Way of the Wicked (Pathfinder) Recruitment Thread

Started by Pointless Digression, December 10, 2012, 05:49:47 PM

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ManyMindsManyVoices

"My suggestion to you Shjade would be to get 'Lazarus'. I haven't needed it, but it's nice to know that it's there. It's a program that saves anything you type into internet boxes for a few days or weeks, and if it doesn't post or something, you don't lose it."
My O/Os * Everyone should read 1/0

This is the Oath of the Drake. You should take it.

Shjade

Yeah, I just got that. Unfortunately doesn't work retroactively. x.x On the upside at least I have it all more or less in my head (Selfish girl, parents make a deal with Yutak village they trade with often to adopt her for a while to try to train that out of her, village destroyed, great vengeance and furious anger), but bleh, I hate re-writing things I've lost.
Theme: Make Me Feel - Janelle Monáe
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Conversation is more useful than conversion.

PaleEnchantress

Quote from: Roketto on December 12, 2012, 10:03:36 PM
*swat*

Stop trying to get into everyone's pants.

I don't want to touch them there, I want to touch them in their heads.
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Roketto

#128
Quote from: PaleEnchantress on December 12, 2012, 10:27:17 PM
I don't want to touch them there, I want to touch them in their heads.

Hm, but isn't that where most men keep their heads?


TheRaven


Backstory
Azat Vergia was born on an island a fair distance from the land of Albion. The child of a human woman raped by an orc pirate during a raid on his seaside village, Azat has been striving to prove that he is a decent person to people for as long as he can remember. Unfortunately for him, while he's generally polite and respectful, it's hard for most humans to associate half-orcs with nice guys. He worked as a fisherman in his village until the age of thirteen, when his mother died. He was sold to passing slavers as a cabin boy by the townsfolk, and he went along with it; as it turned out, the slaver captain had an eye for talent, and Azat had the makings of a great talent. He trained the cabin boy in the art of combat, languages, and the nuances of the slave trade. At the age of twenty, after almost eight years aboard the vessel, Azat was appointed first mate to the captain. He served with distinction, until a group of mutinous crewmen cut his throat and tossed him overboard.

Unfortunately for the crewmen, the captain put down their mutiny, and Azat survived their treachery. He woke up a few days after the fact, washed up on the southern shore of Albion. He limped inland, and discovered a concealed temple; a temple to Asmodeus, to be specific. In exchange for medical aid, the half-orc pledged his abilities as a soldier in the service of Asmodeus. During his recovery, he was educated in the abilities of a very special type of inquisitor: a sin eater. Azat was dispatched after heretics from Asmodeus' service, and did his job admirably for several years. During this time, he tried to maintain contact with his old captain. The man was impressed, if disappointed that he was bound to the service of Asmodeus rather than his. Now and then, if Azat knew that his former captain would be passing near his temple, he would snatch someone from an isolated village or an herbalist out gathering materials, and sell his finds to the captain and his slavers.

Azat's little game didn't go on forever, however. He turned twenty-six the day that a group of soldiers in service to the crown arrested him on charges of slave-taking, with his current prize, a very terrified girl about ten years younger than he serving as proof of his crime. The half-orc was summarily indicted and shipped off to Bleakguard prison to await the carrying-out of his sentence. In the meantime, he gets to relax and enjoy the discomfort of chains and tight spaces that he's subjected others to. A tattoo of Asmodeus' symbol on his right shoulder has done more to alienate the prison's other inhabitants than it has to endear him to them, but there are some there, particularly heretics and blasphemers who worship the Lord of Hell.

Personality
Azat is a nice guy. No, really. Unless someone has done something to offend Asmodeus or unless his friends are asking him for help, Azat won't even lift a finger except in self-defense. However, if someone has pissed off his god or his friends, he can go from nonviolence to apologizing to a corpse for its torturous, painful death and the subsequent devouring its soul so that it can become a slave to Asmodeus in the afterlife. He is usually above thievery, which doesn't always work to his advantage, as Azat possesses one helluva sweet-tooth, and sweets aren't cheap. He despises cowards, especially those who can't face their own death with honor. Suicides not of the "better to die than be killed" variety irk him in particular.

The half-orc has a very strictly defined code of conduct that he adheres to...
1. Unless it is a necessity of my mission, I will not harm an innocent.
2. Unless it is a necessity of my mission, I will not steal from an innocent.
3. Unless it is a necessity of my mission, I will not commit treachery.
4. Unless it is a necessity of my mission, I will not formulate or propagate falsehoods.
5. I will serve Asmodeus until the day I die.

