All of Unholy's PCs (for his own convenience)
The Unknown Bard / "Vaughn Valensi" / "Purman."
A mysterious purple bard, dressed in a spiked shadowy hood that obscures his face rather well. His natural speech pattern is informal and simplistic, forgoing any sort of prose. He doesn't seem to care much for titles and he often speaks to people as if they are his equal, regardless of their social rank in comparison. His dialogue remains the same, whether it be spoken to a king, a thug or an angry dragon.
A grifter by nature, the bard is fond of lying, and despite his rather eccentric appearance he is capable of an aggressive sort of charm that, coupled with his experience in telling false stories, allows him to deflect a great deal of suspicion and put others at ease. He is capable of taking on a multitude of personalities and voices to engage in his "craft" and seems to know it well enough to change even the smallest body tics to suit his "character."
However, rather strangely no matter the character, he always shadows his face in a hood or helmet. The almost reflexive way in which he retorts and comes up with excuses when this is brought attention to makes it pretty apparent that this is a pretty common thing. The end result is Vaughn's appearance is rather hard to tell, even getting quick glances at him merely makes him appear nondescript.
He is slow to show hostility, if he ever shows it at all, and doesn't seem to react to danger like a normal person, treating everything as if it is a game with no consequences and often viewing death as a fairly mundane thing. Whether he has trouble with empathy or it is just his way of dealing with death is hard to say, as he never speaks about himself in a serious manner.
The bard's lack of apparent hostility also extends into those he is willing to deal with, which could be considered morally dubious and questionable at best. He shows no fear or hatred of drow, necromancers, demons and the like but is still clearly capable of recognizing the threat they pose. Despite that, he seems just as willing to entertain them and be entertained by them.
None the less the bard does seem to have a mean spirited streak to him, feeling out the vulnerability of others and showing willingness to twist the knife. The lines he draws for his actions are pragmatic. He does not steal from the poor, as the poor have nothing to steal, and he doesn't bully children as they cry at everything and don't react in a manner that amuses him.
A creature of whimsy, the bard often abandons causes mid way through, and his apparent focus on coin is only matched by the fact that he burns through his funds in a manner which suggests he doesn't actually care about wealth. In truth there is a method to his madness, but the method isn't something easily grasped by one who doesn't follow a similar mindset.
All in all the bard makes for a fair weather friend, one who isn't particularly loyal to an individual or a group, and who holds no weight in bonds and honor. He doesn't seem particularly phased at the concept of betrayal, though his general disinterest in being involved in physical conflict (and the fact that even when involved he never particularly "fights") means his betrayals are non lethal and are usually just variations of violation of trust and privacy... and theft.
The bard carries with him no obvious weapon in a conventional sense, relying instead on a variety of musical instruments, many of which are enchanted to cast rather specific spells. He does not focus on supporting or strengthening his allies, rather his mocking songs and knowledge of spells seem specifically designed to weaken and disorient his enemies.
And sometimes his allies too.
The bard has countless names, some given by others, others that he has made up. One of his favorites, Vaughn Valensi, could easily be mistaken for his real name due to the fact that he signs every inn room under that name. Of course the actual Vaughn Valensi is a bespectacled shoemaker from Amn who had once crossed paths with the stranger.
So in truth, much like his actions, his name is a mystery that can only be answered by a few.
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A man in his mid twenties or early thirties, standing at just under six feet with medium length dark hair. He is covered from head to toe in black tattoos, winding around him like charred tree roots or dark snakes. This dark ink can even be seen across his neck and face, where it ends in two black half circles under his eyes that make him look permanently deprived of sleep. Voss favors the use of a tower shield that he keeps on his back, with the words "Welcome to the Wall" crudely painted onto it.
Voss is a warrior, raised in Rashemen, who finds thrill and ecstasy in combat. Everything Voss knows revolves around war, and tactics to fight more wars, and as such Voss tends to favor violent solutions and armed conflict over peaceful negotiations, which he has no talent for. None the less, while in the field Voss defers to the chain of command (official or otherwise) and will follow the orders of the party leader (or whoever else is giving sane commands) without question or backchat, even if it actively goes against what he wants.
