Hey folks.

I'm asking all the winners of previous role contests run by anyone to post their roles in this thread if they've saved them. They're a good read, and hopefully will serve as good examples of what we like in a role, plus they're just good and fun reads in general. So if you've got them saved, by all mines post it in a reply here.

Thanks!

Mogrin Dhaegren�houl
Race: Dark-elf
Class: Shapeshifter
Focus: Water
Sphere: Death

A ghoulish drow mage stands before you. Garbed in the skin of a black eel, he emanates a foul odor of decomposing fish. The eel skin suit has been crudely formed around his body and badly decayed. The drow�s skin is translucent, devoid of pigment and a wet slime coats most of his exposed flesh. What little hair he possesses hangs greasily against the sides of his head. His arms are long, slender, and well muscled, more akin to a sea-troll than a true dark-elf. His hands are webbed and his fingernails end in tiny talons which are mottled green. His eyes are yellow, reminiscent of a moray eel; cold, calculating, and murderous.

ROLE: CHAPTER ONE: Pools of Decay
This story begins six decades ago in the City of Strife, Yzekon, the glorious fortification of the grey duergar. Wicked, corrupt, and devious, the duergar warlords have carved out their niche in the horrors of the Underdark for thousands of years. Their demon-king holding a tight clawed fist on the throne of bones. The hunting parties of the duergar are ruthless, bringing back riches, slaves, and spoils of war, all for the greed of the whole. This is where we shall focus, in the household of Grazkak Buthen-cray, General of 2nd Brigade.

Located amongst the district of nobles, the sprawling mansion was heavily fortified and guarded by its own battalion of bugbears and duergar commoners. A cruel general, Grazkak, had affixed a ring of poles around his home, impaled upon were the enemies of his wrath and rage. Rotting corpses of elves, drow, and other duergar adorned the flagpoles of flesh. A green brackish moat provided the final layer of protection to his abode.

Within these walls Graztak kept his riches and members of his family. A brothel of slaves, and pens to contain his enemies filled the catacombed sub-level beneath his home. His soldiers were well kept and his arsenal of weapons amongst the finest in the dark city. Poisoners, metallurgists, and alchemists, worked feverishly to provide his troops with the finest upgrades to their butchery.

On the fated day, six decades ago, on the Day of Deception, in the Month of the Shadow, an emissary party from Teth Azeleth arrived to the door of Grazkak�s home. A drow honor-guard sent from Matron Majien herself, arrived unexpectedly with a missive for Graztak. The details of the missive were simple: The drow matron mother, had offered Grazkak her alliance, in a strike against a svirfneblin outpost near the Undersea. The offer of magical plunder was enough to peek the interest of the greedy general. Matron Majien requested that her eldest daughter, Priestess Beion Majien meet with the general to assist in the planning of the strike, and to represent the interests of the dark-elves in the upcoming battle. The honor guard delivered a small satchel of ensorcelled crossbow bolts and fine rubies as a gift.
General Grazkak was pleased with the offer and immediately agreed to allow the priestess to join his war preparations. As the honor-guard departed back to The Azeleth with his acceptance missive, Grazkak began preparations for his alliance with the drow and the arrival of the priestess.

Gathering his captains he began the arduous task of cleansing his home from drow slaves, some of which were related to Matron Majien herself. All drow slaves under his control were brought to the southern parapets, gutted from throat to navel, and thrown into the brackish moat. The lampreys and organ squid feasted on the flesh as the drow were brought one by one, screaming to their demise.

The focus of this tale lies with one of these drow, Verdressa Dhaegren�houl, a young drow priestess, whom had served Grazkak in his brothel. As the guard�s dragged her by her hair she cursed and screamed blasphemies upon Grazkak and his men. As her robes were torn from her lithe frame it became clear that she was pregnant. One of her hand�s clutched her swollen stomach, as she struggled toward the edge of the parapet. Grazkak laughed and quickly plunged his sword into her chest, opening a vertical slit on her torso. Her infant spilled out, attached by its umbilical cord and dangled in the air above the moat. The priestess gave one final curse, and stumbled over the edge, splashing into the foul water below. She was quite dead when she hit the water.

Grazkak laughed and spat a wad of phlegm down into the moat. His men continued their work with the remaining drow and then returned to the inner quarters to finish the preparations.

Within the confines of the moat, the lampreys and organ squid swam off, sluggish from their huge feast of flesh. Dozens of drow corpses, bobbed in and out of the ichor and slime as tiny crabs and fluke worms nibbled on the decomposing flesh.
A slight ripple broke the surface of the diseased water, and a wrinkled white head sucked a breath of stagnant air. A ghoulish drow infant, black hair matted against its porcelain skinned head clutched the arm of a corpse as it looked about. Yellow feral eyes scanned the surface of the foul moat as it silently drifted in the currents. A few moments passed and the infant�s eyes narrowed to slits. Slipping under the surface of the water it began to look for food.

CHAPTER TWO: Rivers of Blood

�Toss another chunk to the far end,� the duergar hollered to the group of guards standing on the southeast tower. He clutched his barbed spear against the side of his head as he prepared to make another cast into the moat. His other hand held a long coil of rope which was attached to the end of the spear.

The gray dwarves on the tower swung their arms and tumbled a large chunk of rothe flesh over the wall. It splashed in the moat, sending up a wave of slime and putrid debris. The guards peered over the wall and watched intently as the meat began to sink below the surface.

At the other end of the parapet the guard with the spear silently waited. His spear trained on the disappearing rothe meat, he leaned forward and steadied his hand on the side of the wall.

A slight ripple began to move across the surface of the water toward the area where the meat was thrown. The guard grinned as he prepared his strike. As the ripple neared the meat the guard heaved and launched his spear toward the ripple in the moat.

An explosion of water erupted upwards as the spear spiraled on its deadly path. A flurry of motion, brackish water, and slime shot up into the air as a ghoulish form launched itself out of the depths of the moat. It happened instantaneously and the guards barely made out the shape of the form within the black water.

As the spear reached the water�s edge, the form twisted and a slender arm darted out grabbing the shaft. The spear was instantly pulled into the water as the form launched itself in the opposite direction, all the while snapping the rope back toward the lone guard. A coil of rope rippled back toward the guard who had thrown the spear. He was leaning over the wall still in the motion of his spear throw when the rope recoiled back and looped around his shoulder.

The ghoulish form disappeared beneath the surface as the rope began to be pulled quickly in the opposite direction.. The guard braced himself as he tried to free himself from the coil. All ready off balance from his throw, he teetered briefly and then snapped over the edge as he was pulled into the water.

The gray dwarf thrashed as he tried to move to the edge of the moat. Covered in slime and the foul sludge which made up the water, he screamed to the other guards for help. The rope instantly went slack and the other guards began to howl in frustration. A look of terror was etched on the guard�s face as he thrashed in the water. Suddenly he disappeared beneath the surface with an abrupt downward motion. The water stilled moments later and the slime moved in to cover the spot where he had disappeared.

The other guards looked down in horror as they moved away from the wall. Sounds of chewing bubbled up from the moat as the guards contemplated what had just happened.

The following day, General Grazkak ordered the moat be drained and the creature removed. Too intelligent to have it lurking and plotting near his home, Grazkak ordered pumps and by mid-day the water level began to lower in the brackish moat. For two days the pumps operated, spilling the sludge and foul water into the basin of an Underdark river. As the water receded, a foul smell of decayed flesh and fish drifted up through the city of duergar. The smell was overwhelming, and nausea soon followed as the gray dwarves began falling ill from the ripeness of the stench. Finally on the third day, the water was fully drained, leaving behind four feet of sludge, bones, and decomposing meat and plant. Of the creature there was no sign, and the guards surmised that it had escaped into the sewer vents along with the lampreys and squid.

It took several weeks to remove the decayed sludge from the bottom of the moat. The duergar concluded that the creature was now swimming the Underdark rivers and were pleased to have it gone from their abode.

CHAPTER THREE: Lake of Despair
The elven girl crouched at shore and smiled at her reflection in the mirrored surface of the lake. Kneeling on the polished stones she moved from side to side as she gathered up rocks, placing them in the basket at her side. She sung happily to herself as she played at the water�s edge. It was midday and the sun was bright in the cloudless sky. A tan colored cooshee hound padded over to her side and lapped up some water to sate its thirst. It wagged its tail in contentment as it looked towards the elven girl.

A slight ripple broke the surface of the lake causing the hound to cock its head to attention. The little girl wrinkled her nose as a putrid smell drifted out from the center of the lake. Rising to her feet, she covered her nose with the sleeve of her shirt. Both the girl and the hound watched with interest as a small wake formed and began to move toward them.

The cooshee�s hair bristled as it took up a protective stance in front of his mistress. Whispering an elven phrase, the girl calmed the hound and watched with curiosity at the approaching wake. Finally within a few feet the wake stopped, revealing a murky, darkened mass of seaweed and sludge. The little girl gasped as a slender humanoid arm slowly extended from the center of the seaweed. A beautiful silver stone in the middle of it�s webbed hand.

The hound growled and bared its teeth, causing the girl to flinch. She stood bravely, watching the stone being offered to her from the unknown creature. A long moment, passed as the girl stood frozen, watching the unmoving arm and the beautiful stone. The cooshee continued to growl, albeit quieter as it too waited.

After an agonizing moment, the girl took a hesitant step toward the outstretched hand. She slowly extended her hand toward the offered gift. Gingerly she moved closer, all the while the arm remained unmoving with its offering. Finally with a quick movement she darted her hand forward and grabbed the stone.

Instantly the webbed hand snapped around her wrist, ragged claws biting deep into the flesh of her forearm. The girl screamed but once and then was dragged under the lake�s surface.
The cooshee began to howl as the dark morass moved away from the shore toward the center of the lake. It shifted deeper and deeper into the depths until it was lost from sight. Tiny bubbles were soon all that were noticeable on the lake�s surface.

CHAPTER FOUR: Dark Tides
A monstrous frothing wave smashed into the hull of the crippled frigate. A crackle of lightning slivered across the dark night sky as the wind pounded and tossed the doomed ship. Rain pelted the crew who worked feverishly to saw through a broken mast which had fallen back upon the main deck. Forty foot waves made the job even more dangerous as the ship rocked back and forth in the currents.

Surveying the destruction of the ship, was the ship�s first mate, Galain Swiftflen. The captain of the crew had been lost to sea when the falling mast had taken him overboard, leaving Galain in charge of the crew. Realizing lives depended on him for decision he quickly assessed the situation. Galain screamed his frustration as the massive ship began to tip to one side.

Tethering himself to a life raft and with the aid of a small grapple began making his way to the stern end of the ship. One hand on his life vest, the other wielded the grapple hook, as he used it to claw his way along the rail of the ship. The waves and wind pelted against his body, and the trek was dangerous and tiring.

As he reached the aft part of the hull he located the emergency beacon and pulled it with both arms. A shrill whistle broke out over keen of the storm and the beacon blazed forth magical light. The crew looked up from various parts of the ship as the call to abandon ship rang out in the night air. They began to gather to the sides of the life rafts and soon commenced lowering them into the Aryth ocean below.

Galain watched as the last of the crew left the ship before lowering himself into a small raft. The thunder exploded through the sky as he began to row away from the sinking ship. He got no more than fifty yards from the wreck when a massive wave twisted the ship onto its side. It sunk quickly beneath the surface leaving the tiny life rafts in its wake.

Several hours passed as the remaining men gathered the rafts together with rope and barrels. The storm dissipated as quickly as it had struck, leaving a red sky and frothing surf behind. Battered and bloodied, the men huddled to the rafts as the currents carried them in a circular path.

As the day dragged on Galain counted the supplies that were saved and recorded them in his water-proof log. The morale of the men was poor as they realized they were days away from land and powerless to escape the currents. Deciding to record the events in case they perished at sea, Galain began to write the occurrence in his log book.


****************************************
The following journal was found floating in a empty water barrel in the Arkham harbor. It bore the marks of the Lady of Fate, Frigate Trade Ship of the Seantryn Empress.
****************************************
Day One: The men are worried and hungry. Keeping rations tight. Unable to catch fish, the bad luck seems to follow. Wounded are kept to middle of rafts. 21 men. 100 nautical miles north of Seantryn harbor. Weather is improving and we should be able to reach the Straits of North Sea if all is well.

Day Two: Night was cloudy, unable to locate stars for bearings. Morale good, though hungry. Unable to catch fish, though spotted a sea bird. 1 man died during the night from his previous wounds. Few black-tip sharks spotted, have two men with gaffs ready to try to capture one for food if they get close.

Day Three: Lost some rations in night. Men angry. Some fighting ensued. Still unable to capture fish. Half dozen sharks now, wont come close. Few men are sick. Bad smell of rotting fish follows the rafts.

Day Four: Lost a man in the night. Stench in the waves. Sharks are gathering in numbers, still wont come close. Hunger setting in now, water supplies low. Sky is still cloudy, no bearings yet. No signs of birds, or ships.

Day Five: Stench following us. More men getting sick. Vomit seems to be attracting more sharks. Water low. Lost another man in night.

Day Six: Sharks everywhere. Sickness with me now. Stench is here. Eyes playing tricks. Crew are scared. Three men lost in night.

Day Seven: Stench wont dissipate. More men lost in night. Something swims with the sharks. Humanoid. I am weak and tired.

****************************************

OVERVIEW:
Murderous spite and rage, fuels the devious mind of Mogrin. A disgusting creature of the Underdark, he hunts duergar over all other races. Intelligent, wicked, and deceitful, Mogrin preys on anything that he can consume and torture. Surviving in the Underdark rivers, has given him a cruel, cautious nature, necessary for survival. Surface dwellers he sees only as a means to an end, his goal being to gain mastery of the depths. His greatest pleasure is taking the life from living beings, to feel their suffering as they expire.

His dark gift lies in magical art of shapeshifting. He mimics creatures found in the ocean depths but has also been known to follow the movements of seabirds as they move from various bodies of water. As he continues to grow in power he has expanded his reach outwards into deeper sources of water. The dark abysses of the oceans contain ancient untapped horror, and Mogrin is becoming an abomination in himself.

Hope is the worst of evils, for it prolongs the torment of man.

...did my email telling you this was the best role I ever read have anything to do with this post?

If I remember correctly, the pbf got a little fubar'd.

You da man with the writing skills son. Hope the child and life is good!

My name is Crulvane Von Caernslade. I am the last of my namesake. I am also a Dhamphir, Cursed of the Blood Call. My legacy is blood and my world is death. I wish to share my history with you, that you might understand what I have become.

The Blood Call was not always strong in my heart. I was born to human parents and my upbringing was one of nobility and privilege. My family owned the largest plantation near the manor of the Burgomaster. Generations of Von Caernslade�s had run the plantation and our resources were vast. Hundreds of slaves from across Thera worked the fields and afforded us the lifestyle which king�s would be jealous of. My father worked hard and was feared by his enemies.

Thirty years ago a sickness appeared within the ranks of the slaves. They began to grow weaker and disappearances began to become commonplace. Month after month, the slaves numbers dwindled until it came a time that my father�s efforts run the plantation finally failed. Rumors began to swirl about the land regarding our plantation. Some spoke of the curse of demons, and others of some god sent plague which worked feverishly to punish our family. Experts were baffled, and there were no clues to what was taking place. No clues until I stumbled upon the first of the burial sites.

I was with my sisters collecting snakes near the southern swamp when I found the first of the bones. An animal had dragged a human arm from out of a bog and it lay across the path, still partially submerged in the brackish water. We returned to the house and soon afterwards, my father had the bogs dredged. They found seventy five bodies.
Panic soon spread throughout the remaining slaves. They rallied and fled our lands, never to be seen again. Our family was alone.

Soon after the slaves left, my father began acting strange. He disappeared late at night and could be seen wandering the gardens under the moonlight. My mother never left the house but the pain upon her face was evident as my father�s actions became odder by the day. I had never seen my parents fight, but my father began to act darkly towards us all. Locking himself in his chambers during the day, he emerged at night with a terrible rage. Once vented, he resumed his nightly patrols of our properties. My mother was alone in her suffering.

As the violence escalated my mother began to hide us in the cellar each nightfall as my father woke. We could hear his screams up above as he shouted out dark curses. They always passed, and he resumed his nightly walks. My mother was growing weak with stress.

This continued for several agonizing weeks.

We remained locked in the cellar throughout the nights. No longer did my father shout with rage, but we could hear voices in our home. A dry whispering lingered down through the soil undecipherable to our ears. Cruel laughter usually followed. My father�s madness had manifested itself to greater levels.

One evening in particular, my life changed. I awoke in the cellar to find a monster amongst us. A porcelain skinned ghoul with eyes of red flame.

He held my mother to the ground with one cruel hand as he smiled at my siblings and me. We huddled in the corner of the cellar transfixed with fear. My mother gurgled lightly as his claws dug into her throat, drawing a faint ring of blood.

He was naked, and covered in a thin layer of dirt. We could see the hole from which he had crawled from. He must have tunneled down to us, planning this assault for weeks. A malevolent grin was etched on his face. He smelled like a carnal beast, a wet dog odor mingled with rotting meat.

His eyes flashed us a warning and he dipped his head down and began to feed upon my mother. He opened her throat with one slash of his fangs and began to drink deeply. Bright gouts of my mother�s blood began to pump from the sides of his mouth as he struggled to swallow every last bit of her lifeblood. As he continued to drain the life from my mother, his body began to swell and redden as it filled with blood. Tiny blue veins began to form on the surface of his skin, giving him an even more ghoulish appearance. My mother ceased moving.

My siblings scurried further into the corners of the cellar, realizing that he was now turning his attention back to us. I remained crouching in the corner, memorized by the actions of the abomination. He rose his head from his feeding and locked his eyes to mine. A tiny stream of blood dripped from the sides of his mouth as he grinned evilly in my direction.

Chaotic laughter drifted down from the cellar door and I recognized with horror it was my father up above. The creature looked upwards and barked out a strange sound. The lock on the cellar door crumbled and the cellar door exploded open from within. Moments later, my father�s head appeared in the opening. A crazed look of madness etched on his face.

As I turned my attention back to the creature, it began to change. A huge black bat streaked towards the cellar door. Upon silent night wings it disappeared out of the opening.

My father began to descend the cellar steps. A wood axe was clenched in his hands. I knew what was intended and dived into the hole from which the creature had entered. As I crawled through the dirt, I could hear the screams of my siblings and the wet sucking sounds of the axe exploding into their bodies.

(Here ends the first chapter)

Chapter Two: The Seduction of Shadows.

Worming my way through the damp earth I choked on dirt and tendrils of plant root. Clumps of tunnel crumbled down upon me as I dragged myself away from the carnage. My breathing was frantic and a claustrophobic fear filled my senses.

The tunnel narrowed as it arced its way upward. Many hours passed as I inched along using my fingers to pull myself through the ground. Insects and grubs crawled upon my skin, stinging my flesh with their probing bites. Panic overtook me as the lack of clean air began to dull my senses. In a frenzied last fit of energy I pulled myself into the light.

My body was exhausted and I spent a long time panting for breath in the deep brush surrounding the house. There was no noise from the manor and I suspected my father now slept. It was midmorning and despite the presence of the sun. I felt a darkness emanating from my home.

I knew I would not survive the long trek to the nearest settlement without supplies, and I also knew I could outrun my father should he stumble upon me, so I ventured quietly into the rear of the manor. The house was destroyed and dried blood splatter covered the floors and walls. Bits and pieces of flesh were spewed about the house. I recall retching in terror as I recognized this was all that remained of my family.

