TIMEOTHY'S DND CAMPAIGN IS OPEN FOR BUSINESS

So

I'm hosting a game of DnD, by popular demand

And uh

It's gonna be 3.5

We're starting at level three by the way

and you're getting like

points for stats

32 of em, points not stats.

and uh

yeah

when we have some people

we'll start the campaign

we'll probably use IRC for encounters

and uh

this thread for everything else

put your character info in here

i'm not the best at making characters you might want to talk to someone else on IRC if you need help

SpoilerShow

Name : William Tallbirch
Gender : Male
Alignment : He's a Paladin so gee I guess he's chaotic evil Lawful Good
Age : 32

Class : Paladin
Race : Half-Elf
Height : 5'6"
Weight : 160 pounds
Appearance : Green eyes, brown hair. Slight scarring on his face, forearms, chest.
Right-handed. Has a thin mustache.

Personality: Attempts not to come into conflict with Chaotic characters, but may
look upon them with scorn without realizing it. His greatest fear is
the thought that he might betray his ideals, fleeing battle to save
himself or being forced to sell out a friend. He feels disconnected
from both Elf and Human society, due to being stuck in the middle, and
thus finds himself considerably more comfortable with other races; he
frequently worries about this.

Patron God : Ehlonna
Base Speed : 30 feet

LEV: 3
HP: 36/36
AC: 16
Initiative : +0
Attack Bon.: Melee +5, Ranged +3
Fort Save : 5
Ref Save : 0
Will Save : 1

STR: 15 (+2)
DEX: 10 (0)
CON: 16 (+3)
INT: 10 (0)
WIS: 13 (+1)
CHA: 13 (+1)

Languages : Common, Elven

Racial Abil: Immune to sleep, double human sight radius in low light,
+2 to saving throw (enchantment), +1 to Listen/Search/Spot checks,
+2 to Diplomacy/Gather Information checks, counts as elf for magic/status effects/etc.

Class Abil: Detect Evil (at will), Smite Evil (add CHA bonus to attack roll, +LEV damage, once/day),
Divine Grace (+CHA bonus to all saving throws), Lay On Hands (Heal LEV*CHA bonus points of
damage per day-- currently 3), Aura of Courage (immune to fear, +4 bonus to allies' saving
throws against fear), immunity to all diseases

Locked Abil: Turn Undead (locked until 4th level, can be used 3 + CHA bonus times per day, functions as
cleric of three levels lower), Divine Spells (locked until 4th level), Special Mount (locked
until 5th level), Remove Disease (locked until 6th level, once + (LEV-6)/3 times per week)

Other Abil : Diplomacy 3, Heal 4, Profession 2 (fisher), Sense Motive 3
Feats : Power Attack (Trade attack bonus for damage), Negotiator (+2 to Diplomacy/Sense Motive checks)

Armor : Masterwork Scale Mail (+4 AC, Armor Check Penalty -4, speed 20 ft, 30 lb.)
Masterwork Heavy Wooden Shield (+2 AC, Armor Check Penalty -2, 10 lb.)
Weapons : Masterwork Longsword (1d8, crit 19-20/x2, 4 lb., one-handed, slashing)
Masterwork Trident (1d8, critx2, 4 lb., one-handed, piercing, range increment 10 feet)
Masterwork Warhammer (1d8, critx3, 5 lb., bludgeoning)
Masterwork Shortbow (1d6, critx3, range inc. 60 ft, 2 lb., piercing)
-- 120 arrows
Other Items: Pendant of Ehlonna (unenchanted)
Phylactery of Faithfulness (alerts when action/item could impact alignment or standing with Ehlonna)
Gold : 317

Bam.

EDIT: Edited.

I AM GOING TO BE THE BADDEST MOTHERFUCKING CLERIC YOU HAVE EVER SEEN.

IF YOU WANT TO GET HEALED YOU'D BETTER BE READY TO GIVE IT YOUR ALL.

<!-- m --><a class="postlink" href="https://emrilgame.netau.net/Dmstuff/pointbuy.html">https://emrilgame.netau.net/Dmstuff/pointbuy.html</a><!-- m -->

for figuring out points

My character so far, a Spellscale Bard.

I'll play as a rogue.

A character sheet will be placed here at some point under the cover of darkness.

Scuttles McPhee, full-time rogue.

I put on my robe and wizard sorcerer hat.

