Fantasy Rocks Fall, Everyone Dies (And Goes To Hell): Characters

[Sizniche]

Ye olde meta rules:

1. All of the following rules are listed in order of precedence.
2. Naturally, All RPNation rules apply.
3. I have the final say in every issue unless my final say conflicts with the above rule, and Co-GMs ( Quinlan63 , possibly more) have the final say when it doesn't conflict with my word or the above rule.
3a. I can withhold approval of your character for any reason.
3b. Co-GMs can approve characters unless I am withholding approval or overrule their decision.
4. Characters must have substantial effort put into them, with at least two paragraphs in both Personality and Backstory (and one full paragraph for Appearance, if no picture is provided) and at least one substantial character flaw.
4a. Characters that are blatantly made for power and only power will be flatly rejected.
4b. Your character must be lacking in most areas of expertise outside of what your class specifies so that they will be forced to cooperate with others. This will not count as your substantial flaw.
4c. Much higher standards will be placed on people who want to be classes that are already chosen by others; you have to really show that you want to be that class, and that your character has to be that class for them to work. Classes are first come first serve.
4d. Delete all parentheses in the Character Sheet for the sake of neatness.
4e. If you are having trouble with coming up with a very deep and complex character, use this ungodly long character sheet as a brainstorm, and simplify the information into our format. Some things may not apply as this is a medieval setting, just ignore them.
5. This is a PG-13 roleplay, so keep in mind that, while I will let a great deal of things slide in terms of graphic content, I will crack down when it is necessary.
5a. Anyone who knows about the bass-ackwards rating conventions in America will know that this means the f-word can be said once and only once in the entirety of the roleplay. I will decide the person to whom I will bestow this honor. (Considering this is a semi-joke, it is subject to change.)
6. I hold a neutral stance on romance, as long as it does not conflict with any rules.
7. Gods do not make clerical errors. You must have at least one sin in your backstory worthy of condemning you to hell.
8. Any class not on ye olde list of one hundred pre-approved classes must be confirmed with me first before you post a character sheet.
9. These rules can change at any time if I feel I've missed something.
10. I apologize if these rules seem Orwellian.

CHARACTER SHEET:

Living Name:
Spiritual Name(Only applies to characters who have experienced reincarnation in the past):
Age at Death:
Age of Spirit(Only applies to characters who have experienced reincarnation in the past):
Race(You can be any race in D&D lore within reason, more exotic options need approval from me):
Class:
Gender:
Object of Worship(Put "none" if character is non-religious):
Appearance(Picture optional, must have description regardless):
Personality:
Backstory:
Damnable Sin or Sins:
Other:

AssassinHD marorda

| Main Page | Interest Check | Character Sheets | Out Of Character | The Compendium Of Hell |​

 

[GreenEyedStranger]

Living Name:Am'Ruh
Age at Death: 26
Race: Dragonborn
Class: Necromancer
Gender: Male
Object of Worship: Vecna
Appearance: A black scaled dragonborn, with a lean, jagged figure. His frame pokes out from underneath his plain black robes, indicative of his profession. His eyes are a brilliant green, contrasting greatly with his darker tinged scaled.
Personality: Very ambitious in his work, sees necromancy as his true calling in life and death. Passionate about his studies, relates greatly with other necromancers and aspires to be beyond death. If he had a few more closer friends, he would use this power to keep them alive.
Socially, he is passionate about fantastic ideas, including romance and adventure. Not having much time to soend with others, he expresses these fantasies through writing novels, usully with very heavy self-inserts. Secretly jealous of knights and paladins, envying their charm and big armor. Aside from that, he is extremely timid when confronted, and easily turns defensive whenever something is assumedd about him. Prefers to visualize his minions and strangers as objects.

Backstory: Though raised to be a priest from his largely pious family, Am'Ruh quickly got tired of the same, repeated studies of the dead long gone. He didn't want to wait for death and help those on the way... He wanted to be the master of it. Then, why should he fear it? However, in the eyes of his dragon gods, this was heresy, and his people banished him. Am’Ruh spent the next 5 years wandering the world, trying to uncover the secrets of necromancy. It was not until he stumbled across a cult of vecna where he learned occult from masters of the craft. However, before he could reveal the secrets of lichdom, the cult was destroyed by a group of clerics and paladins. Am’Ruh barely escaped with his life. Studying alone, now, Am'Ruh made a fantastic discovery when living in a public city... An artifact, capable of immense power and knowledge. Surely, it would help him on his quest, no? Although he heard no other news of it, there was company there. Just as he was about to summon a following of his undead to get rid of the explorers, the cave shook. Now, the whole necromancer deal seemed a bit ironic to him.
Damnable Sin or Sins: Heretic, gave up his benevolent gods to worship Vecna, Lich Demigod
Other: Has a craving for things sweet and sugary. Not used to physical stress or social contact.

