New Character

Another character has been submitted via email (thanks Mark!) – looking for 3-4 more. Submit your characters in the comments or send an email to mystara_dm@yahoo.com

Nicos Filandov
Class: Thief
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Brown
Height: 5’6”
Age: 15
Weight: 115lbs

Biography:
Not so much orphaned as “lost” by his parents. Nicos learnt to survive on the streets of Fogor Isle, scavenging and stealing the odd coin for food, but was still on the end of more than one knock or, on a couple of occasions a knife, resulting in a rather interesting set of scars on his face. Unfortunately, he was caught trying to pick the pocket of an elderly, but still vigilant, Cleric. This Cleric brought Nicos before Patriarch Sherlane. Nicos was given an ultimatum; either put his obvious abilities to use and join an adventuring party, or go to prison.

Personality:
Doesn’t say much, and tends to keep to the shadows, where he feels more comfortable. He is very self concious about the scars on his face, and would be quite handsome if it wasn’ t for them. He is also desperate to avoid staying on Fogor Isle and probably ending up in a convict gang or being a bandit somewhere, as he realises that these are not very good career choices.

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4 Comments

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4 responses to “New Character

  1. Robert Blank (Grimcleaver)

    Feldard Scarredbrow
    Dwarven Fighter

    Description: Young but stern, with a square-jawed face surrounded by thick stiff black hair, like the ruffled feathers of a raven. His skin is dark brown, nearly black, with a flat, downward pointing nose and a upward thrusting lower lip that looks perpetually angry. His heavily frocked head looks a bit big for his body still, as he has not yet had the opportunity to build the impressive frame of other more experienced fighters, nor garb himself in their thick swathings of armor. Still he has the thick, stout build of his people and his muscles are starting to show greater definition. He wears a shirt of light chain with a thick, dark grey studded leather tabard, heavy leather gloves and boots. His pot helm is flat on top, like a dark iron crown, with a nose protecting tine coming down between his eyes. He wears a metal kite shield on one arm, ornimented with clan crest worked in bronze. In his other hand he wields a heavy footman’s mace. He also has a set of explorer’s clothes, mostly in browns with a burnt orange hooded tabard, that he wears at times when his armor would be inappropriate or uncomfortable.

    Background: Clansman of Buhrodar and a zealot of the Dwarven religion. He recieved his honorific in an invasion into goblinoid territory to recover dwarven treasures they had taken: when he saw that they had defiled and befouled the beauty of them he flew into a battle frenzy and threw himself bodily into their midst–utterly foiling the party’s attempt at a suprise attack. He took a number of heads in his rage but missed the majority of the battle, having to be healed after the action was done. Because of his…intensity, it was thought perhaps a good idea to send him out for a while to gain some chops for himself in foreign lands. He relishes the opportunity to try himself, to show the other demihumans the virtues of his people, and to recover works that would be lost to the abasements of savage creatures.

    Personality: His zealous intensity can sometimes feel a bit like fanatacism–and there’s probably some truth to that. He cares deeply about everything in his culture and does not brook insults well. He considers dwarves just a bit higher on the cultural scale, and delights in showing the lesser races the glories of the dwarven way of doing things. He is proud of his people’s vigil against the goblinoids and savage humanoids, and the thought that they might be anything more than a plague to be expunged is akin to heresy. He delights in violence as much as he does in craft and those who excel in either are objects of admiration (or spite if disrespectful). Truth be told he has a ways to go toward becoming competant in either area himself–and though he is painfully aware of this, his pride forces him to make the best showing for himself he can, and drives him relentlessly to learn and improve.

  2. Matt

    Maruc

    Class: Halavist Cleric
    Race: Human Traladaran
    Hair: Raven Black
    Eyes: Grey
    Height: 5’11”
    Age: 19
    Weight: 13st 2lbs

    The cold damp of the common room and the musty smell made worse by the evening’s rain reminded Maruc of the old cloister building before the fire.

    He’d saved his second hand copy of the Halavist Manual of the Days and Rites of the Seasons. But despite the ten days of travel he couldn’t shift the smoky smell from his clothes and he was hungry. The last of his few coins where probably going to be spent before he got to any proper civilization. On the inn’s aging plastered wall there was an old cracked wall mirror he found himself gazing at.

    The pale lightly bearded young priest staring back at him needed a wash and a lot more sleep. His brown monks robe was well made and warm. Its worn elbows and stains were like an encyclopedia of his life in the cloister; worn, comfortable and safe. It reminded him of his old, secure and secluded life, protected from the Outside.

    He’d been at the cloister longer than he could remember, the quiet chanting soothing away the days, the daily and seasonal routines counting away the time. It was easy to see how the life of a priest could cycle on for ever.

