PlanetADnD.com

This is a private thread for Revenant's character Esker Manyblades

It will contain:
-Current Character Sheet (maintained by dm)
-Character experiences separate from the party

Esker Manyblades by Revenant
Esker Manyblades US sheet
Male Human Ranger (5) Myrmidon kit. AL CG
XP: 20,250 (TNL: 32,000)
Stats: Str 16 (+1 dmg. wt allw 70/195, OD 9, Bb/Lg 40%); Dex 13; Con 15 (+1hp, Sys shock 90%, Res Surv 94%); Int 12; Wis 14; Cha 9
Ht: 5'9" Wt: 160 lbs. Age: 23
AC: 6 (AC6 Std Leath +1)
Current Hp: 40/40. Status: Very light Enc (Mv 11/12)

Saves: PPDM (11); RSW (12); PetPoly (13); BW (13); Sp (14)
Special: Fear: (9); Horror (16); Madness (16) [Includes warrior ‘Bravery bonus’ of +1 vs fear, Inspire others +1]

WP:
Ambidexterity, Longsword, short sword, dagger, short bow, Two-weapon Style
Longsword (1d8+1/1d12+1) sf 5; Short sword (1d6+1/1d8+1) sf 3; Dagger (1d4/1d3, R10/20/30, RoF: 2/1) sf 2; shortbow (1d6/1d6: R50/100/180, RoF: 2/1) sf 7; Thac0: Base 16
(Untrained Thac0: 18)
NWP: Blind Fighting(NA), Bowyer/Fletcher (12); Endurance (15), Hunting (free, class)(13); Riding-Land Based (17); Survival -Arctic (free, Class)(12); Swimming (16), Tracking (free, class)(15)

Languages: Common, Troll, Dwarven, Kobold
Harmonian: 1%

Class/Kit bonuses/abilities: Ranger, Myrmidon
2-weapon fighting (no penalty in Std Lea or less),
Animal empathy (-2 to target)
Species Enemy (Troll: +4 to hit, -4 reaction),
Hide/Move Silently
Bonus proficiencies (free): Tracking (class), Survival (class), Hunting or Fishing (Kit)
Level 8: Priest spells of Plant and Animal sphere (Kit: minor access to Protection sphere)

Myrmidon:
Extra weapon proficiency
bonus NWPs (Ancient history, Military)
Employed by powerful figure (but beholden to their whims)
Very recognizable
Responsible for their underlings

Equipment: [weight in lbs], {objects in container}
Worn: Breeches, Tunic, Studded Leather Armor +1 [*15], short bow [2], gloves, good cloth cloak, boots (riding), baldric {Daggers 3x[3]}, Quiver {flight arrows 12x[1.2]}, wineskin (full, water) [5], Belt {Longsword[4] in scabbard, Short sword[3] in scabbard, Daggers 2x [2] in sheathes} silver faced hand axe [5]}, belt pouch (sm) #1 [0.5]{empty}, belt pouch (lg) [1]{empty},
Wt Carried: 41.5 lbs

Backpack (worn) [2] {flint and steel[0.1], iron rations 3wks [21], oil flask 2x [2], winter blanket [3], sewing needle [0.1], whetstone [1], spare clothes, silver dagger bare[1]}
Wt Stored: 30.2 lbs

92 gp, 0 sp, 0 cp remain [2]
Total Eq wt: 73.7 lbs (Unencumbered w/o pack, very light enc w/pack)


CW: % 10(40-30 std lthr), HS: % 11(31-20 std lthr), MS % 20(40-20 std lthr). HS/MS Halved in urban setting.

///

Esker background/intro
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vAV4Rf2yiIE

“The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree
I planted; they have torn me, and I bleed.
I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.”
~ Lord Byron



Esker spat on the ice near his boot and watched it slowly freeze over as he awaited his turn outside his brother's tent. Wulfdayne Longshadow, said brother, now jarl of the Clan of the Wolf was within conferring with Jarls from the other clans, for he sought to unite them under his banner and proclaim himself the High-Jarl, King of the North. As he watched them file out, the jarls of the clans of the bear, the raven and the elk, they paid him little heed. He, though older, was the lesser brother in stature and rank, certainly in their eyes. So he waited for his audience, as Taker of Morn had told him his brother wished to speak to him about an important task. What was I to do? He had no answer, nor did I, for the wealth from my raids had flown from my hands as if picked up by the Fellfrost's icy winds and blown away to the All-Father himself. Perhaps he could hold onto it, for I never could.

The warmth of the tent helped, though the would-be king's words did not. My brother stood amongst his southland sorcerers...the emaciated necromancer Tarlech the Corpse-Dancer, Nastule Durgranche the patchwork wizard they called him due to the bits of skin sewn together to cover whatever horror of a face he had left, the ice elf they knew only as Pale-As-Snow and the most normal looking of the lot, a strange little man called Shapes the Divider. My brother said he was a shadowmancer, whatever the hell that was. And there was my brother who stood head and shoulders above this strange group. He feigned brotherly confidence and waved me over as he gave the task he needed done. Word had been sent that far south Scaithe had located the vagary witch near some pissant town in the southlands. Now you may ask why would some vagary hedge wizard matter to the King of the North. Supposedly his shaman, Taker of Morn, had seen the vagary bitch in his visions and more importantly the defender that would interfere with our plans down south. He wrote the name of the *defender* down and gave me a brief description of what I would look for and where we would find this defender. I memorized the name and threw the parchment in the fires.

