Eberron: The Return
Welcome to the world of Eberron.
Feel free to post your character profiles, journals, all that fun stuff.
Bonus xp, maybe some items. Plus, get to know your other players
It'll take me five hundred years to paint this/learn how to draw a hammer, so have a sketch of Karrsh in advance.
Name: Karrsh Bonecrusher (Clan Rynar; she doesn't use Rynar as her surname, but will mention it when introducing herself)
Appearance: In a word, huge. She's tall, even for a gnoll, standing at roughly seven and a half feet. Otherwise, she's pretty much standard fare for her species: leanly muscled rather than bulky, covered in spotted brown fur. Her eyes are red, which is not the most common color for a gnoll, but not exceedingly rare, either.
History: Karrsh left her home at the age of three (a common age for young gnolls to go wandering), accompanied by her fraternal twin brother Thirnar. Her home lies in a canyon carved by a tributary of the Scar River in southern Droaam, and the wastelands in which the canyon lies are particularly hot and dry. She left a sizable extended family there, though many of her siblings and cousins are scattered throughout Khorvaire on journeys similar to her own.
The two gnolls settled in Graywall. Within a year, Karrsh had joined up as a mercenary-in-training for House Tharashk. Her brother deigned to remain in the city, serving as one of the enforcers there. Thirnar can still be found there, working now under the authority of Governor Xor’chylic, and Karrsh always makes time to visit her brother when she finds herself in the city.
It wasn’t long before Karrsh found herself embroiled in the war. She traveled throughout a wide stretch of Western Khorvaire during her time with Tharashk, exploring broad stretches of the Shadow Marches, and serving a two-year stint defending Aundair’s border from Thrane. Specifically, Karrsh spent a good amount of time in the Liondrake’s Roar, a group of regiments comprised specifically of a mix of monstrous and humanoid races.
In the two years since the war has ended, Karrsh has found herself somewhat adrift. Her old regiment has disbanded, and she’s taken up more and more freelance work as of late. Gnolls—fierce though they are—are pack animals at heart, and take the bonds of brotherhood seriously. The loss of her former companions has made itself deeply felt, and this, combined with a growing restlessness, has finally driven her to her newest fledgling endeavor: adventuring…
Personality: Karrsh, like most gnolls, is a fierce hunter who revels in combat and bloodshed. She's also a career mercenary for House Tharashk, so she does all her in a (reasonably) professional manner. She's spent most of her life working with other solders of varying species, and functions perfectly well in most societies scattered throughout modern Khorvaire. She looks like a brute, a fierce warrior who is more beast than brain, but she’s relatively intelligent.
She can deal with peace and quiet, but she hates being bored, so in her off-time she can often be found wandering about her current surroundings, satisfying her curiosity and searching for new and exciting experiences. To her allies, she tends to be brusque, but friendly, with a sort of violent cheerfulness that pervades all of her actions. Though she's used to dealing with the quirks of the rest of Khorvaire's civilization on a whole, she's definitely not refined.
Karrsh handles anger in two ways. If she's angry at someone or something she can actively attack without drastic negative consequences, she will likely do it. However, she's often forced to interact with people she finds unpleasant. She tends to handle these people with icy politeness, and it's possible to gauge how irritated Karrsh is by counting the number of honorifics she peppers in her statements when dealing with these people. She doesn't like losing her temper in front of her political enemies, because to do so would give them grounds to label her as an ignorant savage, which she deeply resents.
She’s definitely a child of Droaam, and is proud of her heritage and of the accomplishments the young nation has made so far. Their lack of recognition at the Treaty of Thronehold is still something of a sore point for her. If she’s presented with an opportunity to further the agenda of her people, she will, but she doesn’t have a head for politics, and recognizes that these circumstances are more or less out of her control.
Like most gnolls of the Znir pact, Karrsh worships no deity, but chooses instead to honor her ancestors. Clan Rynar in particular places an emphasis on bloodline. They believe that they draw their strength from the strength of their ancestors, which flows in their veins. Karrsh is aware of and actually believes in many of the various and sundry deities of Khorvaire—she just doesn’t usually pay them homage. Deities are not to be worshipped, but they can be worthy of respect, and Karrsh has been known to give lip service to Dol Dorrn, Balinor, and Olladra on occasion.
