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Jesset Ferryl (often called "the Lynx")


Before I start the narrative, a couple things out of character.

1st: Picture a female skoli with studded leather armor in patterns of green, grey, brown & reddish-brown. From a distance the color pattern looks mottled, random, highly likely to blend in with certain forests. Upon close inspection, the armorís coloring is actually an M.C. Escher-ish like inter-locking pattern of leaf shapes. The most common leaf shapes are Aspens. The detail & stitching is quite good & the armor seems well padded & made - but not without a few repairs. Her large sword & fine bow are also of great quality. Her pack is very heavy, but she travels as fast as an unladen dwarf with it on, as fast as an elf or human with it off. It doesnít seem to crush her so she must be relatively strong, but sheís no hulk. Her limbs are not big, just very taut. It is her grace that borders on the preternatural. She isÖ beautiful, you want to say, and yet, sheís not attractive. Very weird that. Something about her alienness & even a feral quality make her just as repulsive (in an intimidating or frightening - not ugly - way) as she is attractive. Seems to balance out for most people. She seems to have a keen mind & is more than well acquainted with woodlore, hunting & tracking. Youíve rarely seen anybody better with a bow than her & she seems to be able to fire right over your shoulder or around your hip to save you from your enemies. It scared the bejeezus out of you the first couple of times you fought together, but youíre getting used to it, kind of. You still canít shake the feeling that sheís going to shoot you in the back some day.


And one odd thing that she might have dropped in a bar one night when a bit tipsy (she too serious to ever get really drunk): she admits that once someone she fought with called her ìmanticoreî because her arrows were coming fast & deadly. Secretly, she really wishes her nickname was ìthe manticoreî, but people have always called her ìthe lynxî, so she feels stuck with it. She also wonders if sheís really powerful and deadly enough to have her nickname be that powerful a creature. She feels itís pretentious, but kind of hopes that someday that is her nickname. If youíve ever brought up the subject since then, sheís denied talking about it. Thatís the only thing youíve ever known her to lie about.


AndÖ if third edition manticores no longer have flying tail spikes, forget that whole last thing, it never happened.


Okay, now in narrative voice:


Raised in wood elf communities, Jesset lived an uneasy young life. Never fully accepted among elves, she was pushed to become a ranger, to be independent & rely little on the community. She lived in an elven home with an elven family. How she came to live with them, she has never told. While never warm, the elven family did feed her, clothe her, even taught her to create her own tools & weapons. While locked in as an older youth she spent several years creating a masterwork sword ñ helped all the while by the skill of the elven father. Later she would spend much more time making and repairing bows and arrows in the field, but these years at home kept her close to the forge. Whatever generosity was shown to her by these elves was not boundless. With and without words, the elves made clear her skills and weapons were to be used to defend the community while she was never allowed to be truly OF the community. In this way, she was encouraged to expiate the debt she incurred from her elven hosts.


Often elves respond to her with fear, distrusting her even as she lived among them, played with their children, learned in their schools. Never did she attack elves, or menace them. The son of her host family called her sister. Jesset herself never understood this, though she knew it was at least partly for her looks. Occasionally she would overhear an elf conversation about her. Jessetís bluish skin was often called ìalienî, but in those times they believed she could not hear, they called her other things, worse things. Speculating on her parentage, some elves rumored she was sired by a demon.


However, the feral features that led to her name have not always been a disadvantage for Jesset. Pushed to the edges of the village by those uncomfortable with her face, the Order of Servants ñ rangers defending the borders of the larger community ñ took her in as apprentice. Her training brought her into conflict with orcs who, instead of hating her the way they might a wood elf, learned to fear her powerful, deadly bow & to respect her as a tenacious foe who nonetheless knew when a battle was won or lost, retreating or granting quarter as the fates decided.


This reputation - this unusual respect among the orcs of the forest - eventually saved her life.


While Jesset spent the decades of her youth learning the ways of the woods, waters, and stones, her host-brother took to studying under a famed & reclusive wood-elf mage. For a time, he brought great honor upon the family & was celebrated by her parents in ways that she could never hope to be. For a time.


Many years of thankless toil securing the loose borders of a scattering of villages were eventually rewarded with a ceremony of recognition for Jesset, a ritual granting the status of Servant of the Aspen. Now allowed to conduct patrols away from her mentor, to perform solo raids, scouting missions, or counter-hunts of dangerous predators, Jesset had reached the lowest recognized level of a full-fledged ranger. The hope that one day she might be named Servant of the Bole (or Bole-wood or heart-tree or home-tree in some languages) was her highest aspiration. Though a distant hope, in the patient dreaming of the long-lived it now seemed plausible in a way that it had not throughout her troubled childhood. Ultimately, it was never to be.


