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I should have mentioned. While I encourage the use of the playbooks you are not required to use the random method. Each playbook has sections which require rolls on a table you may for go rolling and simply choose which entry you wish to use.


You may do this for all of the rolls on the tables or for some.

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Artoria Aching, Daughter of the Village Blacksmith




Backstory: Daughter of the village smith, Artoria Aching was a charming child from the start. An only child as her mother passed when she was two, she was more or less raised in the forge, a functional apprentice in all but name. Nontraditional as this was, Achings are stubborn, she was suited to the work, and her father kept her on.


The whisper of village adults trickled to their children, and Artoria found herself excluded or teased by some of her peers. Well, two could play that game and she teased back, often preemptively, never too far from turning a laughing-with-you into a laughing-at-you situation. It made her feel in control, like hammering iron with her tongue. And she kept hammering as she grew into her adult strength and stature.


That hammering lost it's appeal after an incident in the woods gathering firewood ended up with her in the bottom of a ravine with a broken leg looking up at her victims as the shadows of evening lengthened. All they'd have to do is walk away and she'd be in for a cold night alone with fabled monsters and not so fabled wild animals. It was a long moment before Meera rallied a rescue and got her back to the village. She was subdued after that, self-exiling herself to the forge, mulling her thoughts.


She didn't really bounce back until drama at the wedding feast for one of her peers almost ended in disaster, disaster narrowly averted by her interjecting herself and diffusing the tension just enough to earn a quiet thank you from her former victim afterward and the gift of one of the very-fine ribbons used in the ceremony.


All Artoria Aching has to do is pat the leather pouch containing the gift, and she feels a bit of warmth that has nothing to do with any forge.




Name: Artoria Aching

Template: Reformed Bully

Player: Exile_Jeane

Class: Warrior 1

Alignment: Neutral

XP: 0


BAB: +1

INI: +2

AC: 10

Fortune Points: 3

Hit Points: 10


STR 18

DEX 12

CON 10



CHA 16


Skill: Athletics, Smithing

Class Abilities: Weapon Specialization (Battleaxe), Knack (Re silence, +1 on Saving Throws)

Gear: Smith's hammer, A Ribbon, Knife, Peasant's clothing, Battleaxe, Rope, Blackjack, Flask of meade, and 8 Silver Pieces.

Weapons: Knife (+4 to hit, 1d4+3 Dam), Battleaxe (+5 to Hit, 1d8+5 Dam), Blackjack (+4 to Hit, 1d4+3 Dam)


Edited by Exile_Jeane
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Self Taught Mage





Back Story – Meara’s family live outside the village walls on a small homestead where they raise sheep and pigs as well as farm for subsistence. Even by Havendale standards they are poor and keep mostly to themselves, Meara’s folk came from beyond the Great River to the north several generations ago and have kept to the old ways. She grew up listening to the old tales and folk lore of the north from her grand parents and parents. Those stories have shaped her view of the world and gifted her with an insatiable curiosity.


Growing up with six other sisters there were always arguments and sometimes even physical fights, not only among themselves but also with other children of the village that they had contact with. With shred and often cutting wit and a sly intelligence Meara always out smarted those who picked her for easy prey and even when an altercation turned physical she displayed  natural skill and always came out on top in any conflict, even with those superior in size and strength.


One of the reasons for her uncanny ability to defeat her childhood foes was her friend Hayger, a mercenary from the lands below the Dusky Wood. Haygar had come to Havendale a few years ago after retiring from the wars in the south. Haygar was met with some suspicion in the village as it was unusual for strangers to settle there, especially soldiers or warriors, He decided not to live within the walls instead building a hut in the woods north of the village near where Meara’s farm. Meara first came across Haygar when he was building his hut and, on a whim, decided to help him out. At first, she just brought him some food she swiped from her mother’s kitchen but then she began helping him with the build. So, she became good friends with the grizzled mercenary who showed her a few of his tricks about fighting and taught her how to use a staff, which she often carried when herding their sheep, as a weapon.


