BangoSkank

D&D 3.5e - The Marches of the Savage Realm

The weight of the battle and the very real possibility of death fall off Gorosk's shoulders as the brood mother rat burning agonized writhing gave way to slight twitches and eventually the contractions of burning meat. He stared at it rather dumbfounded and noticed only after several seconds that his own hands and arms were shaking. Fists drawn impossibly tight as he watched he unclenched them with some effort and watched curiously as they too twitched slightly. The effect exaggerated perhaps by the dancing light of the smouldering rat corpse.

He took a deep embarrassingly gasping breath as it finally sank in that the fight was over now. It had been quite an odd day, and yet it was not quite over. He had very nearly died this day, far below ground and surrounded by the blood and piss and shit of a rat breeding pit. Now it was all over, and he was still alive. Renault was right, as was Vah'lux. Heading back was the only reasonable way to proceed, as strange as it would feel to return that very day after all they had done since morning.

Gorosk moved closer to the others, for once preferring company to solitude, and joined them in attempting to clean himself off. Seeing Vah'lux' method he sought out the least vermin corrupted patch of dirt he could find and rubbed the gore and fur from his arms with it. When he had traded one sort of filth for another he looked back up to the others, eager to depart.

"Let's go then. Nothing here for us now just like there wasn't before." The Elf said, and he agreed with the notion more than he would ever have imagined prior, more than he liked to admit.

"This," he said opening and closing his hands to work some of the tension out of them, "This does not feel like victory. I am with you all, let's get far from this cursed land and be glad to put this all behind us."

Decided to try something

Dearest Poohead,

I respectfully request thine permission to role play as a humble Burrowfolk. His name shall be Timtam.

Decided to try something

Are there Halflings?

D&D 3.5e - The Marches of the Savage Realm

Though the party had thrown their all in to attacking it this last rat somehow stood still. Some part of Gorosk had to admire its ability to take such a thrashing and still fight for its life. For such a small insignificant beast it was fighting through a lot of pain and blood loss. Under other circumstances such a display might have caused Gorosk to want this to end in a non-lethal way. Perhaps were it a man they could have paused and settled things in another way. But it was a filthy rat, not a man.

Gorosk seeing the damage done to another of their party by this final cursed vermin puts other possibilities aside and lashes out with two kicks, hoping to make good on the injury caused by Vah'Lux's Axe and see the wound widened.

Bango Shit

Shel

Username: BangoSkank

Character Name: Shel "Surefoot" Applewood

Race/Species: Halfling (Formerly of the Moot)

Gender: Male

Age: 34

Career (if any) and Skills:
While protecting the borders of his home in the Moot as a Fieldwarden Shel spent much time learning to forage for ingredients and to cook traditional Halfling dishes. His culinary interests proved greater than the simple paletes of his people, who never appreciated his genius, leading him to venture out into the world. In the years that followed, working as a Ranger, he learned much about tracking and hunting. When things became difficult he took the opportunity to further research such interests as climbing up cliff sides, camouflaging into his environment, moving stealthily away from danger, hiding until that danger passed, and wishing the baddies would just please go away. His time as a Ranger amidst a Mercenary company taught him to read and write at a basic level in the style of the Empire or of Bretonnians, and more importantly helped him become an accomplished map maker. In battle, he is quite useful at distracting and delaying as well as scouting and fleeing. Shel is quite handy at a distance with either bow or sling, he is passable in close quarters using a dirk as a sword. In a one on one situation with little place to hide, he will likely quickly assist the party by running away from his foe, granting his party an opportunity to ambush that foe as they had most definitely discussed beforehand.

Weapons:
Shel carries a well made but quite basic dirk in a Halfling sized buckled belt he had custom made for him. He likes the way he looks with it, like a proper adventurer, but seldom uses it as he prefers to keep his distance. For that purpose he carries a particularly short shortbow on his back with a small quiver of arrows and often has a sling wrapped around a shoulder or around his quiver. He has a small number of quite heavy metal octagonal projectiles with sharp edges.

