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Author Topic: Post your character bio here  (Read 130877 times)


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Re: Post your character bio here
« Reply #250 on: August 27, 2021, 11:58:46 PM »
"Vel" Shannar

Race: Human
Preferred Pronouns: He, him, his
Origin Realm/Location: Oerth/Greyhawk City

Vel comes from a wealthy and privileged background. He is the son of two powerful mages, a Flannish wizard and a Suloise sorceress. Through his father's side his extended family is active and influential among the Boccobite community of Greyhawk City. The aforementioned circumstances were fortunate for one such as Vel who ended up without any sort of exceptional talent and who possessed (at that time) only a middling motivation. There happened to be an opening in the temple guard that Vel's mother heard about, and from basically Day 1 Vel was considered to be leadership material. All would likely have proceeded according to expectation had Vel's track not veered suddenly off into the mists..

After coming through the mists Vel went through a period of denial and paranoia. Soon however Vel came to see the event as a great opportunity. Despite never having really shined at anything, he could potentially become a renowned explorer. While Vel is not without ego, he truly believes that the greatest thing about becoming a renowned explorer is that it would signify he has added a great deal to the store of knowledge. Among Boccobites this is highly revered.  Vel views his experience through a religious lens and has now begun to develop his communication with the divine as a true cleric of Boccob. It should be noted that the store of knowledge that Vel values adding to, is the store of knowledge in Greyhawk City. Thus his overarching aim is to learn and record about the lands in the mists and then to get that information back to Greyhawk somehow.

Vel has strong ideas about social tiering. He does not care for various 'peasant' behaviors. For Vel the learned and most knowledgeable people in society are the most valuable. His manner is stiff and somewhat formalized. This is because his parents were almost always away or busy and Vel was essentially raised by his tutor Jaro who was old enough to be his great grandfather. Once when Vel was quite young, a man- a stranger- approached him and his tutor when they were out by the big pond on the estate. The man was crazy yelling about how he was going to take Vel away, he grabbed Vel in one arm and tried to push Jaro away. But Jaro cast a spell on the man, he dropped Vel and the man's lungs filled with water and he drowned there next to the pond. The stranger's dead drowned face has always haunted Vel and ever since then he has an intense fear of drowning, dislikes being in water generally and prefers not to swim.


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« Reply #251 on: October 03, 2021, 09:04:33 PM »
« Last Edit: August 06, 2022, 07:25:17 PM by Ogretime »
Nothin' to see here, keep walkin'.


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Re: Post your character bio here
« Reply #252 on: November 05, 2021, 05:23:41 PM »
Origin: Earth

Circa 1650 A.D.

Education: Ancient Egyptian Seminary.

Memory: Due to an accident, he has no real memory. And, will in time accept Ravenloft as "reality".

Thornquil is a member of the Egyptian seminary Amdid, whoese real parentage is of Welsh nature, after spending 5 years in the seminary he new many hekau (magic) words of power, and now he seemed to be in a new world, he had spent some years in the military, and as such was somewhat well versed in matters the wordl.

He wondered what to do, who he  could trust, so much from where he'd come from.

He'd always learned of being fey from his studies, and witch blood. Seeing dreams unfold into reality, Now he is an elf! Of all things!

I guess I will use my seminary studies to hide my hekau from people, and concentrate on healing and such.

« Last Edit: November 05, 2021, 05:41:38 PM by Thornquil »

Raven Credale

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Alyzenya Iromythe
« Reply #253 on: November 10, 2021, 05:15:46 PM »

Name: Alyzenya Iromyth
Nickname: Aly
Age: 22
Race: Half-Elf
Height: 5'9"
Class: Favored Soud
Faith: Tyr
Origin: Toril, Forgotten Realms (Tasseldale to be specific)

Hair Color: Golden Blond
Eye color: Crystal Blue
Skin tone: Fair (and blemish free)

Attractiveness: Boy someone get a bucket of water for this smokin babe! Crap she's hotter now! (Yes Charisma based class, and a Muse!)


     Born in Tasseldale, Alyzenya grew up in the temple of the Maimed God. She was abandoned on the temple steps one night with only a note saying what her name was and that the god had different plans for her than that of a normal girls life. The clergy questioned the note for a moment, but did not turn Aly away and took her in. Over the years, Aly learned and aided the clergy as best she could. She grew to become a lovely woman with peerless beauty in Tasseldale, but never allowed her looks to ruin her friendly nature or kind heart. She aided the injured and was strict with those who faked being harmed with gentle words. But when she was not aiding the inured or sick, Aly was training herself in the ways of the sword. She couldn't explain why, but holding a long sword in her hand felt right to her. As if she was meant to hold this sort of weapon. In time, Aly was pulled to the side by one of the head clerics of the temple. She was given a long sword and shield then asked to guard a noble who was making his way to Cormyr for business. She accepted the task and went to change into her armor for the trip.

     When the time came to leave for Cormyr, Aly waved farewell to her adoptive family and mentors of the Temple. She followed the nobleman on hoarse back to their destinations when a strange mist started to roll in along the trade route. Aly's horse bucked her off and ran back to Tasseldale, Aly laid on the ground a moment then got to her feet as she tried to regain her baring's. Taking a lantern from her pack, she walked the road through the mist as she looked around for signs of where the noble's caravan had gotten to. But they were no where in sight for her. A soft frown and curse escaped her before she tried to trace her steps back, only...she had lost the trail some how.

    Confused by this and perplexed of what she should do, Aly took a deep breath in and exhaled it to help center her thoughts and focus. She looked back behind her towards the direction she had originally faced. She took a step in that direction, then another before the sound of drumbs could be heard in the distance. She paused and listened for a time before following the sound, her free hand hovering over her blade in anticipation for a fight. When the sound was clearer for her to hear, did she lower her hand and look at the sight of the Vistani camp and their Vardos.

   This half-elven woman now finds herself in a land where an iron fist rules and the people scared of outsiders. Where good is said to fail and here evil thrives. Will she be able to hold onto her moral code and personal beliefs, or will she fall like so many others?


