You are the new born Spirit of Heroism born to a world in desperate need of heroes. However, the mortal coil lay beyond your reach... So you will raise up those promising mortals into figures who can change it all. You shall foster the Heroes the world needs.
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Birth of a Spirit
adwarf
Possibly Terrible Writer
- Location
- Trapped with a Keyboard
Your breath is that of warriors in their most brilliant moments. Your eyes contain the sparkling gleam of scholars on the cusp of great achievements, ever focused on their work. Your blood is the last drops of those who threw aside everything in defense of others. Your hands are the callused, withered remnants of craftsmen who dedicated their lives in the service of others. Your soul a flickering phantom forged from the hope they brought into the world and as you explode into existence tears pour down your face for you remember each and every human that fed your creation, you witness their lives and their deaths in the flash of a moment and it turns you into a ball upon the cold dirt beneath you.
Happiness, sorrow, pain, despair... To be bombarded by the lifetime emotions and memories of those beyond count would be too much even for an ancient being let alone a newborn such as yourself and yet as time passes in an incomprehensible blur your mind remains intact despite... No, in spite of it all. Gasping for air, trembling and unsteady, you clamber up from the ground to look at your home. It is a barren place, a small chunk of dirt and grass surrounded on all sides by an impenetrable fog that seems to roar to life as you stare at it. Hesitantly it begins sending tendrils of itself towards your little world each of which simply explode into nothingness as it crosses the threshold until at last the fog calms.
You... You are a spirit, this you understand. You were born from the heroism of mortals, thousands upon thousands stretching across centuries until at last enough kindling piled up that all it took was a spark to set it aflame and cause your being to coalesce. Even now you can hear the desperate plea for a better world that acted as the last straw, it rings in your ears and claws at your very essence... You are the Spirit of Heroism. You are Hope, Selflessness, and Defiance given form.
Your eyes snap to the fog once again, a soft light spreading across your domain as you take a step towards the thing trying to separate you from the one who needs you in this moment, and raise up your hand. Shoving your hand into the raging mists beyond you feel as if your arm is being torn apart as tendrils of fog lash out madly. You ignore it. They need you.
Your hand clasps at something ephemeral and non-existent, the shapeless fog around your domain letting lose a deafening cacophony of screams as you rip your arm back to tear out whatever it was you had a hold of.....
As the fog opens up you lay eyes upon the person who gave you form...
[ ] A wounded soldier. Body clad in chainmail that is now little more than shreds of metal hanging from their body. Hands clasping tightly to a blade that had long shattered. Blood pours from injuries all across their form but their eyes burn as they stare at the monsters in front of them. You can hear their thoughts in your mind, 'Just five minutes.... All they need is five minutes....'
[ ] A weary child. Sweat pours down their face. Their small hand holds tight to a hammer far too big for them. All the strength they can muster is poured forth with every stroke, oversized hammer and small figure clashing against the arrowhead taking shape on the anvil in front of them. You can hear their thoughts in your mind, 'Three hundred more... No. Four hundred. That might be enough...'
[ ] A desperate healer. Their hands tremble as they carefully sort the latest bundle of herbs. Their eyes dart from their work table to a hall filled with those suffering even under their care. Cries for help. Pleas for mercy. Tear filled wails. Each and every one stab at his heart, tears forming in the corner of his eyes. You can hear their thoughts in your mind, 'I need the strength to save one more... No... All of them... Please...'
Happiness, sorrow, pain, despair... To be bombarded by the lifetime emotions and memories of those beyond count would be too much even for an ancient being let alone a newborn such as yourself and yet as time passes in an incomprehensible blur your mind remains intact despite... No, in spite of it all. Gasping for air, trembling and unsteady, you clamber up from the ground to look at your home. It is a barren place, a small chunk of dirt and grass surrounded on all sides by an impenetrable fog that seems to roar to life as you stare at it. Hesitantly it begins sending tendrils of itself towards your little world each of which simply explode into nothingness as it crosses the threshold until at last the fog calms.
