[Savage Tide] Character Thread

[Dawg]

(THIS GAME IS BY INVITATION ONLY - ONLY POST A CHARACTER CONCEPT IF YOU HAVE RECEIVED A PM ASKING YOU TO DO SO
if you are interested then PM Dawg and if an opening comes up then we can discuss your request)

Here is where you will post your character concepts



Use this guide to fashion your characters and post them in this thread, I will update this post with each character and a link to your post.

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[Savage Tide] There is no Honor

[Savage Tide] Character Concepts

[Savage Tide] Out of Character Discussion




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Aranduriel Ithilwen – Moon Elf Cleric ~ Josietta

Jinan Veditoa Lowan (Jinny) – Half-Dragon Swashbuckler ~ Dawg

[Dawg]

It was an early morning in the spring-time on Lonefang Mountain near the shores of the northern sea.

The sun was rising from her cloudy bed, and while spreading her beautiful gold hair over the sky, her gleams fell on a set of shining White Scales. The owner of those Scales raised his head, a tired expression on his grizzled features.

The birds slowly started singing, and tone by tone, the morning symphony was created, by the mere happiness of waking up.

The creature smirked in amusement, as he thought of how cheerful these silly little lumps of feathers could be, just to wake up.

It amused him, and yet, he did not find anything stupid about it. The only thing he thought was stupid, was that weird species … humans, who merely got up, just to work all day, and do things against their own will.

But what did he know of it … Arauthator was born a master of his world, and had never had the need, nor desire to learn from the hand and mind of another.

He got up from his bed of leaves, stretched out with his front legs, and shook his head in a lazy manner. He sniffed the spring-breeze, and greeted the still raising sun with a respectful nod.

She blinked for a moment, as if to return his gesture, and then she let a small streak of light strike his dog-like nose, while still deeply concentrating on painting the clouds in the most spectacular pink-orange and light-blue colors.

“Always trying to overdo herself,” he thought with a shake of his head. He then whipped a nearby tree with his long white tail, making a shower of raindrops and dew fall down on his body. It was chillingly cold, but he liked it that way. It was the way of the nature, and that would always be the only right way, he thought sternly. He had thought this way as long as he could remember, and that was not about to change.

He blinked the water out of his eyes, and then with a small yawn, he took off, to bid the world his own kind of good morning; to a new age - his age he thought. He had a plan and today he would put that plan into action.

Tiamat had been making progress in the Dragonfall War with Bahamt, a war for complete control over the known world that few outside of the Dragon Race even knew was being raged. But Arauthator knew, and he knew what he must do. If Tiamat defeats Bahamt then his world will fall under her control and he will be at her mercy, and she was not merciful. He was going to raise his own army to defend his lands against Tiamat should she succeed.

He had been watching a High Elvin Mage for some time and thought that by mixing his blood with that lineage he could produce a powerful half-dragon mage and start forming his army. But as we said before, he had not the need, nor desire to learn from the hand and mind of another. He would be mistaken.

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My father was a cold-drake; revenge and malice flowed through him as blood through a lesser being. He stole the only daughter of a high Elvin Mage from her walk along the cliffs of Storm Tower and sprouted his seed within her womb, then tore the babe — me — from her dying body. He thought that mixing his Dragon Blood with powerful Elvin Arcane Blood would produce a powerful mage which he could raise to do his bidding. What he did not know was that there are powers in this world that flow deeper and more powerful than Dragon Blood. His evil character did not mix as he anticipated with the good character of my mother. Since the two opposites did not mix, what he saw in me was nothing more than a mutant. I looked more like an elf than a Dragon and he could sense right away that I was not born a powerful mage. He named me Veditoa Lowan, which means ‘the cold death’ in the speech of the cold drakes, then cast me into the sea to die. A mistake that he may very well regret in the future.

I lived. After all I was half cold-drake, and my body shaped itself to the waves and my teeth to the fish I caught: so I grew strong.

I wandered too far south one year and a fisherman caught me in his nets, bound me tight in cord and fishing weights, then drew me out of the water into air. I do not recall it well, save for light and heat and pain, but the fisherman told me later that I was a serpent who cried in a voice like a seagull’s and wept. I had dried, and like a cold drake, my skin had cracked into pieces, releasing the form within. But unlike a drake, my inner form was humanoid.

“Put her skin in this box,” said the fisherman, and his crew did, unwrapping the net to remove each piece while I blinked at them, newborn to land. As they lifted the last piece away, some part of my sea-grown mind understood what they took, and I reached for it. For my trouble I gained a single scale before they locked my old life away from me. Pressed to my finger, it bonded to my nail, pearly-white and silver, as sharp as whetted steel.

