When The World Ends, Legends Are Created. (Sign-Ups and OOC)

[kixinorbit]

Oh, it's not a problem! Really, I was just observing. lol

But yes, that's much easier to see-- as long as it's visible for everyone else. c:

 

[Dekonic]

A huge thank you to @OwlFeather for finding a much nicer map for us to use! City names and the works will come later!

 

[kixinorbit]

Name
Vhallinian Gale
(Vhallin)

Gender
Male

Age
29

Race
Tiefling

Class
Ranger

Height
6'2"

Weight
223 lbs
​

[stabs=bcenter|110%]
{slide=Appearance and Personality|center}
Appearance:
The first impression many get from Vhallin is one of intimidation, and not without reason. Tall, broad, and well-muscled, the tiefling hardly needs any help in making himself seem imposing; add to his physique two sets of pointed horns, a long, sinuous tail, and elongated canines that could be the envy of any vampire legend, and the man is downright frightening. To most, anyway. If one were to put those eccentricities and pointed ears aside, however, Vhallin looks largely human. His complexion is tanned from his time spent outdoors, offset by bright green eyes and dark auburn hair. While it's often obscured due to clothing, Vhallin has dark reddish brown mottling spanning his shoulders, lower legs, back, and hips, turning to a solid colour near the base of his tail, leaving the appendage to contrast with his otherwise "human" complexion.

Like most whose livelihoods involve weapons and combat, Vhallin wears his share of scars. Most are along his arms and chest, covered by clothing and armor; the most noticeable is a dark, horizontal mark running across his left cheek, long-healed with age. He typically sports leather armor over dark, earth-coloured clothing and is often partially concealed by a dark and rather worn-looking traveling cloak. Fortunately (in Vhallin's opinion) he does not have cloven hooves like some tieflings, though his feet are still elongated in digitigrade fashion, ending in clawed toes. (His fingers would also be somewhat clawed, though he makes it a point to keep the nails filed short.) As such, he wears customized and non-restrictive leather strapping to protect his feet. Leather armor, similar to his chest guard, covers the top portion of the base of his tail.

He speaks the common language and has a moderate accent. (Think Northern Ireland)

Personality:
In contrast to his formidable appearance, Vhallin is a rather laid-back individual. That's not to say he won't step forward when the need arises, but he is often quiet and unassuming. The best description for his personality would border on "shy," though that trait isn't one people associate with someone of Vhallin's stature. Most social situations find the tiefling feeling a bit awkward and unsure of exactly what to say, so he often remains silent. His silence is often perceived as being too aloof or unconcerned with others, or that he is merely too stupid to understand the situation. Of course, neither of these are true, but Vhallin is seldom bothered enough to correct such assumptions. In fact, Vhallin is remarkably educated for someone of his profession; he was fortunate enough to learn how to read and write, and rather enjoys books-- though he seldom has the opportunity to read them.

Perhaps one of his more dominant personality traits is an innate desire to protect others. Nothing can stir him to action faster than a threat to innocent lives or people he cares for, and he would lay down his own life in exchange for another without a second thought. He harbours a strong dislike for unnecessary loss of life, and tries to refrain from killing whenever possible.

A patient individual, Vhallin is highly tolerant of physical hardships and pain, as well as biting comments and ignorance. He is, however, incredibly difficult to dissuade once he's set his mind to something, and he will pursue a goal with unyielding tenacity.

Vhallin is inherently kind and willing to trust others, but certain events have led him to be far more discerning about the people he opens himself to, and getting him to warm up can take considerable time.

{/slide}

{slide=Biography|center}
Vhallin's life, like many others, has been one of ups and downs. He has seen the duality of human nature, and has experienced both the kindness and cruelty that derives from it.