I am not sure what possessed me to proceed further into the insanity, but I moved in a dazed sense of shock and horror. I vaguely recall gathering supplies into a rucksack and then making my way toward the back door. As I moved to leave, a rasping cry called out from upstairs. It sounded like my mother and I remember running toward her cries, desperate for her protection.

Climbing the darkened staircase heading to my fathers chambers the cries intensified. It was my mother and she was sobbing in anguish.

The chamber door opened slowly as I neared. A chill wave of air drifted outwards from the darkness. My father had boarded up the windows and it took me a long while for my eyes to adjust.

My mother crouched in the middle of the room. She was naked and covered in blood. There was no sign of my father and the roomed reeked like a slaughter house. She rocked back and forth on the heels of her feet as moaned and cried to herself. I could see the wounds on her throat and along her arms where the creature had fed.

I rushed forward and my movement caused my mother to notice my presence. Her head flicked up and her eyes locked on mine in recognition. She gazed at me through blood drenched strands of hair which hung over her face.

She cocked her head slightly and rose to her feet. Without saying a word she opened her arms and smiled. A semblance of relief passed through me as I realized she was going to survive the horrors of the previous evening. I remember embracing her. The feel of sticky blood upon her skin. Her hands on my back and head as she held me in the darkness.

She was cold, however, and continued to tremble as she caressed the top of my head. I looked up at last and noticed the sly grin forming in the corners of her mouth. Her eyes flashed a reddish hue as she held me closer.

Darkness.

(End of Chapter Two)

Chapter Three: ENTER THE NIGHT

I awoke to the smell of smoke and hoarse shouts of anger from outside the house. I felt terribly tired and my throat was tender. A trail of dried blood coated my neck. There was no sign of my mother.

I stumbled down the stairs and the smell of smoke intensified. The manor was burning. I coughed and walked in a feeble manner to the front door. A group of men holding torches shouted at me and motioned me closer. I remember them splashing a vial of water upon my face and then pulling me to safety after several moments. They continued to surround the exits and appeared to be guarding the escape routes from the growing inferno.

I recognized some of the men as former slaves that had worked on the plantation. They seemed more akin to wild beasts as they screamed and danced about my burning home. I sat in the darkness and watched the growing flames consume the manor. Flames leapt fifty feet into the air and the heat felt like the fires of hell.

It may have been my eyes playing tricks on me but for a brief moment I saw my mother writhing and flailing through an upper window.

As the fires began to recede the men dispersed. Some of them brought me to a wagon where I was tended to by an elderly woman. She seemed sad when she inspected my wounds, but she treated me with kindness and respect.

My last vision of my former home came as I looked back to the smoldering ruins. Not a single piece of timber remained. As the wagon began to move from the area, I continued to watch the wisps of smoke drift upwards to the heavens.

I am not certain of the exact nature of what befell me those fateful days. I believe that my mother was in the process of changing into something when she bit me. She had not fully become what was intended. I do know, however, that these events triggered the first symptoms of the bloodcall.

The next part of my story is far more sinister and is riddled with the horrors of my changing. The night was closing in on me and damnation was my soul. Upon silent wings of shadows I began my flight into the abyss.

(End of Chapter Three)

Hope is the worst of evils, for it prolongs the torment of man.

Won a few years ago, one run by Cyradia. Wood elf outlander bard, sphere fertility if I remember right. Prizes were some of the thief poisoning skills and a few outlander edges. All in all pretty fun, but I play too many mopey characters:


Fiene was born in the wilderness to a small tribe
of wood elves. From a very young age, she was quite
precocious, curious, and something of a rebel. She
wanted to try anything new, and, as she lived and
breathed nature, she found herself wanting to know
the secrets of the earth. Particularly, the workings
of plants fascinated her. With a bit of experiment
and a smattering of knowledge gleaned from other, older
wood elf women, Fiene became an herbalist. She learned
herbal remedies, poisons, medications, and even a few
more recreational things that can be mixed up in the
wilds. As she grew and matured, she used her gift
mostly to help other women. She became a midwife,
travelling to use her remedies and gifts to help women
through their birthing process.

One day, her village brought a man before her that they
had found wandering in the forest near Galadon. His wife
was having their first baby, and the birthing was not
going well. He was desperate for some assistance, and had
heard of Fiene’s reputation. Though quite young, she was
exceptionally talented. She agreed to help him, and he
immediately set off with her to Galadon.

Now, Fiene had never been to any of the large cities
before. She was excited to go to this birthing, looking
forward to seeing what Galadon would be like. She had
heard stories told, each one more fantastic than the last.

Fiene helped the mother birth a baby boy, and with her
remedies both survived intact and healthy. Fiene stepped
outside their small house, washing the blood and birthing
fluids from her arms, and she saw a young captain of the
town’s guard patrolling the street. He was half-elven,
young and proud and quite attractive. Fiene herself was
a rare beauty among wood elves, and she gave the man a
shy smile as he came past. He took one look at the trim
wood elf, with her long, russet hair and wide eyes and
asked her if she would like to go with him for a cup of
Galadon’s finest cinnamon flavored coffee. Also a new
experience to Fiene, she agreed.

The two talked for hours at the back of the small shop,
hidden away from most of the city. They had an instant
connection, and Fiene, who had never given herself over
to idyllic romance before, found herself captivated by
the young Tribunal. He was passionate about his job
and a rather ambitious man. He confessed to her his
desires and ambitions to become Provost one day. Fiene
herself knew extremely little about the law or the
Tribunal, but she thought that sounded like a wonderful
idea. The Captain asked if he could meet her again,
and so they began to date, in a manner. Quiet little
rendezvous in the backs of inns and shops, or she would
meet him at his small apartment in Galadon for their
trysts. Fiene very quickly fell hard for him, as deep
and true and pure as only first love can be.

One day, the Captain was escorting her out of the
City during the light hours of dawn. As they walked
down the city streets, they both saw a homeless man
run into the baker’s shop and steal a small loaf of
bread. The Captain immediately attacked the thief,
pinning him down and arresting him for his crime.
He apologized to Fiene, but insisted that they take
the man to the Tribunal’s office for justice. Fiene
was mystified. The man was hungry and he didn’t have
anything to pay for the food with or any skills to
trade for it. But he was still hungry, and men should
not be denied food. She attempted to convince the
Captain to let him go as they walked. The Captain,
however, would not be dissuaded. She followed, curious
to see what would happen to the man. She could hear
the man’s stomach rumble, and as they reached the
Tribunal office, Fiene took some of her own food from
her pack and gave it to the man. In sight of all of
those in the Tribunal office, she was immediately marked
as a criminal for aiding another criminal. All men in
the Tribunal office, they handled her roughly: just
another wood elf insurgent they had to deal with.

Fiene turned to her Captain in shock, pleading that
he explain the misunderstanding, but the Captain was,
at heart, not a nice man, and his ambition quite overcame
his affection for the young wood elf. Truth be told,
he had only been acting like he loved her in order to
sleep with her. He pretended he did not know her,
saying that she had followed them and had, indeed,
obstructed justice with her actions. Fiene was shocked
into a heartbroken silence at this and her beloved
Captain turned on his heel and walked out the door.

The men in the office laughed at her dirty, rough
spun dress and leathers. They dumped out and
confiscated her sewn doeskin pack of cures and food.
Bored on duty, they began pulling at her hair, her
clothes, each one laughing and trying to think of a
proper ‘punishment’ for her. They passed her,
terrified, from one to the next, each one taking the
opportunity to grab, fondle and abuse her. She
screamed for help but those who heard pretended they
hadn’t, and she was left helpless. They beat her and
each raped her, and mocked her kindness for a worthless
homeless man, asking her if she liked her punishment
for it.

They dumped her bloody form outside the city, telling
her to only come back if he wanted another good time.
Bruised, shocked, heartbroken and bleeding, she crawled
as far from the city as she possibly could. She wanted
to die , but the thought of revenge burned within her.
However, she was merely an herbalist and a midwife. She
brought life into the world, she grew flowers and seed.
She had thought herself powerful in her knowledge and
abilities, but she had been shown only too brutally how
pitiful she truly was in the face of an enemy.

After crawling to the nearest river, Fiene washed herself,
and found new clothing to wear. She attempted to go back to
her old life, travelling, trading for cures and midwiving,
but life no longer held her interest and love. Shortly
after, she found out that she was pregnant. The Captain’s
child or one of the men who had raped her, she did not know.
After that she spent many hours contemplating the darker
side of herbology – the droughts of hemlock extract, vials
of powdered arsenic, venomous saps and putrid molds. She
thought long and hard about the various herbal remedies she
knew of to rid a woman from an unwanted child. In her broken
misery, she also contemplated all the ways she knew to end a
life with the toxins of nature. She mixed up the proper
draught to rid herself of the child and stopped before putting
it to her lips, staring into its misty green depths.
“Revenge…” she thought. Killing this child was no revenge.
Killing those who had done this to her…that was revenge.
She began mixing more and more toxins, using every trick
she knew to make them odorless and tasteless.

She took her stash of toxin and crept into the Galadon
coffee shop late one night, dressed in black and shadow.
She poisoned all of the coffee they had, and all their
cinnamon, knowing it was her Captain’s favorite drink,
a place he stopped several times a day. Reason suggested
to her that the other officers within the Tribunal would
also frequent it.

The Captain and his officers did, indeed, stop at the
coffee shop. They did drink the poisoned coffee and they
did die. So did everyone else who stopped at the shop
that day. Fiene never found out, for she had long left
the city, returning to her tribe where she planned to
have her baby.

Vengeance satisfied, Fiene was still broken by what
had happened to her. She knew in her state of mind that
she was entirely unfit to become a mother, and asked that
her tribe take her baby. They agreed, and promised to
raise her daughter as she had been raised, a wood elf,
even though her blood was tainted.

After the birth, Fiene slipped away from the tribe,
unable to even look upon the child without thinking of
the horrid memories she had.

She returned to immerse herself in her experiments,
slowly convincing herself that she would find a cure
for her state of mind in nature, in plants and flowers,
toxins and cures. She mixed and experimented, and in
her reckless nature, she experimented on herself.
She mixed mind impacting herbs with each other,
trying them each time, and each time when she returned
to herself the old pain remained. It faded, though,
as her conscious grew weaker and weaker under the
affects of her drugs.

Finally, one day, she decided in her crazed mind that
she had finished it. An elixir that would rid her
of bad memories, fix her broken soul, allow her to
love again. Something that would allow her to hold
her baby and not see the faces of them who had raped
her. She drank it, and promptly passed out of quite
a large overdose.

Upon waking up, Fiene’s mind had truly been affected
by the hallucinogens she had taken. It seemed to her
that the very flowers and trees themselves where
speaking to her. They comforted her and advised her
that she had been selected to be their champion.
Their crusader, a voice for something that had none.
In her euphoric state, she was convinced. After all,
it was a mission that took her away from the pain.
It was a mission that even allowed her to prevent
others from being hurt the way she had been. To her,
it was redemption. Besides, obviously the Goddess
Amaranthe was speaking to her through these flowers.

And so she packed up her remedies and knowledges, and
left, seeking to be a voice for the flowers.

Your role is:
Added Fri Nov 15 20:42:06 2002 at level 1:
The child of two adventurers, Punblinpotrublix inherited the combination of
both of his parents' wanderlust. His father, Loriwum, was an amateur thief
for a while. After giving up a short life adventuring, he ended up as a
regular patron in a local bar. It is said that late in the night, after many
drinks, he can be heard retelling the same tale. It involves an ancient
dragon, treasure, and his inspiring battle cry that shook the fright from his
companions so they could flee. Just as everyone was running away, he gives a
dramatic account of how he deftly severed a scale off of the beast, and
slipped out with the souvenir. Rumors run contrary. Instead, it is said that
he had drunkenly stumbled in behind the others, and was last to see the
dragon. As soon as he did, they say he squealed out in terror, wet his
pants, and was dragged out by the others. The only way they could get him to
stop crying was to give him an odd metal plate they had found, telling him it
was a dragon scale. Punblinpotrublix would like to think his father is
is telling the truth, but doesn't know.

Punblinpotrublix's mother, Mazidubra, was a novice wizard at a young age.
She had been forcefully thrust into that lifestyle by her parents, but ran
away from home when she was able. She didn't adventure for long. Seeking a
more stable and reliable environment, Punblinpotrublix's mother took as a
waitress at a bar, where she met Punblinpotrublix's father. It was love at
first sight.

Punblinpotrublix had intended to become a master chef. In fact, his complete
name is: Punblinpotrublixsonofloriwumandmazidubra... and so on, but he was called
Punblinpotrublix during his early years which simply meant: Beautiful Visions
of Food. Not the most graceful in the kitchen, but his passion, ferocity, and
creative imagination were unmatched. Unmatched until the day he decided to
try some of his mother's secret stash of herbs and spices in his own recipe
for stew ("Soupy Squashed Potatoes With Diced Carrots, Pickled Beets...." is
the beginning of its name). Punblinpotrublix isn't sure what happened
exactly after he started eating the stew. He vaguely remembers his sight
going fuzzy, and feeling like he was dreaming.

He's still waiting to wake up from that dream. He isn't sure where he is.
He had never been outside the city of Hillcrest, but somehow ended up roaming
the streets of Galadon, nearly blind. Even if he saw Hillcrest today, he
probably wouldn't recognize it. Punblinpotrublix has sworn he will cook no
more until he wakes up.

He met a helpful gnome in Galadon. The gnome suggested Punblinpotrublix put
his skill with daggers to some self-defense uses, and guided him to the
warrior's guild. The elder gnome (and in turn those of the warrior's guild)
began to call Punblinpotrublix by a shorter name, Punblinpo, that means:
Beautiful Blindness. After suggesting Punblinpo find a pair of thick glasses,
the kind gnome pointed Punblinpo toward the doors of the Academy and left.

Added Mon Nov 18 20:40:46 2002 at level 7:
"Can anyone help me acquire a pair of seeing glasses or spectacles?" cried
out Punblinpo. Amid the inquires about the questionable usefulness of
glasses, Punblinpo heard someone shouting from some distance: "I have a pair,
what is your offering or trade?" Rubbing his eyes and squinting as hard as
he could, poor Punblinpo couldn't make out much of what the warrior
guildmaster had given him. Punblinpo yelled back to the stranger, "Uh, I
have some maps, I think, can't see them too good, not sure what region they
detail.... this... this smells like an ordinary loaf of bread...", as he
fumbled around with his inventory. The stranger arrived unnoticed behind
Punblinpo. "Greetings" said the stranger's voice, the words slithering over
Punblinpo's shoulder. Unable to see, Punblinpo could only smile into the
unknown and offered everything he owned in exchange for the glasses. The
other chuckled at Punblinpo, the smell of pity and contempt filled the air.
"You can just have your glasses" the voice spat at Punblinpo. As Punblinpo
put the oversized green glasses on, the world became slightly more focused
for the first time in weeks. Punblinpo cheerfully thanked the stranger, now
seeing that it was a drow necromancer named Raynos. Punblinpo was still
unable to see much of anything beyond where he stood {no scanning, no looking
at exits outdoors, no using where}

Some time later, Punblinpo met a surveyor who had lost his lens
**SOMEWHERE**. Offering Punblinpo a reward for its return, Punblinpo
decided to see if he could help. Sure enough, he found it, and as he walked
back, Punblinpo held the lens up to his glasses and scanned the horizons for
the first time in months {scan}. He was also able to use the lens to peer
into the woods for nearby **CREATURES** {where NAME}, but the small vision still
hindered more general observations of the wood {still no looking at exits
outdoors, no using general where}. Punblinpo returned the surveyor's lens,
but later went back to the woods and discovered more lens for himself.

Added Thu Nov 21 22:47:51 2002 at level 25:
"Not really, it not for others to tell you..To be honest, must search your
own heart.." Some of the wisest words Punblinpo had ever heard, and they
were coming from a human?! Punblinpo had asked the man what meaning and
purpose lie within the world, beyond Punblinpo's short sights. What should
Punblinpo pursue now that his life as a master chef seemed hopeless? "Must
search your own heart." The words echoed in Punblinpo's head for days, and
he was unable to think of anything else. Then it struck him! Like a fire
giant's hammer coming out of the great beyond to crack him on the head,
Punblinpo had his answer: Perserve neutrality (which is innate in all gnomes
due to their great wisdom) and balance between the greater meanings and
purposes to which others dedicate themselves. It seemed to be the perfect
way for Punblinpo to truly follow his wise, gnomish heart and not the extreme
ideals set out by others. Not only that, but Punblinpo knew the Seekers of
Balance had a bond between warriors and mages. Maybe Punblinpo could find
someone to help be Punblinpo's eyes!

Punblinpo had long been curious about the religion of Eryndorial, even from
his time as a chef. At this point, it seemed the divine was calling
Punblinpo to begin to consider this religion more. It all seemed to make so
much sense to Punblinpo, and would be the perfect faith for his new path.

Added Thu Jan 9 19:42:59 2003 at level 44:
"Do you give your soul?" The jade dragon's question literally penetrated
Punblinpo's mind, to his very being. Swallowing hard, Punblinpo briefly
thought back to how he had come to this point. It began as little more than
an ideal, an aloof intellectual pursuit sparked by an insightful comment from
a stranger. An in-depth discussion with the old, wise gnome Kierning had
been fuel for that spark. This, together with Punblinpo's own observations
and understandings, had ignited into a strong belief that burned from within
Punblinpo's very core. Oh how far he had come from his days as a chef.
Punblinpo snapped back to the present. A serious look crossed Punblinpo's
usually playful face. "Yes."

Some time later, the warrior guildmaster, pleased with Punblinpo's fighting
experience, pulled him aside and began speaking of the Order of Macalla. The
guildmaster explained that Punblinpo's long years fighting without sight
would prove to be of great benefit if Punblinpo were to focus on a style
named Maelstrom of the Veils. Did it ever! Punblinpo put his non-sight
senses to use with extraordinary results! **LEGACY STUFF** even at a distance
without his glasses and surveyors lens! {where, where pk, scan, still no
looking directions outdoors} Punblinpo has grown used to his glasses, so he
continues to wear them anyway. He just keeps his eyes shut now to fully
focus on the Maelstrom of the Veils.

Added Tue Jan 14 23:48:04 2003 at level 50:
Again the warrior guildmaster spoke privately with Punblinpo, sensing that
there might be latent magical aptitude within Punblinpo and it would be
possible to evoke some of this with the proper training. Intrigued by what
was said, Punblinpo agreed to explore what is known in secret circles as
the Enigma of the Thirteen. Punblinpo ponders whether this aptitude comes
from his brewed concoction of stew, possibly inherented from his mother,
or from his time spent utilizing the bonds between mages and warriors within
the Rift. Deep within the underdark, Punblinpo agreed to a task by the
drow Master of War of helping him purge the city of gully dwarves. Although
Punblinpo was not excited about the savage and brutal layout of what was
to become a competition of sorts among the participates, he knew he could
not stand by and leave those of Battle to themselves to gain the favor of
such powerful teachers. So Punblinpo joined the task, and patiently waited
in a corner until he and another were the only two left surviving. He was
shown **QUEST REWARD** for his meager
efforts. Punblinpo has also noticed as he spends more time within the
Maelstrom of the Veil, he becomes more aware of his surroundings. {look at
exits outdoors, EXIT command, brief off if needed}



Hutto, the Sleepy Nitpicker

Birthed in Blood.