You... You are a spirit, this you understand. You were born from the heroism of mortals, thousands upon thousands stretching across centuries until at last enough kindling piled up that all it took was a spark to set it aflame and cause your being to coalesce. Even now you can hear the desperate plea for a better world that acted as the last straw, it rings in your ears and claws at your very essence... You are the Spirit of Heroism. You are Hope, Selflessness, and Defiance given form.
Your eyes snap to the fog once again, a soft light spreading across your domain as you take a step towards the thing trying to separate you from the one who needs you in this moment, and raise up your hand. Shoving your hand into the raging mists beyond you feel as if your arm is being torn apart as tendrils of fog lash out madly. You ignore it. They need you.
Your hand clasps at something ephemeral and non-existent, the shapeless fog around your domain letting lose a deafening cacophony of screams as you rip your arm back to tear out whatever it was you had a hold of.....
As the fog opens up you lay eyes upon the person who gave you form...
[ ] A wounded soldier. Body clad in chainmail that is now little more than shreds of metal hanging from their body. Hands clasping tightly to a blade that had long shattered. Blood pours from injuries all across their form but their eyes burn as they stare at the monsters in front of them. You can hear their thoughts in your mind, 'Just five minutes.... All they need is five minutes....'
[ ] A weary child. Sweat pours down their face. Their small hand holds tight to a hammer far too big for them. All the strength they can muster is poured forth with every stroke, oversized hammer and small figure clashing against the arrowhead taking shape on the anvil in front of them. You can hear their thoughts in your mind, 'Three hundred more... No. Four hundred. That might be enough...'
[ ] A desperate healer. Their hands tremble as they carefully sort the latest bundle of herbs. Their eyes dart from their work table to a hall filled with those suffering even under their care. Cries for help. Pleas for mercy. Tear filled wails. Each and every one stab at his heart, tears forming in the corner of his eyes. You can hear their thoughts in your mind, 'I need the strength to save one more... No... All of them... Please...'
Reserved.
adwarf
Possibly Terrible Writer
- Location
- Trapped with a Keyboard
Our Character
Fledgling Spirit
Spiritual Power: 3/5
Skills
Herbalism (Mastered) - Within your mind is the collective knowledge of all those healers who dedicated themselves to saving others before they passed. Few plants in the known world are beyond your understanding, none among the methods of mortals beyond your skills. Learned and skilled as you are there is no practical herbal concoction beyond your means... And yet, for all that lays within you, you remain trapped here in your realm unable to directly render aid to Humanity.
Gifts
Sight of a Thousand Healers (Heroic) - You have seen through the eyes of healers beyond count. You have witnessed every diagnosis, every appraisal, and every act of healing they ever did in service to others. A mere glance is all you need to know what plagues a patient, a momentary appraisal enough to know the plant that lay in front of you. It is a legacy born from tens of thousands and one that, when granted to a mortal, is enough to give rise to a Hero in it's own right.
Possessions
Extinguished Human Remains (???) - Long has the presence of a soul abandoned these marred remains. A hastily gathered mess of bones rests beneath the tree at the center of your domain that you rescued from the gnawing of the Fog and those that dwell within it. Whoever these once belonged to is now long gone, extinguished from existence and faded from memory in a way that sends a stinging pain through your chest every time you lay eyes on them...
Black Worm's Skeleton (???) - The remains of the first creature from within the fog you have ever slain, one killed in your attempts to reach Vauhn's pleas for help. Your full strength fails to even bend the bones themselves. An intriguing object for study marred by the question of just how many human souls it had devoured.
Spiritual Power: 3/5
Skills
Herbalism (Mastered) - Within your mind is the collective knowledge of all those healers who dedicated themselves to saving others before they passed. Few plants in the known world are beyond your understanding, none among the methods of mortals beyond your skills. Learned and skilled as you are there is no practical herbal concoction beyond your means... And yet, for all that lays within you, you remain trapped here in your realm unable to directly render aid to Humanity.
