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Character Histories /dev/ etc///

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Milo 'Nesquik' Tosscobble
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Post  KnifeytheWanderer Wed Dec 04, 2013 3:19 pm

My computer just ate my reply, grrr.

But I'm glad you posted this Ivelliohn! I enjoyed it, plus it's always fantastic to read things about our D&D characters. I'm a sucker for character development and exploration so seeing other people post stories, etc about their own characters makes me really happy. Very Happy 

(Though as a side note, what you did was fairly similar to forum roleplaying bouncing off my post like that. Ehehe, I'll make a textual roleplayer out of you someday. Twisted Evil And then, you shall never escape!)

Also, Tharry, I'm glad that both Ivelliohn and myself have been able to invoke such emotions, considering Irelia was not particularly developed. And all things considered, her death really is an unpleasant way to go. All I did was try and highlight that fact using the emotional standpoints of both Knifey and Ivelliohn.

(And as a final note, there's a TvTropes article that's sort of about headcanons. Though I dunno, you guys might already know what I mean when I say headcanons, ehehe.)
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Post  Tharivol Liadon Tue Dec 03, 2013 10:50 pm

These all make me legitimately sad that Irelia died, especially how it happened...

Sad 
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Character Histories /dev/ etc/// Empty John's reaction to Irelia's death, incorporating Knifey's 'Head Cannon'.

Post  JohnTheRanger Tue Dec 03, 2013 9:30 pm

[Knifey yatters on about Irelia's death] … Grim-faced, Ivelliohn briefly met the Xeph's gaze - and quickly glanced away, perceiving, from their long friendship, the keen grief barely held in check behind those white eyes. Dead-voiced, he sought to the words to express his own bewildered horror and mournful despair at the proud psion's demise.

"Tharivol said that the spell that hit her makes a person lose their mind. Go mad. Think their friends are foes. That's how she died, in her mind: Alone, torn away from her companions, surrounded by foes, but desperate to survive. So desperate that she destroyed herself in the attempt."

The ranger was silent a moment, turning to stare into the flames of the fire: Remembering. Anger, regret, and hot aching sorrow fought within him. He had lost too many good companions over the years - each one was a blow.

"That a woman like her should die like that…It is madness. I never knew her to be afraid, Knifey: Not of Owlbears, nor Arrowhawks, nor Giant Spiders - But she was afraid then. She thought she had lost. That's how she died…I can see her death, even now… And I do not doubt that I will dwell on it in my meditation for many long nights to come."

Ivelliohn raised his haunted eyes, meeting again those of his old friend. He paused, and then spoke gruffly, attempting to find some small brightness in the wake of the party's loss.

"My consolation is that you - at least - survived, my friend. If she had taken you with her in her death-throws… that would have been the greatest loss."

[Knifey yatters some more.]
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Post  Tharivol Liadon Wed Nov 27, 2013 12:00 pm

That was really enjoyable Knifey! I'm going to try and incorporate some of your memories of the Irelia's death into the official records - I always want to add more detail!

I like the characterisation of Irelia - I'll take your 'headcanon' over Noggy's interpretation any day Very Happy 
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Post  Milo 'Nesquik' Tosscobble Wed Nov 27, 2013 7:40 am

Wow Cas, its great to have someone in the party than can produce something like that!! Really good read!

I also like how when you mentioned 'canon', it made a hyperlink to canon cameras in ebay Razz
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Post  Genisisect Wed Nov 27, 2013 1:04 am

Very intriguing entry. My one and only problem is that you missed a close parren at the end of paragraph 3 of your post.... The rest was brilliant in my most non-artsy opinion!
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Character Histories /dev/ etc/// Empty Failures to the Dead

Post  KnifeytheWanderer Tue Nov 26, 2013 11:56 pm

(I told you I'd write something. It's definitely nothing good, but I wanted to get something down for Irelia. There's not much mention of Japas's departure, as I'm sure they'll be able to see him again as a friendly NPC in a church of Lathander or something.

This is set on the current in-game night, during the last watch -since that's when Ivelliohn and Knifey work together-. It's mostly told from John's perspective, though I'm not sure I got his character right. Sorry!! Also, this entire thing uses my headcanon for Irelia, which is very different from how she was portrayed in canon (since she was pretty much just a 'jugs' joke). Headcanon!Irelia was proud and vain, but still witty and amusing to be around. She was selfish, but fun, and for all her arrogance she was still pretty close with the group.)

((also yeah, writing is really bad. Most of this I wrote between the hours of 12am-1am yesterday, and I didn't get much sleep the night before d&d so yeah, probably a lot of errors. Forgive me (please!!))

John's face was set in a deep frown as he surveyed the surrounding landscape. The soft wind created an unsettling mood, an unpleasant ambiance that hung low over the group's camp. His ears twitched as he listened to the sounds mingling with the breeze. The rustling of rabbits in the grass, the chirping of insects, the barest crunch of dirt beneath his feet as he patrolled the area. His eyes darted about, spotting tiny spiders amidst the patches of weed at the road side.

There was nothing of true note hidden in the night, but still the air was heavy. Understandable, perhaps, as the death of a friend was not an event that left the heart light.

John twitched, clenching his hand into a fist to calm the shudder that started. The image of Irelia madly lashing out appeared in his mind once more, a ghost haunting his mind. Her face appeared in flashes, frenzied and terrified for her life. The sight of her dying eyes as she shrieked and sent out her mad powers, the obvious fear in her form as her companions bludgeoned her, the rapid disintegration of her form. There was nothing left of Irelia except memories, and the only one's John could call forth left him sick in his stomach.