Goliath had planned the conception himself. The prostitute was not comely
by even human standards. She would not be missed. Taken in the dead of
night from the Whitethorn Brothel into the cellar of the dark, ruined
church below the inky stone of the Black Dragon Street. Ancient sigils
of conjuration, left over from a previous age, still emanating a sickly
green glow from the center of the floor. Rottings pews pushed to the
three unused walls leaving a charred and cracked altar upon a raised
dais uncluttered. Four chains placed in the floor bearing spiked manacles
were quickly clamped to the wrist and ankles of the unfortunate whore
causing excruciating pain, but it was nothing compared to what lay ahead
for her. Goliath himself consummated the desecration, the creation..
Abomination.

She was kept alive.. barely through gestation, given just enough to keep
her, but more importantly, the creature growing in her womb healthy and
growing. the time came and the young minotaur began it's emergence,
tearing and goring it's way through her womb and abdominal wall, eventually
ripping it's way through her abdomen. A dark human healer was commissioned
to keep the woman alive through the process, keeping her heart beating
through the horror befalling her. Finally as the minotaur emerged she was
skinned by her thighs and drained under the healer's hand, still alive, of
her warm life's blood. Her skin was stitched to hold her vital fluid. When
she was drained, she was finally allowed to die, screaming in agony. The
still warm blood was fed to the child who consumed it with gluttony.

The dark priest, along with Goliath stood at either end of the newborn.
Raising his voice to the night sky through the rifts of the old church
the priest called out, "Mother of the Night!" "Rapture of Blood!"
"Accept this child unto you that he may serve your desires as he claims
his birthright of power!" Red streaks of lightning pealed across the sky
as if in approval. His dark journey, upon a road awash with viscera, gore
and beauty in death began.

I dunno if I'm supposed to post this here since it's available in the PBFs but hey, it said role contest winners so here we are.

This was one of the only chars that I continually changed the description on - and I did that because so much detail of the desc was on stuff that would change as you age - facial smoothness, etc. Her demeanor also changed - she started out young and she had "youthful exuberance" but by the time I deleted her she was getting old and had become more grim and dour.

Desc:
An aging, yet beautiful human female stands here. Her face belies
a soul that has seen many battles. Mature and curvy, her body is
quite fit, though her gait makes apparent that she used to move with
much more grace than she currently does.
Her hair is cut in a plain fashion, with a ponytail that reaches
the middle of her back. All of the hair is grey, with splashes
of reddish leftovers from her younger days.

Her face is still quite beautiful, especially considering her age,
A firm jawline works its way down to a smooth chin, which serves
to support two full, lush lips.

Looking more closely, you see that her body is dressed in simple
but form-fitting clothing. Covering that, you can see:


Role
SHE'S A DRAGON!
Added Sun Jul 10 14:30:46 2005 at level 5:
Meagara is a dragon. Ok, she doesn't know that. She just thinks
she's a normal human, and she seeks to aid the Light and destroy
the Darkness. She's 100% certain that Shokai is the God that she
will seek for Empowerment. She dreams of smiting duergar and drow
each day, and zealously preaching to cloud giants and gnomes each
night.

What she doesn't realize is that she's become the next in a long
line of hosts to the soul of the Golden Dragon of Ofcol. He's
been attaching his essence to regular mortals for quite a while
now, ever since the Golden Citadel in Ofcol was burned.

The Golden Dragon was always a champion for Good in the world,
and so he always chooses men and women who walk in the Light...
but until this point he has not fused with any priests of any kind.

HIS plan is to seek out the Dragon God Drokalanatym. He can
possess the body of those he inhabits, without their knowledge, when
the mood strikes him. He intends to implore the Dragon God to empower
this young beauty, if for no other reason than to alleviate the boredom
of one of his dragon-kin.

Empowered
Added Tue Jul 26 23:38:14 2005 at level 13:
Meagara is ecstatic about the empowerment that Shokai has given her.
She greatly admires him and has heard tales of his deeds as a mortal.
She finds the thought of such a powerful being once being a mere mortal
hard to believe, but he does not stamp out the tale, so she decides that
however unlikely, it must be true.

The Golden Dragon inhabiting her, however, is not as delighted.
He is thankful that his host has been empowered, and certain that
her life will not bore him as much as it might have. However, he
considers being empowered by Shokai a bit...demeaning. He was
quite certain that the Dragon God Drokalanatym would provide the
empowerment, and for his host...a mere child...to attain success
where he found only failure - is disconcerting.

In addition, the Golden Dragon of Ofcol remembers watching the
mortal Shokai fight (and frequently fall to) many members of the
Shadow. As difficult as it is for Meagara to accept that Shokai
was once mortal, it may be even more tricky for the Golden Dragon
to forget the mortal and see Shokai as the powerful God of the Light.

Occasionally the Golden Dragon thinks of "the good old days" when
Gods like Galadriel, Twist, and Trouble watched over the Light.

Malebolge?
Added Fri Aug 5 19:35:40 2005 at level 20:
A bloodoathed fire giant asked Meagara to group today, and she replied that
she'd rather see him swimming in his own excrement in the Malebolge. Upon
uttering this insult, she found herself wondering what in Shokai's name
"Malebolge" is.

The Golden Dragon's influence has begun to slightly tinge the manner of the
young human woman. In times of battle, she becomes more grim, and her speech
reflects this.

This is the first time that Meagara herself has noticed any sort of change.
She is somewhat confused, but not truly worried. If anything, she assumes
that it is all a side effect of her bond with Shokai.

More evidence of the dragon
Added Mon Aug 8 23:29:35 2005 at level 23:
Meagara learned from her groupmates Ixullathan and Zueltas that she
had suddenly begin speaking quite loudly to them. Something about that
they aid this "Young Human" quite well and will surely be rewarded by
the Gods above.

She has no memory of speaking those words, and is a little embarrassed
about it.

Inducted into Maran
Added Mon Aug 15 23:28:25 2005 at level 30:
As Meagara spoke with Dorn, Marshall of the Maran, the Golden Dragon
made another appearance. He divulged more to Dorn than anyone (including
Meagara herself). Dorn then spoke with Meagara about herself, and a bit
about Dragons and losing spots of time.

Her answers seemed to satisfy Dorn, though he surely remains wary
of a Maran who may not be in complete control of her own actions.
Dorn ended up inducting Meagara as a Squire.

Failures
Added Thu Aug 18 22:08:12 2005 at level 31:
Meagara has suffered many failures this day...three times
managing to snatch defeat from the jaws of Victory.

She has pledged via prayer to Shokai that she will not allow
the failures to daunt her, and presses on.

The Golden Dragon, however, is not amused. He has grown silent
within her, not venturing his Voice outward.

Chain Famish
Added Sun Aug 21 01:25:24 2005 at level 35:
Meagara had another encounter with the Voice today. Her groupmate Mylinos
told her about how she was saying things. She has no memory of that.
Meanwhile, while she meditated in Shokai's shrine, the Golden Dragon called out again
to Drokalanatym, and was answered.
Meagara now has a new skill that she doesn't understand. Mylinos has
assured her that this is Shokai granting her a boon because he is
proud of her progress. She is not so sure.

Joining the Brigade
Added Sat Aug 27 21:21:25 2005 at level 42:
When Aarn saw fit to make Meagara a member of the Brigade,
the Golden Dragon finally decided his choice in this mortal
was the right one. He knows now that he will see many battles,
and (he hopes) many dark souls laid to rest.

Meagara goes on fairly unwitting about the Golden Dragon's involvement
in her life, though she begins to suspect. When the Dragon speaks
through her, often times those around her ask her what she was
talking about. She is as confused (or more) than they are, but
puts it behind her as no harm seems to come from these...outbursts.

Face to face with Shokai
Added Wed Aug 31 00:02:45 2005 at level 43:
Meagara was granted an audience with Shokai and was elated.
She had many questions, but before she could ask them, the Golden Dragon asserted itself
and requested that Shokai not reveal its presence yet. Shokai acceded.

Meagara has never felt more in tune with her God. As the Golden Dragon told Shokai, she is nearing
readiness to know the truth. As her strength and faith grows to new heights, so will her understanding
of her unique situation.

She knows...mostly.
Added Fri Sep 2 23:07:58 2005 at level 47:
Meagara is close now. Various conversations have given her clues
to what is going on:
An old being who knows little or nothing of conjurers.
A creature of the Light.
A creature that speaks of a Golden Citadel, and ancient Knights.
A creature that speaks as if it is Drokalanatym or knows the Lurker or has been possessed by the Lurker.

The Golden Dragon, of course, is ready, and believes Meagara is ready.
The "trail of breadcrumbs" it has left has lead Meagara
to the truth. Now she will seek confirmation.

Confirmation
Added Mon Sep 5 18:52:51 2005 at level 51:
Meagara prayed to Shokai and was granted an audience. Shortly after the
meeting began, the Golden Dragon once again revealed itself and spoke with
the Skyborn, telling him that Meagara was ready to know the truth. The Dragon
and the God conversed for a short while, and then Meagara snapped back to herself.
Shokai told Meagara most everything, explaining it in ways that she could
understand. She learned a bit more about Shokai, and Honor, in the meeting.

Meagara understands now. But that is not the end. It is truly only the beginning.

The visits comprehended
Added Thu Sep 8 23:00:14 2005 at level 51:
Meagara has begun to understand the Golden Dragon's episodes of possession.
More than understand, she is becoming able to sense when they have happened,
and recently, even have a vague idea of what was said.

The Dragon, satisfied that her mind did not shatter with the knowledge, has
made less frequent showings, seemingly displaying himself at random times.

Often the times are when battles are not being fought, for he does not wish
to distract her, or her comrades.

Marshallhood
Added Sat Sep 17 02:47:10 2005 at level 51:
Aarn and Shokai have seen fit to make Meagara Marshall.
While she did not expect it, the Dragon had been expecting it
for a while. The Dragon, in fact, would have been
disappointed in Meagara if she had not been offered Marshallhood,
or if she had turned it down.

An Interview with a Dragon
Added Sat Sep 17 21:03:51 2005 at level 51:
Meagara and the Dragon have begun to converse, of a sort.
The Dragon will on occasion interrupt a conversation, and Meagara is able to hear
what is said. When she regains control, she will at times
address exactly what the Dragon said. Sometimes she is
irritated, sometimes in agreement.

On the Law and turning herself in
Added Fri Sep 23 23:43:00 2005 at level 51:
Meagara's reasons for breaking the law are obvious, when she does it.
She seeks the Destruction of the darkfriend she attacks.

Not so clear, however, are her reasons for NOT attacking, at times.
Meagara seeks to change the Laws of Thera...to prevent the harbor of
darkfriends within the walls of the cities. She believes she cannot
come close to accomplishing this goal if she is not at least
seen somewhat as abiding by the laws...so she turns herself
in when necessary. It perplexes her mates within the Fortress,
but she cannot provide them an acceptable explanation.

After speaking with Dalteric and being counselled to speak with Seiichi,
Meagara has begun a (heated) discussion with her good friend the Provost.
Seiichi's cold demeanor with respect to the Light saddens Meagara, and
she prays for him to Shokai.

The Golden Dragon, meanwhile, is bored and wonders when she'll start
slaying darkfriends again.

Arguments
Added Wed Sep 28 21:25:44 2005 at level 51:
Meagara and the Dragon have had their first true argument.
While Meagara prayed in thanks to Shokai, the Golden Dragon
"commended" the Lurker Drokalanatym on his aid of "this mortal."
Meagara prayed a final prayer to Shokai, apologizing for the
"unorthodox prayers", and then spoke directly to the Golden
Dragon, telling him he had to stop that. To an outside observer,
(had there been any), the argument would have looked quite amusing,
and somewhat disturbing, a human woman appearing to speak softly
and then yell at herself.

The beginning of an ending?
Added Sat Oct 15 22:02:49 2005 at level 51:
Meagara had noticed that the Dragon began to speak less and less.
When she sought an audience with Shokai about it, the Dragon
explained that she had no real need of it's guidance any longer.

In addition, the Golden Dragon of Ofcol revealed that it now
wanted its spirit to become one of the Tara'bal. It asked for
any aid that Shokai or Meagara could offer.

Meagara, for her part, was very unnerved to hear that the Dragon
might want to leave her. She still does not see her own self-worth,
and sees her own successes as owing to the Golden Dragon's influence.
The Golden Dragon made it clear to her that she must realize her
own worth. Shokai concurred, and granted her some inner strength.

Shokai said he would take the matter of the Dragon's request into
consideration.

Alone, and dying.
Added Mon Oct 31 16:27:59 2005 at level 51:
The Golden Dragon of Ofcol has left her, and she finds no more
strength in her own body. She is glad that the Dragon has been
allowed entrance, and prays to Shokai that she, too, will enter the Azure
Fields.
She is not sad, for she has lived a good life in service of the Light.
Her friend Hrugald tried to keep her alive but in the end, there was
no stopping the weakness of her body.
Her only regret is leaving the Fortress, but she knows it is in
good hands.

Well. Got myself a 100 dollar laptop. At first, it was really painful being forced to be away from cf, now I'm not sure if I still have the "chops" to come back. With some RL stuff going on at the moment, I unfortunately feel my "unlimited interesting roles" producing organ has failed. I used to come up with 10 roles a day that I would like to play, sometimes based on my dreams. Now I can't think up any.

Anyway. Here is Gmuer's role. I really liked it, but at first was surprised when it won the role contest, because I thought it wasn't as good as some of my past ones that only got honorable mentions, or didn't place at all. Until I started playing it, and I probably had more fun playing this role than any I've ever played.


***I had many other role additions waiting to go in, but never got to go in, so I won't include those. And I am going to excise some personal information that I put in there, as an explanation to the immstaff on why I dissapeared for a month the first time, that's not pertinent to the role***


desc + Epicanthic folds drawn tight nearly completely hide the purplish hue of his
desc + eyes that sneaks out and seems to dart back and forth in a feaverish urgency.
desc + His round, flat face carries an otherwise open expression, if it could be
desc + said to carry any, which might be a stretch.
desc +
desc + His thick, sandy-brown hair, a full 4'9 from the ground, is shaved away from
desc + the lower part of his head, leaving a round helmet-like pate with a bottom
desc + parallel to the ground and even with his nearly non-existant eyebrows.
desc +
desc + Upon a closer look, it is not that his eyebrows are thin, it is more that
desc + their light blond color fades almost perfectly into his pale complexion.
desc +





********************ROLE********************

Role subject Read this first, quick personality summary.
role +
role + To quote from "Serenity":
role + ******************
role +
role + Operative: I'm sorry. If your quarry goes to ground,leave no ground to
role + go to. You should have taken my offer. Or did you think none of this was your
role + fault?
role +
role + Malcolm Reynolds: I don't murder children.
role +
role + Operative: I do. If I have to.
role +
role + Malcolm Reynolds: Why? Do you even know why they sent you?
role +
role + Operative: It's not my place to ask. I believe in something greater
role + than myself. A better world. A world without sin.
role +
role + Malcolm Reynolds: So me and mine gotta lay down and die... so you can
role + live in your better world?
role +
role + Operative: I'm not going to live there. There's no place for me
role + there...any more than there is for you. Malcolm... I'm a monster.What I do is
role + evil. I have no illusions about it, but it must be done.
role +
role + ******************
role +
role + Basically he hates evil. Despises having to do evil. But is convinced that
role + pure Order and Justice, without the defiling influence of the corruption and
role + whim that is rife in the Empire, will bring about perfect peace and harmony
role + to the whole world.
role +
role + He does what he does, because he himself thinks it would be a worse sin to
role + see the path to the better future for all creatures till the end of time, but
role + not do what is necessary to bring that world about because of a squeemish
role + stomach.
role +
role + He is fond of using this rationale, at least to himself, to justify
role + what he is doing and to convince himself that he is not really "evil" inside.
role +
role +
role + If the sacrifice of one lightwalker's pinky finger could bring about eternal
role + bliss for an infinite number of beings for all eternity, would it be worth
role + it?
role +
role + What about that Lightwalker's hand? Arm? Both legs? Life?.......soul?
role +
role + What about 10 Lightwalkers? 100? 1000?
role +
role + He is willing to be the one lightwalker to lose his soul for this goal.
role + Because the goal is worthy. But he also has no compunctions in making any
role + number of other law-breaking lightwalkers pay with their lives. Because it
role + will bring the greater good.
role +
role + He also has somewhat of a "short person" complex.
role +



role subject Read this second, outline of history Part one.
role +
role + This will give the basics instead of the 14 page version. This will just
role + attempt to touch on the parts that formed his beliefs and personality as it
role + exists now.
role +
role + Born in a far off, civilized, corrupt, evil society. Doesn't know where it
role + is now.
role +
role + Loved his Mother very much. Oedipal? not really, he was too young.
role +
role + His Father, hating the corruption and evil, faught against the government,
role + Robin Hood style, leaving his family for long periods of time.
role +
role + The Govt found out his father's identity, and came looking for him, but could
role + not find him. According to the Law, his family must pay. This started him
role + down the road of hating his Father.
role +
role + He and his mom were sentenced to 10 years. The first five they would be
role + Seperated. She was to work as a palace whore, he was to stay in the "hole".
role + After five years, they were moved to a "rehabilitation" camp where they
role + helped feed the Govt by growing crops. After their term, they would be
role + free.
role +



role subject Outline of history part two.
role +
role + During his time in the hole, he hated the unceasing, hateful, blinding, total
role + darkness. He yearned for the Light.
role +
role + His one comfort during this time, was a friend in the next cell, Dimity, a
role + young girl who was to be released from the hole to work the rehabilitation
role + farm a month before he was to be.
role +
role + They became fast friends, and fell madly in love as only young children can,
role + making long plans for the future when they were free.
role +
role + That last month in the hole without Dimity to talk to was torture, finally,
role + he was released, and taken to the rehab farm. Dimity was there to meet him.
role +
role + She was ugly as sin. Worse, if that is possible.
role +
role + But he had learned to try to be honorable, and nice, and he really did
role + remember how great a personality she had, so he resolved to "get used to"
role + her appearance.
role +
role + She placed a hand over her mouth, and he saw tears in her eyes, and thought
role + them to be tears of joy...before she started laughing. Of the Bust-a-gut,
role + painful to breathe variety of laugh.
role +



role subject Outline of history part three.
role +
role + She was laughing, because he is a Runt. Very short. In a society that values
role + physical prowess, it was looked down upon as almost on the level of a crime
role + to be so short and thin.
role +
role + The Ugly bitch rejected HIM! After he had resolved to be the gentleman and
role + suffer through having to look at her face! Anger. Rage. Rejection.
role + Depression. Finally a bottomless pit of sadness.
role +
role + This was the beginning of his eventual revelation, years later, that the
role + Darkness was an equalizer. Shine too much light on a group of people, and
role + what you see are differences. This one has too long a nose, that one is too
role + fat. This one too short. But in the Darkness. Everyone begins equally.
Role +
role + And equality is the beginning of Justice. And pure Justice, is the
role + beginning of bliss.
role +


role subject Outline of history part four.
role +
role + The next three years were hard. All of the children, and even the guards,
role + would mock, and often beat, him.
role +
role + What kept him sane (if he can be said to be sane anymore, which might not
role + TECHNICALLY be true)was his Mother. She taught him of the law. And Justice.
role + How it was right that they pay for the crimes of his father, because
role + that was the Law. And without law, there would be only Anarchy.
role +
role + Sure, the govt was corrupt, but corrupt law is better than no law.
role +
role + She gave him unconditional, shining, love.
role +