Just posting this since people still don't seem to get the message even after last night

I'm signing up for this as a Ranger

SpoilerShow

Name : Alak Durkral
Gender : Male
Alignment : Neutral Good
Age : 52

Class : Ranger
Race : Dwarf
Height : 4”1
Weight : 212
Appearance : Brown Eyes, Dark Hazel Hair, Plaited Beard.
Personality: Loves battle. Needs to fight or gets edgy. Develops a blood rage as a fight goes on.
Hates orcs, elves, and human ale. Loves Dwarven ale, dwarven lore and killing Orcs or Elves. Or Orcs and Elves. A battle crazy Dwarf that only goes along with anyone else for the sake of fighting and getting payed to do it. For the sake of getting drunk afterwards too.
He calls first dibs on the kills. Especially orcs. Or trolls. Or giants. Or anything nasty looking. Or Elves.
Flaws: ^ He also goes *oink* he's killing orcs.
Patron God : Clanggedin Silverbeard
Base Speed : 20

LEV: 3
HP: 23/23
AC: 13
Initiative : +3
Attack Bon.: Melee +2, Ranged +3
Fort Save : 1
Ref Save : 3
Will Save : -1

STR: 14 (+2)
DEX: 17 (+3)
CON: 15 (+1)
INT: 10 (0)
WIS: 9 (-1)
CHA: 12 (+2)

Languages : Common, Dwarvish

Racial Abil:  See in the dark 60 feet (black and white), + 2 racial bonus on search checks (unusual stonework) Can automatically make a search check within 10 feet of unusual stonework; depth intuition, Dwarven Waraxes/Urgroshes are treated as Martial rather than Exotic weaponry.

Class Abil: (Two Weapon Fighting for class) Endurance, Shield Proficiency, Light Armour Proficiency, Martial Weapon Proficiency, Simple Weapon Proficiency,
Skills: Climb 3, Concentration 4, Craft 4, Handle Animal 1, Jump 3, Knowledge Dundgeoneering 4, Knowledge Geography 1, Knowledge Nature 2, Listen 3, Profession (smithing) 3, Search 2, Spot 2, Survival 4
Feats : Lightning Reflexes, Oversized Two Weapon Fighting

Armour : Master Chain Shirt
Weapons : Two Master Dwarven Waraxes, 5 Master Throwing Axes
Other Items:  Backpack, tent, bedroll, blanket, master tools, ten rations, mug, whetstone, flint/steel, firewood (10 days), Flask (3), canvas
Gold : 147

Posted stuff up

Jim "Huggles" Obleron, human cleric.

Guinefort Stabson, Level 3 Fighter

Standard character sheet format for Mr. Tallbirch.

Stop, Megatron! I speak for the trees!

OK IT SEEMS LIKE WE HAVE ALL THE PLAYERS WE NEED

so yeah

i'll start working on setting the campaign up

time to make a fool of myself

There are some things all of those born in the land of 220 by 220 know.

Most of these are myths: explanations for the phenomena in the world around them, and, therefore, the perplexing land in which they lived.

At a glance, you'd be forgiven for assuming that 220 was a traditional fantasy land- indeed, if not for some slight... differences, it would be much the same. But if you look closely, everything changes.

The legend of Grakthor, cartographer and giant, details- albeit with varying degrees of sensationalism and inaccuracies- the first systematic exploration of the land of 220. The legend claims he was so large he walked along the edges of the world- each edge taking only 220 steps to walk.

You heard me right. Edges. The world is 220 mythical giant's feet by 220 mythical giant's feet big. Past that is just... nothing. A void. It's not a planet, it's not anything, just... a plane, sitting in a void.

What of light, then? Of weather? How can such a world exist?

In the center of this land, a pillar of light stretches up into seeming infinity. No one knows what's causing it, mind- a significant desert surrounds its source, from which, of those who have tried to venture out there, none of returned. It's brightness seems to cycle on and off in specific periods, and a calendar system was created to follow this cycle.

Similarly strange, an infinite amount of water seems to rain down in immense waterfalls at various points around 220- forming rivers, lakes, even oceans. This keeps the entire world hydrated and alive- not a spec of traditional precipitation has ever touched the land of 220 by 220.

A very rich and influential man has called each of you to his home, situated on the face of one of the tallest mountains. None of you have met each other before this day, and none of you know why, exactly you were invited- simply that you were, and that you arrived. The lot of you are milling around in large, fancy set of rooms. There are a team of butlers, whom you may speak to or interact with, there are the other adventurers, and there are refreshments, which you may heartily consume. Or, you could simply wait.