Digging his nails into his palm, he brought himself back to reality and away from Irelia. He had to focus on the present, the movement in the shadows, the sounds in the dark. His fellows were weakened, still recovering from blades and pits, magic traps, and the demise of a friend, as well as the farewell of another. Their loot made them desirable targets for any observant traveler in the night, and the presence of two strangers in their camp set them all on edge, despite the apparent friendliness of the newcomers. Amidst all this madness, there was no time for him to rest.

Yet the weight on his shoulders pulled him down, distracted him. Irelia continued to crawl through his mind, clawing at the edges and tearing his concentration into a screaming mess. His vision blurred momentarily, and he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply before turning back to look across the camp.

John's eyes sought out the silhouette across the campfire, his only ally in the bitter hours before dawn. While the others lay sleeping, a well-earned rest that John did not deny them, it was a comfort to know that at least one stood at his side.

With a glance back out over the road, John slowly began his walk around the camp. He did not truly look at his fellow watchman again until he finally stood beside him. When he did, he immediately searched for the tell-tale signs. Shadows beneath the eyes, bleeding of the fingertips, braid draped over his shoulder for comfort. All were present, though unnoticeable to one untrained in the art of seeing them.

"Alright, Xeph?" John said, voice hoarse. He cleared his throat, but didn't bother speaking again. Instead he waited for his friend to respond, and he did. Knifey turned to look at him, lips pulled into a weak smile. The xeph's left hand scratched at his right, tracing old scars and digging into flesh of his fingers.

"I am well, Ivelliohn," Knifey replied, before nudging John. "No sense in asking you though, friend. You look awful." John snorted, reaching up to scratch the stubble on his chin as he watched Knifey continue to make a mess of his hand.

"This is how I always look," he muttered. Knifey chuckled, and to anyone else it would have sounded as if he were truly laughing.

"I know. If it is any consolation however, you look no worse than me."

John did not respond. For all that Knifey appeared as an open book, the xeph's true grief was often buried after his initial reaction. A shout of despair in his moments of failure was often all that was shown. Tears were not shown, and though the xeph often kept quite during periods of mourning he did not appear to openly mourn himself. Private visits to pray and moments spent hidden away were the only times he ever let himself truly weep.

But John knew the hidden meanings in his words, as Knifey knew his.

'...I look no worse than you,' John murmured. He let out a low sigh, before turning to walk back around the camp. As he did, his eyes caught sight of the campfire, crackling as one of the logs crumbled.

...a look of terror and spite filled her face as they surrounded her, their attempts to knock her unconscious on the edge of success. Yet like a wounded beast cornered by predators she refused to give up, her desire for life, or at least to destroy her enemies pushing her mind beyond the brink. With a chilling cry a burst of psionic energy filled the room, and John's stomach churned as he watched. Tosscobble fell and Dimble keeled over, holding his stomach. Erak and Knifey staggered back and they all looked on in horror as Irelia's powers backfired, the sheer force of her spell turning on and engulfing her form and disintegrating it into nothing more than fine ash, the only sign that she had ever existed beyond the screech echoing in his head, over and over and inhale exhale inhale exhale inhale...

"...exhale Ivelliohn, breathe breathe, deep breaths come on." John inhaled deeply, before letting out a gush of air. He quickly focused on the reality of his situation, the breeze, the sounds of rabbits and insects, Knifey's hands digging into his shoulders and the uneven sound of his own breathing as he tried to calm John down.

Shaking his head, John focused on his friend. The xeph's eyes were always strange, but now they looked positively glassy. He'd seen it before, but it was rare. He wondered if all the xeph looked like this when they wanted to cry, or if it was just Knifey.

The two stood silently for a while. John listened to the surrounding environment, but still he heard no threats, nothing beyond the nature's peaceful sounds. A small blessing then, that tonight the world had some measure of mercy. He didn't trust it to last, like any gift given by something as temperamental as the nature, but for a few moments he'd allow his guard to fall.

"Knifey, you look awful," he said. The xeph looked at him, his breath evening out as a familiar sensation filled the air. Knifey's eyes took on a meditative quality, all signs of fear or pain slowly fading as the soulknife reached inside himself. He blinked, and then he was calm, and John watched it all.

"Still awful?" Knifey asked, voice even. There was a serene quality to it, one that seemed both odd and yet appropriate for him. It was always strange to hear such a vibrant being sound so subdued, but it fit other parts of the xeph perfectly.

"Better, but not good," John frowned. "And I don't doubt it's the same for me. We both-"

"What did you see in the fire?" Knifey interrupted. John fell silent, turning his head to look back at the crackling flames. Like bursts of psionic energy it jumped and danced before fading, the logs around it charring and crumbling into ash. He heard the echoes of a scream in his mind, and shivered.

"Her dying, over and over," he whispered finally. "For a woman like her...I'd never seen her scared, not once. I don't know if it was bravery or arrogance, but she never cried or felt fear. Yet I saw it then. That and rage, and then her dying. Then nothing. Just...nothing. Gone. I don't know if she worshipped any gods, or if she ascended, but does it matter? It's just cold comfort for the living, a blanket against a blizzard."

Knifey didn't respond, though he turned to look at the fire too. The two stood in silence, listening to the flames and the wind, and the sounds of small creatures in the surrounding grass. Muffled snoring came from one of the tents, and the noises of their fellows, turning in their sleep, seemed loud as a centaur stampede.