role subject Outline of history part five.
role +
role + Time at the Rehab Farm was just becoming bearable, and in two short years,
role + he and his mother would be Free!
role +
role + Then his father returned. Found his family in a slave camp, and snuck inside.
role + He spoke at length about the evils of the govt. About how it was the job of
role + every lightwalker to stand against evil.
role +
role + How it was evil for his beloved wife and son to be slaves, just because he
role + was a "freedom fighter".
role +
role + He convinced his wife. They took their son, and tried to escape.
role +


role subject Outline of history part six.
role +
role + Rare is the night that he does not have nightmares linked to those three
role + hellish weeks on the run. Filled with conflicting emotions.
role +
role + Desperation to convince his parents they were doing wrong!
role + Frustration at them not listening to him.
role + Desire to return to the Farm, and finish his term and gain freedom.
role + Despair in knowing it was too late to do that, and that he was condemned to a
role + life on the Run, if he wanted to live.
role +
role + And growing anger and hatred of his Father, for even in his dreams, he knows,
role + loathes, and cowers from what always comes next.
role +

role subject Outline of history part seven.
role +
role + They were captured. Of course. His Mother was put to death as an escapee. His
role + Father rightly Impaled. He too, should have been put to death as an escapee.
role +
role + But one of the corrupt officials saw this small, lithe boy. And un-natural
role + desires took hold of his flesh. He was put upon a ship, to be sent to this
role + official's winter palace, and there to become a sex slave for the rest of
role + his life.
role +
role + (here is where he learns to hate corruption in the law, which is why he would
role + never knowingly join an organization as corrupt as the Empire).
role +
role + He spent winter and spring in an....icky...torture. At the end of spring, he
role + was shipped to the official's summer palace.
role +
role + A late spring storm blew them off course, for weeks it seems. Finally to be
role + ground into the coral reefs in a strange sea (turns out to be the western
role + aryth).
role +
role + By pure force of will, he survives the shipwreck, and makes his way towards
role + the signs of Civilization...and find himself in a massive city he had never
role + heard of before (seantryn modan).
role +


role subject Carefully Crafted Cowardice.
role +
role + For much of his life, he plans on carefully crafting a persona of complete
role + cowardice, at least as far as he can take it without it affecting his rise
role + through the mortal leadership.
role +
role + Why? A few reasons.
role +
role + His father, damn him, used to try to teach him tactics. There is a thing
role + called a "baited ambush". When you first make contact, you run away as fast
role + as you can, only to turn and strike in full force after your pursuing foe has
role + decided you will be easy meat.
role +
role + Such a tactical device can also be used strategically.
role +
role + In his time at the Farm, he used to play cards with his Mother. Games even
role + like Spades, and poker (when you are desperate, you can even play those as
role + two-player games).
role +
role + In spades, it is possible to bid low, to make the other side bid high, then
role + you come out strong, and make them not hit their mark.
role +
role + In Poker, if you play very tight, and always check and fold, it opens up your
role + opponents to believe you when you bluff and bid alot of money.
role +
role + As such, he intends in his early life to try to make very sure that his
role + enemies see him as a non-entity, a coward who will run at the first sign of
role + trouble.
role +
role + This way, when the time comes and he comes into power, his enemies will fall
role + before him like straw, never knowing what hit them.
role +


role subject First years in Seantryn Modan
role +
role + He lived as a street urchin, never stealing but lowering himself to egging
role + to survive. Slowly, he learned of the world, and the ways of Thera.
role +
role + When he was old enough, he applied and was admitted to the paladin guild in
role + the City.
role +
role + After the first week, it was clear that very few paladin trainees ever had
role + the zeal and determination to work hard to make the world better.
role +
role + Unfortunately, this was not to last. In the fifth week of training, he got
role + into an...argument might be too light a term...with the guildmaster.
role +
role + It centered around where the "line" should be drawn. What tactics should
role + or should not be taken, in defense of the weak and innocent.
role +
role + It was Gmuer's decision that to save the life of the greatest number of
role + innocents, you must be as hard as your enemy, you must defeat him utterly.
role +
role + His attitude, and zeal, scared the Paladin guildmaster, and he was ejected.
role +
role + He was not back on the street for a full week before he was approached by
role + a shady figure.
role +
role + This figure talked long with Gmuer, about a guild in which nothing was
role + forbidden. A guild where the only limit on your strength and power and
role + influence on the world was you yourself, not some wrong-headed morality
role + that would force you to hold back from doing what needs to be done.
role +
role + Thus, the young Gmuer entered the Necromancer's guild, on the promise that
role + he may one day gain the strength to bring order, peace, and bliss to the
role + World.
role +


role subject Slave's name
role +
role + Gmuer is not above buying slaves to help him. Infact, he enjoys doing such
role + and will do so whenever possible.
role +
role + Partly, it gives him a chance to force evil creatures who are slaves to work
role + with him towards bringing endless bliss to Thera.
role +
role + Mostly, he likes to buy the biggest, ugliest ones he can find, so he can
role + tell them that their name is "Dimity".
role +
role + Just some small, ongoing revenge against that young girl from his time in the
role + Hole and the Farm.
role +


role subject Some clarification re:personality and alignment
role +
role + In Gmuer's own mind, he is a lightwalker who is just willing to do evil
role + things, and lose his soul, to bring about paradise for the whole world.
role +
role + In reality, such a decision has changed him to be truly evil, despite what
role + he thinks of himself.
role +
role + It would probably devastate him if his conscious mind ever became aware, but
role + he has started to really like the pain he inflicts on others, especially
role + the innocents that "get in his way". Even though he could never admit this
role + to himself.
role +
role + Also, he likes to think of himself as quite "even keel'ed" never getting
role + too upset. He tries very hard to not speak ill of others or use profanity,
role + as in his mind a true lightwalker wouldn't.
role +
role + But, there are times when he explodes in rages. And as he grows older, it
role + seems these times when anger grabs hold of his mind grow harder to hold off.
role +


Role subject rp reason behind absense part 1
role +
role + Gmuer has had a crisis of faith, and come out on the other side wiser,
role + sadder, stronger, and with a better understanding of the True meaning of
role + Justice.
role +
role + In his early life, he had largely convinced himself that much of his vast
role + reserve of inner strength sprang mostly form his ability to emotionally
role + distant himself from the necessities of life, and victory in building a
role + better world.
role +
role + Rage, anger, fear, depression, even joy, happiness and humor, he thought were
role + completely foreign to his nature.
role +
role + Indeed, he took great pride in his calculating world-view. He was about
role + bringing Justice, not about emotionally tangling in the world.
role +
role + But then, he started down the road of the True Religion, the Religion of
role + Justice.
role +
role + He was reborn, and in his rebirth, his father gave him what he thought at
role + first was a curse.
role +
role + For the first time in his life, an anger seethed within him in such force
role + that he could not ignore it, or say it wasn't there, even to himself.
role +
role + He thought of this as a weakness.
role +
role + But Gmuer is not stupid, of all the things that can be said of his corrupt
role + and secretly shriveled soul, stupidity is truthfully not one of them.
role +


Role Subject rp reason behind absense part 2
role +
role + He had begun his career as a Magistrate with many goals, amoung them the firm
role + desire to prove to his enemies (and even friends) that he was a coward, so
role + that in the future when he had the power he needed, surprise would be a
role + weapon he could wield to cut the hearts out of those who's deeds cried out
role + for Justice.
role +
role + But his Anger took a vote, and it was unanimous. No playing possum for Gmuer.
role +
role + It started out with him being assaulted by a Cow Village berserker. In a
role + protected city no less.
role +
role + Caution, and his plan, led him to retreat at first. But then, his anger took
role + hold, and he went out, hunted down, and alone brought this villager to
role + taste Justice.
role +
role + More than once since then, his anger has forced him to act in ways that could
role + not be seen in any way as cautious, but every time he has let his anger
role + get the better of him, Justice has won the day.
role +
role + So even though he feared this anger, he saw the signs and knew it not for a
role + curse from his Father, but a blessing.
role +
role + And after much introspection, he realized his Father had not given him this
role + blessing of anger, but merely revealed what was already within his heart.
role +
role + This disturbed Gmuer, and went against everything he had based his
role + understanding of Justice upon.
role +
role + So, he took a leave of absense from his work, and went travelling. He had
role + never had a normal life, and he knew that somehow the answer to his internal
role + debate stood in an understanding of what it meant to have a true life.
role +


Role subject Rp reason behind absense part 3
role +
role + At first, he visited many small villages, always invisible to the normal eye,
role + and watched. He watched people at their worst, and people at their best, he
role + watched funerals, and many hundreds of Weddings.
role +
role + **As a side note, having watched all of those weddings, he noticed something.
role + **Without exception, the grooms are nervous, and the brides are calm and
role + **serene...even glowing with joy. And he realized this probably would tell
role + **him something about who really ran the world, if he took the time to
role + **ponder it.
role +
role + After seeing the Joyful part of life, he needed to see the other side. He
role + re-visited all of the happy couples he had seen married, a month of so after
role + their nuptuals, and slew all of the women in their sleep.
role +
role + This was not (in his mind, as he told himself) something he relished. But,
role + He knew he had work to do back in Thera Proper as a Magistrate, and that he
role + could not do it without the understanding that seeing these small tragedies
role + in life play out.
role +
role + He watched the men carefully, but did not learn what he needed.
role +
role + Next, he moved to larger cities, and began to watch crime, and it's victims.
role +
role + It is here that he finally, at long last, began to understand.
role +
role + Anger...this is a natural emotion. It is a necessary emotion. Even the beasts
role + feel it. It springs from being wronged.
role +
role + More importantly, it serves to give strength to those who have been wronged,
role + to give them the strength to seek to right those wrongs.
role +
role + In the most primitive sense, anger is the foundation upon wich the mansions
role + of Justice are built. But it goes further than this.
role +
role + In beasts, anger, revenge, and Justice are all the same. But in the sentient
role + mind. In beings with souls, it goes much deeper.
role +
role + Out of anger comes revenge. This is the basic formula. But in the Sentient,
role + Revenge can transform itself. It can ascend to a higher plane of existance
role + and transfigure into something truly divine. It becomes Justice, if done
role + correctly.
role +


role subject rp reason behind absense part 4.
role +
role + *explaining role contest rewards*
role +
role + In his travels, he had gone far, and now that he was ready to return, he
role + had far to return.
role +
role + He had many trevails on his journey, as if the forces of chaos and injustice
role + wished to prevent it.
role +
role + During these trevails, he noticed two things.
role +
role + With his acceptance of his own inner Anger, the acceptance of which was his
role + most prized gift from his Father, he found new strength.
role +
role + He found that by tapping into his own anger when cursing the souls of the
role + soon to be condemned, he could bring up a well of hurt and anger nearly
role + bordering on rage from the first instant of dejection by the ugly whore
role + named Dimity. He found this anger channel into his curses and fly towards
role + the condemned with a power that astounded and came near to frightening him
role + the first time he experienced it.
role +
role + Also, with his acceptance of this new well of strength within him, he finally
role + had the strength to accept his short stature. Even though remnants of the
role + culture of his youth where shortness was near to a crime still remain, with
role + his acceptance of his own stature, he has found it easier to fight those
role + stupid hulking brutes who take such pride in their own gargantuan size.
role +
role + Such people, he has realized, have such a deeply ingrained sense of how
role + wonderful it is to be large, that they can not conceive of anyone thinking
role + of any real ADVANTAGE of being small.
role +
role + And so, because they can not conceive of any advantage, and believe in their
role + deepest, worm-eaten hearts that no one else can either, that someone who
role + CAN find advantage in short stature can have an enormous advantage in
role + combatting these lugs.
role +
role + And so he returns to Thera, the burning, all-consuming light of the Magma
role + of his rebirth shining through him and newly forging him into a weapon for
role + Justice.
role +

Many are available from PBF threads once you look up the winners' names, but it might be nice to have a few directly posted. So if you've won something, and the character isn't active, please post a copy here!

valguarnera@carrionfields.com

Flumpelrog and the Lost Gnome

- Flicknepplican Sart was depressed, again. The cold, wet drizzle that dripped continuously down onto his bulbous nose did little to brighten his demeanor. Glaring around himself at the dark and dreary landscape around this muddy crossroads, he cursed the gods of magic for the umpteenth time that morning. He was lost, again. The mud that was caked on his wet pants felt like bricks around his ankles yet he knew he must trudge onward.
A loud and frustrated bellow of anger shattered the silence of the once calm area, seeming to echo from miles to the west. ‘’East,’’ Flicknepplican said, ‘’east looks right.’’ He then walked with a renewed fear born vigor towards the east from the crossroads he had stopped at.

- Flumpelrog was angry, infuriated even. Letting out a savage bellow of rage that could be heard for miles, he swung his massive axe at the cursed road sign. The splinters flying away from the shattered marker did little to satisfy the burning fury he still felt, they never did. If he was keeping count, that is, if he could count, he would know that that was the nineteenth road marker he had shattered in the last three hundred miles of his journey. He knew where he was going, he just didn’t know how to get there; Flumpelrog couldn’t read road signs. He let out a loud sigh, and continued to walk east.

- Flicknepplican sat down in the shadow of a large boulder. The sun had come out, turning the cold dreariness into an oppressively dank and humid foulness. After reaching yet another intersection of roads he swore at his family, cursing everyone in his ‘’gifted bloodline.’’ Being born with no magical abilities in his family of powerful mages meant that he may as well have not been born at all. It wasn’t his fault that they had tried to boost his mana channeling powers in the womb in an effort to make him even more powerful a mage then his predecessors and failed horribly, but that’s just what happened, and his birth and presense was a huge marking of failure to his family. As soon as was morally right and possible, they sent him on his way, educated in everything he would never be able to do, bitter, and lonely.

- The low rumble of the growl could be felt in the chests of all living things within a hundred foot radius. The sign stood tall and proud, speaking its own language to all the privileged masses that could understand it, unaware of its impending doom. Flumpelrog didn’t even make it to the sign, the boulder on the side of the road looked much more satisfying. Hefting his massive axe over his sweat beaded shaved head, he hurled the axe straight into the boulder, splitting it with a loud crack and a dull thud as the axe landed on the dirt that was once shadowed by the rock. Hocking up a massive amount of phlegm from deep within his chest, he launched a massive projectile out of his mouth to land right beside where his axe had come to rest deep in the earth.
Floating down to retrieve the axe Flumpelrog saw a most unusual sight. There a mere few inches beside his axe and protruding from his pile of steamy spit was a pair of tiny, wiggling shoes. Pinching the shoes gently between his massive fingers he lifted a gooey little person off the ground, a string of slimey spit following close behind the figure until it broke away a few meters off the ground. ‘’Wut yu?,’ Flumpelrog asked the gnome, ‘’Yu seen wizards roun here?’’

Flicknepplican slowly came out of his shock. After nearly being deafened by a rock blast, cleaved in half by the axe, and drowned in the most disgusting substance he had ever encountered, the only thing he could think of to say was naturally, yet unnaturally for any civil gnome was, ‘’Put. Me. The. ####. Down.’’ Flumpelrog, feeling slightly bad already for his temper, rushed to obey, tossing the little gnome back to the ground and saying ‘’Yuh okay.’’ The impact of the ground fractured Flicknepplican’s left ankle and his world finally caved in as he felt waves upon waves of the most desperate sadness and loneliness he had ever felt. He began to cry, softly at first, but increasingly louder from both pain and sadness. Through his tears and sniffles he felt a vibration forming in his chest that grew increasingly stronger. ‘’Huuuuuuuuuuuu, ahuuuuuuuuuu, ‘’Flumpelrog cried, ‘’Mmsorry for wut done to tiny mun!’’ Just then Flick felt a bucket of warm liquid slam onto his head and all around him, quickly bringing him out of his bout of despair. Knowing he had better gain control over this giants emotions before he was nearly drowned again, he yelled up at the sensitive brute that everything was okay. The massive giant looked down at the little gnome, and the gnome looked up at the hulking giant. Something seemed to pass between them on a level far above every day contact, and they began to talk, soon after setting up camp. Both knew somehow after that conversation that the other really needed them, and were content with each others company for that evening, and the evening after. Soon they realized that while from completely different backgrounds, they had a lot in common. What Flick lacked in stamina and strength, Flumple lacked in book smarts and counting. Together they found an alliance and brotherhood that lasted them for a long, long time; to this very day even.



Flumpelrog’s Quest

- Some would say that Flumpelrog is an unusual giant, and they would be correct. The heart that beat in his chest is larger then the gnome who sits upon a special stool on his shoulder. Flumpelrog has a lot of love for his village as well as his companion. He seeks to impress them with his mightiness and courage. Flumpelrog was raised in a village that inherently paid homage to Lord Ordasen for blessing them with courage and battle. Theirs was the way of warfare and bravery, and they start young. By their preadult life they are expected to slay ten mages in tribute to the battle god. For everyone knows that killing mages pleases the true gods because it is the gods power that mages steal for their magics. While Flumpelrog doesn’t like the killing aspect of life, he loves warfare and battles and fears displeasing his Lord. He always seeks to talk the greedy wizards out of stealing from his Lord, but so far their greed has been their downfall. When they steal from Flumpelrog’s Lord, he doesn’t mind butchering them.

Upon Flumpelrog’s last visit to his village with another mage skull for the skull shrine, the village shaman blessed Flumple with a toss of the bones and told him he was destined for great things, to go learn of the world and live as a true warrior of Ordasen, taking war to the village’s enemies with orders to never return to the village until wizards no longer took what wasn’t theirs to take.



Says the Giant to the Gnome

-“Was long time go since did meet on road brudder, much changing have done. Am mighty warrior now, Commander say only want strongest of warrior in him village. Flumpelrog much strong, live and die by axe, prove courage and strength to Ordasen and Commander, new brudders and sisters too. Is long, hard road head, full danger for gnome brudder if is stay with Flumpel. Flumpel need worry more bout wizard killing, not can be concerned much for brudder during battle. What want do?” Flumpelrog Sart (who took his brother’s last name after he was told it was more civil a thing then just being named Flumpelrog the giant) took a deep breath after finishing the uncharacteristically long sentences. Obviously he was very concerned.

-The small gnome sitting on the table across from Flumpelrog took a swig of his mug of ale before replying. “I know as always you are worried about my health and I do appreciate the gesture. You know as well as I do that I am quite capable of wielding the dagger I have been training with. If a full scale assault on the village comes, I will stand up and fight as all will. I have always been able to run and hide while you fight otherwise, this is nothing new. I will stay with you, there is much I can offer the village. I would like to teach the children the history of the village, possibly even how to read and write. I will continue to read to you, write for you, and count your coins so people will not cheat you. I will stay with you and guard your back, brother, and you need not worry about my safety. The mana pool is not meant for mortal dabblings, I am living proof. I will stay and contribute all I can to the village, with or without your approval.” The glaring gnome then pulled the dagger from it’s sheathe on his side. As the giant was shaking his massive head in disapproval while taking a swig from his massive stein, he heard a loud *thunk* and felt a splash of ale in his lap. Grunting to himself he put the stein back on the table and removed the dagger from it, handing it back to the angry gnome.

-“That be that then” said the giant to the gnome, ending the conversation.

