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)
A mostly fleshed out 'wizard' character for your fantasy adventure.
Note from the Author: I originally created this background for a PC. You might find this background a little generic, but I found it sufficient to inspire complications from the GM's seat. This submission was heavily influenced by Harry Potter. If that hasn't sent you packing, enjoy.
Anger is a great business, people will share it with you for free and if you're savvy enough, you can sell it back to them. The Rage Mages descended from Belligerus's early followers have found that modern world has just as much use for anger and magic as the ancient world.
The Crystal Scholar is a feminine Quasi-Soul with a passion for knowledge.
Forewords to the supplement I'm working on: Teleleli. Or, The City Never Dies; It Just Smells That Way.
By night this young woman takes the shape of a huge mosquito the size of a dog, and flies around looking for people to feed on. She has the ability to split apart into a cloud of small mosquitoes to fly under doors and through any small cracks and holes in a house, and then reforms and is able to puncture mosquito nets to feed on her victims. If she gets into a fight and starts losing, she will split apart again and fly away to make her escape, and as long as even one of those mosquitoes gets away unharmed, she will turn into her human form at dawn and regain all her strength and vampiric powers by dusk. Those that she bites are likely to come down with disease afterwards.
The Disgraced & Vanquished
She is the former heiress or countess of a ravaged land, now participating in the once-unthinkable and unimaginable. Often in history, when one group of people conquered another, as an exclamation point, the victors would force or sell the noble wives and daughters into slavery, particularly of the sexual variety. This was a final slap on the face for the vanquished.
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.
A wanderer of sorts, Brelan is one of the few Kel’Regar men who have chosen to mix freely with the greater galactic society, having found his calling at last behing the bar.
“Behold me the greatest traveler in history, eccentric, irregular, rapid, unaccountable, curious and, without vanity; majestic as a comet.” -John Ledyard
Driven by the need to keep his descendants fed, Daniel Andersson is one of the more peculiar undead - and gods - one might ever come across.
Belphegor - A demon of Sloth and Greed
What is a forest’s firm support, yet walks ‘round on its own accord?
What’s possessed of a titan’s might, stands before you, yet out of sight?
What soundly spanks with gnarled root a behind that is not good?
Your Ultimate Source for all your Ooze Problems!
"Me? Oh, I’m no one of importance. Say, where are you folk heading? Really? Might I tag along for safety’s sake? I have business there…"
Never judge a man until you’ve walked a mile in his shoes.
Thirty farmers, from the happy to the grumpy, the serf to the squire.
Cold Comfort is a long-sword of star-steel, its blade giving off a wan, blueish light. Its grip is wrapped tightly in snow-serpent hide, and its pommel bears a single opalescent gemstone.
This blade is enchanted in such a way, that whoever wields it, begins to fall completely and irrevocably "in love" with the weapon. This love does not manifest itself as the expected reverence and bond formed between any warrior and his weapon, but as a deeper, truer love, one has for a soul-mate of the same species! The longer the wielder carries Cold Comfort the stronger and more disturbing this love becomes, and only the most powerful of magicks can potentially break the sword's insidious spell. The blade's owner will even speak to and coo to the weapon, convinced that the sword understands and returns this epic love.
If the blade's wielder somehow loses the weapon or has it taken away, they will become inconsolable, and will predictably go to "ends of the earth and back" to retrieve it at any cost. Such is the weapon's curse that even separation from it does not damper the feelings the owner has for the sword. Legends tell of several distraught and mind-addled knights who even years after losing the blade, still wander the country-side searching for their lost love. And woe be to the "new lover" if and when they find him or her.