"There's so many things she'll never do," Knifey said. "She had all of eternity. So many friends she'd never make, things she'll never know, sights she'll never see. Lives she'll never change, and that in turn would change her. Memories she'll never make. No more tears or laughter. All that turned to ash with her." Knifey paused, and John saw him swallow thickly, though he showed no other signs of sorrow.

"She thought she died alone." Knifey closed his eyes, head bowed. "Alone, in fear, and surrounded by enemies. No friends to fight beside, no chance at survival. Just pain and death."

"It's not your fault," John murmured, placing a hand on Knifey's shoulder. "We did what we could to save her."

Knifey looked away, eyes looking back out over the darkness. John slowly retracted his hand as the other moved, taking several steps around the edge of the encampment before glancing back.

"How old do you believe that dungeon was?" He asked. The fire cast strange shadows on his face, an unsettling image when mingled with the blank look brought about by his autohypnosis. Knifey was a creature of joy, of bright emotions and a desire to do good and live life. Yet the creature that stood before John was one he'd only seen a few times before. A being that disappeared quickly, but while it remained meant almost certain death to any that dared to do evil, and worse, revel in it.

"I don't know, but it was old," John answered. "Unless ancient or immortal, I doubt its builders are still alive."

"A small mercy then, for those that still live, and them. No longer can the create such dungeons to ensnare those who would seek to disable and destroy them."

"And the mercy for them?" John asked.

"They will never meet me."

The threat in his voice made John shudder, though he knew Knifey would never harm him. It was not even fear he felt, but a rage of his own. For Irelia's death, and for his friend's anger. The xeph was a gentle being, for all his skill in battle, and the knowledge that he was prepared to kill to ensure that none ever suffered a fate like Irelia's made his blood boil.

He breathed in deeply, calming down as he heard Knifey turn away and continue forth. They were still on watch and for all their pain they had a duty to their friends, to keep them safe from the dangers of the world.

It was the least they could do for the living, to make up for their failures to the dead.
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Post  Genisisect Wed Sep 04, 2013 2:07 pm

Why would he do that TC has no innate magical power, perhaps a Mage wielding a unique kind of magical power would be more his taste...

Also he already has an account on the forums ;P
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Post  Tharivol Liadon Wed Sep 04, 2013 10:13 am

Perhaps Sindri will have a taste for halflings...

Genisisect, have you told Sindri to make a forum account?
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Post  Tharivol Liadon Wed Sep 04, 2013 9:55 am

Arcana forever!!!!!!!

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Post  JohnTheRanger Tue Sep 03, 2013 11:37 pm

Pretty good backstory. Very ominous. The thought of a being who readily confronts and *consumes* demons comes across as quite disturbing. The mystery of Sindri's past, his powers, and his potential is presented in an intriguing fashion. Nice integration with the abundance of ruins around Far-Reach. Seems like he could evolve into a well developed character.

Hmm, I hope that the Warlock's Eldritch Blast doesn't end up dominating my character's ranged attacks. At least it can only be used once per round, while the ranger could end up loosing four or five arrows in the same time.

Also: Grrrrrr - Yet another bloomin' arcane spellcaster. *sigh* At least this one shouldn't be as squishy as the rest of them... Divine for ever!

EDIT: Sindri's Theme Song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IFx3WX4DES0 - "Can't Get You Out of My Head". *grins*
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Post  Genisisect Tue Sep 03, 2013 7:45 am

First of all I would like to welcome our new party member; Sindri to the forums, he will be sitting in for the next session and depending on what you do in that session may even join the party and start playing. Here's a bit of character info for you, of course your knowledge of this is NIC so please refrain from using this as a reference. I adapted the base warlock class somewhat to balance it, the adaptation has a pretty clear influence, but I recon its will lead to some pretty cool quests and RP chances. Here We go:

Sindri's parents were unaware of their demonic heritage before his birth, though it was painfully obvious afterwards, born with obvious demonic features; pointed teeth, small horns and red eyes it was clear that he wasn't entirely human. They left him with a monastery hoping that being raised in the house of a good deity would allow him to walk a less evil path, but there ambitions failed.

For as long as he could remember Sindri heard whispers in the back of his mind, when a cleric tried to investigate he was struck mad and died a few days later, leaving his colleagues sure of the fact that these voices were from a source more powerful than even the demon lords of Sindri ancestry.

Sindri was very young when he manifested his first power, when the brothers and sisters at the monastery found out the immediately cast him out, where he had to try and learn your of his art unaided. He quickly discovered that the warlocks had been removed from Fearun many centuries ago, and hence no man could further his instruction in the art, so he turned to his Demon ancestors, who were known to be responsible for the teaching the first warlock, yet even they denied him their knowledge.

The voice in his head though was growing more clear, and from the chaos of it's words Sindri discovered another path to growing his power, the warlocks of old left instructions to casting invocations carved into rock faces at some of the old ruins they inhabited, Sindri sought these out and studied them, yet still his powers could not grow, as he lacked the Demonic blessing that allowed Warlocks to learn new powers.

In the midst of his desperation he gleamed yet more knowledge from the maddening voice, a method to consume the souls of demons, and using that power to unlock his own potential, all the pieces had come together. Sindri began to hunt demons to unlock his power, and with each kill was able to cast more invocations. He traveled north to a city known as Fareach, as he was aware of some Warlock Enclaves in the area. Yet his search didn't go well, so to gain some income he became a thief-taker, one of the only societies he were willing to reveal his unique talents to, though even they don’t know the full picture...
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Post  Genisisect Wed Jun 05, 2013 11:19 am

I wonder what kind of check penalties using someones hair would cause, scribble, scribble, scribble.