Attire:
He wears a light green tunic with a brown leather apron over it and brown pants, held up by a custom made Halfling sized buckled belt with a sheathe for his dirk. He often wears a chef's hat he bestowed upon himself and carries a large (to him) leather backpack with a padded shoulder strap.

Equipment/Other:
Shel has long traveled with a mule, their size being more appropriate for him. He also finds them to be smarter and more nimble than a small horse or pony. He carries in his backpack a small assortment of items useful to him in cooking and map making. It doesn't hold much but the party can generally procure most of what they need when they stop.

Physical Description (as detailed as possible please, pictures not accepted.):
Shel has very light green eyes and a mop of curly reddish brown hair. He cannot grow much of a beard, virtually no beard at all in fact, but has voluptuous mutton chops. He is slightly skinny for a halfling, which leads some to question his cooking ability but they simply don't appreciate his genius. He stands at 3'4, right about average for a Halfling.

Mental Description/Personality:
Shel thinks quite highly of himself, believing that he holds himself to quite a high standard, and holds others to that same standard. Despite the realities of the situation he often sees himself as brave and appreciates as much in others. He is very proud of his brave approach to the culinary arts and while he will not hold it against those whose paletes are woefully undeveloped he takes quite a liking to anyone properly appreciative of his abilities. He is a very happy drunk and quite susceptible to flattery.

Background/History:
Shel Applewood led the happy safe life that it typical of his people. Halfling's don't take up much space, enjoying homes that are small and cozy (even for them) rather than vast and expansive, and that coupled with their famous hospitality allows them to get along rather well. As a young man Shel wanted to follow in the footsteps of his parents who ran a famous bed and breakfast, he wanted to become a famous Chef. At the age of 24 he came to realize that he had gone as far as he would as a Chef without leaving the Moot. The chefs of the Moot lacked the bravery needed to step beyond the shallow pool of their knowledge. Even at such a young age he could learn no more from them. They lacked the courage to try new ingredients and to take brave actions. He would not dedicate the next twenty years of his life to recreating recipes created decades ago by amateurish Halflings who had never ventured beyond the Moot. He would not follow in the their footsteps, but rather would blaze a trail of his own.

Always a rather curious Halfling, Shel seized the opportunity when a large mercenary company was passing through his town. He prepared a particularly sumptuous meal for the company and presented it to them himself, explaining what he had made and how he had prepared it. He had hoped the leader, a stern faced man well past his youth, would hem and haw and heap praises upon him, but instead they simply ate their meals quickly and headed to their rooms. He had given up hope when the mercenary groups second in command came into the kitchen and invited him into the company. They had long had stomach issues, but his cooking had cleaned them straight out. How had he known?

They were not what you would call a friendly group, but alongside them Shel was able to explore the world and devise recipes of his own. He had learned of many long lost practices. He had learned of the proper use of many little known spices. As a Halfling he was rather dexterous and among a crew of humans, particularly among a crew of often drunken humans, he learned how to stay out of the way and (remembering again that they were drunk lonely men) how to stay hidden. On his trips out from camp to gather flora and hunt he learned to scout out the road ahead, and in order to better scout he learned to draw maps. With the tiny hands he was given at birth and the attention to detail he had learned as a cook a regular piece of paper was a canvas, he found to his delight that he was able to make maps that were uniquely intricate.

Since then he has always traveled, his skills as a mapmaker and scout overpowering the curious nature of his cooking. In time the peasants he travels with may come to appreciate his brilliant culinary accomplishments. His last party had proved quite resistant to sampling his latest masterpieces and so he set out to find a new company more appreciative of his adventurous cooking.

Bango Shit

Danger, Danger Fontaine (Want To ReWork)

Name: Danger, Danger Fontaine
Epithet: Masked and Mustachioed Macho...Guy
Age: 32
Height: 6'4" pounds of towering manliness
Weight: 246 pounds of raw hard muscle slathered in baby oil
Race: Human
Dominant Hand: Right

Weapons-
All of Danger's weapons are fashioned from cheap steel and are designed to break easily. They are carted down to the ring in a shopping car.

