Rok'Bohr grew up in an orcish community, raised by his mother, who's name he has since forgotten. The barbaric ways of his tribe only sought to fuel his desire for power arcane, material, and political. Through research into the dark arts that his clan practiced, Rok'Bohr learned of an ancient being that his clan unknowingly gave their prayers in these dark rituals. A formless Elder God of Brutality and Conquest, the creature never responded, nor did any who attempted to use its power survive the binding ritual. Willfully more intelligent than the rest of his clan, Rok'Bohr used his knowledge of what the creature truly was and attempted to bind himself to its power. He did not remember the conversation he had with it, only that it wished to witness Rok'Bohr's rise to power through his eyes. When Rok'Bohr realized he had attained what no one else in his clan had before, rather than staying and assuming command of his clan, he set out for greater goals. Nowdays, he wanders alone, seeking a group of adventurers to help him achieve greater heights of his own power, and to possibly even gain his own allies when he one day choose to begin his conquests.
(So to kick things off. I'd assume you all traveled from your home lands). 100 hundred years past since the events that took place in Algeath. The sky is grayish in color as snow falls from the clouds covering the sky; The ground is covered in snow about 5 ft there is a slight wind you are all dressed appropriately for this occasion it is approximately 1:00 PM. The Town you are all in is called Yilroph located in the south east of Algeath. There is two Inns/taverns, some stall as food shops, trinkets, minor archery stall, some houses made of wood and the forged/black smith loge and a minor archaeologist/potion shop.
(So do we know eachother yet or are we all making our own way to the town?)
Strife would make his way into town, struggling hard moving through the snow with his short legs. The smell of food in the air drawing him towards the tavern. Steam billowing from his nostrils, the kobold would trudge his way through the snow with both hands on a walking stick as makes his way to the door of the inn and slips inside.
(What flight spee ddoes the Grim Angel have? Looks interesting. And says +2 con, +1 any other stat, but that doesn't show up on the haracter sheet if I pickt he race, so would I just add +2 to my con score and +1 to another since it's using manual stats anyway?)
they have 50 flight speed and yes on the manual stats part I do allow flying in my campaigns flying to an extent if your flying all the time id say you would tire eventually but in a fight is allowed just know you maybe more vulnerable deepening on the situation. but they have a 30 walk. A far as known you all don't know each other but are all walking in this town. Strife walks into the Tavern it has the fire place on filled with overidge logs to give it a more charcoal/pine like aroma there are some quests inside the tavern some drinking and others dancing around, playing some mini games like axe throwing, knife on centered targets. A lady greets you as you enter. Hello and welcome to Yilroph's Tavern enjoy your stay
Flint, having finally found his way to the tavern, walks in stomping the snow from himself. "How am I to find my way around here. This snow is over my head." As he pulls the hood down revealing shoulder length red hair and a beard hanging down touching his chest. What seems off about this dwarf is that he does not have any armor on. Even the dwarven merchants can be seen wearing some light armor. Flint walks over the the bar "Give me some of your best ale please." dropping 5 silver on the counter.
Rok'Bohr strode into the town with a heavy gait. His skin was battered by the cold through his tattered robes which carried several holes in them, but he seemed not to mind. He simply continued to walk with a happy, yet simple expression upon his face. Any who observed him would perceive the simpleton he portrayed himself as. The sounds and smells of civilization hit him as he walked further into Yilroph and he smiled dumbly as he approached what appeared to be the first tavern in the town, passing a kobold as he moved. Opening the door, he walked inside and looked around to see what kind of patrons the town held.
A medium built man walks into the tavern pulling back his hood revealing dirty blonde hair and caramel colored eyes with a small scar over his right one he smiles and walks up to the counter "How much are your rooms for the night?"
Seeing the tavern alive with traffic, Rok'Bohr turned to the Dwarf next to him as the man shook the snow off his body. With a dumb smile Rok'Bohr extended his hand to the unarmored Dwarf. "Hi! Rok'Bohr!" His voice was deep and rumbled with the rough undertones of most orcs. His posture, however, was friendly and curious, albeit displaying one of... lesser intellect. Should the Dwarf take Rok'Bohr's hand, he would shake it, and it would be a long while before he stopped, seeming not to understand the awkwardness of a lingering handshake, nor the physical exertion of continuing to shake for well over a minute.
"Thanks!" The kobold would say with a nod, lowing the hood of his thick robe before making his way over towards the fire. After a few minutes of warming his body, with his clawed hands extended over the blaze, he would look around the room to get a feel for the people before walking to the job posting board and seeing what there is to do in town.
Everyone is greeted as they enter by the lady. A bearded man at he bar nods while he was polishing a glass. Brings it to the ale barrel and pours a pint and takes the money, then gives the ale to the dwarf his voice deep but mild tone Here sir some of are finest in house. He answers Darien rooms here are around 35 silver pieces each a night due to the weather sir and the more we must provide prices are slightly up.. You all have 5 gp to start out with, rope, knives basic survival stuff.
"Rok'Bohr you say? Haven't seen many of your kind wandering in this dreadful weather." Flint reaches down to free his hand from the trap that is Rok's hand shake. Taking a long pull from the tankard set on the bar for him, "What has brought you here?"
Strife, now nice and warm from the fire... would make his way towards the table with the dwarf eating his meal. "Hello friend" he would say in dwarven before taking a seat at the table. "You look new here just like myself, so where you headed?" the kobold would ask with a toothy smile.