Persons of Note: Bellan (Village Reeve, answers directly to the Baron of Dulrain) Dassell (Yeoman, Light Bowman) Erron (Laborer, visiting the "Hayl & Hearthy" Inn) Gwenet (Hune's daughter) Hayl (Innkeeper, proprietor of the "Hayl & Hearthy" Inn) Hucan (Tinker, Lauley's father) Lauley (Tinker, Hucan's son) Hune "Ol' Sod" (Farmer, Gwenet's father) Laun (Yeoman-Seargant, Light Footman) Laurew "Lew" (Village Beadle, Bellan's second of authority) Locke (Innkeeper's Apprentice) Olotte (Hune's wife) Trenn (Laborer, visiting the "Hayl & Hearthy" Inn) Vira (Veterinarian/Midwife)
Background: Paendley, originally called Paend's Lee, got its name from a leaning stone formation formerly existing just outside the settlement's edge. The town's founding father, a miserly man named Amon Paend, was known to frequent the stone formation at odd hours, and was rumored to have hidden a large portion of his wealth there. Try as anyone might, no one could determine whether the gossip was true or not. The stone formation collapsed during a particularly heavy rain storm about 57 years ago, leaving signs that a large tunnel had existed beneath it. Since this event coincided with the disappearance of Amon Paend, it was assumed that the old miser met his doom in the collapse. Many attempts were made over the years to dig up Amon's body and treasure, but neither have been found to this day...
Scenario: Erosion from recent rain storms have revealed a small cave; the cave consists of a tunnel leading to two chambers. The larger chamber is at the end, and is rather unremarkable. Of interest, however, is the entrance to the smaller chamber which appears to have been dug out from the main tunnel. The glint of coins shines faintly in the torchlight, spread throughout the muddy floor of the small chamber. A DC20 Spot (or DC10 Search) check reveals a skeletal hand protruding from what appears to be the rubble of a collapsed tunnel at the back of the small chamber. If the party has been told about Amon Paend and the related rumors, they may correctly assume that they have found the ill-fated miser and his treasure. Additionally, a thin layer of dust-like spores can be seen coating the chamber with a DC12 Spot check, and a DC15 Spot check reveals the presence of the spores floating in the torch-lit air. The spores are a dormant, yet virulent strain of Burning Slumber. Typically found only in warm climates, this strain went dormant as the region cooled and became more temperate. However, once carried (by contact) or inhaled, the warmth of the body brings the Burning Slumber out of dormancy; this is particularly true when the disease is brought out of the cold into heated dwellings, and becomes air-born. The danger related to this strain of Burning Slumber is further compounded by the pneumonia that develops at stage 2 of the disease. The stats for Burning Slumber are found below:
Burning Slumber Infection: Contact, Inhaled (DC 18) Incubation: 1d4 days, 6 hour cycle Damage: 1d4 STR, 1d4 CON Stage 1: The infected takes disease damage from a high fever; also becomes exhausted. Stage 2: The infected takes disease damage, plus an additional 1d2 CON as pneumonia sets in; becomes unconscious. Stages 3 & 4: The infected takes disease damage, plus an additional 1d2 CON from pneumonia; remains unconscious. Stage 5: Death
This disease is extremely contagious and deadly, but is usually found in warmer climates. At the end of the incubation period, the character must succeed on a DC18 Fortitude save or begin to show symptoms of this disease. After the initial failure, the infected starts deteriorating through the stages with each 6-hour cycle until reaching the stage of illness determined by the save result: a save failed by less than 5 means the infected reaches Stage 1; if a save failed by 5 or more, the infected declines to Stage 2; and a save failed by 10 or more means the infected declines to stage three.