This is, of course, not to say that he isn't above murder, torture, theft, treachery, or lying, so long as it's done in the service of Asmodeus.
"Hey," said Shadow. "Huginn or Muninn, or whoever you are"
The bird turned, head tipped, suspiciously, on one side, and it stared at him with bright eyes.
"Say 'Nevermore,'" said Shadow.
"Fuck you," said the raven.

ManyMindsManyVoices

Quote from: Roketto on December 12, 2012, 10:41:13 PM
Hm, but isn't that where most men keep their heads?

"Oh, snap!"

"Or, I dunno, something."
My O/Os * Everyone should read 1/0

This is the Oath of the Drake. You should take it.

Anon315

Well, the good Lord gave men two heads, and only enough blood to use one at a time. Gravity's a jerk, too.

Roketto

Mmmh, Azat is quite the fascinating character.  So far, of all listed, he seems the least likely to irritate a particular necromancer.

Shjade

#133
I liked the first version better, but oh well, it's close enough. Luvata backstory.




From an early age Luvata demonstrated certain personality traits that were worrisome to her parents and the other adults of her village. Children are expected to demonstrate a certain degree of selfishness: they will argue over toys or sweets, fight for a while, reconcile and resume their previous relationship as though nothing has happened. It's the way of things.

Luvata did not follow this cycle in the manner expected of children. She lacked the selfish rage of a child in response to the others wanting her things. Instead she lashed out, sometimes causing real harm, then carried on as though she felt she had done nothing wrong. This was what caused her parents concern.

Being on the eastern coast as it was, Luvata's village was accustomed to trade with the Yutak. One such trader was particularly well-known for his regular visits, able to carry on reasonably intelligible conversations in his broken common. He was something of a family friend by the time Luvata turned five, which was why her parents turned to him with an unusual request: that he take their daughter back to his village with him to raise as his own. After all, if anyone could teach a child generosity and good spirit, who better than the Yutak?

The details of their arrangement are unimportant, save to say that nothing unsavory was mentioned in their dealings.

Life in the Yutak village was not so different from life at home at its foundation. The language barrier was difficult, however. For the first year Luvata hardly understood anyone around her on the best of days and not at all at other times. She was socially isolated in whole. To do much of anything she was forced to reach outside her comfort zone, to ask for help, to be taught, to learn what she could from anyone willing to provide. Fortunately, everyone was. Nothing in the Yutak village was "hers" the way it had been from home, even as a child she understood that much, and it was only through the giving of the villagers that she continued to survive. It was a long, slow, painful process getting her to accept that giving should be a part of taking. And a successful one.

Luvata was fifteen years old when she returned to her home village, rowing her own kayak alongside that of the trader who had so graciously taken her in. She spent days sharing all that she'd learned from the Yutak: how they taught her to weave nets, the way they crossed ice without falling or cracking it underfoot, how they could hide in the snow in seconds and wait without freezing, eagerly unloading anything and everything she could think of. Much of it her parents already knew how to do well enough themselves; they listened with rapt attention anyway, overjoyed at what an energetic, helpful young lady their daughter had become. It was better than they'd ever hoped.

The Yutak trader left during this little family celebration of theirs to let his family know their adopted daughter would be leaving them. Luvata herself left two days later to gather what few possessions she had at the Yutak village, fully intending to return home for good thereafter.

The fog was thick. Though not yet full winter it was close enough for the chill, bits of frost gathering on the fur of her collar as she rowed onward. There were shapes she didn't recognize in the water. Not ice. Definitely not seals. She simply couldn't be sure without hooking one closer to inspect without fog cover, but she had been taught better than to go harpooning the unknown while out alone on the water. That was a good way to end up in the water yourself. She had to keep going without knowing what was gradually clogging more and more of the water along the coast near the Yutak village. Suffice to say she was more than a little surprised by the body pinned to the ground alongside a few smoking umiak hulls on the water.

Through the gray she could still make out the shapes of the village structures, such as they were. Most were collapsed at least in part, some still smoking, others chopped open and sagging. Bodies were hacked apart. She moved toward an ambiguous pile until she was close enough to identify its contents: all the children younger than four. Nothing left in the village still breathed; the only survivors appeared to be middling children, those growing large enough to be used for work but still too young to offer resistance. They were missing.

Luvata did not go back home.

