Assallya

Our last march - High Casual (Open)

Assallya Kressair
Gender: Female
Race: Mul

Appearance:

Personality: Assallya Kressair is a charlatan, con-artist, dancer, courtesan, and really whatever role she can think of that gets her by. She is exceedingly good at lying and feigning emotion. She'd probably be the first to flee when things went sour and most likely wouldn't last more than a moment before capitulating to torture (particularly if they threaten to mar her appearance) but she's also the type to plan ahead in case she is captured to ensure she wouldn't have any information to divulge. After all, if she betrays all her allies who is left to perform a rescue?

She also has something of a phobia of the undead which are largely immune to her magical abilities. She, thanks to her upbringing, most unlike an elf, despises all things related to nature.

History: Assallya's parents were cast from the Lebrethon a generation before for their forbidden love. Assallya and Saeliah were their children, a rarity amongst their breed in that they were twins. Unfortunately, the life of a Mule is difficult. They are preyed upon by others for being different and their simple farm was set upon by bandits and Assallya's parents were killed while she and her sister were taken to be sold as slaves.

Separated from her sister she was sold to rising crime lord where she was raised as a spy and a sorceress. Her magics involve illusion and influencing others. In time she finally escaped and tried to return to her people only to be rebutted. She truly despises the Lebrethon and took to wandering human lands as a dancer and a witch. When the war came she tried to stay out of the conflict but it kept growing, seemingly following her until she was caught up in the midst of it so she tried to help. She didn't fight. She wasn't that sort of caster. Instead she used her abilities to scry the battlefield for the generals and helping them better deploy their forces. Then everything fell apart. Now she's just running for her life.

Equipment: Almost nothing. She has a dagger, a satchel containing a silver dish for scrying and other implements. A magical comb that cleans her hair. A magical toe ring that protects her feet as if she were wearing boots and another toe-ring that allows her to slowly regenerate wounds.

Other: Illusion, Enchantments (Mind magic has no effect on undead), herbalist, skilled in dance and the lyre

Ravenloft: Torches in the Night

Syeira did not like this. She did not like it at all. The mist was most unnatural. Mist most often occurred in the evenings and did not often survive the light of day. Mists did not suddenly spring into existence in the depths of night and here she was encompassed within them even into the witching hour. The lantern hanging from the metal rod over her head seemed completely unable to pierce the oppressive shroud which, in turn, forced her to horse to slow down to a plodding pace without her having to draw upon the reigns.

The crimson haired gur also noted that something else had changed. The great conifers that had been her honour guard down the highway had shed their needles and were now little more than bony claws stretching out to rake her flesh. The shadows had grown, eerily presenting themselves as darker patches of mist. It gave her the impression she was surrounded by ghastly shades eager to consume her very soul.

It was strange. Reason told her that she had not truly traveled so far, that she must be entering a bog or marsh but her other senses said different. She somehow felt that something magical had happened and she feared she had been somehow drawn into the lands of the unseelie or banished into the nine hells of Baator to be set upon by the devils there. None of these were pleasant thoughts and she nervously fondled the small skulls hanging at her waist.

The wagon bounced along the highway, the springs supporting the large wooden wheels squeaking gently and finally she found herself clear of the forest. At first she thought she had arrived and then she was startled to see her breath misting before her and a chill to the air. This alarmed her for there was never a mist in winter. The cold leached the moisture from the air. Yet, still there was mist. It was retreating, rolling away in all directions but it was there.

Syeira's green eyes gazed over what appeared to be the frozen remnants of an ancient battle. A mere of dead men, coated in rime, surrounded the shattered carcass of a citadel. She pulled her green cloak around her, golden coins lining it clinking together as she closed it over her bare belly to keep out the cold. Slowly she continued, twitching the reigns of the horse that had come to a stop, clearly as dumbfounded as she. Together they plodded forwards through the field of frozen corpses, wondering where in Faerun she could possibly be.

Our last march - High Casual (Open)

Assallya Kressair
Gender: Female
Race: Mul

Appearance:

Personality: Assallya Kressair is a charlatan, con-artist, dancer, courtesan, and really whatever role she can think of that gets her by. She is exceedingly good at lying and feigning emotion. She'd probably be the first to flee when things went sour and most likely wouldn't last more than a moment before capitulating to torture (particularly if they threaten to mar her appearance) but she's also the type to plan ahead in case she is captured to ensure she wouldn't have any information to divulge. After all, if she betrays all her allies who is left to perform a rescue?

She also has something of a phobia of the undead which are largely immune to her magical abilities. She, thanks to her upbringing, most unlike an elf, despises all things related to nature.