I did not how to survive in this new form so I began to gasp and die there on the deck of his ship. The Fisherman knew what lay before him and what he had to do; his wife heard the calling and left to become a dragonborn a long time ago, but she still held her love for him and visited him occasionally, until the time she was killed in a battle with a “white” dragon called Arauthator. He began to prey to her spirit to help this creature dying in his arms and she heard his call. She pleaded with Bahamt to do something and save this half blood dragon, even though I was the spawn of Arauthator, I did not ask for that curse and I deserved to live. So Bahamt feeling he could do something for the fisherman in reward for his wives service, granted me the rite of rebirth as a Dragonborn. I grew wings and my eyes became silver and my pupils slit like my fathers. While Bahamt tried, he could not bring me to good, but he did succeed to erase the ultimate evil of my father.

The fisherman then brought me to shore and wrapped me in one of his dead wife’s gowns and stepped back to look at me. He also slipped on a pair of what looked and felt like soft doeskin gloves. When he put the gloves on, they seemed to disappear and my dragon appearance dissipated.

I do not know what he saw, but I can imagine; my shape was slim and sleekly curved, like a Drake, but even more so like the Elvin woman my mother had been. The gown, moth-eaten and forgotten so long in her chests, hung on me as a rag.

He looked at me and said, “You shall be Jinan, which means ‘white’ in the old language.” And I was white, white-haired and silver-eyed, my skin as pale as the doeskin gloves he had put upon my hands. So I came to be known as Jinan Veditoa Lowan, “The White Cold Death”. Whenever I wore the gloves I looked like my mother and not the spawn of my father.

The fisherman took me in and showed me the ways of the seas above the water, on-board a ship. He taught how to rig the sails, and navigate by the stars. He also showed me how to survive long times at see above water (which I thought strange as I could always jump in the water for plenty of food and shelter from the fierce elements above the waves).

Then it happened, the event that turned me towards the life I have now, that of a thief. We were sailing in the southern waters where the fisherman had originally pulled me from the sea, when we were set upon by Pirates.

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“Jarves, git yer feathery carcass over her right now”

Sharky’s pet parrot obediently flew over to her master’s outstretched forearm. “Yes Master.”

He took in a long, slow breath as his crew gathered up the little loot left behind by the fisherman’s crew. Sharkey was upset. The lookout told him he had spotted what looked like a nobleman or a rich mage of some sort aboard; and so Sharky thought the rickety fishing boat was a decoy. But, there was no sign of any white haired mage to be found, only poor fisherman, with relatively little booty. So the lookout’s fate became the same as the fisherman.

“Captain, we got a survivor here”

The captain of the boat lay in a pool of his own blood, gasping a prayer. Sharkey limped over and bent down to look him in the eye.

“No healing prayers allowed, lad. Captains orders.” Sharky swung the hook he had for a right hand into the Captain’s forehead.

The crew squirmed in sympathy as a geyser of red erupted into the sky. A grim silence fell over the ship. Captain Sharky was as ruthless a Pirate as has ever lived.

For the first time in my life I felt revenge and malice flow my veins as it had my fathers, I pulled the gloves off, put them in my pouch and then I jumped from behind the barrel where I had been hiding to seek my revenge. One of the crew shouted ”Thar be the mage Capin” Sharky turned around just in time for me to lung at him with my silvery claw. "Ye geou visit Davey Jones' Locker ihk batobot ye srow – translation - Ye will visit Davey Jones' Locker for that ye scum". I had spoken in cold drake for the first time in my life and it surprised even Sharkey, at least enough that I managed to gouge out his left eye before I was tackled by his scum.

The captain scowled in pain. “Ye whore, I’ll make ye pay for that.? Ye do not need to travel across th' briny deep for battle. We shall take th' battle to ye. Liven up mateys, we’re going to have some entertainment tonight.”

Enraged, he said that cutting my throat would be too good for me, so they bound me, beat me and tried to lash me while tied to the mizzen mast, and then they made me walk the plank. Using my claw I had the bounds cut almost as soon as I hit the water and swam up under the ship intent to get my revenge. There I stayed clinging to the ship above the water line but out of sight, buying my time until they pulled into harbor at Sansarrine. I waited until the crew had gone ashore for all of their groggin' and revelin' and wrenchin' and rummin'. Captain Sharky you see, preferred to stay on the Tomahawk for his perceived safety, you can’t be one of the most ruthless pirates ever to have lived without having a few enemies.