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Re: Post your character bio here
« Reply #254 on: November 17, 2021, 01:45:00 PM »

Name: Davena Sharel
Race: Aasimar
Height: 6'2"
Weight: 185 pounds
 A tall handsome women with a commanding presence she rarely takes advantage of. Her skin has a the sheen of burnished gold, and her eyes shine the vivid blue of a Sapphire. Her Hair is almost a metallic golden color worn long and kept in a ponytail. She favors cloths of white and blue.
Favored Soul of Torm

Home World/Location: Toril Westgate

      Born into a family of clergy of Torm shortly after the time of troubles she was raised by her fathers fellow paladins while he was away. Her mother passed away in childbirth so she only really learned Duty and the precepts of her faith. The clergy of Torm saw it as a good sign that the marks of divinity showed on her even though her mothers death shadowed that excitement somewhat.
      Davena grew up thinking her father disliked her for her "killing" her mother. His cold and infrequent visits always seemed more duty than fatherly and at first it hurt her.. But around 13 she came to realize that she didnt blame him and knew he did the best he could just like all people did she looked enough like her mother, despite the marks of her heritage that she understood it pained him to see her.
      She dove into her martial training studies with new fervor. Her Divine heritage while seen as a good sign to the clergy further set her apart from other humans, and the ability to learn the spells of the faith without study made the clergy uneasy, both of which closed her off even more to relationships of any kind among her fellows. The Clerics of the other deities of the triad were especially harsh to her. Having little time for anything or anyone that they saw as a direct opposition to the established order and learning procedures of the churches. So at 16 she left the Church of Torm and traveled the lands helping people as she could in her gods name.
        Following in Torms example she wields a greatsword in battle relying on the powers of protection from her god to protect her in addition to her Plate. She is steadfast and unwavering (but truly untested) in her ideals. She always will be on the look out for corruption in "goodly" organizations and while she wont break the laws set down in a land unless they are in opposition to her beliefs.

« Last Edit: May 03, 2023, 12:02:21 PM by Khellendros »

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Re: Post your character bio here
« Reply #255 on: December 22, 2021, 10:05:02 AM »

Rauva Z'ress (NCE)

"Shadows and Loss are wise teachers. Only fools and bigots ignore their teachings."

Race: Half Drow
Age: 25
Origin: Forgotten Realms, Toril (Amn)

    She steps in the shadows, between world and society. She is neither loved nor accepted in either. And this does not bother her. Loss has been one teacher she has yet to meet. But the shadows and the Lady of them, those are her mentors. She now steps into these lands with nothing but her quarter staff and her fists. But she seems to seek the knowledge these lands hold in their shadows. And she aims to collect what she can for her lady.

    After all, it was in the shadows that she found her way to Barovia.

    But before all this, before the shadows and before the Mists. She was a slave. Like so many of her kind, treated worse than the common house pet and left to starve in silence. She knew a life of chains, orders and beatings before the Shadows cloaked her. The Underdark ad it's she hated them so. How she hated the chains, but she would not be able to leave them. Eventually sold to a Pig of a merchant in Am, she tried time and again to escape. And time and again she was caught and dragged back to the Pig that was her owner. How she hated him.

    Until one day, she managed to get away. She ran weaving through the allies and overcrowded areas, how she used her environment to elevate herself to above the streets. Little did she know she was being watched. Watched and evaluated. When she believed to be a distance away from the Pig. She looked back and found herself in a different area. One that she hadn't visited before. She walked around, the chains on her wrists still jingling in the wind as she moved. Her eyes then caught sight of something interesting. Something hidden but not quite. Moving towards it, she found an entrance and stepped inside. Following the path in, she can to find herself in a large open area. The feeling of being watched soon made itself very known to her as she stopped.

    "Leave or die." A voice said.
    "You and I both know there's no place for me to return to, and that I have no intentions of dying." She answered.

   The voice was quiet before a dagger flew past her, cutting her cheek and ear a bit, but she didn't waver at all. Someone walked out of the shadows towards her and studied her over a moment. "Young, but not a child. She could use one like you. You now have a choice. Join the Order of the Dark Moon. Or be killed right here."

   She didn't hesitate on her answer. "I'll join."

   The figure didn't give a nod or any acknowledgment, but instead broke the chains off her wrists. "Come...and prove yourself."

    It was three years later that she would return to the Pig merchants home. Three years of having been trained in the Order. And today was her graduation of sort. It was the darkest of nights, the moon was nowhere in the sky and the cit was asleep. She moved through the shadows, deft in her steps as she recalled her training over the years. She moved from shadow to shadow as fast and quietly as she could before coming to the Pigs room. Creeping in, she moved towards the sleeping filth. Beside him was one of his slave girls...a pitiful thing. But she cared little and did wat she was tasked to do. She walked out of that place, blood on her hands and two corpses in a bed. Her violet eyes turned to the dark night before she slipped away back to her new home.

   Yet she did not notice the mists that slowly began to swirl around her ankles. Until something or someone knocked her unconscious.

   Thus began her imprisonment in a new but bigger cell. It makes one wonder, how shall she survive this new hell? Where the chains have wrapped around her and where the Mists seek to grip her neck in many forms.

((Feel free to poke this lady of mine or simply drag her off to adventure. Please don't off her straight away ;v;.))
« Last Edit: December 26, 2021, 09:30:22 AM by Raven Credale »


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Re: Post your character bio here
« Reply #256 on: April 09, 2022, 10:52:19 AM »
Name: Gavrosa Pulex

Age: Appears to be mid-twenties
Race: Human (Chelish, Chelaxian)
Origin: Golarion (Pathfinder), (Avistan, Inner-Sea region, Cheliax)


The woman stood tall around 5,8”. She had fair, almost pale complexion, a sign of her Chelish origins and family roots. Midnight black hair, strong emerald hue'd eyes.

Her general build was impressive in physique, trained throughout years of rigorous training by the militant regime she and her family were part of. She covered much of her skin and form either by the plating of her dark armouring or clothing of rigid, militant fashion, decorated by whatever foreign symbols and rank. Additionally, to her impressive physical form, she appeared as a picturesque depiction of a noble-blood, from the sharp angular shape of her jawline, perfectly proportioned eyes, ears and nose. As if some unholy machine had created a human out of a painting, beautiful, yet so unnerving and intimidating.

She wore her noble, albeit outlandish standing and station proudly. She was precise, clear and concise in her tone of speech and approach. When confronted, doubted or challenged, one could sense the sheer force of will emanating from this woman. Albeit she was not openly confrontational, yet she was stern and unyielding, rarely giving an inch from her position unless deemed advantageous for her in some way. Like Cogs of machinery, slowly turning in her mind as she calculated her steps, her words.

Kindness, warmth or even empathy. These didin’t fit the the encounter when interacting with her, rather: Efficiency, ambition and cold, ruthless logic. Underneath this cold veneer, at times, a hint of smoldering emotion slipped through. Eyes a-blaze in unfiltered hatred and despise, a sharpening of her expression as her trained patience was running short.


Born of noble origin around the year 4665 AR (Absalom Reckoning), to house of Pulex at Ostenso, south-eastern shore of the empire. Her family was a loyal supporter of Royal Thrune regime of Chelaxian empire, since when, was difficult to track. The state-sanctioned history is renewed every now and often and older publications, copies and books were collected by the Hellknight Order of the Rack, burnt in the clarity pyres. However, the house allegiance can be assumed to be traced all the way back to the era of Civil-War which begun as the Cheliaxian Patron diety, Aroden died in 4606 AR, tossing the empire in chaos and fractioning the noble houses and allegiances apart. As house Thrune stepped up as one of the first noble houses for the imperial position, inciting feud at 4608 AR, new allegiances began to form, many who rallied behind house Thrune’s banner. House Pulex likely, either a fractioned section of once larger house of different name, or an already allied one of Thrune, finding opportunity and strength under Thrune’s dominating stance.

