- Joined
- Sep 18, 2019
- Messages
- 57
- Essence
- €9,384
- Coin
- ₡1,500
- Tokens
- 30
- World
- Erde Nona
- Profile
- Click Here
Are you spending 50 Tokens? Yes
Has it been at least 6 months since your last switch? No
How much essence will this new character have? 5793
New Character Name: The Adventurers
Is this character an OC or a Canon character? Original Character
Starting Location? Erde Nona
Character Behavior
Physical Description:
^ When not adorned in the Eidolon armor.
^ The Eidolon armor (Right.)
Character History:
Abilities/Skills:
Quinn Spent: 300
Cain spent 450
Maeve spent 900
Griselda spent 1500
Suilaebhan spent 1450[/spoiler]
Summon 4 (1200)
-- Summon Griselda
-- Summon Maeve
-- Summon Cain Carson
-- Summon Suilabhan
Has it been at least 6 months since your last switch? No
How much essence will this new character have? 5793
New Character Name: The Adventurers
Is this character an OC or a Canon character? Original Character
Starting Location? Erde Nona
Character Behavior
Quinn is the Logical Leader of the squad without dispute. The man’s ability to coldly analyze a situation and break it down into facts and functions tends to reveal in simple terms the pros, cons and possible outcomes of various things that his subordinates depend on. He also easily rationalizes that, while he is the undisputed leader, there are situations where he must trust in the capabilities of his subordinates to lead.
While Quinn is the man of reason, Cain is the Silent Sage who listens. Quinn’s logic stems from education and deduction, while Cain’s wisdom is more grounded in worldly experience. Often he acts as the advisor to Quinn, though he would deny his own wisdom and claim his primary skill is with his weapon.
The kleptomaniac fetchling is the Squad’s Silent Maverick. Her outward appearance defies her particular skill-set and tendencies. While she is a part of the Squad and she enjoys their company, she works best when she stands alone.
There are those who run headlong into battle, and others who fight only for a purpose. Griselda is a Reserved Defender. She has a distaste for combat, despite being quite adept at it, and resorts to using her natural talent only when she can see no other route to take. In particular, she will rise to arms in defense of the young, old, and sickly.
The Warrior Prince is not royalty, for now. Capable of schmoozing kings and battering brutes equally well, he earned the title Warrior Prince by the force of personality no matter where the winds take him.
Physical Description:
^ When not adorned in the Eidolon armor.
^ The Eidolon armor (Right.)
A child born into adventure, Quinn’s parents were part of a team of traveling scientific minds, seeking to unravel the mysteries of the worlds, from the zoids of Cevanti to the clockwork beasts found beneath Govermorn. The exposure to various scientific theorem and magical analogue practically demanded the child prodigy go down the line of inventing his own combination thereof.
From simple beginnings of taking apart the mindless clockwork beasts to figure out how they tick, to investigating the remains of disabled zoids to find that spark that animated them, Quinn has begun to reverse engineer both to his best ability to create his own variation of magical construct.
His life of dedicated study often pulled him out of every social circle he had the chance of entering. Though he spent most of his time alone or bumping shoulders at a library, he believed firmly that his chosen path was the right one.
Age slowly crept up on him. Though he went to great lengths to maintain his health, he had hit the ripe old age of fifty before he even realized it. Years had lost meaning to him. Study was routine at this point. New plans came and left, and the pay from selling quick and easy enchanted items kept him living in a modest luxury.
Fifty, though. He had no significant other, with dating long since forgotten. No children. No friends among his many colleagues. Still, he did not care.
The anomaly that was Quinn’s happy solitude would have continued till his end days if not for his revelation. The pièce de résistance of his life. He wanted to build a technological utopia. However, doing so would require far more coin than he had earned in his entire life. Simply scraping by through the sale of his wares would not cut it.
So he decided to harken back to the days of adventure. Dangerous jobs pay hefty prices, and things found along the way often fetched their own reward. Of course, the most renowned adventurers were always part of a team.
Quinn just had to assemble a team for himself. How hard could that be?
From simple beginnings of taking apart the mindless clockwork beasts to figure out how they tick, to investigating the remains of disabled zoids to find that spark that animated them, Quinn has begun to reverse engineer both to his best ability to create his own variation of magical construct.
