The Solars were evil, nothing good could come of them, the Lunars were enlightened, everyone had a duty, and so on. Fully hoping to one day Exalt as a Lunar and make his mother proud, Pascal even imagined having to face one of these raging monsters and wished to bring great honour to himself, his family and earn a special place in their society. It was not to be.
Pascal was destined for Exaltation: He had the inner strength and courage; the drive to do great things; the natural ability to affect Creation as a whole. However, the motivation Pascal held within him, to do great things to make his family proud, was hardly worthy of a Steward; he was far more focused on achievement than protection. As such, when Pascal was creeping through an encampment of Realm troops and enacting a daring heist, only to be caught by a Dragon-Blooded officer, the necessary struggle for accomplishment guided an Exaltation straight to the young beastman. Were it not for a single complication, that night would have been the grandest of Pascal's life. Sadly, a flaw singled it out, instead, to be one of his worst:
It just so happened to be a Solar Exaltation.
Pascal fled with all the cunning and nimble dexterity one would expect, vanishing into the night, carrying with him crucial documents that revealed Realm troop movements on maneuvers at Creation's rim. However, as the rush of delight at escaping faded and the creeping realization dawned as he looked into a pool of still water to see the golden ring of a Solar on his forehead, the scream of utter horror that Pascal emitted could be heard for miles.
A Solar! What could be worse!? He was one of the most evil things to ever stalk Creation, the rest of his life to be blemished by the dark knowledge within him, even if he so desperately tried not to be one of the wicked Chosen of the Sun! It wracked him worse than any physical torment and, despite being but a day's travel away, Pascal staggered through the woods for three times as long before arriving, utterly terrified that his mother might realize the absolutely terrible fact that had come to be in the woods.
Pascal, since the day he was born, could manipulate Essence; a sort of strange blessing his mother had granted him, meaning that, after Exalting, he was already remarkably skilled at concealing his Essence flows. Never suspecting he was anything beyond what she had seen him leave as, Shandra did not guess for a moment that Pascal was a Solar but the gnawing worry still remained and, with each day that passed, the chance that she would find out steadily grew. Despite it hurting more than anything he had ever had to do, Pascal resolved to leave his family: As a Solar, he would only bring harm to them and could not let them suffer so.
The weeks that followed fleeing his family were hard and slow. Pascal left no note or sign to indicate where he had gone, merely taking his few meager personal belongings and escaping into the woods. He had never been on his own for so long, avoiding civilization and other Lunars wherever he could, heading to the edge of the Wyld's reaches where the Bordermarches touched Creation. Days passed like water through a sieve, time turning into a blur as he spent much of his time in a haze of comfortable forgetfulness or painful self-pity. At times, he contemplated suicide but could never bring himself to commit the act, his will to live too strong. It was still compromised enough, however, that a fateful incident was allowed to occur, as a wild cat on the hunt dealt a nasty bite to one of Pascal's legs. Though he managed to escape and evade the cat after kicking himself free from its jaws, he refused to bandage his leg and merely limped his way to the nearest shelter: A barn.
Having done all he could to avoid civilization until now, Pascal broke his rule to seek a little warmth and repose to nurse his physical and mental injuries. Perhaps he even hoped that some farmer might come in and slay him for the perceived threat to his cattle and end his misery; he'd offer no resistance. It nearly did all come to an end when he was discovered but he was saved by his tears, as he was discovered by an Immaculate Monk by the name of Unfettered River.
The barn itself was a part of the home of a nearby monk, stationed there to provide some level of spiritual guidance to the locals and to assist any righteous brothers passing through the area hunting the wicked and vile Anathema. Normally, she would have treated a beastman with hostility but Pascal, so young and fragile, was far too unimposing for her to treat with any degree of resentment. Quite the opposite, in fact, for she found the wounded creature to be as in need as any crying child and instead offered him tender mercies and assistance.
After healing Pascal's leg, Unfettered River looked after the Exalt, unaware of his true nature. He was immediately charming and likeable, healing the nasty wound he'd suffered with surprising speed and deciding to stay once it had vanished, deciding to help Unfettered River with her duties. She, in turn, gladly helped Pascal and offered to teach him from the Immaculate Texts. Feeling he had nothing to lose by doing so, he gandered over them and immediately took to them like a fish to water, something that left Unfettered River rather pleased. She taught him martial arts, something Pascal was already somewhat familiar with, and meditation techniques, granting him the first calm he had felt in a long time. For the first time in months, Pascal felt joy return to his heart and he let his fears fall to distant memory. Luck gave Pascal several years of reprieve, becoming a great friend with Unfettered River, to the point that she even gave him the title of Little Pascal, a sort of honourary title, in much the same way a new monk would gain it when they first joined the Immaculate Order.
Sadly, Pascal's life was to change once again for the worse. His previous favour with his mother had left a weight on her heart when he had vanished, her assuming that he had gone out exploring, as he did from time to time, and had been slain by some human. Pascal, never harming a fly if he didn't have to, was far too innocent to be somehow deserving of such a fate and so, extending her assumption, Shandra sent out an armed force of beastmen to ravage the surrounding countryside in a search for his murderers. They had spent their time until now further north, making their way to the south with time, eventually finding the village in which Pascal rested and venting their rage on it with predictable results. Unfettered River, though well aware that she could not expect to win, took to defending the lands she watched over when confronted with the threat, despite Pascal begging her to not throw her life away.
Her reply still lives with Pascal to this day: "How could I live with myself if I did not die trying?"