What do you do?

(Please post at least one action during this sequence. This is acting as a basic confirmation. If you don't post an action by, say, a few days to a week from now, you'll have never have been in the room in the first place- you're too inactive for what is an EIGHT PLAYER GAME.)

a significant dessert surrounds its source, from which, of those who have tried to venture out there, none have returned.

[Oddly, there have been successful attempts in recovering the bodies, which have noted in autopsy a high incidence of diabetes.]

William thoughtfully sips on a glass of mild ale that's been set out on a table. He looks at the people around him with considerable curiosity, considering what they could have been called for. It seems to him that the only reasons he would be brought in, given what he tends to do, would be something along the lines of protecting a caravan or performing an expedition, a friendly game of cards, or perhaps a fishing trip; he quickly rules out most of these possibilities, deciding that most of the people in the room don't particularly resemble merchants, that such a rich man would surely be unwilling to play for stakes that any of them could afford, and that one couldn't possibly need so many people for a simple fishing trip.

He silently notes, as he finishes his glass, that he could well be wrong-- as the saying goes, those between a king and an ordinary man are twice as mad as both-- and decides to ask the nearest butler if he knows why the group has been assembled.

Huggles starts no conversations, focusing his attention on the food in front of him. He can hardly remember the last time he had the opportunity to eat his fill. Drifters don't have that luxury.

Alak refrained from speaking, instead opting to indulge in the only present keg of real Dwarven Ale. He was rather surprised by its existence, hoping that it was proof enough that a Dwarf was the one hiring his skills. Or at least someone that knew their drink. He would scoff at the prospect of drinking anything the other races concocted, eventually settling for the argument that booze was booze and would force himself to drink if there was no alternative substance.

It didn't take long for the presence of someone remotely pointy-eared to rile him up, but he let himself simmer first, lest his drink be spoiled. His hand was never far from the axes on his weapon belt at any rate.

GUINEFORT IS HERE.

GUINEFORT THINK THIS HOUSE IS FANCY.

GUINEFORT THINKS THAT FANCY EQUALS PANSY.

HOWEVER GUINEFORT IS GLAD THAT THERE IS BOOZE.

BOOZE IS MANLY.

As a Spellscale, being cooped up in one place was not exactly Vylanis' idea of a good time. Especially not with so many other people. Even as a bard, she much preferred the open road as a stage than a mansion, even one as prestigious as this. However, Vylanis got the impression from all of the preparations set out for the group that whoever had summoned her and the others obviously had a very important reason for doing so. Besides, as far as being stuck in some house was, this was far from a bad house to be in. Besides, the food and drink here were quite good, especially compared to what she usually had. She sipped a glass of wine, not particularly hungry at the moment, as she looked around at the others. The fact that a dwarf and an elf were in the same room caused her to raise an eyebrow with suspicion. This would either prove entertaining or very painful for all parties involved.

However, since nobody was talking, eventually Vylanis made the first attempt at starting a conversation. "Nice place, eh?" she asked, taking another sip of wine.

He silently notes, as he finishes his glass, that he could well be wrong-- as the saying goes, those between a king and an ordinary man are twice as mad as both-- and decides to ask the nearest butler if he knows why the group has been assembled.

"Sir," the butler says in reply. "Does a master tell his servant why to call upon guests? No, he simply says 'throw a feast,' and then a feast is thrown. His intentions are not made known to the servant, and the servant rarely cares."

He then glares at some of the table manners of some of the invited guests, smiles, and looks back William.

"Or simply, they are more mindful of the atrocious etiquette of the master's guests."

"ɪᴛ's ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ sᴍᴀʟʟ," admits Skybot!, watching in utter indifference as his honey badger violently attacks the refreshments table, "ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴇɪʟɪɴɢs ᴀʀᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ ʟᴏᴡ." He flutters his huge canvas wings irritably, dealing 1d4 points of natural weapon damage to the surrounding furniture.

Skybot!'s wings pound into the nearby furniture, scuffing them up, weakening their integrity, dealing 2 points total.

Skybot! gives no fucks.

GUINEFORT DOES

GUINEFORT REARRANGES THE FURNITURE SO THEY ARE BACK IN THEIR PLACE

GUINEFORT STARES DISAPPROVINGLY AT SKYBOT! TOO