The turmoil’s of civil-war and eventual rise and dominance of house Thrune restoring the fragmented empire, shaped house Pulex in adherence to the new regime and order. The rise of house Thrune brought Diabolism, reverence of the now new patron deity of Cheliax: Asmodeus .. Some, who dared, questioned the new diabolical power that was now a state-power and alignment of new Cheliax, but such dissidence was quickly dealt with the steadfast orders of Hellknight, born of Cheliaxian origins a century before the civil-war and some say, had prior infernal influences already, readily supporting the new found rule of house Thrune under the guidance of Asmodeus, the king of Hells. It was during the reconstruction of the war-torn empire, when dissidence was still stirring trouble, outside forces beyond the empire borders ever present, twins were born, daughter and son.

Baron Gaudianus, now elated father of twins, a supporter of the royal regime, a house of some meager military competence but mostly by trade in Ostenso, the city having strong ties to the Order of Hellknights stationed therein: The order of Pyre, holding order and infernal law in the region, greatly supported by the nobles of the region for the stability and order, fear the name of Hellknights invoke.

The two twins, his offspring: Gavrus & Gavrosa

The father’s expectations high for his firstborn son, Gavrus. Years of difficulties to conceive an heir to his name, stillborns a curse and point of ill rumour and ridicule to his house. The baroness had grown weary and despondent for not bringing new noble blood to her Baron, so much so that the Baron himself growing evermore disappointed of her wife, despise and loathing brewing under the noble composure. At last, an heir was born, to bear his noble name to future grandeur. No matter the whispers and rumours that circled in the dark, by the lips of those jealous of his house and position he was assured, of claims of dealings in the dark by otherworldly beings, Fiends. To find solution to the wife’s lack of child-bearing capability, vitriolic accuse of the twins being a result of some sorcery, diabolism .. Rather than true heirs of Cheliax, noble of blood, of Aroden.

Any such claims, were contested, and at times, if necessary, fervently fought by skirmishes and force if the question of honor was at stake. Silencing any slithering snake-tongue. Baron Gaudianus asserted himself with steadfast station, in defense of his noble name and house.

Yet, throughout the years, under the Baron’s watchful guide and lecture: The heir to his seat, Gavrus was meek and frail, soft of tongue and demeanor. Unskilled in both blade and mired in difficulties to focus on studies of anysort. Moreover, the son was prone to sickness. Fever ,rash and delirium a normal torment already. The Baron watched as his son was not growing, but withering and weakening every year. Each year, a loss of potential, to ail and suffering. The Baroness could not bear see her son, shutting herself from her weakly son leaving his care to the household servants and his sister.

The sister ...

It could not have been a starker difference between Brother and Sister, as the sun and the moon. Gavrosa grew taller than her brother, even that of most boys of her age. Not only was she physically stronger, she had inherited the fairest image of a noble-born Chelian appearance, many would liken her appearance to the Thrune themselves, so much was her fairness to the depicted paintings of Abrogail the First in her younger years. Young Gavrosa learnt the art of melee with terrifying ease from the house instructors, wherein her brother was unable to focus in study, Gavrosa was intelligent and logical, albeit her interest was readily distracted in the favour of more physical endeavors. This would again, incite ill rumours again, questioning the fidelity of the Baron and the legitimacy of his daughter. So different were the brother and sister in appearance and bearing.

One time, at a play and a social occasion, where children played by their peers as the noble parents conducted affair and business, faux pleasantries. Children knowing no better of their manners, chose and pick a target for their malevolent tease: Gavrus, weak of body and mind an easy target for ridicule and rough play for the pampered children of noble. Tormented and laughed upon. The father could only bear the humiliation, his weak son unable to stand for himself, bear proudly the name of house Pulex. The heir to his greatness pushed and played, like a dirty pup or a cornered rat. Much to the surprise of the father, and the nobles present. A young girl took stance by her brother, demanding for her brother and his house, price to be paid for the insult and assault.

Giggle and laughter ensued midst the noble sons and daughters, their peers. Ridiculing the laughable son who could not fend for his own honour, finding his own sister to pamper and fight for him.

.. The laughter and tease ended abruptly however .. It was the last time, anyone, child or man both insulted house Pulex in the public eye ..

Where public jest were no longer practiced, it turned into more whispers and avoidance of the family. And the daughter. Many years later, the father reminisced in silence by the fireplace, leaning deep into the old seat and soft linens, as age began to pay toll on his mind and body. He recalled vividly the day: 

The shrieking sound, like an animal was being peeled alive, gurgling. Panicked groups of children and their caregivers shielding their young from the scene, stepping away. Young girl mounting a lifeless body of a boy her age, or even year or two older, a firm hold onto the throat while in the right hand she held a lump of crimson flesh.

Her daughter approached then, her Baron, father, presenting the price paid for insult to his name and house. A true performance of overbearing power, the crimson blood covering her daughter like a draped linen and a cloak, her eyes staring directly to his father’s .. Smoldering in red and fire, unyielding and uncompromising.

.. He remembered again, why he didn't like this look from the girl, barely half his height .. This child .. This creature of his own design and curse ..

.. It was fear, utter and unavoidable terror ..

The Baron took a long, inaudible breath, and a hopeless stare into the hearth and fireplace. Stirring only as he heard the footsteps of heavy, armoured boots, as the double-doors to his chambers were pushed open. The man shriveled on spot, declining deeper into the false comfort of his seat .The heavy footsteps encroaching, before settling by the side of the Baron’s seat, in moment of silence before breaking into a familiar voice:

“Father, I have returned” - ...

Cold and terrible sound reached from the towering, imposing woman of dark and edged armouring. She was beautiful, incredibly so. But the cold stare from those same eyes, and the echoing “gurgles” kept him apprehensive .. Finding himself, again, avoiding the coldness of his daughter's stare.

“A-Ah .. Welcome home, Gavrosa .. “




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Re: Post your character bio here
« Reply #257 on: June 14, 2022, 04:12:14 PM »
Name: Vilithril
Nickname: none
Age: 650
Race: Wild-Elf
Class: Druid
Faith: Seldarine: lathrien Druanna; Fenmarel Mestarine; Solonor Thelandira; Rillifane Rallathil
Origin: Toril, Forgotten Realms

Seeking the height of his mystical power in connection with the vital forces of nature, Vilithril isolated himself in the Peninsulas of Chult, determined to overcome with his magic the challenges that exist in its dense forests. Unfortunately, his search ended badly. Captured by yuan-tis, he was made an offering to a fearsome half-serpent transformation ritual. Before the ritual ended, in an inexplicable way, Vilithril found a breach in the flow of the magical energies that nourished the ritual and managed to escape through an unexpected planar rift. Not knowing where he could go, he ended up getting lost in the mists of Ravenloft's borders.