 

[AssassinHD]

Melina Roseclaw
Age at Death: 134
Gender: Female
Race: High elf
Height: 5'3"
Weight: 121 lbs
Class: Battlemage
Melina has little proficiency with projectile magic and rituals like a good mage, nor does she have the strength of a good fighter. Instead, she uses magic to enhance her weaponry and combat with spells like flame tongue, which coats her blade with fire for some time.
Object of Worship: None

Appearance: Melina, although short, holds her chin at a higher angle as if it makes her more important or something. Her dark chesnut hair - braided - falls to her lower and is adorned with various valuable, shiny jewels. Her icy blue eyes pierce through even the bulkiest of armor straight into the soul, and ber eyebrows, the same chestnut brown, look stenciled in and unnatural above her death orbs. Shes lean and lanky - even by an elf's standards - to the point where it looks like she can't pick up a warhammer to save her life. Her fading purple wizard robes fall on top of a leather shirt, giving some protection from a monster trying to eat her guts. She has an ornate silvered longsword and a light shield on her back.

Personality: Melina takes the arrogance of the Elven race and takes it to an extreme. She's extremely racist to anyone thats not of the Elven race, treating only other Elves as equals and even being arrogant to them. She might know that her strength is lacking, but will rather drown than rely on a Dwarf to move a boulder away from a door. She's learned to trust the group with minimal tasks like moving the aformentioned bouler, but she would never bet her life or a large sum of money on one in the party, unless they were a fellow Elf of capable skill.

Surprisingly, she has some redeeming qualities. She's quite intelligent, so between all the arrogance she might bring up some good, strategic points. She's also quite skilled in combat, carving up foes and protecting allies, dodging attacks and casting spells. While she isn't a healer of any kind, she does know some emergency first aid, and even if she doesn't have the right materials, she can improvise some. So Melina is actually a strong ally, if you can bear her attitude.

Backstory: Melina was born into a spoiled house of wizards. Her parents were members of the elite; they were high ranking members of the Abjurer's Guild, people called upon to ward an area of magical spying or close extraplanear portals. These parents of hers taught her to protect the weak in the most condescending way which wasn't entirely true. Her lesson was, "It is your destiny to protect those who are too inferior to protect themselves" -- of course, relating to other races. So it's not entirely her fault that she's the way she is, but it's not like she made any attempt to go against her teachings.

When Melina was thirty -- young for an elf, she began studying in the ways of abjuration magic. Through teachings from her parents and holing up in a library, she learned the ins and outs of the rules of magic and wards. She dabbled a little bit in elemental magic and for entertainment, practiced fencing with other Elves, learning to make up for her lack of strength with evasive and feinting maneuvers.

At a century old, it was Melina's turn to join the Guild. As an initiate, she had to prove her worth by adventuring and doing trivial tasks, like protecting a noble's room from magical spying or relieving a curse, preventing a magical relic from being detected and its magic used. Or destory it, and get destroyed with it.

Sins: Pride and Racism

 

[Sizniche]

Living Name:Am'Ruh
Age at Death: 26
Race: Dragonborn
Class: Necromancer
Gender: Male
Object of Worship: Vecna
Appearance: A black scaled dragonborn, with a lean, jagged figure. His frame pokes out from underneath his plain black robes, indicative of his profession. His eyes are a brilliant green, contrasting greatly with his darker tinged scaled.
Personality: Very ambitious in his work, sees necromancy as his true calling in life and death. Passionate about his studies, relates greatly with other necromancers and aspires to be beyond death. If he had a few more closer friends, he would use this power to keep them alive.
Backstory: Though raised to be a priest from his largely pious family, Am'Ruh quickly got tired of the same, repeated studies of the dead long gone. He didn't want to wait for death and help those on the way... He wanted to be the master of it. Then, why should he fear it? However, in the eyes of his dragon gods, this was heresy, and his people banished him. Studying alone, now, Am'Ruh made a fantastic discovery when living in a public city... An artifact, capable of immense power and knowledge. Surely, it would help him on his quest, no? Although he heard no other news of it, there was company there. Just as he was about to summon a following of his undead to get rid of the explorers, the cave shook. Now, the whole necromancer deal seemed a bit ironic to him.
Damnable Sin or Sins: Heretic, gave up his benevolent gods to worship Vecna, Lich Demigod
Other: Has a craving for things sweet and sugary. Not used to physical stress or social contact.

Needs quite a bit of expansion. Withholding approval until it meets rule 4 guidelines.

