This is a character which has been sitting in my list of characters unused for months. I doubt I'd have any other chance of playing him, so here goes:

"Kamir Rhodes is a Bard of noble birth; born into a family which possessed great wealth and high expectations for their up and coming patriarch. But all that would end when an accident at the family home caused him to be pushed from the family indefinitely, and he hasn't heard from his family since (it was never denied nor confirmed whether he actually caused it, but his magic certainly had a hand in it). It was hard enough to be accepted by the family and their business partners as a regular member of the family whose words were as those of his father's, but without this status, the young Tiefling has found it even more difficult to fit in and find his place. As such, he decided to travel, scraping together where he could to go wherever the caravans were willing to go..."

For those interested, this I where I plan on taking Kamir:

- Bard College: Swords (the ability to cast spells through weapons is invaluable to the way I wish to play the character; also, this is arguably the best of the Colleges)

- I will be picking up Expertise, Font, and Countercharm; while the later two aren't crucial, I do need Expertise.

- I will be picking up another CHA caster (Sorc, undecided origins) pretty early for the boosts, in particular Font of Magic and Metamagic; these are the abilities I'm here for. Subtle Spell is kind of mandatory for Kamir (he's kind of a nosy, loud dude); the Bard is mostly there for the backstory, inspiration and influence on his personality, and for the Expertise/Jack of All Trades (maybe I'll dip into Bard about 6 levels, maybe more).

I do plan on going much further into Sorcerer, and might even dip another CHA caster, depending on how the story unfolds and how my character performs. If I am not chosen, no hard feelings; I'll just save him for a different game.

Wenlos, a Triton Barbarian outlander that roams the land to prove himself worthy to his ancestors as he challenges himself to the unknown.

He once thought that he always lived at the deep sea. Now he wants to experience something different like the mountains and decided to venture forth to where no deep sea creature ever thought of going to.

Currently, he amuses himself on an inn while playing on the snow outside.

Later this evening I will select 5 players whose character concepts I think will best fit the campaign and will send each of you a private message letting you know your character has been selected.

Thanks to all who has shown interest in this game.

I am not too late for this? Hope I am not!

Race: Half-elf

Class: Warlock, hexblade

Backstory:

Rasen Khen was polite when adressed during their journey north, and a good guard of the caravan, but he was also quiet and kept to himself most of the time. 

He hasn’t tell anyone why he is going so far to the North, specially that his brownish skin states him that he has born at the southern countries of the continent. If he would have been asked, he wouldn’t have known what to answer though. He only knew that he must go north. As northen as he could. Since that night when all his life went down to the garbagge. 

That night, that had started nicely, with him beign able to enter the private chambers of the count’s daughter, a particullary pretty young girl named Rashia, daughter of the Count’s first wive, that was meant to marry some noble from the capital by his father, but she had another plans, for she was in love with Rasen. And Rasen was in love with her. They had met half year ago when he had entered into his father’s service as a guard. But that night, has they searched the other between the silks of her bed was the last night he had been free. If only he had been more pereceptive of the clues that were there. The looks of the Countess, the third wive of the Count, to her. The savvory individuals that the Countess made deals when she was in the market and he was acting as a bodyguard... the runes that where embroidered at the Countess robes... if only he had gotten eyes for more that Rashia, he could had noticed something. 

When they were finally naked,suddenly the door of the chamber exploded in thousands of splinters.They both screamed and standing there, the Countess, with two demonic creatures at her side.

- Thank our Lord it’s not too late - she said. - Grab him too and bring them both to me - 

Rasen tried to fight, but to no avail. One of the creatures punched him in the head and the next thing he knew was that he was chained to a wall, still naked, in a subterranean chamber. In front of him there was an altar, and chained to that altar was Rashia. Over her was the Countess with a black dagger over Rashia’s chest. He was in one lateral of the chamber, and Raisha’s head kind of fell over the altar, so she could see him, looking upside down, and he could see her eyes, begging him to help her. 