For other changes were underway in the forest. Supernatural forces had caused the dead to rise. Many elves thought this an ill omen, though still more did not disapprove, as the dead seemed not to aggress against the elves. Rather these carcasses and skeletons saved their wrath for the intelligent enemies of the forest elves. Rising from the hummus of the forest floor, these dead things - human, dog, stag, boar, orc, or what have you - gathered in bands to ravage the homes of nearby gnolls. When these clans were driven out, the ever more numerous dead rose up to assault the many numbers of orcs that ringed much of the elf territory. Assaulting when villages were emptied of warriors, the hordes of rotting creatures struck down the old, the young, the weak, the sick - burning homes and sacking treasure. But to what end? The mindless dead care only for the commands of their masters.


Jesset sought to find out. She argued for opposition to this supernatural evil. Among the Orderís elders all seemed concerned, but Ö complacent? Jesset wasnít sure how the elders truly felt, but they seemed to adopt the position that the enemy of an elf was an elf's friend. Certainly they ordered no investigation of the animated horrors, much less any armed opposition. Discouraged by her superiors in the Order-of-Servants, Jesset remained determined to oppose this new evil. If she could do nothing else, she could at least prevent a surprise attack in any large number. Though her outspokenness caused some to question her priorities, Jesset remained a Servant of the Aspen and continued to patrol the borderlands alone for a moon at a time, free to act as she saw fit in protecting the larger community.


She chose to track the dead.


No one was more surprised than Jesset when, after the 3rd week of the 8th month of her quest for the source of the dead, she found her own host-brother greeting plunder-laden corpses. Not knowing the extent of her brother's powers or his motivations, she attempted to track him but lost the trail - whether caused by invisibility or some form of apportation or merely her own lack of skill she never discovered. She did however know the locale of his reclusive master. All of the Order knew it, though few others did, since the Order was instructed to guard this place as fiercely as all other wood-elf homes.


Making her stealthy way to this home, she crept close, but not into its clearings or gardens for fear of magical scrying or detection. After three visits to the home, each nearly a month long, she was rewarded with the sounds of a garden conversation that revealed all. Her brother and other servants to the powerful mage acted as his proxies, ordering the dead, collecting the plunder and using the power & wealth slowly acquired to build towards a conflict that would overturn the tradition of elder rule in wood-elf villages. Instead of villages mutually governed in collective wisdom, the wizards would install a monarchy such as the city-elves must often submit to. With plundered wealth the necromancers built not only arms and armor and magical aids for their army, but a throne to be passed down in perpetuity from mage to disciple mage, cementing power with power, mortaring dynastic rule with fear of magical torture.


From this moment, Jesset knew she MUST destroy the army the mages were using, and still BUILDING. The dead must not become more numerous. The murder and plunder of other races must end. Always before the local elves had sought no more than to defend their own. Her own community's reluctance to fully support the dead's conquest despite the clear targeting of elvish enemies was an insufficient reaction. She knew that although the elders might not oppose an evil force bent on destroying gnolls and orcs, they certainly could not tolerate elves being the source of such an army and such atrocities. This was evil enough to deserve opposition, even if there was no intention to turn in time the army of dead against the community. With proof the dead would eventually turn against them, it seemed certain no elf would fail to act.


Jesset went again to the elders of her order, but again she was rebuffed. Her words could not be trusted, they contested. The word of a sinister-born semi-citizen against that of a learned, elder mage of the community? Here was evil too great to be believed. And six apprentices - some minor mages in their own right ñ were alleged to be siding with this evil? If Jesset was not speaking false, then certainly she was deceived or bewitched.


Some felt she should be expelled from the order then and there. But Jesset was not the only Skoli in the community. One other lived among the wood elves of this nation and that one was an elder himself, within her own Order-of-Servants. Though through great service in dangerous times he had achieved much higher rank, the second highest in fact, Servant-of-the-Sequoia ("great spirit" - also the name of a red-wooded tree in which many elves built homes). This Skoli spoke on her behalf, reminded the order of her tireless service, how she had never failed in her discretion. Never had she broken her sacred bonds of service. Never had she sought recognition unseemly for a Skoli among elves to receive. Certainly such a faithful servant is more likely mistaken than malicious? While the elders considered his words, Jesset watched their eyes.