Melina Roseclaw
Age at Death: 134
Gender: Female
Race: High elf
Height: 5'3"
Weight: 121 lbs
Class: Battlemage
Melina has little proficiency with projectile magic and rituals like a good mage, nor does she have the strength of a good fighter. Instead, she uses magic to enhance her weaponry and combat with spells like flame tongue, which coats her blade with fire for some time.
Object of Worship: None

Appearance: Melina, although short, holds her chin at a higher angle as if it makes her more important or something. Her dark chesnut hair - braided - falls to her lower and is adorned with various valuable, shiny jewels. Her icy blue eyes pierce through even the bulkiest of armor straight into the soul, and ber eyebrows, the same chestnut brown, look stenciled in and unnatural above her death orbs. Shes lean and lanky - even by an elf's standards - to the point where it looks like she can't pick up a warhammer to save her life. Her fading purple wizard robes fall on top of a leather shirt, giving some protection from a monster trying to eat her guts. She has an ornate silvered longsword and a light shield on her back.
Personality: Melina takes the arrogance of the Elven race and takes it to an extreme. She's extremely racist to anyone thats not of the Elven race, treating only other Elves as equals and even being arrogant to them. She might know that her strength is lacking, but will rather drown than rely on a Dwarf to move a boulder away from a door. She's learned to trust the group with minimal tasks like moving the aformentioned bouler, but she would never bet her life or a large sum of money on one in the party, unless they were a fellow Elf of capable skill. So to sum up, Melina is headstrong, independent, arrogant, and racist.
Backstory: Wip i don't have much time between my exams sorry
Sins: Pride and Racism

I know you're not done yet, but Personality needs an extra paragraph.

 

[marorda]

Living Name: Erskin
Age at Death: 3 (yay, short lifespans!)
Race: Kenku
Class: Assassin
Gender: Female
Object of Worship: none
Appearance:

Erskin is abuot 5'0 tall. Her feathers are a glossy black with a hint of a blueish shine to them. Whatever little bit of skin is visible at her clawed hands and feet are gray like ashes. Her eyes are small and beady. Erskin wears simple clothes that are easy to move in and preferably keeps a hood pulled over her face. Not that this helps anything to conceal her beak, that is. The clothes, like her feathers, are dark in color making it easier for herself to hide in the shadows and sneak around in the darkness.


Personality:

Erskin doesn't care much for good and evil. She's seen little kindness in her life, was used to the scowls of other races. All that's ever mattered in her society was prestige and money. She will work for whoever pays the highest price, and is willing to just kill whoever gave her the assignment if the target pays a higher price for staying alive. Erskin doesn't necessarily pick the quickest and least painful way to kill her targets. No, she will do whatever she feels like. Poison? Slitting a throat? As long as she can stick around to see someone die, she'll be happy. No, unless her contract says to kill someone quickly and painlessly, she'd rather make them suffer. People deserve to be in pain, to feel the fear of their lives slipping away at the hands of someone they consider lesser than themselves. If nobody ever showed her kindness, why should she?

The only things she cares for is getting out of things alive, and making money. The life of a Kenku is short, so she'd better make the best of it, no? She loves to spend her money on food, booze, and to gamble. Not much money left for other things once all of that is over, but since she's always on the road, there's no such thing as taxes, right? Heck, if someone tried to collect taxes off her, she'd just attempt to kill them and steal the money they might have on them!

Backstory:
Erskin grew up among thieves, spies, assassins, and other people doing deeds that cannot stand the light of day. These things have been the state of existence of her species for many generations. It's simply a part of their culture. This has made others highly suspicious of her kind, though, so she has always been faced with harsh judgment from those outside her flock. She was never bound by any rules other than whatever little laws and codes of conduct applied within the flock. She had learned well from those around her. Sticking to the shadows, bribing people, stealing... all those things just came natural to her. One might think this would put her on the path of the thief more than an assassin, and for a while this was the case.

You see, one of her contracts was to just scare a man into paying off his loans. Use violence when needed. Well, Erskin did. She stabbed her dagger right into the man's gut. That was her first taste of blood and true violence. Whereas this would scare most people off, Erskin enjoyed the thrill of taking a life. The feeling of deciding who lives and dies, to watch someone beg for mercy knowing that their fate was in her hands. The thrill gave her a kick, and since she didn't get caught, Erskin figured that maybe she should do this more often. This is exactly what happened. She started offering her services for those who wanted people to.... disappear. And the thrill never faded.

Damnable Sin or Sins: Greed, Pride, Cruelty
Other: Mimicry. Erskin can mimic any sounds she heard, including voices. This talent extends to handwriting. A creature that hears the sounds or reads the handwriting has a chance of seeing it is fake.

 

[Sizniche]

Living Name: Erskin
Age at Death: 3 (yay, short lifespans!)
Race: Kenku
Class: Assassin
Gender: Female
Object of Worship: none
Appearance:
View attachment 389588
Erskin is abuot 5'0 tall. Her feathers are a glossy black with a hint of a blueish shine to them. Whatever little bit of skin is visible at her clawed hands and feet are gray like ashes. Her eyes are small and beady. Erskin wears simple clothes that are easy to move in and preferably keeps a hood pulled over her face. Not that this helps anything to conceal her beak, that is. The clothes, like her feathers, are dark in color making it easier for herself to hide in the shadows and sneak around in the darkness.