Maagician’s Headache


This painting seems to be focused on the end of a long battle. A massive cloud giant is clearly the victor. The whiteness of his skin is brought out by the red blood that covers his muscled body and the fury is plain to see in his bloodshot eyes. A wide grin splits his face, showing a mouth filled with white teeth and giving him a slightly mad appearance. He wields a massive poleaxe that is in a fatal down-strike, already embedded into the left side of a robed human’s skull and swiftly falling downward. A fine mist of blood explodes from the head as a result of the cleave. An ear attached to a flap of skin is peeled to the left of the axe head, while to the right is a terror-stricken face, wide-eyed in a doomed stare at the massive giant. The arms of the wizard are flailing wildly, pointing in different directions. Glowing projectiles from the fingers on the wizard’s hand fly wildly into the air, some already exploding into the dirt on the ground. In the background you can see an air elemental and a holy archon bathed in white light as they hold each other with terrified expressions, fleeing in the air from the gory scene below. Giving the poleaxe a second look, another comedic aspect reveals itself. A small gnome is perched on the shaft of the massive axe. He is gripping the weapon with his legs and hands and his head is thrown back in laughter, obviously he is enjoying the wild ride. At the bottom of the painting in gold writing is a signature; Flicknepplican Sart.

In a fine black print at the bottom of the painting you read the words; ‘Warning: Using magic can be hazardous to your health.’


DESCRIPTION

Flumpelrog is quite a large giant, as far as giants go. Whether it is because he floats a few feet off the ground or that he is naturally seventeen feet tall, he looks like a very impressive and imposing figure. He has no hair and his bare head looks recently shaven, yet he has a white braided beard that hangs just to his massive chest. Bushy white eyebrows rest like clouds over large pale-blue eyes. His muscles are huge and thick and he looks as if he could easily hold his own in combat against any opponent. He carries himself with pride and his head hangs high in most situations. Upon his right shoulder a most peculiar sight is usually beheld; a little stool shaped device is fastened secularly with a tiny gnome perched on it.

The gnome can usually be seen either perched upon Flumpelrog’s shoulder or running around nearby. He is small even for a gnome, and wears normal, everyday leathers. A large bulbous nose protrudes from his face and large brown eyes peer wisely around himself. The tiny gnome is barely noticeable when resting on Flumpelrog’s shoulder and usually only speaks directly to him in his ear, sometimes receiving a chuckle from the giant, and sometimes a glare.

This was something I came up with to have some fun with. I wanted a character with a role that was 'off-beat' and didn't need anything or anyone to make it work. I had fun. Enjoy!

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Aputo Gemthumb
Svirfnebli Warrior
Sphere Earth
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Aputo's Family Trade
Added Sun Jun 19 12:49:46 2005 at level 21:
Aputo is a pretty simple guy. He's friendly to strangers, and like his beer...
a lot. He doesn't go around looking for trouble, but will try to defend
himself and his friends as needed. He's a bit slow upstairs and can be a bit
excitable at times, especially when he's on a roll, or drunk.

He was raised by a family of "Stone farmers" and grew up playing in their
gemfields. His father learned the art from his father who learned it from his
father and so on and so forth. Aputo loved the gemfields, and was on his way
to becoming a great stonefarmer himself. Since his family, The Gemthumb
Family, had been in the business for many generations, they had built up quite
a reputation for stonefarming, along with quite the collection of gemfields!
These babies would stretch for miles upon miles underground, were the heat
from Thera's belly would feed them like sunlight.

As fortune would have it though, the family had decided to construct a new
field, their biggest one yet! During construction (probably due to the
family's love of alcohol) the earth collasped on itself and buried every last
one of the Gemthumb family gemfields. It was then that Aputo decided to
venture to the Overside. He didn't want to wait around for the old fields to
be unearthed, so he gathered his things and made his way to the surface to
find his own fame and fortune.

Stonefarming Vocabulary
Added Mon Jun 27 10:09:29 2005 at level 26:
Stoneseeds- A small seed that grows a Rockplant.

Rockplant- A small plant grown by a Stoneseed, that wields small rock-spheres
as fruit.

Rock-sphere- Fruit of the Rockplant that holds a thick, metallic liquid inside
it's hard shell.

Gemfield- Massive fields created deep underground that produce large amounts
of Shellgems.

Shellgem- Fruit of gemfields. They have an incredibly hard outer shell that
not only conducts heat, but protects itself from outside influence.

How to: Stonefarming
Added Mon Jun 27 10:18:56 2005 at level 26:
First you take a Stoneseed. They are about an inch long, and rock-like. Dig
you a small hole a few inches deep and plant your seed. Everything in
Stonefarming is grown by heat, not sunlight. (Which until it's final form,
will kill any stage of Stonefarming in a matter of minutes, to hours,
depending on how far along you are) After four to six months, you have a fully
grown Rockplant.

The Rockplant is stony in appearance and color. They are about three feet tall
when fully grown and wield small, rock-like pods about the size of a fist.
These are the plants fruit, called Rock-sphere. Like the Rockplant itself,
Rock-spheres are stone-like in color and appearance. They have a tough outer
shell that houses a thick, metallic liquid inside. (Think of a thick, or
pudding-like version of Mercury)

While waiting for the Rockplants to grow, it's a good time to build your
gemfield. Once it's complete and the Rock-spheres are ready for harvest, you
empty their metallic juice' into a small bucket. To fertilize the gemfield,
you dip your thumb into the juice' and pop your thumb, upside down of course,
right into the earth. Place your other hand, like an assassin's tigerclaw,
around your thumb and hold the earth in place as you pull your thumb out of
the ground. This ensures the juice' stays in the dirt. Repeat this process
every foot or so in complete rows across the entire field. (This is where the
Gemthumb family gets it's name. Over time, the juice of the Rock-sphere
actually stains their thumbs it's metallic color.)

After one year, Shellgems have begun to pop-up all over the field. At this
stage they will be about six inches tall. After two years they will be roughly
a foot. They continue to grow until they are between four and six feet tall.
The Shellgems grow white, and without a shine. Once they reach a certain size,
they stop growing and begin to glow. Their outer shells conduct heat from
Thera's belly that activates the inner Gem, and gives the Shellgem it's color.
The inside will go from white to pink, purple, blue, green, or red, and so on.
(Only one color, not all of them) This lets you know what type of gem it will
become. The color and glow continue to grow inside until the entire Shellgem
is glowing brightly. At that point it is no longer a Shellgem but has matured
into it's final form, a pure Gem. Now it's ready to dig up and process.

Once fertilized, a Gemfield will continue to produce Shellgems for
generations. Over time though, it'll produce fewer and fewer with each
harvest, and will need to be re-fertilized every few centuries.

The Blood Tribunal
Added Sat Jul 9 10:05:33 2005 at level 37:
Aputo has always enjoy his time in the family fields. Stonefarming was his
life, and he was happy with that. But after the accident that put his family
out of business, he decided he wanted adventure in his life. As the rest of
the family stayed behind to unearth their buried gemfields, Aputo left home
for a journey to the Overside.

Slightly overwhelmed, it soon began to feel like home. He was glad to see the
taverns of the land, and taste the many beers they produced. He knew he
couldn't just spend all his time in a bar... What adventure would that bring
him? He began to hear stories of the Spire, of Magistrates and Outlaws. Aputo
decide that this was it. He had found the perfect job himself on the Overside,
and decided he would join The Blood Tribunal.

"Then hunger proved more powerful than grief." - Count Ugolino and the Tower of Hunger

Gnome Shifter, sphere Spirit. Was headed for Outlander, but things don't always work out.

On Lord High Metabolic Shapeshifter Rhaguel Grazant's recent disappearance...
Added Mon Jun 6 18:01:01 2005 at level 1:
"Well," sputtered Wiskengrael sadly,"this is what's left of the room."
They were stunned. A gathering of 4 of the most prestigious, most learned,
most brilliant gnomes looked at the large (by gnomish standards), opulently
furnished (by anybody's standards) room with expressions varying from quiet
shock, to disgust, to incomprehension on their small faces. Their esteemed
colleague, Rhaguel, had been exhibiting signs of disturbance lately, but he
had submitted to an interview and assessment by two prominent transmuters,
who had pronounced him, with some perplexity, more sane than any gnome they
had ever studied, which directly contradicted the scene they now surveyed:
furniture broken to matchsticks, humble (but finely woven, and terribly
expensive!) robes shredded to fluff and arranged in a common mammal-nest
formation, all the fine books, artworks, trinkets and precious knick-nacks
piled in the middle of the room, and defecated upon. On the wall to their
immediate right, was scrawled, in crazy, looping letters (very unlike the
famous shifter's decisive and careful penmanship) "He who makes himself a
beast, gets rid of the pain of being a gnome." They looked through the wreck,
salvaging a few tomes and devices not chewed upon (or worse), and slowly
filed out, shaking their heads. The invoker, last in line, took a final look
at the mayhem, and tried to understand-- what made him break? He had it
all...
He muttered the incantation (Rhaguel wasn't coming back to Hillcrest, that
much was obvious),and the flames began to devour the now-mysterious dwelling.
In the surrounding wilds, one pair of nostrils sniffed the caustic smoke, one
pair of bright eyes watched the blue-black plumes twist into the heavens...

A brief history of the short, happy life of Rhaguel (according to them, anway...)
Added Mon Jun 6 18:41:27 2005 at level 2:
He studied all his life, he could shift quickly and perfectly, he was an
expert on all manner of animal lore, he was gifted, he was brilliant. Rhaguel
was next in line after the aging (and mentally atrophying) Master Warritz to
be Master Shifter of the Gnomish Academy and Fellowship of Magi. He had
always wanted to be a shapeshifter, he had read all the histories of the
famed ones, even non-gnomish shifters, and learned of the possibilities for
depravity and corruption, or sentimental morality embraced by shifters of
other races.

His love was simple-- as a child, he had always ranged far and wide, to his
mother's unending worry, in the woods and wild lands, observing the animals
and insects in their natural habitat, in their natural play and hunt, the
primal struggle for survival. He disliked being small and weak, he never
fully appreciated his own considerable mental gifts, many said, and wanted to
possess the grace and power of the animals. And something else, too... they
didn't have to live in houses, or wear clothes, or be nice to stuffy old
guildmasters...

So he rose quickly in his guild, and the further he climbed, the more
disquiet grew within him. He would often abandon his studies prematurely to
go to the quiet places he had found in his youth, and meditate, just enjoying
the sun moving on his face, the wind in his ears, the buzzing of insects and
trills of birdsong. This was true wisdom, he thought, here is MY happiness.
So his studies lagged, he began to show infrequently to classes, if at all.
His appearance began to show less care (if by that, you mean walk about caked
in filth), and he would rave to his few close friends about the
spirit-crushing nature of the city, of academia's white tower, of endless
study and books...

Then one day, he lost it. He was a true beast. He threw off the shackles of
"civility" and bounded, free and radiant, into the wilds. He always was an
odd (but very lovable, they hastily added) gnome, his friends and family
reminisced at a memorial service they held. He had an uncommonly sharp mind,
seeing through people's unconscious intentions, to their heart of hearts,
slicing through fallacious and circumlocutious logic swiftly and surely. He
was noble, in a peculiar way, they agreed. His no-nonsense style and
realistic approach were refreshing in the classroom, his professors agreed.
If only we could have noticed and cured his illness before it warped his
mind...

Just Rhaguel.
Added Mon Jun 6 18:54:28 2005 at level 2:
So he ranged to and fro in the wilds, as he willed. Eating, killing,
sleeping, sunning himself, exploring as he wished. Eventually, he came to.
His gnomish personality returned, he began to recall dimly the details of his
life... only patches here and there. Not even his surname. He shrugged. Who
cares? He continued, delighting in fulfilling his senses with simple
visceral, but real and concrete, experience and pleasure. Mountain streams to
wade in, sunny meadows to bask in, other free creatures to study, to eat, to
accompany. He is growing lonely, as he knows many animals have societies and
packs... he doesn't want to go back to the grey shadows he was once enslaved
by... He has seen the destruction of the land, he has felt Thera's pain
through his shock at the alien, unearthly damages.

He is a very feral gnome, trying to rebuild his mastery of the magical
school of shapeshifting. As he ranges, lives, and fights, more and more of
his former training comes back to him as instinct, as intuition. His spirit
is finally free, unchained by the ridiculous traditions and restraints of his
former culture. He no longer views himself as a gnome... not really. He is
just himself, with no strings attached.

Background and Motivation
Added Sun Oct 8 15:15:05 2006 at level 6:

Not much to my background, really. I don't know where exactly I was born, or who my parents are. No one I asked knew either. All I really remember is growing up on the streets of Udgaard Loke's Farm.

Growing up wasn't easy. Unlike many, I had no one to take care of me. I suppose someone must've taken care of me when I was younger, for I don't see how I could've taken care of myself, but that time's a little fuzzy. Eventually, though, I was forced to take care of myself, which meant finding food, clothing, and shelter. The clothing and shelter weren't all that difficult. People liked to throw out old clothing for some reason, and the local Temple didn't mind my presence at all. Food, however, was a little more difficult. I couldn't really steal it; I'd seen what happened to thieves, and I knew I wasn't nearly good enough to get away with it, and no one really wanted to hire me, as there were too many others with actual skill. Begging worked decently enough, and every once in a while, I'd find some dead creature someone had killed and feast upon its remains. I especially learned to like their hearts and eyes. It just seemed so novel to eat such things, and the eyes tend to have the loveliest texture... that wasn't how I best managed to keep myself fed, though. No, my belly remained full because I learned how to trick others into feeding me.

It was a fun skill, really, deception, lying, trickery, and it gave me a sense of enjoyment in life that I never suspected I could find. It gave me a purpose, a goal, and my life finally had meaning. No longer was I confined to merely trying to exist, but there was something in life I actually enjoyed. I don't know why, but for some reason, I just love a constant change to things. I despise monotony, and deception and intrigue allow me opportunities for its banishment. I suppose this is also why I joined the guild of Shifters, as well; I love change. That, and the guild seems to offer a lot of useful skills and abilities. I suppose that's my purpose, though, deception, seeing what all I can get away with. I haven't really thought about it. Perhaps it will change one day, but for now, that's how I define myself. My purpose in life is to get away with as much as possible and have fun while doing so.


Early Manipulations
Added Fri Oct 13 17:02:44 2006 at level 15:

Being a Shapeshifter is a lot more difficult that I imagined. All I can say for certain is that I'm very weak without any forms. I've gotten in more fights I couldn't handle than I can count, and I've died to five of them. I have to learn to be more careful in the future.

I've met several people of many different races and professions. I like the Gnomes, most of all, though I met one, a fellow by the name of Nelzon, who is an insult to the race. Fortunately, I've convinced many Gnomes that I'm somewhat of an intellectual, that my whole goal in life is intellectual pursuit. This has allowed me to talk about this Nelzon fellow to them and be taken seriously. Perhaps I need to talk to more Elves, as well, have them think the same. Having people take me for a scholar could be very useful.

I've been managing to convince people that, whatever their beliefs, whatever path they follow, mine is a similar and compatible path. It's been quite simple, really, convincing the Dark that I'm Dark, the Light that I'm Light, and the in-between that I am as well. I've slain innocent children one day and donated money to an orphanage the next. People suspect nothing. Perhaps I will have to try more difficult manipulations, as these are so simple, it's almost boring. I'll have to ponder on this.

I've started to take an interest in religion. I'm not sure why, really, but it's something I know little about. It isn't wise to know so little about something. One God in particular strikes me as fitting, Lyristeon. The only problem is, I don't know how to follow such a powerful being. Would it be wise for me to try to contact Him? I should try to find His shrine, at the least. I haven't the slightest idea where to look, but if I can start convincing people that I'm on a quest to visit the various shrines, in order to learn more about the Gods, I might get lucky and hear some clues on its whereabouts. I'll have to ponder this more, but for now, I'm satisfied with the life I've thus far managed to lead.


Neutrality
Added Wed Oct 18 11:56:08 2006 at level 25:

Much I have learned, traveling with others. I've been finding companions of all sorts, from all backgrounds, and been talking, listening, and asking questions. I've explored much of this world, fought with many of its denizens, conversed with many more, and feel I'm beginning to understand some things that growing up on the streets didn't teach me.

For one thing, I've learned a lot of this world seems to center on the Path one follows in life, what lies in the hearts of people. Light, Dark, they seem to be constantly at war, or at least, certain factions of them do. The rest seem to just attempt to make ends meat and to justify whatever actions they take. Some find meaning in the Gods, others in knowledge, others still in greed or blood, and many simply strive for survival.

It is not for me to judge the actions of others, however, but I am curious about myself. From what I've seen, Light can be just as ignorant as Dark. I've questioned the actions of some that would call themselves Light, asking why they do some of the things they do. They rarely give a satisfactory answer. I ask why a particular beast needs slain or a person brought to justice, what harm that being brings to others, and the response is often along the lines that since they're Dark, or evil, they must be slain.

What is evil, though? Many would say that not caring about others is evil, but why? Why must a person care about others to not be considered evil? How many must one care about to be considered good? Perhaps had I not grown up on the streets of the Farm of Udgaard Loke, I would know this, but even my observations of the Golden Voralian City show me that there is poverty, greed, and callousness. The streets of Darsylon are better, but I've met more than one Elf who thinks that just because a person utilizes the art of magic, that that person deserves to be slain. It just doesn't make sense.

Do I think myself evil because I only care about myself? Of course not, but then, I am not the one who made the definition, now am I? I don't think myself evil, though. Sure, I can be pretty malicious, I play with people's emotions, I lie, I cheat, and I've shed the blood of innocents, but it's not like I take pleasure in bringing harm to others. Well, perhaps I take pleasure in tricking others into believing what I want them to, but my actions all stem from one sole source, Survival.

Yes, Survival, I am in a category of people, I am like others, a fish in the sea. How can I know anything else, though? All these things I do, they keep me alive. I try to keep those who are Light at arm's length just as much as I try to keep away those who are Dark. It's kind of funny I do this by bringing them all closer, but I suppose that ought to be pondered another time. Everything I do, though, all the playing with people's emotions, the shedding of blood, I do to survive. It's what I grew up with; it's all I know. Can a person really call me evil for wanting to exist?

It's not like I'm purely selfish, either, or don't care about others. I honestly do. I try to be generous when I can, and I try to do the right thing. I rarely succeed, but I try. Isn't that what counts? Is it my fault that I prefer life to good deeds? I don't think it is. All I know is that if a person thinks me good or evil, whether that truly is the case or not, I am far more likely to die, and just what kind of life am I supposed to live if I'm not alive to live it? Good, Evil, Balance, it all means nothing to me. No one side is any more correct than the other, and no one side will ever, truly, guide my path.



Love
Added Mon Oct 30 20:29:51 2006 at level 40:

A lot's changed, hasn't it? One moment, everything's normal, the next it isn't. That seems to be my life, though. That's always been my life, unpredictable. I never could have predicted this, though, never in my 96 years could I have imagined such a thing.

I've done a lot, lately, accomplished a lot. I've made Orcs think I'm their savior, their servant and their king, and convinced them that I'm much better alive than eaten. I've caused Imperials to think me some sort of Dark servant, someone who brings them valuable information or who is truly their friend. I've convinced the Tribunals I'm a law abiding citizen even though I care nothing for their silly laws, and I've convinced Outlanders that I despise the cities, though I spend nearly all my time within. Finally, there are the Scions. Oh how I love the Scions. I've made friends with at least two, or at least, I'm almost certain they believe that. First there's Seffar. I made contact with him early, agree to work for him, be his ally. In return, he offered me protection, and the occasional piece of equipment. Oh how I've used the former. I had a small misdealing with another of his employees, and was able to completely unman the person because of my contact. The second is Malic, the Vampire, a very dark creature indeed. I haven't yet done much with him, but I've set the wheels in motion. I think I'll have fun using him for everything he's worth. It promises to be amusing.