Born to a (seemingly) human mother who was unaware of her heritage, Vhallin was not a welcome surprise. Repulsed by her child's inhuman appearance, the woman made to drown the baby-- but found she hadn't the heart. Instead, she took Vhallin into the forest and left him to the mercy of the wilds. Fate smiled upon him, however, and his desperate cries drew the attention of an old man returning from the hunt. Undaunted by the tiefling's appearance, the huntsman took the baby home. Having retired from his job as a guide, the hunter had settled in a small home deep in the words to write about his life and live out his days in peace; but with his wife gone and no children of his own, he was glad of the chance to raise a son.

As Vhallin grew, he learned about the forests and the wild, about animals and monsters alike, and how to live off the land. He learned the art of the bow, how to track and to hunt, to lay traps, and to follow streams and rivers. The old hunter taught him how to navigate by using the stars, and how the world worked in a balance with all things living. Vhallin was at home in the forest, and took to the hunter's teachings with diligent enthusiasm. A sharp mind and steady nature saw him excel in his efforts, turning the boy into a efficient tracker and marksman.

The man also taught the boy to read and to write-- skills the man had wished he'd had in his own youth-- and explained that strength and wisdom should never oppose one another, and that hard work and kindness were the foundation of happiness. And happy the two of them were; father and son brought together by a kind hand of fate.

Fate, however, is a fickle thing.

Shortly after Vhallin's fourteenth year, the sheltered forest home was attacked. A group of mercenaries had traveled through the nearby village and caught wind of the isolated family, falling upon it in the night. In the ensuing struggle, the old hunter was killed and Vhallin bound, beaten, and taken to a city across the sea. He soon learned that the mercenary band received generous payment for the capture of young men and women to be trained for "The Pit." The more promising a candidate, the higher the reward.

"The Pit," as it were, was an underground organization that pitted fighters against one another for the sole purpose of profit. Unlike champions and gladiators that fought for glory or fame in public arenas, pit fighters had no say in their participation of the underground fights. After their "purchase," a fighter was subject to their "proprietor's" whims. Of course, none of the money from fights was ever seen by the fighters. Most led short lives, never seeing more than the outside of the small rooms in which they were forced to train and sleep, and the jeering faces of audiences.

Upon his arrival, a dull sword was pushed into Vhallin's trembling hands, and he was thrown into an arena with nineteen other candidates and given one condition: the last five still living would be trained as combatants and permitted to live.

His large size and quick reflexes ultimately saved him, and would continued to serve him in his following years as a fighter. For several years he let that life break him. While some fighters seemed at peace with the blood on their hands, Vhallin could feel only loathing-- for himself, and for those who had forced him into this new and unwanted life. Some fighters were so horrified by their own actions and those of others that they took their own lives, but the tiefling could never find the strength to end his own suffering. Instead, Vhallin fought back in the only way he could-- by refusing to kills his opponents.

While this was initially poorly received by fighters and proprietors alike, Vhallin had begun to regain a sense of self and slowly encouraged his peers to do the same. Outraged, the proprietors tried to bring an end to the charade by pitting the combatants against one another in a battle royal-- to cull the weak-minded. Instead of fighting one another, however, the combatants turned on the proprietors and audience, cutting down those who had forced them to endure lives of violence and pain, and leaving the city behind them.

Unsure of what to do with himself, Vhallin took odd jobs until he had saved enough to buy equipment that would facilitate a life as a guide. During his five years of enslavement, the need for guides and bodyguards had steadily increased, and he was surprised to find such a demand. Thanks to his rather intimidating appearance, finding work was a remarkably easy feat, and he quickly took to his old teachings once again, wanting to honour his father's work as a hunter.

He has twice returned to the northern land of his birth, though his work sees him mostly on the central continent. His most recent venture has led his across a notice calling for experienced men in women to aid in travel, which he means to accept.
{/slide}

{slide=Class, Weapons, and Skills|center}
Class Specialization:
Hunter

Weapons:
Bow
Vhallin's weapon of choice and the one with which he has the most experience. His favoured bow and the one he usually carries with him is his longbow. His keen eye and steady hand make him an excellent marksman. The weapon is rather plain-looking, but Vhallin has no need for elegance. Due to his size, he is able to use a large bow with a heavy draw weight, making him all the more dangerous a hunter.