I waited until he drifted asleep and crept up the side of the ship and on deck. The first thing I did before cutting off the head of Jarves, that feathery carcass, was to kill the lone watchman left behind. Then I crept into Sharky’s cabin. Before I slit his throat with his own sword, I woke him up with a quick jab in the forehead with my claw, just like he had done to my benefactor; I wanted him to see who was sending him to the ninth plane of hell.

"Valeij hefoc vi stuffed goh ye slime. Lor charnag ias ve fiexnah vur keffal svabol awaits ye persvek uoinota. – translation - Bleed like a stuffed pig ye slime. Look deep into me eyes and see what awaits ye in hell."

Then as he lay there paralyzed in fear looking into my silvery eyes, with blood spurting from his forehead, I dragged his sword across his throat until it hit the spine below.

I took his sword, daggers and as much treasure as I could carry, went back on deck and set the ship on fire. Then I jumped in the water and swam away. I put my special gloves back on and slipped ashore mixing in with the hustle and bustle of merchants and tradesman’s in the Shadowshore district of Sanssarine.

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That was some 20 years ago and legend still tells of the night that Sharky was killed by a demon in the night before setting his ship ablaze. I have never made known that it was I who did those deeds that fateful night.

In the beginning I was scared to be in this new city with all of the shadows. But in time I placed my treasure in the relative safety offered by Honest Brank’s (I learned that they know not to ask questions there). I then took up residence behind Last Ditch Lovers, one of the brothels in the Shadowshore district. I made new friends and learned how to fight and the trades of a thief (one really doesn’t have a choice but to learn these skills while living in Shadowshore).

I have thus far managed, with the help of my special gloves, to live with some obscurity, excepting my silver eyes and white hair. During these times I have sailed with many ships as a mercenary further honing my skills. I am beginning to make a name for myself and some of the captains will ask for me by name when they are looking to fill their rosters.

Tonight if you walk into the Plucked Parrot and you pay attention, you might see me sitting in the corner sipping some rum. I am wearing my trademark leather pants and boots along with my leather shirt which is cut open in the front to allow my movement. I have my white hair pulled back into a single ponytail and I may or may not be wearing a bandana tied around my head. Around waist is my belt wear I carry my sword, a couple of daggers and a pouch with a small amount o booty.

[Josietta]

Aranduriel Ithilwen – Moon Elf Cleric


The branches of the trees brushed past, their leaves jostled and tumbling in a variant of color. The sun was setting low on the horizon and the hurried sound of hooves along the forest floor was heard in loud succession. The various birds and wildlife scattered out of the way in fear as most skitterish creatures do. The white stallion broke through the brush and into the clearing along the coast. As the colors leaked across the cloudless sky, a lovely woman, an elven woman to be exact, sat atop the stallion. She rode bareback, with her legs settled in a side fashion, wearing long flowing robes in shades of white, silver and blue. She looked like a goddess, an angel, sitting atop the ebony beast. Her own features contrasted, like the moon against the night sky. The salty air uplifted from the waters down below and blew her long silvery white hair behind her like a curtain of silk. The strong burst sent a light mist with the breeze from crashing waves over her. The cool water causing a soft sigh of relief over her, as the setting sun cooled the day and the fine spray of saltwater cooled her heated skin.  Sparkling silver Eladrin eyes stared out over the waters and she dreamt of adventures, of racing across the waters on a ship bound for no where. “One day, Aranduriel, one day...”

Every evening was just like that.

“Aranduriel, please pay attention!” she heard her mother say again as she was off in another of her infamous daydreams.

She looked ahead at the books and nodded to her in an unspoken reply that she was listening. She had been learning more each day and her skills in healing the sick was something of a prodigy for her family.  The Ithilwen family had high honors in the village. Well, most of them, her brother was a bit of an exception. Kariel left home just after his maturation. He wanted to become a fighter, a swordsman, an adventurer who stood in the face of evil and defeated with great skill and honor. Aranduriel envied him.  She had begged and pleaded with him to take her along.

“Ara, Sasserine is no place for a beautiful young elven maiden such as you. It’s dangerous, and you are just past a hundred nights. I will come back in a couple years and we will go off on our own adventure. I promise. ” Those were his last words to her before his, “Goodbye,” and that was almost 5 years ago. She remembered arguing that she was only a few years younger then he but he would hear none of it. She even tried using her extraordinary charisma to charm him, but he was too willful it seemed.