Allies: House Tharashk, The Nation of Droaam (specifically, the authority of the daughters of Sora Kell and those who act on their behalf), Clan Rynar, Znir Pact (the gnolls of the Znir are remarkably united, and Karrsh will intervene in any way she can on behalf of a gnoll of the Pact regardless of where she finds them), House Sivis
Rivals: House Deneith, Church of the Silver Flame (indirectly; most residents of Droaam operate on a “enemy until proven friendly” basis with the Silver Flame), Gnolls of the Demon Wastes, Basically Every Damn Demon, really
Name: Arthur Beine
Height: 6’ 3”
Deity: Nkri goddess of the Void
Doctrine: Respect all life and the universe that surrounds it
History: Originally from a small barbarian tribe off the coast of Argonnessen, Beine once practiced their barbaric ways. Sometime in his late teens he had what he interpreted to be a prophetic vision, of what he believed to be an unknown goddess speaking to him. He was open about his experience, going so far as to tell everyone he knew in the tribe about what happened to him, though he was shunned for it. As time progressed he slowly abandon the ways of his people, seeking a different path in life, and openly practicing the doctrine which he had interpreted from his vision. His tribe cast him out for his ways, and in a moment of weakness, he fled without so much as a fight.
In a drunken stupor he managed to steal a small fishing boat, and sail it all the way to Khorvair, eventually landing on the beaches of Q’Barra. Due to his heavy intoxication at the time, he does not remember the events of the night as they truly were, and barely remembers those events at all.
He stayed in Q’Barra for a good many years, practicing his discipline further before eventually setting out, realizing that he had been neglecting a great portion of his doctrine this entire time. He set out to see the world, and the wonders it holds, using mercenary work as a fence for his travels, though the pay is hardly a thought on his mind.
The following Prayer is often spoken by Beine when he has killed or is giving a small service to someone who has been
“Prayer unto Nkri”
May your ambitions seek fruition
May your legacies be fruitful
In the name of Nkri, I commit thee to the void
Name: Nubnub ir'Granuut
Height: 3’ 5”
Nubnub was found somewhere in southwest Breland by Sergeant Tomas ir'Granuut, an infant crying under its dead mother. He was then raised by the Sergeant in the flying fortress of Arganth. Nub Nub was trained as a scout and an archer. Certain events by attacking bands of goblins led to his parting ways with the city and the people he trained with. Being a soldier with a good amount of self control is important to Nubnub. He was last seen as the bodyguard to a goblin merchant named Jerbla.
Name: Lucian Merchiot
Appearance: Short for a male half-elf at 5'8”, but otherwise normal. Black of hair and brown-eyed, with several scars over his body, though none in particular stand out. The Aberrant Mark of Terror appears on the small of his back. His shield bears a badger as a sigil.
History: Lucian was born the only son of a merchant family in Fairhaven. The family were respectable, home-owning general traders who often served as a buffer between traveling merchants and the more specialized traders of the district. Lucian was to be educated to the best standards the Merchiot family could afford and eventually take over what was to be the Merchiot family business, at least in the lofty dreams of his entrepreneurial parents.
All this was changed a few months after Lucian's sixth birthday, when a strange and unfamiliar symbol manifested itself on the child's back. Immediately recognizing the danger they faced, and unwilling to risk the life of their son, the family quickly removed themselves from Fairhaven, leaving behind their mercantile dreams to take up a life in the Aundair countryside. Eventually they settled in an unnamed farming village near Ghalt, there to ply their trade. Traveling under the excuse of seeking open air and a quiet life for Lucian's mother Anais, who had always been quick to illness and slow to recovery, the family was able to open a new general store in the village.