Genisisect, the Dm
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Character Histories /dev/ etc/// Empty also, as we have no creative writing thread I'll put this here...

Post  KnifeytheWanderer Wed Jun 05, 2013 12:24 am

Also, because I wrote a stupid thing I thought I'd share it with you all! All gather around and watch Knifey act like a weirdo, through the eyes of one Tharivol Liadon.

And don't doubt Knifey's actions! For though he is weird and excitable and occasionally reckless and self-sacrificial, he's wiser than you know. Take into mind his actions in this short story probably do apply more to the former than the latter though. Oh dear. alien That's what you guys get for being friends with an alien Xeph! They just have to try out everything that isn't evil once!

Note: I got Mr Tharry's approval for posting this himself, so clearly I didn't bungle dear Tharivol's characterisation, woohoo!

Second Note: Knifey promises not to enrage any herds of bulls in our current D&D campaign unless the DM corners him and he has no other choice.

Third Note: Apologies for my writing in general. I should probably attempt writing at some time that isn't midnight, for then it might be of a higher quality.

The Ridiculous Nature of Knifey


Tharivol was not at a loss for words. In fact, in his head, Tharivol had many words which he could have said concerning the situation before him. As an elf of good education, he had access to over one hundred year's worth of vocabulary and language. The problem was not then that he did not have the words to speak. The problem was simply that the situation before him was so completely and utterly strange that only the most confused ones could come forth.
"Knifey, what are you doing?" It was a question that Tharivol felt was almost pointless, considering the bizarre nature of the Xeph, but he had to ask it anyway.
The Xeph himself turned from what he was doing and peered down the tree in which he sat, grin on his face, not once ceasing his task. His fingers deftly worked his long plait around the branch, attempting to tie it into a secure knot. For what reason Tharivol could not fathom, hence his question. The answer he received, however, was just as bizarre as the situation.
"Why, it's a test Tharry!" Knifey said, still looking down at the other as his hands worked away. "About my hair. You see, Ivelliohn said earlier, joked earlier actually, that in an emergency in which we needed rope and were ropeless, we could use my plait as some sort of rope-ish device and be saved! Now I know he was joking, but..."
Tharivol frowned as the Xeph paused for breathe. His confusion regarding the entire situation had cleared up somewhat due his knowledge regarding several things, mostly his own logic, and Knifey's odd nature. Considering what he was seeing, odd seemed too weak a word. Mad was perhaps more suited.
"But anyway, it got me thinking," Knifey continued, "it got me thinking that if such a thing happened, my hair is very long and the way I braid it does make it seem like rope. But we Xephs don't have very thick hair so I thought, just in case, I'd test the strength of it now so we'll know if it's reliable later!"
"And how does work exactly, with you tying your hair to a tree?" Tharivol asked, crossing his arms. The only answer he could come to was completely ridiculous and yet-
"Why, I'm going to jump off with my hair tied to the tree of course!"
-Knifey was without a doubt, completely ridiculous in every way.
"Knifey, even if your hair does hold and you don't go plummeting to grievous injury, or unpleasant death, you do realise that it is still going to be extraordinarily painful?" Tharivol said.
The Xeph appeared thoughtful for a moment, chewing his lip as he turned back to his task in securing his hair. Tugging on it and grinning madly as it held tightly, Knifey looked back over at Tharivol.
"Many things hurt, dear Tharry, but that has never given me cause to be afraid of them," he shouted cheerfully down the tree. "And besides, I am sure any pain I feel now will hurt a lot less than Ivellion's moaning if we are caught ropeless in a situation that requires much rope!"
"And if you fall to injury or death?"
"Nay, I shall not! There are too many branches on the way down for that. In the event my hair breaks, I shall simply grab one and swing myself to safety!"
Indeed, Knifey was mad. Tharivol wondered at how the Xeph had survived so long with such bizarre behaviour, but relented after a moment. For all his curiosity and self-sacrificial behaviour, the Xeph wasn't stupid. Indeed, he was perhaps wiser than they all gave him credit for.
That did not mean that Tharivol couldn't worry for him though, especially considering Knifey did not particularly worry for himself.
"Let me just ask this final question then, before you jump," Tharivol spoke. "Why do you not just cut off your hair and test it like that? It would indeed lead to less pain if your hair was to support your weight."
"Why, Tharry, that's simple!" Knifey said, crouching on the edge of his branch. "I like my hair too much to part with it!"
And with that, the Xeph pushed himself off his branch.
For a moment, Tharivol had to restrain himself from summoning a floating disk. It appeared that Knifey would fall, and at the whim of his blasted hair, keep falling to the ground. Yet his hair held, and before Tharivol could open his mouth, Knifey let out a triumphant cheer, dangling in the hair from his braid.
"Huzzah!" He cried out joyously. "See Tharry, look! It works! It's holding really well too. I suppose Xeph hair is stronger than I gave it credit for. I can even swing about!"
A sickness rose in Tharivol's stomach as he watched the Xeph swing himself about with his hair, both out of fear his reckless behaviour would cause his hair to fail, and out sympathy, for surely hanging by one's hair and swinging about would cause much pain.
"Does that not hurt?" He had to ask. Uncomfortably, he touched his own hair. Rowena, perched in a tree nearby, felt his discomfort and flew over, settling herself on his shoulders as Knifey ceased swinging and hung in the air, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
"Not really," he admitted finally. "It is one of my many talents, you know. Not feeling pain. Autohypnosis, Ivelliohn said it was called. The ability to ignore one's own pain to allow you to undertake tasks that others may not. A handy thing, it is, though you've always got to be concentrating..."
"And are you?"
"What?"
"Are you concentrating? Tharivol asked, unable to deny his curiosity. Knifey was an odd creature, but he was interesting, and Tharivol enjoyed learning. Perhaps not learning that same way he knew Knifey did, by doing everything and anything that was good and fun and maybe dangerous too, all at the speed of light itself, but he still loved to learn. He just prepared to be relatively safe and comfortable while doing so.
"Well yes, I have to be," Knifey answered. "It's not hard to do, you know, not when the pain is something small like this."
Tharivol could only shake his head. 'Small like this', the Xeph said, as if dangling by your own hair from a tree was a minor pain. Indeed, it made Tharivol wonder, in the back of his mind, what exactly Knifey had experienced in his time to make such a hurt seem small.
Small to himself that is. He had no doubt that, if someone else were being dangled from a tree, Knifey would feel their pain as if it were is own.
"You are a most unusual individual, Knifey," Tharivol admitted finally. "But I feel I am glad to have you at my side, as I am sure everyone else is." Knifey smiled brightly at that, before grabbing hold of his own hair and pulling himself back up onto the branch.
"I am glad to hear that, though if Ivelliohn ever tells you about the time I accidentally upset that herd of bulls, well, you might very well change your mind!"
And all Tharivol could do in response was sigh. Mad, yes, that was really was the best word for Knifey.