One elder smiled with the lines of his eyes. It was a smile she had seen before, one of superiority, of victory, of malice. Now she knew her peril, knew even that some who might have been her allies in this council could not yet risk open opposition to this plague of dead. She realized too that she had not had the patience of a true elf. The Order was infiltrated. The Order was vulnerable. And by associating this accusation with herself, she had discredited it, pushing the slow work of her elders to the edge of a precipice.


Evil! Haste! Carelessness! The Order did not condemn her, but turned her away, ordered her to remain on the borders, to leave behind these treasonous thoughts that caused her to patrol within the community ñ against true elves! ñ instead of outside.


She had been patient and yet not patient enough. She had failed where she had hoped to succeed. Yet, she also learned more than she could have hoped. And not all was lost. The elder Skoli came to her on the eve of her next patrol. He warned her, though she did not need it. She knew she was walking into danger. She knew that the dead would now seek her in preference even to the orcs. And she knew that the order had never intended to recognize her as a Servant-of-the-Bole no matter if her career had been even more heroic than her Skoli ally. The time had come to leave her home.


Fortunately this elder was able to give her new orders. Once in a very long while one of the order was given a mission taking her far beyond the borders, to act as she sees fit in the larger world - doing good in the world while gathering knowledge to bring home to her people. The length of such a mission is rarely defined in months or years, but in the internal sense of a Servant that the time has come to go home. He gave her a token, a small piece of polished wood. Taken from the home tree of the entire community, this charm was enchanted to resist fire, acid and age. This token was her guarantee of safe return. The token of a Voyager into outside lands. If she retained possession of it, she could leave for years, decades and not be considered to have shirked or abandoned her duty to the Order or the community. Her elder had given her a way to flee with honor, to return at the end of the coming war.


She left her home, but did not venture far beyond her nation's borders. Hiding in the woods, she tracked the dead ñ giving orc villages warning, protecting those she could, destroying every corpse she could catch lagging the others.


Her deeds were not unnoticed. One evening as she sat meditating an orc surprised her, moving with supernatural silence until he stood before her without her understanding how this came to be. With a gesture of his outstretched palm, he offered her a small handful of berries. Eating one, she found it sweet but oddly filling. Hunger pangs that her will could never quite dismiss now faded, and her body felt sated in ways that it had not since she gave up hunting to spend more time pursuing dead prey. Though now full, her silent benefactor bade her eat more. She did and did not become overfull. Instead, the first berry having made her whole and well on the inside, the remaining berries seemed to do the same for the wounds battle inflicted from without. Half a dozen small scratches and notches closed and healed over without scar.


He spoke to her then, in elvish, not introducing himself or explaining his berry magic, but asking her if she had a sense of the enemy and the paths the horde might take the next day. She replied in elvish, with a bit of orc to prove she was not completely ignorant in the tongue, explaining what she knew, and where she planned to intercept her tireless foes. The orc grunted understanding, then sat with un-orcish calm and spoke his prediction for the next dayís weather. As they spoke through the eve she learned that he was a druid of this forest - a profession and a sacred honor she had not understood orcs to be able to achieve.


Without any conspicuous decision to join each other, they fought together, hiding & stalking in the woods. If either was distrustful, it did not show. Each morning as Jesset readied to start her day, the strange orc would make breakfast for the two of them of roasted roots, bulbs, fruits and herbs. All the while of his cooking asking questions about her intentions and offering his ideas and skills. When battle came, each was there, supporting the other, vague suggestions over steaming vegetables having become the most polished of plans. Almost by accident they became an army of two, each with roles, each with duties, and each with devotion.


Jessetís druid ally, Karrock the Leaf-eater, fought at her side, concealing them both, following her tracking ability, adding magical strength to her arrows. As they worked to save village after village they gained a measure of respect and love for each other that neither had expected. Clearly Karrock's magical power made him Jesset's superior, but never did he treat her as less than equal. And if he cursed the elves that sent a plague of dead against his people, she could not say the curse was undeserved. With Karrock, she learned to accept the ministrations of those she once thought her mortal enemies. Now her only and bitterest enemy was the plague of dead. She knew she would dedicate her life and career to removing this blight against life from the face of the earth.