Voss is an insatiably ambitious man, and one who never hides it. He openly tries to curry favor with those who can grant him more power, and is always seeking ways to put himself on top. Though honest and generally sociable, avoiding crass hostility or pointless barbed insults except for the occasional indulgence, Voss is purely selfish, and his twisted moral compass sees things only in terms of things that will benefit him, and things that won't.
In battle Voss fights in a surprisingly defensive and team oriented manner for such a self centered and battle crazed warrior. He uses his tower shield effectively, and is good at gaining the attention and fury of his enemies in battle. Voss is the vanguard, the iron wall. And if he gets his way, you'll never breach that wall.
A tall and muscular man with short brown hair and a short brown beard. While he shows some level of maintenance, on long journeys his hair is capable of growing out into an unruly mess fit for a wild-man. His clothes are patchwork at best, numerous parts of the stitching are redone with mismatched colors, indicating someone who uses what they have, and has little.
Baras is covered from head to toe in white tattoos, that almost look like war paint, most of which have animal imagery. A spiral tattoo around his eye, almost like thorny vines, and a roaring tiger on his chest are the most prominent of these designs. Covered by his right glove, a branding scar in the shape of an eye.
Baras is a serious and dutiful druid, his work is his life, and he is unshakable from the path he has chosen to walk. He is well spoken and polite, but has a clear wall that he puts up in social situations, showing obvious discomfort with discussing himself and an apparent disinterest in anything unrelated to his work.
So serious is he about his druidic life, that Baras feels more at home speaking the druidic tongue than common, and only speaks the latter when those around him are incapable of speaking the former. This also extends to the things he finds comfortable in life, he is more at home camping in the woods than in an inn room, and he finds animals easier to deal with than people.
The druid has a strange ideology, one revolving around the concept that life is a struggle and extremes must sometimes be taken to survive. He doesn't view things as good or evil, but prefers to judge them based on whether or not their actions had any necessity on their survival. To those that fight to survive, he shows respect, even if he will oppose them if duty requires it.
As for his past, Baras is a bit of a mystery. Born as Baras Tenpik, Baras was raised by druids within the forest and had little interaction with civilization until he was much older. It wasn't until years later, when he joined a group of druids that sought out corruption within the woods, and would journey to destroy unnatural things, that he gained the alias Baras Ironmane.
A name gifted to him after he survived plummeting from a collapsed bridge, with almost no real injuries from the horrific drop.
A grim looking man somewhere in the middle of his life, Morgan spends most of his time resembling a very red glowing statue. With a winged helmet on his head and a glowing symbol of Helm on his chest, he is very hard to miss. Without his helmet, Morgan isn't much more approachable, with a rather bitter looking resting face.
He has medium length dark hair, messed up by his insistence on wearing a helmet, and the stubble of a previous beard since removed with average effort. Covered by his armor is a variety of tattoos, mostly ship names and the location of places he has sailed, an old sailor tradition.
On his belt rests a sheathe covered in thunderbolts and music notes, and the sword within is of fine make. His final noticeable piece of equipment is his symbol of helm, which he ties to his waist and which dangles along side him as he walks. In times of great stress, he will often grip it tightly.
As a priest of Helm, Morgan is rather dogmatic (even by their standards) and is dead set in his belief that his ideals are correct and others are wrong. He is not easily shaken from his stubborn position, and when he is Morgan is obviously bitter about it, and is quick to point out flaws in this "new way" in an attempt to re-write himself as correct.
His sarcasm and complete lack of hesitation to insult others, be it in jest or as a serious attack, has Morgan come across as rather childish and rude despite his position. He is not afraid to be disliked by others, especially if it means doing what he believes is right, and does not hesitate to give the harsh truth he feels others may sugarcoat.