His life of dedicated study often pulled him out of every social circle he had the chance of entering. Though he spent most of his time alone or bumping shoulders at a library, he believed firmly that his chosen path was the right one.
Age slowly crept up on him. Though he went to great lengths to maintain his health, he had hit the ripe old age of fifty before he even realized it. Years had lost meaning to him. Study was routine at this point. New plans came and left, and the pay from selling quick and easy enchanted items kept him living in a modest luxury.
Fifty, though. He had no significant other, with dating long since forgotten. No children. No friends among his many colleagues. Still, he did not care.
The anomaly that was Quinn’s happy solitude would have continued till his end days if not for his revelation. The pièce de résistance of his life. He wanted to build a technological utopia. However, doing so would require far more coin than he had earned in his entire life. Simply scraping by through the sale of his wares would not cut it.
So he decided to harken back to the days of adventure. Dangerous jobs pay hefty prices, and things found along the way often fetched their own reward. Of course, the most renowned adventurers were always part of a team.
Quinn just had to assemble a team for himself. How hard could that be?
Cain was born mute. Growing up in elf culture, specifically his home village where gossip was abundant, he learned to listen and to absorb. He learned wisdom from the elders, insight from the minors, and all manner of things in between from the adults.
With no voice, he was taught the language of signs by one of the elders who shared a similar fate, though it was his ears that had long since failed him. It was something of a rare affliction to his village, meaning the language of signs was spoken only by a select few. His own parents, too haughty to learn any language but their cherished elvish, left their son to the elder to raise.
At the age of thirty, Cain was given his first trial. Go out into the village and bring back what interests him most. This was the Rite of Exploration. Many elven children would bring back books, a sword or shield with special painting. Some would bring back potions. In general, if a child said they were on the Rite of Exploration, they were allowed to borrow most anything (though sometimes they would have to bring the owner along.)
Cain returned with a ratty old bull whip used by a local druid. He had seen it used during the druid’s show, where he used the snapping sound to guide his pet bear through an obstacle course blindfolded. The sound was inspiring, and the grace of the druid was like violent ribbon dancing.
The elder-turned-adopted father purchased the young elf his own training whip and a book. Each and every day, two hours would be dedicated to his new self-training. Come one year, an elf must show major improvement and continued interest, or undergo the Rite of Exploration again.
While many young elves undertake this trial repeatedly, usually into their fifties, Cain spent his next twenty years practicing with the whip. It was a tool for show, but in his hands it became a tool for mobility and for combat. The druid who allowed him to borrow the whip would often bring the mute youth on stage, or offer private lessons to bolster Cain’s ritualistic training.
Come the age of ninety, nearing the mark of adulthood, Cain decided to take his training in a new direction. For the next ten years at least, he would become a wondering warrior as a self-appointed rite of adulthood. Many would just show their skills and present their future in such a field. Cain wished for a more substantial presentation.
Actions spoke louder than words, especially when one’s words often went unheard.
With no voice, he was taught the language of signs by one of the elders who shared a similar fate, though it was his ears that had long since failed him. It was something of a rare affliction to his village, meaning the language of signs was spoken only by a select few. His own parents, too haughty to learn any language but their cherished elvish, left their son to the elder to raise.
At the age of thirty, Cain was given his first trial. Go out into the village and bring back what interests him most. This was the Rite of Exploration. Many elven children would bring back books, a sword or shield with special painting. Some would bring back potions. In general, if a child said they were on the Rite of Exploration, they were allowed to borrow most anything (though sometimes they would have to bring the owner along.)
Cain returned with a ratty old bull whip used by a local druid. He had seen it used during the druid’s show, where he used the snapping sound to guide his pet bear through an obstacle course blindfolded. The sound was inspiring, and the grace of the druid was like violent ribbon dancing.
The elder-turned-adopted father purchased the young elf his own training whip and a book. Each and every day, two hours would be dedicated to his new self-training. Come one year, an elf must show major improvement and continued interest, or undergo the Rite of Exploration again.
While many young elves undertake this trial repeatedly, usually into their fifties, Cain spent his next twenty years practicing with the whip. It was a tool for show, but in his hands it became a tool for mobility and for combat. The druid who allowed him to borrow the whip would often bring the mute youth on stage, or offer private lessons to bolster Cain’s ritualistic training.