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Character Histories /dev/ etc/// Empty So I rewrote a thing, and then I made it public

Post  KnifeytheWanderer Wed Jun 05, 2013 12:06 am

Stripey, it's a pleasure to see you here! I sure hope you enjoy your knew life traveling with us all, especially with Knifey. Knifey likes new friends, after all!

In other news, gave Knifey's backstory a rewrite which I'll stick with unless it goes completely against something very firmly established by the DM.

For the record, the rewrite is pretty much the same as original. I just like the way I wrote this one more. There are some minor changes, but nothing too noticeable I think, and nothing that would alter Knifey's character.

One thing I haven't specified, but will now, is that Knifey's mindblade is still purple. It only got that black with red veins design because Knifey was in what I'd call a berserker's rage -which he'll probably never be able to achieve again outside of creative writing, ahaha-.

But yeah, other than that, here's Knifey's backstory so you guys can keep track of it too!

-----

The Life of Nasim 'Knifey' Val (like a Shakespearean tragedy, only the main character gets to live!)

Nasim's tale does not begin in the Forgotten Realms, where the rest of our merry band was born and dwelt, but rather in a place beyond. Known as the Shadow Rifts, deep fissures of darkness that give way to glowing forests in which the Xephs are born and live, Nasim was born and raised for the first three years of his life. While most of his memories and feelings of 'home' come from the place in which he lived after, his time in these Rifts left its mark upon his mind and person. Fortunately, the vague memories of this time are all pleasant, joyous times spent with his parents, Yaseeah and Manar.
The Xeph however, had discovered a land beyond their own, and as Xeph are inclined to do and discover as much as they can, they expanded beyond their strange homeland and ventured out into the wider world, the Realms. They exited their homeland into the harsh plains of the Shaar, and there they built outposts, three small ones built within equal distance from the entrance back into their homeland. To one of these outposts, Yaseeah and Manar moved, helping to build and create it with Nasim, as well as various other villagers, all of whom Knifey knew by name. Youngsters he would grow up with, adults and eldery who lived and traveled within the outpost. Each one he knew, and loved.
The Shaar was a chaotic realm, and of a very different geography than what the Xephs of the Rifts were used to. In place of great darkness and glowing forests, it was hot and dry, plains of grass where little grew, burning in the day and freezin at night. Yet the Xeph adapted, and Nasim, raised in it, found the wild nature of the Shaar's weather fairly comfortable. With the other creatures in the area they negotiated and fought, for resources, most precious being water, but the other tribes and creatures that roamed there found them agreeable, for if worst came to worst, the Xeph could turn to the Rifts for aid, and many of their own traveled far anyway, the wanderlust within them leading them even deeper into the Realms.
For his youth, Nasim was content with his village and with what lay within the Shaar. From his mother and father he learnt to fight, with his strenght and agility coming most from his mother's side, whereas his concentration and inner sense of power came from his father's. With his fellows, he dueled and practised, at first with mere training swords, then with finely crafted Xeph weaponry, and then finally with his Mindblade. His parents, both skilled Soulknives, taught him to call upon it with his mind, and to reflect his inner self. It took the form of a deep purple blade, and it pleased Nasim greatly. These battles and practise were a necessity in the Shaar, as due to its chaotic nature, for every wonder one encountered, there was something trying to kill you right behind. Aside from his fighting practise, Nasim spent much of his time meditating, playing, and drawing. Like most Xeph, he focused on improving both the quality and the speed with which he produced his work. The older he grew, however, the more he began to wander.
The wanderlust within him began to awaken properly, and no longer could he be satisified with the patrols he sometimes made around sections of the Shaar. On occasion he had ventured back into the Rifts to see what his home could have been, and though it was wonderful and beautiful, it was not enough. Though he loved his village and the people within, something deeper within him called to go and see what else was out there. The few travelers who had passed through the Shaar and encountered the Xeph only furthered his curiosity. It amused him however, to know that the Xeph piked the traveler's own curiosity, a strange race that, to most, seemed to pop out of nowhere. But he could not continue on here, not with such a calling inside him.
When the moments he spent away from the outpost began to greatly outnumber those he spent within, he knew it was time. he sought out his mother and father and confessed that it was his time to go, to travel the world and discover all the wonders that lay out there. Thus, with the blessing of his parents and the well wishes of his village, Nasim began his journey into the world beyond. He searched the Shaar more thoroughly than ever, getting into both friendly and not-so-friendly encounters with its other inhabitants, but he had to see what lay beyond the rolling plains. What he found first, however, was much darker than anything he had expected.
Entering into a city of law, a strict rules and principles, the chaotic Nasim discovered the Empire of Mulhorand. It was, unfortunately, the worst place the young Xeph could have ever ventured. The citizens of Mulhorand, raised with a fear of change and an arrogance most distasteful, viewed the odd creature with displeasure at best, with anger and disgust at worst. Never having encountered a single Mulhorandi in all his time in the Shaar, Nasim was somewhat unsettled by such a different sort of 'person'. Their use of slaves conflicted with his own viewpoints and his playful nature and odd appearance had him singled out and often watched. Still, Nasim did his best to see the bright side of things, accepted it as a learning experience, and continued exploring.
It was during his time here however, when things turned to tragedy. On the eve of his seventeenth birthday, Nasim entered a tavern with the intention of enjoying his birthday no matter how the Mulhorandi people treated him. He let himself drink freely, making a toast to his village and his parents, and to his friends, and the Rifts, and to the Xeph, and to many other things. However, he senselessly overdrank and dulled his senses. If he had been in any sort of decent place, it might not have mattered. Unfortunately, for all its laws and rules, to Nasim Mulhorand would never have been a decent place. Thus in the darkness of the night, at some late hour he stumbled from the tavern and out into the city, coming upon an alley that should have been just like any other. It was not, however. Within the alley, two figures conversed. A figure in a travel-worn cloak, hooded and hidden, and an important member of the Mulhorandi clergy, clearly peturbed at being forced outside at such an hour, in such conditions.
The other figure, still in darkness, spoke and revealed herself as a worshipper of one that is chaotic and evil, in conflict with the Mulhorandi and lawfulness. She despised the priest for he had led to the capture of some of her own, who in turn had been turned into slaves, an existense that any mindful chaotic creature, good or evil, would find disgusting. And even though both the woman and the priest were evil at their core, she found his ways pitiful and pathetic, and would have her own fester in his empire. Thus she attacked and killed the priest, intent on spreading havoc and evil within the walls of Mulhorand. And thus, before Nasim could truly register what was occuring before him, the woman turned and with swift actions knocked him unconscious, planting her dagger on his body and tossing her blood stained cloak on top of him. And thus she left, having created a scapegoat for her crimes in a city that would not leave him unpunished no matter how he pleaded.