Today, Vilithril seeks to hide the dark aftermath of this ritual in his flesh, bones, and spirit. Wile Trying to save himself from the wounds of this ritual, he searches for a way to return home, back in Toril. 

« Last Edit: June 15, 2022, 11:30:22 PM by felixgfms2 »


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Re: Post your character bio here
« Reply #258 on: November 03, 2022, 01:36:45 AM »

Hazel Larsen & the Brotherhood of man

Hazel is a man in his 40s, perhaps once an attractive young man, now out of shape, with little hair, teeth already worn and darkened. The only son of a prominent silk merchant in Baldurs Gate, he knew the finest in high circles. Close to his 18th birthday, his parents were killed on one of his trips, apparently approached by pirates on their way home. If it wasn't enough to be grieving the news, he discovered that his world of luxuries was just an illusion and that his father would be in debt and in his last chance to resume his import company, it would be this trip with an exotic and extreme shipment. value. After seeing his house taken over by bankers, and having his life threatened, he tried to flee but was captured by loan sharks. After they had nothing more to take from Hazel, they sold him into slavery in a coal mine, where he met his great friend and master. When he arrived he was terrified and was assigned to a cell with another prisoner, a man in his 50s or older, badly treated and with an advanced appearance. At first everything was very frightening, terrifying paintings on the walls, mice sacrificed with adornments on their bodies, terrible nightmares were provided by those images, while a silence of weeks was maintained in the cell. Every day he woke up at 5 o'clock with thin soup and moldy bread, was chained and taken inside the mine, where he excavated until 6 in the afternoon. These interactions with his cellmate who he then discovered was called, Rajit, a loyal follower of Valsheeron. Over the years the terrifying vision of the images eventually became reality and then came the appreciation and they were already seen as splendid arts. Hazel, who then had no attachment to religions, accepted the reality of Valsheeron and also became a follower after witnessing some of Rajit's little necromantic tricks, such as stealing teeth from corpses and replacing those that had rotted. After 7 years of living together, Hazel already saw in her colleague, a father figure, but fate once again took care of bringing him to the cruel and cursed reality of his existence. They planned and dug for years, a tunnel that would lead to an underground gallery, through which they would escape, however, when accessing this gallery, they were surprised by a landslide that trapped them with no chance of accessing the cell again. If there is only one way to escape, follow the paths of a former stream and dig until you find a way out at the foot of the mountain. They dug until their supply of food and fire-making material was exhausted, until Rajit no longer had any strength left and constantly fainted in his forays. It was then that in a last gesture of... I don't know how to explain properly if compassion, continuity, giving up... He ordered Hazel to kill him quickly and eat his flesh and offer this sacrifice to the Archmage Necromancer. Hazel refused at first and worked forcibly for two until there was not much of his strength left, as an act of desperation, then he attended to his master and performed the ritual, exactly as he had learned for years. When he woke up, it looked like his wounds had healed and he now possessed strength and stamina far beyond what he could ever have imagined. Even in the dark he forced himself to dig and for some reason he could feel the right place for each pick. In a few days he managed to find the first light fetish and then escape the mountain and the coal mine. Weeks after his escape, his only place that could be accepted would be in the North Cemetery of Baldurs Gate where Rajit's brethren gather. Arriving at the cemetery and waiting for three long days and nights until he found the traces of the cult, he finally managed to enter as a member and approached another with a hood, telling his story and falling into the graces of a spirit Sepulcher who welcomed him in the rituals and completed his teachings, charging him only weekly rituals and the upkeep of the temple. That ritual ended up becoming a habit, accustomed to the physical prowess provided by cannibalism, he continued to feed on human flesh, taking advantage of his new job, gravedigger, until a moment when normal food no longer satisfied him and this ended up becoming a curse. His ascension in the church of Velsharoon was guaranteed, he just had to wait for his superiors to die... but the necromancers refused to die after they had already reached memorable ages. In a desperate attempt to prove himself, he invoked a sinister ritual, something that was dubious even for a cult of necromantics, but his lack of experience led him to draw the attention of the mists that led him to Ravenloft.

(Today in his 40s, without a Velshaaron cult, he sees his only expectation of rapid rise, as he still possesses his gifts, to join the Church of Lawgiver, hiding his true dogma, and use that influence to his advantage. Only that way, he will be able to keep your sordid and refined habits safe and out of prying eyes.)

"Now, your time has come, a storm of iron in the sky
War and murder come again, lucky if you die
No way to rescue destiny, scream and curse in vain
You will never be remembered, no one knows your name"

Brotherhood of men - Motörhead

« Last Edit: November 06, 2022, 10:20:51 PM by fullgazz »


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Re: Post your character bio here
« Reply #259 on: November 06, 2022, 10:05:37 PM »
"Now, your time has come, a storm of iron in the sky
War and murder come again, lucky if you die
No way to rescue destiny, scream and curse in vain
You will never be remembered, no one knows your name
When the music changes then all is broken down
Mighty cities laid to ruin, burning to the ground
Murder is become the law, you cannot make a stand
Chaos rules the world, now mortal, brotherhood of man
You cannot hide the truth from me, I know what's in your heart
Greed and jealousy, each equal, all your days now dark
Mighty mountains fall in dust, the world falls into hell
Faith in lying prophets, no one to lift the spell
Monsters rule your world, are you too scared to understand?
You shall be forever judged and you shall surely hang
We live and scrape in misery, we die by our own hand
And still we murder our own children, brotherhood of man
Blood on all our hands, we cannot hope to wash them clean
History is mystery, do you know what it means?
Slaughter, kill and fighting still and murdered where we stand
Our legacy is lunacy, brotherhood of man
We are worse than animals, we hunger for the kill
We put our faith in maniacs, the triumph of the will
We kill for money, wealth and lust, for this we should be damned
We are disease upon the world, brotherhood of man"

Motorhead - Brotherhood of man
« Last Edit: November 06, 2022, 10:22:32 PM by fullgazz »


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Re: Post your character bio here
« Reply #260 on: January 04, 2023, 07:25:43 AM »

Outside the carved ice of the frost giant's bastion, the blizzard howled and groaned.  It was a constant, hellish noise. Fitting enough, since the 23rd layer of the Abyss could be considered a worse place than a few of the Hells. Outside the bounds of their masters stronghold were grisly fates beyond counting; demons roamed the glaciers and corpse strewn tundras, the wind itself seemed to delight in stripping flesh from bone and freezing to black ruin any life that was not adapted to it's bite. Korstaag thought about that as he brought his hammer down on the massive greatsword laid out before him; the echoing strikes of his clan rung along around him, the frost dwarves hard at work smithing armaments for their colossal overlords. He didn't know anything else. In this place, strength was all that was respected or noticed; the wounded and weak were snatched up and devoured in giant's teeth.