Come the age of ninety, nearing the mark of adulthood, Cain decided to take his training in a new direction. For the next ten years at least, he would become a wondering warrior as a self-appointed rite of adulthood. Many would just show their skills and present their future in such a field. Cain wished for a more substantial presentation.
Actions spoke louder than words, especially when one’s words often went unheard.
The only child of a seasoned mage, Maeve was pushed towards arcane knowledge from youth. She learned to read early, learned a few incantations to training spells not long after she learned to speak and was expected to grow up to be a more powerful mage than her father.
Except… all that wizardry just wasn’t Maeve’s passion. When the rebellious years hit, she would simply refuse to study. Often, she would purposely fumble a spell to end a session, or simply vanish for hours on end. The more she resisted, the angrier her father became.
She was given an ultimatum on her sixteenth birthday. Straighten up and progress in her studies, find a job, or simply leave. The latter was a threat, but Maeve was gone before dawn the next day. It was a hasty decision, but one she would never look back on.
Living on the streets was tough. She had to rely on her natural knack for stealth to keep out of trouble… and to feed herself. Fending off thugs and brutes through a city became second nature, and slipping her hands into pockets that did not belong to her was as easy as a toddler picking their nose.
Eventually she came to realize that this was her passion. Being in places she was not supposed to be, emptying the purse of the rich and pompous, even sharing the wealth with her less skilled street-mates.
There were times where she failed. Some weeks were spent wasting away in a cell… though these were often the best fed nights. Fines began to wrack up, and eventually she was hit by another ultimatum. Pay the fines or live behind bars. While the food was good… the loss of freedom was a cold slap to the face.
Eventually she realized she would need to find a real job. Better her freedom be stolen for a few hours a day than the rest of her life.
Except… all that wizardry just wasn’t Maeve’s passion. When the rebellious years hit, she would simply refuse to study. Often, she would purposely fumble a spell to end a session, or simply vanish for hours on end. The more she resisted, the angrier her father became.
She was given an ultimatum on her sixteenth birthday. Straighten up and progress in her studies, find a job, or simply leave. The latter was a threat, but Maeve was gone before dawn the next day. It was a hasty decision, but one she would never look back on.
Living on the streets was tough. She had to rely on her natural knack for stealth to keep out of trouble… and to feed herself. Fending off thugs and brutes through a city became second nature, and slipping her hands into pockets that did not belong to her was as easy as a toddler picking their nose.
Eventually she came to realize that this was her passion. Being in places she was not supposed to be, emptying the purse of the rich and pompous, even sharing the wealth with her less skilled street-mates.
There were times where she failed. Some weeks were spent wasting away in a cell… though these were often the best fed nights. Fines began to wrack up, and eventually she was hit by another ultimatum. Pay the fines or live behind bars. While the food was good… the loss of freedom was a cold slap to the face.
Eventually she realized she would need to find a real job. Better her freedom be stolen for a few hours a day than the rest of her life.
The woeful story of Griselda is not one she shares lightly. Born out of wedlock, hers was an “unwilling’ consummation. She cannot remember her mother’s face, just the crying and screaming and bitterness and resentment. At the age of seven, she was sold into slavery. A strong goliath back was worth a pretty penny.
For three years she would build muscle by turning a mill. At first she was aided by a few other indentured servants. By the age of ten she was strong enough to turn it by herself. She became a valuable asset to her owners.
Her next owner paid quite the bloated price for her. She never bothered to remember the mill owner’s name, but her next owner will forever be ingrained in her memory. Reginald Marlo III. He was a lanista, one who purchases, owns and trains gladiators.
Sir Marlo trained Griselda to fight. He attempted to teach her the ways of gaining the favor of the crowd, but she had been broken. After two years of combat training, she entered into what accounted as the minor leagues. Fifteen years old at the time, she fought men twice her age and arose victorious more often than not.
While the fights were real, it was all in show. No killing was a strict rule. It was not one Griselda had to worry about breaking. Eventually, her stone-cold personality in combat but the showmanship of always helping her opponents to their feet in the end would win her favor time and time again. In those grueling fights where her opponent would not give up, she herself would forfeit. This too earned her favor.
For her hard work, she was hardly paid. At best, a handful of coins a week. Food was never an issue, her bedding was always soft and freshly washed. She had a personal maid to tend to her room and clothing. If one excluded the bruises she suffered weekly, it would have been the life of a noble child.