Yes, I've done much, accomplished more, and my entire life has been unpredictable, even to me, but this, this is just, ugh. What do I do with this? This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't supposed to be. I'm not supposed to actually -care- about someone. I'm not supposed to develop feelings.

I met someone, a woman, a human. Her name's Zaphoedine. She's pretty, lovely eyes, a look of determination, independence, defiance, and she moves with a grace unknown to most Elves. And oh, her legs, her beautiful, sexy legs, so powerful, so strong, I would love nothing more than to feel the security they offer. She can cling to the ceiling of a cave with them, I wonder.... Hmm, but I digress. I talked to her like I talk to all women I want to use, flirtatious, but subtle, and yet, when we started to actually talk, I felt something, something new. She spoke so eloquently, so intelligently, I just, couldn't help myself. She's like a large, attractive, female Gnome. I care about her. I actually care about her, and I'm finding myself doing things I wouldn't. I told her my past. I actually told her my past. I can't believe it, and I promised her I would do my best to not slay those who follow the so-called Light, and I meant it!

I promised that and I meant it! What the Hell is wrong with me?! I'm not like this. I don't let other people choose my path. This is my life. I'm in control. I don't tell people the truth. I've never told people the truth, not the complete truth, and yet, I can't bring myself to lie to her. I just don't get it. I don't know how to act; I don't know what to do. Everything's in turmoil. I just don't get it. I don't know who I am anymore. This is all so confusing. If my life wasn't chaotic before, it certainly is now. I hope this works out for the best. I need to think.



Intrigue, Planning, and the Heralds
Added Tue Nov 21 11:46:25 2006 at level 51:

A lot has happened since I last wrote. I really must update this journal more often, but I feel as though I never have the time. There's almost always something going on, something else I need to do. I meet one goal, which puts a new one on the horizon. I don't think there's need for complaint, obviously, as it lends itself to an interesting life, always changing, and never dull, but it does make it difficult to do everything that needs done.

I'm working on long term planning, now. I've pulled many successful coups, and it's so easy to manipulate others. Right now, I'm at least partially allied with multiple Scions, I'm completely immune to the Empire and most Imperials think me one of them, the Fortress thinks me weak, incompetent, and confused, which is precisely what I want them to think, several people in the Fortress think me their friend, more than one Outlander likes me, the Tribunal thinks I'm a model citizen, and a lot of orcs think I'm on their side and not the type of Half-Elf that needs eaten. The only real trouble I have is with those Lions of the Village, hypocrites, a lot of them, and fools, but they're only a minor nuisance, especially now that I'm a Herald.

Speaking of which, I'm finally a Herald. It feels wonderful. I was very surprised to be let in after one event. I thought I was going to have to spend a lifetime trying to prove my worth. But now, I'm able to plan events without a vile taste on my lips each time. I have a few in the works and am thinking up more. It takes a lot of my time, but I really don't mind. Not only does it help my manipulations, but I just plain love it. I'm glad Zaphie convinced me to join.

I'm a scribe to the Heralds. I should do well with it, though it's time consuming. I'm working on my first submission as I write this. It'll be the discussion on Truth and Morality, edited a bit and made more readable and enjoyable to read. I'd like to get it finished before I plan another event like that. I think I'll have the next one on Immortality, and the one after that on Life and Death, though that may change, I don't know. I don't know what else I might try to write. I can think of a few things, but with as busy as I am, I don't know if I'll get around to them. Maybe when I get a few more things done.

Which brings me back to my planning. I can easily manipulate others, but I'm not really accomplishing much. Right now, I'm trying to form as many "pets" as I can, build my relationship with them, until I can figure out how to use them. It's working quite well, but a couple of the ones I already had plans for have died. Riadhana would have been quite useful for helping me tear apart the Empire. It is unfortunate that her dealings with them was her demise. I hope to find a replacement, soon.

I've only had one successful coupe recently, unless I count the whole thing with the Empire and the Fortress. That was quite fun, and accomplished a lot, but it's still ongoing, and thus difficult to write about. No, the one to which I refer is the one involving Yasmeia and Malic. It was quite something, first getting Yasmeia interested in Malic, and then getting her interested in me. I felt like I was in such control the entire time. He tried to seduce her, bring her over to his side. I fed him information on her and her enough on him to make it seem plausible. Then I started playing with her feelings, telling her how evil he truly was, and telling her how much I cared about her and didn't want to lose her. I don't know if we would have succeeded without my intervention, but I know it certainly helped him fail. He tried to manipulate her; he failed, and then she came to adore me. It was beautiful. Of course, then she went to the sea for a while, to try to find more meaning, and I've since grown bored, though I may try something with her in the future. Only time will tell.

So that's where my life stands currently, I suppose. I'm manipulating others in hopes of finding a way to use them to achieve something greater, and I'm a Herald, something that should get me through the darker times in my life, when all I'm seeing is despair. I may not actually accomplish what I want in life, but I do know one thing. It was a damn good life, and I doubt I'll ever regret living it.


Note to Lyristeon
Added Wed Nov 29 14:14:18 2006 at level 51:

"Garnish, with Cherries on Top"

Lyristeon,

I've been thinking about what You said, as well as the three Tenants. You asked me if I thought I had garnered what I seek, or if I was just now realizing that I have a way to go. That is a tricky question to answer, but I shall try my best.

Now, I have left some gaping maws, several, in fact, I would argue. Those I can and am willing to give examples of. If that's all there is to the earning, though, I would say that yes, I definitely have garnered what I seek, but I'm not sure that's all there is to it. The real question is whether it has been enough of my focus, which I'm not so certain about. Now, there are many times when chaos is my goal, and I use deception and wisdom to achieve it. I like to have fun, and to be quite honest, causing chaos, surprising people, and toying with their emotions is very fun to me. A lot of times, though, I'm trying to strive for something more, for a few reasons.

One reason is because it's useful to me. It's useful to me to have almost everyone in the world trust me, even though I'm lying to all of them. It's useful to me that the leaders of every cabal call upon me for help. I have a lot of power, a lot more than anyone realizes, and it amuses me quite thoroughly.

Another reason is because I'm trying to accomplish something larger. I'm trying to breed friendships and trust in order to use people to create some real chaos. Now, I'll admit, due to a lot of untimely deaths, this isn't getting nearly as far as I've wanted, but it doesn't mean I've accomplished nothing. Currently, I'm breeding a lot of distrust in the Empire and causing a schism to form. Given a few more years, I think I'll start to see some really positive changes take place within. The fun part is, I'm doing it just because I can. I've been thinking along these lines for a really long time, though I'm getting old and don't know how to increase my life expectancy, so I may have to be content with the Empire.

The final reason is a bit silly, I admit. I've been wanting to get into Your religion, perhaps even become one of Your representatives, tattooed, as it were, especially now that I'm old, but I believe I've misunderstood it. One of the reasons I was trying to do some of these serious things, beyond my own amusement, is because the smaller, though quite fun, chaotic accomplishments of mine just haven't felt worthy of Your attentions. True, I've left people with their maws agape, but I didn't think that'd amuse You, only me. As I said, that was a foolish mistake, but one I will admit.

So, with that in mind, let me try to answer Your question. I have caused maws to gape, and I have used deception to do so. I have used wisdom in that, although I have spread chaos and confusion, toyed with emotions, lied, did exactly what I said I wouldn't and been caught, and caught people off guard with actions they would never expect, the people I've affected still don't know who I am, what I do, or why. Almost all of them trust me still, even though I've done things that should break that trust, and not because they're overly stupid or trusting, but because I've been able to talk my way out of it. I delight in that. I've also used wisdom in that I'm almost never caught, when I do something like this, but that's a different sort, I would say. So, I have spread chaos using deception and wisdom. I have played with people's emotions and left the gaping maw. Has it been my entire life? No, it hasn't. I've also spent a good time learning, exploring, conversing, and having fun in other ways, and I've also spent a good deal earning trust from a lot of people of a lot of different organizations, races, and guilds. It's certainly been a significant part of my life, though. It's something I do on occasion, something I enjoy.

So, to answer Your question, finally, perhaps I have not yet garnered what I seek, due to my misunderstanding, but I certainly don't have a ways to go. If all You seek is that the gaping maw be left using deception and wisdom, I have done that before, and I will do it again. I am willing to drop this whole pure deception thing in favor of deception spread with chaos. I'm old, and that would amuse me to no end. I'm at the point where I don't care what others think about me, and thus have no problem with mischief. Power, after all, isn't really something I care about. I care about fun, enjoyment. I care about change and uncertainty. Your path has them all, and that's why I seek it. I misunderstood Your tenants, but I believe I understand now, and I would make a fine addition to Your religion. Just watch and see.

Tiatan, Master of Fluctuation, Scribe to the Heralds



Tsyda
Added Fri Dec 1 12:31:44 2006 at level 51:

I am a fool. I have lost the thing I most desire. I lost it when I only just realized. How could I let this happen? How could I let my life fall apart like this? Am I so worried about others and about the things that have no meaning that I've lost sight of the things I do? Reality is subjective, sure. No one disproves that, but that doesn't mean I should live like nothing matters. It matters to me. And now I've realized what I've always wanted, what I've been missing. I realize that the one thing I was too afraid to let myself have is the one thing I needed. And then I found it, but I lost it. I found it, but I lost it. What kind of fool am I? Intelligent? Ha! I'm not intelligent.

I am in less danger than anyone I know. More people trust me than anyone I know. I have a lot of power, and yet, I don't care. It doesn't matter to me. I can make those I don't care about think whatever I want about me. I have total control, but what about the people I -do- care about? What about them? I was never supposed to care about anyone, and then I did, and now look at me.

Nothing else matters anymore, nothing at all. The manipulations don't matter. The chaos doesn't matter. Philosophy, learning, talking, entertaining, humor, none of them matter without you. I am a fool. I love you, and I lost you. I would give you anything, but I didn't see it soon enough. I didn't realize it soon enough, and then Zaphie came back, and I got confused, and now I have to break three hearts, instead of just one. I yearn for you, ache. I need you. You are all I want. You are my life, my everything. I would give anything just to have you back. I would give you my life, my body, and my soul. I will wait for you, faithfully, forever. I am in love.


A Most Wonderful Day
Added Sun Dec 3 18:58:52 2006 at level 51:

It has been a most joyous day, most joyous day indeed. It started well, it ended well, and it was just, altogether, a very lovely day. It began like most days; I came to the Inn with some poetry in hand, having sat up the night before, writing to calm my heart. Meora was there, and so were a few others, and they asked me to recite it, so I did. Midway through, I stopped abruptly; a familiar scent had come through the door. There she was, so pure and disarming, smiling at me, with her eyes agaze.

"Don't speak," said she, "Till I have spoken. Don't break me from this spell of thee."

And so I stood there, waiting patient, as she spoke to me, her face aglow.

"I am yours, and you are mine, and together we shall be most free. Hold me here, kiss my lips, love me now, and I will be your wife."

And so I came to be engaged, the fiery Pirate lass my own. Now I'm happy, to be with Tsyda. Now I'm happy, our hearts entwined.

Ahhh, but this is but the beginning. For you see, there was more that happened this day. It was a day of many confessions, many tears, and many embraces. This day wasn't just mine, and it wasn't just hers. One other took part in the marvel. A cat, a Fela, my dear friend Meora. She has made this day complete.

For it was this day, that I learned her secret, a secret she has shared with few. It was this day, that she let go, she found peace, and she is free. A confession she made, a confession most troubling. She had never forgiven herself for the death of her siblings. We talked about it, undecided. We talked about it, and I despaired. But then she asked me, her 'older' brother, she asked me to take her to where the river meets sea. We traveled there, upon the Martyr's Sorrow, and there, did she, find her peace. A sight to see, this cat so drenched, wading through the river's tears. She thought and pondered, reflected on her past. She though and pondered, until she saw. Her past, her present, her future, they all converged into her life. She saw this, she watched, and finally, she knew. She understood, and forgiveness was hers.

Yes, it has been a most wonderful day indeed.



The State of My Soul
Added Wed Dec 6 14:57:11 2006 at level 51:

Now that Tsyda and I are engaged, we've been trying to figure out how we're going to become married. I've agreed to take her last name, Qa Vansedien, since I don't have one of my own, having never known my parents, but the actual wedding itself is a little trickier. As such, I decided to seek out the Lady Rayihn, as She helped me quite a bit when I was trying to work through my feelings and hopelessness. To my surprise, She agreed to actually do the wedding. I had merely planned on asking if it would be okay for some Priest to do it. I'm glad Meora was with me, even if it did add a little confusion, early on.

While in Rayihn's presence, I thought to ask Her about the afterlife. I know very little, you see. I wanted to make sure Tsyda and I wouldn't be separated after our deaths, for her sake, as well as mine. Well, it seems that those who do not follow a God go to a Neutral area, and thus we could be together, were that the case, but neither of us are certain if my attempts to follow the Imp, for a time, have made it so I would go to His realm upon my death. Obviously, I don't want this, but I'm not quite sure what to do about it. I'm looking into as many ways of prevention that I can think of. Perhaps merely stating that I give my soul to Tsyda will do, but then, perhaps not. I'll try speaking to the Lord Corrlaan, next. Maybe He'll be able to help, or maybe there's some sort of ritual, like those that Necromancers do to become Liches, that would allow me to give my soul to my love. I certainly don't trust the Imp to tell me the truth in the matter, but I shan't give up until I am certain that I will be able to spend my afterlife with the woman with whom I am in love.


Marriage and Selflessness
Added Sat Dec 9 13:01:43 2006 at level 51:

The wedding was wonderful. We decided to have it at the Consortium's Garden; that's where Tsyda fell in love with me and where I first started looking at her as a potential love interest. Meora, Lin, and Ado were there; Ethelle and Itholin couldn't make it, Nanorab just barely missed it, and I completely forgot to invite Fuddo. I felt rather bad about that. I really like that Gnome.

The ceremony itself was brief, which is what I preferred, anyways. It was night, and the moonlight on the snow was quite enchanting. I was wearing a dark blue robe, a white ruffled shirt, and tight black dress pants that Adovaryn had sewn for me, as well as some black boots, my green sash, my blue halo, and my glasses. Tsyda wore a beautiful white gown and silk sash. I was so enchanted with her, I could have died in her arms and never been happier.

Rayihn had us stand in front of her, holding hands. She told us that She didn't really believe in marriage and wasn't one for tradition, but that I had told Her about Tsyda's and my falling in love and the challenges we faced, and said that it was the strength of our bond that has made the relationship stronger, in the end. Love is more than passion, more than fire. It is fulfillment, a completion, and a home. We then read our vows to each other, I going first. I have recorded them in a book, so maybe the world will see them, yet. Hers were wonderful, of course, quite touching, and I couldn't help but beam. She told me that she'd been in love with me since the that time in the garden. I have her vows recorded as well, though whether I'll share them with the world remains to be seen. After that, we exchanged rings that the Lady Rayihn provided, kissed, and then we were married, man and wife. My life, my love, my purpose.

I did manage to speak with Lord Corrlaan before all of this. I told Him the situation with my soul, my worries and fears. He told me that if I lived with a purpose in this life. I'd have that same purpose in the next, and He told me that if I lived a selfless life, perhaps my past transgressions would be forgiven. So, that's my new life. My purpose is Tsyda, and I live for others. I probably won't succeed with it in all things. I'll probably make plenty of mistakes, have plenty of failures, but I'll never stop trying. I just hope that entertaining others, and causing them to question their views in order to better understand themselves and their world, and otherwise being generous and offering aid count as being selfless. If not, hopefully someone will point me on the right path. Perhaps if I just don't commit a selfish act, it'll be enough. I don't know, but I'll do my best, and pray that it's enough.



The Mark of the Imp
Added Thu Dec 14 10:52:49 2006 at level 51:

It comes as no great surprise to me, really, what has happened, though I'm sure He would like to believe otherwise. The only surprise is how long it took Him, knowing that I no longer wished such a thing. Though I didn't tell Him my fears, I'm sure He sensed them. I'm sure He knew I didn't want the tattoo, and that is precisely why He gave it to me.

My life is like one of those Epic tragedies. I'll have to write about it one day. Perhaps it will be entertaining. The instance of the mark is simple enough to tell. Ethelle had just finished having her discussion on the Fortress as we had agreed, and the Imp showed up to poke fun at her late husband. Well, naturally, I didn't want Him doing this, so I pulled out a statue I had of Him and attempted to distract Him with it. Well, next thing I know, I'm marked, and he's made a snide comment and left. Well, Ethelle isn't too worried, because she knows He likes to do this sort of stuff to mess with people, but now I'm a bit worried on the state of my soul.

Well, the best I can do is continue to live as selflessly as possible, and to continue to live for my wife. It's tempting to get back into the religion, after a century of trying to be one of His followers, but I will resist the temptation, as I do not wish to bring harm to my one true love. The Gods may think I'm doing all of this for myself, but truly, I do it for her. I could be happy living in the Imp's afterlife. It has always been a part of who I am, but Tsyda means more to me than everything else combined, and she is the one I dedicate my life to. She is the one I worship. I won't let anyone harm her, especially myself, and I won't let some Puppetmaster keep us apart.



More Deceptions and the Truth about Snuzzly
Added Fri Dec 15 11:23:46 2006 at level 51:

Well this tattoo is nothing, if not useful, even with me almost never seeing combat. I so wish I could keep it, so wish I could stay in this religion. It's so much fun, but I love my wife far too much to risk her unhappiness over my desires.

The tattoo is useful, though, as it's allowed me to get in on better terms with the Scions, allowed me to lie to them more easily. I do hate the deception, though. Farigno says I should be careful about them, lest the Imp's hold on me become permanent. Of course, it seems like every God is saying something different. Corrlaan says I just need to live with a purpose, Iunna seems to think that I'll be able to be with my wife in the afterlife no matter what I do, Rayihn says it's all up to who represents me, and Farigno says I need to be completely selfless. This is, of course, overlooking the fact that -no one- understands Lyristeon. He seems like such a great God, too. Sure, He likes to create mischief, but He does a lot of good in the world by doing so. He brings a lot of fun and is able to bring humor to even the saddest situations. I so wish I could trust Him. I would serve Him and be a model priest if I could but know for certain that I could be with my wife in the afterlife, but I just can't risk it. I can't risk my soul.

So, while naturally I cannot exactly trust Farigno, I don't like taking chances like this, but these Demons, if what Farigno says is true, and I believe it is, they are -very- bad for this world, and very bad for my wife. I have to stop them, even if I have to lie, deceive, and manipulate to do it. I'm not good at much else. Why shouldn't I use my gifts for good? I'm not using them for myself. I'm using them to try to help the world. Where is the fault in that? I need to talk to Lord Corrlaan about this.

On a completely unrelated note, Yasmeia seems to have returned, at last, and I'm finally coming to understand how I really felt about her. I kept telling myself in the past that she never really meant anything to me, that she was just another one of my manipulations, but I know now that I was merely deceiving myself. I really am quite fond of her, so much so that I would mutilate anyone that messed with her. I would cut off their noses, split their tongues, remove their eyelids, and let them forever walk around as freaks, loved by no one, because I care about her just that much. I don't love her like I love my wife, but I do love her. I could have loved her like I love my wife, I think, and she could have loved me. She told me the reason she disappeared for so long was because she -was- falling in love with me, and she knew it was a bad idea, due to her frequent disappearances. She didn't want to hurt me. I love her all the much more for that, and in some ways, I'm glad it happened that way. We never could have worked out, she and I. She's just too Light, and I'll never be. I can live for my wife, and I can do my best never to make another selfish action, but I'll never be a Lightwalker, just like I'll never fully be able to suppress the chaos within me, no matter how much I try. It's part of who I am, and I have to accept it, but it doesn't mean I won't do everything in my power to make sure my Tsyda is happy. We will be together in the afterlife no matter what I have to do,



Free at last
Added Tue Dec 26 01:29:33 2006 at level 51:

Freedom, finally, after all these years, I'm free. It is wonderment, amazing. It took my breath away, and I wanted to shout to the world. It was a very painful process, I should say. I had just finished praying to Lord Twist to watch over my wife and Lord Corrlaan to guide me, as I do quite often, and suddenly there was a terrible pain in my chest as it exploded, severely damaging my clavin, and when I regained enough of my senses, I noticed the infernal tattoo was gone. Gone at last, finally, it was gone.

