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December 6, 2008, 1:13 am

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Phontokil's Phosphorous Mines

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Matchmaker, Matchmaker, make me a match!

When Phontokil was thrown out of Adim-Berru, for nearly causing the destruction of said city by conflagration, the wizard did not seethe nor vow vengeance. Nor did he laugh maniacally, nor mutter something about ‘no one understanding his genius’. Phontokil simply decided to seek his own way and explore the world, since the middling-mage had never before been outside the walls of Adim-Berru. For the last seven years of his life, Phontokil had been an apprentice to two different Pyromancers, and a piss-poor one at that.

Now, let it not be said that Phontokil had some aversion to fire, and for that reason made a bad pyromancer. On the contrary, the red-haired novice with mischievous, sea-green eyes, had been obsessed with fire from an early age, and that was not the cause of his stagnation in sorcery. Phontikal made a poor mage because his interests lay more in the hows and whys of fire than in the actual magic. He was obsessed with things that caused, fanned, flamed and extinguished fire. He was obsessed with the Element itself, and silently balked at the explanations provided him by his masters, when they explained to him the ways of the gods and paths of magic. The young mage’s talents furthermore, lay more in practical alchemy rather than pyromancy, as he himself soon came to learn.



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Random Idea Seed View All Idea Seeds

Which way is he going?

       By: Murometz

Molk Peruda is encountered by the PCs on the second day of their journey west from the salt-choked port of Quyn, as they prepare to explore the jungle.

He appears a gaunt, wolfish man, with matted, dark hair that sprouts from his head in dreadlocks, contrasting with his well-oiled, blue-black, conical beard. His eyes are hidden ebon shards beneath thick arching brows, his nose, crooked, long, and reminiscent of a snout. His mouth is a thin, dark line, his teeth unseen even when he parts his lips to speak.

His skin is the color of tallow, surprising perhaps for a renowned jungle guide, yet his natural helm of dreads and the jungle's canopy keeps the sun from bronzing his originally pale flesh. On his back are tattooed three women from the waist up, side-by-side, each resembling the other but of different ages. This is a tattoo of Molk's mother, sister, and daughter. His wife (don't bring her up to him!) was killed by marauding Qullan years ago, and appears as her own tattoo on his broad but sunken chest.

His feet shockingly are turned around 180 degrees at the ankle, facing towards his back! A curse from a pernicious shaman. Molk walks feet backwards (he's used to it) and walks backwards, forwards. This can be very disconcerting and outright creepy to the PCs as he guides them through the rainforest.

Slung from his back is an archer's quarrel of treated wood carved to resemble a stalking leopard, in his hand a re-curved composite bow of horn and sinew, with a pair of vivid, red eyes, each one painted on the opposite side of the hand-grip. In a leather sheath at his belt, hangs a falchion, its pommel adorned with a curved bird's head and beak.

Encounter  ( Forest/ Jungle ) | January 15, 2014 | View | UpVote 7xp


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