The fights grew tougher, the years grew shorter, and before Griselda realized, she had hit her twenties and Marlo was ill with age. Though he had kept a friendly relationship, there was always a distance kept. His passing was felt, but it did not sting as deep as many believed when they offered condolences. He was her owner, after all. He had no right to cozy up to her.
She was required to attend the reading of the will. It was a formal event, part of the will being it would be read aloud to everyone it mentioned. She could see many nobles present, and expected full well to be handed off as easily as a pocket watch.
When her name was read, it hit as the greatest shock.
”To mine servant, Griselda. I grant thee freedom, and due earnings from thy decade in gladiatorial servitude. With interest. May thine skills be wielded to protect souls from the burden wence broke thy spirit.”
For three years she would build muscle by turning a mill. At first she was aided by a few other indentured servants. By the age of ten she was strong enough to turn it by herself. She became a valuable asset to her owners.
Her next owner paid quite the bloated price for her. She never bothered to remember the mill owner’s name, but her next owner will forever be ingrained in her memory. Reginald Marlo III. He was a lanista, one who purchases, owns and trains gladiators.
Sir Marlo trained Griselda to fight. He attempted to teach her the ways of gaining the favor of the crowd, but she had been broken. After two years of combat training, she entered into what accounted as the minor leagues. Fifteen years old at the time, she fought men twice her age and arose victorious more often than not.
While the fights were real, it was all in show. No killing was a strict rule. It was not one Griselda had to worry about breaking. Eventually, her stone-cold personality in combat but the showmanship of always helping her opponents to their feet in the end would win her favor time and time again. In those grueling fights where her opponent would not give up, she herself would forfeit. This too earned her favor.
For her hard work, she was hardly paid. At best, a handful of coins a week. Food was never an issue, her bedding was always soft and freshly washed. She had a personal maid to tend to her room and clothing. If one excluded the bruises she suffered weekly, it would have been the life of a noble child.
The fights grew tougher, the years grew shorter, and before Griselda realized, she had hit her twenties and Marlo was ill with age. Though he had kept a friendly relationship, there was always a distance kept. His passing was felt, but it did not sting as deep as many believed when they offered condolences. He was her owner, after all. He had no right to cozy up to her.
She was required to attend the reading of the will. It was a formal event, part of the will being it would be read aloud to everyone it mentioned. She could see many nobles present, and expected full well to be handed off as easily as a pocket watch.
When her name was read, it hit as the greatest shock.
”To mine servant, Griselda. I grant thee freedom, and due earnings from thy decade in gladiatorial servitude. With interest. May thine skills be wielded to protect souls from the burden wence broke thy spirit.”
Born to a haughty elf and one of his human wives (of which there were many) he was but one child of twenty offspring. Raised by his six mothers of varying age as a middle child meant he was often overlooked. Hand-me-downs were his primary possessions, and he had to fight for the attention of his father.
Despite being surrounded by family, he grew up in a constant competitive atmosphere. His elder siblings would find talens to appease their sire, while the younger earned it by default. As the twelvth child of twenty, he was not given the opportunity to pick up an instrument, to pick out books that interested him (not when so many were available as hand me downs) and most certainly too old to sit on his father’s lap and just blabber away about the stories running through his head.
He learned loneliness at a young age. He asked for a dog. No… He asked for a cat. His eldest sibling was mildly allergic, so no. He asked for a lizard, a frog, a turtle, a fish and an ant farm. Each one was asked a month or longer after the last request was denied. His siblings had no interest in him, and he had exhausted all options for pets.
On his eighteenth birthday, he held the hand made candle to the birthday he had to make for himself… while he watched his twin four year old sisters gobble it down. It was a ritual, at this point, to bake himself a cake and his father would demand he share with the youngest of the time.
Deep depression had long since consumed the half-elf. He did not turn to rebellion, much to the dismay of his mothers. Quiet obedience, few words, and a distance no bridge could cross. These were his tools of coping, and they were ill fit for the job.
On the eve of that faithful birthday, he carried his candle ten miles to a bridge overlooking swift rapids. In the months leading up to the supposed age of adulthood, he had come to realize he had no skills. His five mothers dealing with twenty children had often lost track of the distant Suilaebhan between doting over the skills of the older, and the adorableness of the newer.
He had no future. Poor education and no skills, he could only perform physical labor. Even then, he was the sickliest of his siblings. Suilaebhan had long since neglected meals to simply avoid the warzone at the scarcely filled dinner table.