Often when taking her turn shepherding the flock, she would amuse herself by recalling the tales told by her grandparents and parents. The ones that always came easiest and clearly to mind were the tale of magic and wizards and sorceress. She wasn’t sure back then if she really believed that such things were real, but she truly wished that they were. Then one day late in the summer one of the lambs came up missing and she knew she would catch hell from her pa if she did not find the lamb. While search the hills she heard the bleating from a crack between some rocks in the foothills. The lamb and gotten stuck in the crevice. Meara climbed in and lifted the lamb out and as she was about to climb out, she noticed that the rocks concealed the entrance to a cave. Her curiosity aroused she lit a torch and explored the cave thinking it might be a barrow. Unlike many her age or even older she was not afraid but was excited at her hoped for discovery.


Barrows and ancient burial mounds were common in the tales of her childhood and while there were Barrow downs to the south of the Village which were avoided she had never heard of any to the north where she was this day. The cave was small and only went a short way into the hill and she soon discovered it was not a propre barrow. But it still contained a wonder which would change her life. The back og the cave was full of decayed debris most of which she could not identify and what looked like some fragments of ancient bone but the treasure she founds as a book. A book nestled in the scraps of dried and crumbling leather of the bag which held it for perhaps centuries. It was snot overly large but weighed a lot and while dirty and worn seems to have withstood the ravages of time. It was an ancient book of magic, if the signature which she eventually made out it was written by a powerful necromancer called Tantarus who hailed form someplace Meara had never heard of.


Meara took the book and because she feared her parents would take it away from her, she kept it secret and hidden. Over the course of the rest of that summer and the following winter she studied it ferociously deciphering it as best she could and slowly took her first steps to becoming a mage.


While unable to really read the book, she could follow the diagrams and drawings and taught herself the basics of magic. Eventually she learned to cast a cantrip or two and a spell but one of the diagrams that fascinated her was a ritual. She didn’t know what it did but she decided to try it so she set about gathering the ingredients the writer and thoughtfully provided drawings of and one night snuck out and set about casting the magic ritual. It was perhaps the heithgt of arrogance and the gods themselves teaching her a lesson for either the magic went awry or perhaps the gods sent a spirt to warn her away. In either case a spirit of chaos fell upon her and it was only the intervention of the young hunter Arden, a boy her own age whom she knew from the village, as well as her own magic which drove the thing away. Thus it was that Arden discovered that Meara was a magic user and she implored him to keep her secret, for she feared that the village would cast her out if they discovered. So far he has kept her secret and the two have become friends. As for the spirit, Meara and Arden were able to drive it away but Meara was afraid that it was not gone for good and found herself often looking over her shoulder, afraid it would return to finish its deed.


This very year when Meara along with her friends came of age during the Spring Festival and were no longer children and man came into the village on horseback. He was a stranger dressed as if wealthy and he rode alone he stayed at the Inn for almost a week paying in gold not silver. During his stay he frequented all of the business’s and spread his wealth with small purchases. He also rode throughout the countryside. He seemed curious stopping to talk with everyone and it was on the last day he was in the village that, while Meara was tending the flock in the hills near the very spot she had found her book, man came upon her and spoke tih her. He introduced himself to Meara and while he had not done so to anyone else in the village told her his name. He was call Maltiser and he told her he was a wizard of the Bright Tower. He told her, though he did not say how, that he knew that she was a mage and that she was just beginning her journey and that he had come to Havendale to find her and invite her  to come, when she were ready, to the Bright Tower. Meara said she didn’t even know what the Bright Tower was and He just smiled. “No of course not but you will and when you are ready come to me there. In the mean time take this,” he past her a staff made of ashwood which he had carried, “it is a wizards staff and will serve you will in the days and years ahead. Remember when you are ready seek the Bright Tower.” Then with no further words he was on his horse and off and not seen again. And Meara pondered the future.