Sword
While Vhallin is proficient with a sword, he prefers not to use it if possible. Unfortunately, not every situation can be handled with a bow, and he carries the longsword more out of necessity than anything. His preference for a longsword is due to its lighter weight and shorter length than a greatsword. Like his bow, the weapon is quite plain.

Knives
The twin hunting knives Vhallin carries are mostly for utility. They have seen tasks from cutting rope and branches, to finishing kills and dressing game. They have also saved him from a few tight situations when swords and bows were impractical. They are the most elaborately designed weapons he carries.

Skills:
Mark Quarry
Tread Softly
Eagle Eye
Rough Terrain
Endure


{/slide}

{slide=Strengths and Weaknesses|center}
Strengths:

• Survivalist - at home in the wilderness; he is able to hunt, trap, forage, construct makeshift shelters, and build fires with nothing but what nature provides; he can navigate quite well using the sun and stars.
• Maneuverability - despite his size, he's quite agile and the unique design of his legs and feet are all the more helpful in rough terrain; he's an astonishing jumper and climber, and surprisingly acrobatic.
• Endurance - capable of extended exertion, especially running; he is also capable of taking some pretty severe beatings and getting back on his feet.
• Moral Compass - he's a genuinely kind individual, and will always try to (within his ability) do what he believes is right; loyal.

Weaknesses:

• Non-Magic - he doesn't have a shred of magical ability in him and is forced to compensate with physical effort; somewhat more susceptible to offensive magic, as he has little means of deflecting it.
• Stubborn - once he sets his mind to something, it's a hell of a trick to get him to desist, even if it's in his own best interest.
• Wallflower - people often perceive him as aloof and unapproachable or too stupid to merit attention; he has about as much charisma as he has magical ability. His appearance doesn't help much, either.
• Overly Selfless - will go out of his way to help others, often at great risk to himself; sometimes comes across as though he has a death wish.

{/slide}

{slide=Misc.|center}
Pronunciation:
Vhallinian [vah-LIN-ee-in]
Vhallin [VAL-in] the short "a" sound is used

Player:
OwlFeather
PM friendly/Open to plotting

Credit for art goes to "Warp Zero" on Deviantart (personal edits have been made)
{/slide}

[/stabs]

 

[kixinorbit]

I've got some really dumb questions... (I've played D&D twice, and it was a long, long time ago.)

1. Is there a list of cantrips and level-based abilities I should be looking at?
   
   
2. What if my character doesn't use magic? Do level-based abilities work in the same way?
   
   
3. What are "patron skills" in relation to other skills?

 

[Dekonic]

1) I used Spell List for the spells and Table Topping to make a 20th level character as a basis for me to go off.

2) I can't remember if hunters use "magic" as defined in the PHB (Getting my copy of 5E tomorrow so I can give you a for sure answer.) but for this roleplay their abilities probabl won't equate to magic and will be more combat viable than say, a mage.

3) Patron skills pertain to Warlock only, it's the abilities they receive from making a pact with a patron Demon.

 

[kixinorbit]

Awesome, thank you! Okay, two more:

How many years ago did the war end, and how long has the Freemason Council been around?

Sorry if you've already specified.

 

[ERode]

Wait, we're using level 20 characters?

As in, we can cause meteor showers and stop time and shit?

 

[Psyker Landshark]

I'd like to reserve the last spot, please. Not sure what class I want to play yet, it'll probably depend on what everyone else wants.

 

[LastCinder]

Yo. @OwlFeather @ERode

On skype with Ikari who's busy doin' stuffz. But I got you.

Ikari said the Eldest brother would be consider 16th level?

The war has been over for approx. 200 years, while the Freemason Council has been around for about ~75 years.