In front of the Countess, giving a dim greenish light to the entire room, were an open portal, swirling tendrils of arcane energy going to another place. 

 - No.. No... - he struggle against the chains, one of the demons that were at the Countess side looked at him and mocked him.  - Let me save her please...- 

Suddenly a low, rasping voice in the back of his head talked to him. 

- What would you give to save her... -

He didn’t think about it. 

- Anything... anything.. just help me.. give the strength... - 

- Anything.. interesting...- 

- Please please, free me... let me help her... - he begged to the voice in his head as the black dagger began to descend. 

- Would you serve me? Forever? - The dagger was half way 

- Yes Yes!! - The black metal started to cut her soft and delicate flesh, the red blood began to pour out of it, her eyes were fixed on his. He felt he was about to rip his own arms off. 

- Deal - The dagger finished its way and the hilt touched the chest. 

The chains were opened, and somehow,his sword was in his hand. He jumped, and he stabbed the Countess’s heart screaming and crying. He didn’t remember quite well what happened next. He only remember that he was able to kill the two creatures and the damn witch,the weird portal closed when he threw the witch head inot it, and now  he was nourishing Raisha in her last breaths. 

“You’ve saved me... “ she said with a faint smile “ You saved me... “ she said exhaling her last breath. 

After that he hadn’t too much options. The Count had been murdered by his third wife and the only one to blame would be him. He left his city and his country and fled in the night, carrying Raisha’s neckclake, something to remember her. 

Then the voice started to speak to him, and led him north. 

Thanks to all who have shown interest in this game. I have sent a PM to those who I have selecting to join the party. For this who were not selected hopefully when can game together some day!

The winds whistle and bluster beyond the thick windows of the Howling Hallows inn, the cold, dim light from the outside battering against the warm waves emanating from the large fireplace in the room. Sitting at a table near the center of the room, Tovar sits, his enormous shoulders hunched over his small bowl. Scraping the bottom of his tepid meal of boiled cabbage, Tovar pats his pockets, frowns, and then glances around the room. Spotting a kind looking woman a few seats down from him, he leans over and softly taps his bowl on the table. 

"I don't mean to be forward, but would you mind lending me a few coppers for another bowl of this fine establishment's cabbage? I am afraid that a frame such as mine requires a great deal of nourishment from time to time, and I am not, as of this present moment, possessed of my normal financial resources. I observe that you are a noble servant of a god, though which one I am not at this moment sure."

His voice is deep, a rich baritone beginning from somewhere inside his large torso and echoing up an uncertain distance. He speaks with a thick accent, rolling his R's and oddly enunciating most vowels. Tovar gestures again towards the cleric, imploring with his bowl, and his eyes light up as he grins through his dark, shaggy, grey-flecked beard.

Adventure was a dirty, messy sort of thing.  Not at all what the bards said, Aerin thought as she winced at the smell of the boiled cabbage.  She also had to admit adventure did have its appeal.  There was the unspoken promise that anything could happen.  Which was exactly what did happen in this rustic village.  Locals muttered into the ale words of desperation and fear.  Monsters lurked in every shadow it seemed.  Opportunity too, if Aerin wasn't mistaken.  Such things did not appear from thin air and to solve such a mystery was exactly her bailiwick.  Who knew what ancient secret lay untouched through the ages?  Aerin could see it now- the honors and recognition from her scholarly peers.  And there in the crowd as she gave a talk about her daring-do, Ryndil green with envy, as she rubbed his nose into her success. 

She just needed to stiffen her spine and brave a few slathering monstrosities.  Well, her father had always said 'publish or perish'.  She had no idea he'd meant it so literally!

Glancing at her companions, who had shared the journey with the caravan, Aerin sighed and loosened her purse strings.

"I don't know about Esvele but I dare say you can have my cabbage, Tovar," Aerin said extending the untouched bowl.  "It's not quite to my taste.  Perhaps some more wine would do?"

- Esvele - 

"Tovar," Esvele says just before taking a pull from the bottle, "how are you out of money again? The caravan leaders paid us our stipend when we arrived here. It's only been a few days!"

