Πέμπτη, 17 Νοεμβρίου 2011

A Malkavian's thought of trains: No Barking

Greetings, minions. Salutations and all. Nice clothes, Cheryl. Love 'em. You've all been summoned here today for a very intricate occassion. Today is a special day. The common man would say that today is Thursday, February 2, 1991. However, "The common man's a fool" as H.L Mencken said a few decades ago, and who am I, or who are you, to dispute the words of someone who is apparently "Sage of Baltimore"? Taking it from there, Mr. T from the A-Team said "I pity the fool", and who are you, or who am I, to dispute the words of a huge, vicious monstrosity with a mohawk? I am quite convinced that somewhere in the sands of time, there was a guy with a long nose and a longer pillum who yelled something about pity to his soldiers, but for the unlife of me I cannot remember, so let's leave it at that. Fools, all of them. Oblivious to the unfathomably mind-wrecking plans that are being drawn here. Well, that are about to be drawn, for they have not yet been drawn.

Today's the day when we do a little something to spread contagious confusion throughout Chicago. "But WHY?!" some of you may ask, and those some of you are ultimately kindly asked to evacuate the room within the next few seconds. Not you Cheryl, please don't leave. You are eye candy. The second question that would naturally arise, is "But HOW?!". That question is admirable, and its answer is five times as admirable. As you all are perfectly aware, Chicago, and any city for that matter, has ridiculous amounts of cars, bikes and other 4-wheeled means of transport. These said means of transport, however, do not transport people from destination to destination all the time. They sometimes become means of worthlessly occupying space for prolonged periods, abbreviated as "parking". Naturally, such an act of defiantly declaring that a certain location shall be owned by your vehicle until its departure has risen turmoil which has taken the form of street signs proudly bearing the caption "NO PARKING". That, dearest minions, is where you come in with your spray cans and your pencils and your chalk and whatnot. By simply adding half an oval, the caption magically transforms to "NO BARKING". What is the world coming to when citizens stop to ponder whether street signs demand orders from man, dog, or Gangrel? A man barks not, a dog and a Gangrel bark yet read not, so why make such a ridiculous demand that cannot be met by anyone? Mind-boggling. Meanwhile, vehicles will be free to stop at will wherever they please, as there will be nothing to restrain them. Personal space will be invaded casually, while the minds of people will burn over the transformation of all the signs into a paradox. There will be chaos. Mischief. Mayhem.

You are all expected to grab your favourite tool for painting and be part of this masterplan, as I myself will be. Cover your faces well, and, being annoying flies, be careful not to be caught by spiders. If the spiders do catch you in their whimsical web, mislead them by saying you are of anarchistic nature. Yes... Point them to the Anarchs. They deserve it. They had it coming. At any occassion, do not let this get backtracked to me. I've already dived headlong into the lake of infamy once, and it was undoubtedly the most unpleasant swim I've ever had. I would not ask for another one. Now go forth, minions. Go forth and erupt sweet chaos! Except for you Cheryl. Stick around a while, those clothes of yours have risen inside me the need to examine their contents.


Omnievul wrote that shit.

Τρίτη, 4 Οκτωβρίου 2011

A Malkavian's thought of trains

Oh, is it my move? Yes, it is my move. I was caught up in thoughts. I will indeed make my move, but first things first. Goddamn, what a useless phrase. Of course first things come first, who the hell thinks otherwise? Anyway. It's time I told you a bit about my id, my ego and my superego.

I guess you can call me Ray. Ray Perth. That's what people who claim to know me call me. I am not fond of titles though, no, I am not. Titles are misleading. Titles are yet another mask upon oh so many masks everyone and everything wears. They're the lawyers throwing dust in the eyes of the judges who want to see the truth, the real truth, beyond all compromisations. Now, now, bear with me, I will ellaborate. You call a tree a 'plant'. A title. Good, acceptable. I call a tree a hairy, tall monster who miraculously springs from the earth and gradually devours the sun and turns him into oxygen. Your precious title of a 'plant' does not cover that, does it now?

Anyhow. Hey, do not allow me to go on a rant again, okay? I have a move to make. I would not want to make you wait more. Let's keep it brief. As I was saying, the name is Ray Perth. A year has passed since I stared into the Abyss with all three of my eyes, the third one mostly. I never thought one may be Enlightened by being engulfed in malignant Darkness, but I was proven wrong in a most celebrant way. A way which included a lovely mistress and a pair of fangs, escalating to one hundred faces, one thousand voices and ten thousand broken fragments of colourful mirrors, reflecting the whole world in them, escalating to complete and utter chaos. And to think I was so cock-sure about my petty little view of the world, hehe. Oh well, it does not matter anymore because... uhm... Hey, would you mind stopping that noise you make? It interferes with my train of thought. Now where was I? Something about a view? A train? The view from a train's window? Oh fuck this, let's move on.

For now, I am just a pawn, one small pawn within the massive entity that is the Camarilla, or so I am treated. Am I really just a small pawn though? No, I am not. I am a special pawn. You will soon come to find what pawn I am.