I was ecstatic, euphoric. I told Gringora right away, and then told Tsyda, as soon as she returned. Of course, Lyristeon tried to screw with me a bit more, after that, sending in a prostitute to try to condemn me and giving me some sort of rash in my, er, private areas, but a little ointment applied by my wife helped soothe it immensely.

I'm almost certain it was Lyristeon who removed the tattoo, though I'm not why He did it. Could be any number of reasons, really. One never knows with Him, but then, I'm not even certain it needed to be gotten rid of in order to spend my afterlife with Tsyda. I certainly couldn't take the Imp's word on it, though. If there's one thing He isn't, it's trustworthy, and I just didn't want to take the chance.

Speaking of such things, I've realized I still have feelings for Zaphie, and I know she still has feelings for me, but I will never betray Tsyda. That much, I know. Perhaps the three of us could work something out, if not in this life, then the afterlife. I suppose it all depends on the future. Everything depends on the future, but at least I'm happy, Tsyda's happy, and the people for whom I care are, as well. That's what really matters.



Iunna
Added Sat Dec 30 20:59:53 2006 at level 51:

Iunna respects me. She actually respects me. All this time, I wasn't sure. I thought She didn't like me. I thought She didn't care. Well, no, I knew She cared, but I wasn't certain what about. She kept showing that She cared every time She talked to me, but I thought it was just not wanting me to screw something up. Now I know better.

It took me a very long time to become a Herald, and I don't mean joining them, though it took a while to do that, as well. I originally wanted to be one simply because it was convenient, a good base of operations for my manipulations, and a good excuse to be involved with many people without suffering wrath. I don't know if She saw that. I don't think She did, but She certainly didn't let me in right away, and I resented Her for it.

For a very long time, I was publicly displeased with Her. Even after I started to admire Her, I tried to keep up that public appearance. It made me want to never show any weakness in front of Her, and even now, I act that way around Her, almost unconsciously. After I became a Herald, the displeasure and secret admiration turned more to fear, but I would never admit that to Her. No, though I was afraid of Her, I made certain to conceal it as best I could. It certainly made me feel awkward around Her though.

I'm not quite sure when I actually became a Herald. I think it was a gradual change that took place over a long period of time. I do know when I realized I was one, though. It was just after I was married. I had decided that Lyristeon just wasn't worth it anymore and was, instead, using my connections to try to do some good. I found myself able to communicate with every Cabal and thus have them communicate with each other, even if they didn't realize.

Iunna, though, I wasn't sure she was noticing, but She pulled me aside one day, talked to me. She told me that I'd been doing a lot for the Heralds and She thought highly of me. I was very touched, very confused, due to my relationship with Her, but very touched. I used to detest Her, now I'm not sure how to feel. I suppose I'll figure it out, eventually, but just knowing how much Iunna respects me says a lot. I'm finally proud to be a Herald.



Zaphoedine and Balim
Added Sat Dec 30 22:01:58 2006 at level 51:

Well, Zaphie's story has finally come to a close, at least how it applies to my life. It's an odd ending, and I'm not sure how happy it is. It involves a Bard, an Armadillo, and a couple of W'raithes.

Camilla, Zaphie's W'raithe, had apparently done much harm to Zaphie, which is why she's been acting so strange. Well, that all came to a head when Balim, a Nexan Bard who apparently also has a W'raithe, came in and started communicating with the two of them. Apparently, he spoke some arcane language that had a lot of effect on Camilla, causing her to go crazy, in turn effecting Zaphie. It all came to a head when, without realizing it, he spoke the language, causing Camilla to take control.

Next thing I know, Camilla's threatening me, and Balim's telling me he has to undo what he did. Well, obviously, I agreed, because I couldn't stand to see her harmed. So, with Tsyda there as an armadillo, he began speaking the odd language. I soon found myself able to understand it, and his W'raithe and Camilla began a battle.

After a bit of success, the four of us moved to the plains. There, Camilla caused Zaphie to strike at Balim a few times, so it was lucky Tsyda was there, as her armadillo was very helpful. It seemed hopeless for a time, but I finally spoke, asking Zaphie to come back to me, which allowed Balim a final strike, which weakened Camilla.

In that instant, Balim drew Camilla into him, a change that was permanent, and one I did not like, for it bound their souls. I was, however, able to convince him into letting me share the burden and binding my soul, as well, and Tsyda decided to get in on it, too. So, the four of us our bound together, united in our love for Zaphie.

Of course, with all good, there comes a bad, and this is where it is. I knew of Balim's feelings for Zaphie, and I knew Zaphie was vulnerable, but I couldn't stand the thought of it. Zaphie promised me she would never have another lover, and I promised her that we would be together in the afterlife, her, Tsyda, and I. I couldn't stand the thought of it, and in this instant, I failed Lord Corrlaan. I was selfish.

I told Zaphie how I felt, once more. I reminded her of her promise. I thought of myself. I did not think of others. She told me she'd keep it, but in doing so, she hurt Balim, and possibly herself. I don't know what to do, though. I can't let go of her. I just can't. Tsyda knows this. She's fine with it. She knows of our promises, so it's not all bad, but still, I failed Lord Corrlaan, and I don't know if I can correct it.



Death Echoes (Not written by me, but I liked them)

A funeral procession, led by the grieving widow Tsyda, makes its way from Udgaard through the cities of Thera, finally ending in Galadon.

Tsyda pauses in Market Square and speaks briefly with the mayor through her tears.

After a brief discussion, the Mayor announces that he will allow Tiatan to be buried in the Galadon Graveyard, in thanks for his aid in defeating the Demon Lords.

And in the streets, the children cried. The poets dreamed and the lovers sighed.

BattleRagers paused in their endless march up and down the Eastern Road, glad that their many trips to the Inn finally paid off. One down, sixty-two thousand to go!

Though strongly bound to this plane by the eternal ties of mortal love, the chaotic, deceptive soul of Tiatan slowly broke free from the physical flesh that had once held it in a lover's embrace.

His soul drifted upwards, slowly at first, but gathering speed, as it transformed into a vertical shaft of blazing light that split the heavens asunder.

The light faded, though not from the eyes of Tsyda, who knew that the Lord of Archons would see them reunited at the end of days.

"On ne fait pas de musique contre quelqu'un"

Actually it'd be cool if any imms have their roles from the chars they immed, I'd love to read those.

Caragwyn was a rowdy gnome who thought he was as tough as nails, but also not all there upstairs, so this was his role. (authors notes were part of it)

-----

> I came into this world the way I live it now, angry, screaming, and covered in blood. What your surprised? Surprised I would make light of the day of my mother’s death? On the contrary, I like to think it was me pullin on her guts that ended her life. Don’t be squeamish now, you wanted the tale of my heroics, and yer gonna get it, so just sit yer big ass down and write, and if I catch ya sniggerin about my size again I’m gonna introduce ye to your own liver. Good we have an understanding, now to begin.
> It be a shame at the start so that’s where were gonna begin. My parents, naw, not parents, the BREEDERS who made me were mages ye see, practicing in the arts better left undone. Brewing and chantin and muttering and dancing, by the gods! Can you imagine? So she be with child but still she’s acting the fool and using the magics. It was her fault mostly ye see, she was mixin those chemicals and such when they exploded, just blew up on the lot of them. Only 3 of them died unfortunately, but my ma, she lived but was injured pretty severly. With the blast and all, seems I was gonna come early, maybe I thought I heard the horn and wanted to come runnin I did, but never the less the time was there. So the doctors they work and work, and out comes me, little ol me. Size of a fist I was! The magic there it tainted me ye see! I come out a wee thing, smallest child they ever seen! The breeder, she lay dead, and the folk they come around keenin and wailin for her. It was a good punishment ye see, for making me so.

> I ain’t gonna tell ya about my youngin days, nothing there to hear other than me keeping me mouth shut, seeing looks o pity, hrrrrrr! Even now thinking of those looks, I feel like hurting someone. And so I lived and grew, well kinda grew, always been small compared to the others. Once I got a little older I spent more time away from the village, cause it was always the same stories I was hearin about how they were destroying this village or that, always leavin one child, I just couldn’t see it. I jogged, I ran, I lifted rocks and sticks. I was gonna show them that I could be stronger than any of the gnomes. Them spending all their time indoors, with books and scrolls and such, bah! I looked upon them from afar, day after day, and my hate for their kind grew. After about 40 years of this nonsense, I met me brothers. No not that kinda brother you idiot, them battleragers, from the village! That day! That day there was power in the air I tell ya. I was jogging around grey rock and there they were, 5 of the biggest meanest bastards you ever saw. They took one look at me, and I at them, and we knew then that we were comrades in arms!

> -Authors Note-
> In preparation for this interview I spoke at some length with the only remaining living villager from that original party. He tells a different tale. Seems Caragwyn came running around the corner all right, and smack into the armored shin of Flayten the Villager. He bounced back about 3 feet, and holding his hands to his bloody nose and face Caragwyn lay on his side running around in circles and screaming at “a girls pitch” Once he passed out from the pain, they dragged him back a ways to where they had set up camp, and cleaning up his urine, listened to him speak of his village, and what lay there. Flayten decided not to eat him, and to keep him around as a guide to this den of mages.

> So we sat at their camp, hidden away in the rocks, and we made our battle plans. It was all I could do to keep them seated, so set for battle they were. They sat listening to me intently as I spelled out a complicated battle plan. They agreed it was better than anything they had come up with, and likened to it immediately. After a joyous celebration we lay out to sleep made preparations to leave at dawn.

> -Authors Note-
> Flayten tells of how after he woke, they couldn’t “shut the little bastard up” . He had fashioned a crude mace from a dead stick and was waving it about with abandon as he leapt from one rock to the other, spouting about bashing in skulls and making them pay. Seems they tuned him out after a while, and made plans to go in the morning. They fed Caragwyn four firebreathers to put him to sleep. And then celebrated the coming hunt.

> I woke up just as the first light crept along the ground. I took a moment to cleanse myself of bad thoughts and then got into me armor. My new friends also got ready, and we stood for a while, shouting war chants. I proudly remember my name spoken often.

> -Authors Note-
> Flaytens words continue: The little snot woke us all before dawn with his vomiting and coughing; seems the firebreathers had caught up. The warriors and I got ready for battle, and laughed out loud when we saw the mix of bark and wood Caragwyn had put on himself as “armor”. We turned to leave up the path but had gone no more than 3 paces before the sounds of retching called us back. We shouted at him for nearly 15 minutes before he finally crawled out of the ravine. If we had known where the village was we would surely have left him.

> We didn’t even stop as we got to the village. The 6 of us charged in with our weapons high and our voices raised in warcrys. We caught them completely unaware. The party fanned out, clubs a bashin and swords a slicing, it was good to see them runnin around scared. I was magnificent! Striking and rolling, parrying and dodging, nobody could keep their eyes on me for more than a second. Then, from the corner of my trained eye I saw him; my father, standing in a doorway holding a staff threateningly. I charged him straight off, my blood boilin over. He saw me coming and the fear was in his eyes, so struck with the terror at the sight of me he didn’t even move until I bashed his head in with my mace. There I was, standing over his body, and I felt triumph. I felt like I knew where I belonged now. I had paid them back for hurtin me so long ago, and now I was a warrior, the title earned in blood and sweat.

> -Authers Note-
> Flaytens words continue: As we rounded the last corner I called the boys to me to make our final preparations. I look over my shoulder and the little snot is halfway to the village running and screamin in that girlish tinge of his “your all dead, your all dead” and still swinging that stupid stick of his. Couldn’t be helped now, so we charged. The little folk, they fell like children that day, and everytime I glanced about that fargin Caragwyn was in a different spot, poking his stick from under a wagon, his head peeking over a water trough. I dunno if he actually came anywhere near anyone, but he sure could move. Then I hear it, that girle screaming again, and I see him running towards this house, where this rickety old man stands in the doorway with a cane in hand. The ancient one just looks up, pretty confused as to what happening, even looks like he recognizes the lad running toward him. He extends a hand towards him but Caragwyn whacks him in the head with his stick. The old man just looks at him, the damn little twig busted, was all I could do to stop the laughin. So then the little fella grabs the old guys cane and knocks him to the ground and starts bashin his face in. Wasn’t much of a battle but it was a good show. I don’t know what he did after, but when I got finished chasing the last of the gnomes from the village, he was still standin over that body.

> So that’s how it all began, and we left my home town happy to know most were dead or dieing. We cleaned out the hovels and left out the gate. I left my new friends once I reached (INSERT HOMETOWN HERE), they were good men, but a little to old and slow to keep up with me.

> -Authors Note-
> Flaytens words continue: We all left that den of magic and returned to our home territory. Caragwyn tried get us to kill any people we saw, convinced they had a potion or wand on them somewhere. It was all we could do to try and distance ourselves from him. We finally managed to lose him around (INSERT HOMETOWN HERE) and thankfully I haven’t seen him since.

> Ok there bard, got all that? I can tell it again if you want, never get tired of hearing about myself. Ok, well it goes on from there, but I’ll let you go and get another ale first, then I’ll tell you about the time I ……

I laugh every time I read this role... Got "Basher of Enlightened Skulls" title for this, I believe.

----
If you rack a bear in the nuts, be prepared to die.

Never won a role contest...but I've had like 3 honorable mentions...?


"Death awaits ya all, wit nasteh big pointeh teeth!"

valguarnera@carrionfields.com

Twenty days after the birth of Onilyn marked the day of Princess Leridia’s birth. The small city of Eryn Galen was in celebration for days. A new princess meant that the throne of Aban D’ore was secure for another two generations at least. The wood-elves in this city were very politically focused of course, turning away from the more sylvan approach that there ‘brutish’ near relatives took. Onilyn was chosen even before she was born into the world to be Leridia’s best friend and hand maiden. The two were to be inseparable for the emotional health of the princess. King D’ore saw to it that his daughter recieved the best trainings and education from the most knowledgeable advisors. He also made sure that his niece Onilyn recieved training in less important things, things to keep his lovely Leridia entertained; Music, acrobatics, and small weapon training (just in case). In the perfect world, both the Princess and her handmaiden would grow old together, always friendly, always happy. But the wood-elves of Eryn Galen were never known for their humbleness. Onilyn was never happy. As a young child she always wondered why Leridia got the finer things, the newest dolls and toys made of the finest materials. She grew up in the Princess’s shadow, not understanding what made the princess so much better then herself. As she grew into adolescence she began to develope a hatred for Leridia, and the Eryn Galen society as a whole. She was caught twice trying to hide a few pieces of fine jewelry in her dresses, and punished harshly in both cases. She began to be a bit of a trouble maker, and sewed seeds of discourse throughout the courts. Onilyn would steal things from nobles and plant them in places throughout the city, on guardsmen, even on the princess as gifts, that is if she didn’t keep them for herself. She loved owning shining baubles and magical artifacts though more often then not, it was the princess and not her that had them. She coveted everything the princess had, opportunity, vast wealth, friends, power..needless to say, the relationship they shared took a turn for the worse. Onilyn’s mischief and theft did not go unnoted by the King or Queen, and eventually she was caught snuggling with one of the Princess’s suitors just because, in her words ‘She was good enough to unite kingdoms to’. This had a disastrous effect on more then a few people, and she was exiled from the city and ordered never to return.



Friendship

Onilyn feels that the only true friend a person can have and trust is themselves, though she covets the ability to be blinded by friendship when she sees it around her by looking at the different people in her travels.

Chaos

Onilyn doesn’t particularly like seeing the perfect lives of others in comparison to her sucky one, she has developed an unconscious ability to throw a wrench in the sprockets of every day society that usually leaves people worse for the wear, thus making herself happier.

Covetousness

Onilyn isn’t an overly unhappy person, shes not even a vengeful bitch who hates everyone. She just covets the things that she can’t attain for herself..she thinks she has every right to do what everyone else can do, or be whatever everyone else can be. Its not necessarily an equality issue, just a jealousy thing that floats around occasionally, particularly if shes in a bad mood. Being able to covet something means being alive, even if shes able to obtain the things she covets most, she’ll likely just move on to covet something else.

Lust/love

Onilyn hasn’t really ever known true love, though she uses both fake lust and love to obtain the things she covets, if its possible obtain them that way. In another way they are both desires she feels at times, she doesn’t usually covet either, but if she does, she has no problem overcoming any obstacles to obtain them, such as a wife or fiancé.

Music/Poetry/Bard-ish things

Onilyn likes the fact that most people cannot sing and play music the way she can, and will often sing even more prettily in hopes that people will covet the things they cannot have that she has: musical ability, etc.

There were a half-dozen entries to this role, but I can only find the first and the fourth or fifth.


Xalthelir was the fourth son of a minor drow house in one of the equally minor
drow cities of the vast Underdark. A boy in a house with too many sons, in a
culture where even the firstborn son is lower than the youngest daughter, not
much was expected of him. As this unremarkable child grew towards maturity,
his Matron could but hope that he would be accepted by either the famed
warrior academy or prestigous wizard's school, the clergy, of course, being
denied to him as a male. He was nearly consigned to studying at a lesser
college for the lowest of the low, those unable to excel fully with either
spells or blade, but a timely assassination of an apprentice magi by one of
his elder brothers created the necessary opening and spared his house that
shame, or so it seemed.

It was during the sixth year of his study at the wizard's college that
Xalthelir's placid life was torn asunder. The ambitions of another house
called for his own to be eliminated, and in a heartbeat, his entire family
was butchered. Only by cowardly hiding among the house's slaves did he
manage preserve his own life. The conquering house took Xalthelir's house's
slaves as their own, and a grueling life of hard labor in the slave mines
began. Perhaps he might have managed a daring escape with his limited
magical training, but he lacked the nerve.

He dared not become too close to even the other slaves, for if any were to
realize who he was, they would surely sell him out in an instant. The years
of hardship and isolation gradually drove Xalthelir insane. Eventually, his
only comfort was the scripture of a forgotten religion. They spoke of the
doings of a dark god or his avatar in the mortal plane, and how this Hand of
the Dark wandered the world like a harbinger of apocalypse, maiming those who
obeyed him and killing any who didn't, whipping paladins for their blasphemy
and cursing orphans.

The scriptures also foretold a final disciple of this dark god, who would rise
out of slavery to walk the land like a king. He would punish his oppressors,
and then move on to punish all. He would pact with dark forces and wield every
mortal art in service to his wicked god. In the end he would be taken into
the dark one's kingdom to dwell in glory forever.

Given a new sense of purpose by the scriptures, the drow managed to escape from
his enslavers and begin to train for his role as the last disciple. In his
madness, Xalthelir does not realize that he wrote this "holy" text himself.

So begins a rather unusual story.