Life in this village was predictably boring for a young man growing up in a time of war, and Lucian constantly looked for a way to leave for adventure. His escape was eventually found in the form of Kiandran r'Lanneth, an elvish bard who stopped by the store on his way across the countryside and mentioned a need for an apprentice. Though his parents disapproved, Lucian left the village with Kiandran and joined him on his travels. Kiandran was pleased with how well Lucian took to the arts, as well as to the sword and shield he was given after the bard had defeated some highwaymen, but after a few years in Kiandran's tutelage Lucian grew tired of his apprenticeship. The singing was too frequent and the battles were too few, and his unique ability to move the emotions of others lent itself better to the latter than the former. The height of his time as Kiandran's apprentice came when the bard was hired by a group of mercenaries to help in clearing a bandit hideout. Lucian was taken along to see first hand how the bard's magic was as potent in battle as in revelry, but his attention was drawn more by the fighters. It would only be a few months after this that he would leave Kiandran to permanently join a mercenary group.
The next decade of his life would be spent in war and adventure, and Lucian thrived on the blood and terror he drew from his enemies. He eventually became the leader of his own small band of mercenaries, which grew ever larger as they participated in more and more of Aundair's victories. Unfortunately, he was so intoxicated by his power and bloodlust that by the time he realized that his “mercenary band” were little more than disposable conscripts for the Aundair army, it was too late.
The turning point came in the Battle of Lion's Crossing, where the army, and Lucian's mercenaries, stood in the farmlands of Windshire to defend against a raid from across the Wynarn river. It turned out that the intelligence Aundair's army was acting on was incorrect, and while the forces were prepared for the assault from the Wynarn, they knew nothing of the larger army that had landed at the confluence of Wynarn and Lake Galifar and marched through the Duskwood. Lucian was the only one from his band, and one of very few of Aundair's forces, to escape the slaughter.
His relentless advance halted, Lucian found himself lost. He would serve as soldier and bodyguard in small battles or missions for the remainder of the war, but where there was once the bloodlust of invincible youth there was now a distaste for the endless chaos of destruction. Lucian was left completely purposeless upon the war's conclusion. He wandered the world aimlessly for months until he came across a church of Arawai in a lesser city in Aundair. Swept up by both the teachings of growth and life offered by the clerics of Arawai and the litany of reconstruction coming from the Aundairian crown, Lucian swore himself to service of the church, to act as a defender of life instead of a taker of it. Newly clad in faith and heavy armour, Lucian has struck out into the world to make his new purpose in life.
Personality: Lucian is a terse but capricious soldier, as prone to speeches of vengeance as to lengths of silence. He naively pictures himself as a holy soldier and stalwart defender, when in reality he's currently little more than a more discriminate version of the mercenary he has always been. Lucian sees his main goals as an end to the thoughtless murders of the last war and to defend those who would be victims of such, but he has no reservations on how to achieve such goals. He holds petty criminals and “the unjust” in disdain, but doesn't interfere without reason.
Between his time in the Aundair army and his apprenticeship to Kiandran, Lucian has mixed with all classes, and can use both religious rhetoric and personal appeals with ease, making him a useful bodyguard for diplomats or a finder of information for those who need it.
In battle, his silent judgement is replaced by a fiery anger, and those who earn his ire by violence will be never forgotten or forgiven. Conversely, there are none he holds in higher regard than those who fight by his side, and in the flames of battle he is as quick to forge life-long loyalties as undying grudges.
“By my hand has death ever served death;
That now death may serve life:
Let the wrongs of the wicked
Weigh down my sword
With their inevitable judgement;
Let the terror in their eyes reflect
What they themselves have wrought;
May sword and shield serve aegis
To plow and scythe;
And may their gods show them mercy in death,
For I will show them none in life.
That justice be dealt,
Let it be so.”
The Harvest Moon of Aundair
Danny is pleased with the OOTS characters.
Based on our appearances, we half look like an evil campaign.
In reply to this post by Tomasik
A book is found in a swamp by a kid hunting for frogs. The binding itself seemed of quality leather. Upon opening the book, the boy noticed some pages were obscured, hard to read, or altogether missing. The first page he started on read:
"Not much to report since my last entry. It has been 6 months since my half self imposed exile, half banishment. No one told me to leave, Dad actually wanted me to stay, but with how I saw things, I didn't expect to live out the week. Few if any civilized people have any great love for goblins, be it their usual personalities, or their warlike society in general. For nearly 14 years I tried proving myself to be different to the men and women on the Arganth, but all they saw was a tiny little bandit monster dressed like a soldier. When we had to deflect the well organized, surprisingly for goblins, assault upon our flying fortress, we slaughtered them easily. Nevertheless, we did suffer some casualties. After the battle, my fellow soldiers that had fought with me began to eye me with something less than camaraderie. To then, I was just another little monster now.
