Our island home was peaceful once if you can believe the words of elves, free of violence and strife. We belonged to the forests and settlements that dotted our homeland and wanted for nothing. A unending golden age in paradise was ours to build, far from the wars and intrigues of the continents. What fools we were, letting things go so far.
Now we bar our doors against the night and sharpen our steel before fearfully flickering fires. Now monsters born in the vastness of the many Planes stalk the shadows of the forests. Now the night holds terror for even the bravest. Our age is far from the Golden Age dreamed of by the oldest of the Arcane Races. Our age is the "Age of the Dominion of the Necromancers". To know the story of the "Age of Dominion" you must know how it all began.
The story begins over 200 years ago. Many tribes of humans and other quickling races had established themselves by this time and the island's bounty was peacefully divided into eight states, each with a single city as its heart and mind. These City-States were bound together in peace by treaties and marriages, sealed by the same wish for prosperity and peace. Both the first homelands of the Dwarves and the Elves were here on this island. From here, in ages past, they spread elsewhere to avoid corrupting the wild land of their home with the ever expanding number of their progeny. But now, with the rapid and enthusiastic expansion of the quicklings, their restraint proved pointless. The Elves were able to take this change with philosophic patience. The Dwarves never cared much for philosophy.
The Dwarves of Ironcross dwelt in the South-west. This region is the only place on the island where the circle of the Sky Spire Mountains bulges outward toward the sea. Here, among the uncounted peaks, lived this militant and disciplined people who toiled in the earth as they spread across their surface domain, cautious of threats no other kingdom believed would come. This practical and mildly paranoid race were held in awe by the others for the grandeur and scale of their building projects. Their fortresses and walls, palaces and homes, were stronger and larger by far than any other on the island at the time. Their weapons and armor too were superior to all, with but one exception being the weapons and armor of the Elves.
The Elven homeland was the Forest of the Pale Star. Dense enough to be counted a jungle and comprising the entirety of the northern border of Ironcross, this realm is thought to have been the first of all to rise on the island. But, proof is impossible to find and not even the Elves know for sure as much was lost when it was destroyed, dying shortly after the peace its people loved so dearly.
The peace fell suddenly with a stroke of the bloody axe of General Krieg Ireheart of Ironcross citadel, brother to King Steelcrest the ruler of all Dwarven Kingdoms. It was the blood of an elven diplomat who lost his head while pleading for peace. Nothing could dissuade the Dwarven Lords from their invasion of Pale Star. Axes and saws tore the jungle bit by bit until the Elves were forced to retaliate.
The armor and arms of the Elves were a near match for their enemies but their warriors were too few in number to defeat the vast armies of the bearded folk in open battle. The result was clear from the beginning. Pushed from their ancient homeland, they retreated to the north and found a new home, fortifying their new borders and burying dwarf after dwarf in a hail of arrows until their losses became insurmountable. As their invasion ground to a halt, driven by spite and wounded pride, the stubborn and angry Ironcross Army burned Pale Star forest to ashes. They named it The Great Scar, the rift of barren land between them that now serves as a neutral land and natural home for murderers and thieves. Lawless and feral, this ruined land stands was meant as a warning to all that the dwarves should never be opposed whether under the land or on it.
The Elven realm that remained was bitter and wounded. Their people had been divided in their flight and many had been forced to flee into the passages and caverns beneath their homeland. These who endured the dark and stillness of the stone for the sake of survival did not dare to return to forest life after the flame had reduced their way of life to ash and finally agreed to change, becoming stronger and more secretive and abandoning the thought of surface life.
They explored the vast subterranean caves and tunnels and eventually found one narrow tunnel that brought the tired and beaten people to a massive underground cavern teeming with subtle life and beauty. The geomancers, formerly the shapers of trees and the fertile soil of Pale Star, found new purpose in ancient stone. They sealed the great cavern and warped the tunnels to prevent being found by anyone, securing a homeland that could not even be found without heavy casualties. While dwarven miners and explorers are often welcomed by the quickling races to aid in their exploration of the deeps beneath their lands, no dwarf enters the tunnels below the elven lands and returns alive. Whether in peace or war, this part of the island is forever closed to them. This is the elven answer to the Great Scar left by the Dwarves where Pale Star once flourished, a realm of the Deep that dwarven maps will never record and a reminder to them of the price of angering their far longer lived neighbors. To this day the location of the Deep Elves is the most heavily guarded secret. Those leaving the city are blindfolded and brought to the surface via a short tunnel and a magical portal. Those who are allowed in are specifically summoned and escorted in like manner. Even their kin on the surface submit to these measures, acknowledging the feelings of their pale cousins for the memories of the elves are unrivaled.
Yet, war is never truly limited to a contest between two peoples. With the invasion facing heavy losses and the cost of a foreign war growing by the day, Ironcross was forced to seek elsewhere for funds and supplies that they now needed desperately. There were two obvious targets. Both were young human dominated realms that shared borders with Ironcross and traded with them.
South east near the sea sprouted the Kingdom of Felandar. While the people of this land were strong and rapidly growing in number, their fortifications were simple and their forging inferior. Still, the dwarven raiding parties found stiff opposition in the numerous archers and masterfully trained knights of this fledgeling realm. Soon, they found this kingdom to be too much for their divided forces and were forced to withdraw, limiting themselves to swift raids on poor border towns and villages.
Even as the Ironcross raiders were forced back by the Knights of Felandar, raiders from the desperate elves of Pale Star and the hard-pressed Felandar armies reached beyond the mountains for help from the central region of the island. This area was called Trader's Fell in those days and had a reputation for wealth because of their access to every people on the island. They rested at the center of the ring of mountains that define the island's topography and had control of seven passes through them to the lands beyond.
However, the people here were not so wealthy as the rumors said. The wealth lay in traveling caravans and they had all withdrawn into the northeastern part of the island to stay away from the fighting. The people who remained were mostly farmers and scholars who found the rain and fog of this region beneficial. Medicinal herbs and plants that were suitable for the making of books were common here and grew quickly in the chill humidity. These people had numeous, magicians, historians and craftsmen among them. They lived innocently and without any bad blood, believing firmly in the peace of old treaties.
That belief perished brutally and swiftly.
Dwarves stormed the villages and farmlands, finding them easier prey than Felandar. Felandar turned against its sister city, demanding aid they could not give and then joining in raiding them of all that could be carried off. Even the Elves, to their endless shame, betrayed the pacts of peace in desperation and hunted the resources of this land when its humble and hard-pressed people refused to help.
Suddenly this little city-state had become the greatest warzone in history, citizens died by the hundreds at first, caught between these forces and the closed borders of their one-time allies to the north east. Tight military conditioning, food rationing, militia work, everything that could be done was used to defend house and home but every day brought more death and more deprivation. It was on the suggestion of an Elder wizard that the city sought its answers in the blackest arts of a long forbidden form of Enchantment, Necromancy.
At first they began by simply raising the dead to help build defenses or serve as fodder. Eventually, the ever improving skill of the Necromancers became the backbone of Trader's Fell's rising society of grim survivors. Every man who fell rose up to defend his home once more along with the feral and elemental fruits of the Conjurer's efforts. With these forces, the people began to retake their territory but no longer were they content with mere patrols to keep them safe. Patrols could never stop raiders.
Gigantic stone walls circled the city, one after another, as the army secured land further and further out. For years they had struggled just to survive but with this forbidden magic they began to thrive. They dug up their fields and orchards to reach the stone beneath that they needed for their walls, planting again in the space between them. Soon enough it was not just their own dead that joined the army but the dead of their enemies as well. The might of their sleepless army swelled to such a size that it could not be ignored. With the three strongest militaries on the island weakened by their wars, a sudden pang of fear rippled across the island at the news of this suddenly rising power in their midst.
Panicked at the thought of the necromantic army seeking retribution for the injustices inflicted on Trader's Fell, the cities in the north-east began to try and overpower one another even as the necromancers marched ever forward toward the mountains and their neighbors. The battles quickly changed as the army of Trader's Fell flowed through the seven passes to return suffering for suffering. Victory was never far away from the Necromancers as the endless tide of their risen soldiers marched fearlessly to slaughter their oathbreaking foes.
By this time several stone walls circled the city of Trader's Fell and all its people dwelt behind them, making the thought of actually conquering them preposterous. Built one by one by the dead who had come to topple it and sleeplessly garrisoned, the depth of the defenses was an insurmountable obstacle. Gargantuan Magic Circles and magical enchantments had become the mainstay of this powerful city state in the blush of rising power, resurrecting the dead every night as they had been before. The sophistication of these magical circles became even more complex over the decades, giving the risen soldiers memories and skills from when they were mortal and the conjured beasts greater cunning. Soon they possessed an army of well trained soldiers that could not die or disobey, drilled endlessly to perfection to work as one and having only failure to fear.
It was this very power that cost them dearly. On the verge of total victory over all of their foes, a single line of script in the Greatest of the Grand Magic Circles failed. This created a chain reaction of cataclysmic proportions, rendering the commands of the army's living commanders powerless. The army and the conjured beasts went mad and many turned on their masters. Overnight, the city became a necropolis. The ultimate fate of its people is still unknown. The first command of all those written in the magic persists to this day.
Protect the walls.
-------------------------------------------------
Even now, a hundred years after the cities fall from grace and power, the things that prowl the walls and stalk the streets protect a silent city under the watch of powerful magic. The deep, transplanted soil from the vast quarries has become a marshland in the endless damp, making the very air hard to breath for the abiding stench of death and the central region a quagmire for any army. The towers stand like grim teeth in the fog and rain while the shadows of patrolling warriors pass by.
The elves nowadays are descended from the original clans of the Pale Star, the Woodly Elves and the Deep Elves. Though they are referred to as Dark Elves by many the Deep Elves are more accurately described as pale elves. The deep has no sun to tan their skin resulting in the ghostly complexion they now have. Some of them have even begun to show red hair in more recent generations. The Woody Elves persist in their woodland ways and still deal with other peoples, though cautiously.
Felander has become the most powerful living military power on the island, largely because of an order of paladins that dates back to the last days of Trader's Fell, the Order of Heirs. A militant church devoted to ridding our lands of the festering rot that plagues us all, this group has ensured that none forget the source of the monsters that sometimes wander through the pass, spreading terror and death. Their rallying cry is known everywhere.
"The Ruin must fall!"
Every generation there is a cry for another crusade from the people of Felander. Every generation the word goes out to people everywhere. The rumors of great wealth and power within that ruin have grown steadily over the decades to become truly legendary. Mercenaries and scoundrels, nobles and the third and fourth children of kings came to win their share and bring it home to their homelands. These come from as far away as the continents, armed with the best they can muster for the challenge ahead.
Wars stop, the whole world over, to give this grand effort the best chance of success. None bearing the symbol of the crusader are hindered by either governments or soldiers. Even bandits hold back from attacking crusader parties for fear of the Ruin. Even old racial hatreds and vendettas are set aside for the sake of this effort.
Everyone knows that undead and monsters wouldn't be stopped by the sea. The well educated know that it is likely only a small fragment of the control sript that keeps the undead within their territory. Only the Heirs and a select number of master enchanters, however, know that there have been signs that point to the cracked control spells breaking further. Strange and abnormal shapes have been glimpsed from afar by elven scouts, larger and stranger than anything seen before. Time is running short.
With this grim news whispering in his ears, Grimmen Elderlaw, the reigning king of Felander has called for another crusade. It has only been sixteen years since the last crusade and the tension is palpable. The people are nervous and strange news comes from all quarters. The Woody Elves and the dwarves of Ironcross aren't just coming in their own units this time. They have already united their forces and march together to Felander to join the crusade in numbers never seen before. Even the Deep Elves, rarely seen anywhere, have come. A full company of them have committed to the crusade, marching with their cousins and old foes. Though, the alliance is not without a tension of its own. Much blood remains between these peoples yet they have been seen marching together in grim silence. Additionally, King Elderlaw has offered the most notorious pirates and rogues of all sorts pardons to lend their strength to the crusade.
Why has the crusade been called so soon? Why is the King of Felander going so far to gather forces? Why do the paladins seem so grim? These questions are whispered across tables and over tankards of ale, in shadowed alleys and in market stalls. Something is very wrong. Even the preparations of the Heirs have a driving desperation behind them that spurs those around them to ever greater efforts. The Heirs seem to be afraid. They seem more driven than ever to achieve victory this time, at any cost.
The Ruin must fall.
------------------------
Character Sheet
-----------------------
![]()
Full name:
Affiliations: What organizations know you either through work or enmity
Race: Dark Elf, Human, Wood Elf, Dwarf, Goblin, half-ogre, Pigeon shape shifter, whatever you want. No angelic, undead or demonic creatures
Age:
Gender:
Physical appearance: Small description
Personality: Remember your motivation
Background history Tell me why you are joining the crusade, where you got your skills, and where you are from.
Magic Abilities: What magical traits do you possess? There are Enchanters, Sorcerers and Wizards. List your spells.
Enchanted gear: Please list all enchanted items and effects here including rods, wands and staves
Now we bar our doors against the night and sharpen our steel before fearfully flickering fires. Now monsters born in the vastness of the many Planes stalk the shadows of the forests. Now the night holds terror for even the bravest. Our age is far from the Golden Age dreamed of by the oldest of the Arcane Races. Our age is the "Age of the Dominion of the Necromancers". To know the story of the "Age of Dominion" you must know how it all began.
The story begins over 200 years ago. Many tribes of humans and other quickling races had established themselves by this time and the island's bounty was peacefully divided into eight states, each with a single city as its heart and mind. These City-States were bound together in peace by treaties and marriages, sealed by the same wish for prosperity and peace. Both the first homelands of the Dwarves and the Elves were here on this island. From here, in ages past, they spread elsewhere to avoid corrupting the wild land of their home with the ever expanding number of their progeny. But now, with the rapid and enthusiastic expansion of the quicklings, their restraint proved pointless. The Elves were able to take this change with philosophic patience. The Dwarves never cared much for philosophy.
The Dwarves of Ironcross dwelt in the South-west. This region is the only place on the island where the circle of the Sky Spire Mountains bulges outward toward the sea. Here, among the uncounted peaks, lived this militant and disciplined people who toiled in the earth as they spread across their surface domain, cautious of threats no other kingdom believed would come. This practical and mildly paranoid race were held in awe by the others for the grandeur and scale of their building projects. Their fortresses and walls, palaces and homes, were stronger and larger by far than any other on the island at the time. Their weapons and armor too were superior to all, with but one exception being the weapons and armor of the Elves.
The Elven homeland was the Forest of the Pale Star. Dense enough to be counted a jungle and comprising the entirety of the northern border of Ironcross, this realm is thought to have been the first of all to rise on the island. But, proof is impossible to find and not even the Elves know for sure as much was lost when it was destroyed, dying shortly after the peace its people loved so dearly.
The peace fell suddenly with a stroke of the bloody axe of General Krieg Ireheart of Ironcross citadel, brother to King Steelcrest the ruler of all Dwarven Kingdoms. It was the blood of an elven diplomat who lost his head while pleading for peace. Nothing could dissuade the Dwarven Lords from their invasion of Pale Star. Axes and saws tore the jungle bit by bit until the Elves were forced to retaliate.
The armor and arms of the Elves were a near match for their enemies but their warriors were too few in number to defeat the vast armies of the bearded folk in open battle. The result was clear from the beginning. Pushed from their ancient homeland, they retreated to the north and found a new home, fortifying their new borders and burying dwarf after dwarf in a hail of arrows until their losses became insurmountable. As their invasion ground to a halt, driven by spite and wounded pride, the stubborn and angry Ironcross Army burned Pale Star forest to ashes. They named it The Great Scar, the rift of barren land between them that now serves as a neutral land and natural home for murderers and thieves. Lawless and feral, this ruined land stands was meant as a warning to all that the dwarves should never be opposed whether under the land or on it.
The Elven realm that remained was bitter and wounded. Their people had been divided in their flight and many had been forced to flee into the passages and caverns beneath their homeland. These who endured the dark and stillness of the stone for the sake of survival did not dare to return to forest life after the flame had reduced their way of life to ash and finally agreed to change, becoming stronger and more secretive and abandoning the thought of surface life.
They explored the vast subterranean caves and tunnels and eventually found one narrow tunnel that brought the tired and beaten people to a massive underground cavern teeming with subtle life and beauty. The geomancers, formerly the shapers of trees and the fertile soil of Pale Star, found new purpose in ancient stone. They sealed the great cavern and warped the tunnels to prevent being found by anyone, securing a homeland that could not even be found without heavy casualties. While dwarven miners and explorers are often welcomed by the quickling races to aid in their exploration of the deeps beneath their lands, no dwarf enters the tunnels below the elven lands and returns alive. Whether in peace or war, this part of the island is forever closed to them. This is the elven answer to the Great Scar left by the Dwarves where Pale Star once flourished, a realm of the Deep that dwarven maps will never record and a reminder to them of the price of angering their far longer lived neighbors. To this day the location of the Deep Elves is the most heavily guarded secret. Those leaving the city are blindfolded and brought to the surface via a short tunnel and a magical portal. Those who are allowed in are specifically summoned and escorted in like manner. Even their kin on the surface submit to these measures, acknowledging the feelings of their pale cousins for the memories of the elves are unrivaled.