You see, as long as I can remember - mind you, I remember a lot, I even remember things I have never known sometimes - I've had this, this natural curiosity to study people. But I mean really study them. Man, be he kine or kindred, is a well of secrets. You treat him right and you get one free dip of the bucket into the well. Multiply that by the appropriate number of times and you get the whole fucking well. The funny part, however, is that he does not even know that someone's been quenching his thirst off his own water, so when the time comes that he finds out, you should look closely for the reaction on his face - priceless! Hahaha! Good times. So now the water is rightfully yours to use. Well done! This is not where it ends though. No, it is not. There's more. I know, I know I have to make my move. Relax, it's only one move I have to make. I've almost concluded my story. Listen up. Even if you're not the biggest nor the strongest of them all, you can gain the upper hand, no, you can gain the uppest hand, if you just observe. Observe your surroundings. Observe the people you associate with. Observe and steal their water. What can they do to you when you already know what they're planning? Can they harm you when you know exactly what weapon they're going to use? Can they hide from you their feelings when you can see right through their eyes? No. They cannot. If they tell you they can, they are lying, in which case watch for their pants. They're most likely on fire. Haha! Wow, that was a bad joke man. I am sorry.

So? Have you found out yourself? Or do I need to clarify? The kind of pawn that I am is this one. The one I am holding in my hand right now. The one I am going to use in my next move. I am this small, seemingly useless little pawn that carries orders reluctantly while making plots and serving purposes of its own. The chess table, the rest of the pieces, they've all been studied since the very first moment. I have them right where I want them to. I have insight on them all. I have been watching and suiting everything to my cause so that I may reach the end of the table and claim what is rightfully mine. Power through knowledge. And now is the time to strike.

Which reminds me of my last move. Checkmate.

Written by Omnievul

Σάββατο, 24 Σεπτεμβρίου 2011

Budget shortage? Fire your artists!

Χαιρετώ σας για άλλη μια φορά,ω NPCs του RPG και συ.

Ο Σεπτέμβρης μπήκε, η υπέροχη φθινοπωρινή ψύχρα επέστρεψε κι εγώ αποφάσισα να ανεβάσω ξανά ένα entry το οποίο απαιτεί να πατήσω περισσότερα πλήκτρα από Ctrl+V. Μιας και κάποιοι από σας διατηρείτε και οι ίδιοι blogs, ελπίζω ότι θα καταλάβετε πως τούτο είναι μια μεγάλη απόφαση όταν υπάρχουν τόσες ωραίες ιστορίες στο αχανές ίντερνετ που περιμένουν να γίνουν re-post, απαιτώντας ελάχιστο κόπο από μεριάς μου. Αν πάλι δε με καταλαβαίνετε, θα επικαλεστώ τις δικλείδες ασφαλείας "Κανείς δε με καταλαβαίνει" και "Δεν ξέρετε τι περνάω" και θα τις συνοδέψω με ένα embedded video clip των Bullet for my valentine. Αυτό ίσως να μου κερδίσει και μερικά comments συμπαράστασης από άλλες σκοτεινές ψυχές εκεί έξω,τα οποία εγώ θα βλέπω και θα γελάω ηχηρά όσο θα ακούω Gorerotted.

Seriously now.

Μόλις πρόσφατα ανέλαβα την ευθύνη να κάνω Storytelling σε ένα Vampire cotterie 4 ατόμων το οποίο αποτελούν ένας Toreador,ένας Ventrue, ένας Malkavian κι ένας Assamite. Έχοντας αρχικά χαμηλές βλέψεις για την μακροβιότητα αυτού του campaign, Αποφάσισα να βγω από τον κόπο του να γράψω δικό μου story (σοκαριστικό ε?) και να τρέξω ένα από τα έτοιμα adventures της White Wolf,πιο συγκεκριμένα το Ashes to Ashes(1991). Δε μπορώ να πω ότι η ιστορία και η δημιουργικότητα του εν λόγω story με εντυπωσίασε, αλλά το πρόβλημα μου βρίσκεται αλλού.
Όταν μετά από 2-3 prelude sessions ανακάλυψα πως τελικά το cotterie μπορεί να έχει λαμπρό μέλλον και πως οι χαρακτήρες από τους οποίους απαρτίζεται ήταν -παραδόξως- όλοι ωραίοι, αποφάσισα να κάτσω να σουλουπώσω λίγο την ιστορία κάνοντας μια πιο εκτεταμένη έρευνα στο εν λόγω setting και συνεπώς ανοίγοντας και διαβάζοντας το Chicago by night.

Ήταν τότε που είδα την αλήθεια,αγαπητά μου NPCs. Ήταν τότε που άρχισα να νιώθω το φόβο να ελοχεύει γύρω από την καρδιά μου και την καταστροφή να παραμονεύει γύρω από το mood του storytelling μου κάθε φορά που άκουγα την ερώτηση "Έχει πορτραίτο αυτός ο χαρακτήρας?". Ήταν τότε που κατάλαβα πως όποτε oι παραγωγοί της White Wolf έμεναν από λεφτά, έκαναν περικοπές αποκλειστικά και μόνο από τους σχεδιαστές και ανέθεταν τις αρμοδιότητές τους στα 4χρονα παιδιά τους.