Tomorrow he would be expected to find a job to finally “pay his dues” in his father’s words. In translation, fill his father’s coffers as a biological workhorse.
But Suilaebhan decided tomorrow would never come. One more cake for his poor siblings and that was it. He climbed over the rail and dropped without a second thought. He had too long to think about this to have doubts.
Instead of drowning beneath the rapids, he was thrown about to slam into jagged stones. He hardly felt a thing. As the river slowed a few miles down the way, he had but a few scrapes and floated face down with no issues. The water felt as comforting to breath as air.
In the bowels of despair, he heard a faint voice within his very soul. It was not words, exactly, more emotion and sentiment. Beneath the water he looked over his newly webbed hands. It would seem something else answered his unwitting call for help.
Over the next few months, with the coercion of his new (permanent) companion, he swept his eight younger siblings away from their “family” and took to raising them on his own. The Eidolon bonded to him did wonders in assisting, expanding his mind in ways that made tending to the eight as if he were two people.
His younger by only six months would be given new books to advance a passion for reading and writing. His younger by one year was sent to a private school that boasted a focus on science. His younger by two years was sent to a public school and enrolled into various sports. The directions that Suilaebhan was pulled was eightfold.
It was not hard to see why the younger of twenty were left to struggle. However, for the next fourteen years (until the twins were of adult age,) he would encourage and push his siblings to always succeed in one way or the other. When they came of age, they would be required to find a job or attend higher education - but only so they could live their own life… not pay for the greed of their birth father.
He managed to pay for all this by becoming a translator by day as a stay-at-home scribe, and by night he would work as security guard. A few of his older siblings followed suit and left their father’s clutches. A portion of their earnings that had been syphoned by their father instead went towards various deliveries of foodstuffs, new clothes and other itens of necessity. Though the attempts were always anonymous, it was not hard to piece together.
After all, he was the first to receive a useless lecture from his greedy sperm doner about “arrogance” and “abduction.” No legal actions ever came. Apparently five divorces took a tole, leaving the sire of a twenty-child workforce on his ass. As it should be.
The twins, the youngest siblings, were the last to leave. They could barely remember the face of their father, or the mothers that had attempted and failed to raise them for their first four years. Once doomed to paying back every cent of their childhood, the last Suilaebhan heard, they had become a duet of musicians.
With a house empty for the first time in his forty years, he figured he should have felt lonely. The Eidolon who had accompanied him for so long simply would not allow that. It was the best kind of company. Always there, always attentive, always sharing a similar mindset. Still… the summoner grew bored.
So he decided to find his own path.
Despite being surrounded by family, he grew up in a constant competitive atmosphere. His elder siblings would find talens to appease their sire, while the younger earned it by default. As the twelvth child of twenty, he was not given the opportunity to pick up an instrument, to pick out books that interested him (not when so many were available as hand me downs) and most certainly too old to sit on his father’s lap and just blabber away about the stories running through his head.
He learned loneliness at a young age. He asked for a dog. No… He asked for a cat. His eldest sibling was mildly allergic, so no. He asked for a lizard, a frog, a turtle, a fish and an ant farm. Each one was asked a month or longer after the last request was denied. His siblings had no interest in him, and he had exhausted all options for pets.
On his eighteenth birthday, he held the hand made candle to the birthday he had to make for himself… while he watched his twin four year old sisters gobble it down. It was a ritual, at this point, to bake himself a cake and his father would demand he share with the youngest of the time.
Deep depression had long since consumed the half-elf. He did not turn to rebellion, much to the dismay of his mothers. Quiet obedience, few words, and a distance no bridge could cross. These were his tools of coping, and they were ill fit for the job.
On the eve of that faithful birthday, he carried his candle ten miles to a bridge overlooking swift rapids. In the months leading up to the supposed age of adulthood, he had come to realize he had no skills. His five mothers dealing with twenty children had often lost track of the distant Suilaebhan between doting over the skills of the older, and the adorableness of the newer.
He had no future. Poor education and no skills, he could only perform physical labor. Even then, he was the sickliest of his siblings. Suilaebhan had long since neglected meals to simply avoid the warzone at the scarcely filled dinner table.
Tomorrow he would be expected to find a job to finally “pay his dues” in his father’s words. In translation, fill his father’s coffers as a biological workhorse.
