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nijineko's world

My Favorite D&D Characters

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Quote Originally Posted by nijineko View Post
hmmmm, i would have to say that my current "favorites", which to me means the ones i'd currently play first if given my choice of any of my wide array of favorite characters, are either Meo of Golden Valley, or Path of Ursailia and Prii the Twice-Forsaken.

Meo is a druidicly-trained lad who through streneous application of himself, learned how to shapechange without becoming a druid or learning any magic at all, arcane or divine. (and legally to boot!) He and his mentor had many philosophical discussions about the nature of power and freedom and responsibility... many of their disagreements boiled down to a variant of, "why should i subject myself to another power, and take up the druidic oaths-even to one as grand and glorious as nature obviously is-when i have the power to be free within myself?"

He still favors his druidic training, even to this day, and is even widely known as a healer, shapeshifter, and druid, despite his choices in life. He even managed to maintain friendly relations with the druidic circles of his mentor's association after his mentor passed on. He is actually a native to the Golden Valley region, although few know that he was the misshapen warped and half-melted looking child that they cast out for his physical differences and uncanny appearence.

He has an uneasy relationship with the villagers, tolerated because of his long association with the druid, he still gets pleasure from freaking them out about his in-depth knowledge of them and their doings. A minor revenge that he can't seem to bring himself to stop taking. After all, who suspects the dog that steals sausage from the floor in the tavern, or the cat lounging on the haystack, or the bird nesting in the tree?

Path of Ursailia and Prii the Twice-Forsaken travel together, and are pretty much a two-for-one arrangement. Path hails from a lost and almost completely forgotten legendary city of yore. And the grey elven community who built and maintain and live there, likes to keep it that way. Grey elves are noted for being reclusive and exclusive even for elves, barely tolerating other elves, let alone the lesser races of mortals. Of course, not all are like that, but unfortunately, his particular grove of elves is extremely so.

Unfortunately for him, because his great-grandfather commited the heinious and unforgivable faux pau of not only siring a child on a grugach-practically worse than siring a half-elf, at least the lesser mortals play at civilization, unlike grugach-but then keeping the child and finally marrying the grugach-wife!! His grandfather lives with the grugach, never spoken of in polite society, and his father, the spitting image of his great-grandfather, returned to proper society to redeem his family's honor. Alas and woe, his child (Path) bore the stigma his heritage... in all ways but one, a proper looking grey elf: violet eyes like a gem of the rarest amethyst, well formed, comely, straight, strong and tall, long and shining golden waves of hair... and with a tell-tale ravenlock that betrays his heritage. In shame, his father changed his name-abandoning his family name-and became a reclusive researcher and scholar.

Growing up alone and socially ostracized, even by those who would take pity on the poor (effective) orphan child, lest his socail stigma attach to them as well; Path rapidly learned to be quick and self-sufficent. He also learned to avoid the torments of all the other children, few as they were. His dream was to become an Arcane Archer, the highest and most honorable of the various castes in his world. These elite warriors defend the city walls and stand in glorious review before the entire city come the times of festivals. (Not that anything has gotten close enough to the city for it to need defending in hundreds of years....)

To his dismay and turmoil, he was completely unable to learn magic the way it was taught. The wizardly training simply did not take with him, and of course, there is only one proper way to learn or practice magic in a rigid grey elf society. The teasing and subtle torment only became worse as his fellow aged became proficient with magic and used it to further torment him while not revealing themselves. The ceremony of graduation where all were called upon to show their skills and be judged for what caste they would enter was an exercise in sheer torture and humilation. At first, cautiously praised for his skill in bow, he was then called upon to dislpay his magical abilities. A mean-minded fellow graduate used a minor cantrip to pull away his hair restraint revealling his ravenlock. Pubilically derided before all, he was finally judged a failure, and commanded to enter the Outliers Caste-the lowest and least honorable of all Castes. In his public disgrace, he vowed that he would never utter another word, unless it was to successfully cast a spell, qualifying him for the High Archer Caste.

There as an Outlier he learned the ways of the forest, and the ways of nature, honing his skills in keeping any from ever finding the city, and trading with the privledged few who were aware that elves lived somewhere in these mountains, even if they knew not who or what they were. The Outliers, he discovered, are the ones who do the actual grunt work of sullying their swords in the flesh and blood of the lesser races who incroach upon the mountain stronghold. In this fashion, he finally met with his grandfather, as the "primative" grugach were the majority of the source of the trade the city needs. His grandfather began training him in the physical arts of the High Archers, having been one himself. The unique calligraphy pens that teach the hand the shape of the bow being among one of the secrets of the High Archers, Path also became an accomplished calligrapher and scribe. His grandfather kindly did not discuss magic with him.