Example: Sickboy fails his Fortitude save by 10 after Burning Slumber's incubation period, meaning he'll deteriorate through three stages of sickness over the following 18 hours (a 6-hour cycle for each stage). During the first 6 hours, he suffers 1d4 STR, 1d4 CON damage, and becomes fatigued. After 12 hours, he suffers another 1d4 STR and 1d4 CON damage from the fever, another 1d2 CON damage from the developing pneumonia, and falls unconscious. After 18 hours, Sickboy suffers another 1d4 STR and 1d4 CON damage from the fever, plus another 1d2 CON damage from pneumonia. If Sickboy survives to this point, he get to make another Fortitude save for each 6-hour cycle to determine whether he improves a stage, remains in his current stage, or worsens a stage per the Disease Variant Rule. Poor Sickboy...
Once the infected recovers from Stage 1 of the disease, he/she will be fatigued and require 1d6 days of bed rest. Immunity to the Burning Slumber is gained once a person recovers from the disease.
As an experiment for extra credit, I would like everyone to post an answer and description to the following 3 questions:
1. What short term goal or desire does your character have?
2. What does your character feel the party should do next (in the way of adventure or current "game hooks")?
3. As a player, what type of scenarios would you like to see more of?
Remember, there are no right or wrong answers. Give it some thought and treat this as an open forum with suggestions and replies. Please make your posts more than single sentence answers, but less than a volume of War and Peace.
Once upon a time, my father, an Elf who hailed (mainly, we think) from Shandeer, fell in love with my (mostly, we think) Human mother, who hailed from Mandagar. They had me. Shandeer is the loveliest place in Erath, but I never felt completely at home there. I missed Mandagar, but my ... heritage makes me not completely trusted there, either. Whispers of "djinn" and "pari" follow in my wake -- spirit creatures, respected and even revered -- but not necessarily loved or trusted among the people.
To my father's sorrow, I decided to leave our fair homeland and head north. I wanted to see the world, and I thought that I could learn new magics and new ways of fighting. With heavy heart, my father sent me to the care of Aramund Grindell, an old military friend in Sedaria. I was delighted by Sedaria and its cosmopolitan capital city, full of commerce, activity, and folk of all sorts. I began serious training with some colleagues of Aramund. I was delighted, too, to think I'd found love at last, in the arms of the dashing rogue Arcangelo. How could I resist? Unfortunately, Arcangelo had ... a different outlook on things. He's not the type to stick to anything for very long ... or anyone. Nor was he completely truthful in all he told me.
I was heartbroken. I tried to hide it from Aramund and the others, but my performance on the training ground suffered. Finally Aramund pulled me aside for a talk. I begged him not to speak of these matters to my father. Aramund waved that aside, saying the real issue was that I had true talent, and that it was a damn shame to let some fool of a rogue get in the way of perfecting it. "You could hone your skills to be sharper 'n' the king's sword, if you work at it. That idiot boy - he's not worthy of you. I can't abide useless people, and that's what he is. You're a descendant of Elgin VanDryeth, for the gods' sakes! Stop wasting your time. You're nobody's toy and nobody's fool. Get back to what you're best at, girl, and when roadblocks like him get in your way, you charge right over 'em."
I cried, but realized he was right. Even so, I found it hard to concentrate -- everything in the city reminded me of Arcangelo. At length, I decided to head to Freehold, thinking the new sights and -- they said -- freewheeling atmosphere might be just the thing to clear my head and give me a fresh start. Aramund sent me down with some elven guards he knew. I made it to Freehold ... eventually. But that is another story for another time, a story that is still being told.
These days, I try to keep my focus on my skills. When I'm using a blade, or channeling arcane forces, I feel truly alive. No worries about belonging, or acceptance -- just me and my skill, against the odds.