The moon elves were the most common in the entire kingdom and it was not unheard of for travelers to pass through. That is where her adventures began. A man from Sasserine stayed in the village, he was a Paladin of the sun God and spoke of the terrible troubles in the city. All Aranduriel could think of, was Kariel. She had to leave and go find him; she had to be sure he was okay. That night when all was quiet and everyone settled she slipped out, she had a small purse of coins and a backpack of essentials. She left a simple note for her parents, not to worry that she would be okay and she’d send word soon.

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That was a month ago. Aranduriel had since found a room that she paid for by the week and had not had any luck in finding her brother. She found some minor work  doing some healing through the city, it was enough to keep food in her mouth and a roof over her pretty head, but nothing to write home about. She had just finished with a job and was walking back to the inn when the Halfling woman approached. She tilted her head downward to the woman, though not nearly as far down as the average human might, and gave her a beautiful charismatic smile. She accepted the letter and beckoned her to follow with promise of compensation for doing so. She was sure the carrier would have no problems with doing so as it was not far to where they were headed.

She tucked the letter in her bag and continued on to the Inn. When she was within the safe confines of the Inn, she offered to buy the woman a drink as they found a place to sit. After receiving her own drink, a simple red wine, and one for the woman if she so wished, she was able to devote her attentions to the letter without distractions from possible thieves and the like. She took out her letter opener and notated the crest with a curious tilt of her head before she sliced through the papered envelope. She looked down at the scripted writing and read it quietly and thoroughly.

Upon finishing it, she read it over twice more before she looked back to the woman and nodded.

“I would be honored to attend. Send my best wishes to your mistress and I will see her soon.”

She held out her hand to the Halfling woman, her innocent charm enough to bring a smile to even the most downtrodden, even if only for a moment.

“Thank you for your expedient delivery. I do hope you don’t have too much more to do this day. Be well and may Pelor smile upon you.”

She placed a couple silver pieces into her hand discreetly, and offered a final smile. Upon the Halflings departure, Aranduriel sat back and sipped at the wine. It was not nearly as good as the elven wine, but it would have to make due as the Elven variety was far too expensive for her at the moment.

[Dreamweaver]

Kieran Terell - Human Blademaster



The arching dive through the air was silent grace as Kieran leapt from the edge of the Harbor Street Bridge and arced into the air above the dark, swirling waters below.  Behind him he could hear booted feet racing along the cobblestones, and the shouts of anger.  “You’ll pay for your insolence, Terell!!” a voice hollered from behind, bringing a smile to Kieran’s face as his hands touched the surface of the water.

He entered the water gracefully, kicking his soft leather boots and propelling himself quickly through the cold ocean currents of the central waterway.  It was not until he was fifty feet up the channel that he surfaced, inhaling deeply as his head popped above water.

“Terell!!!” the man shouted again, and Kieran looked back up the channel at him where he stood shaking a fist from the bridge.  He was flanked by three toughs, all dressed in the clothes of house servants.  “You’ll pay for sullying the honor of my sister, you have my word on it!”

“Your sister’s honor was sullied long ago,” he shouted with a laugh as he began to backstroke into the deeper waters of the bay.  “and by more men than I.  Perhaps you should have discussions with them first, and when you get to me you’ll be less inclined to fight!”

A stream of noxious curses poured from the man as he picked up rocks from the edge of the road, hurling them furiously at Kieran as the man turned and kicked through the water gracefully, arms pulling him through the waves with ease.  With one look back at the four men, Kieran dove underneath the surface and kicked away, leaving the pursuers with no trail to follow.



When Kieran surfaced again, nearly three minutes had passed and more than a hundred yards separated him from the spot he had disappeared from.  He knew that none of the four could match his swimming skill, not to mention his swordsmanship, but he had no desire to kill any of the men simply because the young lord’s sister was a bit too free handing out the kisses.  Nonetheless, it was always better to retreat and gain a better vantage point than enter a conflict outnumbered and possibly let a lucky shot score through.

Skill was one thing, he knew.  But skill couldn’t beat luck – and you never knew how lucky a man was going to be until it was too late.  He reached up into the cargo netting of the ship he’d surfaced next to and pulled himself up, briny water streaming from his hair and clothes as he hauled himself up and onto the deck.

The ship was a cargo schooner, and the wide-beamed vessel was abustle with movement, sailors going about their duties quickly and busily with only a few giving him even a moment’s glance.  There were always strangers moving about in the Azure District, and today was no different.  Strangers abounded in a district devoted to trade and commerce, and none gave it a moment’s thought beyond the next sale or purchase, the next trade or barter.  Kieran didn’t bother to stay on the schooner long, however, as he shook the excess water from his sleeves and wrung what he could out of his loose pants.

