Ragnarok

Re: Companions of an Uncertain Fate Could not load campaign. Connection timed out.

Re: Companions of an Uncertain Fate I'm going to go out on a limb and predict it's not going to happen. And I'll take Spain to win the World Cup. I'll PM you the character idea list, Starwolf.

Re: Companions of an Uncertain Fate Nolgroth, I am going to PM you Cael's snippet of side job backstory.

Re: Forge of Souls Teaser: NPC Dossiers Update: Added Haakon, Nordmannr warrior in post #4

Re: Companions of an Uncertain Fate Question: Since the range penalties are automatically figured, how will Cael's Range PSLs be calculated into the mix? Maybe by factoring that into the weapon stats for me?

Re: Piece of Eight Ooo....something new to dig my grubby little historian fingers into! Repped.

Re: Your "2010" Pet Gaming Projects 1) Complete the setting for my Forge of Souls game by the end of this year. 2) Complete at least one NPC sketch (I'm teaching myself to draw)

Re: straw poll: Does a Shadow Demon have a "living body" I do not have the Bestiary available, but I would guess that a Shadow Demon, while shadowy, is still alive. The power strikes me as a souped up zombie taser more than anything else.

Re: Real Costs for spells and how you handle them?

Re: The Hero System is bland and over complicated

Re: Forge of Souls Teaser: NPC Dossiers Eventually. I'm still trying to figure out what the cultural package deals should be, so that is part of what's holding it up. I would also like to post them in html format so they're visible in the post, but I haven't figured out how to do that yet either.

Re: Forge of Souls Teaser: NPC Dossiers Update: added two of the dossiers.

Re: Campaign Building Blocks: General Musings Interesting. Let me know when you've come up with the finished product.

Re: Campaign Building Blocks: General Musings 1) Yay, somebody who agrees with me! 2) Definitely. For an INT-heavy player, I would also try to make sure that something cool is achieved in the campaign that only that character could do. That way, they cease becoming a plot progression vending machine. So yeah, INT is definitely valuable. 3) No worries. I went back and fixed the stat guidelines to make it 5-15. I think I'll drop CP down to 90 though, to keep them on par with a skilled Legionnaire. I've also changed it so that you must pass an INT roll to learn a new spell, but PRE is still the determiner of how many spells you can have.

Re: Campaign Building Blocks: General Musings

Re: Campaign Building Blocks: General Musings

Re: Companions of an Uncertain Fate Hooray for employment! Boo for losing Geoffrey.

Re: Campaign Building Blocks: General Musings INT is important for your perception roll and several important skills. Therefore, any sort of espionage, inventor, alchemist, or scout type of character would want a high INT. Puzzles, ciphers, and general problem-solving are good things to have INT for as well. Or had you not considered that? Oh, and I don't believe in "dump stats."

Re: Campaign Building Blocks: General Musings Yeah, I intend to have powerful things lurking around. I just have to be super careful to make it obvious how powerful it is before the PCs try picking a fight.

Re: Campaign Building Blocks: General Musings I like that idea better than INT. Though, part of my original idea included the visual aspect of spellcasting. A caster in this setting is pretty obvious, and can easily be identified just looking at them. So, the more powerful of a spellcaster you are, the more impressive you look. Hence the PRE.