But Suilaebhan decided tomorrow would never come. One more cake for his poor siblings and that was it. He climbed over the rail and dropped without a second thought. He had too long to think about this to have doubts.
Instead of drowning beneath the rapids, he was thrown about to slam into jagged stones. He hardly felt a thing. As the river slowed a few miles down the way, he had but a few scrapes and floated face down with no issues. The water felt as comforting to breath as air.
In the bowels of despair, he heard a faint voice within his very soul. It was not words, exactly, more emotion and sentiment. Beneath the water he looked over his newly webbed hands. It would seem something else answered his unwitting call for help.
Over the next few months, with the coercion of his new (permanent) companion, he swept his eight younger siblings away from their “family” and took to raising them on his own. The Eidolon bonded to him did wonders in assisting, expanding his mind in ways that made tending to the eight as if he were two people.
His younger by only six months would be given new books to advance a passion for reading and writing. His younger by one year was sent to a private school that boasted a focus on science. His younger by two years was sent to a public school and enrolled into various sports. The directions that Suilaebhan was pulled was eightfold.
It was not hard to see why the younger of twenty were left to struggle. However, for the next fourteen years (until the twins were of adult age,) he would encourage and push his siblings to always succeed in one way or the other. When they came of age, they would be required to find a job or attend higher education - but only so they could live their own life… not pay for the greed of their birth father.
He managed to pay for all this by becoming a translator by day as a stay-at-home scribe, and by night he would work as security guard. A few of his older siblings followed suit and left their father’s clutches. A portion of their earnings that had been syphoned by their father instead went towards various deliveries of foodstuffs, new clothes and other itens of necessity. Though the attempts were always anonymous, it was not hard to piece together.
After all, he was the first to receive a useless lecture from his greedy sperm doner about “arrogance” and “abduction.” No legal actions ever came. Apparently five divorces took a tole, leaving the sire of a twenty-child workforce on his ass. As it should be.
The twins, the youngest siblings, were the last to leave. They could barely remember the face of their father, or the mothers that had attempted and failed to raise them for their first four years. Once doomed to paying back every cent of their childhood, the last Suilaebhan heard, they had become a duet of musicians.
With a house empty for the first time in his forty years, he figured he should have felt lonely. The Eidolon who had accompanied him for so long simply would not allow that. It was the best kind of company. Always there, always attentive, always sharing a similar mindset. Still… the summoner grew bored.
So he decided to find his own path.
Abilities/Skills:
Thunder Pistol
Damage 4 (400)
-- Ranged (+200)
-- Transferable (+200)
-- Removable (-200)
-- Finite (-200) (six shot revolver)
-- Side Effect (-200) (Heavy Recoil, loud)
This six-shooter analogue has been heavily modified to launch custom projectiles faster and further than mundane weapon of its kind. It must still be reloaded manually after six shots, taking a few seconds with a quick-clip (of which he usually has two ready) or thirty or so seconds if he must reload manually.
The high force imparted is an arcane-alchemical combination, which produces a nasty ear-ringing bang and arm-jarring recoil which almost prohibits rapid fire with any amount of accuracy after the first round. Firing this weapon and trying to remain stealthy do not fare well together.
Lightning Gauntlet
Damage 1 (100)
-- Transferable (+50)
-- Removable (-50)
-- Limited (-50) (Non-lethal)
Debuff 1 (100) (Mobility)
-- Side Effect (-50) (Numbing Hand)
The Lightning Gauntlet is not designed for punching, but a simple touch. The Lightning Gauntlet is in effect an arcane taser, capable of disabling a target. Once activated, it will shock anything touched, desired or not.
On touch, it discharges the entirety of this charge into whatever is touched - intended or not. The electric shock causes a brief stunning effect as muscles tense up. Constructs are also effected in a similar fashion via a temporary system overload - however the arcane element makes this non-lingering. This is a non-lethal stun weapon, the arcane nature of this gauntlet will not (and cannot) cause death.
A nasty side effect is upon discharge, there is a slight recoil. While it is not high enough voltage to deal damage, it leaves the hand almost entirely numb for anywhere from a few seconds to a minute with a painful tingle, similar to the pins and needles when your foot falls asleep.