There are a number of dangers to hunting in snowed over territory. Exposure and temperature control, obviously. Low visibility. Fatigue, and so on. Tracking, however, is not one of these. The raiders left a trail wide enough for twenty men, at least, fresh snow still filling in their heavy prints. Every few hours two or three would break away from the main group, scouting for more targets perhaps, then reunite an hour or so later. When she had caught up enough that she estimated she was only twenty minutes behind the trailmakers Luvata followed one of those deviations. Three men in hardened leather, griping to one another about the cold, weapons strapped to their bodies seemingly at random. Luvata had never seen outlaws such as these before; she had no real point of reference for cause to fear them. With their heavy stride crushing the snow underfoot and their own complaints coloring the air around them the men never heard her rush toward them out of the fog.

Afterward her arms were numb. She could tell from the way her glove was ill-shaped she had broken something in her hand but there was no pain. The cold was holding it off, the cold and shock. There was no way she could chase down the rest of the group like this, much less kill them. She had to be patient. That was fine. She had been well taught how to hunt; she could bide her time if it was necessary. The hunt would go as long as it needed to go.

Twelve years. Twelve years before she finally tracked down the last of the lost children. Their captors had been easy enough to locate and destroy, but not until long after the children had been sold off to various buyers. She'd found them in mines and on ships, in noble houses and slum brothels, all of them passed around like so many dolls for the fun of their new owners.

The last was a house slave in Ghastenhall, made to do the cooking and cleaning of his keepers. When he returned from an assigned errand to find Luvata there, newly finished in completing his freedom from this life-long burden, the boy - a man now in truth, sixteen, seventeen - was speechless, utterly at a loss for words while he came to terms with the enormity this change meant for the rest of his life, his future once again his own at last.

When he finally found his voice again, he said, "What have you done?"

"I came for you," she'd told him. "I've set you free."

"You -- She was only six!"

She did not hold the condemnation in his voice against him. She understood; he simply couldn't comprehend what had happened yet. She let him peel the body away from her sticky hands to let his confused joy escape him in weeping above the girl's head. Luvata rest her hand upon him, red streaks left behind in his hair clinging together in clumps, then turned and walked outside. Her task, the one that had been the focus of her life for nearly half its length, was over.

No doubt the commotion was the reason for such a large group of soldiers waiting outside upon her emergence, arms wet and red to the elbows. She had always kept things quiet before, but not that day, not so close to the end of her mission. It didn't matter. Surely they would understand what had taken place that day, why she had had to do what she had done.

They did not.

No. No, they wouldn't, would they? After all, she'd only been forced into this line of action because of them, because of their inaction. If they had done what they were supposed to do, what was expected of them, these vile creatures would never have been so successful in their pillaging. These soldiers, these artifacts of protective law, they hadn't simply failed in their duties. They hadn't even tried. Not once had she ever seen another in pursuit of her prey as she tracked them down; they were as good as innocent in the eyes of this corrupt system Albion called their law. Where had they been when they were needed? Who were they to judge her now for picking up their slack?

"Where were you, you bastards?"

In the end there was only so much she could hope to accomplish against armored soldiers. She fled. Not far outside the city they caught up with her again and brought her down. She had learned many things, grown strong and fast over the years; she could outrun armored men on foot with ease.

But not on their horses.
Theme: Make Me Feel - Janelle Monáe
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Conversation is more useful than conversion.

PaleEnchantress

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Roketto

An interesting character you've got there Shjade.  Interesting, indeed.

Shjade

Why thank you. n.n I find the most relatable kind of evil could have been good under different circumstances.
Theme: Make Me Feel - Janelle Monáe
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Conversation is more useful than conversion.

Pointless Digression

I added beneath the roster of currently accepted characters everyone who has submitted a pitch to me, either in this thread or by messages.

And damn. Until I saw the list, I had no idea I had QUITE that many, and when I looked over the proposed characters, I was once again floored by the quality.

This is not going to be an easy decision. But this is the kind of problem DMs like having, I suppose.

This is Thursday, 13 December. I'm going to let any stragglers get their ideas in to me by tomorrow night, then start sending messages and asking follow up questions to my prospects and figuring out the final makeup of the group.

And Roketto, you're right. I'm going to need a God/Goddess to move the IC thread to a system game part of the forums. Oops, as Rick Perry said.
         

ManyMindsManyVoices

"Did Roketto say that too? I think that was me... Not that it matters at all, just sayin'."

"Looking over the roster, I say we toss them all, not a single 'J' name on the list, that just won't do."

"..."

"That's a joke, please tell me everyone gets that... Anyway, I'd be happy to give my 2 cents if our GM would like (privately or publicly), but I understand why you may or may not want that."

"If you do want our opinions, it might help to link the roster to each person's profile and the post with their pitch. (Hell, it might help you to do that for your own sake, either way)."
My O/Os * Everyone should read 1/0

This is the Oath of the Drake. You should take it.