Ήταν τότε που είδα αυτά:


Garwood Marshall - Tremere,Appearance 3
Μια μοναχική νύχτα κατά την πάροδο των αιώνων,οι Tremere του chantry του Chicago συνειδητοποίησαν πως ο λόγος που τους μισεί όλος ο κόσμος είναι επειδή διακρίνονται από μια ολική έλλειψη χιούμορ και θετικού πνεύματος. Εκείνο το βράδυ,ο Garwood Marshall αποχαιρέτησε τη θνητή του ύπαρξη. Ο Garwood Marshall είναι γενικότερα ένας πολύ καλός τύπος,που σε αφήνει πάντα να τελειώσεις την πρότασή σου και σου παραχωρεί τη θέση του στη σειρά του super market άμα έχεις λιγότερα πράγματα. Λέγεται πως ο Good guy greg είναι ένας θνητός απόγονός του.

Joshua Tarnopolski - Brujah,Appearance 1
Μια μέρα, όταν ο Joshua ήταν ακόμα ένα μικρό,ξέγνοιαστο παιδί,ο πατέρας του αποφάσισε να πάρει τον γιο του μαζί του για κηνύγι. Εκείνη τη μοιραία μέρα,κατά τη διάρκεια του κηνυγιού ο Joshua δέχθηκε σφοδρή επίθεση από ένα άγριο Photoshop. Ο πατέρας του ξεπάστρεψε το κτήνος όσο πιο σβέλτα μπορούσε,αλλά τα αιχμηρά liquify και stretch του κτήνους είχαν ήδη παραμορφώσει τον νεαρό Joshua πέρα από κάθε αναγνώριση.

Phillipe Rigaud - Lasombra, Appearance 3
O Phillipe είναι κακός. Πολύ κακός. Τα υψηλά ratings που έχει στα disciplines Obtenebration και Obfuscate του επιτρέπουν να αφαιρεί ολοκληρωτικά την σκίαση από το πρόσωπό του,να αψηφά τις ανθρώπινες αναλογίες και να μεταμορφώνεται σε ένα ανίερο 2D πλάσμα. Φήμες που έχουν γεννηθεί με πηγή το βλέμμα του λένε πως πριν το embrace του ο Phillipe δεν είχε χέσει ποτέ,και πως πιστό του ghoul εδώ και αιώνες αποτελεί ο Sam the Eagle.

Edgar Drummond - Ventrue,Appearance 1
Το sourcebook ισχυρίζεται πως ο Edgar αποτελεί παιδί του Prince Lodin (wtf), αλλά όλα δείχνουν ότι ο Edgar απέκτησε τα δώρα της αθανασίας μέσω του τρόπου που υποδεικνύει το Super adventure club.Έχοντας μπει στην Camarilla,o Edgar βρίσκει όλο και πιο δύσκολο το να κρατήσει τις παλιές του συνήθειες ακέραιες,καθώς ελάχιστα είναι τα φορτηγάκια παγωτατζίδων που λειτουργούν μετά τα μεσάνυχτα. Είναι επίσης γνωστό πως το Presence του λειτουργεί αντίστροφα,κάνοντας τον Εdgar έναν μόνο,θλιμμένο παιδεραστή.

Neil Graham - Brujah,Apperance 2
Μερικά λεπτά πριν ο sire του Neil αποφασίσει να φέρει το τέκνο του στον κόσμο των Vampires, ο Νeil είχε μόλις ανοίξει ένα link το οποίο έφερε στον τίτλο του την φράση 2girls1cup. Το βλέμμα που είχε ο Neil κατά τη διάρκεια του embrace του τον έχει συντροφεύσει για όλη την υπόλοιπη αιωνιότητα.

Anthius - Gangrel, Appearance 4 (note: Greek)
Ο Anthius, που το πραγματικό του όνομα πριν το embrace ήταν κατά πάσα πιθανότητα Χαράλαμπος (Λάμπης), ήταν ένας απλοικός βοσκός σε κάποιο χωριό της Hπείρου και ζούσε μια ήρεμη ζωή,ώσπου μια μέρα ανακάλυψε πως ένα από τα πρόβατά του βοσκούσε μόνο τη νύχτα. Το πως ο νεαρός Λάμπης κατέληξε να λέγεται Anthius και να μένει στο Chicago,ή το τι ακριβώς σκέφτηκε ο σκιτσογράφος όταν οι παραγωγοί του είπαν να σχεδιάσει έναν Έλληνα με appearance 4 παραμένει άγνωστο.



Αφου λοιπόν είδα αυτά αλλά και πολλά ακόμα υπέροχα πορτραίτα στο Chicago by Night, καθώς και τα υπέροχα plotlines που περιέχει (ex. A madman with almond eyes approaches the character and presents her with a rose. This encounter has no meaning and is not the plot of any other Vampire - it is intended merely to confuse) ,αποφάσισα να ζητήσω συγγνώμη από τους παίχτες μου για την επιλογή μου και να μην ανοίξω ποτέ ξανά οποιοδήποτε βιβλίο της White Wolf έχει εκδοθεί πριν το 1997.
Παροτρύνω οποιονδήποτε θελήσει να κάνει Storytelling στο Vampire: the Masquerade και όχι στο Αesthetics : The Shattering
να κάνει ακριβώς το ίδιο.