Personality:

Erskin doesn't care much for good and evil. She's seen little kindness in her life, was used to the scowls of other races. All that's ever mattered in her society was prestige and money. She will work for whoever pays the highest price, and is willing to just kill whoever gave her the assignment if the target pays a higher price for staying alive. Erskin doesn't necessarily pick the quickest and least painful way to kill her targets. No, she will do whatever she feels like. Poison? Slitting a throat? As long as she can stick around to see someone die, she'll be happy. No, unless her contract says to kill someone quickly and painlessly, she'd rather make them suffer. People deserve to be in pain, to feel the fear of their lives slipping away at the hands of someone they consider lesser than themselves. If nobody ever showed her kindness, why should she?

The only things she cares for is getting out of things alive, and making money. The life of a Kenku is short, so she'd better make the best of it, no? She loves to spend her money on food, booze, and to gamble. Not much money left for other things once all of that is over, but since she's always on the road, there's no such thing as taxes, right? Heck, if someone tried to collect taxes off her, she'd just attempt to kill them and steal the money they might have on them!

Backstory:
Erskin grew up among thieves, spies, assassins, and other people doing deeds that cannot stand the light of day. These things have been the state of existence of her species for many generations. It's simply a part of their culture. This has made others highly suspicious of her kind, though, so she has always been faced with harsh judgment from those outside her flock. She was never bound by any rules other than whatever little laws and codes of conduct applied within the flock. She had learned well from those around her. Sticking to the shadows, bribing people, stealing... all those things just came natural to her. One might think this would put her on the path of the thief more than an assassin, and for a while this was the case.

You see, one of her contracts was to just scare a man into paying off his loans. Use violence when needed. Well, Erskin did. She stabbed her dagger right into the man's gut. That was her first taste of blood and true violence. Whereas this would scare most people off, Erskin enjoyed the thrill of taking a life. The feeling of deciding who lives and dies, to watch someone beg for mercy knowing that their fate was in her hands. The thrill gave her a kick, and since she didn't get caught, Erskin figured that maybe she should do this more often. This is exactly what happened. She started offering her services for those who wanted people to.... disappear. And the thrill never faded.

Damnable Sin or Sins: Greed, Pride, Cruelty
Other: Mimicry. Erskin can mimic any sounds she heard, including voices. This talent extends to handwriting. A creature that hears the sounds or reads the handwriting has a chance of seeing it is fake.

Accepted.

 

[GreenEyedStranger]

Sizniche

Updated mine lemme know if more is needed

 

[Sizniche]

Living Name:Am'Ruh
Age at Death: 26
Race: Dragonborn
Class: Necromancer
Gender: Male
Object of Worship: Vecna
Appearance: A black scaled dragonborn, with a lean, jagged figure. His frame pokes out from underneath his plain black robes, indicative of his profession. His eyes are a brilliant green, contrasting greatly with his darker tinged scaled.
Personality: Very ambitious in his work, sees necromancy as his true calling in life and death. Passionate about his studies, relates greatly with other necromancers and aspires to be beyond death. If he had a few more closer friends, he would use this power to keep them alive.
Socially, he is passionate about fantastic ideas, including romance and adventure. Not having much time to soend with others, he expresses these fantasies through writing novels, usully with very heavy self-inserts. Secretly jealous of knights and paladins, envying their charm and big armor. Aside from that, he is extremely timid when confronted, and easily turns defensive whenever something is assumedd about him. Prefers to visualize his minions and strangers as objects.

Backstory: Though raised to be a priest from his largely pious family, Am'Ruh quickly got tired of the same, repeated studies of the dead long gone. He didn't want to wait for death and help those on the way... He wanted to be the master of it. Then, why should he fear it? However, in the eyes of his dragon gods, this was heresy, and his people banished him. Am’Ruh spent the next 5 years wandering the world, trying to uncover the secrets of necromancy. It was not until he stumbled across a cult of vecna where he learned occult from masters of the craft. However, before he could reveal the secrets of lichdom, the cult was destroyed by a group of clerics and paladins. Am’Ruh barely escaped with his life. Studying alone, now, Am'Ruh made a fantastic discovery when living in a public city... An artifact, capable of immense power and knowledge. Surely, it would help him on his quest, no? Although he heard no other news of it, there was company there. Just as he was about to summon a following of his undead to get rid of the explorers, the cave shook. Now, the whole necromancer deal seemed a bit ironic to him.
Damnable Sin or Sins: Heretic, gave up his benevolent gods to worship Vecna, Lich Demigod
Other: Has a craving for things sweet and sugary. Not used to physical stress or social contact.

Seems alright now, though keep in mind that Necromancers might have a bit of difficulty in hell, as, while there are quite a few dead people, there aren't many corpses to speak of. I plan to have plot threads involving necromancers, though, so you should have plenty of ties to get you involved in the story.