History: Assallya's parents were cast from the Lebrethon a generation before for their forbidden love. Assallya and Saeliah were their children, a rarity amongst their breed in that they were twins. Unfortunately, the life of a Mule is difficult. They are preyed upon by others for being different and their simple farm was set upon by bandits and Assallya's parents were killed while she and her sister were taken to be sold as slaves.

Separated from her sister she was sold to rising crime lord where she was raised as a spy and a sorceress. Her magics involve illusion and influencing others. In time she finally escaped and tried to return to her people only to be rebutted. She truly despises the Lebrethon and took to wandering human lands as a dancer and a witch. When the war came she tried to stay out of the conflict but it kept growing, seemingly following her until she was caught up in the midst of it so she tried to help. She didn't fight. She wasn't that sort of caster. Instead she used her abilities to scry the battlefield for the generals and helping them better deploy their forces. Then everything fell apart. Now she's just running for her life.

Equipment: Almost nothing. She has a dagger, a satchel containing a silver dish for scrying and other implements. A magical comb that cleans her hair. A magical toe ring that protects her feet as if she were wearing boots and another toe-ring that allows her to slowly regenerate wounds.

Other: Illusion, Enchantments (Mind magic has no effect on undead), herbalist,

(Anything else we might need to know. Be it special skills, such as you character being able to play a musical instrument, random bits of information to small to include elsewhere, what have you.)

Ravenloft: Torches in the Night

Syeira

Age: 26
Sex: Female
Race: Human
Class: Wizard
Alignment: Neutral Evil
Equipment: Syeira is a roving Gypsy with a Vardo wagon, a wooden walled wagon that is her home. Inside it are all the common implements one might expect including pots and pans. Attached to the top is a keg of water, several bags and small chests containing food and supplies.
Skills and Abilities: In addition to having access to several spells Syeira is a herbalist and crafter of potions.
Personality: Syeira has a scathing, dry personality. She has seen the worst of humanity. She's been chased out of towns at pitchfork point. She's been beaten and robbed and worse. As a result she has a rather low opinion of others. She usually keeps cynical nature hidden to customers who come to her seeking their fortunes read or to have a potion made effecting a sweet and trustworthy young woman.

While Neutral Evil, Syeira is not particularly murderous nor is she likely to blithely betray trusted comrades. Trust, after all, is a valuable commodity. She is, however, a coward and a shuckster. She has no qualms performing confidence jobs, rooking customers with dubious potions or otherwise making a quick bit of coin at someone's expense. Her personal favourite is a cure for common colds that works in just three to five days. It's amazing how often she sells those.

Backstory: Syeira was an orphan child, her father was a caravan merchant who getted her on the local strumpet. When her mother died only two years later, Syeira was left an orphan with no one to care for her. When the Gur came through and performed for the entertainment of the small settlement they refused to pay as was promised by the town villein and instead offered them the child as trade in lieu of payment.

The Gur were shocked, as slavery was something not seen in the Western Heartlands of Faerun, at least not outside of Waterdeep where Calishite caliphs and pashas often conducted business. Still, they took the child. For it was thought by their matriarch that it would greatly please their patron goddess Selune who was, by nature, a protector.

Thus Syeira group up with the Gur as one of them. She did stand out amongst them, with the Gur's dusky skin and dark hair, which was both a blessing and a curse for some of their number always saw her as an outsider and an outsider learning their secrets. She developed a number of thiefly skills for fleecing crowds when she was young but as she grew older she was often remarked for her insight which involved her learning to be a fortune teller. Occassionally, she would even glimpse strange images and was claimed to have "the sight".

Unfortunately, later in life as she reached her late teens, she incurred the lust of son of the group's "Big Man" and given his deluded notions of position, coupled with drink and the bawdy suggestions of his peers took to having his way with her in front of them. She, of course, responded by plunging a blade into his chest and nearly killed him... though not for lack of trying, having thrust into him thrice before being pulled from him kicking and screaming.

This event had dire consequences. It split the very clan apart in deeming the proper means to proceed and eventually it was determined that, for the good of the clan, she should depart for she would ever be a wedge, a schism in their group, forever setting them against one another.

Xmen: Rebirth

This sounds interesting. The one limitation of most X-men roleplays are the fact that there are so few villains and a ridiculous number of X-men.

By swapping the narrative you give us a whole horde of villains to contend with.