Παρασκευή, 12 Αυγούστου 2011

What is honor?



As narrated by Vinas Solamnus, founder of the Solamnic knighhood,1791 PC



Once there was a young man who inherited three treasures from his father,
gifts from the God Paladine. They were three treasures, in three locked chests.

The first was large and heavy. It was marked "Talents,"
and was filled with gold, platinum and steel, a fortune that could buy him the world.

The second chest was larger and heavier still. It was marked "Compassion,"
and it was filled with countless magic rings. Each ring let the wearer feel
emotions of one person or creature in the world.

The third chest was the largest and heaviest of all. It was marked "Honor,"
and what it held, not even the young man knew.

You see, the young man had two keys, one for the box marked "Talents," and the other for
the box marked "Compassion." His father had said that Talents were meant to be used,
and compassion was meant always to be at hand and available in plenty.
But Honor was a thing too easily squandered. To have it, the young man must find his own key to open the box.

Then, the young man took the large, heavy chest of Talents
and carefully, wisely, spent it. For each talent he spent, he received
title to a man's parcel of land. In so doing, he came to possess the world.

Then, the young man took the larger, heavier chest of Compassion.
One at a time, he placed each ring upon his finger so he could
understand the hopes and fears of all the people and creatures in his world.
When he was done, he loved them all, and became a great ruler, a champion of Justice.

He went out into his world, then, taking the final box with him
and searched for a key to open it.
Wherever he went, he commanded his people to bring every key they had
and to try each in his lock. Many people offered to break the box
open for him, but the young man refused, for violence could not be the
key to Honor.

He thought, they were hiding it from me. I will find it yet.

He went out into his world again, this time taking also his chest of Compassion.
When his people brought to him more keys, he found a ring for each person
and slipped it on his finger, searching their hearts to see if they hid a special from him.
Many offered again to break the box open, but the aging man refused.
In twenty years, he crossed his world twice but he did not find the key to Honor.

He thought, I own the world, and I own the hearts of all who dwell in it,
and still I cannot find the key to Honor?
How can a man with no Honor rule a world and all its hearts?

So he went out into his world again, this time taking along
also his chest of talents, full of deeds. He called his people
to him, one by one, and gave each of them the deed to a parcel of land, and
a ring to each of their hearts. And he said to them, "I have not found the key
to Honor, and I cannot rule this world or the hearts of her people if I have no Honor.
Many offered again to break the box open, but the old man refused.
In forty years, he had gone through all the world three times, and by now
was a very old man. Now, he had only the three chests, two of which were
empty, and the other, which could not be opened.

He thought, once the world was mine, and all the creatures in it. Now my Talents
are gone, my compassion spent, and I have nothing to give my son except this box I cannot open.

But when his hand touched the box it sprung open, and he saw that it held two locked chests, once marked
"Talents," and the other "Compassion," and a key to each chest.

He thought, now I understand. Honor is not something to be spent or used, but to be kept.
The key to Honor is to keep it, always, and pass it on as a heritage to one's son.
How glad I am that I never tired of the burden and broke the chest open!

He carefully lifted out the large, heavy chest marked "Talents" and the
larger, heavier chest marked "Compassion," so that the heaviest chest of all,
"Honor," was empty and terribly light. But when he closed the lid and locked it again,
the chest was once again the heaviest of them all.

Then he called his son and said to him, "Son, I am very old, and I want you
to have these three treasures....."

Τρίτη, 5 Απριλίου 2011

..And they came.

Καλημέρα αγαπητό μου blog,επέστρεψα!

Όπως θα καταλάβατε από το προηγούμενο αυτού entry,κάποια στιγμή εντός του Ιανουαρίου αποφάσισα να φανώ φιλεύσπλαχνος και παραχώρησα δικαιώματα συγγραφέα σε 2 ακόμα άτομα,ελπίζοντας η συχνότητα αναρτήσεων να γίνει λίγο μεγαλύτερη από τη συχνότητα που τα άστρα είναι στη σωστή σειρά για την ανάδυση της R'lyeh. Είναι φυσικά εμφανές πως όχι μόνο οι ελπίδες μου ναυάγησαν αρκετά βαθιά για να συναντήσουν την προαναφερθείσα νεκρή πόλη, αλλά μάλιστα ένα από αυτούς τους συγγραφείς φρόντισε να με στηλιτεύσει και να μου κλέψει το avatar. Ο πόνος που μου προκάλεσε τούτη η βορβορώδης προδοσία της εμπιστοσύνης μου ήταν αρκετός για να κλονίσει οριστικά την πίστη μου στους ανθρώπους, αλλά προφανώς ανεπαρκής για να με σταματήσει από το να γράψω μαλακίες για να κάνω τα entries μου να φαίνονται πιο μεγάλα.

Unrelated fantasy picture for cosmetic purposes.