Tydorei

Quote from: Pointless Digression on December 13, 2012, 04:23:29 AMThis is Thursday, 13 December. I'm going to let any stragglers get their ideas in to me by tomorrow night, then start sending messages and asking follow up questions to my prospects and figuring out the final makeup of the group.

I... I can still make it... damn 12 hour shifts...

Anon315

My character is actually an Oracle, PD. Follower of ideals and many deities rather than one specific. :) Tried to get that across without blatantly saying it.

Roketto

Quote from: Pointless Digression on December 13, 2012, 04:23:29 AM
And Roketto, you're right. I'm going to need a God/Goddess to move the IC thread to a system game part of the forums. Oops, as Rick Perry said.

Ah, that wasn't me.  That was Ryuka.  Yes, yes, they both start with "R", but definitely not the same.

Also...

Quote from: Ryuka Tana on December 13, 2012, 04:43:18 AM"Looking over the roster, I say we toss them all, not a single 'J' name on the list, that just won't do."

"..."

"That's a joke, please tell me everyone gets that... Anyway, I'd be happy to give my 2 cents if our GM would like (privately or publicly), but I understand why you may or may not want that."

"If you do want our opinions, it might help to link the roster to each person's profile and the post with their pitch. (Hell, it might help you to do that for your own sake, either way)."

Agreed.  On both accounts.  Just kidding about the names though, seriously...  3 names that all start with "J"; I think we should start calling ourselves the J-Team or something...

Ershin

Quote from: Ryuka Tana on December 13, 2012, 04:43:18 AM
"Looking over the roster, I say we toss them all, not a single 'J' name on the list, that just won't do."
Obviously this is all down to a new royal decree, anyone whose name begins with a J is to be remanded in custody and executed without trial.

ManyMindsManyVoices

"Damn the King and his decrees, we of the 'J' names deserve equal rights as well! I shall just have to change my name to Magus, maybe get myself a Scythe..."
My O/Os * Everyone should read 1/0

This is the Oath of the Drake. You should take it.

Roketto

#144
"Oh, wonderful," Jhonan grumbled, rolling his eyes with an unamused scowl, "As if being surrounded by imbeciles and the shambling corpses of the rotting dead wasn't bad enough..."

Anon315

I could have a J name if required by decree, but as for now I am "unnamed Catfolk", because I chose not to name myself as yet. Names make characters real to me, and I abhor giving characters names until they are seriously considered for games. Otherwise, they die before they can gain true life. Yes it's probably a little melodramatic, but it's upsetting to spend so much time on a character that they become real to you, only for them to die without ever having lived. As it stands, if "Unnamed catfolk" never comes into being, that's life. Thousands of nameless individuals die every day without you having ever known their stories.

Shjade

#146
*glances at OP*

...hm. That background does sound more like a ranger with all the hunting, doesn't it. I guess that works for me; I only picked monk for mechanical simplicity, not 'cause my heart was set on it. ;p

*goes back to the d20 site to read about rangers instead*

Related: what the heck's a Black Blade Kensai? O.o

Edit: *reading Ranger stuff, sees the Natural Weapon combat style...and how it seems like it'd be mostly useless to a human* D:
Theme: Make Me Feel - Janelle Monáe
◕/◕'s
Conversation is more useful than conversion.

ManyMindsManyVoices

"It's actually Magus, but I like Pathfinder's alternate class template things. A lot. So he's got two, though he's mostly just a Kensai, all things considered. He's less magic oriented than he is focused on his martial skills."
My O/Os * Everyone should read 1/0

This is the Oath of the Drake. You should take it.

Roketto

#148
Quote from: Shjade on December 13, 2012, 02:45:45 PM
*glances at OP*

...hm. That background does sound more like a ranger with all the hunting, doesn't it. I guess that works for me; I only picked monk for mechanical simplicity, not 'cause my heart was set on it. ;p

*goes back to the d20 site to read about rangers instead*

Related: what the heck's a Black Blade Kensai? O.o

Edit: *reading Ranger stuff, sees the Natural Weapon combat style...and how it seems like it'd be mostly useless to a human* D:

It's actually a Magus archetype called Bladebound with the addition of Kensai shenanigans.  A good combo, I can personally attest to the effectiveness of.

ManyMindsManyVoices

"Mostly I went for it because we needed more martial prowess than magical, and I like no-armor characters anyway. Plus, I love intelligent items."
My O/Os * Everyone should read 1/0

This is the Oath of the Drake. You should take it.