- Instantly succeed at creating any mundane remedy, can identify nearly every plant in the known world, capable of bringing back the severely injured from the brink of death. +40 to rolls involving herbalism.
- In head to head combat you are capable of defeating those beneath you with ease, a sword feels less like a weapon and more an extension of your arm, your reflexes and senses are heightened by the battle senses ingrained into every inch of your body. +30 to combat rolls while wielding a sword, +10 to actions requiring physical strength or swift reactions.
- Instantly succeed at creating simple crafts, ordinary weapons, and most armors. Capable of identifying many metals at sight. +30 to rolls involving smithing.
Gifts
Sight of a Thousand Healers (Heroic) - You have seen through the eyes of healers beyond count. You have witnessed every diagnosis, every appraisal, and every act of healing they ever did in service to others. A mere glance is all you need to know what plagues a patient, a momentary appraisal enough to know the plant that lay in front of you. It is a legacy born from tens of thousands and one that, when granted to a mortal, is enough to give rise to a Hero in it's own right.
- Can never fail at diagnosing a patient unless the disease has never been seen in human history. Will instantly recognize every plant placed before you so long as another healer has known it. +20 to rolls involving herbalism. ???
- Contractor: Vauhn, an unknown Healer. (-2 to Spiritual Power available each turn)
- When you would die you instead continue clinging to life for ten minutes regardless of the wounds inflicted upon you. A surge of strength beyond what a mortal can accomplish appears in those final moments. +20 to combat rolls in the final moments after death. ???
- Contractor: None.
- When you dedicate yourself to the forging of a large quantity of a singular item, in a time of great need, you can feel the strength of smiths long past well up inside of you. Things forged under this effect are made in half the time and the smith will not feel the weight of exhaustion, hunger, or pain while dedicated to the act. +20 to smithing rolls when conditions met. ???
- Contractor: None.
Possessions
Extinguished Human Remains (???) - Long has the presence of a soul abandoned these marred remains. A hastily gathered mess of bones rests beneath the tree at the center of your domain that you rescued from the gnawing of the Fog and those that dwell within it. Whoever these once belonged to is now long gone, extinguished from existence and faded from memory in a way that sends a stinging pain through your chest every time you lay eyes on them...
Black Worm's Skeleton (???) - The remains of the first creature from within the fog you have ever slain, one killed in your attempts to reach Vauhn's pleas for help. Your full strength fails to even bend the bones themselves. An intriguing object for study marred by the question of just how many human souls it had devoured.
Our Heroes
Age: 24 (13 Years Remaining)
Pronouns: He/Him
Renown: 1 (Rumored)
Skills:
Herbalism (Competent) - Vauhn has spent much of his life studying the arts of a Healer and dedicated years to using his skills, knowledge, and expertise to tending to the people of Halford. Among healers he is nothing particularly special, but he is a man dedicated to his work and humanity at large.
Sight of a Thousand Healers (Contracted)
Pronouns: He/Him
Renown: 1 (Rumored)
Skills:
Herbalism (Competent) - Vauhn has spent much of his life studying the arts of a Healer and dedicated years to using his skills, knowledge, and expertise to tending to the people of Halford. Among healers he is nothing particularly special, but he is a man dedicated to his work and humanity at large.
- Always succeeds at creating very simple recipes, +10 to rolls involving herbalism.
Sight of a Thousand Healers (Contracted)
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[X] A desperate healer. Their hands tremble as they carefully sort the latest bundle of herbs. Their eyes dart from their work table to a hall filled with those suffering even under their care. Cries for help. Pleas for mercy. Tear filled wails. Each and every one stab at his heart, tears forming in the corner of his eyes. You can hear their thoughts in your mind, 'I need the strength to save one more... No... All of them... Please...'
haven't seen healer stuff before people usually go for warriors I like to go down a more healing support path
haven't seen healer stuff before people usually go for warriors I like to go down a more healing support path
Birthday
Have a Happy One!