Thorfinn's story so far.... Fletvold, a quaint Koloi drinking village with a small fishing problem, lying quietly on the Angierthan coast. The three of us had been friends for as long as any of us could remember. Harald was the son of Sven Arnolfsson, a prominent merchant-fisherman who lived in the village. And Inga Ivarsdottr, who lived in the hut next to my family's. Harald was, by all means, a benefactor of his father's wealth. He was a scrawny, dark haired boy who had no problems getting what he wanted from his patriarch. He had less success with the other children in the village, though, which is why he became my friend. I wasn't the largest child in the village, but I was big enough to provide a distraction while Harald fled from danger. He was, however, still my friend. Inga was a freckled-faced girl, with unruly red hair, who held on to her baby fat a little longer than most. She did have beautiful green eyes, and a smile that would make me pause in any situation, so we became friends rather quickly. We generally stayed clear of the other children, choosing to pass the time not beating each other senseless, as the others would do. We would go fish off the dock's edge, or sometimes build a raft to fish farther from shore. We would play games and other activities outside of the village. Some nights, in the winter season, we would lay on the hillside, watching the northern lights dance across the sky, and I would tell Inga of the stars we used to guide the ships across the sea. We would meet many of the merchants who would stop for provisions, and try to sneak peeks at what wonders they would bring from their ship's holds. One merchant in particular, a sea-trader named Takei from Quan, would tell us many stories from places he had been. I would help mend his ship, and help carry food & ale on board in exchange for trinkets and stories. As we got older, I would spend much of my time on the docks. I learned to build and maintain the longboats and fishing trollys. I would spend many days on the boats, bringing in the nets and rowing. I saw Inga and Harald less frequently then, As Inga was usually helping her mother with chores and Harald would spend most of his time wasting it. It was at the end of the day, however, that I had really discovered how much Inga had changed. She was very pretty now, and many of the boys had just begun to notice.
**It was a warm, harvest night when we stole away to our
hillside hideaway, I still remember that night as if it were
moments ago. The lights danced in the night sky like magic. We
spent hours talking of village gossip and adventures we had
during the summer months. She laughed at my japes and smiled
when I boasted of my seafaring accomplishments. We met in
embrace and kissed, then shared the night in lover's passion.
A few sunsets later, I heard that Harald had proposed to her.
With his family's wealth behind him, and pressure from Inga's
parents, she accepted. Somehow I knew it would end this way. I
bore Harald no ill, he only thought as I did of Inga. They
married soon after, and brought a beautiful daughter to this
land by the planting season. We drifted apart from then on, it
was difficult for me to see them together, though when I did it
was nice to see them happy together.
Our last harvest was very poor. A drought had ravaged much of the farmland around our village, and many of our people were sick from the lack of food and drink. Our elders had been deliberating the crisis for many days, and there was fear and unrest. Canute Rolfsson was a very popular young man close to my age, and he gathered many of the boys in secret one night. He described a plan to sneak in to a village, not far south of ours, and steal some provisions. We would not speak of this to the elders, as we were pretty sure they wouldn't approve of Canute's plan. It seemed relatively simple. The fifteen of us sneak in at night, fill our bags with food and water, and quietly creep away, returning home as heroes. As Canute's friend, Tomas, confidently stated, "What could go wrong?" As we entered the village, we separated into small groups to search for the provisions. I had the aforementioned Tomas in tow with Nicklas Arnolfsson. We came to a good-size hut that Nicklas believed was a storage hut, due to the complex weave of the thatched roof. I asked him why that made a difference, and he replied "well, it's complex, idn't it?" So we went with his judgement, mostly because we didn't want to argue at that moment. We snuck in through the back of the hut. That is when we realized we had stumbled into the village militia barracks as we were now surrounded by a surprised group of men. The men began to reach for their weapons, I had to act quickly. I saw a haft near my leg, so I grabbed onto it, a dis-used rusty longsword. I felt a brief fit of panic, I could feel my heartbeat begin to rush. My hands began to burn, and I could feel the blood flow through my veins. What was happening to me? My vision changed to a blur of strange colours. I heard only the sounds of metal tearing into flesh, and muted screams and cries of their immediate results. I could not control it, I felt my body lashing out, but I did not know why. I couldn't stop it, but the strangest part is......I didn't want to. The power flowing through my body was incredible. It burned, yet felt warming. I continued until all was quiet. I then regained my cognant senses and fell to a knee. I looked about. I saw all the men, lying dead around me. Their bodies torn asunder. I shifted my gaze to my hands. My hands and arms soaked