While he kept his vow of silence, through writing and listening he learned much more of the world, and different ways of seeing and thinking about things, eventually taking up posts to the outmost regions of their territories, watching the other races, and learning. His grandfather became well pleased with him, and a sorce of comfort and solace in his life, where before he had had none. Still he stubbornly held to his vow. He received from his grandfather, and ancient knife, long used by elves to carve wondorous bows, said to contain much magic for any who were skilled in the arts of the boyer.

Path focused on honing his skills as an archer. He became a master boyer, and a master archer. Eventually he took up the least desired position in the Outliers Caste. He actively interacted with the other races, often far from home, seeking new arrangements of trade needed by the city. He used the opportunity and studied anywhere and with anyone who could increase his skill and knowledge of the bow. He adventures now, seeking any way to increase his skill. He claims to be the second best archer in all the world. When he is asked whom is the best, he writes in beautiful script this reply: I don't know, I have yet to find one. But, I can always hope.

Prii's story began long before Path was born. She was a warrior in the great wars that tore apart the various nations, completely erasing many, centuries ago. The love of her life was an elf with whom a torrid and passionate relationship was born among the ashes of war. She was utterly faithful to him and longed for the fleeting times they were able to share together. She was devastated when he cut off their relationship, claiming that she was infringing on his freedom, and that life was too long to be tied down to one person, no matter how passionate. A bit of her heart died that day. She threw herself into the war effort, streching her powers to the limit, taking insane chances, frankly hoping to die.

Yet the fateful day came when once again they met, and the passion had not died any, if anything, it was stronger than ever before. She railed against her self, but could not overcome that she had given her heart, and herself to him completely. Once again the romance between them was such that the bards sought to follow them, on the chance that they would meet. Even on the battlefield, they would call to one another of their love, inspiring each other and those around them.

Until the day that she found him in the arms of another, unfaithful to the last. In rage, she vented all the emotions of her spurned heart at him, and left for the battle. There she would not fight near him, but turned away and sought to breach the enemies lines headlong. And in that fateful battle, she broke through the enemy lines, and won a brief respite for her beleagered land, and found that he had died in battle that day. Desperately and bitterly regreting her harsh words being the last he had heard from her, and despite his unfaithfulness, she sought one to catch his spirit before it passed too far beyond and to bring it back.

His spirit did return... if only long enough to tell her that there were too many grand adventures in the afterlife to be bound down to just one woman. Weeping and utterly desolate, she fled. The tide of the war inexorably turned against her people, and she found herself one of a very few survivors fleeing for their very lives. Long she wandered the lands in disguise, unable to end her life-not only was such against her beliefs, but she could not stand the possibility of meeting him again in some afterlife-she sought out any other means that could meet her beliefs, and yet provide relief. She took the name Twice-Forsaken during this time. The ominous sound of it tended to ward off the casually curious.

At long last her quest brought her to the attention of a most unusual dragon... and upon earning his trust, found her answer in the ancient repository of the dragons wisdome and store of knowledge. Through a difficult and complicated ritual involving very careful timing and the acquisition and usage of very specific powers, she successfully abandonded her body-transforming, hiding, and protecting it-and learned how to inhabit the metal of blades.

The blade she chose and still inhabits is a certain blade which does in fact enhance the skills of a boyer. A blade originally owned by none other than her twice-loved, and by whom she was twice forsaken. She has hibernated the centuries away, subconsciously maintaining the powers which preserve her, briefly awakening now and again-mistaken for an intelligent magic dagger-an error of perception that she appathetically doesn't care enough about to correct.

One day she was woken by an outburst of pain and tragic loss, sufficently like her own to stir her curiosity, to awaken and stir, and join in the tribulations of her mute grey-elf holder, curiously with a most-un-grey-elf-like ravenlock, his pain as deep and turbulent as her own, if different; and the party with which he silently strives to overcome a tomb filled with horrors. Left without even corpses to bury or remove from the tomb, they press on determined to make the sacrifices of their companions meaningful.

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