Never did they speak of such things, but it became clear to Jesset over time that there is a difference between violent and evil. Many, certainly, of the orcs could be called evil. Yet many were certainly not so. Rather they were raised with the expectation that they would be warred upon by elves, by humans, by gnolls, preyed upon by owlbears, subjugated by others of their own kind. In this world, aggression was its own kind of self-defense, one Jesset herself practiced against the animated horrors of the woods. Eventually Jesset came to have a sympathy for the orcs that went beyond the simple respect for a withdrawing foe that was once the limit of her orc-directed compassion.


Without the mentoring of her order & under the constant threat of war, her skills as a ranger improved little, but her battle skills improved much. With Karrock's encouragement she slowly, patiently built a bow whose equal she had never beheld. Surprised at her own skill when she took the time to be patient, she set about making her own armor as well: leather whose studs were salvaged from burnt ruins of villages she arrived at too late to save. Finally, she was equipped with the very best armament that her skill and patience could produce.


It certainly aided her over time. Without the powerful invocations of a mage, it was difficult to slay the swarming dead faster than they could be animated by the wood elven-necromancers. Her finest equipment & her heroic skills still were little match for the sheer numbers of undead she and Karrock often faced. More than once did he seal her gruesome wounds with the magic in his hands or his berries. In returning the favor, she eventually learned some healing skill herself and inevitably became more and more fluent in the orcish tongue.


All their efforts, however, could only slow the ever-growing tide swelling against the orcs. Even the orcs - never noted for their wisdom - recognized that this was a war they must eventually lose when their own dead were animated to fight against them. Over the course of three years, the orcs migrated away.


Jesset might have stayed, even then, but Karrock spoke to her in his superior wisdom. The balance here was broken, but it was beyond her power or his to restore it. This was a battle between the elves now, he elided, that she could not win for them. Her own villages would soon face the terror of the plague of dead. What was happening in her Order or in her host-family Jesset could not guess. But she knew that her Order could not truly protect her & that she could not risk assaulting the home of a powerful mage. Then Karrock said something to her, something powerfully deep that she recognized as wisdom but took some time to understand. "This is not your battle now," he said. "Only a new mage power among the elves will break the power of the evil mages within the heart of elven community."


Not her battle now...


but possibly her battle later? A new mage power?


When understanding came, it was a sad thing. Karrock, she knew, would stay, working in the forest to restore balance as he could. Without her at his back, without her powerful bow to keep the zombies at bay, without her healing skill to bind the wounds he could not reach because of location or lack of consciousness, Karrock the Leaf-eater, the only vegetarian orc she had ever known, would most likely die. Yet he wanted her to leave. He wanted her to seek out the magical power that could undo the ravages of the necromancers among her people. He saw himself restoring balance through her.


She could not receive magical tutelage from the local elvesí community, of course, even if there were another suitable master besides the necromancer at the heart of this foul aggression. And yet, she had the heartwood. For years she carried it, always against her skin. Carried it until it was almost a part of her. And yet, she rarely thought about the privilege and responsibility that piece of home implied: she was to leave the community & return with new knowledge. Was this what her Skoli elder had intended all along? New knowledge? Magic knowledge?


Meditating upon all these thoughts, Jesset Ferryl did see a pattern, a pattern like the quaking of the aspen. Random, yet repeating. Influenced by the wind but not caused by it. A rhythm of the forest, a rhythm of life with no discernable source - or a source beyond all power of discernment. Was that even a difference?


With no preamble, Jesset made her decision. She would leave. She would improve her skills in battle if she could, but she would make the study of magic her mission. And if the elf-warlock studied the magics of foul aggression, she would study the magics of righteous defense.


Karrock saw her decision in her eyes the night she made it. Their parting was, if not wordless, then intentional in ways that needed no words. They did speak briefly words of encouragement, each to the other. They spoke briefly words of caution, for Jesset knew the power of the elven mages & Karrock, druid though he was, lived closer to the edge of the forest and knew more of human and dwarven ways.


They never spoke their thoughts of love. Sinister-born though she was, this sibling love between orc and a ranger of the Order was too unexpected, especially in its depth, for either to put into sound in any language. And so it was in dividing rations and healing herbs and water and tools that they spoke their true feelings for each other. It was in the simple act of placing a precautionary tool in the other's pack that they warned each other of this or that danger. And they parted, not expecting to see each other again in this life.