in blood, still grasping the sword tightly. I dropped the weapon instantly, what did I do? Could the red mist have taken me? I looked for my comrads, hoping for an answer. No one was standing in the room. Could I have....? Maybe they fled when the scuffle started. I heard more voices approaching, so I made my way out the back of the house. I stripped the blood soaked shirt from my body, I couldn't let the others see what I had done. I made for a small stream near our rendezvous point to wash the red stains from my hands, then waited for the others. Everyone had made the meeting point except Tomas and Niklas. I had to tell the boys that we were intercepted by the militia and had to run. I told them I had no idea where they were. We left and returned home mid-day. There would be no fanfare for us as we had expected. We walked into the village square, and Canute rang the praises of our 'conquest' aloud for the village to hear. What we received was a mixed reaction. Some of our friends and family were pleased with our triumph, but many more showed fear and nervous mumblings were prevailant. My father approached the square, I could see the shock in his eyes. Elder Matthieu Halfdansson told us to return to our homes while they discussed the event. "What in the gods names were you thinking?!?" Yup, dad was pissed. "We are not a barbaric lot of pirates! We don't steal from our neighbors when we have meager harvests! We live peacefully, we trade and farm to survive. We ask for help from our friends when we need. Do you remember what happened to your brother, Svidlof? That's right, he was killed trying to raid a Rolori town!" This went on for what seemed hours... "We will have to make atonement. We will have to beg forgiveness, return what you have stolen, and more, in hopes we can slake any thirst for revenge. You and your friends may have led us to the precipace of tribal war! I hope we can settle this before it escalates into more death." Their retribution, however, came swift and fast. N'merian longboats stormed the shores quickly, and before anyone could react, the raiders tore through the village, slaughtering the residents and burning the houses. I heard the clatter and exited my house. I saw the flames from the houses near the shore and heard the screams of the fallen. My father had grabbed a sword and started towards the docks. My mother and sister, Edelie were fleeing to the safe house. I had to check Harald and Inga, so I made my way to their house in the centre of town. When I reached the house I saw several bodies around the broken front door, so I grabbed a sword and entered. I found Harald, near death in one of the rooms. He grabbed my boot as he lay there and said "Go..find my family, please....get them to safety..." I ran out and made my way, full speed, to the safe house. I was too late. Just as Harald's house a few moments ago, the safe house door was broken open, the guards killed. I clinched my sword tightly and ran into the hut. Empty...save the bodies of the young boys and a couple women that were within. My mother one of the slain, I had no time to lament, I heard a muffled cry from the back. I ran to the sound, behind a small wall of hay bales, under some blankets was a basket. An infant child lay in the cradle, wrapped in a blanket my mother had made for Inga's newborn girl. It was her! I dropped the sword, pulled the baby out and bolted for the door. I didn't stop running until I was well within Hog's Hill forest. We made our way east through the forest. I carried the infant as far as my legs could go. After traveling a couple days, I had come to the conclusion that I would need some assistance. The baby was crying incessantly, and would not eat any of the food I had foraged. It was brutaly clear, I could not nurse a child. I only knew of one safe place. A few more miles northeast of here was a village, a Clan my father told me was friendly. I remember hearing from my mother that a companion of my grandfather's lived there and had become the village's shamam. Perhaps Gulthrum could help? I had to try. I reached the village by early morn. I found a man near the village centre, and he pointed me to my destination. An elder opened the door. I asked if he was Gulthrum, and he nodded slightly. His eyes looked through me, and recognition showed as he lowered his brow. I told him I needed his help, but before I could tell him my name, he held his hand up to stop me, and said "I know who you are....rather I know of your blood. Come in, friend....child of Thorvald Einarsson." I followed him to his hearth, where we sat, and I told him that I was grandson to Thorvald, and what had transpired and exiled me to the wild with the infant girl. "She has Thorvald's spirit, I can feel it." He said as I told the story. "But she is not my child." I replied. "Are you certain? Is that what her mother told you? Evina, tend to the child." A young woman came in from a back room and took the child back with her. "Inga wed Harald, and this girl was born of their love." I told him. "Perhaps you are right." said the Elder, though his face rang doubt. "I will help you. You can stay here until the child can walk about on her own. What is the girl's name?" I could not remember, or perhaps I'd never heard it. I had only seen Harald and Inga sparingly since they wed, and only saw the child once before the village fell. "I don't know." I replied. "You will have some time to remember, or perhaps give her, a name which befits her. Now get some rest, you will have to earn your keep if you are to stay here."