Accepted.

 

[Sizniche]

Melina Roseclaw
Age at Death: 134
Gender: Female
Race: High elf
Height: 5'3"
Weight: 121 lbs
Class: Battlemage
Melina has little proficiency with projectile magic and rituals like a good mage, nor does she have the strength of a good fighter. Instead, she uses magic to enhance her weaponry and combat with spells like flame tongue, which coats her blade with fire for some time.
Object of Worship: None

Appearance: Melina, although short, holds her chin at a higher angle as if it makes her more important or something. Her dark chesnut hair - braided - falls to her lower and is adorned with various valuable, shiny jewels. Her icy blue eyes pierce through even the bulkiest of armor straight into the soul, and ber eyebrows, the same chestnut brown, look stenciled in and unnatural above her death orbs. Shes lean and lanky - even by an elf's standards - to the point where it looks like she can't pick up a warhammer to save her life. Her fading purple wizard robes fall on top of a leather shirt, giving some protection from a monster trying to eat her guts. She has an ornate silvered longsword and a light shield on her back.

Personality: Melina takes the arrogance of the Elven race and takes it to an extreme. She's extremely racist to anyone thats not of the Elven race, treating only other Elves as equals and even being arrogant to them. She might know that her strength is lacking, but will rather drown than rely on a Dwarf to move a boulder away from a door. She's learned to trust the group with minimal tasks like moving the aformentioned bouler, but she would never bet her life or a large sum of money on one in the party, unless they were a fellow Elf of capable skill.

Surprisingly, she has some redeeming qualities. She's quite intelligent, so between all the arrogance she might bring up some good, strategic points. She's also quite skilled in combat, carving up foes and protecting allies, dodging attacks and casting spells. While she isn't a healer of any kind, she does know some emergency first aid, and even if she doesn't have the right materials, she can improvise some. So Melina is actually a strong ally, if you can bear her attitude.

Backstory: Melina was born into a spoiled house of wizards. Her parents were members of the elite; they were high ranking members of the Abjurer's Guild, people called upon to ward an area of magical spying or close extraplanear portals. These parents of hers taught her to protect the weak in the most condescending way which wasn't entirely true. Her lesson was, "It is your destiny to protect those who are too inferior to protect themselves" -- of course, relating to other races. So it's not entirely her fault that she's the way she is, but it's not like she made any attempt to go against her teachings.

When Melina was thirty -- young for an elf, she began studying in the ways of abjuration magic. Through teachings from her parents and holing up in a library, she learned the ins and outs of the rules of magic and wards. She dabbled a little bit in elemental magic and for entertainment, practiced fencing with other Elves, learning to make up for her lack of strength with evasive and feinting maneuvers.

At a century old, it was Melina's turn to join the Guild. As an initiate, she had to prove her worth by adventuring and doing trivial tasks, like protecting a noble's room from magical spying or relieving a curse, preventing a magical relic from being detected and its magic used. Or destory it, and get destroyed with it.

Sins: Pride and Racism

Accepted.

 

[GreenEyedStranger]

When can we begin?

 

[AssassinHD]

When can we begin?

When we get crushed by rocks and sent to Hell

 

[marorda]

Can I at least finish my cream cheese and chicken wrap first?

 

[AssassinHD]

Can I at least finish my cream cheese and chicken wrap first?

Yea take your time.

 

[marorda]

Phew. It would suck to go to hell without having had my dinner XD

 

[Sizniche]

marorda AssassinHD GreenEyedStranger we can start when we get a couple more people, invite who you can.

MysticSweaterHog since you showed interest, this is the Character Sheet.

 

[BegoneThought]

Living Name: Kara
Age at Death: 23
Race: Half-Orc
Class: Berserker
Gender: Female
Object of Worship: None

Appearance: Kara is 6'3" at full height. She has reddish-orange hair- rare, but she's told her human mother was a red-head. It's shaved on both sides of her head and is long enough to reach just past her scapula, even when tightly knotted in her usual dreads. Her skin is cedar brown and spattered with dark grey freckles. Her eyes are grey, almost silver, and sit deep under thick brows. Since her father was almost a full-blooded orc, she has more orc qualities than human ones. She often wears human armor, and favors silver plate with garnet-shaded padding. After yearrs of mercenary work, Kara has obtained many scars that litter her body, but a particularly gnarly one bisects her left eyebrow and runs along the outside of her eye, stopping just under her jawline.

Personality: Kara is a half-orc trying to fit in with humans. This defines a lot of her personality and mannerisms since humans are occasionally frightened of her more intimidating features. Her height can anger the more xenophobic human males and make the smaller females nervous, she slouches down almost 3 inches. Her orc blood makes her easily frustrated, quick to anger, and prone to mood swings, but years living as a human has taught her to control her outbursts. This has the unfortunate side-effect of bigger outbursts in the future, since she's not actually working through any emotions she experiences- she's just suppressing them.