Name- Meara
Alignment- Chaotic
Class- Mage
Level- 1
Initiative- 1
Base attack bonus-0
Armor Class- 10
Fortune Points- 3

str   10   +0
dex  11   +0
con   9    +0
int    19   +3
wis   13   +1
cha   11  +0

skills- Ancient History, Folk Lore, Forbidden Knowledge


Abilities: Sense Magic, Spell Casting



Cantrips: Second Sight, Mage Light

Spells: Abjuration, Magic Missile

Rituals: Circle of Protection

Saving throws
Poison save- 14
Breath Weapon save-15
Polymorph Save- 13
Spell Save- 12
Magic Item save- 11

Hit Points- 6

Equipment: Dagger, Robes/Clothing, An Ancient Tome, Many pouches on her belt and sewn into the inside of her cloak, Components for one casing of Circel of Protection. 9 silver coins, Wizards Staff - A potent symbol of magical power, this is one variant of the sort of magical staff made by the strongest of mages. It produces the light of a torch upon command, increases its bearer’s AC by +3, and grants +2 to hit and damage. Its greatest power, however, is that which enhances its owner’s spellcasting: the staff allows the mage to automatically pass a single cantrip or ritual test once per day.


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Name- Ardan Tarsin
Alignment- Neutral
Class- Rogue
Level- 1


My name is Ardan Tarsin, and Havendale has always been my home.  At least that's what most would say, but the woods around town call to me strongly, and it's there that I truly feel at home.   Don't get me wrong, the village is nice, far better than others I've heard tales of while out with the hunters.   

My father is the Head Constable of the Village Guard, Kaylen Tarsin, one of the pillars of the community, known for his stern, but fair, hand in all things.  My Mother's name is Rosalyn, and I've got two younger sisters, Morgan and Sia.  They're roughly five years younger than me, and quite a handful for my mother.   

I was one of the quieter children growing up, not nearly as boisterous as some of my friends, though I was just as active as any of the others.  Where I stood out  was that I was able to keep a level head and work through most problems that came our way.   

When not with my friends, I would accompany the hunters out in the woods, with my parents' permission.   Armed with a family recipe for stew, and the ingredients I'd need to bring, The hunters saw me as a a good luck charm, as they always did well when I was along.   I think the potential reward of actual prepared stew at the end of each night of the hunt had more to do with their increased aptitudes, but I wasn't going to say no to going along.   They would teach me their skills, how to hunt and track, how to survive away from town for extended periods, and I admit those skills suited my tastes well.

In time, I would be officially recognized as one of the hunters, and my job was to bring in game from the lands surrounding the village,  to help put up stores against times where we'd be unable to hunt, or some other reason for our need pressed us.

It was on one of my many solo hunts, essentially a long journey, nearly to the West Wall mountains, that  I discovered the sword I carry now at my hip. It had been thrust into a large rowan tree, and despite how deep it was imbedded, it came free easily at my touch.    It isn't gaudily ornate, though it is of far better quality than any I've seen in the village.  Perfectly balanced, it is easy to use and the blade is sharp.   There appears to be some sort of writing on it, though it's not something I can read.   



Initiative- 6
Base attack bonus-2
Armor Class- 14
Fortune Points- 3

str 13 +1
dex  14 +1
con 14 +1
int   9 0
wis  11 0
cha   9 0

skills- athletics, hunting, cooking, survival, tracking

Saving throws
Poison save- 14
Breath Weapon save-17
Polymorph Save- 15
Spell Save- 17
Magic Item save- 16

Hit Points- 22

knife, magic sword, bow  2x quivers, practical clothing, leathers, heavy cloak,flint and tinder, waterskin, bedroll, food and water for a week, 1 silvers 

knife- 1d4+2 damage
bow-1d6 +2 damage
Magic sword +2 - 1d8+4





Edited by Shameless
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