And punished he was. When the scene was discovered he was swiftly captured and arrested, brought before the other highest of Mulhorand's priest to be judged. And no matter how Nasim pleaded, how he begged them to understand, to see his innocence, the priests did not and for a crime as severe as they believed Nasim's, for a strange, chaotic foreigner to come and kill one of their own, one of their priests, it was only fair that the punishment be as horrific and drawn out as possible, and that no others of Nasim's kind could kill another priest. Thus Nasim was taken deep beneath the earth into the darkest of Mulhorand's dungeons beyond the reach of wind or sun, and tortured. He became a plaything in the hands of the dungeon master's, who treated him most cruelly both in punishment for his crime but also for the information about the rest of his kind that they seeked. He felt heated iron and whips on his flesh, careful cuts of a dagger designed to scar deeply and hurt even deeper, the ripping of skin from flesh, hair from scalp, and nails from fingers. He was given little water and fed even less, brought to the brink of sanity with mockery and physical pain beyond measure. His body would be covered in scars and wounds unhealable, his mind perhaps even more so. Though he lasted many months, perhaps even a year against such cruel treatment, calling upon the peace that his father taught him, his mother's strength, and receiving support from the deity Ilmater, eventually he began to break before them.
Eventually, weak and disillusioned, Nasim broke. No longer comprehending where he was or what he was truly being asked, he gave answers to questions he didn't understand. He spoke of his family, friends, and village as if he were sitting at a table with an ally, yammering on madly about happier times though his entire body was in a constant state of hell. The faces of the dungeon masters became the faces of his friends and he laughed and cried and called out for them all, called out for his home. What he did not realise was the severity of the information he had given. With some prepartion and planning, the Mulhorandi officials and a large band of their warriors were gathered. They would slaughter the fellows of the murderer in their dungeons, effectively giving a warning and culling the amount of vermin near the own home.
Thus they eventually set out on their ride to Nasim's home, his outpost, to kill or capture all who lived there. Nasim remained unaware of their actions in his dungeon cage, at least, until one of his keepers used it against him. To break him, to humiliate, to destroy the last of Nasim's hope.
It was, at the moment, to his advantage that these people knew nothing of Xeph culture, Xeph mentality, Xeph bonds. For to do anything to a friend or ally of a Xeph is to call upon yourself a vengeance one could only see in nightmares. This, combined with the inate psionic powers with Nasim, and Nasim was renewed. Not truly healed or even healthy in anyway, but he was fueled by an unstoppable rage, and his mindblade came forth far stronger than before, a weapon that shifted and changed at his beck and call, a black mindblade with red veins streaked through it. Though suffering from malnutrition and open wounds, Nasim no pain, no weakness. He killed his dungeon keepers quickly and from his dark cell crawled back to the light. All who tried to stop him fell before him, a wild-eyed Xeph with only one thought.
To save his home. Racing through Mulhorand and out into the Shaar, he did not cease running. It was a wonder he did not fall and die as he was, but he drove on, summoning a power within himself that it would be a miracle for him to ever summon again. Through the heat and cold of the Shaar he ran, following the tracks of horses and beasts in the grass to his home. He ran and ran, only stopping when he stumbled and fell, each time leaping forward and up and running once more.
But he was too late.
Upon arriving, the Mulhorandi were gone, to terrorise the other outposts, and his home was destroyed. Houses burnt, bodies littered the ground, and before him, his parents' heads stood on pikes, their plaits tied together in a mockery of their love. The white stones they kept at the end of their plaits, a thing Nasim had spoke of his pain, had given them away. And now they stood as a warning.
Nasim screamed, a broken cry, and then he fell. Yet he did not perish that day due to other Xephs stepping forth from the Rift. For there was one survivor of Nasim's village, a scout, his friend Isa, who had alerted the other outposts and allowed them to call upon the Rifts for aid. The Xephs of the Rift had hidden them, and now they came looking for survivors. And they found Nasim. Isa and Nasim did not meet, however, Isa fled deep into the Rifts with her grief for sometime, and thus Nasim thought all he had ever known dead, his parents' empty eyes burnt into his mind. It had been, since his capture and torture, a year and a half, all for it to end with such a blow.
But as he was slowly healed, Nasim knew it was not the end. Though he was body was forever scarred, his home and family lost, and his heart burnt, he knew it was not the end. As he regained his strength, he knew that he could no longer be the same. Nasim had died with his village, and now it was time for those who had killed him and his fellows to face the consequences of their deeds. When healed, he thanked his fellow Xeph. When they asked his name however, for he had grown and been scarred beyond their recognition, he simply said he did not have one, and left the Rifts for the Realms once more.
He stepped into the destroyed remains of his village, now burnt by the Xeph of the Rifts to remove the bodies and debri that had remained, and found the only pieces left of his home where the two white stones his parents had given one another when they were married. And he took them up and tied them to a black string, then wrapped it around his hair and turned his gaze across the Shaar to Mulhorand. He called upon his memories and brought up the faces of every individual who had contributed to his pain, and thought he would search out each of the soldiers who had participated in this massacre. All would fall. It would be swift, it would be quick, a cleansing of the earth as opposed to the vile act of torture. To remove those who would cause such pain, as opposed to bringing such pain himself.
Cloaked, he returned to the Empire of Mulhorand and sought them all out. And each one died. No unnecessary pain, no corruption, no defiling of corpses, but swift deaths. Though he conducted himselves in the shadows, he did not feel it bad. This was not about something as foolish as honour. It was about suffering, and the pain and deaths of good people. It was about justice, it was about goodness. It was about protecting those who these people would hurt as they had hurt others, as they had hurt him. It was to ensure that no others would be hurt by them again.
Then he left. Not to the Shaar but to what lay beyond Mulhorand. He found a quiet place, in the wilderness beyond and there he called upon Ilmater once more, to the God that would do as much as he could to stop the suffering of others, and to Llira, the exarch who would bring joy and happiness and fun to all she could, and he called upon himself, the Xeph within who could smile and laugh and protect, and he knew he could not stop here. There was so much to see, so much to do, so much wonder in the world. And there were so many to protect, so many to love.
He could no longer be Nasim Val, but he could still be himself. Scarred but wiser, he left that quiet place in the wilderness and stepped into the world beyond. He was going to live, going to learn, discover. And he would, if possible, find himself a new home, at the side of new companions. And thus he traveled far and across much of the land, helping and fighting alongside many though never for long for few wished to travel with the strange Xeph, and thus he sought to help his deities in their work, to find fun and joy, until one fateful day he met a half-elf by the name of Jöhn, and he finally found his new self. Receiving a new name from the man, and giving him one in return, Ivelliöhn, the two continued to adventure together. And thus they met many others, until they became a band of nine. Nine companions, nine allies to fight beside, and laugh beside. Nine friends to travel throughout the Realms with.
He had finally found his new 'home', his new 'family'. They were an odd, and perhaps dysfunctional group, but they were his friends.
And thus, Knifey lived, and continues living.
So perhaps not all ends in tragedy.
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Post  Genisisect Tue Jun 04, 2013 9:32 pm