I left the next day with my bow and arrows, and little else. I heard a promising -----"
The rest of the page was too water damaged to read, so the boy flicked through the book for something else readable...
Lines of Emigration (pt. 1)
21 Olarune, 994 YK
There was an old service road that ran from the city of Passage, overgrown and slowly melting back into the landscape around it. It had been built as a path to carry good to and from the Lightning Rail track, and as such it ran roughly parallel to the track that connected Passage to Fairhaven. The service road rarely saw use anymore. It was too small to be of any use to the troops that moved through the area, and while it once might have provided a useful route for bandits hoping to take their chances sabotaging and possibly robbing one of the trains passing through, the region had become too dangerous as of late, and they had taken their predations elsewhere.
Anyone watching from one of the passing trains might have been surprised, then, to see a glimpse of figures moving in the distance, following the faded path as it made it way northward: a human and a gnome, riding a horse and donkey respectively, both of them wearing the silver cockatrice of House Sivis embroidered into their long cloaks.
They moved in somber silence throughout the day, eventually veering westward from the service road. The human was merely a boy, a teenager at best, and he stared blankly ahead throughout the brunt of their journey, his face of expression. The gnome was nearly as silent, pausing only to tell his companion to watch out for an obstacle in the road, or to simply check on his companion. They ate in the saddle, and stopped only long enough to rest and water the horses. In this manner, they reached their destination some forty miles or so north of where they'd started.
“The Duskwood.” It was the gnome who had spoken, staring down from the top of a ridge that sloped gently down into the thickening fringe of the forest. “Not bad for a day's travel. C'mon, lad. We're nearly there.”
They skirted the edge of the woods until they found a small path. A single step took them from dusk to darkness as they moved through the trees, which were already blocking out the light of the setting sun. The woods were eerie, and not just for their darkness. It wasn't long before strange sounds began to drift through the murk—yips and yowls, distant screeches, and snatches of voices. Consternation finally won out over the boy's malaise, and he drew his horse up alongside his companion's donkey, asking softly, “Should... we be worried?”
“Mm?” The gnome glanced up, genuinely nonplussed at first. “Wha—oh. No, lad. Those aren't monsters in the forest.” A pause. “Well, actually, they are, but they're the monster's we came to see.”
The boy nodded, but his vaguely worried expression stayed in place. After a few more minutes, the woods opened up suddenly before them, revealing a vast clearing lit with torches and crowded with tents. There was smoke coming from the far end of the clearing, far more smoke than any campfire should produce. As the two carefully worked their way around the fringes of the camp, the reason became clear.
There had been a skirmish. The treeline near the sight of the battle had been blasted and scorched, and all around were the signs of fires recently put out. Bodies littered the ground, and moving among them, occasionally bending to check for signs of life, were soldiers.
“That's them?” The boy whispered, staring at the scene. After a moment, he added, in a soft and stunned tone of voice, “They're not wearing uniforms.”
“Lad, there's nothing 'uniform' about this lot,” the gnome replied with a chuckle.
The camp was alive with monsters. Minotaurs and gnolls strode through the remains of the battle; a knot of quick-footed goblins ran through the paths and alleys between the tents, dispersing and vanishing into the shadows. The longer the boy stared, the more outrageous the population became. Here, an ogre, methodically sorting and stacking the weapons that had been brought from the battlefield. There, a harpy, perched in a tree, peering out over the treetops in the distance. Most of them were talking as they worked, chatting or shouting or laughing, and the pervading air was a surprisingly jovial one for such a beastly lot. Then again, they'd clearly won whatever battle had taken place. They had every reason to be in good spirits.
Though they didn't wear uniforms, they all worse the colors of House Tharashk in one way or another—sashes, cloaks, even scarves, each adornment dictated by the shape of its wearer. Even the handful of hyenas that were snoozing near one of the campfires had red-and-golden collars.
“Right. We'd better make ourselves known,” the gnome said.