For the better part of the next three years, I spent my days fishing at the nearby lake, assisting the trade of goods for the village and tending the crops to earn my keep. One of the nights, during this time, I laid on the lake's edge, looking out at the stars. I remembered back when Inga and I would lay for hours watching the stars. I remembered the lights and how beautiful they were. I decided that I would call the girl Aurora, for that name would remind me of those nights I spent with Inga. It was a warm summer day when Elder Gulthrum took me aside for what was our final talk. "Do you know much of your grandfather, young Thorfinn?" He spoke. "I only know from what my father told me. He told me he was a savage, a brute who abandoned his family in lew of destruction and war. My grandmother raised my father alone since he was an infant. I know very little more than that." "Perhaps there is some truth to what your father says. But Thorvald was much more than just a savage. When I met him, we were young. Ambitious and eager to adventure the lands of Erath. Tired of the petty squablings of tribal warlords, watching our friends die in vain. A few of us pulled together and traveled far from Angiertha, in search of riches, artifacts and the promise of something better. We came back once or twice, to visit the ones we left, only to realize why we departed to begin with. It was one of these times we returned, when your grandparents met. It was not meant to be. We had learned of a small band of orcs approaching from the north. They hunted for destruction in Angiertha, we had no choice but to leave. It was not a small band as we were told, however. There were too many of them. Your granfather held them back long enough for help to arrive, but I could not reach him until it was too late." He paused his story to clear his throat, I could see the pain in his old eyes. "I found Thorvald on a hill of fallen orcs, his body broken. I dove to his side and prepared a healing spell, but he said 'No....not this time. Let me have this...let me go, I will join the Gods in their halls.' Clutching my arm with one hand, he placed the hilt of his sword in my hand with the other. 'Take it, please. I want it to survive.' Those were his passing words, he smiled as his life escaped from him." Gulthrum stood and walked to a chest, and pulled out something wrapped loosely in hemp. He brought it to me and placed it in my lap. "I've no use for trinkets or trophies anymore, my time is short. This belongs to you, to your family." I unwrapped it and pulled out the sword buried within. "It is 'Hausakljúfr, the Skullsplitter'. You will need it for your journey. You must know, your destiny does not, cannot, end here. You must go and find Aurora's mother, and your sister, if they yet still live. Be careful, it will be dangerous. You will meet others whose intentions, purpose and struggles may equal your own. These people, no matter what their shape or size, may become good friends. Use their resources and friendship." So we left for Freehold, Gulthrum had said that was a good place to start. Many slave traders travel through there...