Now that your weasel has a back story you realize you have to RP him right.
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Post  Milo 'Nesquik' Tosscobble Tue Jun 04, 2013 5:41 pm

Wahey, what do you know, my weasel is a superstar!!!
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Post  Genisisect Tue Jun 04, 2013 10:58 am

Oh dear.
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Post  Nigel the Weasel Mon Jun 03, 2013 8:06 pm

Hello everyone, being an official party member now I thought I'd join in the fun!!! Here is my story so far:

I was captured by a hunting party in a forest way back when I was but a wee kit. Sold to a traveling circus troupe, I earnt my living performing tricks the likes of jumping through hoops and walking on my two hind legs. I earnt global stardom, being known by such titles as 'Nigel the Glam'rous', 'Nigel the Magnificent' and 'Nigel the Pretty-Bloody-Good'. Yet despite the glamor and all trimmings that come with global stardom, I quickly tired of this simple life.

One dark, ominous night I exited my 5-star circus caravan and stole away into the darkness. After weeks of roaming free in the countryside, I came across a grand city full of such rich bounties as endless food scraps and countless places to shelter in the night. I was spotted by the city's animal trainer while performing only a small part of my expansive repertoire of tricks. He took me in and provided a me a home in his menagerie. I lived happily there for many months, though my interest in this bustling town soon subsided. As luck would have it, the day I decided to leave this now all to uninspiring place, a halfling adventurer came into my caretakers shop and announced his intentions to purchase and train me in the ways of an adventurer-weasel.