As they advanced, a single voice could be heard rising above the general hubbub. “Only four prisoners out of the whole lot of them. We're eating good tonight, boys!” This information was met with enthusiasm from the soldiers, who all cheered in their own myriad ways, filling the air with a dreadful cacophony.
A new voice cut through the roaring like a knife. “Don't get too excited, you wretched lot! We are not eating the corpses of the enemy soldiers.” He didn't speak necessarily loudly, but there was a note of stern authority in his tone that seemed to defy the efforts of all other sounds to drown it out. In an instant, the attention of every living thing left in the clearing turned toward the tall and heavily-armored figure striding briskly down the central aisle between the tents. He was a full-blooded orc, built like a brick wall with a pair of fists, and one look was all it took to discern that he was the leader of the encampment.
A low susurrus of dismay passed through the crowd. He didn't so much as slow his step, until a second voice plaintively called out, “Can we at least eat the horses?”
The orc paused. “...you can eat the horses--” He was interrupted by a renewed cheer, and he raised his voice, silencing his troops again, “You can eat the horses that are already dead.”
The soldiers seemed satisfied with this. As soon as he'd finished his pronouncement, The gnome slid off the saddle of his donkey, grabbing the beast's bridle and making his way across the clearing towards the camp. “Your men have an odd sense of humor, Captain.”
The captain looked his way for the first time. He cocked a brow, and the faintly quizzical expression was something of a humorous sight on his fierce, craggy face. “As I live and breathe. Zanzif d'Sivis. Still alive, I see.”
“Bah, as if I'm not going to outlive you.” The gnome grinned as he approached, and once again seemingly the entirety of the camp's attention had focused on the commander. It was obvious to anyone watching that they weren't used to anyone just casually approaching their leader like that. The two shook hands. “I'm on business, though, I'm afraid. We need to talk.”
The Captain nodded. At that point, the boy moved further into the camp for the first time, leading his horse. The movement caught the Captain's attention, and he nodded towards the human without taking his eyes off Zanzif in a silent question.
“Yeah, that's part of it.” That seemed to be all Zanzif was willing to say.
The Captain nodded and raised his voice. “Enough staring—as you were! Someone get this child a meal and a place to sit by the fire.” With that, he turned his back, heading down the main path towards his tent. Zanzif lingered, looking over his shoulder at his human companion, who was looking a little uncomfortable with the idea of being left alone in the middle of the camp.
“You’ll be fine, kid.” He paused, and added, “Just... y'know. Mingle.” He turned to follow the captain.
The inside of the Captain's tent was dominated by a large table in the center, over which a meticulously-drawn and highly-detail map sprawled, scattered with notes and stuck with pins of varying colors. Zanzif winced at the sight of such an obviously lovingly-crafted map being used as a pincushion. “You're lucky you arrived when you did,” the Captain said. “The two of you might have gotten caught up in the skirmish, otherwise.”
“Who were they? Bandits?”
“No. Brelish, we think. It looks like they were purposefully out of uniform, not carrying any kind of identification.” He shook his head irritably and leaned over the table. “The prisoners will be interrogated. Apparently, some time ago an army moved through these woods and decimated a large portion of Aundairs forces in the region at the time. We're on guard duty, us and a few other regiments up north. I think this was a scouting band, probably landed from the lake.”
Zanzif snorted. “I wish I had been there to see the looks on their faces. I don't think they were expecting you.”
“Nobody ever does,” The Captain gave a wry half-smile. “Now, whatever you're here for, it must be important, if Sivis sends a viceroy to meet me and my humble band in person.”
All traces of humor fled from Zanzif's face. He took a deep breath. “Have you received the news? Anything from outside this camp?”
“No today. Nothing aside from the standard messages from our fellows in the forest.”
The gnome nodded and released his breath in a sigh. “Right. So I get to be the one to tell you. Excellent. I... don't really know any way lead into this tactfully. Yesterday, there was a disaster of some sort. Nobody knows exactly what it was, or what caused it, or whether it'll happen again, but—Cyre. Something terrible has happened to Cyre.”