And somewhere beyond this stronghold, as they had been told by their masters, the greatest of all the giants was Kostchtchie, demon prince of Wrath. They were made to offer tribute to him before the gore strewn stone altar of the shaman; but honestly Korstaag would have offered it unbidden. Might of arm and body. That was all that mattered here. And the strongest deserved their rule. And so one day, when some of his clan brothers whispered of a plot to escape to a camp of other runaway frost dwarves out in the layer, he told the Jarl in hopes of improving his own standing with the Jotun.

The towering warlord guffawed and patted him on the head, knocking Korstaag to his knees. "You have done well! We will break their legs to keep them at the work. But if there is a camp, you will go find it for me. There is always need for more loyal thralls!" The brutal laughter of the gathered giants struck a rage in Korstaag's heart, but he said nothing against them as he was thrown out of the ice gates with a pitiful few weapons and meager food. As the frost dwarf trudged out into the howling ice, cursing his luck under breath, he didn't notice the ice crack and shift in front of him. With a curse he tripped and slid down, down, down to a dimly glowing portal deep in the frozen ground...
« Last Edit: January 04, 2023, 07:50:02 AM by Monktrus »


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Mordalynne DeWynter (Ravensmere-Marshthorn)
« Reply #261 on: January 30, 2023, 06:23:58 AM »

What is the measure of joy for an individual? Is it counted over great tables, keenly watched by jealous eyes as they move it around in great piles?  Is it spoken by forked tongues to ears that have no intention of listening, hollow words of flattery and obsequiousness? Or is it something intangible, earned not given. I believe that to hoard happiness is to steal it from tomorrow.

The sun would shine through mighty stained glass windows, illuminating ancient bravery and acts of love and valor but the rooms were laid cold and devoid of those very things that shone upon their floors. This was to be my prison, the gilded cage of cold, unfeeling luxury. For amusement we would regale each other with stories and perform recitals of past cautionary tales of old and of fleeting victories. My lines were practiced and delivered with the emotion that I am afforded or can muster. It is a supreme irony that our history is nothing but shallow plays on decaying pasts and desperate nostalgia of a life that never truly existed.

I have been promised to one that I do not love, one that I feel no connection to. Wallis is the wealthy heir to the mercantile Pomeroy-Dumont family and whilst he has his fine graces his words ring hollow and disappear on the breeze when we are together. He interest lies in the continuation of his line and he seeks not a wife, more a servant or someone to simply warm or hang upon his arm at high occasion. His temper frightens me but I am loathe to speak of it to Father for, to him, he seems reconciled that our union is to be productive and beneficial to both our families. Talk of politic does not interest me; indeed I find it frightfully tedious, empty, full of lost promise.

I have met her and my heart is fit to burst with happiness, albeit a happiness that I may not infect onto others. It is a bittersweet feeling. Rosalie Weaver her name rolls from my tongue and tastes as sweet nectar supped by an honeybee. Her family is new to wealth and untainted from the growing insidiousness of authority which I fear Father and Mother regard as plebeian. We share so much in common but I do not know if my feelings are reciprocated in fashion. Tonight we spoke upon the balcony whilst the men folk smoked and drank their burdens into tomorrow and away. She is a beautiful star; Educated, eloquently spoken and filled with the desire for philanthropy.

Father's words have scorned me and he is insistent that my betrothal shall be completed these coming weeks. A crushing sorrow fills my very soul. It is not within my capacity to retort with harsh words or to show action contrary to his wishes but this course cannot be continued. I should have felt the warmth of the sun outside drying my tears as I ran in desperation but inside I felt only cold submission and sorrow. I shall not allow this to happen and I will resist with every ounce of my essence.

I have met Rosalie and our tryst ended in ambiguity, for I did not have the strength to admit my feelings. I have informed her of my plan to escape the confines of the Ravensmere-Marshthorn Estate and to disappear until I am blessed with acuity as to our future plans together.  Whenever I am filled with melancholy or that when all hope seems lost I shall remember her parting words and fill my heart with courage and conviction. For her safety we will ensure that knowledge of our relationship be kept a closely guarded secret. We parted, yet whilst my heart sank I knew that one day we would be reunited. 

Father wasted no time in his endeavors and I had scarcely disappeared a day before the Hunters were summoned. These are relentless individuals whose loyalty is to gold. Individuals are similarly bought and I have fled the Inn where I had hoped to spend a solitary week before continuing my journey, betrayed by the proprietor and his wife for their thirteen pieces of silver. I do not hold a grudge against them, for in the schemes of men my life means precious little and their newfound wealth will grant them some respite from their poverty. The forest seemed empty but it was my momentary lapse of judgment that I found myself a victim of a poacher’s snare, my pursuers will surely pick the trail from my injuries and my options are dire. I have stumbled to the gates of an old Hospice and have claimed the right of Sanctuary within its walls. I have laid my plans to escape this futile existence of repetition, to disappear within the world as one of the anonymous, a scholar of shunned knowledge to supply myself modest income. Another faceless shadow that drifts upon the winds.

« Last Edit: March 06, 2023, 09:47:10 AM by Mordalynne »

Sig courtesy of Violeta!

In the darkest corners of the mind, Where shadows writhe and demons dwell, The wretched embodiment of Hell you'll find, In the abyss where silent reason fell


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Re: Post your character bio here
« Reply #262 on: March 27, 2023, 12:36:14 PM »
Eamon of Kellee

Name: Eamon of Kellee
Race: Human
Origin: Tepest (Ravenloft)
Class: Warlock/Hexblade/BPA


Eamon of Kellee was born and raised in the country of Tepest. Growing up, he was trained as a ranger, learning to survive and thrive in the dangerous wilderness. Despite his love for the outdoors, he eventually chose to abandon his ranger lifestyle in favor of a simpler life as a farmer, working the land with his family by his side.

However, Eamon's peaceful existence was shattered when goblin forces began to threaten the region. Desperate for help, he sought aid in a vivid dream where he encountered a shadow fey creature. The fey tricked him into a pact, bestowing him with powers, but at a terrible cost - his friends, family and loved ones would lose all memories of him. Stripped of his identity and now a stranger to those he held dear, Eamon was consumed by bitterness and a burning desire for revenge against the fey.

Leaving behind his former life, Eamon embarked on a journey to seek powerful weapons and forge alliances with others who shared his cause. As he ventured through treacherous lands, his dark powers grew, and he honed his skills as a fighter. Eamon's travels eventually led him to the libraries of Port-a-Lucine, where he discovered the art of blackpowder and firearms. Intrigued by their potential, he crafted a pistol and later a musket, incorporating these deadly weapons into his arsenal. As Eamon delved deeper into the art of alchemy, he discovered a whole new world of possibilities. Using this knowledge, he was able to create new weapons and improve upon his existing ones.