Τώρα λοιπόν που πέτυχα τον σκοπό μου, είναι ώρα να παρουσιάσω τα αποτελέσματα της προηγούμενης ανάρτησης,που παρά τις συκοφαντίες που περιέχει για άτομό μου, παραμένει μια πολύ ωραία ιδέα.
Ιδού λοιπόν τα backrounds που με τη βοήθεια του rpggr καταφέραμε να μαζέψουμε,τα οποία θα παρουσιάσω σε μορφή URL διότι μερικά απ' αυτά έχουν μέγεθος έκθεσης:


1) Keanor Gorstag, Solamnic Knight of the order of the Sword by Fangs-First

2) Haquim, Faerunian Dervish of various tittles by Vincent Sherran

3) Mongus, modest half-orc Barbarian by Andy

4) Meryl Tynneth, elven Paladin of Mystra by Elsanor


5) Berthold Wolfwood, Ergothian Wizard of High Sorcery by me

6) Voorhesh Spellvoide, Necromancer of mysterious origins by WBRB

7) Eλένη, Zombie apocalypse survivor and Zombie Hunter by Ilmare Elmiannath

8) Willimac Tumblebelly "The swift to flee", Halfling rogue with lots of issues by Κυριάκος

9) Liam "Moth-to-the-flame" Talstag,Homid Galliard of the Silent Striders by Leechbane

10) Norimon Garthar
, human fighter of the Scarred Lands by Silverwing


Στην περίπτωση που δεν έχετε χρόνο να τα διαβάσετε όλα,σας λεω περιληπτικά πως είναι όλα φριχτά και απαίσια εκτός από το 5, που είναι αριστούργημα.

Όπως είπε και ο κύριος Fangs-First στο προηγούμενο entry, θα ακολουθήσουν κι άλλα entries σαν κι αυτό μιας και είναι ωραίο διαβάζουμε τις δουλειές άλλων κατεστραμένων σαν και του λόγου μας, και μιας και απαιτεί λιγότερο γράψιμο από μένα.
Ευχαριστούμε όλους όσους ασχολήθηκαν και έγραψαν και τους ευχόμαστε ο DM τους να φέρνει πάντα 1 στο d20 του,εκτός αν παίζουν 2nd edition.

So long!

Πέμπτη, 27 Ιανουαρίου 2011

Let the backrounds come to the foreground!



Αν και καθυστερημένα,ήρθε η ώρα να σας χαιρετήσουν και τα υπόλοιπα μέλη του RPG και σύ,εκ των οποίων o ένας είμαι εγώ(Fangs-First) και σύντομα θα γνωρίσετε και ένα τρίτο μέλος,τον κύριο Leechbane.Αν και ο κύριος Margrave είναι το ιδρυτικό μέλος του blog,δεν μπόρεσα να παραβλέψω ότι τόσους μήνες χρησιμοποιούσε για avatar το rune των Fenrir έχοντας παράλληλα το username ενός Shadow Lord(!).
Με συνοπτικές διαδικασίες που θα ήταν καλό να μην αναφερθούν στο blog, το avatar του κατασχέθηκε έτσι ώστε να είναι στα χέρια ενός σωστού κατόχου.Αυτό είναι ένα κομμάτι του roleplaying των Get Of Fenris που απορέει στην πραγματικότητα,καθώς το προαναφερόμενο tribe έχει μια συνήθεια να κατάσχει πράγματα όπως caerns,fetishes,heads,κλπ.Ως ένας Get και γω λοιπόν,βρήκα τη μοναδική ευκαιρία να κάνω με τον Storyteller μου real-life roleplaying...

Oι απολογίες μου κύριε Margrave,ελπίζω να συνηθίσεις το νέο σου γκέι avatar (Το οποίο παρεπιπτόντως σημαίνει "story"-storyteller-you get the point..)!

Ήρθε λοιπόν η ώρα για το πρώτο μου entry.
Aν και δε συμμετείχα,παρακολουθούσα την εξέλιξη του blog και παρατηρώντας πως μέχρι τώρα υπάρχουν 18 χρήστες με μια κάποια άποψη πάνω στα RPG,δεν μπόρεσα να μην αναρωτηθώ ποιά ιστορία -καλή ή κακή- κρύβεται πίσω απ' αυτούς τους χρήστες.
Δεν αναφέρομαι φυσικά στην real-life ιστορία σας,γιατί είμαι σίγουρος πως υπάρχουν πιο αρμόδια άτομα για να την εξιστορήσετε,όπως π.χ. ψυχολόγοι,οικογενειακοί σύμβουλοι,κάποιος ταξιτζής σε μια όχι ενδιαφέρουσα διαδρομή,κλπ. και επειδή εν πάσει περιπτώσει δεν περιέχει elves αμφιλεγόμενης σεξουαλικής ταυτότητας ή νάνους με προβλήματα αλκοολισμού.
Είχα λοιπόν την θαυμάσια ιδέα να postάρει ο κάθε χρήστης,αναφορικά ή με εκτενές λεπτομερές backround (όπως θέλει ο καθένας) το προφίλ του πιο επιτυχημένου χαρακτήρα που έχει δημιουργήσει ή είχε την τύχη ως storyteller να έχει ως player. Μπορείτε να μας στείλετε τα backrounds σας στην διεύθυνση rpgandyou@gmail.com,τα οποία θα δημοσιεύσουμε σε επόμενη ανάρτηση και αφού διαβαστούν θα ακολουθήσει ψηφοφορία για την επιλογή του καλύτερου και πιο επιτυχημένου χαρακτήρα.