“Mingling” turned out to be easier than the boy had expected. The prevailing attitude towards him was simple curiosity. The regiment clearly didn't get very many visitors. Within a few moments he was seated around one of the fires, watching a half-orc turn a spit that pierced a hunk of dubious-looking meat. A few of the soldiers had joined him, some of them sitting around the fire, some of them pausing as they passed by.
“Don't worry, it wasn't a person,” a goblin sitting next to the boy assured him. “We know better than to rile up Captain Vadok.”
The boy allowed for a slight smile. “You're Tharashk, right?” This was met with a few nods and a couple of voiced affirmatives. His eyes narrowed slightly in concentration. “The... the Mark of Finding. Does he bear it?”
“Nope,” the goblin replied, “only humans and half-orcs get the Mark. You won't find many other fellas with his blood so highly-ranked.”
“You're really small for a human,” a harpy cut in. She was perched on one of the log-benches, her wings spread slightly to absorb the warmth from the fire. “I almost thought you were a halfling at first.”
“I'm fifteen,” the boy replied with a shrug. “Not grown yet. Not all the way.”
“Fifteen!” A gnoll across the fire barked. The statement was immediately met with laughter, for some reason that the boy did not understand. As it died down, the gnoll shook her head. “You humans age pretty slow. I'm not even ten yet.”
This seemed to take him by surprise. “Really?”
“Yep. We grow fast. 'Course... there's a reason for that. We've got magic in our blood, kid. Old magic. Dark magic.” She paused to judge the effect of this statement on her audience. The boy was staring, and, satisfied that she had the human's attention, she went on. “They say that long ago, when Eberron's fresh corpse was still cooling, there was an Age of Demons. Horrors beyond anyone's imagining spread all over the surface of the world, and one of these horrors were foot soldiers created by the fiends themselves to spread their evil. These foot soldiers grew quickly, the better to serve their masters, and stayed strong right up until the end of their days.”
The boy hesitated. “You mean, your kind?”
“Yes. We're an old, old race, but legend has it that our unnatural vitality is the last lingering gift from our former overlords. Our lives burn out quickly, but they burn strong, as well.”
The rest of the onlookers had fallen silent as the gnoll told her story. In that silence, the boy spoke again, tentatively. “Is it... is it true?”
In the unreliable light of the fire, all he could see of her face was her staring red eyes and the white flashing of her teeth as she spoke. “What do you believe?”
There was another long, silent pause, which was broken abruptly by the gnoll tossing her head back and bursting into laughter again. The others followed suit, leaving the boy to hang his head, somewhat embarrassed. Despite his surroundings and the events of the day, he managed a slight grin. “Well, I fell for it. That's just a story, then?”
“Oh, no,” the gnoll replied, controlling her laughter down to a snickering level. “As far as we know, it's all true. I mean, I wasn't around at the time.” She shrugged. “Mainly the look on your face was hilarious.”
The boy shrugged, and was about to speak when he heard Captain Vadok's voice cutting through the low babble of dinnertime conversation. “Roarers. To the standard.”
The gathered soldiers all exchanged puzzled looks, but they obeyed. The Tharashk standard was positioned on a tall pole near the Captain's tent, and before it stood a broad clear space for the regiment to gather. Captain Vadok was standing outside his tent, his arms crossed behind his back, his eyes trained on the ground, and his face set and grim.
Zanzif stood beside him. As the boy trailed along behind the monsters that he'd shared the fire with, he paused, a momentarily pained expression flickering across his face. He stopped in his tracks near the back of the crowd, letting the monsters mill around him.
“I have some... some very important news for you all.” Captain Vadok raised his face, looking out among his soldiers. “I know many of you have never traveled very far eastward. We are all children of the Marches, and of Droaam. There lies a country on the eastern border of Thrane named Cyre. Who here has traveled there?”
There was only one response. “I have, sir.” The harpy who had been sitting with their human guest wove her way to the front of the group. “Served a stint as a messenger in the Tharashk embassy. It was more or less like all the other human cities I've visited.” She shrugged with her wings.
Captain Vadok gave a short nod. “Very well. Though these events do not directly effect us, it is important that you all understand the magnitude of what has happened today, and what may... gods help us, what may happen again.” He glanced down to the harpy. “It's gone.”