On a quest for vengeance, he travels the world to learn the skills and amass the tools he needs to blow up the Shadow rift once and for all.
« Last Edit: March 27, 2023, 01:00:43 PM by Krosenq »
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Re: Post your character bio here
« Reply #263 on: May 12, 2023, 04:09:05 PM »
Artyom Xanthus was born to a family of wealthy merchants in the city of Waterdeep. From a young age, he was a troublemaker and a rebel, often getting into fights and causing chaos wherever he went. As he grew older, his rebellious streak only intensified, and he began to seek out more dangerous and forbidden activities.

One fateful night, while wandering the city's back alleys in search of adventure, Artyom stumbled upon a dark ritual being performed by a group of cultists. Fascinated by the strange symbols and otherworldly energies he witnessed, Artyom approached the cultists and begged to be included in their activities.

To his surprise, the cultists were all too eager to welcome him into their ranks. They revealed to him that they worshipped a being known as Nyarlathotep, a Great Old One from beyond the stars who promised them power and knowledge beyond human comprehension. Artyom was intrigued, and soon found himself performing increasingly dangerous and depraved acts in order to prove his devotion to Nyarlathotep.

Eventually, the Great Old One reached out to Artyom directly, offering him a pact. In exchange for his soul, Nyarlathotep promised to grant Artyom immense power and knowledge, as well as access to secrets and magics that no mortal had ever wielded before.

Artyom eagerly accepted the pact, and soon found himself wielding dark magics and summoning eldritch abominations to do his bidding. He became a fearsome warlock, feared and hated by all who knew of his activities. But Artyom didn't care; to him, power and chaos were all that mattered, and he would stop at nothing to claim both.

But one day, Artyom found himself lost in a thick fog, wandering aimlessly until he stumbled upon a mysterious portal. Without hesitation, he stepped through, only to find himself transported to the dark and foreboding realm of Barovia. Trapped in this nightmarish land, Artyom discovered that his powers were greatly diminished, and that he was no longer the master of his own fate.

Undeterred, Artyom set out to uncover the secrets of this new land and find a way to reclaim his power. He aligned himself with a group of adventurers, hoping to use them as pawns in his quest for power and domination. But as time passed, Artyom found himself becoming more and more entrenched in the struggles of the people of Barovia, and began to question whether his lust for power was truly worth the cost.


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Re: Post your character bio here
« Reply #264 on: June 12, 2023, 08:40:23 AM »

Name: Warrick Geth
Race: Human
Origin: Hollow World (Mystara)
Class: Rogue

Warrick Geth is a native of Mystara's Hollow World, a strange realm bathed in the constant radiance of an ever-present sun. Here, days do not cycle into nights; instead, time is a steady, unchanging companion, much like the immutable light above. In this land of peculiarities, metals are rare, and society leans on the generous offerings of nature to shape their world. Warrick, too, was a part of this cycle, working as an artisan who skillfully created functional tools and ornaments from resources like bone and crystal.

Suddenly thrust into Barovia, a land of alternating light and shadow, Warrick grapples with the stark contrast of day and night, a concept wholly alien to his lifelong experience. Despite initial disorientation, he finds himself captivated by this mysterious rhythm of existence. He stands at the precipice of a new life, determined to unravel the mysteries of this world and adapt to his new reality.

Active: Warrick Geth - Journal and Story


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Re: Post your character bio here
« Reply #265 on: August 29, 2023, 08:58:00 PM »

Not really sure how I came here through the mists...memories are rather spotty.

Prisoner? How odd...I feel more like a tourist whose visa has expired and lacks a clear exit strategy.

Was that...a joke? Am i funny? Huh.

There I am, Mr. Irrepressible...another drink? Why, certainly...I...think...I like whiskey.

Yes, yes I do. Slainte 's tainte. What did I say? Do I know another language?

My, the moon is bright tonight...

What is WRONG with my fingernails...I thought I'd trimmed them...


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Re: Post your character bio here
« Reply #266 on: October 25, 2023, 10:51:25 AM »
Lance Sapple

Name: Lance Sapple
Race: Deep Halfling
Origin: Greyhawk
Class: Shaman


Beneath the towering peaks of the Yatil Mountains in Greyhawk lies a hidden world, a labyrinth of tunnels where the dim light of bioluminescent fungi reveals a unique moss thriving in its soft glow. This is the veil moss, not just a simple plant, but a living tapestry interwoven with the whispers of ancient spirits that have watched over these depths for eons. In this mystical realm, deep halflings have made their home, their lives intertwined with the land and its secrets.

Lance Sapple, a deep halfling of the Sapple clan, was recognized early on by his elders for his unique bond with the veil moss. Under their guidance, he ascended the ranks to become a shaman, a revered position among his people. The deep halflings had a time-honored practice, passed down through generations, of communing with the spirits residing within the moss. These spirits enabled the shamans to craft intricate illusions, a sacred rite that enveloped their vast network of tunnels in deceptive veils, ensuring their safety and secrecy from those who wished them harm.

One evening, while deep in communion, Lance felt the spirits' harmonious energy disrupted by a jarring dissonance. The dance of spiritual energies twisted into chaos, causing the protective illusion around the tunnels of his homeland to waver and shimmer. It was as if the very fabric of the world around him was tearing apart. From the depths, ominous rumblings echoed, and shadows began to converge. The Underfolk, age-old adversaries of the deep halflings, had sensed the breach. Their chants grew louder, their intentions malevolent. With the veil compromised, they moved with newfound vigor, their pursuit relentless. Lance's heart raced as he darted through familiar tunnels, the haunting calls of the Underfolk echoing close behind. The pathways turned treacherous, filled with swirling mists and shifting terrain. As he navigated a particularly narrow corridor, a surge of energy converged, causing the ground to shudder. The tunnel collapsed beneath him, sending Lance plummeting into an abyss.