Παρακάτω ακολουθεί ένα παράδειγμα χαρακτήρα που κατά την ταπεινή μου άποψη ήταν επιτυχής γιατί το κύριο συστατικό της επιτυχίας του ήταν πως επιτέλους ένας χαρακτήρας μου έφτασε 18 lvl (that's almost epic!) και είχε έναν ένδοξο in-game θάνατο,και δεν πέθανε επειδή οι σύντροφοι του αποφάσισαν να πηγαίνουν για καφέ (out-of-game) αντί να παίξουν μια φορά τη βδομάδα για λίγες ώρες D&D.


Setting: Dragonlance (War of the Lance)
Name: Keanor Gorstag
Race: Human
Class: Fighter 4/Cleric 1/Knight of the Crown 7/Knight of the Sword 6
Creation date: 6/2006
R.I.P. : 10/2008

Backround:

Do they really exist? Do they hear my prayers or my father died in vain? What kind of daemons got into my brother's head that terrible night? And who was that pale man with the dark plate besides my brother? Too many questions torture my mind yet no answers come forth...yet!

Five years have past since that painful day...My name is both recognised and dishonored for different reasons. My father was Sir Keldoran Gorstag who for his great achievements became a Knight of the Sword and advanced in the rank of the Clerist-Captain. He was a true believer and follower of the triad; Habbakuk, Kiri-Jolith and Paladine the Platinum Father. But he was a knight and a believer in troubled times. Three centuries have passed since the Cataclysm and most humanoids upon Krynn forgot their gods and now many people hate the knights because according to them the knighthood should had saved them. Many knights on the other side lost their faith and abandoned the knighthood; but not my father. I still remember the great legend of Huma, the brave knight and his beloved silver dragon, who delivered the fatal blow and caused the defeat of Takhisis, The Dark Queen long ago, back in the Third Dragon War. Huma didn't die in vain. He had a glorious and honorable death! I still remember my father telling us about the noble Gods and the honorable SoIamnic Knights protecting the weak and fighting evil with unmatched courage and self-sacrifice.

Well, he was in his mid 20's,a young lad, when he married a fine woman; Arianna. She gave birth to two boys, me and my brother, Connor Gorstag who is five years older than me. Our father raised us as a true knight should raise his children. He taught us the forgotten Oath and the Measure. We were about to become knights one day with our father behind us patting our shoulders full with pride for his two lads. But that day wasn't meant to come and responsible for this...is Connor!

When Connor reached adulthood, when Connor became a man he started questioning our father's judgement and doubted his words. He was arguing with him in a regular basis. "There are no gods you old fool"...i recall his venomous words in my mind. It was a shining dawn when Connor returned from his regular patrol to report to my father the location of a wandering goblinoid raiding party some miles away near the slopes of the Vingaard Mountains. I felt then that something was not right...something in Connor's face...something wrong. Regardless that ill notion of mine my father took some of his bravest men and left behind his trusted friend, brother-in-arms and Knight-Sergeant, Sir William Brightshield with a handful of loyal men to protect the Gorstag Castle ;a family heritage which dates back to the Age of Might, my home. Never telling him about my 'foolish' and 'childish' premonition, I tried to convince him not to go or at least to take me with him. "Oh Keanor, my brave lad, take thy sword and stay here to protect thy mother, for the goblins by a strange whim of fate might be foolish enough to come near the Castle while we are absent searching for them...and ye know something? Goblins are well known for doing foolish things" my father winked at me and said with his calm, warm voice and then holding his thin-trimmed moustache laughed with his heart, patted my head reassuringly and left with Connor and his men.

It was late in the night when men with dark armors somehow infiltrated the castle and attacked the Solamnic defenders. We were outnumbered and when Sir William and his men barricated themselves behind the reinforced doors in the main hall the attackers started to set fires on everything. Even as a young boy who yet had to feel a woman's touch, I managed to hold my wits together. Instead of cowering behind the heavy door of my parent's room trying to protect my mother with a trembling hand on my sword and waiting for the unseen foe to eventually burst through the room, I stood up and suggested that i should bring help. To my astonishment my mother with a confidence in her eyes which till now strikes me dump and an eerie calmness in her voice she said: "Yes my beautiful boy, that would be the best for all of us. "That was the last time i saw her...Thus, boosted by her confidence and too young and anxious to be troubled with her strange behavior and her unorthodox decision to let her son take such a perilous risk, I negotiated the, well known to me, paths and corridors of the castle and I slipped past the enemy almost unseen. Not even Sir William and his men noticed me. I've reached the stables of the Castle I took my trusted steed and i rode east to my father...