“The embassy?” She asked, confused and a little annoyed. “They want to sever ties with Tharashk?”
“No. Not the embassy. Cyre,” Captain Vadok said, looking back over the crowd assembled before him. “Cyre is gone.”
In reply to this post by Bumbershoot
I'll award for the above items with xp before our next session
and with this post we start the "three weeks-three posts" program
If every player makes three posts between now and December 4th at 6:15 pm, I will give every single one of my players 1000 xp.
Posts include journals, drawings, anything to elaborate or contribute to the campaign
Note: not intending this to count as a journal, since these are mostly humorous or shallow. I'll put together an actual theme list later.
Party Character Themes:
\/ : Closer - Nine Inch Nails (Richard Cheese cover)
Arthur: Kung Fu - The Adventures of Duane & BrandO
Enishta: We Want a Rock - They Might Be Giants
Told you these were shallow.
Karrsh: Weasel Stomping Day - Weird Al Yankovic
I like to picture this one as a battle theme.
Lucian: Sympathy for the Devil - The Rolling Stones (Guns 'n' Roses cover)
More on the serious side, but I couldn't come up with something sufficiently silly. Maybe Shadow's theme from SA2 because of all the EDGE.
Nubnub: Captain Hampton and the Midget Pirates - The Aquabats
I'll leave it up to you whether Nubnub is Captain Hampton or a midget pirate.
Alternatively, Ride of the Valkyries, which is not only his battle theme, but the theme for every action he takes.
Veia: Been Caught Stealing - Jane's Addiction
It had been a long time since Karrsh had eaten anyone's actual head. She hoped it wasn't going to give her indigestion.
All in all her first visit to Sharn had been pretty fun. She'd been set on fire and nearly killed once or twice, but none of that seemed to be particularly out of the ordinary as far as business as usual in the City of Towers--or, at least, this is what she had been led to believe in regards to the city's reputation. Regardless, she could say with satisfaction that there had never been a dull moment.
The city had revealed its fair share of surprises, too. If anyone had told her that she would be spending the night in a university, much less working for one, she probably would have laughed in their face. The gnoll wasn't as thick-headed as most people assumed her to be, but she was also no great scholar and well aware of this fact. It seemed, though, that even the institutions of learning in Sharn were touched by the city's adventurous and dangerous reputation: these scholars were no pedagogues. They felt more like seekers of fortune.
That was something Karrsh could definitely respect.
Now they found themselves outside of some ramshackle structure, ready to step through the doorway and follow the path inside down into the depths of the city's literal underworld. Karrsh gave the air a contemplative sniff. She couldn't pick anything up other than the musty smell of stale underground air and the thick scent of blood from the fallen kobolds. Whatever lay beyond that doorway and those shadows was a mystery.
She wasn't worried. Mysteries were exciting, and possibly dangerous (and danger was also exciting in its own right, so Karrsh really couldn't have been more enthusiastic about the entire affair). The scuffle with the kobolds had invigorated her, and she was already itching for the next challenge this errand would throw her way. Aside from her own confidence, she was keenly aware that the group she had traveled to Sharn with--the group whose company she was currently enjoying--were a pretty damn competent bunch (especially the goblin; Karrsh couldn't really explain why, but he, more than any of their other companions, impressed her).
For the first time since the end of the war, she felt something very faintly like the kinship she'd experienced with her old squad. Karrsh didn't know where any of them would be tomorrow, but it still felt good to be part of a proper pack, even if the arrangement was almost certainly temporary.
She gave one last sniff and bared her teeth in an eager grin. They might have been tracking down an inanimate object, but the feeling in the air was still the same: the hunt was on.
In reply to this post by Alraekinn
Over the past week my dreams have slowly been becoming more cryptic, they don’t hold the same wonderment or strange visions that my normal dreams would hold, perhaps they are a product of stress, though I believe the goddess may be speaking to me. I’ve decided to start writing them down, as I feel there seems to be some sort of significance to them.