To be honest, the DnD skills should be considered more like a guide and not a rule book. The world (while very much DnD-esque and inspired) is still skewed to our fantasy rp whims. It's just so everyone picks skills where we know what they do + their capabilities. Stopping time and meteor showers would be kind of too OP, I mean, unless your character can explain that shit and it gets approved by @Ikari

Note: Plus the skills Ikari has put in for the Eldest is not necessarily what he will start with, but will be a guide to what he hopes to acquire in the future??

Edit: Everyone should aim for mid level. But sheet can include skills you hope to acquire/aim for.

 

[Ginutusu]

Wait, we're using level 20 characters?

As in, we can cause meteor showers and stop time and shit?

NO OMG NO, most of us are shooting around mid level, image the chaos if we were all max level.

 

[Zombehs]

Wait, we're using level 20 characters?

As in, we can cause meteor showers and stop time and shit?

At level 20 you're making your own realms and destroying the old.

 

[kixinorbit]

Personally, I vote for modesty in skills. Characters should be capable, but RPs aren't very interesting if people are OP...

.__.

I'm also one of those people that prefer considerable realism (within reason for fantasy realms).

 

[ERode]

Personally, I vote for modesty in skills. Characters should be capable, but RPs aren't very interesting if people are OP...

.__.

I mean, capable is a relative word. You could totally be a God of War and merely be considered 'capable' by the Outer Gods that serve as your antagonists~

 

[kixinorbit]

Capable from a realistic standpoint, then. >__>

Or...things.

I don't even know.

 

[LastCinder]

Just uh... Just gonna put this here for now. WIP WIP WIP

[fieldbox="The Elven Cleric, mediumpurple, solid"]

"It is quite alright, I shall take the darkness that you hold!"
Name:

Eleianva Celeste Natuahil

Gender:

Female

Age:

98

Race:

(Sun) Elf

Class:

Cleric

Height:

5'6

Weight:

128 lbs​

[stabs=bright|100%]
{slide=Title|Appearance, Personality}Personality: At first glance, the stoic and alluring beauty that makes up Eleianva Celeste Natuahil's face would probably catch your eye. Like many other elves, she carries with her the typical haunting beauty that is usually the cause of envy to the other races. From soft flawless skin, long golden hair, sharp pointed ears and eyes that hold pools of what could only be called silver, she is certainly quite the sight. However, given a few seconds in her presence would make you realize that Ele is truly nothing like the haughty high elves so common in Essalia... and it will also make you wonder why she caught your eye in the first place. Because underneath smooth skin and pretty eyes, lies a rather overbearing, hyperactive chatterbox with a far too bright personality.

Coming from an isolated island of a distinct race of laid back and peace loving Sun Elves, Ele has absolutely no true knowledge of the outside world. She is ignorant, but at the same time far too curious in order to make up the difference. Questions come out of her mouth rapid fire and she has no qualms about asking anyone about anything. Afterall, the people of her home don't mind it! What made the world so different?

She is also overwhelmingly kind, to the point of tooth decay. The term "mean" probably isn't even in her vocabulary. Ele is used to a community where all people look out for one another and it is hard for her to turn a blind eye from anyone in need. More than once she has given far too many of her supplies over to those she thought needed help. And if asked for anything, it is more than likely she would hand it over.

Sunny, kind, and full of energy, it is hard to find a dark spot in this elf's personality.

Appearance: Standing at a measly height of 5'6, Ele is on the shorter side of the usual height range for elves. A skinny and lithe young woman, the sun elf still has tanned cheeks brimming with a childish air. She carries with her the usual characteristics of the sun elves, bright golden hair, silver colored eyes, long pointed ears and tanned skin.