Here's Symon's write up with a bit of deviation from where is started, much shorter than it was intended to be:
SYMON MYST
Symon is the second child born to a merchant household in the town of Solare. His father comes from a lineage that brags of importance and wealth. His family has distant connections to the influence bragged about but the wealth remains. They also brag highly talented and skilled individuals, often being some of the best and most skilled in their chosen professions, including the not so reputable ones. It has often been remarked by people that his father’s family had been blessed by the gods themselves. An older brother and two younger sisters rounded out Symon’s immediate family. His brother handsome and strong found his calling in the military. His younger sister found her skills in the merchant trade like their parents and was being groomed to take over the family business and the youngest of the family was blessed with an ability of singing and storytelling. Symon had no such recognizable gift. He was comfortable around people but not like his parents or sister. He wasn’t particularly strong nor had as much talent in music or performance as the baby, in fact he didn’t stand out in any way. In most company he would have stood above the rest but in a family such as his…he was a disappointment. It was a fact pointed out by all that knew him, including his family. Therefore he grew up with no real friends and a constant reminder that he was never good enough. It would all change in later years when he met Dirci. Dirci was a kindred spirit to Symon. Her family wasn’t as large or affluent as his but she too had a single sibling, an older sister that was the pride of their family, smart and attractive, everything she did made her parents proud. Dirci was always second best and, like Symon, could do nothing that would please her parents especially when compared to such a sibling. It was Dirci that got to Symon and pulled him off of the path of hopelessness. It was her belief that some people couldn’t be pleased and their approval wasn’t worth getting. They became fast friends, spending each waking moment together. Unfortunately her influence led to even greater disapproval from Symon’s family but he began to let his bitterness show. Many arguments and a lot of rebellion on his part, as well as some unfortunate incidents, would lead to a permanent estrangement from his family not long after. Dirci eventually led Symon to a group of individuals that would not only show him where his talents were to be found but also give clues as to why his family was thought to have been touched by gods. The truth was that there were supernatural forces at work, not the gods, but somewhere a deal was struck with something powerful and evil, a union of blood that filter through the generations, recessive in almost all. Once in a few generations one would be born with the true power of the family and Symon found himself to be that one. Most would consider the group a “cult,” mysterious and frightening. They told Symon of beings known as Warlocks, who had power granted through the blood of supernatural creatures, mostly creatures of darkness. The term Demon wasn’t associated until later as it has the tendency to invoke distrust. Through the connection via the blood line he was shown how to access the power of his lineage to perform some truly remarkable feats as well as the potential that existed as he grew in his craft. Unfortunately, as is often the case, the price is something that is never known until is far too late. Symon grew in power and subsequently in confidence ie arrogance. He began a slow descent into a darkness that would have overwhelmed him if not for the spark of decency that hadn’t been quashed. There were two rituals performed once trained to fully initiate members into the order, once was a ritual of marking, a physical mark etched into the skin, a badge to identify the members of the order to each other. The second step is the sacrifice of something from the past, a separation of the old life into the new one and a sign of commitment and loyalty to the order. It was Dirci that was to undertake the ritual first and it was an event that would lead to damnation by the order as well as the potential salvation for both her and him. Dirci’s sacrifice was to be her older sister, that the order had so conveniently managed to kidnap and bring to her, the death would cleanse Dirci of all of the resentment and symbolize her superiority. It was clear though, in the moments before her sister died, that there was no turning back, either Dirci would kill her sister or the order would kill both. Chanting, whispering, the knife in her hands, more than a moment of indecision before a quick plunge of the dagger extinguished the life in her sister’s short life. The event changed Dirci and through that changed Symon. Dirci was distant from Symon in the short days that followed pain evident in her face. Within days she had disappeared and Symon was informed she had abandoned her oath and that his ritual was at hand, to sacrifice her both as a symbol of his dedication and her punishment for the only way to leave the order was through death. Two days of searching was all it took for her to be found. On the second day as Symon was returning home he came across two members of the order dragging Dirci down the street. She had been found not far from his family home and they were taking her back to face “justice,” they called it. Her eyes met his, he stood motionless as they passed and without thinking about the consequences he used his newfound power to strike both of them down before they could act, setting his path before him. They quickly moved a short distance away and found a spot to hide to decide on a course of action, which didn’t take long to realize meant leaving town. Unfortunately they didn’t have enough coin on hand