The First Dream
It began with me waking up on a cold tile floor, as if I had been sleeping there or perhaps I had passed out. The room was filled with a thick fog that I could barely see through, only a single light faintly shining throughout it. I began to head towards the light, and walked through the fog for some length of time, I’m not sure how long it was, but it felt as if several days had passed with the equivalent amount of fatigue weighing on me. When I found the source of the light, it seemed to be an ornate fire pit, the flame within it possessing some sort of strange attribute, as it shone brightly as if it was made of some sort of metal. I proceeded forward and placed my hand in the fire, the flame travelling up my arm in a matter of seconds as if it were covered in a fuel of some kind. My arm began to contort and cramp, as from my fingertips and up began to slowly change to metal and lose all feeling, like I was being turned into a statue.
I was filled with rage, quickly striking my own arm incoherently, losing control of myself in a matter of seconds, screaming in a mix of panic and anger, though it was quickly ended. I felt a massive pressure choke around my arm as it was separated from my body in one fell swoop by a large blade, sending me onto the ground from the transferred momentum. I looked to see who had done this to me as the pain seemed to stop burdening me once my arm was taken, all I could see was a silhouette. It stepped towards me and held a hand out, and I reached out for it, though before I could take the silhouettes hand I heard cracking under me, as the floor gave out and I fell through it, the silhouette diving to try and catch me, though it was unsuccessful. I suddenly heard something scream “Za-” in both of my ears, like they were right next to me and screaming at the top of their lungs, after that I woke up.
I’m not sure what to think of this dream, my actions did not feel as though they were my own, and the presence of the silhouette and that scream only perplex me further. If I had to take a guess, the silhouette looked to be a woman of some sort, but it was still difficult for me to recall it in my head. As for the scream at the end of it, I’m not sure, “Za” doesn’t hold any sort of significance to me, and I can’t think of anything that sounds like it that does, though it sounded like the scream was cut off.
I believe the goddess may be trying to speak to me again, though part of me feels as though this may just be a product of stress and doubt, I want to believe it’s the goddess, but I haven’t had dreams like this since I was in Argonnessen
The Second Dream
The second dream began with me sprinting after someone through a void that looked as though it were the night sky. No matter how hard I ran I couldn’t catch up to him, I even felt like I was moving in a slower frame of time than whoever this was, as he seemed to be able to move faster than me in all aspects, even stopping to look back and taunt me. He was a bearded man, wearing black clothes with a white cloak and a crimson scarf, despite the clothing he seemed mostly discrete, though every step he took left a footprint of blood as I continued to chase him. The man was laughing at me throughout the entire dream, though it became difficult to focus on things as towards the end of it all I began to hear the name “Ishmael Thaga” uttered over and over, so much so that it began to overlap with itself, drowning out all other noise that I could hear until the very end of it. The black silhouette from the previous dream appeared next to me, running alongside me as if it was trying to help me in my pursuit of this man. The silhouette and I began to close in on the man, getting closer and closer before he turned around, an expression of shock on his face before I heard a voice scream “-ahi-” in similar fashion to the previous dream, I woke up after hearing that.
If this is the work of the goddess, I’m not quite sure what she’s trying to tell me, I’ve never heard the name “Ishmael Thaga” nor do I know what significance it could have. Not to mention the screams, “Za- ” and “-ahi-” still aren’t familiar to me, Zaahi? Either way, it’s still just as foreign to me as it was before. Maybe this really is the work of the goddess.
The Third Dream
The most recent dream of mine was a great deal more bearable than the previous ones. I was walking along the shores of Argonnessen at around sunset, though the world held still, the waters did not lap upon the sands of the shore, the breeze could not be felt, nothing moved except me. I sat upon the shore and looked out to the sunset for a great deal of time before the world finally moved again, how long it was I do not know. Once the world started to move again, I saw a figure rising out of the water as if they were walking up stairs. The figure that rose from the water was the silhouette from my past two dreams, though this time I felt as though I was looking at a friend of mine. As opposed to the last two dreams, there was no scream at the end of it, a calm voice spoke to me, only saying “-ra”, from there I woke up.
This dream was much shorter than the other two, but I feel like there’s something about it I don’t fully understand. As for the noises at the end of my dreams, they seem to form some sort of name “Za-ahi-ra”. Zaahira, perhaps the goddess is trying to tell me to find someone? I’m taking a security job on the skyrail in a few days, perhaps I will meet them there…
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