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Forgot to say earlier, but samsies!

If someone needs dialogue or responses from Sariel (rather than waiting for a whole post from me), just let me know, happy to quickly contribute something to help the flow of a scene.
I'm still looking for a picture that I like well enough to use, but I got some quick writing done in order to make my sheet a bit closer to done.

Sariel



Opening her eyes, Sariel registered speech around her, and words that she could understand. A faint smile danced across her lips. The Warden had broken the world that had been. The Maw was gone. There were no walls. There was no floor. There was no longer a ceiling looming above them. The warden had shattered reality. And then reshaped it. An example of the High Art, shrouded in darkness. Sariel shuddered, giddy with fresh discovery. Magic filled her senses. Powerful magic she couldn’t claim. Not yet. She would have to understand. She wanted to.

Having appeared in the untamed wilderness, Sariel shifted her robe, unhappy with the unrestrained wind that touched her. The sunlight, not yet faded, set her skin alight with half-forgotten warmth. It was all too pleasant for her tastes. She preferred thick walls and heavy doors. Her thoughts were interrupted by fresh banter. Names, self-proclaimed titles, and too much prattle. She did not bother with her name. She had no wish to share such knowledge. Names were woven with great power and best kept secret. She offered no title. Such prideful pleasantries could wait. She felt no compulsion to waste her breath.

She found no reason to stand idle as some of the others began to move, following the the pyromancer and his conjurations. She could divine no fault in his geographic estimations. It was assuredly the Spines that loomed westwardly. Given the position of the sun and the likely hour, it seemed a fair possibility that they were somewhere in the vicinity of the Kasan plateau or even right on it. Such truths would mean that they were south west of Sulfrey.

Talk of Easterlings and Sulfreyans was warranted. It would be wise to remain unnoticed. it would be better still to avoid unnecessary fighting. The Easterling barbarians would fight for no reason. The Sulfreyans patrolling the wilds were little better and believed only in diplomacy at the end of a spear. Sariel felt a small frown listening to the tireless chatter of the pyromancer. She did not share his easy willingness to underestimate the Sulfreyans, elite knights mounted on wyverneers diving down from the sky was never a welcome discovery. It was a small mercy that he seemed to understand the danger that the Easterlings posed. A war band of bloodthirsty reavers, spilling out across the lands were an ever present danger on the Kasan plateau. Sariel knew far better than to trust the maddened primitives.

She had no desire to fight. Certainly not without time to prepare. However, fresh materials for her magic would be welcome. Flesh and bones untouched by the slow decay of time were easiest to work with. Such spirits clung to their old lives and slept lightly. She needed servants. She would need many servants. She might need an army. She might need several armies of undead. To find the lost agents of the king, three souls disappeared in hostile lands, was no small task. To kill a living god defended by uncountable faithful seemed harder still. Patience would be required. Skill would be needed. And the party, chained together has it was, would have to work together.

Sariel sensed the knife resting against her throat. Choice marked by a thin line of blood painted over her throat. The Warden's spell lingered, the geas she had cast wordlessly remained. She could see only one path forward, but she chose it gladly. She needed no escape. There was much to learn. There was much to understand. She would study. She would serve. She would aid the Warden. And she would fight...when she was ready.

Muttering a fell incantation, testing the threads of magic that traveled over skeletal hand, Sariel studied her new compatriots, her unwilling colleagues, and the strangers who now shared her fate.

"You are right, of course," Sariel said, addressing the shadow, finding the conversation at last to be more interesting. She watched the creature with obvious fascination. Spells woven with shadows were nothing novel. Illusionists had mastered such magic ages before. However, to become a shadow was a different trick and an interesting one.

"Paper or gold will be required. The Sulfreyans are not fond of unwelcome or unannounced strangers in their cities. Their walls are strong and their guards are many. We will need to exercise great care if we are to gain entry to civilization in these parts."
I've liked your other ideas (and I like this one as well), so if you need another player, I'm more than interested.

I've been fiending for the chance to write something approaching a DnD monk (but if that doesn't work I always have more ideas).
I'll try to drop a post later tonight or early tomorrow!

Fun posts so far!
@Abstract Proxy You are officially approved. You will get double approved and a second trait if you choose to make your character speak in a Bostonian Russian accent.



Double approved you say?

Second trait, even!?

I was tempted to do this purely out of some probable personality flaw, but now, now you have my attention (after I find a picture and write up a sweet appearance).



<Snipped quote by Abstract Proxy>

I'd be willing to help.

However, just looking at your sheet, I'm having a hard time discerning what you need help with.

(The only thing I've noticed is that Mariel's AC should be 13, since Leather Armor gives 11+Dex Mod for AC.)

Sooo...How can I help? ^_^


Haha, I was just convinced I had made some bigger error.




Related will wrap up my character sheet tomorrow or Thursday.
Zohra


"No damage, all systems nominal, and nothing on my sensors," Zohra reported, keeping her eyes glued on the displays feeding from the powerful sensors of her Raven. She felt a pang of guilt, noticing the battered BattleMechs of some of her lance mates. Her Raven had been untouched as it flitted around the edges of the battlefield. She had been lucky. Ulrik had been wise to have her keep an eye open on their flank. Shooting at range had been a fruitful endeavor. She had whittled down the armor of the enemy BattleMechs. Armor taken from an enemy at no cost was always an excellent trade. It had kept her safe. At least until the battle became desperate and even then she had been lucky. In the haste of battle she had

Wiping the sweat from her brow, she whispered a quiet prayer, thankful to be alive and grateful that no one from her lance had been lost. It was hard to feel bad for the pirates, but she felt some sympathy, the sort of sympathy one felt for the dead, even if they likely had not been very good.

Zohra wasn’t sure what mercenary unit Alvin was talking about, but she hoped they had made it. She preferred happy endings. Mercenaries needed all the luck they could gather. The ragtag band of mercenaries that she found herself in, the game souls willing to gamble on the offer of the Rasalhagians were no exception. She wasn't sure if luck could be passed on from one mercenary outfit to another, but she sure hoped so.
Wildfire






"Here’s to not getting shot," Wildfire said, downing one of the glasses Frost had filled, with a gulp, and heavy exhale.

"By Frost or anyone else," she teased.

"Don’t worry adept," She added, "We’re just here for a payday, no need to concern yourself with the past. What’s done is done and always was."

Leaning against the drink cart, Wildfire twirled her empty glass, spinning it around as if it was some old Western revolver, rather than a fragile glass that would break if she dropped. Beaming with a smile that she felt thanks to the heat of the whiskey, she winked at the Technomancer, grateful for the show and distraction to keep Frost busy and off her back, "Rowdy sounds good, dirty sounds better, and you had me at cracks big enough for us to slip through."

Waving at the laconic Johnson, her voice was laced with sweetness, "Johnson-sama, what’s the budget for a ride? And somewhere to stay? As my sister so kindly pointed out, it would such a bother for her if she had to share a small bed with little ol’ me."
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