to make any type of journey. Because of Symon’s family and their wealth and that his home was nearby they moved through the shadows until they were a short distance away. It was decided that she stay hidden within a short distance of his home and he would go, get money or things that could be easily carried and sold and he would back then they would leave, before the sun rose. It turned out the order had more of a reach than they realized. He got in grabbed a few things and as he made his way back to exit the house, in the entry hall, he encountered his parents, sister, his newly commissioned brother and one other guard waiting. He, in the company of a female accomplice, had been “seen” assaulting two people, killing one and running and they were there to take him. Demands were made, threats given and in the end a guard lay dead, his brother injured, and Symon’s power revealed. He ran to the street, found a squad of guards directly between where Dirci waited and no way to get to her without either being captured or killed. She appeared in the street and once again their eyes met, realizing what needed to happen for them to be safe, her hand coming to her lips then into a wave as she turned and ran into the darkness as the guards realized she was there and in that instant Symon turned and raced off on his now lonely path. Symon ran into the wilderness completely unprepared for what awaited him. His was a life that was ill equipped for a journey such as this, on foot with no knowledge on how to survive in the wilderness. All he had were his powers…and his grief. For days he traveled, his mind wandering to Dirci, his young life, the fear on the faces of his family, and the atrocities he committed that he had been too blind to notice. For the first time in his life he began to agree, he was worse than a disappointment, he was a stain on the world. After many days of wandering, lost to the real world, despair saturating every fiber of his being, he fell into the shadow of a great mountain and waited for death. However, it seemed as though death didn’t want him either. He woke to a large fire and the smell of cooking food and there, in what was to be his death bed, an elf in robes. The elf was a unique individual, able to set Symon at ease and get him to talk while not giving any insight into himself. After a day of “counseling” they slept in the now comforting part of the wild. When Symon awoke the elf was gone, a single written note and days worth of dried foods, days worth of water, and a sweet surprisingly filling bread as well as some traveling clothes that fit remarkably well. The note apologized for the sudden departure and suggested traveling south. Symon, with his spirits uplifted and armed with supplies, took the notes advice. He would travel for days then when things look down the mystery elf would appear out of nowhere, either as Symon slept or in the path ahead, always bringing welcome company and more food then disappearing much the same way as before, always without sharing much of himself. Symon usually referenced the elf as mystery and subsequently decided using his own name a bit of a risk as well as an anchor to a life that no longer fit, became Symon Myst, for the mystery elf that had become a bit of a savior. Symon eventually found his way to the city of Freehold and a kindly innkeeper, Heroun (known by all as Heron) took pity on the lost young man and gave him shelter in return for working in the inn and despite his size Symon was quite proficient in helping to “discourage” violence, having a talent for persuading people to refrain from aggressive behavior by talking them out of it. He has found a bit of peace in the world, happiness and acceptance in being his own person free from being defined by who his family is or having who he is defined by others, free at last to be who he wants to be. Despite his newfound freedom Symon is still a product of his life to this point. He does tend to be a bit condescending to those he deems of lower “social” class. He also tends to believe that those not receptive to friendship are not worth a second thought therefore can be a bit too willing to move on if the threads of friendship are not reciprocated quickly enough. The cult he ran from now calls for his death therefore he expects them to find him anywhere, never being truly safe and believes that they can be control the leash of anyone subsequently he believe any new acquaintances are just waiting for an opportunity to kill him. Contrarily his short time with the cult and his rapid departure from Solare have made him realize that people in the world have their own value. He will, often with more than a bit of internal struggle, be convinced to do the right thing believing it is his penance for the mistakes of his past.
This is a re-publishing of our House Rules thread for D&D 5e...
I have compiled a PDF of the variant and optional rules for Erath (attached to this thread). Please note that the document does not include material from Tasha's Cauldron of Everything at this time
Please post questions or comments regarding the document to this thread.
Those of you following the forums will probably notice that a number of threads and posts may disappear over time. Fret not! It is just yours truly doing a little “housecleaning,” getting rid of expired topics and old irrelevant news.
I will be removing old threads on a semi-regular basis to keep the forums tidy, so if there is a thread any of you want to keep, make it “sticky” or let me know and I will give it a longer shelf-life.
This is a combination of test forum and general questions/suggestions for our RPG forum. Let me know how you guys want to organize it
TIP: When dealing with long replies, it is best to write them up in a text file (MS Word, for example), and then copy and paste it into the forum. That way you don't have to worry about it timing-out on you.