Fishing around in her pockets, she continues, "Here - now you can eat Aerin's cabbage AND buy some more for yourself. You had better start watching how much you eat before you find your armor fitting tighter than you remember." She guffaws and awkwardly elbows Aerin's side as she does.

After her laughter ends, she pulls another drink from her bottle., and declares," I'm getting tired of being holed up in here - we need to keep moving."  Then after yet another pull from her bottle of wine, "I'm gonna step outside for a moment, feel the storm and stretch my legs. Be right back."

"Yesss...." Darastrag agrees from beside the fire, where he has sprawled out on the floor and looks up, golden eyes still in the firelight. "Tired of sitting in softskin cave. But fire is nice. Perhaps your friend Darastrag will go hunt for fresh meats once the storm is over."

N'ruel

The room provided to N'ruel is sparse, even for the remote mountain inn, as he requested that the bed be removed to allow him room to practice his martial arts. He really had no need for it anyways, being accustomed to sleeping on the stone floor of the monastery. The typically-bald monk - the white stubble of his hair has begun to emerge as he somehow managed to lose his knife in the trek through the Azmaran's Stair - makes his way to the common room after his daily kata.

He finds a seat near fireplace and without a word to the waitress, he orders an offered bowl of the boiled cabbage, giving her an expressionless nod of thanks when it arrives - after a few day's stay the staff is used to his mannerisms. He slowly consumes his meal and finishes his cup of tea before quietly making his way to the door. A couple of days confined to the inside of the inn has gotten the best of the monk, and as the storm has the sun blocked out he can venture outside suffering no ill effects from the sunlight. Pulling his cloak tight around him, he grabs the snow shovel leaning against the wall nearby as he makes his way out the door. 

Stepping out into the cold doesn't affect him as much as those born on the surface having spent most of his life in the chilly Underdark, but the severity of this blizzard still causes his to pull his cloak even tighter to avoid the elements. He notices Esvele attempting to stretch her legs, and he moves past her to find a path in need of clearing. 

Esvele and N'ruel step outside away from the warmth of the glowing fire and into the icy chill of the swirling snows. The wind picks up whipping through the eaves of the Howling Hallows, causing a high pitched wail to emanate throughout the old shrine living up to the inn's namesake, as the last rays of daylight fade sullenly into the darkening sky. The bald headed drow stabs the end of the snow shovel down deep into the snow and begins to shovel his way towards the eastern gate of the wooden palisade wall that surrounds the village of Oakhurst, the gnarled finger like branches claw up towards the heavens as the shadowed Whispering Wood looms forebodingly just outside the safety of the wall.

A hunched figure materializes out of the snow wearing a long thick fur coat and hood, stitched together from the pelts of many a squirrel and hare. The old man's teeth chatter from the cold as he rubs his hands up and down his arms for the hope of a little warmth from the friction. Without making eye contact he gives a small nod of recognition to N'ruel as he hurries past heading towards the inn. The monk recognizes this to the the village elderman whom always takes his evening meals at the Hallows.

Inside the wailing moans of the wind slowly die away as the smell of roasted meat wafts out from the kitchen. The front door opens with a bang as it slams back against the wall, snow drifting in across the hard packed dirt floor before melting away into tiny puddles, as the village elderman enters and with some effort closes the door behind him. Pulling off his head reveals his bald wrinkled head with tufts of white hair floating around his ears. He gives the lizardman, the half-elf, and the hulking man slurping down his cabbage an awkward grin before setting himself down at a table in the far corner of the common room as he shakes the remaining snow out of his coat. A young freckle faced girl no older than twelve quickly enters the room carrying a pitcher of ale, promptly filling the elderman's clay tankard with a dark amber liquid. No long after she returns from the kitchen carrying a platter upon which rests a succulent golden brown pheasant. The scrawny elderman, a male human who has seen around 60 winters, rolls up his sleeves tears off a roasted leg and bites down into the crispy flesh.