Ravenloft: Torches in the Night

Syeira

Age: 26
Sex: Female
Race: Human
Class: Wizard
Alignment: Neutral Evil
Equipment: Syeira is a roving Gypsy with a Vardo wagon, a wooden walled wagon that is her home. Inside it are all the common implements one might expect including pots and pans. Attached to the top is a keg of water, several bags and small chests containing food and supplies.
Skills and Abilities: In addition to having access to several spells Syeira is a herbalist and crafter of potions.
Personality: Syeira has a scathing, dry personality. She has seen the worst of humanity. She's been chased out of towns at pitchfork point. She's been beaten and robbed and worse. As a result she has a rather low opinion of others. She usually keeps cynical nature hidden to customers who come to her seeking their fortunes read or to have a potion made effecting a sweet and trustworthy young woman.

While Neutral Evil, Syeira is not particularly murderous nor is she likely to blithely betray trusted comrades. Trust, after all, is a valuable commodity. She is, however, a coward and a shuckster. She has no qualms performing confidence jobs, rooking customers with dubious potions or otherwise making a quick bit of coin at someone's expense. Her personal favourite is a cure for common colds that works in just three to five days. It's amazing how often she sells those.

Backstory: Syeira was an orphan child, her father was a caravan merchant who getted her on the local strumpet. When her mother died only two years later, Syeira was left an orphan with no one to care for her. When the Gur came through and performed for the entertainment of the small settlement they refused to pay as was promised by the town villein and instead offered them the child as trade in lieu of payment.

The Gur were shocked, as slavery was something not seen in the Western Heartlands of Faerun, at least not outside of Waterdeep where Calishite caliphs and pashas often conducted business. Still, they took the child. For it was thought by their matriarch that it would greatly please their patron goddess Selune who was, by nature, a protector.

Thus Syeira group up with the Gur as one of them. She did stand out amongst them, with the Gur's dusky skin and dark hair, which was both a blessing and a curse for some of their number always saw her as an outsider and an outsider learning their secrets. She developed a number of thiefly skills for fleecing crowds when she was young but as she grew older she was often remarked for her insight which involved her learning to be a fortune teller. Occassionally, she would even glimpse strange images and was claimed to have "the sight".

Unfortunately, later in life as she reached her late teens, she incurred the lust of son of the group's "Big Man" and given his deluded notions of position, coupled with drink and the bawdy suggestions of his peers took to having his way with her in front of them. She, of course, responded by plunging a blade into his chest and nearly killed him... though not for lack of trying, having thrust into him thrice before being pulled from him kicking and screaming.

This event had dire consequences. It split the very clan apart in deeming the proper means to proceed and eventually it was determined that, for the good of the clan, she should depart for she would ever be a wedge, a schism in their group, forever setting them against one another.

Just a Harmless Game?

Oh I've just been waiting on posts.

Ravenloft: Torches in the Night (D&D based)

Which desmense are we talking about? Should we look forward to evading Azalin, Lord Soth or Strahd?

Just a Harmless Game?

Apparently, everyone else thought they were in a video game. That was an utterly absurd notion. Their mass, converted into raw energy would be enough to wipe out a city. It would power the entire internet for a day. Surely she'd been kidnapped and doped up on LSD. She was probably still in Sydney's apartment, lying on the floor. That made a ton more sense. Still, she doubted anyone else was interested in her hypothesis so she just followed along.

Sarah had been about to protest when Sydney just ran into a clearing and opened up a chest at the behest of the peculiar spirit but at that point the redhead had already opened it. Sarah had cringed, half expecting it to release deadly gas, stick her with a poison needle, or have the chest filled with a pair of angry goblins or something otherwise deadly.

The fact that nothing happens was even more of a shock.

"Oh good," Sarah said sarcastically to nobody in particular, rolling her blue eyes, "Swords that nobody knows how to use. It takes years to learn how to use one of those."

She paused a long moment, considering. Then again, this could be a good find. They could use the swords to cut into the local foliage. Then they cut turn the small knives into spears by lashing them to long sticks. Spears were way easier to use then swords. That was why the Romans used them for their legions.

Actually, it was Strauss' question she was most interested in an answer to. Just who was this figure and why was he or she helping?

Just a Harmless Game?

After the attack Sarah slowly peeked out from beneath her arms, cocking her head about and peering in each direction. Her blue eyes peered through the grasses, realizing just about anything could be hiding there or in the brush. She quickly rose, standing up and looked about again as if expecting something to jump out at any second.

Falling into step along with the others Sarah's eyes kept darting about, searching every shadow and possible hiding place. Adjusting her step she insinuated herself into the middle of the group so she'd be less likely to encounter danger. Let the stragglers get dragged off and let those ahead be first to run into danger. She wanted to be safe.

"You're all wrong," Sarah said suddenly, "It's not a video game. We're in purgatory."