Re: Forge of Souls Teaser: NPC Dossiers Slot 4 Reserved

Haakon, Nordmannr Warrior A truly epic storm rages across the northern sea, while huge and ancient sea monsters prowl the depths below. A tall, hulking Nordmannr warrior stands at the prow of a longship, completely at one with the furious tempest that rages around him. The frigid wind of the storm blows the man's hair back as ice-cold blasts of saltwater rip across the deck. The ship dramatically rises and falls with each massive swell, and though the sky is dark, intermittent flashes of lightning illuminate the man's face just enough to reveal long wavy blond hair, a plaited beard, and blue-green eyes. His crew toil at the oars behind, but something is very odd about this scene. They are laughing. This storm would strike mortal terror in even experienced sailors of Aiur, but these men revel in the storm with deep, hearty laughs. They journey from the islands to the mainland. Haakon Stormfury, Wrecker of Mead-Benches, goes to kill the trolls of Shadowmist Forest. Haakon was born during the worst storm in Nordmannr history, almost as if the very elements themselves heralded the arrival of this avatar of fury. The favorite sport of the youth of his clan is knattleikr; Haakon's favorite sport as a youth was harpooning sea monsters during storms. The rumor is that the spirits of the clan's ancestors sent Haakon as a blessing, as it seemed that after he was born the fisherman caught more fish, the hunters took more game, and the raiding parties were more successful than ever. Haakon is usually content with the good-hearted joys of life. He revels in enjoying good food and drink with his friends around a roaring fire, but to incur his wrath is to invite a world of agony... Several hours after the storm the ship reaches the rocky shore, and Haakon jumps into the surf as his companions beach the ship. Haakon is a beast of a man; layers of rock-hard muscle upon a thick frame, legs as sturdy as tree trunks, a solid block of a torso decorated with half a dozen battle scars, arms strong enough to lift a shapely wench with each hand. As Haakon strides forward he is met by tall, dark, looming pines and thick fog. The group cautiously forge deeper into the forest, met only by the sporadic throaty caws and clicks of ravens. Shafts of light pierce though the canopy, met with swirling fog. Suddenly, Haakon freezes as rustles in the forest are not followed by the raven's call. Before he can react, warcries of trolls come blasting from the trees, as several spears fly from the foliage. One of them, easily the size of a sapling, thuds into Haakon's side as a dozen huge figures even slightly bigger than Haakon rush forward. Shrugging off the blow that would have killed a lesser man, Haakon actually laughs as he pulls the spear from his side, bolts forward, sidesteps the axe blow from a troll, and thrusts the spearhead up through the troll's lower jaw, into the brain, and out through the top of the cranium. Those of Haakon's companions who did not fall in the initial salvo rush forward to join the melee, which quickly grows worse for them as more trolls swarm from the shadows. Haakon's laughter can be heard ringing out amidst the accompanying sounds of rent flesh, cracking bone, and ringing metal in this cacophanous symphony of death. Just as it looks like the tides might turn, a bellowing challenge issues from the forest. A huge troll strides on the scene wielding a greataxe that plows through Haakon's men in a spray of blood like a scythe through wheat. Acknowledging the challenge, Haakon charges the troll leader with a mighty shout, and as he leaps up to deliver his devastating blow, one thing is certain from the look on his face: there is nowhere else he would rather be.

Marcas, Noble of Aiur A muscular, olive-skinned man stands with folded arms on top of the fortified wall of the town. His average height is overshadowed by a commanding presence, and though his armor and tunic have clearly seen many days of battle, he is nonetheless very much a noble. A simple golden ring adorns his right ear, nestled between a robust brown beard and long hair. Brilliant rays of sunlight wash over the hills as the sun rises over the horizon. The man observes peasants working outside the town, salvaging what crops they can from blighted fields and orchards. The man's warm hazel eyes betray weariness, and the weight of great responsibility. Noting that Lieutenant Fathran has satisfactorily sent out only a small patrol as ordered, he shifts his gaze across the fields to the dark forest currently shrouded in the shadow of the mountain, and drifts into deep thought. When the Council asked for volunteers, it was an easy decision. It's not normal for nobles to venture so far from Sciath, but with so many families destroyed any chance to be with Aria and Lucius was the obvious choice. They've always preferred the country manor to the capitol, and understandably so. Things are much simpler, much...cleaner...out here. And now with the Plague running rampant through Sciath it is best to remain here. I doubt that the others would envy my position though. Blighted crops, barbarian raids getting bolder by the day, and...something else. Out there. Something has got even the barbarians spooked. It's as if instead of running at us, they're running from something out there. The Skath maybe? Surely not. Nobody's ever heard of the Skath this far from the Deep. Whatever the reason, the effect still remains that our caravans are not getting through. These people won't be able to hold out for much longer without them. The man's gaze shifts back to the peasants. The Council underestimates these people. Tough, hardy folk, though a bit uncouth at times. They work hard, play hard, and fight even harder. I respect that. These people need inspiration, and they need to know the nobility is protecting them. The deserve that at least. Without that comes revolution, and that's one problem the King does not need right now. I will have to keep an eye on Lucius, however. Morgan is a fine girl but if he wants any sort of future in.... "My lord," a breathless Lieutenant Fathran shouts from the road, "a large barbarian force just emerged from the forest and is heading for the river!" "Excellent, then they won't be expecting an attack. Recall the peasants and form your men up behind the hill. Are your men ready, Leoric?" A man standing next to the Captain hooded, masked, and cloaked in mottled green and black replies with a voice as cold and sharp as steel, "Ready as ever, Marcas." The man whistles and several dozen men dressed similarly and armed with bows fade out of sight among the orchard trees. The noble dons an ornate helmet, stylized in the form of a hawk, with the head and beak forming the noseguard and the wings forming the cheekguards. He descends the stairs to join his men, with a grim smile on his face. "These brutes are more gullible than I thought."

