A member of the Cynopterid race
I was just another nobody, not part of the clique, not one of the Heathers, just a nameless, faceless nobody. Then, I died.
And became somebody.
Brief bio of a space intel officer
30 in progress
Marla (Fight Club) - as the salesperson whose species reproduces by cloning or similar technology.
PC generated by random generator
An unfortunate man and his canine companion
A favored son of the Prussian nobility, and a Knight Errant of the Restored Order of the Temple
The eldest of six sisters and the heir apparent of the Argyle-Blakes, and an investigator for the Royal Theosophical Society
Immortality can be had, but for a cost. Some are willing to pay this price, some are willing to make others pay the price. So long as there is gold in my hand I care not.
Madness lingers there, in the broken corners of his mind.
She left me, I couldn't deal with it. I sat there with the barrel of the gun in my mouth for a long time before I pulled the trigger.
(Graphic Warning: Not for delicate eyes)
My father is slain. His house is broken. His sword is shattered, and his axe has been rent apart. But his blood lives on.
I once sought vengeance, I have since been consumed by vengeance and that is that is left of who I was
It's hiding in the dark, it's teeth are razor sharp
There's no escape for me, it wants my soul, it wants my heart
No one can hear me scream, maybe it's just a dream
Maybe it's inside of me, stop this monster
Skillet ~ Monster
Tales grow in the telling and heroes grow in stature, even the tiniest can stand tall among their own.
Crazy old woman, selling pieces of bone and fake charms. The fact that the villagers even tolerate the old eye-roller hag demonstrates a lack of piety to the Faith.
Never judge a man until you’ve walked a mile in his shoes.
The power of the mind and of magic defies your pathetic attempts to understand them, submit and you will be spared
Orn himself was a past peasant hero and champion, in a largely rural and agricultural area, who dared to stand up to a conquering force, and inspire his fellows to do the same.
No high school teens who turn out to be wonder-pilots here.
As the PCs travel the road, right after a bend they hear a sharp whistle and call: "Heeey, not so lazy, move your asses!" It is a large man that calls, and there are unwilling workers that listen. A small company, 10-15 men work on the road, push boulders aside, dig up roots from under the road, etc. The large man that shouted turns to you, smiles fast and mutters something under his breath, sounds like cursing some lazy worker. "Where does the road bring you from, travellers?" And does a little small-talk.
And what is really happening? A group of bandits is 'adapting' the road for shady purposes. The road will not be wider, but tighter, with enough cover around (and a few traps perhaps), and will become an ideal spot for ambushing travellers or entire caravans. The bandit leader wants them all to appear harmless. The 'lazy worker' he cursed was actually a guard that should give warning before any travellers come around (fallen asleep). Not surprisingly, the boss may decide for an ambush even now.