To cut to the chase (literally) that's how Iscind and I found ourselves out in the wilds of the south. Imagine our surprise when we found the vagary witch was a little girl barely in her blood. Iscind and I set up a watch outside of the camp in the direction Taker of Morn said she would come and sure enough we caught sight of the Defender, just as he had described her. This Niserie Silverwreath rode towards the camp and at my direction, Iscind and I raised our bows, the elven woman in our sights.

***************************************************

From inside the tent, De'Athyra saw the protector Nicnevin had chosen for her...even whispered her name to her. She also saw the two wolves who hid watching for her through the far-eye her vagary heritage had given her. Her people were travelers and something more. They had come to this land long ago under another name. A name long forgotten and replaced with vagary. De'Athyra, named for her mother, the chosen of Nicnevin, was guided by her voice and called to the mists as her ancestors once did and the mist came for the two wolves.

I hope this Okay, but I'm going to go ahead and post my background while I work on the character sheet. Note heavily inspired (and mercilessly stolen from) the works of Joe Abercrombie.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hw09uponbPI

Esker Manyblades "Hunger drives the wolf out of the wood." Huskul proverb

My ma, in the days before my brother took her tongue, told me I was born during a raging storm the likes of which they had never seen before. In my little village, amongst the clan of the wolf, lightning split the night's sky and thunder growled it's response. And neath it all in a tattered rain-battered tent my mother screamed in pain, for I was a big one even then, and those screams bore me into my stormy homeland. A storm I've followed near all my life and many a man's screams, both friend and foe, have echoed my ma's during that journey.

Some men are born to wear crowns and to bow to the gods and supposedly better men, but I am not one of those men. My path is the way of battle and the helm is the only crown I will ever wear.

I soon found my calling as a young man in that small village when the Jarl came looking for men to join his raids. My father gave me his blade, for his raiding days were long past. He had taught me that a sword is different from other weapons. He said, axes and maces and such are lethal enough, but they hang on the belt like dumb brutes. But a sword...a sword has a voice. Sheathed it has little to say, but you only need put your hand on the hilt and it begins to whisper in your enemy's ear. A gentle word, a word of caution. Now a half drawn sword, it hisses a dire threat and makes a deadly promise. The enemy must answer that threat or try to hush it with calls for calm. But a sword fully drawn. That sword shouts, it screams defiance and bellows a challenge. And that challenge must be met. So that is how I came to prefer a blade to other weapons and how my friends, and some enemies, came to name me Manyblades. One can never have too many blades.

In any case, I made the decision to reave with the young Jarl, for he was as starved for fame and fortune as much as I. My father said his farewell, my ma kissed me goodbye, my sister Gundren wept and my sister Sigrun merely shook her head and walked away. I don't know where my brother was, but I doubt he cared whether I was there or not. And so I left with dreams of gems, gold and glory. I found all three in short supply.

What I found was battle and the truth of many things. I've fought in seven pitched battles in countless raids and skirmishes and bloody actions of every kind. I've fought in the driving snow, the blasting wind, the middle of the night. I’ve been fighting all my life, one enemy or another, one friend or another. I’ve known little else. I’ve seen men killed for a word, for a look, for nothing at all. There are few men with more blood on their hands than me. None, that I know of. Manyblades they call me, my enemies, and there’s a lot of ’em. Always more enemies, and fewer friends. Blood gets you nothing but more blood. It follows me now, always, like my shadow, and like my shadow I can never be free of it. I should never be free of it. I’ve earned it. I’ve deserved it. I’ve sought it out. Such is my punishment.

And now it is here in this strange land, I have found myself, far from my home and friends and yes my enemies. If you want to be a new man you have to go to new places and find new people who never knew the man of your past. Perhaps the gems, gold and glory are to be found here. At the very least I will find adventure or death. My path has always found death it seems. But such is the life of a mercenary. The more you learn, the more you learn how little you know. But one thing I have learned is get what you can with words, because words are free, but the words of an armed man ring that much sweeter.

One additional request I make for the Ravenloft game.

What would you say is Esker's greatest regret or the thing that haunts him the most?

Abandoning family is the thing that haunts Esker the most. First his own, he left his mother and two sisters for adventure, leaving his brother behind, a man who had grown to be a savage murderer who sought power above all and eventually destroyed the bond they all had. Second the families he has sired, leaving several shield-wives throughout the lands he raided. He has fathered several children, but never been a father to any of them.

Oh yes, think I can work with that...

Do you and Darithe want your characters to transition into Ravenloft together?

Esker crouched behind the natural cover, the bow in his hands poised with arrow nocked. The damp morning had begun to warm already, promising swelter ere long, but he gave no attention to such things at the moment. The target of his mission moved not far off, speaking quietly with the girl. The willowy elven witch seemed oblivious to his presence and unconcerned, but the streak of crimson in her otherwise platinum blonde hair singled her out as plainly as a swan in a pond full of ducks...