Yet, war is never truly limited to a contest between two peoples. With the invasion facing heavy losses and the cost of a foreign war growing by the day, Ironcross was forced to seek elsewhere for funds and supplies that they now needed desperately. There were two obvious targets. Both were young human dominated realms that shared borders with Ironcross and traded with them.
South east near the sea sprouted the Kingdom of Felandar. While the people of this land were strong and rapidly growing in number, their fortifications were simple and their forging inferior. Still, the dwarven raiding parties found stiff opposition in the numerous archers and masterfully trained knights of this fledgeling realm. Soon, they found this kingdom to be too much for their divided forces and were forced to withdraw, limiting themselves to swift raids on poor border towns and villages.
Even as the Ironcross raiders were forced back by the Knights of Felandar, raiders from the desperate elves of Pale Star and the hard-pressed Felandar armies reached beyond the mountains for help from the central region of the island. This area was called Trader's Fell in those days and had a reputation for wealth because of their access to every people on the island. They rested at the center of the ring of mountains that define the island's topography and had control of seven passes through them to the lands beyond.
However, the people here were not so wealthy as the rumors said. The wealth lay in traveling caravans and they had all withdrawn into the northeastern part of the island to stay away from the fighting. The people who remained were mostly farmers and scholars who found the rain and fog of this region beneficial. Medicinal herbs and plants that were suitable for the making of books were common here and grew quickly in the chill humidity. These people had numeous, magicians, historians and craftsmen among them. They lived innocently and without any bad blood, believing firmly in the peace of old treaties.
That belief perished brutally and swiftly.
Dwarves stormed the villages and farmlands, finding them easier prey than Felandar. Felandar turned against its sister city, demanding aid they could not give and then joining in raiding them of all that could be carried off. Even the Elves, to their endless shame, betrayed the pacts of peace in desperation and hunted the resources of this land when its humble and hard-pressed people refused to help.
Suddenly this little city-state had become the greatest warzone in history, citizens died by the hundreds at first, caught between these forces and the closed borders of their one-time allies to the north east. Tight military conditioning, food rationing, militia work, everything that could be done was used to defend house and home but every day brought more death and more deprivation. It was on the suggestion of an Elder wizard that the city sought its answers in the blackest arts of a long forbidden form of Enchantment, Necromancy.
At first they began by simply raising the dead to help build defenses or serve as fodder. Eventually, the ever improving skill of the Necromancers became the backbone of Trader's Fell's rising society of grim survivors. Every man who fell rose up to defend his home once more along with the feral and elemental fruits of the Conjurer's efforts. With these forces, the people began to retake their territory but no longer were they content with mere patrols to keep them safe. Patrols could never stop raiders.
Gigantic stone walls circled the city, one after another, as the army secured land further and further out. For years they had struggled just to survive but with this forbidden magic they began to thrive. They dug up their fields and orchards to reach the stone beneath that they needed for their walls, planting again in the space between them. Soon enough it was not just their own dead that joined the army but the dead of their enemies as well. The might of their sleepless army swelled to such a size that it could not be ignored. With the three strongest militaries on the island weakened by their wars, a sudden pang of fear rippled across the island at the news of this suddenly rising power in their midst.
Panicked at the thought of the necromantic army seeking retribution for the injustices inflicted on Trader's Fell, the cities in the north-east began to try and overpower one another even as the necromancers marched ever forward toward the mountains and their neighbors. The battles quickly changed as the army of Trader's Fell flowed through the seven passes to return suffering for suffering. Victory was never far away from the Necromancers as the endless tide of their risen soldiers marched fearlessly to slaughter their oathbreaking foes.
By this time several stone walls circled the city of Trader's Fell and all its people dwelt behind them, making the thought of actually conquering them preposterous. Built one by one by the dead who had come to topple it and sleeplessly garrisoned, the depth of the defenses was an insurmountable obstacle. Gargantuan Magic Circles and magical enchantments had become the mainstay of this powerful city state in the blush of rising power, resurrecting the dead every night as they had been before. The sophistication of these magical circles became even more complex over the decades, giving the risen soldiers memories and skills from when they were mortal and the conjured beasts greater cunning. Soon they possessed an army of well trained soldiers that could not die or disobey, drilled endlessly to perfection to work as one and having only failure to fear.