Moving quickly to a run, Kieran leapt up and bounded off of the wide port rail, arcing back into the air and somersaulting to the deck of a smaller ship, a fishing vessel of some sort.  He didn’t bother stopping here, running across the deck and leaping with grace to the next ship in the row.  Within moments he bounded all the way to the stout wooden pier, his booted feet landing softly on the wide creosoted planks.

“Kieran Terell?” the woman’s voice spoke, and Kieran pulled up short, spinning cautiously in her direction.  Looking down, he appraised the matronly Halfling woman standing before him, a rolled missive of some sort held aloft in her small hand.

“This letter is for you, Master Terell,” the woman said quietly, pressing the rolled scroll into his palm.  Intrigued more than anything else, Kieran broke the Hippogriff-emblazoned wax seal and unrolled it, scanning the text with his bright green eyes.

Greetings, and I trust this missive finds you in good health!

My name is Lavinia Vanderboren and I humbly request your attendance at a dinner at my estate on Festival Street and Blue Skink Lane tomorrow evening. I think that I can present you with an opportunity uniquely suited to your skills. Please inform the carrier of this letter of your response to this invitation, and I hope to be speaking to you soon!

Lavinia Vanderboren

Arching an eyebrow at the invitation, and then at the Halfling, he addressed the woman.  “Are you sure this is for me, good lady?”

“You are Kieran Terell,” she stated without a question in her voice.  “And the invitation is for you.”

With that, the woman turned and walked away, her dark skirts swirling in the sea breeze.  Kieran chuckled as he stuffed the note into the back of his sword-belt and rested his hands onto the hilts of his twin scimitars.  This was turning out to be an interesting day, he thought.  An interesting day indeed.




Kieran’s life as a youth in the Azure District was as colorful as most, with him spending countless hours swimming in the ocean and traveling on the many ships that call Sasserine their homeport.  His father owned a whaling company, yet the two seemed to constantly clash on the direction of Kieran’s life.  Subsequently, the youth made sure whatever work he found was far from his father’s small fleet of whaling ships.

The job he became best at was pearl-diving – By the time he was a teenager, Kieran was one of the most skilled pearl-divers in Sasserine, holding a high position in the Pearldivers’ Guild.  Some remarked that he could hold his breath for near ten minutes, though no one reputable had ever backed the claim.

Despite his notable association with the Guild, however, Kieran quickly established a less than stellar reputation as a scoundrel and a bit of a cheat, not to mention being known for his casual way with the ladies of Sasserine.  It was not uncommon to see him running through the city, avoiding this person or that on the way to his next adventure.

During his time at the guild, Kieran met and subsequently became fast friends with the legendary swordsman Galoc Swiftblade.  Galoc had come to the guild wishing to purchase pearls for a decorative piece he wished to commission for a lady friend.  During the visit, he met with Kieran – a young and brash pearldiver with far too much energy for one youth to manage properly.

Galoc set about teaching the lad how to use a sword, and after many years of practice, Kieran became a swordsman in his own right.  He took what Galoc taught him and modified it for his own style, complimenting his gift of ambidexterity.  He chose to use two swords rather than one,  and since his father had gifted to him a finely wrought scimitar when he was only a lad, Kieran chose to use two dangerously curved scimitars.

His style, although lacking the power and offensive capabilities of Galoc’s original, had a grace and speed to it that was akin to a dancer’s – quick and agile, and unpredictable.  It was unlikely he’d be able to down a foe with one blow, but in the span of one man’s single blow, Kieran could land six and leave his opponent bleeding from more wounds than he had fingers.

Shortly after Kieran’s Twenty-fourth Name-Day, his father was killed in an accident aboard his flagship, and without his father’s leadership the company soon began to collapse.  Kieran tried to step in and fill the void left by his father, but he didn’t have the patience for hunting that his father had.  Subsequently, it was inevitable that the company would fail if Kieran continued on as the owner.

Eventually he agreed to sell the controlling interest in the company to another local family of whalers, and the gold earned by the sale he split between himself, his mother and his three younger sisters, Lia, Kari and Gwendylon. 

Unfortunately for Kieran, however, his money management skills were little better than his whaling skills.  In a matter of months he had gambled and drank away the majority of his money, leaving him once again on the street to fend for himself.  He was too proud by nature to return to his mother and sisters, begging for handouts, so he found himself traveling the streets of Sasserine, plying his skills to earn enough for the next day’s meal, or entertaining the ladies with enough charm to earn himself a warm bed and a cuddle for the night.