As a cleric, Ele wears the symbol of her patron goddess around her neck, Beaivi. It is the only thing she will refuse to give to anyone. As for clothes, the sun elf wears an ornate silver breast plate, a gift from her mother and engraved with elvish. Beneath the plate lies a white dress with skirts that flow down to her ankles, with worn leather boots peeking out beneath them.{/slide}
{slide=Title|Biography}Eleianva Celeste Natuahil grew up on the island of Springmoor, where a group of Sun Elves prospered by isolating themselves from the world, centuries upon centuries ago. Whether it was due to malice towards the other races, or an annoyance to the feuds that often plagued Esslia's lands, is hard to say, the true reason being long forgotten by the elves themselves.

But, given time, they grew prosperous and self-sufficient. The island proved fertile for crops, and the elves used the sea to their advantage, becoming prominent fishermen and sailors. Most, if not all of their success was believed to have been gifted to them by the goddess Beaivi and the island folk had long worshipped her, devoting their servitude and praise. The goddess seemed to make her presence known in that of chosen sun elves being born with an affinity to heal. These chosen few would be brought into priesthood and the Order of Beaivi's priests and priestesses became both figureheads and leaders to the tribe itself.

Eleianva did not always know of her own potential to heal.

She was born to loving and doting parents that cherished their first born as any mother and father should. Her mother taught her the ways in the kitchen and the garden while her father taught her to swim and helm ships. It was not too long before she was joined by a little brother and nothing felt so complete as these years helping to raise him. Like any prideful and doting older sister, Eleianva did her best to teach her brother just as her parents taught her. They were always seen together, playing and laughing, a set of loving siblings that had not yet found a spark to set them against each other.
It was a sunny day that brought it all to an end, though.

Eleianva and her brother had set off alone on a little skiff their father had built for them as a gift for the last Sun Festival. Her brother still proved too clumsy with a tiller and rudder, and Ele was determined to teach him the proper ways to get a ship to glide through the waves. Nothing seemed to be in their way, the day was perfect, if muggy, and the siblings were able to stay out for hours practicing to steer, row and set the sails properly.

No one had predicted the oncoming storm, not the priests or the priestesses, or even the most proficient of sailors.

It felt like a matter of minutes for the sky to darken and the waves to pull and pitch. It felt even faster for the rain to fall hard like stones against their skin. Ele took control as best she could, pulling the sails in before attempting to grab control of the tiller, but the current and the winds proved too strong for her. It felt like only moments for them to be tossed and bludgeoned amongst the rocks of the harbor. The last moment Ele remembers is the look upon her younger brother's wet face as he reaches for her, eyes wide, helpless, before a mute scream leaves his lips and suddenly there is only water.

Then she remembers strong arms pulling her free of the water's grip, forcing air into her lungs as her body lays on the wet sand of the shore. A sailor and friend of her father smiles down at her, tears mixing with the rain. Then there is the worried and anxious face of her mother, who pulls her into an embrace so tight she felt as if she would snap. But it is quickly followed by screams. Her mother pulls away, and moves fast to the commotion, a crowd of elves all surrounding something.

Ele is quick to follow behind, pulling and pushing through the crowd until she comes into the sight of her father, desperately pumping his hands on the chest of her unconscious little brother, whose lips had already turned blue. She remembers the look of another man trying to pull her father away, screaming that he is gone, dead, drowned. There are screams to get a priest, screams to do something. There is begging and crying, pleads for something, someone, anyone. But all Ele could do was stare.

Just moments ago her and her brother had been together. Just moments ago he had been laughing, smiling, whining about the summer heat. He had been alive and vibrant and beautiful. Now he was a soggy and wet corpse with blue lips and pruned fingers.

She didn't know why she did it, but Ele found herself on her knees beside him, reaching her hands to touch his face. And then something gruesome happened. There was a cough of water as the corpse's eyes opened. A wheeze, followed by screams of the elves around. But it was soon brought to silence as the corpse began to speak.

Her younger brother was alive for just long enough to say good bye to her and her parents. Ele can no longer remember what was said. She remembers the sight of her crying father as he held him and the distinct wails of her mother. She remembers her brother looking to her and giving a smile, before at last he faded away.