When consciousness returned, he found himself amidst the suffocating mists of Barovia, the familiar hum of his homeland's spirits replaced by unfamiliar whispers. Consumed by guilt and uncertainty about his clan's fate, Lance's journey in this foreign domain took on newfound purpose: to forge connections with the spirits of Barovia, hoping they might hold the answers to the fate of his kin.
« Last Edit: October 25, 2023, 10:53:26 AM by Krosenq »
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Re: Post your character bio here
« Reply #267 on: October 27, 2023, 02:18:19 PM »
Danut Solinescu

Name: Danut Solinescu
Race/Age: Human male, 18
Origin: Barovia
Class: Favored Soul
Diety: Morninglord

     When he was born, the night's cold was filled with his wailing cries. Nothing would comfort the child. His mother took him to the outskirts of Krofburg in a basket. Some swore as she knelt over the wailing basket in the snow that she was crying, while others claimed she was praying. Whatever her intentions that night with the newborn boy, the peaks of the golden sun illuminated the sky with its warm tendrils of light. As the sun's rays fell upon the child his wailing stopped. A soft smile spread onto his face and, at last, there was not silence but a child's laughter. Danut Solinescu was always an unusual boy growing up in Krofburg. He would travel to the outskirts of the town, many a time, behind miners to ask questions and help carry their things. During the day he would join his mother who worked tirelessly providing first aid and food to workers. Every morning, without fail, Danut spun in the fields at dawn's wake while laughing and playing in the waking light before staring, closed-eyed, at the sun. Anyone who knew Danut before he left Krofburg knew him as an odd but cheerful boy who always wanted to help. After his mother died at 16, Danut left the mining town in search of answers or maybe comfort to his pain and grief. At the Morninglord churches over Barovia he found at least one of those. Danut returned two years later to Krofburg as a worshiper of the Sun Cult. His mirth and merriment still shine stronger than ever.

Active Characters: Zlokrov, Danut Solinescu
Closured: Dorin Ratislav, Matyas Kovacs, Razvan


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Re: Post your character bio here
« Reply #268 on: November 01, 2023, 03:25:46 PM »

Name: André Sauvageon
Race: Human
Age: 35
Homeland: Souragne
Class: Voodan
Diety: Ovun

André used to run with a troublesome gang of practitioners of voodoo, aggressively loyal to the ways of the loa. For awhile they wandered the swamps, causing terror and harm along the way. It was during this time that André became very familiar with Ovun and the powerful mazi surrounding this warrior loa. It wasn't until he met a woman named Rhiannon, who would make him understand the error of his ways. With her, he would escape from his former gang and get married to Rhiannon, and in hiding they started a family together, having a son soon after. This fairytale would be cut short though, when Rhiannon was struck with illness that ended her life five years later, leaving a grieving André to raise his son alone. Seven years later, André's past gang would catch up with him. They strung him up and made him watch as they beat his son to death, and then offered up the corpse to the loa of the dead. When André  woke, he would wake to the horror that is seeing his son restrained, and undead. Taking the mace left to him, and summoning the willpower within him, he  slew his undead son and put him to rest. In an uncontrollable rage, André  charged out into the swamps, mace in hand, a war inside him as he let Ovun take control once again. In his mad rush into the night to find the gang that had taken his son from him, the mist grew thick, and then there was only darkness.

André can be quite imposing, standing at a height of 6'2", a muscular, hardy individual. He has dark brown eyes, a grown out and well-kept mustache and goatee, and not one hair on his head. He'd have a decently pleasant appearance about him if he didn't look so grumpy, but unfortunately he always looks grumpy, even when he isn't. Most times he prefers to keep to himself.
He looks like Ving Rhames from Rosewood.
« Last Edit: November 01, 2023, 03:29:56 PM by Hellnaw »
im so dum


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Re: Post your character bio here
« Reply #269 on: November 12, 2023, 08:02:24 AM »
Name:  Rabelais

Race & Subrace:  Human

Alignment:  Chaotic Evil

Class: Rogue

In Game Avatar:

Original Art:

Description:  Rabelais is a slender, yet muscular man in his late twenties. He wears a bright red costume and, occasionally, a white masquerade mask. He has angular features and spiky red hair. There's a sadistic air about him. He is always smiling, but there's no joy in his eyes, only malice and hatred.

Manner of Speaking:  He speaks a lot in a barely coherent way, as if didn't have any filter between his brain and mouth. In the face of danger or if he gets angry, he will randomly scream at the top of his lungs. The words comes out of his mouth like the daggers out of his hands.

Mannerisms:  He can't seem to stand still. When he has to be discreet, his eyebrows and fingers will twitch. Otherwise, he just moves around or stretches. 

Personality: Rabelais is a creepy and unpredictable character. At first, he will appear charming and won't hesitate to stick around with unknown people, but pretty quickly, he will get angry over the smallest things and try to impose his will on others. Fortunately, his exterior weirdness makes it difficult for him to be effectively manipulative. When he realizes that his companions would prefer to see him dead, he will flee, never to be seen again, or so it will seem…

Age: 27

Occupation:  Acrobat in a Dementlieuse circus. Le Cirque de la Lune Rousse. He is also a tightrope walker and knife thrower.
To raise money, he sometimes make acrobatic figures in the streets of Dementlieu.

Financial Status: Poor. He has very little money of his own and share his food and belongings with the circus artists. He stole all of his money and small trinkets from pedestrians during his street performances in the city.

- Born in the faubourgs of Dementlieu to a destitute family. He has been sold to the Cirque de la Lune Rousse which was looking for new acrobats after the departure of the old ones.

- He started his training at 6 years old. He was beaten and starved when he couldn't perform perfectly.

- The fortune teller took him under her wing and gave him food in secret. She also taught him how to read and speak eloquently. She had a jealous husband who threatened her regularly. When Rabelais turned 8, she disappeared along with her husband. Since there was traces of struggle and blood marks in her tent, she was probably murdered. Rabelais still misses her to this day.

- Without someone to protect him or to be kind to him, Rabelais toughened up dramatically. He developed a survival of the fittest mentality. When the weakest elements of the circus were punished for their mistakes, he found pleasure in their suffering, because it made him feel powerful.

- During his teenage years, he became increasingly sensible when he felt his superiority was threatened by someone. When he felt humiliated, he either crushed his supposed bully's spirit or eliminated them as discreetly as possible.

- Because of him, several catastrophes happened in the circus over the years:

       - Tigers got loose after the padlock of their cage was filed, little by little.

       - A trapeze artist broke his leg so badly that he had to be amputated. His trapeze had been greased before a show.

       - The magician's girlfriend and assistant was raped and found dead with her throat cut in the nearby woods. Her lover, an acrobat, was also found dead. The magician was suspected of the crime and fired as a consequence.

       - A dwarf was found hanged in the circus tent. Everyone thought it was a suicide.

- During all those years, no one thought of Rabelais as a potential killer, but as his behavior became increasingly unpredictable, the circus artists started to suspect him. They were more careful not to anger him, but Rabelais felt that it wouldn't be long until he, himself, would be disposed of.

- Feeling targeted, he decided to deal the first blow: after his representation, he lit the oil he had previously poured all around the circus tent. The fire became a blaze in just a few minutes. Some people in the public managed to escape along with the artists who were outside before the flames caught. In total, 50 people died, including the majority of circus artists, the ring master and several animals.

- Rabelais left the scene with some food and a lantern. After a couple of hours spent walking on a forest trail, he noticed a thick fog rising, enveloping him, dulling his senses. When he woke up, he was near a Vistani camp, in Barovia.