Only to find, near dawn, his men dead to a man and my father on his knees with a sword stabbed in his back! Not a single sound managed to find it's way up through my mouth. I couldn't breathe...the wielder of the sword was my own brother, his own son! Connor betrayed him and led them into an ambush while an organized group of infiltrators were burning my home to the ground. In a fraction of time I found my self in the ground and my trusted steed killed by arrows. Striken with burning tears and a single scream "FATHER...???"I drawed my sword and I charged. "Hold your weapons. I will handle this on my own." It was Connor's cold voice talking to a bunch of dark armored warriors. I fought my insolent brother...and I lost. With a grievous wound on my chest it was my turn to kneel before my brother's sword. He disarmed me and hit me on the head with the pommel of his sword. I closed my eyes and pleaded for a final, clear hit. Not like what he did to our father. That final hit never came. "Finish him..."I've heard but it wasn't Connor's voice. I opened my eyes and it was then when i saw this black hooded pale man. "No...he has nowhere to go. His family is dead. He will die from bleeding soon..."Connor disagreed. The pale man nervously backed down "We must leave the area immediately. Don't be late. "said to my brother and walked away shouting orders to his men. Connor looked into my eyes. "He was an old fool and he died like one. Something big is coming and his gods cannot help us. There is only one path...the one I chose. I bid you farewell my brother and i hope you'll be dead till the day of Her coming, or else you will suffer..."So with these last words on his behalf they took their horses and left. Dizzy and wounded as i was i finally mastered whatever left of my strength and crawled myself near my father.

He was still breathing...I took him in my arms. He was coughing blood out of his mouth. "No man, no knight, no father deserves such death. Do not cry my son. The Noble Gods are waiting for me. I am sure They have kept a nice seat for me up there. Please do not heed your brother's words, he is confused. Just live my child, live to be a good man Keanor, be honorable and just. I am really proud of you..."and he passed from this world...

Full of tears i took his golden ring with the emblem of the Gorstags on it, a family heirloom which passes from father to firstborn since before the Cataclysm. After wearing it mixed thoughts consumed my mind. Images from the past, riddles about the future, questions about Connor. Why did he spare my life? Was it compassion for his little brother? No !A man who kills his father and conspirates to burn his home cannot feel compassion in his heart. Such a man can only be evil in his heart. With these thoughts a layed beside my father's body till I fell unconscious. I hardly remember the least expected being, or the most expected for many, a curious kender carrying me and my father's body with his mule to the nearest town; the city of Hardoth. The following day as i woke up i was informed by Sir William who survived from the assault that the Gorstag Castle was burned to the ground and much to our dismay that he couldn't find my mother or her body before the final decision to evacuate the castle. Poor mother...She must have been trapped into the castle. I failed to protect her and now I lost both. I really hope for a lethal arrow or someone's blade to have stolen her life before the untamed flames. The same day, before I even recovered from my wounds i went to the ruins of my home escorted by Sir William and the few knights and squires who survived from the attack and buried the corpse of Keldoran Gorstag, my father. We mourned for the terrible loss and we granted them a funeral only a true knight, his kind wife and his noble fallen comrades could hope for. We devoted the following days to the raising of their tombs in front of the ruins.

Now I am at Sir William's service as his squire. Do not worry my father. I will not dissapoint you. I will achieve knighthood and I will live by the Oath and the Measure but I will find Connor, my father. I will hunt him down for his crime and when I’ll find him...I will face him and by the God's will, I’ll redeem him and I will bring salvation to his tortured soul by sending him near Them. My destiny is written, father, and by the Gods I shall fulfill my destiny. That’s MY oath!

Est Solarus Oth Mithas.




Το να εξιστορήσω τα γεγονότα και να περιγράψω τα encounters του χαρακτήρα μιας campaign που διήρκησε 2 χρόνια είναι αδύνατον.To μόμο που θα πω είναι πως ο Keanor πέθανε 18 lvl ρίχνοντας έναν Daemon Warrior με ΠΟΛΛΑ character levels και δεν είχε αρκετά hit points για να γλυτώσει από τα death throes,κατά τα γεγονότα που διαδραματίστηκαν στο Chaos War. Θα ευχαριστήσω απλά τον Wizard Melcor Kainus και την DM,με τους οποίους καταφέραμε να δώσουμε ένα αξιοπρεπές τέλος στους χαρακτήρες μας.

Περιμένουμε λοιπόν τα δικά σας backround profiles και stories.Στην περίπτωση ψηφοφορίας,μην ψηφήσετε τους εαυτούς σας,παλιοτσίτερς.





p.s. Κακάο γράψε οπωςδήποτε το profile και τα lines του Willimac "The Swift To Flee" !!!

Πέμπτη, 20 Ιανουαρίου 2011

The tale of Lupold and Ravetti

There once was a wolf named Lupold who was black as coal, as thick as a tree trunk, and feared like death.
He had teeth the size of carving knives, powerful claws of stone, and eyes that glowed like fat fire flies.
He could smell your sweat before the first bead broke from your skin, he could hear your heart beat from miles away and he could see you even in the blackest of pitch.
No one knew the real Lupold. Under the menacing exterior he was the most harmless and lonely wolf to ever bay at the moon.
No one knew that he'd swear eternal loyalty to you if you would only scratch his belly.
He would love you forever if you would only run and play with him, and he would follow you to the ends of the earth if you would only call him friend.