The young lass makes her way around the room cleaning up empty bowls and pouring more cheap wine for Aerin.

"Greetingsss, friend Elderman... Why sits you so far from the nice fire?"

Aerin takes her wine somewhat reluctantly.  The rich smells of roasted pheasant make her stomach growl.  Hadn't they said they only had cabbage?  The difference was quite distinct when there hadn't even been beans in the cabbage stew.  Probably a blessing for the preservation of the local... ambiance.  She certainly didn't look forward to being downwind of Tovar this evening.  Curiously, Aerin watched the older man as best as she could without being impolite.  He was an elderman of the village but in the middle of the village's travails he at like a king.  Not that she wouldn't if she could, Aerin admitted.

investigation 14

Hmm, quite strange and her curiosity was not yet sated.  She carefully watched the other patrons and how they reacted to the man.  Was he popular?  A regular to the inn?  Respected or feared as an authority?

investigation 18

insight 5

Turning towards the serving girl, Aerin gives a friendly smile.

"Pardon me, miss.  May I ask who the gentleman who just came in, is?"

[]persuasion[/] 19

OOC: Apologies I had to add the insight roll that for some reason I didn't do correctly.  Ignore the fudged roll message.

- Esvele - 

"Oy, N'ruel, I'm popping back inside to grab another bottle!"

As she steps in, she waves at the bartender and makes the universal "I need a fresh bottle" sign. She notes the Elderman sitting off to the corner, and Darastrag's attempts at grabbing the older man's attention.  She makes a bee-line for the Elderman, grabs an empty seat and drags it towards his table, giving a thumbs-up, empty wine bottle still in hand, and an awkward smile to Darastrag as she walks past. 

She sits down next to the Elderman, oblivious to his current state of attention, and begins, "You know, Elderman, I cannot make two coppers of this storm - I would have half expected it to blow over by now. You are from around here, is this normal for this time of year?  I've had cyclones harass me less on the water than this monsoon of a snow storm." She smiles. Then turns and waves the empty bottle at the bartender again, then shouting, "Sitting over here! Bring that wine over here if you can!"

Then turning to the Elderman, "So yes, the weather - thoughts?"  Looking over to Darastrag, Esvele waves him over to come sit by them.

Tovar hurriedly scarfs down the last dregs of his meal before both of his bowls are promptly removed. Wistfully, he watches the bowls depart. Sniffing at the air in an expectant way, his eyes are drawn to the elderman's significantly more appetizing meal, as well as the trio now gathered around it. His attention now shifted, he beams at the group, radiating curiosity like a lamp, eagerly awaiting further developments, and perhaps a chance to taste the roast fowl.

The monk continues to shovel even as the snow comes down. He  just looks back over his shoulder when Esvele returns inside. "Okay," he replies, probably not loud enough to be heard. In the few days he has known the island native, he has noticed she has quite the appetite for wine, thought he passes no judgement on her habits. 

(Con ST for giggles to see how he's holding up, 7)

Though the elements don't seem to be affecting him much, after about twenty more minutes of work he feels that he has been able to work off listlessness caused by the storm. He doubles back clearing again where the snow has already accumulated since he began. He sets the shovel by the door and heads back inside to warm up. 

"Tea and some dinner, please," he asks the first serving girl that he comes across, then goes to find a seat by the fire. He removes his shawm from somewhere beneath his cloak and begins to quietly play while he waits for his food to arrive. He gives the lizardman that is sprawled near the hearth a nod, checking his interest in his performance.

Darastrag listens intently as N'ruel plays his music. His eyes flick from the bard's fingers to his face and back, and the lizardman rocks back and forth with pleasure at the melodious performance.

After several waves, Esvele is able to distract him from the music. With a yawn and a tongue flicker, he lazily drags himself to his feet. "Thank you for the lovely music," he murmurs before walking over to sit next to the cleric. The greenish-gold frill atop his head flutters (a sign of curiosity to anyone who's been around him for very long) as he listens to the conversation.