Feature: Arath, desert nomad. A tall figure stands at the edge of a rocky crag, gazing out over the vastness of the sandy wasteland as the sun casts oranges and reds across the dimming sky, almost in bloody protest over its inevitable fall. He is wearing a sand-colored cloak and hood, his face hidden in shadow save for the dim illumination created by glowing embers of a lit cigar that contrasts with a pair of brilliant blue eyes. Smoke lazily curls and drifts over his hood, as the man seems almost lost in the stark beauty of the desert. Out here, every day is a bloody struggle for survival. Things are brutal, sure, but here a man is what he makes of himself, entitled to the benefits of his own labor. He is free from bureaucrats, slavery, and laws. Only the clever and strong-willed survive out here. Only the vigilant hawk gets the hare, and only the swiftest hare escapes the hawk. But every once in a while, there is some insatiable vermin that comes along and violates the flow of life. Yes, vermin are everywhere. The man's face changes, as if he were shaken out of a dream, and he tosses the cigar stub to the ground, almost disdainfully, spitting as if it were bitter. He turns and strides back into a small cave hidden within the desert crags. The cave looks to be abandoned, probably for a couple years. The man passes through into a chamber with old blood stains on the cave floor, and some splattered on the wall. He pauses a moment, running his hands along the cave wall as if reliving an old memory, then continues down a rough hewn stairwell down to a small clearing nestled up against the side of the crag. In the clearing, nestled among the wasteland scrub lie five mounds, each with a marker. In the middle of those mounds is another man seated on a rock, bound hand and foot. He is wearing decadent but tattered clothing, bruises and lacerations showing through the tatters, indicating that this man had been dragged through the wasteland. A small fire burns nearby, with a shovel stuck in the sand. "Damn you Arath! You have no clue who you're messing with, you sorry bastard! When they get here, they will kill you slowly and I'm going to enjoy every second of it!" The cloaked man simply smiles. "Oh, I wouldn't be so sure of that. You see, the caravan arrived at Dethris three days ago, and I haven't seen a soul on the road since. And, seeing as how you were the only one confirmed missing from the scouting party..." , the cloaked man taking out his dagger and obviously cleaning the blood off it, "...I'd say that they aren't as concerned as you thought they were. Tell me Jorias, how does it feel to be a whore, a betrayer and abandoned all at the same time?" "Who's paying you? I'll give you triple what they're offering." The cloaked man laughs bitterly. "Ah, Jorias, always the rat, squealing when you're cornered. What will you pay me? The money they paid you to sell the rest of us out and leave me for dead, bleeding out on the sand? Or the tidy little sum you're clawing in through the slavery of others? Besides, this isn't about money. I know it's hard to wrap your tiny brain around, but this....", Arath looks around, "...this whole thing was more than money. It was...freedom. Nobody's paying me anything, Jorias. I suppose I am getting something though. Vegeance. Closure. Restoring the balance. The satisfaction of knowing that our fallen brothers will be avenged by drinking your blood as it soaks through the sand, and the comfort of knowing your bones will not rest in the same earth. So keep your money. I'm being paid much more for my efforts." By this time, the fading daylight is gone. Jorias, somewhere between panic and resignation, "So that's it? You're going to kill me? Kill me and you will become me, Arath." Jorias laughs spitefully. The cloaked man sheaths his dagger, and draws another cigar instead, lighting it in the nearby fire. He takes a couple puffs, blowing one into Jorias' face. "No, I'm not going to kill you Jorias." He turns Jorias to face away from the crag, and points out several pairs of eyes glowing eerily just outside of the firelight. "They are. Not for a little while though. They like to take their time. Brings out the flavor." Jorias' terrified cursing grows louder with each shovelful of sand on the fire. After the last one, the cloaked man plants the shovel in the sand with a certain sense of finality and says, "Goodbye Jorias. Give my regards to our friends." As the cloaked man walks away to his horse, Jorias' bloodcurdling shrieks of terror are drowned out by hungry roars of the lions.

Greetings HEROdom. This teaser thread is the first official installment for my Forge of Souls game, a dark, low fantasy, post-apocalyptic game I expect to run sometime in the vague future. The campaign is so named because the world will be the forge in which the heroes will develop their resolve, courage, and fortitude. Periodically, I will post a short character history of an NPC drawn from one of the four playable cultures in the game world. The objective is to provide an example that will illustrate the unique cultures, and the general tone of the game. And who are we kidding, it's also to provide some good old entertainment and to get folks excited for the game. I will reserve the first four slots for one representative example each, and then just post them as they come to me after that. Feedback is appreciated! Enjoy!