Though her body language exhibits a great care for the people around her, she would never admit it. She's fairly stoic and somewhat cold, and she keeps people at a distance in order to reign in her feelings. She doesn't often work with groups as a result, but can stand a beer or two with people she's worked with before. Her actions are often neutral, but her thoughts war between evil and good, the curse of the half-orc.

Backstory: Kara was born to a Illuskan human woman that died giving birth to her. Her mother had been in a relationship with a human man, Freth, when Kara was conceived. Though Freth was not her biological father, he felt an obligation to raise Kara, and harbored a resentment for the Half-Orc. He told her to never stand out and to try her best to be a human, so she was raised to sequester her emotions behind a stoic (human) mask. Every time she exuded too much feeling, she was lashed by her father for it. The people of the Illuskan village, far to the north and secluded, were split- some accepted her and treated her like any other child, others were stuck in their old ways and saw her as foreign. Unfortunately, those willing to speak with her had no knowledge of how Kara came to be conceived, and she any questions asked about her orc father went unanswered.

Kara read a book about the art of battle, and taught herself to wield an ax to work out some of her anger. Growing up, Kara held a deep infatuation with and admiration for the mother she never met but apparently inherited the hair and eyes of. One day, Freth called her biological mother a whore, and Kara went berserk, killing him and the entire village. She fled and became a mercenary, soon switching out her ax for a warhammer and gaining further knowledge of combat through experience. She worked up a reputation as a reliable merc, and though she was known for being efficient, not many knew just how many times she swung her hammer on her opponents, even after they were nothing but a slick mound of blood and gore.

Damnable Sin or Sins: Cruelty, Wrath

Other: Darkvision, the ability to see in the dark. Kara also has a bad right knee that's prone to buckle if hit too many times.

 

[Sizniche]

Living Name: Kara
Age at Death: 23
Race: Half-Orc
Class: Berserker
Gender: Female
Object of Worship: None

Appearance: Kara is 6'3" at full height. She has reddish-orange hair- rare, but she's told her human mother was a red-head. It's shaved on both sides of her head and is long enough to reach just past her scapula, even when tightly knotted in her usual dreads. Her skin is cedar brown and spattered with dark grey freckles. Her eyes are grey, almost silver, and sit deep under thick brows. Since her father was almost a full-blooded orc, she has more orc qualities than human ones. She often wears human armor, and favors silver plate with garnet-shaded padding. After yearrs of mercenary work, Kara has obtained many scars that litter her body, but a particularly gnarly one bisects her left eyebrow and runs along the outside of her eye, stopping just under her jawline.

Personality: Kara is a half-orc trying to fit in with humans. This defines a lot of her personality and mannerisms since humans are occasionally frightened of her more intimidating features. Her height can anger the more xenophobic human males and make the smaller females nervous, she slouches down almost 3 inches. Her orc blood makes her easily frustrated, quick to anger, and prone to mood swings, but years living as a human has taught her to control her outbursts. This has the unfortunate side-effect of bigger outbursts in the future, since she's not actually working through any emotions she experiences- she's just suppressing them.

Though her body language exhibits a great care for the people around her, she would never admit it. She's fairly stoic and somewhat cold, and she keeps people at a distance in order to reign in her feelings. She doesn't often work with groups as a result, but can stand a beer or two with people she's worked with before. Her actions are often neutral, but her thoughts war between evil and good, the curse of the half-orc.

Backstory: Kara was born to a Illuskan human woman that died giving birth to her. Her mother had been in a relationship with a human man, Freth, when Kara was conceived. Though Freth was not her biological father, he felt an obligation to raise Kara, and harbored a resentment for the Half-Orc. He told her to never stand out and to try her best to be a human, so she was raised to sequester her emotions behind a stoic (human) mask. Every time she exuded too much feeling, she was lashed by her father for it. The people of the Illuskan village, far to the north and secluded, were split- some accepted her and treated her like any other child, others were stuck in their old ways and saw her as foreign. Unfortunately, those willing to speak with her had no knowledge of how Kara came to be conceived, and she any questions asked about her orc father went unanswered.

Kara read a book about the art of battle, and taught herself to wield an ax to work out some of her anger. Growing up, Kara held a deep infatuation with and admiration for the mother she never met but apparently inherited the hair and eyes of. One day, Freth called her biological mother a whore, and Kara went berserk, killing him and the entire village. She fled and became a mercenary, soon switching out her ax for a warhammer and gaining further knowledge of combat through experience. She worked up a reputation as a reliable merc, and though she was known for being efficient, not many knew just how many times she swung her hammer on her opponents, even after they were nothing but a slick mound of blood and gore.

Damnable Sin or Sins: Cruelty, Wrath

Other: Darkvision, the ability to see in the dark. Kara also has a bad right knee that's prone to buckle if hit too many times.

Accepted.

marorda AssassinHD GreenEyedStranger I'm going to say we get one more character (unless one of you has decided to bail) then we start.

 

[marorda]

Sounds fine by me!

 

[GreenEyedStranger]

Down for it

 

[Magnum]

Living Name: Gareth "Gart" Pitorson
Age at Death: 24
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Height: 5'10"
Weight: 183 lbs.
Object of Worship: None
Class: Soldier

Gart has been trained in the use of common melee weapons, from warhammers to daggers. He also technically knows how to use a bow, but has no combat experience, and with his missing eye he'll never get that good.

Appearance:

Spoiler

Gart has a weathered face, aged past reality by his frown lines and sallow eye sockets. His skin is rougher than normal, as if irritated by the thin, ever-present patches of dust and dirt that cling to his hide. His eye is an incredibly pale color only a few shades above dish water. The lines that criss-cross his hands have been worn deeper than usual by the stresses of his lifestyle. His dark brown hair is kept in a short, managable mess on his head, and his goatee doesn't seem to grow.

Personality: Gart is a selfish man. Anything he might have put before himself was left behind when the rocks fell, or so he thinks. While not particularly cowardly or deceptive, Gart puts his life and interests before others, even if most wouldn't in the situation. He's also somewhat rude and quarrelsome, his own sense of self-preservation often vying with his biting tongue over some slight or other.

On the bright side, Gart is an ambitious and resourceful man as well. He is always looking for ways to improve his station, and can get quite creative in his methods too. This can have the side effect of elevating those around him through proximity. Or make them seemingly complicit in his failed grab at fortune.

Backstory: Gart was born into the moderately-sized town of Altruin as the only child of two working parents. His childhood was generally healthy and enjoyable, although his parents were absent for an abnormal amount of it. He was somewhat of a nuisance because of this, he got into fights and stole small things around town, but he was happy. At the age of sixteen, he was conscripted by the kingdom and made into a soldier. He trained at the town's nearby fort, and started what would be a long career in soldiering.

Life was somewhat boring as a soldier. Mostly it was just standing or walking around in a certain place until someone relieved him. Occasionaly there'd be a small skirmish between citizens he'd have to settle, but it wasn't until he was nineteen that he saw real combat.

He killed for the first time when he was nineteen. Some dignitary or other was set to pass through Altruin on his way to do important dignitary things, but the carriage's guard had been whittled away by repeated attacks by some organized military force. They'd sent a rider ahead to Altruin, who requested some soldiers to replace his comrades who'd fallen in battle. Gart and a small platoon were sent with him, and had escorted the carriage partway back before they were attacked. Somehow, Gart ended up outside of the nucleus of the battle an saw an archer in a ditch, pelting his allies with arrows. Gart ran him through with shaky hands and the man let out a desperate, gasping weeze before succumbing to unconsciousness. The battle ended soon after, but it would mark the start of one of the many, petty wars between nobles. It would mark the start of his war.

His war was not a short one. It lasted two and a half years, and he still doesn't know what it was about. Regardless, he was forced to march for hours to villages he'd never seen or cared about, stealing or just bullying the people there into submission when supplies ran low. Or he was bored. Or he saw something he liked. Regardless, he participated in nine battles, and it was the last that earned him his damnable sin. They'd broken the enemy lines, and were cutting down the retreating forces of whoever it was they'd been fighting for two years now. "The Anglicans" or something. Gart, attentive even in the heat of battle, spied a small, suspicious clearing in the underbrush surrounding the current literal field of battle, and thought some of the enemy might be using it as an alternate escape route. He grabbed a fellow soldier and, after a shouted conversation over the clang of metal and the screams of men, they followed the suspicious path. A large tent was found, easily fifteen feet across and twice as long. His comrade turned heel to alert the commander, but Gart, still filled with heated blood from the battle, snuck up to the tent and peeked inside.

It was the enemy. The enemy wounded. Men groaned and wept upon padded beds, the smell of blood and piss permeating the air. Some stared silently at stumps, while others whimpered worryingly at growing red patches on their bandages. Gart looked about the room, and saw not a single healthy man. They'd been abandoned. He didn't feel anger then, or joy. He doesn't know quite what he felt, but it moved him to stand and enter the tent, his blade drawn, his eyes burning, his breath coming hot and quick...

When it was finished, they were all dead. He doesn't know how many he killed, but it must have been at least thirty. Afterwards, he sat outside the tent and waited. When the commander arrived after the battle had finished and remarked on the mess, Gart said he'd found them like that. When he was asked why he didn't rejoin the battle after learning this, Gart said he'd been waiting to see if anyone came to collect the bodies. This was good enough for the commander, and business resumed throughout the battallion as usual. Thirty men dead by the same hand in a few minutes, and it was business as usual.

Damnable Sins: Thievery, Cruelty, and Murder of the Wounded
Other: Gart possesses some basic survival skills, allowing him to tie various knots, start a fire, and even costruct very basic shelters and animal traps.

 

[Sizniche]

Living Name: Gareth "Gart" Pitorson
Age at Death: 24
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Height: 5'10"
Weight: 183 lbs.
Object of Worship: None
Class: Soldier

Gart has been trained in the use of common melee weapons, from warhammers to daggers. He also technically knows how to use a bow, but has no combat experience, and with his missing eye he'll never get that good.

Appearance:

Spoiler

Gart has a weathered face, aged past reality by his frown lines and sallow eye sockets. His skin is rougher than normal, as if irritated by the thin, ever-present patches of dust and dirt that cling to his hide. His eye is an incredibly pale color only a few shades above dish water. The lines that criss-cross his hands have been worn deeper than usual by the stresses of his lifestyle. His dark brown hair is kept in a short, managable mess on his head, and his goatee doesn't seem to grow.

Personality: Gart is a selfish man. Anything he might have put before himself was left behind when the rocks fell, or so he thinks. While not particularly cowardly or deceptive, Gart puts his life and interests before others, even if most wouldn't in the situation. He's also somewhat rude and quarrelsome, his own sense of self-preservation often vying with his biting tongue over some slight or other.

On the bright side, Gart is an ambitious and resourceful man as well. He is always looking for ways to improve his station, and can get quite creative in his methods too. This can have the side effect of elevating those around him through proximity. Or make them seemingly complicit in his failed grab at fortune.

Backstory: Gart was born into the moderately-sized town of Altruin as the only child of two working parents. His childhood was generally healthy and enjoyable, although his parents were absent for an abnormal amount of it. He was somewhat of a nuisance because of this, he got into fights and stole small things around town, but he was happy. At the age of sixteen, he was conscripted by the kingdom and made into a soldier. He trained at the town's nearby fort, and started what would be a long career in soldiering.

Life was somewhat boring as a soldier. Mostly it was just standing or walking around in a certain place until someone relieved him. Occasionaly there'd be a small skirmish between citizens he'd have to settle, but it wasn't until he was nineteen that he saw real combat.

He killed for the first time when he was nineteen. Some dignitary or other was set to pass through Altruin on his way to do important dignitary things, but the carriage's guard had been whittled away by repeated attacks by some organized military force. They'd sent a rider ahead to Altruin, who requested some soldiers to replace his comrades who'd fallen in battle. Gart and a small platoon were sent with him, and had escorted the carriage partway back before they were attacked. Somehow, Gart ended up outside of the nucleus of the battle an saw an archer in a ditch, pelting his allies with arrows. Gart ran him through with shaky hands and the man let out a desperate, gasping weeze before succumbing to unconsciousness. The battle ended soon after, but it would mark the start of one of the many, petty wars between nobles. It would mark the start of his war.

His war was not a short one. It lasted two and a half years, and he still doesn't know what it was about. Regardless, he was forced to march for hours to villages he'd never seen or cared about, stealing or just bullying the people there into submission when supplies ran low. Or he was bored. Or he saw something he liked. Regardless, he participated in nine battles, and it was the last that earned him his damnable sin. They'd broken the enemy lines, and were cutting down the retreating forces of whoever it was they'd been fighting for two years now. "The Anglicans" or something. Gart, attentive even in the heat of battle, spied a small, suspicious clearing in the underbrush surrounding the current literal field of battle, and thought some of the enemy might be using it as an alternate escape route. He grabbed a fellow soldier and, after a shouted conversation over the clang of metal and the screams of men, they followed the suspicious path. A large tent was found, easily fifteen feet across and twice as long. His comrade turned heel to alert the commander, but Gart, still filled with heated blood from the battle, snuck up to the tent and peeked inside.

It was the enemy. The enemy wounded. Men groaned and wept upon padded beds, the smell of blood and piss permeating the air. Some stared silently at stumps, while others whimpered worryingly at growing red patches on their bandages. Gart looked about the room, and saw not a single healthy man. They'd been abandoned. He didn't feel anger then, or joy. He doesn't know quite what he felt, but it moved him to stand and enter the tent, his blade drawn, his eyes burning, his breath coming hot and quick...

When it was finished, they were all dead. He doesn't know how many he killed, but it must have been at least thirty. Afterwards, he sat outside the tent and waited. When the commander arrived after the battle had finished and remarked on the mess, Gart said he'd found them like that. When he was asked why he didn't rejoin the battle after learning this, Gart said he'd been waiting to see if anyone came to collect the bodies. This was good enough for the commander, and business resumed throughout the battallion as usual. Thirty men dead by the same hand in a few minutes, and it was business as usual.

Damnable Sins: Thievery, Cruelty, and Murder of the Wounded
Other: Gart possesses some basic survival skills, allowing him to tie various knots, start a fire, and even costruct very basic shelters and animal traps.

Accepted.

BegoneThought marorda AssassinHD GreenEyedStranger Magnum You may begin.