Damage 4 (400)
-- Ranged (+200)
-- Transferable (+200)
-- Removable (-200)
-- Finite (-200) (six shot revolver)
-- Side Effect (-200) (Heavy Recoil, loud)
This six-shooter analogue has been heavily modified to launch custom projectiles faster and further than mundane weapon of its kind. It must still be reloaded manually after six shots, taking a few seconds with a quick-clip (of which he usually has two ready) or thirty or so seconds if he must reload manually.
The high force imparted is an arcane-alchemical combination, which produces a nasty ear-ringing bang and arm-jarring recoil which almost prohibits rapid fire with any amount of accuracy after the first round. Firing this weapon and trying to remain stealthy do not fare well together.
Lightning Gauntlet
Damage 1 (100)
-- Transferable (+50)
-- Removable (-50)
-- Limited (-50) (Non-lethal)
Debuff 1 (100) (Mobility)
-- Side Effect (-50) (Numbing Hand)
The Lightning Gauntlet is not designed for punching, but a simple touch. The Lightning Gauntlet is in effect an arcane taser, capable of disabling a target. Once activated, it will shock anything touched, desired or not.
On touch, it discharges the entirety of this charge into whatever is touched - intended or not. The electric shock causes a brief stunning effect as muscles tense up. Constructs are also effected in a similar fashion via a temporary system overload - however the arcane element makes this non-lingering. This is a non-lethal stun weapon, the arcane nature of this gauntlet will not (and cannot) cause death.
A nasty side effect is upon discharge, there is a slight recoil. While it is not high enough voltage to deal damage, it leaves the hand almost entirely numb for anywhere from a few seconds to a minute with a painful tingle, similar to the pins and needles when your foot falls asleep.
Masterwork Twin Scorpion Whips
Damage 1 (100)
-- Removable (-50)
-- Transferable (50)
These fifteen-foot leather whips are of high quality make. The length of the whip carries several metal barbs designed for slashing and grip, while the tip holds a small, lightweight blade to give that crack a little extra oomph.
Tactical Trip
Debuff 1 (100)
-- Limited (-50) (Foe must be moving, more than two legs is much more difficult)
As an opponent moves within the range of his weapons, Cain will use the whip’s reach to grab one of the opponent’s limbs to throw them off balance, ultimately tripping them. This technique only works to disable a foe for a brief moment, usually to allow easy (some might say cheap) shots to the downed target.
Those more agile may be able to recover from prone faster, while creatures with four legs or more are simply more difficult to put on the ground in the first place.
Agile Physique
Agility 1 (100)
Endurance 2 (200)
Cain’s many centuries of light training as a performer with the whip has granted him some mild advantages in agility and stamina.
Damage 1 (100)
-- Removable (-50)
-- Transferable (50)
These fifteen-foot leather whips are of high quality make. The length of the whip carries several metal barbs designed for slashing and grip, while the tip holds a small, lightweight blade to give that crack a little extra oomph.
Tactical Trip
Debuff 1 (100)
-- Limited (-50) (Foe must be moving, more than two legs is much more difficult)
As an opponent moves within the range of his weapons, Cain will use the whip’s reach to grab one of the opponent’s limbs to throw them off balance, ultimately tripping them. This technique only works to disable a foe for a brief moment, usually to allow easy (some might say cheap) shots to the downed target.
Those more agile may be able to recover from prone faster, while creatures with four legs or more are simply more difficult to put on the ground in the first place.
Agile Physique
Agility 1 (100)
Endurance 2 (200)
Cain’s many centuries of light training as a performer with the whip has granted him some mild advantages in agility and stamina.
Dagger
Damage 1 (100)
-- Removable (-50)
-- Transferable (+50)
Concealment (Sight) 1 (100)
-- Ongoing (+100)
-- Removable (-50)
This simple, cheap dagger is a run of the mill steel blade with a ratty leather-wrapped grip. The weapon is light and easy to use, and rather easy to conceal. Only those with sharp eyes or supernatural senses can spot this expertly hidden dagger.
Ever Limber
Speed 1 (100)
-- Ongoing (+100)
Agility 2 (200)
Stealth
Concealment (Hearing + Sight) 1 (200)
-- Ongoing (+100)
-- Limited (-50) (Half speed for sound, darkness for sight)
Maeve is more adept than most at her ability to go unheard and unseen. If she moves at what would be considered a “casual” pace, her footsteps are silent. When in shadows or shade, her fetchling skin seems to blend in to the darkness at will. Combine the dark of night and a casual pace, Maeve can almost become undetectable to most humans.