Life was never the same afterwards. The Sun Elves, being a people of outrageously long lives, were all impacted by the death of a life that had just barely started. No one blamed the sister or the family. No one could have seen the storm coming. It had been such a lovely day. Sunny, perfect, if a little hot. It was a tragedy, an accident that only the Gods could explain.

No one may have blamed her, but that did not stop Eleianva from blaming herself.

Her parents were quick to help her enlist within the priesthood in order to enhance and strengthen her new found potential as a cleric, and Ele threw herself within her studies. In order to make up for her brother's death, she had decided to live her life as fully as she could. She would live a life for the both of them. That meant she would have to become a Head Priestess.

Head Priests and Priestesses were the only members of the Sun Elf tribe allowed to see the world. In fact, in order to inherit the title, it was tradition for them to take a pilgrimage across the lands of Esslia. Through it, it was said they would gain the experience and the skills needed in order to properly lead the tribe, as well as strengthen their devotion and bond with Beaivi. It was a treacherous journey to undertake, as rarely, if ever, did the priest or priestess return from such expedition.

But, much to her parents' chagrin, Eleianva committed herself to the path to become a Head Priestess. She would explore the world in her little brother's place, and she would return home, ready to protect all of her beloved tribe.{/slide}
{slide=Title|Class, Skills, Deity}Class: Eleianva is a Cleric and performs most of her spells through use of a simple wooden staff she carved herself for her pilgrimage, staff. Ele has an alignment of Neutral Good and is considered a Life Cleric.

Deity: The goddess Eleianva serves is that of Beaivi, the sun goddess of healing, fertility and sanity. She is also the patron goddess of Ele's people. Beaivi is known for healing the minds of the mentally ill by striking out the darkness that plagues them. This mythos falls in line with Beaivi being the bringer of spring and summer, coming to bring life to the world even after the roughest of winters, shedding the world of its darkness.

Skills:
Cantrips
- Spare the Dying
- Sacred Flame
- Light

First Level
- Cure Wounds
- Healing Word
- Detect Poison and Disease
- Detect Good and Evil
- Inflict wounds

Second Level
- Lesser Restoration
- Prayer of Healing
- Calm Emotions

Third Level
- Mass Healing Word
- Dispel Magic
- Speak with the Dead

Fourth Level
- Guardian of Faith

Fifth Level
- Mass Cure Wounds
- Mass Inflict Wounds
- Flame Strike{/slide}
{slide=Title|Strengths, Weaknesses}Strengths

Kind: Ele doesn't have a mean bone in her body. Even her attempts to act mean is like watching a kitten attempting to hiss. No matter the circumstance and no matter the reason, Ele is always kind to everyone she meets, even if they may seem undeserving of it.

Compassionate: With kindness comes empathy, and boy is this Sun Elf chock full of it. Hailing from a society of peacemakers with emphasis on sharing one's emotions has helped Eleianva to grow into a very caring being. Easy to find sympathy with her, she is quick to understand even the most aloof of individuals. Or, well, she tries at least.

Devoted: Ele's unwavering devotion to her patron goddess, and to her studies, has made her into a very adept healer. Quick to distinguish poison, disease or injury she works fast and precise to get people back up on their feet again.

Moral Compass: Beaivi being a goddess of healing and sanity, has led Ele to take an oath not to kill, in order to serve her dutifully. Eleianva will always try in every and any way possible to not injure others.

Naval Skills: A life on an island surrounded by the ocean has given Ele the experience to become a great ship-hand. She's sailed skiffs and sail boats on her own for most of her life. In case of emergency, she has the experience to lead a boat just as well as any other sailor.

Weaknesses

Naive/Ignorant: Ele has no real world experience. She has no knowledge of Esslia outside of her home, besides what she has picked up in her books and studies. She has yet to realize the darkness that plagues the world, or that people are more opt to lie and deceive than to help and speak honestly. She is easily tricked and duped.