Hider

-A Wooden Folding Table designed for little more than being broken in dramatic fashion.

-A Chinese folding metal chair initially designed for sitting but quite useful for bashing about the head.

-A wooden kendo stick

-A Stop Sign seemingly picked up off the street

-A single live and very confused Lobster

-A Black Duct-Taped Up Baseball Bat

Equipment-

The Man Known As Danger, Danger Fontaine, wears upon his person:

Hider

Urban Colored Camo Shorts

Hider

Black and White Gold's Gym Muscle Shirt

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Black and White Wrestling Mask (trimmed back to allow his mustache freedom from the confines of his mask)

Hider

Wrestling Gloves

Hider

Wrestling Boots

Hider

Red Entrance Cape

Hider

Appearance-

Danger, Danger Fontaine is a thickly muscled well tanned man and is never seen without an indulgent quantity of baby oil ensuring each and ever muscle fiber glistens under the stadium lights as does his perfectly manicured mustache. His build is best described as mercilessly powerful and massively sexual.

Physical Abilities/Powers-

Hider

Physical Ability-
Danger, Danger Fontaine has inarguably perfected his craft. He is truly the picture of perfection. He is the image of intensity. The epitome of excellence. The physical manifestation of manliness. And also a generous lover, if you know what I mean. His grip is unbreakable, his strikes impeccable, his aerial game im...un...it's also pretty good.

Powers-
Imagined Invulnerability -
Danger, Danger Fontaine can ignore injuries that would incapacitate neigh any other man. Due to a combination of repeated traumatic concussions, pain killer use and abuse, and his massively inflated ego he can suffer great harm and continue on despite it. He is either numb to the pain due to a combination of nerve damage and pain killer use or simply able to power through it due to his own overpowering sense of self confidence. In short, while he is not actually in any way shape or form invulnerable to injury or damage he is fully capable of ignoring such damage until it becomes fundamentally physically incapacitating.

Supreme Arrogance -
Danger, Danger Fontaine's massively inflated ego and additive brain damage due to regular traumatic head injury allows him to face adversaries that are clearly exponentially more powerful than he and believe he still has a very real chance of victory.

Delusion -
Arguably all of Danger, Danger Fontaine's power is a result of this aspect of his mind. Despite what absurd circumstance he may find himself in and what inconceivable threat he may face, he will stalwartly believe that he is the Fan Favorite and that this is his shot at the big time. He can hear the roaring crowd. He can hear the commentators expounding over his miraculous musculature and marvelous mustache.

Unreasoning Rage -
Danger, Danger Fontaine's patina of professional wrestling professionalism fades into oblivion if his mask is removed or his mustache is mussed up. Though he generally plays up for the adoring arena carefully watching his each and every match, when an opponent dares to remove his mask he loses his restraint entirely. As a great man once said, he loses his smile. Much of the posing and smiling fades away and he is left a raving animal, throwing out as many big moves as he can as quickly as he can, often to his eventual detriment.

Personality-
Danger...Danger Fontaine. A self obsessed obnoxiously narcissistic professional wrestler, his greatest strength is also his greatest weakness. He is loud, because it is important that the millions and millions of fans, all slavering at the bit for just a little more Danger, hear each and every syllable of each and every word. He is self aggrandizing because who knows Danger better than Danger himself? He is light hearted and often cracks terrible terrible jokes, because he is THE MAN. He is the top, the pinnacle, the apex, the peak, the asymptote, the azimuth, the hyperbole, he is the the man and the only way to be THE MAN is to beat THE MAN and the only man who can beat THE MAN is THE MAN, which is him, thus he is unbeatable. Ask anyone, they'll tell you. In the unlikely event he is one day beaten he is magnanimous in defeat because he knows, HE KNOWS, that belt is meant for one man and one man alone. THE MAN, which is him, Danger, Danger Fontaine, aka THE MAN. The Macho...Guy.