To his left Iscind watched the same target, her own bow prepared to do the very thing it was made for; to kill. The branches and shrubs around them provided ample concealment and many openings to fire from, but the Elf and her charge had moved beyond some tangled undergrowth. The range was good, but no clear shot presentes itself... yet... Patience was critical in times like these. Who knew what tricks the witches had. Though the girl looked as if a strong wind could fetch her down, a coordinated attack was best... to fell the prey before it even knew it had been struck.

The rustle and chatter beyond told him they were still beyond the undergrowth, and half-glimpsed shapes and flashes of cloth confirmed it. Just a little closer... A fog had begun to roll in, slowly and thinly at first, but soon it thickened and spread as it cooled the air... if it progressed much farther, there would be no shot at all from this position, lest the girls walked straight up to their stalkers...

Esker motioned to Iscind, a wave of his tattooed hand, that their quarry lie ahead. Nocking an arrow in his short bow, he crept forward no long wishing to wait, lest the fog cloud their view further. He sighted the lock of red and then lowered his bow to the arc that would send his arrow into the elf's chest. He sensed Iscind near and without a word, let the arrow fly.

Iscind

She didn't fully know why they were hunting this particular elf and that troubled her. Granted, not enough to slow their hunt or to stay her hand when the target presented herself. She must have done something against their clan, that must be it, she thought. She followed Esker's signals and brought the longbow up judging the distance and the wind. She noticed the nuisance fog, but would not let that distract her aim. She must fire before it obscured her target even more than she already was. She felt the tension in the bow, felt the tension in herself too, and released the string.

The arrows sail into the brush towards their intended target just as the fog closes in. The switch and crack of the foliage being penetrated are followed quickly by sounds of surprise and pain from the girls beyond. Quickly rustling and sprinting as of a wounded deer return to the hunters, though the fog is near impenetrable now...

Esker motions to Iscind to stay close, as he moves forward deeper into the fog. He tries to scan the ground for tracks but the fog seems to be growing ever thicker with each moment. He curses, so close and now we might loose them. He looks for signs of blood thinking they may have hit one of the targets. Likely Iscind did, since she is the better shot with a bow.

Moving through the thick mist, the skilled rangers pour over the trail before them. A bit of red here, some crumpled moss and bent grass there... Between the two of them, they manage to pick up a faint but manageable path. The promised warmth of the morn has seemingly been completely suffocated by the damp, and a chill unnatural in this season begins to settle densely around them. After nearly an hour of tracking, the pair hear conversation not too far off. The voices seem like those of two excited young ladies, but there is something oddly familiar about them that has nothing to do with their intended prey...

Esker

Frowns at the sound of the voices and glances back at Iscind to see if she recognizes them. He moves a little closer hoping he can discern what they are saying.

Iscind (though boon companion and likely ally of many winters) most likely finds herself less familiar with the young voices than the one now known as 'manyblades'...

Beyond the veil of mist, a voice calls to him...
Eskey...? Is that really you?! The familiar voice from his childhood beckons him. OH! And Iscind! Be welcome, please... Esker's aunt's words called to them, her aged hands clapping happily.

But first, through the fog, the vision of his Jarl stared sharply through the floating precipitation. The eyes of his brother sliced past all pretense and predeliction; Shearing to the bone their purpose...

It is done, then? the powerfully adorned and capable war-chief and sibling states; inconcievable of any alternative.

Nearby the pair of rangers note a trio of women close-gathered about their Jarl... Esker's aunt and the two youngest sisters, in the barest flowerings of young womanhood...

Among the family young Esker and Iscind spied one unfamiliar figure... an older, grey-streaked bearded druidic looking fellow whose hide armor seemed to blend well in the natural setting. The skin of wolf adorned his shoulders and covered his head, though antlers sprouted from the furred top. He seemed to be conversing with the Jarl, while holding a carved wooden bowl of some odd mead-like tincture with floating herbs, leaves and petals within it.

===
edit to fix unreadable typos, not sure what happened at the end of the last post with my typing. i blame my phone and distraction

Iscind

Her eyes moved quickly over the figures in the mist. First, Esker's monstrous brother fools had bestowed the title Jarl upon. She knew his nature and cruel ways, but she followed him regardless. *Man må hyle med de ulve man er i blandt,* (One must howl with the wolves one is amongst.) as her father had taught her. And a wolf must follow its pack leader...until he fell or another took his place. Esker's mother, she barely knew. But she knew she was dead long before they had ever set out on this fool's errand. His sisters she knew only slightly but she also knew none of the people she saw before her were actually there. Save perhaps the stranger.

She ignored Esker's false-kin and strode defiantly before the shimmering figure. "Are you friend or foe?," she says as she slips her longbow over her shoulder and then rests her hand on the horse-head hilt sheathed at her side.

[ooc] LOL, did not realize Esker's mother was already deceased. She would not be part of the scene had I known so... Switching it to an aunt perhaps? Iscind's disbelief is still practical Also fixed a number of errors and how some of the text wasn't included. lol.[/ooc]