Chatterbox: Her incessant need to talk, ask questions and fill up silence will surely end up becoming an annoyance. Usually, she ends up talking her way either out of a situation or straight into one.

Honesty: Although her devotion to a goddess has granted her healing and great magic, it has also lead her to be a woman that refuses to lie. Trying to deceive an enemy? Don't rely on Ele to do it for you. Not like she could anyway, she has awful ticks during this type of stuff.

Strength: Practically none. A majority of her life has been spent preparing to become a priestess, which meant studies, books, and magicks. This skinny little elf is lucky to have enough strength to lift her staff.

Fear of Large Bodies of Water: Although Ele has impressive naval skills, the death of her baby brother has created a great fear for the might of the sea. Out on the water, it is unpredictable and unmerciful, Eleianva knows this first hand. She has an overpowering phobia of drowning like her brother did.{/slide}
{slide=Title|Random}Open to plotting! PM friendly! Uhhh... don't know what else to put.{/slide}[/stabs]​

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[Dekonic]

Even if you want your character to be 20th level, be reasonable.
There's no point in making a character that is going to point their finger at a monster and disintegrate it to dust. That's not fun for you me or anyone for that matter.
It's best to have some experience and then let the character develop within the story. The CS I have in the UPDATES Section is really just a placeholder and not what the finished product is going to be.

 

[Dekonic]

I'd like to reserve the last spot, please. Not sure what class I want to play yet, it'll probably depend on what everyone else wants.

Okay!

 

[ERode]

Even if you want your character to be 20th level, be reasonable.
There's no point in making a character that is going to point their finger at a monster and disintegrate it to dust. That's not fun for you me or anyone for that matter.
It's best to have some experience and then let the character develop within the story. The CS I have in the UPDATES Section is really just a placeholder and not what the finished product is going to be.

By the way, if DnD is but a guideline, and not a rule, we can totally make up spells, right? Or wat.

 

[Dekonic]

By the way, if DnD is but a guideline, and not a rule, we can totally make up spells, right? Or wat.

That's exactly what I was going for!
I'm hoping everyone will have an idea of what to shoot for when I finish my CS. Hoping for tomorrow for it to be done.

 

[ERode]

"Fight to kill? Please, I fight to impress."
Fa Leng Eishandaer
Dragonborn
Bard of Valorous Deeds​

Appearance Combat Biography Personality Spells

• 
  Age: 24
  Weight: 357lbs
  Height: 7'2
  Fa Leng Eishandaer is massive for a Dragonborn, a mountain of hard muscle and blue scales. His presence itself inspires awe and courage, and despite how sharp his fangs are and how deadly his claws are, there is never an aura of fear or unrestrained fury surrounding him. His golden eyes twinkle with mischief or amusement, and his long, steel-blue mane is laced with dozens of odd trinkets from past admirers. His lavishly scaled body is riddled with scars from past battles, but all of them are worn proudly. Just like the trinkets laced in his hair, his scars tell a story, and as a bard, his stories are his everything.
• 
  
  Class Skills

  Metamagic ; Rule Breaker
  Fa Leng, being of a chaotic draconic origin, has some of the aspects of a Sorceror, allowing him a natural affinity with changing the 'rules' behind spells to suit his needs, from forcing the form of a Fireball into the shape of a spear to maintaining multiple magical enhancements.
  
  War Hymn
  Empowered by his presence on the battlefield, allies often fight harder and longer when Fa Leng is alongside them. Every time he does a heroically audacious feat, that boost spikes in effectiveness.
  
  Blood-Forged Bonds
  Fa Leng's longsword and his lance, Euphoria and Pandemonium, are his signature weapons, and he has magically bonded with them, allowing him to summon them to his side whenever he desires.
  
  Spellfencer
  Accustomed to close-quarters spell-casting, Fa Leng is able to cast at very high speeds, mixing incantations with his War Hymn. At his level, low-level spells can be cast in the breadth of a sword swing or a lance thrust.
  