It was this very power that cost them dearly. On the verge of total victory over all of their foes, a single line of script in the Greatest of the Grand Magic Circles failed. This created a chain reaction of cataclysmic proportions, rendering the commands of the army's living commanders powerless. The army and the conjured beasts went mad and many turned on their masters. Overnight, the city became a necropolis. The ultimate fate of its people is still unknown. The first command of all those written in the magic persists to this day.
Protect the walls.
-------------------------------------------------
Even now, a hundred years after the cities fall from grace and power, the things that prowl the walls and stalk the streets protect a silent city under the watch of powerful magic. The deep, transplanted soil from the vast quarries has become a marshland in the endless damp, making the very air hard to breath for the abiding stench of death and the central region a quagmire for any army. The towers stand like grim teeth in the fog and rain while the shadows of patrolling warriors pass by.
The elves nowadays are descended from the original clans of the Pale Star, the Woodly Elves and the Deep Elves. Though they are referred to as Dark Elves by many the Deep Elves are more accurately described as pale elves. The deep has no sun to tan their skin resulting in the ghostly complexion they now have. Some of them have even begun to show red hair in more recent generations. The Woody Elves persist in their woodland ways and still deal with other peoples, though cautiously.
Felander has become the most powerful living military power on the island, largely because of an order of paladins that dates back to the last days of Trader's Fell, the Order of Heirs. A militant church devoted to ridding our lands of the festering rot that plagues us all, this group has ensured that none forget the source of the monsters that sometimes wander through the pass, spreading terror and death. Their rallying cry is known everywhere.
"The Ruin must fall!"
Every generation there is a cry for another crusade from the people of Felander. Every generation the word goes out to people everywhere. The rumors of great wealth and power within that ruin have grown steadily over the decades to become truly legendary. Mercenaries and scoundrels, nobles and the third and fourth children of kings came to win their share and bring it home to their homelands. These come from as far away as the continents, armed with the best they can muster for the challenge ahead.
Wars stop, the whole world over, to give this grand effort the best chance of success. None bearing the symbol of the crusader are hindered by either governments or soldiers. Even bandits hold back from attacking crusader parties for fear of the Ruin. Even old racial hatreds and vendettas are set aside for the sake of this effort.
Everyone knows that undead and monsters wouldn't be stopped by the sea. The well educated know that it is likely only a small fragment of the control sript that keeps the undead within their territory. Only the Heirs and a select number of master enchanters, however, know that there have been signs that point to the cracked control spells breaking further. Strange and abnormal shapes have been glimpsed from afar by elven scouts, larger and stranger than anything seen before. Time is running short.
With this grim news whispering in his ears, Grimmen Elderlaw, the reigning king of Felander has called for another crusade. It has only been sixteen years since the last crusade and the tension is palpable. The people are nervous and strange news comes from all quarters. The Woody Elves and the dwarves of Ironcross aren't just coming in their own units this time. They have already united their forces and march together to Felander to join the crusade in numbers never seen before. Even the Deep Elves, rarely seen anywhere, have come. A full company of them have committed to the crusade, marching with their cousins and old foes. Though, the alliance is not without a tension of its own. Much blood remains between these peoples yet they have been seen marching together in grim silence. Additionally, King Elderlaw has offered the most notorious pirates and rogues of all sorts pardons to lend their strength to the crusade.
Why has the crusade been called so soon? Why is the King of Felander going so far to gather forces? Why do the paladins seem so grim? These questions are whispered across tables and over tankards of ale, in shadowed alleys and in market stalls. Something is very wrong. Even the preparations of the Heirs have a driving desperation behind them that spurs those around them to ever greater efforts. The Heirs seem to be afraid. They seem more driven than ever to achieve victory this time, at any cost.
The Ruin must fall.
------------------------
Character Sheet
-----------------------
s
Full name:
---
Affiliations: What organizations know you either through work or enmity
---
Race: Dark Elf, Human, Wood Elf, Dwarf, Goblin, half-ogre, Pigeon shape shifter, whatever you want. No angelic, undead or demonic creatures
---
Age:
---
Gender:
---
Physical appearance: Small description
---
Personality: Remember your motivation
---
Background history Tell me why you are joining the crusade, where you got your skills, and where you are from.
---
Magic Abilities: What magical traits do you possess? There are Enchanters, Sorcerers and Wizards. List your spells.
---
Enchanted gear: Please list all enchanted items and effects here including rods, wands and staves
---