There once was a crow named Ravetti. Ravetti was very much like Lupold.
He too was black as pitch, weighted with might, adorned with fearsome claws and glowing eyes, and as frightening as a crow could ever be.
Only Ravetti was not a lonely crow, and far from harmless.
Ravetti the crow was friends with each and every creature. He was comical and clever, he lavished compliments and told wonderful stories.
Yet no one knew, Ravetti was poisonous to his hollowed-bone core.
Only becoming your friend to make ruining your life all the more sweet. He made the hen hunt the worm, the fox hunt the hen, and the man hunt the fox.
He made every thing an enemy to another, all with a smile, a kind word, and a "How ya doin?"
One night while coaxing moths to a flame, Ravetti realized he was being watched.
At first, Ravetti was naturally frightened by Lupold's presence, but when Ravetti looked closer, he saw a deep sadness in the fearsome wolf's eyes.
Never passing up a chance to exploit a weakness, Ravetti ventured a few words with the forlorn beast.
"The moon is sure bright tonight, isn't it?"
Lupold, at first shocked that the bird did not flee instantly upon seeing him, replied,
"The moon, my only friend, a balefire that keeps me company during the lonely night."
Just as he did with every other creature, Ravetti treated Lupold with kindness and quickly won his trust.
He listened to Lupold's tale of loneliness oh so attentively and by the time the story was over, he had already hatched a mischievous plan to torment him.
"Brother, I'm good friends with the villagers. The way to get in good with them is through their children. Make friends with the children. Children love wolves," Ravetti explained.
Lupold was so lonely he needed no convincing, he agreed straight off to go to the village the next night and make friends with the children.
Lupold thanked Ravetti for his advice and they parted ways.
The next day before Lupold was to arrive, Ravetti flew into the village and told everyone about a town in the north that had been attacked by the black wolf,
the children stolen in the middle of the night.
The terrified villagers thanked Ravetti for his warning and set up, waiting in case the wolf should come, looking for a late night snack.
That night when Lupold came to befriend the children he was met by the villagers, who chased him off into the woods, where he spent the night running for his life.
Ravetti was so amused by the outcome, the next day he flew from village to village warning the people of a deadly black wolf that steals children in the night.
Soon hunting parties were formed. They combed the woods every night, looking for Lupold.
Running for your life every night is not an easy thing to do, and because of it Lupold became an angry, desperate wolf.
His once soft and good natured heart was turned as black as his fur.
This one time harmless wolf became what everyone thought he was, a vicious predator ready to prey on whomever should cross his path.
One night a very old and very weary wolf came across a line of crows sitting on a fence on the outskirts of a small village.
Upon sight of the wolf all but one of the crows flew away. "Do I know you," asked the wolf.
The crow recognized the wolf instantly, but decided it best not to let on. "I think not, brother," the crow answered.
"Oh, forgive me. I'm just a tired, old, hungry wolf. I've spent the last ten years running from hunters. I don't remember much else," the wolf explained.
"You must be the infamous black wolf that steals babies in the night," said the crow.
"It's true I killed many, but only for survival. I know not why they hunt me," the wolf added.
"What a sad story indeed. Let me go to the village and get you something to eat. You stay here and rest," the crow offered.
The crow smiled and then flew to the village, convinced that the wolf did not recognize him.
Once there, the crow woke the villagers, alerting them to the black wolf waiting on the outskirts, near the woods.
They came running, ready to kill the infamous black wolf. When they arrived the wolf was gone.
"Perhaps he went into the forest," the crow posed. The villagers went into the forest, foolishly following his tracks to a wall of thorns with only one way out.
When they reached the dead end the wolf was hiding. He surprised and killed all the villagers, save one.
The crow was rather amused at the unexpected but enjoyably gruesome outcome.
As the wolf watched one villager run away, the crow sat on a high branch, cackling, well out of reach.
"What are you laughing at, friend," the wolf asked.
"Well brother, you see I was planning on delivering you to the villagers, and instead I delivered the villagers to you. No matter," said the crow.
"Why ever would you do such a thing," asked the wolf.
"Because I'm Ravetti and I'm friend and betrayer to all. I made the hen hunt the worm, the fox hunt the hen and the man hunt the fox and I made them hunt you.
I am the one responsible for all your misery. Years ago, I was the one who made everyone fear you and by eating those villagers you have become my lie,"
chattered Ravetti.
To this the wolf replied, "Yes I have become what you made me but I knew you were Ravetti, which is why I let you lead them to me.
It is also why I allowed that last one to live, so he will return and tell everyone about an evil crow that led them to slaughter.
No one will ever listen to your kind again. They will fear you, they will hate you.
They will throw rocks, chase you off their lands and never let you rest for more than a moment in their presence.
In their eyes you will be the bearer of bad tidings and a sign of evil.

Now we truly are brothers," and with that the wolf walked off into the woods, licking his lips from his malicious feast,
leaving Ravetti to wallow in his bleak future.