- Location
- Somewhere
[X] A weary child. Sweat pours down their face. Their small hand holds tight to a hammer far too big for them. All the strength they can muster is poured forth with every stroke, oversized hammer and small figure clashing against the arrowhead taking shape on the anvil in front of them. You can hear their thoughts in your mind, 'Three hundred more... No. Four hundred. That might be enough...'
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] A desperate healer. Their hands tremble as they carefully sort the latest bundle of herbs. Their eyes dart from their work table to a hall filled with those suffering even under their care. Cries for help. Pleas for mercy. Tear filled wails. Each and every one stab at his heart, tears forming in the corner of his eyes. You can hear their thoughts in your mind, 'I need the strength to save one more... No... All of them... Please...'
I was thinking first about choosing the soldier, but we can choose something different later.
I was thinking first about choosing the soldier, but we can choose something different later.
[X] A weary child. Sweat pours down their face. Their small hand holds tight to a hammer far too big for them. All the strength they can muster is poured forth with every stroke, oversized hammer and small figure clashing against the arrowhead taking shape on the anvil in front of them. You can hear their thoughts in your mind, 'Three hundred more... No. Four hundred. That might be enough...'
- Pronouns
- He
[X] A desperate healer. Their hands tremble as they carefully sort the latest bundle of herbs. Their eyes dart from their work table to a hall filled with those suffering even under their care. Cries for help. Pleas for mercy. Tear filled wails. Each and every one stab at his heart, tears forming in the corner of his eyes. You can hear their thoughts in your mind, 'I need the strength to save one more... No... All of them... Please...'
- Location
- Earth, Sol
[X] A wounded soldier. Body clad in chainmail that is now little more than shreds of metal hanging from their body. Hands clasping tightly to a blade that had long shattered. Blood pours from injuries all across their form but their eyes burn as they stare at the monsters in front of them. You can hear their thoughts in your mind, 'Just five minutes.... All they need is five minutes....'
Sir LagsAlot
Yandere Dice Magnet
- Location
- In the fridge
[X] A desperate healer. Their hands tremble as they carefully sort the latest bundle of herbs. Their eyes dart from their work table to a hall filled with those suffering even under their care. Cries for help. Pleas for mercy. Tear filled wails. Each and every one stab at his heart, tears forming in the corner of his eyes. You can hear their thoughts in your mind, 'I need the strength to save one more... No... All of them... Please...'
GamingandReading
Browses and Replies With Haste
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] A wounded soldier. Body clad in chainmail that is now little more than shreds of metal hanging from their body. Hands clasping tightly to a blade that had long shattered. Blood pours from injuries all across their form but their eyes burn as they stare at the monsters in front of them. You can hear their thoughts in your mind, 'Just five minutes.... All they need is five minutes....'
You got five. Make them count.
You got five. Make them count.
- Location
- Outside the Box
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[X] A desperate healer. Their hands tremble as they carefully sort the latest bundle of herbs. Their eyes dart from their work table to a hall filled with those suffering even under their care. Cries for help. Pleas for mercy. Tear filled wails. Each and every one stab at his heart, tears forming in the corner of his eyes. You can hear their thoughts in your mind, 'I need the strength to save one more... No... All of them... Please...'
[X] A desperate healer. Their hands tremble as they carefully sort the latest bundle of herbs. Their eyes dart from their work table to a hall filled with those suffering even under their care. Cries for help. Pleas for mercy. Tear filled wails. Each and every one stab at his heart, tears forming in the corner of his eyes. You can hear their thoughts in your mind, 'I need the strength to save one more... No... All of them... Please...'
[X ] A wounded soldier. Body clad in chainmail that is now little more than shreds of metal hanging from their body. Hands clasping tightly to a blade that had long shattered. Blood pours from injuries all across their form but their eyes burn as they stare at the monsters in front of them. You can hear their thoughts in your mind, 'Just five minutes.... All they need is five minutes....'