Reputation: Rabelais is the kind of people whose evil tendencies shows physically. Even in the circus, he was disliked and feared due to his violent and paranoid behavior. Outside of this circle, he is seen at best as a freak, at worst, as a straight out menace.
Distinguishing Feature:  His ginger spiky hair with spots of baldness on each side of the forehead.
Clothing: Rabelais wears his acrobat outfit: a bright red costume with puffed sleeves and puffed trousers. His shoes are in thin leather for better mobility. He sometimes wears a white mask as an accessory.

Eye Color: Light brown.

Skin Color: Limestone.

Complexion: Rabelais’ skin as aged prematurely due to early make up application. He has wrinkles at the corner of his mouth and on his forehead. He also has some scars and burn marks on his body due to the abuse he suffered as a child.

Height: 168 centimeters / 66 inches

Voice: Erratic and high pitched.

In Game: Rabelais will join any group, but won't get along at all with Good aligned characters, who will quickly realize how dangerous he can be for their own safety and those of the people they want to help. He will be deliberately insulting towards nice and "weak" characters, but obedient towards the "strong" and merciless Evil aligned characters.
« Last Edit: November 12, 2023, 08:05:46 AM by Ravenwitch »

Rocky Shoals

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Rocky Shoals
« Reply #270 on: November 13, 2023, 01:52:55 AM »
Rocky Shoals

For as deep as he can dive into the waters of his memory, Braves-The-Rocky-Shoals' life has consisted of passing from one dream state into another.

Forever awakening into a dreamscape is the norm for all who dwell within the Nightmare Lands, for that dreaded island and the surrounding waters are always a chaotic, hallucinatory backdrop to whatever passes for everyday life during waking hours. To the inhabitants, including the native Abber Nomads, the only thing constant, is change. Many who were not born to the Nightmare Lands would lose their minds in such an environment, but for the Abber, anything else would seem unbearably abnormal.

Coastlines, by definition, are marked by constant change. So it is not at all suprising that a small tribe of Abber Nomad trappers and spear-fishers chose to wander along the western coast of the island in pursuit better yields. For generations, this tribe wandered the coast and, like the very land itself, they ebbed and flowed in fortune both good and ill. Rarely did they ever travel further inland, and never did they venture beyond the treacherous Rocky Shoals.

During a harsh season of ill fortune when the yields from spear and trap were barely enough to feed the tribe, one foolhardy youth dared to break the taboo of swimming among the shoals in hopes of finding more fish. From the eldest of the coastal nomads came stories from the darkening waters of their memory about others who had tried to do so and were never seen again. But to everyone's great surprise, the youth returned with a large blue marlin just before dusk.

The tribe was troubled by this and discussed the matter until the moon rose high in the sky. Although the youth had broken one of their oldest taboos, he had survived and the nourishing fish he offered was sorely needed by both young and old alike. In the end, the youth rose and spoke of a harrowing journey through the dark water and shifting stones that he had survived by sheer good fortune alone. Then the elders, doubtlessly prompted in no small part by their hunger, agreed that the youth should not be punished and that the fish was acceptable to eat.

Furthermore, they declared that this deed had proved his manhood and as a sign of this right of passage, the youth was given the name “Braves-The-Rocky-Shoals”. But the name was a great irony which amused them all, for  Braves-The-Rocky-Shoals was not at all like the terrifying place from which his name was taken. Rather, he was a soft-spoken soul with no intent to harm anyone, despite his very imposing physical bearing.

Braves-The-Rocky-Shoals became respected as one of the tribes best spear-fishers and came to be respected for his sharp mind and adaptability even more so than his gigantic size. But his gentle nature, soft voice and reclusiveness always set him apart from his people. In times of great want, he would again live up to his name and break tribal taboo by daring the treacherous shoals for the good of his people. For this reason, peculiar superstitions drifted around him like the clouds accumulate atop the highest peaks of the island.

In the waters of  Braves-The-Rocky-Shoals' memory, his last plunge into the deeps in violation of the old taboo was met with an unexpected turn. As he approached the shoals, he was struck by what he feared might be a shifting ridge of stone, but when he looked down he saw the great Rainbow Serpent itself coiled in the waters below.  In an instant, the serpent swallowed him up in its mighty jaws and  Braves-The-Rocky-Shoals knew only darkness and pain.

Awakening once more, he found that the serpent had shat him out into a terrifying new dream such as he had never known.

Apart from the sea, this new dreamscape was persistent and unchanging. The wilderness was still and stifled and the city skylines always offered the same view from afar. To him, the entire place had the slothful weight of sacrificing the weightless freedom of water and coming ashore after a long time swimming, but drowning in the air with each breath at the same time. No one in this new nightmare could even speak the language of dreams, so now he has come to be known only as “Rocky Shoals”

Now Rocky is alone in a world that is utterly alien to him and each day is a struggle to survive both the threats of the landscape as well as challenges of learning the customs of this bizarre dream realm. While he is grateful to know that he will awaken to his homeland whenever he slumbers, he is often lost upon arrival. Oftentimes, he might hear his tribe's voices upon the wind or see them at a great distance, but he can draw no nearer to them no matter how fast he runs. Despite his struggles, in the end, he always falls once again into this dream of a detestably unchanging and constant place called The Core.

Edit: This bio is a work in progress
« Last Edit: November 13, 2023, 02:06:36 AM by Rocky Shoals »


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Re: Post your character bio here
« Reply #271 on: November 13, 2023, 09:50:40 PM »
Rumors swirl in the shadows of Har-Thelen about Tirinor Meliamne, a figure shaped by the unforgiving rigors of Black Robe training at the Tower of High Sorcery. Whispers speak of a training so ruthless it left indelible scars on his psyche. The enclave's arcane halls, once a haven of elven wisdom, became a crucible for Tirinor's ambition, each trial forging him into the enigmatic war mage he is today.

Among the tales, a darker episode emerges—a military incident that shrouds Tirinor's past in mystery. The rumor mongers weave a narrative of a fateful patrol, a unit plunged into chaos as shadow demons descended upon the serene woods. Tirinor, gravely injured, bore witness to a tragic lapse in concentration from a fellow student, a figure with whom he shared a deep romantic connection. In that harrowing moment, the defensive spell shattered, leading to the deaths of half a dozen elves, including Tirinor's first teacher.

The whispers linger on the consequences of that incident, of a shamed and almost expelled Black Robe. The details remain veiled, obscured by the clandestine nature of the Tower of High Sorcery. Despite the shadows cast upon his record, Tirinor barely managed to graduate. Instead of casting him out, the enclave dispatched him to Barovia, an ominous post that adds an eerie layer to his mysterious narrative. The rumor mongers revel in the enigma surrounding Tirinor Meliamne, a Black Robe whose past is etched in the shadows, waiting to be unraveled by those daring enough to seek the truth.