And here begins the final chapter of my life so far, though it is more than far from finished. I anxiously await what my new life as an adventurer will bring.

Nigel the Weasel

Death to Orcs!!!!
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Post  KnifeytheWanderer Sun May 26, 2013 8:49 am

Ahhhh fudgeknuckles I forgot to reply back here! -hits self with stick- Anyway, to those who read and enjoyed my Knifey confession thing, thank you! Glancing over it now I notice a few flaws here and there but I can pass them off as Knifey being somewhat upset so victory is mine! But yes, I'm really glad you enjoyed it, or at least gained further insight into Knifey's character.

As for character development, eh, it's what I like to do. I only wish I was better at roleplaying verbally/in-person so that I could convey is character more. Unfortunately, me getting up and attempting some sort of weird jig on a table whilst singing some sort of tavern song probably wouldn't work.

To echo everyone else, I do feel that our actions in the last section were very out of character and that I should have been more attentive to my alignment. I felt the least I could do was that confession and send Knifey off to the Temple of Ilmater for some solace. But yes, more attention paid to alignments and personalities -for those who have developed some at least! XD- might do us some good.
At the same time, the fact that I am a poor roleplayer in-person as opposed to when writing affects how I react in-game. Plus, due to Knifey's status as an uncharismatic character, any chatter from me would mostly be sort of annoying as I would probably get in the way of the charismatic characters actually doing things. However, I suppose when discussing what we should actually do in-game (in terms of where we go, what we do) I should probably work on focusing on what Knifey would want to do a bit more. It is always in my mind, but I tend to put it aside because I don't want my personal character decision's becoming too much of a pain for the group -in case it conflicts with what others would like to do, which may lead to a split up, which is a pain for all involved (as I'm sure poor Calvin learnt last session abandoned at the inn)-.

Also, considering the friendship between Knifey and Ivelliohn, I do believe Knifey would be willing to at least somewhat open up about his present moral issues in regards to the owlbears. In general while he does prefer to bring much merriment and cheer and life where he goes, even he needs a shoulder and I guess poor Ivelliohn is stuck being the one. Not that it would happen often, as Knifey is the type to swallow his sorrows or continue on.

Also, I echo you on the idea of some Lawful Evil enemies, which I am sure we'll meet at some point. Not that Knifey finds any joy in killing, but it makes everything a lot easier to justify when I'm killing people that conflict directly with everything Knifey stands for.

While I do have Knifey's history down -though I would like to go back over it and make a few adjustments relating to his mindblade and the like-, I would most definitely like to check out this second player's handbook! And I greatly look forward to reading up on Ivelliohn's backstory, and likewise, when I make a few adjustments to Knifey's I'll stick his up on here for easier access.

But yes, definitely looking forward to reading it -and to reading any other backstories that may or may not be posted in this thread-.

Also, just in general, I should get back to making better use of this thread. Stop crafting the lives of your 20 flipping gw2 characters and work on Knifey you fool!

Edit: 'We send Knifey to the corner store to get some milk for a wizard we encounter.' <--- Well at least Knifey did something nice last session, though it was completely useless dfsjgfgdg
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Post  JohnTheRanger Sun May 26, 2013 12:56 am

I've come up with an in-universe explanation for our dealings with the owlbears, making use of my own world-building imagination and my character's extensive knowledge of the natural world. I'll elaborate on it in-character next session, if Knifey decides to share his conflict of morals with Ivelliohn. (Or if any other character's want to). For my character, anyway, it resolves the alignment issue. However, I agree with Alex L when he says we need to pay more attention to alignments - I let my greed and tendency towards being 'crazy prepared' get in the way of good role-playing in that regard. I hope we run into some Lawful Evil enemies at some point so all the Chaotic Good members of the party can go to town on them.

In other news, I also recommend that any of us interested in character development (which I should hope is all of us! *grins*) should check out the Player's Handbook II - it gave me some great but simple ideas on how to approach my character, what his background and goals could be, and where I could take him. Once again, I will try and make the benefits I've received from reading it evident through my in-character actions and communications next session.

I've also developed a half-way decent backstory for Ivelliohn, too, which I'll post on here before our next session.
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Post  Tharivol Liadon Sun May 26, 2013 12:29 am

Firstly, thank-you very much Knifey for the great read! An excellent insight into your character's mindset and moral dilemma.
Personally, as myself and Tharry, I am disappointed by the actions we led ourselves to take in that week-period of our adventure, but let's let it be a lesson, so that we might put some more moral weight on any decisions we make as a party on future adventures... I think we need to think ahead a bit more, and pay more attention to alignments... Nice to see you doing that Knifey!

And secondly, Tom's name is Japas. (Jaundice s his last name, that might be preliminary...).
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Post  JohnTheRanger Thu Apr 11, 2013 11:25 pm

Well... this isn't a very quick reply, but I think it was something like Jaspas or Jaspis.
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Post  Genisisect Fri Apr 05, 2013 8:07 pm

just quickly does anyone know what Tom's character name is?
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Post  Genisisect Mon Apr 01, 2013 8:36 pm

Wonderful piece of work (at least twice as good as anything I could ever produce), I deem it not to be a waste of my time reading it at least. It's good to see that the moral dilemma that I presented to you guys have at least least effected one of my players (would have thought John to have resisted but Knifey will suffice), and it's good to see you putting in so much effort into your character development (to be honest more effort then I put into that last session!) So Bravo!
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