The approach of the army sent civilians fleeing, their fall upon the village slowed only by the confrontation of Unfettered River. A close follower of Pasiap, and a devotee of justice, the Immaculate Monk was a stiff resistor of the assault, slowing them greatly but she was hardly invulnerable against the horde. However, as they drew in for the death blow, Pascal found his bravery and stepped into the fight. His brothers, taken aback, asked why he would defend an Immaculate. After Pascal called her a friend, they believed him deceived and simply thought to kill the monk and take Pascal home to be cured of this mental manipulation. As battle ensued, Pascal fought far more capably than any assembled there thought him able, until, realizing that he could not keep the effort up forever and still mute his anima, Pascal allowed his anima to flare. The battle ceased shortly thereafter.
Both sides accused him of being a monster but the desired effect was achieved. The beastman army had no more reason to prosecute their war, instead leaving with a single parting shot of silvery essence that burned a symbol into Pascal's forehead, forever marking him as an outcaste and enemy of their kind. Turning to face Unfettered River, Pascal then bowed his head and offered to let her slay him, as he had silently done on the day they met. He would not fight her or harm her, not after all she had done for him. Unable to strike him down, despite all her teachings, River asked angry questions: Why had he deceived her? Why had he saved her? How dare he try to be her friend? Pascal did nothing but accept every one of them until she paused to wait for an answer.
The explanation that followed immediately softened River's heart, as she felt the conflicted feelings of her teachings and the sight of a friend she had known for years clashed. In the end, she could not bring herself to hate him. They returned together to the monk's lodgings and she gave him a few gifts for his journeys, ending it with a kiss on the forehead and letting him know that she saw no monster in him; no vile Anathema seeking to destroy all that was good and right in the world. However, he could not stay either, his destiny laying elsewhere. Pascal took his things and these gifts, smiled and bid a teary goodbye to River before dashing off into the woods, fleeing for all he was worth. He would meet her again and, when he did, the Immaculate Order would see the error of its ways, he was sure of it.
[More details are still to be determined, such as how Pascal met his Lunar]
Description
Pascal is a short creature by nature. Just under five feet tall standing on the tips of his toes (or would fingers be more appropriate?), he is hardly the most physically imposing creature. Looking like a ring-tailed possum with its features stretched over a more human frame, Pascal is a quick creature who usually stands slightly leaning forward or hunched, as if ready to run at the slightest sign of trouble. With fur that is usually more than enough to keep him warm and dry, his clothing is minimal, amounting usually to nothing more than a pair of very loose shorts that extend to the knee and are tied to his waist with a thin belt of blue silk (one of River's gifts). Over his entire body, Pascal wears a purple cloak, the same colour as the night sky, with clasps around his neck and usually with some fabric tucked into the pair of orichalcum bracers to keep it close to his arms.
Across his chest, Pascal almost always has a band of red-brown silk containing a pocket in which he keeps two incredibly important books. One is a copy the Immaculate Texts, given to him by River, the other a book he keeps himself called the Journal of the Exile. Both books are heavily protected, in watertight cases and protected by metal plates to ensure their security. The journal itself is made of moonsilver, a gift from his mother upon his learning sorcery, right down to the pages.
Pascal's personality is usually described as being on the shy side but he is perhaps more accurately described as a bundle of nerves. Far from unwilling to offer his viewpoint or take action, Pascal is merely afraid of letting himself and, more importantly, others down with some degree of being inept. When he discovers he has caused a problem somehow or another, the only thing he feels he is capable of is to ruin things for others, just like the Solars of old. This lack of confidence has injured him in the past but, when the right situation arises, Pascal can forget his niggling doubts, if only for a while, and prove himself every bit the demi-god that a Chosen of the Sun is meant to be.
Aside from the fears that sometimes overwhelm him, Pascal is usually quite jovial and friendly. His amicable personality means he gets along with others rather easily.
Sorry for the sheer wall of text there, folks.
Name Little Pascal the Exile
Exalt Type and Caste Solar Night Caste
Anima A purple ring-tailed possum with blazing golden eyes, surrounded by white-gold flame
Motivation To end the perception of Solars (and other Anathema) as evil demons
Attributes
Physical
Strength â—â—â—
Dexterity â—â—â—â—â—
Stamina â—â—â—
Social
Charisma â—â—â—
Manipulation â—
Appearance â—â—â—
Mental
Perception â—â—â—â—
Intelligence â—â—â—
Wits â—â—
Abilities
Archery
Martial Arts â—â—â—â—
Melee
Thrown
War
Integrity â—â—â—
Performance
Presence â—â—â—
Resistance â—â—â—
Survival â—â—â—
Craft
Investigate â—
Lore â—â—â—
Medicine
Occult â—â—â—
Athletics â—â—â—â—â—
Awareness â—â—â—â—
Dodge â—â—â—â—
Larceny â—â—â—
Stealth â—â—â—â—â—
Bureaucracy
Linguistics â— (Riverspeak. Native language: Old Realm.)
Ride
Sail
Socialize
Backgrounds
Allies â— - Unfettered River
Artifact â—â— - Hearthstone Bracers
Manse â—â—â— - Elegant Emerald Pavilion
Artifact â— - Journal of the Exile
Merits
-Prehensile Tail
-Wood Adaptation
-Night Vision
-Impossible Joints
-Hand-Feet
Flaws
-Natural Emnity (Beastmen of Golden Widow Faction) +2 BP
-Diet (Can't eat meat) +1 BP
-Enemy (Shandra) +4 BP
Charms
[Excellencies]
First Ability Excellency - Dodge
Second Ability Excellency - Martial Arts, Presence, Athletics, Stealth, Awareness
[Charms]
Dodge
Shadow Over Water
Seven Shadows Evasion (Compassion Flaw)
Occult
Terrestrial Circle Sorcery
Resistance
Body-Mending Meditation
Ox-Body Technique
Spells
Emerald Countermagic
Health
-0 [ ]
-1 [ ][ ][ ]
-2 [ ][ ][ ][ ][ ][ ]
-4 [ ]
X [ ]
Virtues
Compassion â—â—â—â—
Conviction â—
Temperance â—â—
Valor â—â—
Virtue Flaw
Debilitating Doubt
Intimacies
-His Lunar Mate (Brotherly Love)
-Unfettered River (Extreme Gratitude)
-Doing kindness to others (Positive Feelings)
-Shandra (Utter Terror/Dread)
Willpower: â—â—â—â—â— â—
Essence
Permanent: â—â—â—
Personal: 15/15 (0 Committed)
Peripheral: 32/36 (4 Committed)
Bonus Points
-Mutations - 7 BP
-Abilities - 15 BP
Experience Points
Essence - 16
Abilities - 25
Charms - 8
Thaumaturgical Procedure (Rain Summoning) - 1
Background
Little Pascal the Exile, or Pascal for short, is hardly the most imposing of figures. Few would ever guess the quiet, gentle creature that is he could ever be one of the terrifying Anathema of legend. Shy, nervous and frequently overwhelmed by self-doubt, Pascal comes off as timid and even a consummate coward at times. However, any that doubt that greatness lies within this creature before them will find themselves rather sorely surprised as he proves himself.
Pascal was not born like most beastmen; as a part of a true-breeding dynasty created long ago by Lunars to act as their servants. Rather, he was spawned directly from the loins of his mother; the mighty Lunar known as Shandra, Queen of Spiders. The last of his particular breed to be born, Pascal was raised with equal parts tender, loving care and horrifying tutelage, the latter mostly in the form of the constant reminder that he lived in a place that could consume his very soul and that on all sides were enemies willing to slay him just for being a beastman. Raised from the moment he could walk to skulk through the forests and trained from the moment he could speak in the arts of stealing and assessing value, Pascal was a born thief and spy.
To describe Pascal, one must also describe his mother. Several centuries old, she Exalted during the time of the Great Contagion, raised on the lies spread during the Shogunate of the vile Anathema, only to become one herself. However, the revelation that the Anathema were not demons did not entirely wipe the beliefs from her mind and, after fighting in the following Fair Folk invasion, Shandra blamed the loss of countless millions of lives (somewhat rightly) on the Solars. It was, after all, their decadent ways in the First Age that led to the Usurpation; had they been less prideful and more conscientious, they could have been there to halt the Contagion, or the Fair Folk Invasion and Creation would have been a damn sight better off for it. It did not take long for her to soon become absorbed into a faction that was less than charitable towards the Solars and her attitude has not changed towards them in seven centuries.
Pascal, being raised by a centuries-old Lunar to act as one of her most favoured spies, was certainly given the full treatment of her philosophy, which resembled a warped version of the Immaculate Philosophy: The Solars were evil, nothing good could come of them, the Lunars were enlightened, everyone had a duty, and so on. Fully hoping to one day Exalt as a Lunar and make his mother proud, Pascal even imagined having to face one of these raging monsters and wished to bring great honour to himself, his family and earn a special place in their society. It was not to be.
Pascal was destined for Exaltation: He had the inner strength and courage; the drive to do great things; the natural ability to affect Creation as a whole. However, the motivation Pascal held within him, to do great things to make his family proud, was hardly worthy of a Steward; he was far more focused on achievement than protection. As such, when Pascal was creeping through an encampment of Realm troops and enacting a daring heist, only to be caught by a Dragon-Blooded officer, the necessary struggle for accomplishment guided an Exaltation straight to the young beastman. Were it not for a single complication, that night would have been the grandest of Pascal's life. Sadly, a flaw singled it out, instead, to be one of his worst:
It just so happened to be a Solar Exaltation.
Pascal fled with all the cunning and nimble dexterity one would expect, vanishing into the night, carrying with him crucial documents that revealed Realm troop movements on maneuvers at Creation's rim. However, as the rush of delight at escaping faded and the creeping realization dawned as he looked into a pool of still water to see the golden ring of a Solar on his forehead, the scream of utter horror that Pascal emitted could be heard for miles.
A Solar! What could be worse!? He was one of the most evil things to ever stalk Creation, the rest of his life to be blemished by the dark knowledge within him, even if he so desperately tried not to be one of the wicked Chosen of the Sun! It wracked him worse than any physical torment and, despite being but a day's travel away, Pascal staggered through the woods for three times as long before arriving, utterly terrified that his mother might realize the absolutely terrible fact that had come to be in the woods.
Pascal, since the day he was born, could manipulate Essence; a sort of strange blessing his mother had granted him, meaning that, after Exalting, he was already remarkably skilled at concealing his Essence flows. Never suspecting he was anything beyond what she had seen him leave as, Shandra did not guess for a moment that Pascal was a Solar but the gnawing worry still remained and, with each day that passed, the chance that she would find out steadily grew. Despite it hurting more than anything he had ever had to do, Pascal resolved to leave his family: As a Solar, he would only bring harm to them and could not let them suffer so.
The weeks that followed fleeing his family were hard and slow. Pascal left no note or sign to indicate where he had gone, merely taking his few meager personal belongings and escaping into the woods. He had never been on his own for so long, avoiding civilization and other Lunars wherever he could, heading to the edge of the Wyld's reaches where the Bordermarches touched Creation. Days passed like water through a sieve, time turning into a blur as he spent much of his time in a haze of comfortable forgetfulness or painful self-pity. At times, he contemplated suicide but could never bring himself to commit the act, his will to live too strong. It was still compromised enough, however, that a fateful incident was allowed to occur, as a wild cat on the hunt dealt a nasty bite to one of Pascal's legs. Though he managed to escape and evade the cat after kicking himself free from its jaws, he refused to bandage his leg and merely limped his way to the nearest shelter: A barn.
Having done all he could to avoid civilization until now, Pascal broke his rule to seek a little warmth and repose to nurse his physical and mental injuries. Perhaps he even hoped that some farmer might come in and slay him for the perceived threat to his cattle and end his misery; he'd offer no resistance. It nearly did all come to an end when he was discovered but he was saved by his tears, as he was discovered by an Immaculate Monk by the name of Unfettered River.
The barn itself was a part of the home of a nearby monk, stationed there to provide some level of spiritual guidance to the locals and to assist any righteous brothers passing through the area hunting the wicked and vile Anathema. Normally, she would have treated a beastman with hostility but Pascal, so young and fragile, was far too unimposing for her to treat with any degree of resentment. Quite the opposite, in fact, for she found the wounded creature to be as in need as any crying child and instead offered him tender mercies and assistance.
After healing Pascal's leg, Unfettered River looked after the Exalt, unaware of his true nature. He was immediately charming and likeable, healing the nasty wound he'd suffered with surprising speed and deciding to stay once it had vanished, deciding to help Unfettered River with her duties. She, in turn, gladly helped Pascal and offered to teach him from the Immaculate Texts. Feeling he had nothing to lose by doing so, he gandered over them and immediately took to them like a fish to water, something that left Unfettered River rather pleased. She taught him martial arts, something Pascal was already somewhat familiar with, and meditation techniques, granting him the first calm he had felt in a long time. For the first time in months, Pascal felt joy return to his heart and he let his fears fall to distant memory. Luck gave Pascal several years of reprieve, becoming a great friend with Unfettered River, to the point that she even gave him the title of Little Pascal, a sort of honourary title, in much the same way a new monk would gain it when they first joined the Immaculate Order.
Sadly, Pascal's life was to change once again for the worse. His previous favour with his mother had left a weight on her heart when he had vanished, her assuming that he had gone out exploring, as he did from time to time, and had been slain by some human. Pascal, never harming a fly if he didn't have to, was far too innocent to be somehow deserving of such a fate and so, extending her assumption, Shandra sent out an armed force of beastmen to ravage the surrounding countryside in a search for his murderers. They had spent their time until now further north, making their way to the south with time, eventually finding the village in which Pascal rested and venting their rage on it with predictable results. Unfettered River, though well aware that she could not expect to win, took to defending the lands she watched over when confronted with the threat, despite Pascal begging her to not throw her life away.
Her reply still lives with Pascal to this day: "How could I live with myself if I did not die trying?"
The approach of the army sent civilians fleeing, their fall upon the village slowed only by the confrontation of Unfettered River. A close follower of Pasiap, and a devotee of justice, the Immaculate Monk was a stiff resistor of the assault, slowing them greatly but she was hardly invulnerable against the horde. However, as they drew in for the death blow, Pascal found his bravery and stepped into the fight. His brothers, taken aback, asked why he would defend an Immaculate. After Pascal called her a friend, they believed him deceived and simply thought to kill the monk and take Pascal home to be cured of this mental manipulation. As battle ensued, Pascal fought far more capably than any assembled there thought him able, until, realizing that he could not keep the effort up forever and still mute his anima, Pascal allowed his anima to flare. The battle ceased shortly thereafter.
Both sides accused him of being a monster but the desired effect was achieved. The beastman army had no more reason to prosecute their war, instead leaving with a single parting shot of silvery essence that burned a symbol into Pascal's forehead, forever marking him as an outcaste and enemy of their kind. Turning to face Unfettered River, Pascal then bowed his head and offered to let her slay him, as he had silently done on the day they met. He would not fight her or harm her, not after all she had done for him. Unable to strike him down, despite all her teachings, River asked angry questions: Why had he deceived her? Why had he saved her? How dare he try to be her friend? Pascal did nothing but accept every one of them until she paused to wait for an answer.
The explanation that followed immediately softened River's heart, as she felt the conflicted feelings of her teachings and the sight of a friend she had known for years clashed. In the end, she could not bring herself to hate him. They returned together to the monk's lodgings and she gave him a few gifts for his journeys, ending it with a kiss on the forehead and letting him know that she saw no monster in him; no vile Anathema seeking to destroy all that was good and right in the world. However, he could not stay either, his destiny laying elsewhere. Pascal took his things and these gifts, smiled and bid a teary goodbye to River before dashing off into the woods, fleeing for all he was worth. He would meet her again and, when he did, the Immaculate Order would see the error of its ways, he was sure of it.
[More details are still to be determined, such as how Pascal met his Lunar]
Description
Pascal is a short creature by nature. Just under five feet tall standing on the tips of his toes (or would fingers be more appropriate?), he is hardly the most physically imposing creature. Looking like a ring-tailed possum with its features stretched over a more human frame, Pascal is a quick creature who usually stands slightly leaning forward or hunched, as if ready to run at the slightest sign of trouble. With fur that is usually more than enough to keep him warm and dry, his clothing is minimal, amounting usually to nothing more than a pair of very loose shorts that extend to the knee and are tied to his waist with a thin belt of blue silk (one of River's gifts). Over his entire body, Pascal wears a purple cloak, the same colour as the night sky, with clasps around his neck and usually with some fabric tucked into the pair of orichalcum bracers to keep it close to his arms.
Across his chest, Pascal almost always has a band of red-brown silk containing a pocket in which he keeps two incredibly important books. One is a copy the Immaculate Texts, given to him by River, the other a book he keeps himself called the Journal of the Exile. Both books are heavily protected, in watertight cases and protected by metal plates to ensure their security. The journal itself is made of moonsilver, a gift from his mother upon his learning sorcery, right down to the pages.
Pascal's personality is usually described as being on the shy side but he is perhaps more accurately described as a bundle of nerves. Far from unwilling to offer his viewpoint or take action, Pascal is merely afraid of letting himself and, more importantly, others down with some degree of being inept. When he discovers he has caused a problem somehow or another, the only thing he feels he is capable of is to ruin things for others, just like the Solars of old. This lack of confidence has injured him in the past but, when the right situation arises, Pascal can forget his niggling doubts, if only for a while, and prove himself every bit the demi-god that a Chosen of the Sun is meant to be.
Aside from the fears that sometimes overwhelm him, Pascal is usually quite jovial and friendly. His amicable personality means he gets along with others rather easily.
Sorry for the sheer wall of text there, folks.
PirateLexi
All Hail Cthulhu
I'm working on a sheet, I've just got to figure out how to make the lunar properly without gimping myself, heh.
Red Shadow Claws
Six Thousand Club
Thought I'd throw in my sheet as well.
I talked to Axlegear about the possiblity of out characters being bonded, so the sheet reflects that.
--------------------------------------
Name Basalt Claw
Exalt Type and Caste Lunar Full Moon
Anima A spiral of Austrechs running around him
Motivation To remove the Realm's presence in the South.
Attributes
Physical
Strength â—â—â—â—
Dexterity â—â—â—â—â—
Stamina â—â—â—â—
Social
Charisma â—â—â—
Manipulation â—â—
Appearance â—â—â—
Mental
Perception â—â—â—
Intelligence â—â—â—
Wits â—â—â—â—
Abilities
Archery
Athletics â—â—â—â— (+2 Jumping)
Awareness â—â—â—
Dodge â—â—
Integrity â—â—â—
Martial Arts â—â—â—â—â— (+2 Using unarmed attacks)
Melee
Resistance â—â—â—
Thrown â—
War
Craft
Larceny
Linguistics â— (Claw-speak. Native language: Flametongue)
Performance
Presence â—â—
Ride
Sail
Socialize
Stealth â—â—â— (+1 Setting ambush)
Survival â—â—â—
Bureaucracy
Investigate â—
Lore
Medicine
Occult
Backgrounds
Heart's Blood â—
Tattoo Artifact â—â— - Hearthstone Bracers
Manse â—â— - The Shifting Sands
Solar Bond â—â— - Little Pascal
Merits
-Danger Sense (3 dots)
Flaws
-Barbarian (3 dots)
Charms
[Excellencies]
First Attribute Excellency - Dexterity
Second Attribute Excellency - Wits
[Knacks]
Quicksilver Second Face
Deadly Beastman Transformation
[Charms]
Strength
Claws of the Silver Moon
Dexterity
Secure Cat Stepping
Instinct-Driven Beast Movement
Stamina
Ox-Body Technique
Relentless Lunar Fury
Charisma
Otherworld-Forsaking Stance
Wits
The Spider's Trap Door
Meerkat Alertness Practice
Wasp Sting Blur
Health
-0 [ ]
-1 [ ][ ]
-2 [ ][ ][ ][ ][ ][ ]
-4 [ ]
X [ ]
Virtues
Compassion â—â—â—â—
Conviction â—â—â—â—
Temperance â—
Valor â—â—â—
Virtue Flaw
Curse of the Heartless Weasel
Intimacies
-His Solar Mate (Brotherly protectiveness)
-The Realm (Staunch hatred)
Willpower: â—â—â—â—â—â—â—
Essence
Permanent: â—â—â—
Personal: 17/17 (0 Committed)
Peripheral: 39/42 (3 Committed)
Background
Basalt Claw is an imposing figure, his mascular body is intimidating, and yet it is this that seemed to have attracted girls to him, both in his tribe, and from other tribes. A hunter of some renown, he was usually quick to act and speak, and was also notorious for being very argumentative on matters, sometimes even trivial.
He was born in the South, into one of the many barbarian tribes that roam the deserts. His temperament was apparent from a young age, but it seemed to serve the boy well on the hunt, and he was an accomplished hunter, even when he was still young. By the time he became a young adult and was supposed to start weapon training, he decided that it is more satisfying to kill with his bare hands, but at the incessant pressure of his tribesmen he relented to learn how to use some thrown weapons, though he usually 'forgot' them when he went on a hunt.
While story-telling was a favored way of relating life stories and elssons to the young ones, Basalt Claw never cared about stories other than those dealing with desert survival, or his favored hunters, the Austrechs.
Even as he grew up he didn't like the Realm. His tribe would deal with Harborhead on occasion, selling them furs and things they gathered in their travels through the desert, in return for things they couldn't find or make. And while life wasn't too bad, he felt as if every time they went back to Harborhead the looks they got were worse each time.
On one such foray, one of the tribesmen was arrested, after he supposedly tried to steal from a merchant, except Basalt Claw knew the man was innocent, for he had seen a small child lift the merchant's purse. Alas, the Realm's troops killed the tribesman, despite the attempts of the elders to intervene on his behalf.
After that incident he tried to convince the rest of the tribe to never return to Harborhead, but they didn't listen to him. The next year, things seem to have changed, and they were recieved in great welcome, as if the incident has been forgotten, which made him more suspicious, but cast him in bad light in the eyes of the rest of the tribe.
And so it continued for a few more years, but by then he never went with the delegation to the city. He had had enough of it's “wondersâ€, and desired only to live his life away from it, but his ties to his tribe were too strong for him to forsake.
When he was in his mid-twenties, he and a group of other hunters went on a grand hunt, to celebrate a large number of new babies born to the tribe. As luck would have it, they were tracking a herd of gazelles, when one of the hunters saw a disturbance in the sands. A sand swimmer has been attracted to the gazelles as well, and things looked bad, cause the creature's great appetite means few gazelles would be left to the hunters. Not willing to risk it, the hunters began to retreat, but Basalt Claw was alreayd near the creature, and was too afraid to move, lest he catch it's attention. He was about to retreat as the creature would lounge, but decided instead to try and use the javelin he had in his hand instead. Strangely enough, this time he actually remembered to bring the thing with him.
As the sand swimmer rose from the sands to attack a gazelle, he let loose, and as luck would have it, he hit the creature right in it's eye, as the sand swimmer was confused, he took his chance nad used his bare hands and strength to strangle it to death. Seeing him vanquishing the beast, the hunters returned to hunting the gazelle, and fell a good number of them. In the mean time, he decided to skin the sand swimmer, figuring it might bring good price, and that if prepared right it's meat can be made edible.
Inside the beast he found remnants of it's last victim, still wearing some of it's jewellry, which he figured might also be good to sell. All in all the hunters returned to the tribe and really had a great celebration.
A few months later the tribe came near Harborhead, and life changed for Basalt Claw.
As always he didn't go into the city, and stayed in the camp. Things to go well in the city, and the delegation returned with many goods to carry the tribe through, and they began to trek back into the desert. A few days after, they were ambushed by the Realm's troops, and most of the tribe got wiped, except for some who managed to escape. In the battle he fought well, and killed several soldiers, and their blood stained his clothes, but as luck would have it, he fell unconscious when a horse tied to a nearby cart panicked and upturned it, landing it on his head. Thinking he was dead, what with a cart falling on him, and the blood soaking his clothes, the soldiers paid him no heed.
He woke up hours later, dazed, to find the tribe in ruin, all their belongings taken, and the bodies mutilated. It was in that moment that he vowed to bring revenge to the Realm, and defend the other tribes from it's depradations. At that moment he felt a caress on the back of his neck, and when he looked up he saw the full moon shining down on him, and felt newfound power coursing through his veins.
For the new few weeks he managed to gather to his banner most of the survivors of his tribe, a motely band of 20 men and women, but his charisma also brought him a good number of men and women from other tribes. Together they set up an ambush to the troops that destroyed his tribe, and in a small canyon they fell upon them, killing many in the initial shock of their attack, but the commander of the soldiers was a Dragon-Blood Dynast, and whereever he went he easily defeated the attackers. Seeing this, Basalt Claw drew to his full height, let out a great shout, and imagined himself running the fool down like an Austrech striking down at it's prey. Soon the soldiers in front of him began to flee in fear, and they seemd to be much smaller, but his eyes focused on the Dragon-Blood, and he made his way to him, faster than he ever thought possible. In the battle that ensued they traded blow for blow, but Basalt Claw proved the winner, and he then began to pick out the remaining soldiers, killing them until none was left alive.
It was at that moment that he saw his fellows shying away from him, and he was confused, until one them took a piece of plate from one of the dead soldiers, and showed him his reflection, and when he saw himself he was shocked, he looked like a cross between his human form and an Austrech, and blazing on his forehead was a silvery symbol, that marked him as one of the Luanr Anathema.
He left them all, vowing to learn more about what he has become, seeking a tutor.
Traveling in the wide expanse of the deserts, he normally wore his warform, feeling more secure in it, and reveling in the reactions from beasts and the few humans he encountered on the way. And so he traveled for a ew weeks, until he encountered a gazelle grazing by itself, who seemed to be very unimpressed with his appearance, and seemed to be able to leap away from him with almost the same speed as he closed in. Finally, after a few hours of chase, he gingerly approached it, only to recoil back when it began to change it's shape, and become a woman, who laughed at his reaction.
That woman was a Changing Moon named Sand's Caress. She taught him what it means to be a Lunar, and how to control his Essence. She also taught him about Solars, and their bond with Lunars, and how they will need the guidance and support of their Lunar mates to be worthy once again to rule Creation. She also gave him his tattoos, and showed him how to attune to a manse, and to artifacts, though she gave him no artifact, except the one she added in as part of his tattoos.
She seemed to be patient with his temper, though she did bully him on occasion when she thought he needed it, but she wasn't interested in being a life-time mentor for him, and after a few months they parted ways, and he returned to the Harborhead area, to fulfill his desire to remove the Realm's presence in the area.
As his attacks became more frequent and more deadly, a Wyld Hunt was assembled, and soon he had to retreat, lest he be cornered and killed. It was at that time that Sand's Caress sent him an infallible messenger, telling him that she had a mission for him, and if he was interested that he should meet her at a spot near the Marukani lands.
As the Wyld Hunt grew closer on his tracks, he desperately feinted, and made his way close to the lands held by Ma-Ha-Suchi, and then to the Marukani lands. When he finally met her, she admonished him severly for bringing the Wyld Hunt so close to one of the Elders, but seemed to be impressed with his thinking as well. She told him about the mission she had in mind, something to do in the far east, but he just nodded, his mind alive with the knowledge that his Solar mate is in the area.
After that briefing, which he remembers only bits and pieces from, he set out to try and find his Solar mate.
Description
Basalt Claw is an imposing man. Slightly more than six feet, his mascular, yet somewhat lean, body speaks of someone used to hardship, and of great strength and agility. His darker skin is offset by what looks like a premature white and grey hair, which upon closer look might resemble feathers.
As someone who delights in ambushes, and as a recipient of a nearly deadly one, he has developed a great sense for danger, and seems to be always on edge, ready to go to battle at the drop of a hat.
He prefers to wear little beyond his loincloth and a token fur clothing in those cases when he takes his human form, but he generally prefers to just be in his war form, as it makes him feel closer to Luna. He also feels that in that form the silvery tattoos seem to complement his physique better, and he's very proud of his Lunar Exaltation.
He might be temperamnetal, but when he sets his mind to something, he can be a very stubborn person to deal with.
When it comes to Pascal, he is very protective of him, and does his best to show him what a good Solar should do. He tends to tease him quite a bit when it comes to the guy's underdeveloped fighting ability, but is impressed with his skill at subterfuge and stealth.
I talked to Axlegear about the possiblity of out characters being bonded, so the sheet reflects that.
--------------------------------------
Name Basalt Claw
Exalt Type and Caste Lunar Full Moon
Anima A spiral of Austrechs running around him
Motivation To remove the Realm's presence in the South.
Attributes
Physical
Strength â—â—â—â—
Dexterity â—â—â—â—â—
Stamina â—â—â—â—
Social
Charisma â—â—â—
Manipulation â—â—
Appearance â—â—â—
Mental
Perception â—â—â—
Intelligence â—â—â—
Wits â—â—â—â—
Abilities
Archery
Athletics â—â—â—â— (+2 Jumping)
Awareness â—â—â—
Dodge â—â—
Integrity â—â—â—
Martial Arts â—â—â—â—â— (+2 Using unarmed attacks)
Melee
Resistance â—â—â—
Thrown â—
War
Craft
Larceny
Linguistics â— (Claw-speak. Native language: Flametongue)
Performance
Presence â—â—
Ride
Sail
Socialize
Stealth â—â—â— (+1 Setting ambush)
Survival â—â—â—
Bureaucracy
Investigate â—
Lore
Medicine
Occult
Backgrounds
Heart's Blood â—
Tattoo Artifact â—â— - Hearthstone Bracers
Manse â—â— - The Shifting Sands
Solar Bond â—â— - Little Pascal
Merits
-Danger Sense (3 dots)
Flaws
-Barbarian (3 dots)
Charms
[Excellencies]
First Attribute Excellency - Dexterity
Second Attribute Excellency - Wits
[Knacks]
Quicksilver Second Face
Deadly Beastman Transformation
[Charms]
Strength
Claws of the Silver Moon
Dexterity
Secure Cat Stepping
Instinct-Driven Beast Movement
Stamina
Ox-Body Technique
Relentless Lunar Fury
Charisma
Otherworld-Forsaking Stance
Wits
The Spider's Trap Door
Meerkat Alertness Practice
Wasp Sting Blur
Health
-0 [ ]
-1 [ ][ ]
-2 [ ][ ][ ][ ][ ][ ]
-4 [ ]
X [ ]
Virtues
Compassion â—â—â—â—
Conviction â—â—â—â—
Temperance â—
Valor â—â—â—
Virtue Flaw
Curse of the Heartless Weasel
Intimacies
-His Solar Mate (Brotherly protectiveness)
-The Realm (Staunch hatred)
Willpower: â—â—â—â—â—â—â—
Essence
Permanent: â—â—â—
Personal: 17/17 (0 Committed)
Peripheral: 39/42 (3 Committed)
Background
Basalt Claw is an imposing figure, his mascular body is intimidating, and yet it is this that seemed to have attracted girls to him, both in his tribe, and from other tribes. A hunter of some renown, he was usually quick to act and speak, and was also notorious for being very argumentative on matters, sometimes even trivial.
He was born in the South, into one of the many barbarian tribes that roam the deserts. His temperament was apparent from a young age, but it seemed to serve the boy well on the hunt, and he was an accomplished hunter, even when he was still young. By the time he became a young adult and was supposed to start weapon training, he decided that it is more satisfying to kill with his bare hands, but at the incessant pressure of his tribesmen he relented to learn how to use some thrown weapons, though he usually 'forgot' them when he went on a hunt.
While story-telling was a favored way of relating life stories and elssons to the young ones, Basalt Claw never cared about stories other than those dealing with desert survival, or his favored hunters, the Austrechs.
Even as he grew up he didn't like the Realm. His tribe would deal with Harborhead on occasion, selling them furs and things they gathered in their travels through the desert, in return for things they couldn't find or make. And while life wasn't too bad, he felt as if every time they went back to Harborhead the looks they got were worse each time.
On one such foray, one of the tribesmen was arrested, after he supposedly tried to steal from a merchant, except Basalt Claw knew the man was innocent, for he had seen a small child lift the merchant's purse. Alas, the Realm's troops killed the tribesman, despite the attempts of the elders to intervene on his behalf.
After that incident he tried to convince the rest of the tribe to never return to Harborhead, but they didn't listen to him. The next year, things seem to have changed, and they were recieved in great welcome, as if the incident has been forgotten, which made him more suspicious, but cast him in bad light in the eyes of the rest of the tribe.
And so it continued for a few more years, but by then he never went with the delegation to the city. He had had enough of it's “wondersâ€, and desired only to live his life away from it, but his ties to his tribe were too strong for him to forsake.
When he was in his mid-twenties, he and a group of other hunters went on a grand hunt, to celebrate a large number of new babies born to the tribe. As luck would have it, they were tracking a herd of gazelles, when one of the hunters saw a disturbance in the sands. A sand swimmer has been attracted to the gazelles as well, and things looked bad, cause the creature's great appetite means few gazelles would be left to the hunters. Not willing to risk it, the hunters began to retreat, but Basalt Claw was alreayd near the creature, and was too afraid to move, lest he catch it's attention. He was about to retreat as the creature would lounge, but decided instead to try and use the javelin he had in his hand instead. Strangely enough, this time he actually remembered to bring the thing with him.
As the sand swimmer rose from the sands to attack a gazelle, he let loose, and as luck would have it, he hit the creature right in it's eye, as the sand swimmer was confused, he took his chance nad used his bare hands and strength to strangle it to death. Seeing him vanquishing the beast, the hunters returned to hunting the gazelle, and fell a good number of them. In the mean time, he decided to skin the sand swimmer, figuring it might bring good price, and that if prepared right it's meat can be made edible.
Inside the beast he found remnants of it's last victim, still wearing some of it's jewellry, which he figured might also be good to sell. All in all the hunters returned to the tribe and really had a great celebration.
A few months later the tribe came near Harborhead, and life changed for Basalt Claw.
As always he didn't go into the city, and stayed in the camp. Things to go well in the city, and the delegation returned with many goods to carry the tribe through, and they began to trek back into the desert. A few days after, they were ambushed by the Realm's troops, and most of the tribe got wiped, except for some who managed to escape. In the battle he fought well, and killed several soldiers, and their blood stained his clothes, but as luck would have it, he fell unconscious when a horse tied to a nearby cart panicked and upturned it, landing it on his head. Thinking he was dead, what with a cart falling on him, and the blood soaking his clothes, the soldiers paid him no heed.
He woke up hours later, dazed, to find the tribe in ruin, all their belongings taken, and the bodies mutilated. It was in that moment that he vowed to bring revenge to the Realm, and defend the other tribes from it's depradations. At that moment he felt a caress on the back of his neck, and when he looked up he saw the full moon shining down on him, and felt newfound power coursing through his veins.
For the new few weeks he managed to gather to his banner most of the survivors of his tribe, a motely band of 20 men and women, but his charisma also brought him a good number of men and women from other tribes. Together they set up an ambush to the troops that destroyed his tribe, and in a small canyon they fell upon them, killing many in the initial shock of their attack, but the commander of the soldiers was a Dragon-Blood Dynast, and whereever he went he easily defeated the attackers. Seeing this, Basalt Claw drew to his full height, let out a great shout, and imagined himself running the fool down like an Austrech striking down at it's prey. Soon the soldiers in front of him began to flee in fear, and they seemd to be much smaller, but his eyes focused on the Dragon-Blood, and he made his way to him, faster than he ever thought possible. In the battle that ensued they traded blow for blow, but Basalt Claw proved the winner, and he then began to pick out the remaining soldiers, killing them until none was left alive.
It was at that moment that he saw his fellows shying away from him, and he was confused, until one them took a piece of plate from one of the dead soldiers, and showed him his reflection, and when he saw himself he was shocked, he looked like a cross between his human form and an Austrech, and blazing on his forehead was a silvery symbol, that marked him as one of the Luanr Anathema.
He left them all, vowing to learn more about what he has become, seeking a tutor.
Traveling in the wide expanse of the deserts, he normally wore his warform, feeling more secure in it, and reveling in the reactions from beasts and the few humans he encountered on the way. And so he traveled for a ew weeks, until he encountered a gazelle grazing by itself, who seemed to be very unimpressed with his appearance, and seemed to be able to leap away from him with almost the same speed as he closed in. Finally, after a few hours of chase, he gingerly approached it, only to recoil back when it began to change it's shape, and become a woman, who laughed at his reaction.
That woman was a Changing Moon named Sand's Caress. She taught him what it means to be a Lunar, and how to control his Essence. She also taught him about Solars, and their bond with Lunars, and how they will need the guidance and support of their Lunar mates to be worthy once again to rule Creation. She also gave him his tattoos, and showed him how to attune to a manse, and to artifacts, though she gave him no artifact, except the one she added in as part of his tattoos.
She seemed to be patient with his temper, though she did bully him on occasion when she thought he needed it, but she wasn't interested in being a life-time mentor for him, and after a few months they parted ways, and he returned to the Harborhead area, to fulfill his desire to remove the Realm's presence in the area.
As his attacks became more frequent and more deadly, a Wyld Hunt was assembled, and soon he had to retreat, lest he be cornered and killed. It was at that time that Sand's Caress sent him an infallible messenger, telling him that she had a mission for him, and if he was interested that he should meet her at a spot near the Marukani lands.
As the Wyld Hunt grew closer on his tracks, he desperately feinted, and made his way close to the lands held by Ma-Ha-Suchi, and then to the Marukani lands. When he finally met her, she admonished him severly for bringing the Wyld Hunt so close to one of the Elders, but seemed to be impressed with his thinking as well. She told him about the mission she had in mind, something to do in the far east, but he just nodded, his mind alive with the knowledge that his Solar mate is in the area.
After that briefing, which he remembers only bits and pieces from, he set out to try and find his Solar mate.
Description
Basalt Claw is an imposing man. Slightly more than six feet, his mascular, yet somewhat lean, body speaks of someone used to hardship, and of great strength and agility. His darker skin is offset by what looks like a premature white and grey hair, which upon closer look might resemble feathers.
As someone who delights in ambushes, and as a recipient of a nearly deadly one, he has developed a great sense for danger, and seems to be always on edge, ready to go to battle at the drop of a hat.
He prefers to wear little beyond his loincloth and a token fur clothing in those cases when he takes his human form, but he generally prefers to just be in his war form, as it makes him feel closer to Luna. He also feels that in that form the silvery tattoos seem to complement his physique better, and he's very proud of his Lunar Exaltation.
He might be temperamnetal, but when he sets his mind to something, he can be a very stubborn person to deal with.
When it comes to Pascal, he is very protective of him, and does his best to show him what a good Solar should do. He tends to tease him quite a bit when it comes to the guy's underdeveloped fighting ability, but is impressed with his skill at subterfuge and stealth.
PirateLexi
All Hail Cthulhu
I don't suppose one of you experienced folk wouldn't mind helping me out a little bit with the actual crunch? I've got a kinda basic thing started, but I'm still completely unsure of how to make it all work right.