Formerly known as Annika Monroe of New Newark Arco #6
Commonly an Inn worker, serving and entertaining at the Inn.
In the modern age a persona is indistinguishable from a person. They magnify what is within us, and what we bring out within others. It is a shared delusion powerful enough to claim a life of its own.
Singing Her Own Song: Profiling Ellen Lancaster
--by Jamie Easton, New York Times
Ellen Lancaster is a woman who refuses to be labeled. Eschewing recognition, this powerful Delta seeks fulfillment through helping others find their voice. While her tale might seem one of rags to riches, she sees only a lifetime of riches, many of them far more precious than material wealth.
A series of singers and strummers, summarily simple and sinuous, subsisting with singularly spectacular song-stylings.
I've sat on this one for long enough. Feel free to fill in the gaps.
Also known as Moon the Loon, Goon Beard, and Who?
Think twice before giving your children extreme in utero biomodification. Your decision will last for my lifetime.
The amazon brigade successfully rescued that bachsel in distress
I have a group of characters I have started using in my home game, and thought I would share some of them with the Citadel
Kids today, you can't tell them what to do, right from wrong. When I was a kid we got tattoos and piercings, nowadays they turn themselves into freaking mutants. On purpose!
Any citizen over the age of 30
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.
NPCs can be so dry and bland when they come up and you aren't prepared for them. Other NPCs often times only have the stats rolled up and their personalities are neglected. That is where a list of simple characteristics can come in handy and you can stereotype the NPC and at least give them some kind of quirk that defines them a little better. Nobody may remember the innkeeper at that one city, but they may very well remember the innkeeper that picked his nose right before he gave the players their change. Just some little things to define the NPCs and make them more real. Some can be used by players as well to spice up their character a little.
Robotic Poet or Paperweight
Shababa sat sadly in a corner, tears falling from her yellow eyes and dripping from her tusks. "All I want to do is be a dancing girl, it’s not my fault that the Gods made me an Orc. Why is eveyone so narrow minded?"
30 entertainers to make even the miserable forget their troubles and be happy again, if only for a short time before their sorrows close in again.
Andrew Wells is a reluctant outlaw, and this former royal singer has become one of the most unlikely members that ever joined an outlaw band.
"Hello, (insert village’s name)! It’s great to be here!"
Lithe as a willow and just as flexible
Elias and Manfred are basically a ventriloquist act. However, the major difference between them and other ventriloquists is that Manfred the Talking Cat is a real cat and not a puppet.
Wytchwolde-Under-Ash, once a great Thorpe, was razed to the ground by the ruthless, and truth told more than slightly deranged, Porcelain Princess and her henchmen, the Purifiers. When the flames had at last subsided, and a kaleidoscope of swirling, dull-gray ash choked the sky, nine hundred acres of old growth iron spruce, black larch and weeping birch, was burned to utter cinders, along with the entire coven of witches comprising the Sisterhood of the Silver Teat.
Now, centuries later, the forests are somewhat re-grown, and the town of Foolswater stands where Wytchwolde-Under-Ash once did. It is said that even to this day, one can still find ashes in the otherwise potable well-water of this village. Once a year during the Winter Solstice, the “Ash-Wind” comes to Foolswater, a suffocating black cloud that passes quickly but leaves dead birds and animals in its wake, darkening the trees, and staining the sky with black snow. The inhabitants of the village know better than to be caught outside during the day-long Ash-Wind. Everyone is locked snugly inside, singing old hymns that curse and re-curse the burned witches who once called this place home.