  
  Weapon Proficiency: Longsword and Lance are Fa Leng's preferences, though years of tavern brawling has gave him some pretty terrifying skill with his fists as well.
  
  Skills: Outside of performing, fighting, cooking, surviving, and holding his drink…not much at all.
  
  Strengths: Simply put, Fa Leng isn't the smartest or most skilled person around. All he's good for is socializing, fighting, and singing. Of course, within those three realms, he's really, really good.
  
  Weaknesses: The easy answer is that he's an uneducated peasant of a Dragonborn who has no self-control when it comes to monetary purchases. The other answer is that Fa Leng is not, in the end, a soldier. He is a gladiator, someone who prefers to fight in a beautiful, colorful, wasteful manner instead of a practical one.
• 
  Eishandaer Faleng had always been a self-centered fool, a quality that drew the ire of his parents and his clan. Like a rebellious teenager, when he reached the age of adulthood, he took the first ship to another continent and sailed off, thirsting for the freedom that the Eishandaer clan would not grant him. As years rolled by and he was forced to pay for his own meals, Faleng's talent for the musical arts began to show itself. A wandering minstrel saw the Dragonborn as both a capable apprentice and a bodyguard from dastardly highwaymen, and picked the tall lad up.
  
  And, after five years of singing, playing the lute, and cracking skulls, Faleng tired of the lessons and ran off once more, seeking his own adventures. He never did learn what his teacher's fate had been, but then again, he didn't really care too much either. What he did care about, however, was glorious battle and the songs that could be made from them. At age 17, he became a gladiator, a performer that shed blood for the audience's entertainment. It was a rough life, but an endlessly entertaining one, even when he almost lost his leg to a goddamn midget. Thousands chanted his name. Every night was full of drunken revelry. Blood-bonds were forged between fellow gladiators. His relationship with a certain lady-friend was growing into something more. Life was simply good…until he forgot that a powerful individual gave him a sizable amount of cash to throw a match in the arena, and incurred his wrath by winning rather casually.
  
  With political bullshit and all that going around, he was promptly let go by the Arena Master and left to his own devices, basically. Rediscovering his interest in heroic epics, Fa Leng decided to use his freedom once more, this time to check out what went on with the world while he was doing his manly gladiatorial business.
• 
  No risk, no reward. Fa Leng lives on the edge and believes that happiness and terror are two sides of the same coin. Full of bravado, he's the type of person to dive into danger head first mainly because it's fun. When it comes down to it, he has no reason for being a bard outside of the fact that he likes to fight flashily, with magic and music and all that jazz. And yet, despite how he acts like a hedonistic idiot the entire time, Fa Leng still has remarkably strong people skills. His sense of justice is lacking compared to most others, and more often than not, he's gotten on the wrong side of the law for his actions. Does he care though? Not really.
  
  An uneducated person, Fa Leng isn't capable of writing or reading, relying solely on his mnemonic ability to recall the songs and stories that he shares with others. This lack of education has led him to have a crippling lack of restraint when it comes to purchasing items. He likes to splurge and he likes to be generous, the type of person who would dump a gold coin for a bag of groceries and then tell the peasant to keep the change. What is money if it's hoarded? Useless. For that reason, Fa Leng leads a dangerous, short-sighted life of never bothering to think about the future. He lives in the present, and is perpetually poor but happy.
  
  Being the sappy bard he is, all women are beautiful, and should be likened to flowers. And being the popular gladiator that he is, all haters are just people jealous of his sexual and combative success.
• 
  

  Cantrips	True Strike Light Shocking Grasp
  Level 1	Compelled Duel Searing Smite Thunderous Smite Wrathful Smite
  Level 2	Branding Smite Shatter Flame Blade Misty Step Moonbeam
  Level 3	Elemental Weapon Haste Fireball Blinding Smite
  Level 4	Staggering Smite Stone Skin Phantasmal Killer
  Level 5	Banishing Smite Destructive Wave