- Location
- redding
[x] A wounded soldier. Body clad in chainmail that is now little more than shreds of metal hanging from their body. Hands clasping tightly to a blade that had long shattered. Blood pours from injuries all across their form but their eyes burn as they stare at the monsters in front of them. You can hear their thoughts in your mind, 'Just five minutes.... All they need is five minutes....'
- Location
- UK
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] A wounded soldier. Body clad in chainmail that is now little more than shreds of metal hanging from their body. Hands clasping tightly to a blade that had long shattered. Blood pours from injuries all across their form but their eyes burn as they stare at the monsters in front of them. You can hear their thoughts in your mind, 'Just five minutes.... All they need is five minutes....'
- Location
- Earth
[X] A desperate healer. Their hands tremble as they carefully sort the latest bundle of herbs. Their eyes dart from their work table to a hall filled with those suffering even under their care. Cries for help. Pleas for mercy. Tear filled wails. Each and every one stab at his heart, tears forming in the corner of his eyes. You can hear their thoughts in your mind, 'I need the strength to save one more... No... All of them... Please...'
[X] A desperate healer. Their hands tremble as they carefully sort the latest bundle of herbs. Their eyes dart from their work table to a hall filled with those suffering even under their care. Cries for help. Pleas for mercy. Tear filled wails. Each and every one stab at his heart, tears forming in the corner of his eyes. You can hear their thoughts in your mind, 'I need the strength to save one more... No... All of them... Please...'
[X] A desperate healer. Their hands tremble as they carefully sort the latest bundle of herbs. Their eyes dart from their work table to a hall filled with those suffering even under their care. Cries for help. Pleas for mercy. Tear filled wails. Each and every one stab at his heart, tears forming in the corner of his eyes. You can hear their thoughts in your mind, 'I need the strength to save one more... No... All of them... Please...'
[X] A desperate healer. Their hands tremble as they carefully sort the latest bundle of herbs. Their eyes dart from their work table to a hall filled with those suffering even under their care. Cries for help. Pleas for mercy. Tear filled wails. Each and every one stab at his heart, tears forming in the corner of his eyes. You can hear their thoughts in your mind, 'I need the strength to save one more... No... All of them... Please...'
SleepyCaterpilar
Just a Rapariga
[X] A desperate healer. Their hands tremble as they carefully sort the latest bundle of herbs. Their eyes dart from their work table to a hall filled with those suffering even under their care. Cries for help. Pleas for mercy. Tear filled wails. Each and every one stab at his heart, tears forming in the corner of his eyes. You can hear their thoughts in your mind, 'I need the strength to save one more... No... All of them... Please...'
- Location
- New York
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] A desperate healer. Their hands tremble as they carefully sort the latest bundle of herbs. Their eyes dart from their work table to a hall filled with those suffering even under their care. Cries for help. Pleas for mercy. Tear filled wails. Each and every one stab at his heart, tears forming in the corner of his eyes. You can hear their thoughts in your mind, 'I need the strength to save one more... No... All of them... Please...'
[X] A weary child. Sweat pours down their face. Their small hand holds tight to a hammer far too big for them. All the strength they can muster is poured forth with every stroke, oversized hammer and small figure clashing against the arrowhead taking shape on the anvil in front of them. You can hear their thoughts in your mind, 'Three hundred more... No. Four hundred. That might be enough...'
- Location
- Over the next hill.
[X] A weary child. Sweat pours down their face. Their small hand holds tight to a hammer far too big for them. All the strength they can muster is poured forth with every stroke, oversized hammer and small figure clashing against the arrowhead taking shape on the anvil in front of them. You can hear their thoughts in your mind, 'Three hundred more... No. Four hundred. That might be enough...'
- Location
- Hollister
[X] A weary child. Sweat pours down their face. Their small hand holds tight to a hammer far too big for them. All the strength they can muster is poured forth with every stroke, oversized hammer and small figure clashing against the arrowhead taking shape on the anvil in front of them. You can hear their thoughts in your mind, 'Three hundred more... No. Four hundred. That might be enough...'