Two years later, fingering the wood of her home as she made her way through her first large city, she was thinking of Karrock as much as of the elves - her father that helped her craft her sword, her mother who taught her the art of listening, her mentor who taught her the subtle clues to her enemies direction she could derive from a crushed leaf ñ or even the Skoli elder who had given her the token. Her home tree still called to her as she walked through the city, but it called to her not to tell her to hurry back to glade and garden. Rather it called to her to arm and armor herself as best she is able. With bow, with hide, and with spell. And so she turned her gaze back at those staring at her, seeking the ones who look not in surprise at her face, but in admiration of her walk's grace or her bow's recurved power. She sought allies, she sought mentors, she sought knowledge and power. She sought a trial by fire that will leave her cleansed for the trip home that she knows will be the most terrible quest of her life - whether she fights vampires or dragons, giants or demons during her life abroad, still the mage power, the evil, the malice of her host-brother and his master will bar her way home.


Seeking all these things, Jesset Ferryl made her way through the foreign city. And though she has not yet found all she needs to quest again for home, she has found you.

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Hey all-


Name: Stern Kestrelmann


AC: 17 † † † †AGE: 20 † † † Alignment: Chaotic Neutral † Lvl: 2† †

HP:27 † † † † Deity: ? † † † †Gender: Male †HGT: 6' 6" †WGT: 240

EXP: 3000 † Race: Human †Speed: Walk 20'


† † † † † † Ability Mods.

STR-21 † † † † +5

DEX-15 † † † † +2

CON-18 † † † † +4

INT-12 † † † † †+1

WIS-10 † † † † +0

CHA-12 † † † † +1


Fortitude: +7 † † † † † Initative Mod: +6

Reflex: +2

Will: +0


Melee Attack bounus: +7 †(+9 with Greatsword)

Ranged Attack: +4

Unarmed Attack: +7


Weapons: Greatsword (MW) †Armor: Breastplate (MW)

† † † † † † † Long Sword

† † † † † † † Whip


Feats: Standard figther proficiencies, Cleave, Improved Initiative, Power Attack, Weapon Focus (Greatsword).


Skills: Climb 6, Craft (Weaponsmith) 5, Handle Animal 3,

Hide -1, Jump 5, Listen 0, Move Silently -1, Ride 6, Search 1, Spot 0, Swim -5. †





Breastplate (MW)

23 CP

25 SP

115 GP

Flint/ Steel

Grappling Hook


Belt Pounch (x3)

Rations (trailx6)

1 Rope (Silk 50')


Greatsword (MW)

Long Sword


Torch (x3)


Whetstone (x2)


Language: Common. Elven



Stern is a large, powerful figther with blonde hair, deep blue eyes, and who comes from a long lineage of fighting men. †His father Karl was killed in a village raid when Stern was 12, after which he was raised by his uncle Paul Kestrelmann. †Stern weilds a Greatsword "Karamor" that has been in his family for 4 generations. †Stern is dependable, loyal, and very capable in a fight. †He has a war dog named Hammer.



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Jesset Ferryl's Stats:


("Just the stats, ma'am")


Player: Cripdyke

Adult Name: Jesset Ferryl

Nickname: The Lynx


Race: Skoli

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Deity: I'll figure this one out over time...

Class: Ranger/Fighter

Level: 2 (1 each)

Size: Medium

Age: 128

Gender: Woman

Height: 5' 3"

Weight: 120

Skin: bluish

Eyes: Violet

Hair: Blue-Green w/ shock of grey


Accompanied by WarDog named "Garr"



Dex: 20

Str: 16

Int: 16

Wis: 14

Con: 12

Cha: 11


Armor Class: 18 (Studded Leather + Dex)

HP 22


Bow attacks = +9

Sword attacks = +6

Other melee = +5



Ranger: 1

Fighter: 1


Feats automatic to her classes:

Armor Proficiency (all)

Shield Proficiency (all)

Simple Weapons (all)

Martial Weapons (all)


Ambidexterity + Two weapon fighting (only if lightly armored)


Chosen feats:

Point-Blank Shot

Precise Shot (bonus feat for 1st level fighter)



Craft: Armorer, Boyer/Fletcher, Weaponsmith



Intuit Direction

Knowledge: Natue


Move Silently



Wilderness Lore



Automatic: Common, Elven

Int. Bonus: Draconic, Orc, Sylvan



Special Equipment:

Comp. LongBow (MW, Mighty <+3>)

24 Arrows (MW)

Studded Leather (MW)

GreatSword, (MW)

Bowyer's tools (MW)

Healer's Kit


Tanglefoot bag



Silk rope



Normal Equipment:


3 beltpouches (1 actually tied to backpack)

Quiver for 2 dozen arrows

1 small neckpouch for coins, worn under armor



Light Mace




Small sailcloth (1/3 of a tent for making a dry lean-to.)