Background-
Danger, Danger Fontaine dreamed through all of his childhood of becoming a professional wrestler and eventually managed to make his dream come true. Growing up in South Dakota he knew from a young age that he was destined for greatness and the greatest greatness he could envision was becoming a massive slab of tanned and oiled muscle body slamming other, lesser, tanned and oiled massive muscle slabs for the entertainment and adoration of the million and millions watching at home. Happily fueled on by the antics of his wrestling idols, action movies, and neigh every book and training program advertised in the back of comic books, he grew muscleyier and muscleyier as his dream became an inevitable future.

He worked his way up through the indies gaining a reputation as an enormous ass, but an ass who put asses in seats. Which is the best kind of ass. Taking inspiration from his idols from America and the world abroad he fashioned for himself a number of easily recognized moves and a very recognizable physique. Muscles, Muscles, Mask and Mustache. In time he made his way to the premier federation of the United States and found great success. As well as he did he faced many injuries and eventually ended up as too big of a liability to the company to remain. This was likely a wise move as his massive ego led to him suffering many injuries that would have sidelined him if he weren't just such an egomaniac. Finally one day his undeniable superiority, ceaseless impossibly hyperbolic bragging, and need to pay some bills brought him to Undisputed Pro Wrestling.

Bango Shit

Strong Arm (No Where Near Finished)

"For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places." ~Ephesians 6:12

Name: Aaron Davis Edwards
Aliases: Strong Arm
Birthday: 2/14/1982
Species: Human
Sex: Male

Appearance:
Aaron Davis Edwards is a short muscular man of 38 years. He has not aged particularly well, his face and body tell the tale of a man who has worked long hard hours in exhausting work. Black hair in a short fade, eternally refreshed Five O Clock Shadow, and thick bushy eyebrows. His heritage is unclear, perhaps Puerto Rican, maybe Dominican, maybe Caribbean, maybe just a thickly featured white guy with a really good tan. Working class and proud he dresses simply and sensibly.

As Strong Arm he is the same height, but his muscular build is enhanced. He goes from appearing as a man who takes care of himself to appearing like an Olympic Athlete, a wrestler or gymnast perhaps. His costume is a Wrestling Singlet worn under some thick uniform pants. He wears a Dark Red Wrestling mask with yellow accents around eyes and yellow stitching.

Personality:

Biography:
Aaron Davis Edwards was born in 1982 in Washington D.C. and has lived there his entire life in the shadow of much power and wealth he watched his mother struggle alone to provide for him. He didn't come to truly appreciate what she had gone through until his own daughter was born and he struggled with his wife, Maggie, to bring her up right.

never knew who his father was. got shit for that growing up. indeterminate race. mother didnt want to talk about it.

Powers:
Formidable Hand-To-Hand Combatant capable of a mixture of various martials arts strikes, wrestling techniques, and acrobatic manuevers.
Peak Human: strength, speed, stamina, durability, resistance to physical injury, and minor healing factor.
Slight Variable Muscle Mass: Strong Arm's body musculature increases in size from an average build to a high level gymnast's build when his heart rate goes up.

Other:

Theme:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3peqUOWSCJs

youtube.com/watch?v=perkpVEMMb8
youtube.com/watch?v=1lxpM3lJhXA
youtube.com/watch?v=JDFFzAV9I38 gangsters paradise
youtube.com/watch?v=6Zu_3IAR5Ms batman
youtube.com/watch?v=6rlLBahdDx4 falling apart impending doom
youtube.com/watch?v=uyN_MnZ5qnA fur elise
youtube.com/watch?v=IaGsdnKORcA moonlight sonata

Aaron Davis Edwards was born in 1982 in Washington D.C. and has lived there his entire life in the shadow of much power and wealth he watched his mother and father struggle to provide for him and as of late has found himself doing much the same for his own child.

Bango Shit

Jonah Hex (No Where Near Finished)

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

J O N A H H E X

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J O N A H H E X ♦ B O U N T Y H U N T E R ♦ T H E W E S T ♦ F R O N T I E R J U S T I C E

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

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"You don't bury him the way he ought to be buried, Smithy, then you better get all your personal business fixed right --
-- cause you'll be stuffin' one of your own boxes."