Despite his rotten personality, Morgan is unquestionably a guardian of the people. His duty is first and foremost to the people, the innocent, and he shows no hesitation to risk his life for them no matter how much they annoy him. While his protection may not be as sure for those he views as a threat to the people, Morgan is still a cleric who offers healing to those in need.
Morgan is a firm believer in order and a rules based society, he views the fanciful fair weather sort as an immense pain and a threat to stability. He shows a strong hatred for traitors and likewise nothing but contempt for those that would manipulate the people who trust them. He does not forgive such things easily, if at all.
Finally, Morgan believes in judgement based on logic and reason, not passion. While somewhat hypocritical, as Morgan is not the stoic judge he would often try to believe he is, Morgan generally resists the sway of passion, the tragedies of those who are to be judged or fought, and views them through a far more pragmatic lens.
As such, he never forgives and forgets, and expects punishment for those that do wrong even for the greater good. In his mind, allowing them to get away with what they have done merely because they did the right thing is opening a door that will lead to greater harm in the future.
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A rather young man, no older than his middle to late twenties, Ryker has a plain appearance, with uninspiring looks, short black hair and dull brown eyes. He has bad posture, slouching even when on duty, and his armor is dented and scratched with obvious signs of disrepair. The sword he wears on his belt, however, is in quality condition.
Ryker Corvis was always the black sheep of his family, but his status did not come about from some desire to be free of the shackles of his family, who were a small fish in a big pond at best. Rather, Ryker was the black sheep because he never really cared about... anything. The Corvis third child was a lazy good for nothing.
A layabout at his core, Ryker Corvis is an existence best described as unenthusiastic. Having coasted through life taking the path that seemed the easiest, Ryker quickly developed a negative reputation for being late- if he ever showed up at all- to everything, including being late to his own punishment for being late. Soon it was said he had only a single redeeming quality.
With a natural talent for it (just like his brothers) Ryker was quick to adapt to the trials he was forced into by a particularly aggressive half orc "tutor" whose lessons were more akin to surprise ambushes. But even with his blade, Ryker still showed reluctance to do anything worthwhile. As one final attempt to make Ryker build character, he was booted from the Corvis estate and told never to return unless he became a great hero. They would also settle for a mid level bureaucrat.
Wandering around, bored and listless, Ryker quickly discovered the world was a very bothersome place. He would stay in towns, villages and the occasional city doing mercenary work, as long as that work seemed simple enough, and then spent the rest of his time lazing about, fishing and drinking.
Eventually he would move on, be it because the work started to dry up or it started to become a chore not worth the hassle. And each time he'd crash at the next place looking for easy work, a repeating pattern until he stumbled into Hannibal Charon. At the time, the leader of Norwick's Militia, Ryker accepted a job offer for two reasons.
- How much danger could one small place be in?
And 2) He was already there
And thus Ryker became a Redcloak, a reluctant and lazy member of Norwick's fine forces. Though his work ethic was questionable, Ryker managed to make himself useful enough to not get booted, even though he'd often vanish to go fishing around Norwick or lay about in the shade. Or even more brazenly right in front of people while on duty.
His claim to fame was taking part in an attack on a powerful Lich, where Ryker waded into battle wearing his cloak (despite not being on duty... or anywhere near Norwick) where he was promptly blown up by a fireball. When telling the story, he tries to leave that part out. Still, he got a shiny sword out of it, and that's the important part.
In the present, long after Hannibal's death, Ryker continues to serve the Militia. While the boredom sometimes gets to him, and he'll often sneak off to the Ferret, Ryker enjoys the peacefulness of Norwick and the easiness of his paycheck too much to ever leave. Whatever troubles Peltarch faces, it'll face without him. Why would he bother?
In battle Ryker is relatively straightforward, as one could expect, he fights with his sword in a clearly practiced manner that lacks any real flair or zest, he doesn't showboat and he doesn't prolong. Perhaps due to his rather questionable mentality, he is susceptible to spells that attack the mind.
- How much danger could one small place be in?