    Maruc gazed at himself with his mothers penetrating Grey eyes at his thick set build, inherited possibly from his father . He felt his eyes were his best asset – everything else about his look was foreign to him, the slight pallor of his skin, the raven black hair. Maruc knew nothing of his father, his mother never mentioned him and he’d not wondered about it until it was too late. She packed him off away from his step-bother and sisters to live his life in the most out-of-the-way place she could find. The Halavists took him in without any questions. He was only five years old.

    His mother had dominated his life before the cloister, just as the church dominated his life now. He knew why the survivors had left him for dead after the fire and did not begrudge them their decision. The giving of life was for only the most worthy. It cost a fortune to acquire healing aid from the church and a peasants cleric, however devout, would never be able to afford the tithes demanded for the service.

    Maruc fondled for the last of the holy water he’d rescued from the charred font. He’d hoped that the rites he’d invoked over the earthenware flask he’d found would be enough to maintain its blessing. Satisfied it was still in his belt pouch he dragged over the bulky pack containing the priest splint-mail armor he’d pulled off a dead church guard. He looked at the ceremonial shield and flail, none of it had been used in anger and bar a bit of heat damage looked fine to Maruc. He wondered if it was right to have taken it all, but without guidance he’d assumed that the Immortals wouldn’t have placed him in this situation without a reason. The Immortals had provided and that was all he needed to know.

    Indeed some of his prayers and invocations were, in fact, answered even now. Not that he would use these gifts out-of-hand, and that should he do so his gifts would be justly forfeit, but the stale bread and meats he’d scavenged from the wreak and the roots and berries he’d eaten on his journey hadn’t harmed him and had sustained him on his way.

    Maruc wondered if he’d ever find his Reverend Father or be reunited with his own order. Of course there were other Halavist churches he could go to, and be welcomed at – but it wasn’t the same. Maruc didn’t want change, it was thrust upon him. Perhaps The Immortals were testing him, so he’d decided to travel on.

    Gathering up his belongings he struggled over to the straw pallet he’d hired to be out of the cold for at least one night he decided to see if the Immortals really meant him to take the dead guards’ armour. Sitting by the pallet he shrugged off his old robe and tried to strap it on…

    (DM to decide if it fits – if it does Maruc will keep it – if it doesn’t he’ll take it to the nearest Halavist church and donate it to them).

    Demeanor: Solemn yet engaging when talking about things he knows. Maruc will help anyone that pays the appropriate tithe. All tithes collected will be forwarded to the Halavist church. Maruc cannot perform Halavist weddings or funerals yet* but can competently undertake secondary priestly duties in all ceremonies. He is not entirely mercenary and will gladly aid in any defense of his colleagues or friends if it furthers the aims of the church.

    *Unless he is the highest ranking priest available within 2 weeks travel.

    The Cult of Halav
    A small minority of Traladaran clerics belong to this cult, and are known as Halavists. Much of the populace considers them to be insane. Their beliefs are as follows:
    1) King Halav, dead on the field of the Final Battle Between Men and Beast-Men, was taken up by the Immortals, returned to life, healed, and placed in the deepest sleep.
    2) The goal of the Immortals was to return King Halav to Traladara when it was time to restore the nation to the glory it held in its Golden Age
    3) The Immortals have decided that this is that time, and that they sent the spirit of King Halav into the newborn Stefan Karameikos, that he would grow up to be the next King Halav.
    The Cult is dedicated to the idea that Stefan Karameikos will make Traladara into a mighty nation once more, will are it and send its numberless legions out to conquer the world for the glory of Traladara. However, the first goal of the Cult is to persuade everyone (including Duke Stefan) of their cause, and this hasn’t been easy to do. This tends to frustrate them, but they’re determined.
    Despite what people think of them, it’s a fact that their clerics do work magic. This means they must be receiving aid and inspiration from some Immortal.

  3. Another great character. Very nice. I’ve also accepted a new character I recieved via email:

    Name: Bellassia Taldei (last name pronounced tall- day-ee)
    Description: Bellassia is a tall, graceful Darokinian woman with curly chestnut-colored hair and blue eyes that border on violet. Bellassia is a snappy dresser and always tries to be the latest in fashion.
    Personality: Bellassia is funny, witty and likes to keep everybody in a good mood. If she can get away with it, she’d rather talk somebody out of a fight, but she has a long memory and a devious mind for revenge. Those that have gotten on her bad side have a tendency to be set up in embarassing social situations that last a long time in the populace’s memory.
    Background: Bellassia’s parents were devout followers of Asterius and made quite a living importing and selling goods, particularly fine cloth, exotic liquors and musical instruments of all types. Bellassia could play a pipe, a lute and drum a sailor’s shanty before she was ten and could tell the difference between a shoddy bolt of cloth and one of fine craftsmanship. While Bellassia’s parents were wonderful, Bellassia started to chafe and wanted to stretch her proverbial wings. She’s drifted from city to city in Darokin and learning more about Kagyar, the patron of the arts.
    Class: Rogue (In Third edition, Bard)

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