Cook kit




Most equipment is in or somehow affixed to my pack. When dropping my pack, only armor, weapons and a few other pieces of equipment remain. In fact, even one weapon, the Mace, is attached to the backpack.

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Here's my info so far. Smokin' and I are finishing up the details on how we met. We decided to travel as a "pair/team" He's got an awsome story how we met, that I thinks works well.

Lady Tam


Name: Mikayla † † † † † † † † † † † † †Player: Tammi a.k.a. Lady Tam

Race: Elf, moon † † † † † † † † † † † † †Align: C. Neutral

Level: 2 † † Size. Med † † † †age: 10 † † †Gender † †female † †height †5í2î †weight †118 †

Hair: Black † †eyes, gray-blue


STR: 9 (-1) † † † † † † † † † † † † † † HP: 6 † † †Wounds: † † † † † † † † † †subdual Dam: † †

DEX:16 (+3) † † † † † † † † † † † † †speed: 30í † † † † †A.C. 13 (+3 dex bonus)

CON: 10 † † † † † † † † † † † † † † † †arcane spell failure 0%

INT:15(+2) † † † † † † † † † † † † † †INITIATIVE: +3

WIS: 13(+1) † † † † † † † † † † † † † BASE ATTACK: †+0



FORT: +0 † † † † † † † † † † † † † † MELEE +0

REF: +3 † † † † † † † † † † † † † † † † RANGED +4

WILL: +4


Weapons: Longsword, 2 daggers, long bow and 20 arrows


Name † † † † skill mod. † † Ability mod † † ranks † †Micel mods.

Alchemy † † † † 4 † † † † † = † † 2 † † † † † † † + † † †2

Concentration † 4 † † † † = † † † † † † † † † † † † † † †4

Heal † † † † † † † † †3 † † † † = † † †1 † † † † † † † + † † 2


Arcana † † † † † † 4 † † † † †= † † 2 † † † † † † † + † † 2

Nature † † † † † † 3 † † † † †= † † 1 † † † † † † † + † † †2

Listen † † † † † † †3 † † † † † = † † †1 † † † † † † † + † † † † † † † † † 2 (racial bonus)


Hebalist † † † † †3 † † † † † = † † 1 † † † † † † † †+ † † 2

Scry † † † † † † † †4 † † † † † †= † † 2 † † † † † † † †+ † † 2

Search † † † † † †4 † † † † † † = † † 2 † † † † † † † †+ † † † † † † † † †2 (racial bonus)

Spellcraft † † † †4 † † † † † †= † † 2 † † † † † † † † + † † 2

Spot † † † † † † † †3 † † † † † †= † † †1 † † † † † † † + † † † † † † † † † 2 (racial bonus) † † † † †


RACIAL FEATS: Longsword Proficiency, longbow proficiency

RACIAL ABILITIES: Immune to sleep,+2 vs enchantment, low light vision

LANGUAGES: Elven, common,Draconic,Gnoll, gnome, goblin, orc and Sylvan


FEATS: Combat Casting


† † † † † † † † † † †


Backpack † † † † † † † † †2 dagger † † † † † † † † † † † † Light horse ñ bay gelding

winter blanket † † † † † † Long bow † † † † † † † † † † † † † † † † †name: Dowel

5 candles † † † † † † † † † 20 arrows † † † † † † † † † † † riding saddle

scroll case † † † † † † † † whetstone † † † † † † † † † † † †bit and bridle

2 pc. chalk † † † † † † † † bow string † † † † † † † † † † † †saddle bags

ink pen † † † † † † † † † † †needle and thread

lock average † † † † † † †soap

mirror, small steel † † † †vial of ink

6 pc. of parchment paper †

belt pouch † † † † † † † † Flask of wine

5 days worth of trail rations

sack † † † † † † † † † † † † †healer's kit

pot, iron

Traveler's outfit

explorer's outfit

courtier's outfit


MONEY: †CP: †30 † †SP: † 100 † †GP † 314 † †PP: † 0


Spells per day 0-6; 1-4 (+1)

Spells known:Read magic,detect magic, disrupt undead, resistance,flare, 1-magic missles, Identify, mage armor † † † † † † † † † † † †