--====--

Adjusting to life on the surface was hard for Xalthelir. Though he found some
few allies he was amazed at the violent treatment he received from the denizens
of what he thought of as the sun-washed world. They relentlessly charged after
him, with axes covered in ornate etchings or ceremonial swords encrusted with
semi-precious jewels. He was deeply puzzled by this behavior. Did they not
know of the superiority of the drow over their insignificant races? Should
they not fear he, blessed of the Shaidar Haran, master of spell and blade,
above all others? In the name of his dark god he cut them down without mercy
whenever he could. Always, the surface fodder blamed luck for his victories,
rather than recognizing his obvious power. Was luck the name of the Hand of
the Dark among the surface people?

Often he would preach to them like a mad prophet, reciting proverbs from his
'holy' text. Like many such texts, it is subdivided into books, whose names
include Smiting, Blasphemers, Apocalypse, Contagion, Maiming, Oppression,
Obfuscation, Sundering, Torment, Slaughter, Venom, Decay, Depradation, and
Subjugation.

He has been surprised at times by the relatively warm treatment he has received
from other dark elves on the surface. He does not trust them, though many have
shown him more respect than natural surface-dwellers. The invoker Naldaeruth
and shapeshifter Hiquilmas have proved useful allies to him at times, and on
one occasion the healer, Merzofzyauhn, offered Xalthelir considerable aid.
Most recently, a sorceress he traded some items with, Samira, asked him to seek
out the aid of another of the drow, a priestess named Nazira, who she claimed
could offer him useful training towards his goals. Xalthelir is intrigued by
the unusual beliefs and methods of the priestess, though his extreme relucance
to be under the thumb of a drow of a matronly mindset once more has kept him
wary and distant.

In his thirst for knowledge about his forgotten god and his destiny, he has
come to petition for a place among the Scions of Eternal Night, believing the
shadowy creatures they pact with to be agents of the Hand of the Dark or
somehow tied to his destiny. He currently seeks prophecies both fulfilled
and unfulfilled at the bidding of their Chancellor, Jhaelryna, a person he
feels drawn to in ways he does not fully understand.

nt

There is more to this role, but this is all I can find.


Added Fri Jul 28 05:24:05 2000 at level 4:
Abandoned by whoever his real parents might have been, Kiaspiflas was raised for
a time at the orphanage of Balator. Due to his quiet nature and somewhat
repulsive appearance he was given less care and attention by the orphanage staff
and the people of Balator; in a sense this seems only natural, for they found
the time they spent on him less rewarding than that they spent with the other
children. As he aged, these same traits found him rejected by the other
children. Whenever they looked for someone to bully, torment, tease, or
exclude, there he was, the silent, funny-looking introvert. The adults of the
place never seemed to see it when the young arial was beaten or humiliated, and
they were all too eager to believe the word of the many loved children over that
of the disliked, outsider boy. When they did catch some hint of the child's
quiet suffering, they simply thought to themselves that kids will be kids and
that this sort of thing is not unusual. In truth, whether or not it should be,
it is not.

Sometimes, the innocent cruelty of children goes too far. One day, young Kias
was thrown by the other children into the cellar of the village falconer. With
jeers and taunts about fear of the dark on their lips, the child was locked into
that dank abyss. For a time, his cries for help amused the other children, who
laughed and made fun as children do. In time, they moved onto other childhood
games and forgot about the boy, whose cries could not be heard very far from the
shadowy reaches of the cellar. It took the orphanage staff several days to
notice the missing child, so used were they to his unobtrusive demeanor. They
interrogated the other children, who by now were beginning to realize that they
had done a thing that they could potentially be punished harshly for. Fearful
of retribution over their act of stupid cruelty, the children kept silent about
what had happened to Kiaspiflas, feigning ignorance.

It was several weeks before the boy was found. Criminals of surpassing mental
endurance and cruelty are frequently broken by a day or two of solitary
confinement and a dearth of stimuli. Here, a child of surpassing intelligence
and, had his life gone much differently, compassion, had endured it for
lightless weeks on end. As the grain and other dry goods in the room were
unfit for direct consumption, the child had eventually learned to feed himself
by hunting vermin in the permanent midnight of the cellar. Still, he emerged
a hair's breadth from starvation, half-feral and more than half insane. It
would be over a month before the boy physically recovered to something
resembling health, and years before he would speak coherent words again. But
never again would he expect the good or even ambivalent will of others, and
never again would he fear the dark.

The other children never fully grasped what they had done to the young Kias,
and so in time their childish games continued. This time, he would retaliate.
This in turn brought greater and bolder measures from the children, and so on
went the cycle of retributive cruelty feeding upon itself until the night when
Kiaspiflas killed one of the other children. He fled Balator by dawn. From
then through adulthood he made his way in the world by becoming a thief, thug,
mercenary, assassin, and anything and everything else that pays but is avoided
by most less-desperate people either for reasons of fear or morality.


Added Fri Jul 28 05:32:44 2000 at level 5:
Kiaspiflas revels in destruction, most especially that of other sentient
beings. Destruction to his mind can take many forms, including destruction of
the physical, mental, spiritual, moral, and so forth. He believes that all in
their secret hearts love to destroy as he does, but deceive themselves. Some
may "channel" this love of destruction into a narrow vein, such as a Maran who
seeks the destruction of those he sees as evil, a warrior who seeks the
elimination of magic and those who wield it, or even children who want to pick
on the child who is different. In this way they convince themselves that their
thirst for destruction is in some way acceptable. Kias could only concievably
respect others who admitted in some way that they, too, thrilled in
annihilation, but being as he is he would probably want to kill them anyway.
He is not in the least mindless or stupid, and so he is capable of tolerating
other sentient creatures and using them to his end, but he never likes doing
this, always preferring to destroy. It might be worth mentioning that it is
much easier for Kias to tolerate people that he literally can't (physically)
destroy, which is to say those the gods protect from him. These he is
significantly more likely to attempt to either destroy in other ways or
manipulate to serve whatever ends occur to him at the moment.

On the whole, compassion and the "lighter" emotions are to Kias as red might be
to a color blind person; he has heard of them and could describe them to some
degree, but they will always be alien concepts to him, things which exist "out
there" and not "in here." He is willful, hateful, capricious in the extreme,
and generally one mean bastard.

-= Author's Note =-

The rest of this role is told in the first person. It also follows a mosaic
time scheme. In other words, the entries are not in chronological order.


-= The Dream Time =-

I met a very old and wise fela on one of my rangings through the frozen wastes.
It was an especially cold night, and I knew she would not survive it unless I
permitted her to partake of the spoils of my hunt and share the warmth of my
fire. No one should die like that. We dared not sleep for fear that the blaze
would die out unwatched, and we soon after it. To pass the time, she told me
of ancient days, of sorcery and how our people came to be.

Our cousins in nature, she said, from the fiercest jungle cat to the most
harmless domesticated kitten, live in the Dream Time. To them, the world is
much like an eternal now, unfettered by the memories of the past and
unblemished by the fear of the future. For their own gain, the sorcerers who
created the first of the felar from the great cats bestowed upon them the gift
of sentience. They elevated the felar above the status of beasts, giving them
speech, intelligence, and the ability to tell right from wrong.

The price of these gifts was the Dream Time. We live with the guilt for the
sins of our past and we live with the dread of what the future may bring.
These things creep into our present and burden our consciousness. Further, we
are cursed of the Gods; while other races have been made sentient and lost the
Dream Time, they lost it by the will of the Gods. We lost ours because some
men--great, powerful men, but still, just mortal men--were lazy and wanted some
servants. We are hubris incarnate, a lingering reminder of slothful blasphemy
and arrogance. The Gods turn their faces from us; they do not bless the felar
with the gift of their power as they do the holy of other races.

Sometimes, when I lose myself in euphoria of a drunken revel, I can feel it in
the rhythm of my heart. Sometimes, when I lose myself in the pure innocence of
a moment of careless play, I catch a glimpse of it out of the corner of my eye.
Sometimes, when I am consumed by the thrill of the hunt, I can smell it wafting
on the breeze for a fleeting instant. I taste a hint of the Dream Time.


-= Vagrant Child =-

I get asked sometimes how I ended up with the gypsies. I can't remember life
before wandering with them, growing up among the colorful wagons, sharing in
their nomadic, festive existence. They didn't seem to think it was important,
and so neither did I. If you want to know the truth, I didn't realize I was
any different. You might think the fur and claws and tail should have made it
plain, but things weren't like that.

Looking back, it seems as though every night was a party, and we never worried
about whether the bounty for another such feast might come. Every day was a
journey through unfamiliar terrain, with bright and wonderful scenery to
behold. It was like an idyllic eternal summer, and in the midst of that
carefree wanderlust I never thought to question where we were going or why we
never seemed to arrive.

I know now where they were going, and where I am going even now. I wish that
it were not so.

Why, you ask, did I stir from that life of contentment? It all started when we
crossed paths with some cousins of ours, a group of Vistani. One of this
band's number had the Sight, and what she had to tell me was quite remarkable.


-= Passion =-

If there is a goal in my life, if I am driven by anything beyond the pleasures
of my flesh and the pursuit of my own happiness, it is this: I want to do all
that I can to ensure that no others are ever ripped from the Dream Time again.
It makes me melancholy to do this, for in attempting to atone for the original
sins of our birth, in attempting to prevent a future I dread, I slip a little
further from the Dream. Even so, I feel that it is the rightful burden of the
cursed to spare the others that they may. Those responsible for we felar have
long finished their journey, but what is done once may be done again. I will
redeem all who start down that path.


-= Weapons =-

A young warrior asked me today why I had chosen the spear; meaning, why among
all weapons did I seem to favor the spear. He asked this question because he
sees with his eyes and not his heart.

I am gifted with a spear, this much is true. I have trained with it for long
hours, studying the attacks that may be executed with it and learning how these
attacks may in turn be countered by other styles of fighting. I spent hours
beyond counting fighting with the masters in Blackclaw, learning of the styles
of my people, lost in that rush of burning muscles and beating heart. In time,
the techniques of all the warriors I had encountered were merged with the
carefree dance of the vagrant into a style that was graceful, effective, and
all my own. The spear became like an extension of myself, a fang of superior
reach, and even when too drunk to see straight the dance of claw and fang was
not lost to me.

Those who examine with their hearts may realize my true weapon in this war:
the Dream Time itself. The works of holy men and women are miraculous indeed;
if I put my fang through a man's heart, he may rise up again. If I leave him
for dead a hundred times, a hundred times he may return from the grave and
continue to work towards ripping another untimely from the Dream. I believe
that if I can show another a glimpse of the Dream Time, be it in the thrill of
battle, a passionate embrace, or a moment of irresponsible joy, they will
forever find it harder to move towards sundering another from that bliss. Even
if I err and they are moved to cruel passions, this will be better for the
world in the long run.


-= Born of Sorcery =-

Today, a young wizard took a bestial form and attempted to bring my journey to
its end. When my fang had torn the life from him, he paused to ask me why it
was that I hated magic. The query seemed a strange one to me given that it was
he who began the dance of rushing blood, and yet I know I must be developing
a reputation of that kind.

Hatred is a spice best used sparingly in life. It quickly overwhelms all else.
I do not hate magic. While I am saddened that we felar have been ripped from
the Dream Time, the reality of life in the present is that we have lost it. We
are ourselves creatures in some sense of the word created by magic, and no
amount of hatred for that magic can change that. I do not despise myself, and
I will make of my life the best that I can. I do not hate the workers of magic
either, though I will battle them whenever I may. It is unfortunate that this
causes others to try to fit me into a narrow stereotype.

Description:
This wild-eyed dwarf stares out with a fierce glare from underneath
two bushy, tangled eyebrows. Rather hulking for a dwarf, his
tightly corded muscles look awkward on his frame, seemingly at
fault for an obvious lack of grace. His thick red beard is lopsided
from some failed attempted to shape it, and harbors any number of
small pieces of food that have crept into it. He seems to breathe
in fits, huffing mightily with a noise most similar to a snort as
he waddles along on his stumpy legs.



Rafkut is something of a moron.

Possessed of a furious temper and unwavering fanaticism for whatever occupies his dim mind at the moment, he has never learned to keep his emotions under any sort of control, or even why you might want to. His mouth tends to say whatever he is thinking, and the concept of a secret or lie is lost on him.

He was always physically large relative to other dwarves, and his peers stayed very clear of him as a child, mostly out of concern for their own safety. His father was a miner who worked late into the evening, and paid little attention to a son he did not particularly like. His mother thought Rafkut had 'a touch of the Abyss' in him, and unsuccessfully tried to get him to attend church regularly, in hopes that the clergy might heal him, or at least put him in protective custody.

Vainly hoping to find a use for an otherwise useless juvenile, Rafkut's parents enlisted him in the Akan military. A kindly captain attempted to take Rafkut under his care, as he had high hopes for the youth's obvious physical prowess and seeming immunity to pain. He spoke with Rafkut at length on the topics of discipline and honor, and Rafkut bit him. Rafkut isn't exactly sure why he did that, but if asked he will likely tell some story about how the captain gave him the evil eye. Rafkut doesn't really know what the evil eye is, but if he gets it in his head that someone has given him the evil eye, violence usually ensues.

Outcast from the Akan military with a category of dishonorable discharge rarely used, Rafkut traveled west in search of his new career. After 2 weeks of job hunting in Tar Valon, he found himself barred from the Healer's Guild entirely, and a town order prohibiting him from coming within ten paces of a tavern barmaid is still on the books. He did make a few coppers carrying altar stones east of the town, however, before getting fired for stealing several.

It was around this time that Rafkut started to complain of "th' gout". This probably has roots in memories of his father rubbing his knees and doing the same, except Rafkut just interpreted "th' gout" as being any source of pain. He will frequently clutch his head, stomach, and other places if it gives him an excuse to complain. If anyone tries to explain that gout afflicts the joints, or otherwise suspect him of faking or whining, he will likely accuse them of being a spy (for who, Rafkut may not know), being touched by the Abyss, or giving him the evil eye.

Most recently, Rafkut has turned his hatred upon local magi. This is mostly because he has no idea what the heck magic is, and it confuses him. Plus, 'witches' are easy targets for any number of superstitions Rafkut believes heartily in, and will be blamed for whatever has irritated Rafkut most recently, such as a poor ale. Rafkut will readily agree with whatever people accuse witches of, and might make a fine crusader against them some day.

Iriogam never was a ‘normal’ Orc. The way she was conceived was naturally the way it was always done, though what happened after with her mother Chaal was different indeed. Chaal had never been one to sit around the stew pot and watch life pass her by, she always used her natural gifts of cunning and ‘beauty’ to get her far in the clan. She happened to be one of the many wives of the chief of that time. Her home wasn’t located in the village, but in a cave about a mile from it. Figuring that she would be safer away from the almost constant raiding of the time, she traveled to and from the village daily, the chief not really caring where she was most of the time. Though she thought it would be a safe thing, it proved to be the opposite when a band of elven scouts stumbled upon her while she was making her way back to her home. She smelled them almost immediatly, and naturally ran for the safety of her dark cave. While running, she felt something hit her in the back of her head, then she remembered falling, then nothing else.
‘Ren ah floau sa tweirnia?’ she heard as she came around groggily. Her hands were bound above her head, her feet bound at the foot of what felt like a table under her. Hissing loudly to those around her and glaring icily at the first form she could focus on, she felt an unholy stab in her brain. The hiss turned to a whimper, and she slipped back into unconsciousness. Upon awakening the second time, she found that there was only one other person in the room with her. Finally able to see clearly, she saw that the other person in the room was an elf in flowing white robes, he was mumbling unintelligible words to himself, a sheen coating of sweat beads dotting his forehead. Then she noticed his hands were on her overly round belly, and she cowered for the first time in true fear, though not for the unborn child in her womb, but for her innards. The elf looked her in the eyes, and smiled softly at her, seeming to be finished with his work. He then placed a hand on her head, and everything faded from her view.
She sat up slowly and realized she was in her cave, everything seemed normal but the cramping in her belly, and the puddle of liquid she was laying in. Immediatly realizing that she was about to birth another child, hopefully a live one this time, she wobbled over to the village as fast as she could, wondering if the elves she had seen were even real, or merely a dream.
Finally on a dark, rainy night, Iriogam was born. After hearing the wailing of, not an Orc pup, but a grown Orc, Chaal sat up and looked for the first time at the slimy green ball of newborn Orc lying in the smelly hay under her. Her daughter looked as grotesque and normal as any Orc should, and even had three horns protruding like a crown out of her forehead, surely an accomplishment. Then she noticed the eyes staring back at her, piercing her very soul it seemed. They were not the beady black eyes of an orc, they were the full, almond shaped eyes of an elf, and they were the deepest shade of green Chaal had ever seen. Knowing that something was wrong with her child, she took it and wrapped it in a not-so-clean blanket, and hid it to her breast, then laid back and drifted into sleep.
She was awoken by a crying and something being lifted off her chest, she sat up and saw that a male had taken her child, and was starting to walk away. She jumped up and hit him in the head with a rock she had picked up. He fell and dropped the baby, which set upon a loud shrill of wailing. Knowing full well that they would kill her child, her only child that ever lived through a birthing process, she picked her up, and ran back to her cave, for fear of herself and her babe. She gathered all her belongings, and set out into the night, silent babe in tow.

Loyalty/Love

Chaal taught Iriogam that her only loyalties should be to herself, herself and no one else. Love is a stupid emotion only felt by the fae folk, and is a waste of self. It is okay to let someone love you, so long as you gain something from it.


Lust/Escape

Sometimes the only way out of danger, is to distract you’re pursuer with the yearning of their loins. Iriogam was an unnatural beauty in Chaal’s eyes, because of her Elven features, and horns. Of course you could cower your way out, beg for mercy, but flaunting yourself would not only get you out of danger, but it might gain you material things as well.


Possession

Beings will always look at you and see what you wear and carry. If you look to ragged, they will take advantage of your weakness, if you look to good, they will fear you. Always look your best material wise, as well as physically wise. Carry a bigger sword or axe then your opponents, and they will fear you. Use whatever you can to take what you can of theirs.

Combat

If ever faced with a fight, whether you started it or not, run like hell. If you cannot run, or cower your way out, then fight like no ones ever fought before, use cunning, viciousness, spit, hiss, kick, bite, scrape, do anything to kill your oppressors. Always try to fight in numbers.

Confusion/Chaos

Do whatever possible to confuse everyone around you, pretend you’re a grape, yell like a rabid wombat, howl like a broken duck, disorder is the key to gaining an end. If people don’t know what is going on around them, how can they know what you are doing? Try starting fires, or causing hideous odors, these are the things that keep you safe.


These were the things Iriogam was taught by Chaal, and she was unusually quick to learn them. Not only did she inherit the elven eyes, but it seems a bit of wit, though she is far less intelligent then the elves themselves, she is as cunning as they come, and as vain. She sees herself as the only important being in the universe, she is the most beautiful by far, no one can even hold a candle to her. She is disgusted by her mother, and other Orcs she comes into contact with, though surely she does not tell them that, she will even flatter them in hopes of gaining something in return. She recognizes the fact that she is gifted, and won’t hesitate to let it be known. She dresses herself in gaudy jewelery at times that it is available, and paints her lips red, though a bit sloppily. She mimics the ways of fashion and tr end to the best of her Orcish ability, impressing herself far more then she impresses others.

After she can take the presence of her mother no longer, she leaves their dwelling place in search of something better, something worthy of her time and effort. She doesn’t even think of going back to the clan like her mother, though she knows she could be their queen. She seeks someone, or some place worthy of her time, perhaps someone better then herself..if there is such a thing.