November 1st, 1838 - North Western Missouri
Jonah Hex is born and grows up a regular victim of physical abuse at the hands of Woodson Hex, an embittered alcoholic father, and a regular witness to his mother's own brutal beatings at the hands of the same man. Some small relief that Old Man Woodson found his son made a better punching bag than his wife.

Summer, 1851 - Heading West
Thirteen year old Jonah Hex is growing wild and Woodson takes him off West to turn him in to a proper man. Teach him roping, hunting, riding, all manner of manly pursuits. Sumbitch sells him in to slavery, his idea, to the Mescalero Apache in exchange for safe passage through New Mexico. Apache work him constant until he proved his worth by saving the Chieftain from a wily puma ambush. Jonah is made a full-fledged member of the tribe and adopted by Chieftain but sure enough the Chieftain's blood son, Noh-Tante, grows resentful of his new brother. Both men had their eye on a young woman in the tribe, White Fawn, and it all came to a head during their manhood rite.

Spring, 1854 - New Mexico
Sixteen years old and undergoing the manhood ritual with Noh-Tante that would allow each to take a wife, he is betrayed by his brother while they rustle horses from an enemy tribe, the Kiowa, and is left for dead. Dead he would have been if a Cavalry patrol hadn't happened along. Though the Cavalry mistook him for one of their own they ended up shooting him in the gut and leaving him for dead, once again, when he tried to stop their slaughter of the entire Kiowa tribe. By the time he had been rescued by an old trapper and returned to his tribe's camp they were long gone and he was alone once more.

This is where you outline your vision for the character including any notable changes or differences from the regularly accepted canon. This should be a short summary that provides insight into where the character is in terms of their overall progress and development.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

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Why do you want to play this character, what is the driving motivation behind both this desire and the character themselves. What do you hope to accomplish and where do you want the character's story/stories to go?

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

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Any additional notes you want to put either for yourself, the GM's or other players to help clarify your vision or continuity.

S A M P L E P O S T:

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A sample post that can be used in the IC if you so desire upon acceptance. This post should provide an example of your vision for the desired character. This sample post should meet all standards outline in the rules and additionally include dialogue, mannerisms and other actions representative of your intended portrayal.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

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A list linking to your IC posts as they're created. This can be used for a reference guide to your character or to summarize completed arcs and stories.

Bango Shit

Just stuff I'm working on or want to save.

D&D 3.5e - The Marches of the Savage Realm

Gorosk's last attack before he lost consciousness had seemed to him to be a solid well structured strike but he had overestimated himself and underestimated the danger of the rat. Blood loss, pain, exhaustion, whatever it was his last blow had missed and in it's execution he had once more departed from the waking world. This time not to his monastery and his waiting teachers. He had been greeted instead by a cold dark nothingness and intermittent indistinct distant echoes. Time meant little there. It didn't seem like an instant that he was out, nor did it seem like an eternity. A cool liquid sensation brought him back.

The potion had brought him back and coated his mouth, a strange sensation as his body knit itself together and the bleeding stopped. He sat up slowly and struggled to gather his thoughts. A miracle, not of Aeirdun or his own doing, but he was alive again. Gorosk became more aware still of the companions surrounding him and gladly took the hand of Beaumont, rising on unsteady feet with his help. The rats were dead, there seemed to be only the final chamber. He followed them, becoming more stable in his footing as they moved on, and readied himself for what would hopefully be the final encounter.

It didn't take long after they entered that final chamber for the rat to attack. Backed in to a corner it had raged about momentarily before throwing itself bodily into de Brey after narrowly dodging a javelin from Vah'Lux and being skinned by one of Tracan's arrows. Seeing a small opening and eager to get this entire cursed "redemption" campaign finished Gorosk skirted off to the side of the cornered beast and swung down upon it repeatedly.

My Hider

Attack Roll 1 20
roleplayerguild.com/rolls/19431
Damage Roll 1 6
roleplayerguild.com/rolls/19432

Attack Roll 2 21
roleplayerguild.com/rolls/19433
Damage Roll 2 3
roleplayerguild.com/rolls/19434