BACKGROUND: †Mikayla is an orphan. Raised by a minor elf lord along with his own children, she never knew her parents. Lord Drian, raised her, loved her and treated her as one of his own children. She was especially close with Drianís oldest sons Tannim and Keighvin. When she reached a suitable ìageî Lord Drian Lord Drian had planned to marry her off to a minor noble and ìgiftî her with a sizable dowery. Before this could happen her powers as a sorceress manifested. Everyone was in shock and whispered behind her back, ìThat it must be due to her ìbloodî. Drianís wizard, and close friend, Vidal †delicately suggested sending Mikayla to another sorcerer for training †that he being a wizard could not provide. This would also remove her from the household before any more rumors could fly and tarnish Lord Drianís reputation. So for the next several years Mikayla was taught the art of sorcery by †an elven sorceress by the name of Aurilia. Having experience then first hand the attitude of her fellow elves towards Sorcery, Mikayla is a bit bitter towards her own kind. She is currently traveling to learn more about herself, her past (maybe), her powers and her world.


ATTITUDE: Mikayla carries herself with the aloofness one would associate with the elves. Slowly her way of thinking is changing as she wanders the land in her ìselfî exile.

Once she warms up to a person or a group, she gives unwavering loyalty though and will show them her ìsofterî side.


APPEARANCE: Slight build, with long black hair. Her eyes a re a blue-gray. She wears "cool" colors of night; blues, purples and such. Her clothing tends to be light, flowing, and ìairyî.

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Here is My Character Sheet if anyone wants to see it. †Playing a female dwarf, I have chosen Sandra Garrity's

#2063 Ametrine Earthlyle as my mini and as my name(if no ReapPeeps mind).


Bearded Skald and I have sibling characters, so we have some shared history. †And we didn't quite agree on all of it so it is a work in progress. †So subject to final edit, here she is...


Rough draft idea of Dwarves background

The dwarves are siblings, not twins, are about 5-7 years apart, with him being the older brother to her younger sister. †Their parents are dead. †He was lucky enough to know some stability and nurturing living a few precious years with their parents, she was not as lucky. †


They were raised by their grandfather, a grumpy bitter old man, who never planned on burying his kids & wife, let alone raising more. †His lack of affection drove the siblings in different ways. †He excelled, and suceeded with little effort and gained the old dwarf's respect. †She rebelled, she wanted his attention. †They both have a strong sense of right and wrong, they just choose to interpret right and wrong very differently.


A raid by (insert bad thing here) decimated our clan. †Grandfather relocated them to a distant relationís clan closer to the borders of the Dwarven lands. †As they are nearer to the border the years of military service were more structured and helped them develop the some of the talents they are now so proud of.


They are currently off on an escort duty of sorts, the old dwarf was so sick of their constant bickering, he ìvolunteeredî them to ìescortî the local bid collector on his trip to the islands to collect the latest round of bids for the dwarven technology that has kept the dwarves safe for so long. †The local bid collector is a distant relation who lost a bet with their grandfather, he reluctantly took them with him.


Once on island, She really dug the natives and their customs and habits, totally frustrating him in her total acceptance of the new. †Once their mission was completed she announced she was staying there. †He knew better than to let her make such a rash and foolhardy decision and has resigned himself to remain as well to keep her out of trouble.


They have just put the bid collector and the rest of his entourage aboard the boat and are at the local tavern for a cuppa when the story begins.


I get so frustrated at the world, why can't right and wrong be easier to fix, why do they always have to talk it to death, if it is bad, stop it, if it is good, let it happen, these dithering fools drive me crazy, it is bad enough to be sitting here with nothing to do, what a waste of time and energy, ah well at least we have finished this job, now for another...


well its a start, Ame is ready to go, whenever the gaming commences.


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Okay, reporting for duty. In this post I'll explain how Mikayla and I met, in the following post I will outline my character.

† † † † †(As Lstorm' hasn't told us anything to the contrary, I assumed we would be starting in the major town/city of Daraka.)


† † † † †Mikayla was travelling to Daraka with a pilgrim caravan of roughly 20 souls in 4 or 5 wagons. Feeling a need to learn about herself and her magical arts she thought 'where better to start than the capital city?'. Whilst travelling through the woods a few days East of Daraka the caravan was attacked by Orc brigands,raiding up from the swamps of the south.


† † † †In the woods a young human ranger heard the sounds of the attack and arrived in time to see a horde of orcs surrounding a slight female elf, who was keeping them at bay with magic missiles and a well-wielded longsword. She had already accounted for several of the greenskin scum.


† † † † With his usual accuracy, the Ranger began skewering the raiders in the back with brightly fletched arrows - already disconcerted by Mikayla's resistance, the Orcs took this sudden assault from the woods as their sign to leave and fled back into the trees, leaving many of their comrades lifeless on the road.


† † The damage had been considerable. Several wagons were ablaze and all the pilgrims bar Mikayla were dead or dying. For the second time Robert Greensward found himself faced with the aftermath of an Orc attack he had arrived too late to fully stop and he wept for the dead pilgrims.

† †

† † This display of emotion for people he could never have known convinced Mikayla of his quintessential goodness and she sensed a need in him for some form of redemption, although she knew he should not be blaming himself. She asked him to accompany her the last few days to Daraka to ensure her safety. Already pre-disposed to liking Elves, as he had met many during his life and could speak their language, the brusque Ranger saw no trouble in spending a few days in the company of this enigmatic woman.

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As the story begins........

....you will see a young Human Male, 5'10" with shoulder length brown hair. Slim but muscular he looks strong and athletic yet graceful and precise in his movements. He is dressed in leather armour, which shows beneath his brown and green clothing. His head is bare and you do not see any sign of a cloak or robe about his shoulders. At his hip a longsword is scabbarded and across his back is a longbow and quiver of arrows; you notice the fletching on this ammunition is unusually brightly coloured, with reds, blues and greens adorning the usually pale goose feathers. Later you learn that the young man does all his own fletching with the aid of some simple tools he carries in his backpack - a pack that you notice appears half empty. This is clearly a Ranger who does most of his living off the land in the deep forests of Darakan.


He appears ill at ease in this urban setting. He talks little, but you hear snatches of Elven as well as the common tongue. He is rather brusque, bordering on the rude to some, yet you feel that he is not deliberatly aggressive, just a little in-experienced with company. Giving him the benefit of the doubt you imagine that he does not often meet strangers in his forest home and is unused to large gatherings. Besides, he seems at ease with the conversation of the young elven girl in whose company he appeared.


He smiles rarely, yet his green eyes hold a clear spark of wisdom and intelligence and you suspect that he is very good, and very deadly, at his chosen calling. His name is Robert Greensward.

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Just the stats for now. :D


Human Male Sorceror

19 Years Old

Brown Hair and Green Eyes


STR - 12

DEX - 13

CON - 15

INT - 16

WIS - 14

CHA - 17


SKILLS: Alchemy, Concentration, Diplomacy, Gather Information, Handle Animal, Heal, Hide, Intuit Direction, Knowledge (Arcana), Knowledge (Local), Listen, Move Silently, Spellcraft, Swim


FEATS: Dodge


I have a squirrel familiar named Nutkin.


As far as looks... he is obviously an Islander. His clothes are a patchwork of deer hides. He has long brown hair that is tied into a long braid with bits of bones and feathers tied in. The only worked item he is carrying is a golden torc that he wears around his neck.


I need to do more work, but this is a start to let you all know I'm still alive. :D

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I know Exceptional Strength does not exist in 3e. †However this character was originally rolled under 2e rules and had a strength of 18/78.  Thus, a 21 strenght is equivalent to an 18/78 strength in 3e.  Prior to submitting the character I had to convert it over to 3e


According to my conversion manual Strength of 18/00= 23, 18/91-99= 22, 18/76-18/90=21, 18/51=18/75=20, etc.


It's a modification of exceptional strength from 2e to 3e.  The GM approved the stats conversion, so I had to take advantage of this opportunity.



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Yes, SK got the OK from me to have an exceptional strength. But he really is a BIG GUY. With all the problems BIG GUYs have. (wait till you see him put food away like it's going out of style). Besides, all Parties need someone who's strong, another who's smart, a third who's beautiful (my vote's for the NIght Elf, but who'm I to talk?) and someone who's dexterous.


While you do have a Sorcerer, you don't have an HTG Wizard. Don't worry about it. As for healing: Yes, you don't have a Cleric, but again, don't worry about it. The Paladin can lay on hands, but it's only his Character level times his Charisma MOdifier (someone double check that for me, some frikka-frikka dingleberry swiped mine from the computer table...)


--lstormhammer, Gee Em.

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What's HTG? oh, maybe honest-to-goodness (slaps forehead) that's probably it.


Paladin... Yep, charisma mod times level.


as for the HTG wizard, just y'all wait. If we play long enough to develop our characters over time, that will eventually become my character's focus. Just hope we can all maintain the continuity of the game long enough...


Can't WAIT to find out if this Diviner might become my mentor...

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