Damage 1 (100)
-- Removable (-50)
-- Transferable (+50)
Concealment (Sight) 1 (100)
-- Ongoing (+100)
-- Removable (-50)
This simple, cheap dagger is a run of the mill steel blade with a ratty leather-wrapped grip. The weapon is light and easy to use, and rather easy to conceal. Only those with sharp eyes or supernatural senses can spot this expertly hidden dagger.
Ever Limber
Speed 1 (100)
-- Ongoing (+100)
Agility 2 (200)
Stealth
Concealment (Hearing + Sight) 1 (200)
-- Ongoing (+100)
-- Limited (-50) (Half speed for sound, darkness for sight)
Maeve is more adept than most at her ability to go unheard and unseen. If she moves at what would be considered a “casual” pace, her footsteps are silent. When in shadows or shade, her fetchling skin seems to blend in to the darkness at will. Combine the dark of night and a casual pace, Maeve can almost become undetectable to most humans.
Oversized Masterwork Warhammer
Damage 6 (600)
-- Transferrable (+300)
-- Removable (-300)
-- Chaotic (-300)
This six foot length of shaft capped by a massive hunk of metal is often the chosen weapon of giants. The super dense metal alloy grants an impressive weight of around one-hundred fifty pounds on the head, with the ironwood shaft adding an additional fifty.
Swinging this massive weapon is often an act of wild flexing of muscles and crude aim. However, the wide arcs tend to catch most anything in that six foot danger zone if she is not careful.
Goliath Might
Protection 2 (200)
-- Ongoing (+200)
Move Object (2) (400)
-- Ongoing (+200)
Damage 2 (200)
Goliaths tend to be mighty warriors by natural physique alone. Their skin is denser and more resilient, their biology leans towards denser musculature, and their culture represents both aspects. Grasilda is actually on the weaker side, favoring technique over raw power.
Damage 6 (600)
-- Transferrable (+300)
-- Removable (-300)
-- Chaotic (-300)
This six foot length of shaft capped by a massive hunk of metal is often the chosen weapon of giants. The super dense metal alloy grants an impressive weight of around one-hundred fifty pounds on the head, with the ironwood shaft adding an additional fifty.
Swinging this massive weapon is often an act of wild flexing of muscles and crude aim. However, the wide arcs tend to catch most anything in that six foot danger zone if she is not careful.
Goliath Might
Protection 2 (200)
-- Ongoing (+200)
Move Object (2) (400)
-- Ongoing (+200)
Damage 2 (200)
Goliaths tend to be mighty warriors by natural physique alone. Their skin is denser and more resilient, their biology leans towards denser musculature, and their culture represents both aspects. Grasilda is actually on the weaker side, favoring technique over raw power.
Strength Build (Eidolon Strength)
Move Object 2 (400)
-- Ongoing (+200)
-- Limited (-100) (Only half available without Synthesist form)
Damage 2 (200)
-- Limited (-100) (Only half available without Synthesist form)
Transformation: Eidolon Synthesist
Shapeshifting (1500)
-- Activation (-100)
-- Side Effect (-50) (Tiring)
-- Limited (-500) (Single Form)
Suilaebhan summons a creature from beyond these planes to aid him. However, instead of summoning a standalone beast, this eidolon fuses to the summoner, adding to his already present abilities. While he can exist in this form indefinitely (and usually does) intense combat or physical activities can wear down his stamina more than normal.
Move Object 2 (400)
-- Ongoing (+200)
-- Limited (-100) (Only half available without Synthesist form)
Damage 2 (200)
-- Limited (-100) (Only half available without Synthesist form)
Transformation: Eidolon Synthesist
Shapeshifting (1500)
-- Activation (-100)
-- Side Effect (-50) (Tiring)
-- Limited (-500) (Single Form)
Suilaebhan summons a creature from beyond these planes to aid him. However, instead of summoning a standalone beast, this eidolon fuses to the summoner, adding to his already present abilities. While he can exist in this form indefinitely (and usually does) intense combat or physical activities can wear down his stamina more than normal.
Summon 4 (1200)
-- Summon Griselda
-- Summon Maeve
-- Summon Cain Carson
-- Summon Suilabhan
Last edited:
