All people that have wandered the many worlds, planes, and dimensions of Dungeons and Dragons have at least once in their lifetime either played, fought beside, or randomly encountered a memorable character.  These characters get to us on some psychological level, whether it be a sense of pride or accomplishment, or side-splitting humor, or abject terror.  These characters eventually become so engrained in us that years later we still remember their names, their personalities, their adventures, and the names of those that travelled with.  Sometimes they even become running jokes, or a real part of the history of your group's adventuring world.  So my question to you is this, "What are some of the most memorable characters that you have played?  Or maybe one that a party member played?  Or even a villain, that your DM gave such life and realism to that you loved hating them?"

 

I shall let this post sit for while and get a bite to eat.  When I come back, I'll fill y'all in on some of my more memorable people.

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"Apparently getting your ass kicked is now part of a complete breakfast." - Roy Greenhilt, Order Of The Stick


- An Answerer of questions, and Questioner of answers.

Alrighty then, I guess I'll go first.

When I think of memorable characters, my first thought is almost always 'Fodoric'.  Fodoric (whose full name was Fodoric Orlig 'Thimblehook' Tavatarr SeDekirk) was a gnome wizard who specialized in magical construction and alchemy.  He made all sorts of scrolls, wands, potions, and random wondrous items.  He also had quite a large book of alchemical recipies that led to the creation of many a tanglefoot bag, alchemist's fire, and stonebreaker acid.  He had a ferret familiar named Snik who, thanks to his bond with Fodoric and thus shared Fodoric's knowledge of enginnering, liked to build rather complex structures out of sticks, rocks, and mud whenever he got the chance.

What really endeared Fodoric to people (or annoyed the living daylights out of them, depending on who you asked) was the way he talked, and the fact that he liked to talk.  Fodoric spoke with such speed that people rarely caught what was said on the first pass.  Which was helpful when it came to negotiating contracts, divvying up treasure, or anything else that requiring a quick-wit and slippery speech (not to mention he always enjoyed introducing himself by his full name, which in and of itself would already put people back on their heels).

One of Fodoric's greatest (or least most popular and least self-destructive) magical creations was a little something I called "Fodoric's Acid Blaster".  Essentially, it fired a weaker form of the melf's acid arrow spell, but it had a large number of charges per day, and could be used by anyone.  This came in quite useful when other non-melee party members had run out of spells for the day.  I also created a handful of spells, to which I attached Fodoric's name (such as Fodoric's fat feet, and Fodoric's sticky sheath) but I won't go into too much detail about those here.

 

Unless of course someone wanted to know.

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"Apparently getting your ass kicked is now part of a complete breakfast." - Roy Greenhilt, Order Of The Stick


- An Answerer of questions, and Questioner of answers.

Hmm, so many to choose from... there was the duo I played with a friend "Zain and Dapple." Two rogues, one a silver tongued elven con artist the other a sticky fingered halfling who was seriously lacking in wisdom; my crazed inquisitor of Torm who held no one above suspicion, perhaps my gnomish inventor whose name I use in this forum and who has gained stardom through this comic. No, I will go with the dwarven brothers that my roommate and I played oh so long ago and hope to play again... they truly had an impact on the game and the players in it... Just the way we where able to pull it off so well, each playing off of each other perfectly almost as if it was rehearsed, priceless.

I just so happen to have both of their back stories right here:

Name: Alagh Onyxtear

Father: Donnar Onyxtear

Mother: Dauble Onyxtear

Siblings: Barak Onyxtear

D.O.B.: Flamerule 17, 1311 DR

P.O.B.: Citadel Hulrand, the Vast; Home to the Greenrock Clan

Little other than the name of his mother is known regarding the birth of Alagh, firstborn of Donnar Onyxtear, as matters regarding birth, gestation, and females in general are very taboo amongst the dwarves. All the same, none feel that they are worse off not knowing... Donnar’s original hopes for his firstborn were quite usual for a mountain-dwelling dwarf; he wanted a smith, a miner, and a warrior. A son to make his family proud, honorable... and cliche. This however, was not to be.

For Alagh’s first 26 years of life, his father attempted to turn him into the son he wanted. He would bring Alagh to help in the mines, taught him to forge weapons, and attempted to teach him the finer arts of battle. Unfortunately, Alagh simply lacked the natural strength necessary to be an effective miner or warrior. He did, however, exhibit some small talent with crossbows, and for that at least, Donnar was happy. All the while, however, (whenever the chance presented itself, actually) Alagh snuck away to observe and mingle with the few scholars of the hold in the great library of the citadel. He was fascinated by knowledge. He thirsted for it; dreamt of it; thought about it ceaselessly. If he could get the time, he would spend hours on end talking (listening, mostly) to the scholars and reading anything and everything he could. Yet, of all the things he read about, nothing intrigued him more that the mystical forces of magic. Tales of mighty wizards, cunning sorcerers, righteous clerics, and tranquil druids fascinated him to no end. During his 15^th year, he asked his father about magic, he was met with a furious lecture fit to sate the conversational hunger of the most bored of brass dragons. Donnar would have none of this mystical, wavy-handed, nonsense from Alagh, and resolved to haul Alagh into the mines (bodily if necessary) every day for the next thirty years to break those "muddled thoughts."

Fortunately for Alagh, a second son, Barak was born to his mother during his 16^th year (1327 DR). Barak showed great strength and hardiness almost from birth, and by his tenth year (1337 DR), Donnar’s attention had become completely diverted to this new promise of having his hopes for a son fulfilled. Alagh silently thanked Barak for the unintentional gift he had given him, and resumed his previous habits of learning and delved deeper into the magic he had grown to love. He never forgot why he was free to study what he loved, and spent any time he wasn’t studying with Barak as a sort of thanks for the gift he had unknowingly given him.

One of the scholars, a cleric of Dugmaren Brightmantle named Thurm Diamondheart took a keen interest in Alagh’s thirst for magical knowledge. He would engage him in hours of discussion and lecture regarding magic and religion, which Alagh had also had more than a passing interest in up to this point. They soon became close friends. After 5 years of study, intrigue, discovery, and persistent requests by Alagh for Thurm to teach him the ways of being a cleric, Thurm agreed, and formally admitted Alagh as his pupil. (1342 DR)

At this time, Alagh thought it finally safe to reveal to his father his intentions. Curiously enough, Donnar seemed only mildly frustrated, and of all things, proud of Alagh. Upon seeing Alagh’s surprise at this reaction, Donnar admitted that he had, unbeknownst to Alagh, observed him in the great library, that he knew of Alagh’s hunger for knowledge, magical and mundane, and had drawn similarities between that hunger and his own desire for all things metal and stone. Relieved and greatly bewildered by his father’s words, Alagh excitedly began his training under Thurm.

Alagh trained diligently for 14 years under Thurm’s guidance, and on Shieldmeet, 1356 DR, was formally inducted into the Xothar (Clerics of Dugmaren Brightmantle. Literally "those who seek knowledge")

The times he spent with Barak involved mostly him telling Barak stories of wars that he had read about, but simply passing on what he had learned wasn’t enough for him. He wanted more. Simply moving knowledge about in his head was not enough. He wanted something new.

Despite his new gateway into the world of magic, Alagh knew enough about it that he would only ever work the magic of the divine, and was unsatisfied. He thirsted for more, and often joked that he was a victim of his knowledge. "The problem with knowledge is that the more you know, the more you know you don’t know" became a sort of catch phrase for him. Often times he mused to himself that he was fortunate to be a follower of Dugmaren, for many other deities would regard his near single-minded search for knowledge as neglect for the faith. Nonetheless, he strove to learn more. Nearly all of his time was spent in the great library, and within another 4 years, he had at least skimmed through every book within it. Only slightly discouraged, he decided to travel to Raven’s Bluff, a nearby adventurer city to find a tutor in the ways of the arcane arts. (1360 DR)

After a bit of searching and persistence amidst sneers of "a dwarf wizard?" he found a willing tutor. And old, marginally senile human item creator by the name of Archipernicus "Archie" Edistein. He at first laughed at Alagh and jokingly agreed, but after some small talk he realized that Alagh was sincere in his devotion to magic. Archie agreed to teach him the Art in exchange for his services as a weaponsmith and of all things, a cook. (Alagh had picked up a few recipes delving through some old cookbooks in the library.) The deal proved highly beneficial by both parties, as Alagh finally had a gateway into the world of the arcane, and Archie greatly benefited financially from having free weaponry forged for his enchantments to be sold to adventurers and having decent meals cooked for him on a daily basis.

For 9 years Alagh studied under Archie. Fortunately, his previous studies had given him enough insight into the Art that actually practicing it came fairly easily. The relationship between Archie and Alagh never progressed much further than a business/ student –mentor relationship, but trust and respect for each other’s abilities grew greatly. Once his training was complete, Alagh bid Archie farewell. Upon departing, Archie offered to teach him more if he would stay and continue their previous arrangement, but Alagh politely refused, but said that sometime in the future he may return to take Archie up on his offer.

(1369 DR) He returned home to share his experiences with his family. His father listened, and poked a few friendly jokes at him for being a "spindly magicker." He resumed visiting with Barak, somewhat unsurprised by the fact that Barak had joined the Kuldjargh, as Alagh had been the one to tell him about them. For two more years, he stayed within the Citadel, spending time with Barak and refining his magical skills. But while he was there, he became extremely irritated at the agonizingly slow rate that new knowledge filtered into the Citadel. He considered going out and looking for it himself, but knew that alone, he stood little chance of even surviving the life of an adventurer. He saw his opportunity when Barak mentioned that he too, was growing tired of life in the Citadel. They talked, plotted, discussed, and finally agreed to leave and seek adventure. Plans were made, supplies were gathered, and in 1371 DR, they both set off into the world, looking for adventure.

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Name: Barak Onyxtear

Father: Donnar Onyxtear

Mother: Dauble Onyxtear

Siblings: Alagh Onyxtear

D.O.B.: Hammer 3, 1327 DR

P.O.B.: Citadel Hulrand, the Vast; Home to the Greenrock Clan

On the 3^rd day of Hammer, 1327 Daleland Reckoning, the first cries of the second son of Donnar Onyxtear were heard echoing in the halls of Citadel Hulrand, deep in the Earthspur Mountains. Some joke that he was born with his axe in hand, others claim he punched the doctor right back when she slapped his backside. Regardless of whether or not these jokes and rumors are true (I wouldn’t hold much hope on the axe) he was born an unusually strong and healthy child. Thus prompting his name, Barak; literally, strength, backbone, or shield in the Dwarven tongue. In short, he was everything his father had hoped for.

His father, Donnar, had always hoped for a son who was strong; a miner, smith, and warrior. His first son, Alagh, had fallen, well to put it nicely, a bit short of those goals. Barak initially showed great promise in fulfilling Donnar’s hopes. His strength and hardiness were well above average, even for a Dwarf. From the time he was first able to tote an axe, Donnar set about teaching him his trades. As a miner, his strength and hardiness were awesome to behold, but alas, his short attention span and desire for excitement and glory made him rather lazy on the job. As a smith, he saw beauty in well made equipment, and quickly embraced weapon smithing and armor smithing. Yet his greatest passion was for the competition, sweat, blood, and glory of battle.

In short, his raw talent at battle made him the talk of many a dwarf in the Citadel. Tales of this young, feisty lad giving even some of the veterans a hard time in a bout grew quick and spread even quicker. Most of it was hype, as rumors often are, but even the most learned scholar will tell you that at the heart of every myth is the glimmer of truth that started it. Most of his time was spent training, as he could simply not get enough of it. This passion for battle alone made his father forgive any shortcomings he had as a miner. When he wasn’t busy sparring with trainers or fellow squires, he spent his time with his older brother, Alagh, who had taken a much more scholarly road in life. Most of their interaction consisted of story exchanging as well as sharing some of the lessons each had learned that day. But one thing that Alagh knew that fascinated Barak the most, were stories: war stories. Battles, wars, mighty kingdoms clashing on the battlefield, throwing hundreds of thousands of soldiers against each other, often times leaving traces on the earth that could be seen for eons. It excited him all the more with the knowledge that these were not just fairy tales... they had actually happened. He was overcome with a desire to be a part of such epics, to be in those great battles, fighting and making a mark on the history of the world. He always asked for more stories, and Alagh was always pleased to oblige.

Amongst the litany of tales that Alagh told him, one particular entity stood out: Kudjargh, the Dwarven Battle Ragers. Fierce combatants that loved nothing more than singing war hymns to Clangeddin... and charging headlong into battles after being granted a divine rage by the Dwarven gods of war. So fascinated was he by these tales, that he resolved to become one. Alas, he had only heard of them through stories, and it seemed that such a thing could only exist there. When he related this feeling to Alagh, a curious, knowing grin spread across Alagh’s face. When Barak asked him what was "so damn amusing" Alagh informed him that this order did exist. Not only in the world as a whole, but that some of them resided in their very Citadel. (1359 DR)

Barak was ecstatic. He immediately inquired as to where he could find them, but Alagh said he wasn’t entirely sure. He did know that they were usually "kept" on the outskirts of the Citadel, and that one could probably find them by following the sound of their singing... and drinking... and brawling... and general disorder. Barak left the library immediately to find his newfound heroes. And his searching was soon rewarded by the distant sounds of very, very loud drunken singing coming from even deeper in the mountain.

He arrived in an area much like the barracks of the city proper, only this one was obviously used much more, as the very stonework had many chips and scrapes; the signs of past battles. The singing was quite loud now, and the smell of sweat, booze, and a slight tinge of blood emanated from the main hall. Upon entering, he found no less than eight drunken, singing dwarves. All wearing well-used weapons and a vast arrangement of battle scars and tattoos. Then one of them noticed him. A shout of greeting was issued, and all of them closely encircled Barak, quickly shoving a mug in his hand and pulling him inside. Thus began Barak’s association with the Battle Ragers.

As Alagh had recently left for Raven’s Bluff to engage in his scholarly pursuits, Barak was unable to tell him of his success in befriending the Kudjargh, so he turned to his father for someone to talk to. The reaction, surprisingly enough, was akin to informing a red dragon that his horde was stolen. "KUDJARGH?!!? Do you know what that means??! It means "AXE-IDIOT" for a reason you crazy sod!" Indeed, Alagh had neglected to mention the bit about the Battle Ragers’ propensity for living very short lives as a result of their passion for battle and being kept away from the Citadel proper to keep young, impressionable youths from hearing about them. Donnar picked up where Alagh had left off, and lectured Barak for what seemed like years about the bad aspects of the Kudjargh. His words, however, fell on deaf ears. Barak had fallen in love with the stories, and was in no way going to be dissuaded from his dream.

For the next 9 years, Barak spent less and less of his time at the training grounds and more and more time with the Battle Ragers. Within 3 years, he had stopped coming home completely and spent all of his time with them at their barracks. Drinking, brawling, and occasionally going down to Raven’s Bluff to cause a ruckus at whichever tavern was unlucky enough to have them wander in that night. Often times, they ended up in the city brig for a day or two. During his 8^th year in their company, he was made an honorary member of their order. (Or disorder, as it were) Initiation involved drinking, tattooing, and some ritualistic scarring followed by a battle royale in the barracks. (Just fists and bits of furniture, nothing too lethal) Afterwards, he visited his father to tell him of his successful initiation, and upon seeing his scarred, tattooed, battle-hardened, booze-smelling body, Donnar realized that he had no hope of dissuading Barak from his life as a Battle Rager and resolved to simply accept it.

Alagh returned from his studies abroad in 1369, and resumed spending time with Barak. Barak even dragged Alagh to the Kudjargh’s barracks once much to Alagh’s torment; as he simply couldn’t keep up with their drinking and brawling. After about a year however, a new wave of discontent washed over Barak. What fun was being a Kudjargh if he wasn’t out in the world fighting? He wanted battle, he wanted treasure, he wanted glory, he wanted adventure. He talked about his desire with Alagh, who was growing bored with the lack of new knowledge in the Citadel. After some time, an agreement was reached. Plans were made, supplies were gathered, and in 1371 DR, they both set off into the world, looking for adventure.

Well,I can't help but remember my half elven sorcerer,Adarra.She's probably the reason why Arudin's my favorite DCI character.Because she was basically a female Arudin.She was a wiseass and greedy enough to put a red dragon to shame.The only reasons she was into adventuring were gold and the challenge.Nothing was more exciting than outwitting a dungeon's traps and collecting its treasure.

One aspect I wanted to explore with her was her background. Adarra was exceptionally bitter when it came to her elven kin because her own elf father had abandoned her with her mother's family when she was a small child.She eventually ran off as a teenager and never looked back.Unfortunately the group I game with has a short attention span and we moved on to other campaigns,so I was never able to bring out this aspect of her.Oh well.

 

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Ever so slowly I slip into the depths of madness...

I've only played a little, but I finally got my dad to set up a campaign for me and my brother. I'll just list my current characters. We each have 2 characters since there are only 3 of us including the DM, mine are a elven theif/magic user and a human cleric.

 Kenna is the only child of a noble elven house, and she ran away to avoid being married off. She is unpredictable and selfish at best, and a greedy *** to surpass Arudin at worst. The only thing about her that you can trust is her insaitiable curiosity. It's even odds whether you'll be her new best friend or if she'll stab you in the back. She has a magpie-like collectors compulsion, and the only things she really cares about are magic, power and for reasons known only to her and the gods, Starflower.

Starflower fould tell you that she is NOT an adventurer, simply a misshelved librarian. Shy, kind and compassionate, she never had any desire whatsoever for adventure beyond the pages of a book. She was a cleric of Loralla, godess of learning. (supposedly her astral domain consists of a giant library containing everybook that ever has been or will be written.) She ended up standing quite accidentally between Kenna and the guards her parents sent to look for her and as a result, had to flee town. She has been with the delinquent elf ever since, though it's caused her nerves to be frayed to a thread.

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I swear, now you're just doing it to piss me off.

I've roleplayed in a variety of game systems and have several characters who I find especially fun to play. My top three are:

Angharad Wormwood, known as Wormwood to everyone as she has no friends, is a lawful evil elven fighter/cleric of Hextor. Bitter, vengeful and violent, she serves the god of War to prove she is tougher than any of her foes. She never backs down from a fight and survives through a combination of aggression, skill with her great sword and bloodymindedness. On the plus side, once you have won her respect she will wade through a sea of gore to defend you. Sadly, if you are adventuring with Wormwood, seas of gore happen quite often.

Seselt Tamnesinde is a Forgotten Realms character I've tried to play several times only to be foiled when games fold. A sun elf who saw her family killed by undead, she has sworn herself to the service of Kelemvor as a paladin and hunter of the dead to prevent such a tragedy from happening to anyone else. She is kind, merciful and tolerant though she has to work hard at the latter given the biases of her upbringing. Any living creature is worthy of protection, which has caused her some moral difficulties when faced with evil humanoids.

Lastly, is Tszeidheqiyah aka Cedar, a NE tiefling rogue/ranger/assassin who is a deadly shot with a bow and specialises in plant-based poisons. She's a bright, personable and even tempered killer-for-hire who enjoys long walks in the woods (to gather raw materials for the poisons she makes). Under no circumstances will she start a fight because she knows she does not need to. If someone annoys her, Cedar simply waits until she can set an ambush then turns them into a pincushion. Consequently, nothing much bothers her. Except dogs.

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Nihil est ab omni partum beatum.
(Nothing is an unmixed blessing)

Without a doubt, my most memorable D&D character (for both myself and my fellow gamers) was Krysta Arness.

Krysta was a human female Cleric of Wee Jas / Necromancer in one of Morrigan's games. For those who don't know, Wee Jas is the LN Goddess of Magic and Death.

Krysta was one of those spur-of-the-moment-idea characters. For some reason I felt in a gothic mood, so the character of Krysta was born.

Krysta's origins were quite humble. Her father was a small village carpenter. Her mother died of disease while Krysta was quite young. Her father was unable to support Krysta and her siblings, so, fascinated by the powers of life and death that had cruelly taken her mother from her, she agreed to become a novice at a nearby Temple and Magical Academy of Wee Jas.

Krysta was basically an ice queen, an anti-hero. And as the only cleric and the only wizard in the party (and this was in a group of about 7 PCs), I played it to the hilt. For example, I would demand prayers to Wee Jas from injured party members before healing them. Once during a wild party, she cast Calm Emotions over the area and killed the party mood - just because she could. But the most memorable part about her was her exit.

Background: The party found itself trapped in Respite, a city under siege. Respite was the last great bastion of civilization before heading in the wilds of the northern frontier. The city had been founded by a group of religious pilgrims, thus the ruling council was formed of the high priests of all the major good aligned gods. The besieging force was an army of humans, goblinoids and other unsavoury sorts from a nearby city founded by a self-styled bandit lord and sponsored by the church of Hextor, the God of War and Tyranny.

Anyway, being a group of fairly powerful PCs, the Respite council of high priests decided to hire us for a few specialist missions in the defence of the town. Krysta decided that she didn't want cash payment for her part in the missions - instead she wanted the law changed so that the previously banned worship of Wee Jas was legitimised in Respite, and thus (her being the highest ranking cleric of Wee Jas in the city) a position for herself on the city council. Some diplomacy, negotiation, politicing and a carefully worded speech saw her law narrowly passed, and her position on the council assured.

A short time later, Krysta found herself wondering "Why should I settle for Wee Jas being the least among the Gods in Respite?". And so, with the help of her ever-faithful raven familiar Trask and some spells, she made contact with the leaders of the besieging forces and proposed unto them a Deal. She would provide the leaders of attacking forces the inside information from the Council; and when they overran the city, Wee Jas would officially be the second most prominent religion (behind Hextor). The leaders of the besieging forces agreed to this, and a binding magical contract was made.

And so, Krysta began her betrayal of the city while collecting a paycheck from them. Council plans for lifting the siege began to fail at every turn. Members of the council were inexplicably assassinated, thanks to information provided by Krysta. The accurracy of the long-range siege weapons improved dramatically. Krysta was also put in touch with another inside man - an ex-Paladin of Pelor turned Blackguard, who was spying under the guise of a mercenary leader. He later became Krysta's cohort - or, as she introduced him to the rest of the party: her bodyguard and lover.

Meanwhile, the other players/characters had no idea what was happening, or why the siege was suddenly going so badly for the defenders. A couple of the players began to suspect I was up to something, but they never really knew what. When they asked why Krysta was so tired, I explained that she had triple duties - adventuring with them, working on the council, and trying to get her religion established. She was doing all of that, and working with the besiegers. The poor girl was run ragged. There's no rest for the wicked, however.

The story came to end for Krysta when the council of high priests in their desparation tried to use a powerful artifact the party had found in the catacombs beneath the city. The artifact literally blew up in their faces, killing a great many of them. Fortunately Krysta had suspicions something was wrong with the artifact and was far enough away to survive the blast. (BTW, she began to form those suspicions after successfully tricking a trapped Rakshasha into a years servitude, again, without the party's knowledge.)

Suddenly bereft of most of the leadership, the remaining council decided to evacuate the city. Naturally, Krysta remained behind and welcomed the annexing forces with open arms, and began building her temple to Wee Jas. I retired the character, and last we saw of her, she was already beginning to manuever herself into the position of "Witch-Queen of Respite".

As for the other players, I made certain their characters were a safe distance from Krysta (their final mission from the Council was to escort the refugees fleeing the city to a nearby Elven forest) before revealing the full scope of my deception. A couple of players were rather angry, and wanted to head back to Respite seeking vengance. Some were of the "I knew you were up to something!" frame of mind. One or two actually applauded my scheming.

And that is why Krysta Arness is my most memorable character.

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'Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.' - Arthur C. Clarke.
'Any technology distinguishable from magic is insufficiently advanced.' - Gregory Benford.

Ah, I love scheming characters... Reminds me of a Vampire the Masquerade character my roommate played, I played his bodyguard. His was a half Hebrew half Egyptian Setite priest and mine was a half Nubian half Egyptian Setite warrior, He handled most of the scheming after I was embraced... some time around 500 bc... it was a ancient age game, fully true to history as well; the storyteller was a huge history buff and fully researched everything about the places and times we spent in both VtM books as well as actual history books... We ended up the same generation (5th) because I ended up diabolizing an Assamite, well two actually. First the childe then the sire, the first was simply me protecting my priest the second was a proper duel between sire and bodyguard; I killed both of them the exact same way, charge cleave into their arm with my kopesh, stake them with a table leg... the first fight had my use the table leg because it was on hand, that of course ruined the table so I simply sharpened the leg and kept it as a stake... which I drove into his sire before feasting on his soul. Yay Vampires.

Ah, the joys of being ruthless.

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Nihil est ab omni partum beatum.
(Nothing is an unmixed blessing)

Heh. My dad, our DM, my dad feels the need to frequently comment on how it frightens him how well I do evil (I'm not. I'm a mildly unhinged CN).

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I swear, now you're just doing it to piss me off.

I've just retired one of my long running characters. In HARP, I was playing Mahalat Devlin, a halfling/elf cleric of the goddes of Death & Rebirth. I really enjoyed Mahalat. Game highlights include getting plastered in a drinking contest with the party's dwarf then being in a drunken coma through an epic battle with giant magical spiders. I was the only one in the village who could counter act the spider venom but as I was out cold, the party was captured and carted north to a vampire's keep. I swore to my goddess never to imbibe liquor after that. Though I could have done with a belt of rum after falling into a hole with a demon and having it grin hungrily at me.

Mahalat finally found a tribe of elf/halflings, which was one of her major quests. She decided to settle down there for a variety of reasons. The tribe were heathens and she was a missionary, plus she wanted to thwart the party's plans for a Bachelorette contest to get Mahalat a boyfriend. The other PCs had all sorts of challenges arranged to judge the fitness of their priest's potential mate. Therefore, Mahalat stays to do her goddess's work amongst the savages.

Now I'm playing Ulrika, a half-dwarf paladin of the goddess of War and Survival. I think of her as what would happen if Durnkrag and Bea got together.

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Nihil est ab omni partum beatum.
(Nothing is an unmixed blessing)

Sounds like Mahalat had a good time adventuring and now has a deserved rest to look forward to.

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Scratchit: But he's a cripple!
Blackadder: He's not a cripple, Mrs Scratchit. Occasionally saying "Phew! My leg hurts!" when he remembers to wouldn't fool Baldrick!

I feel like posting two more of my more memorable characters.  Unfortunately they were memorable due to some bad situations.

First is Bolivar. Bolivar was a human monk, a penchant for fighting. In the monastery were he grew up and learned his art, Temple of the Three Fisted Mountain, martial comabt (especially bare handed) is seen as a the way to acheive a perfect balance of mind, body, and spirit, and in doing so come closer to attaining their version of enlightenment. And I went in thinking Bolivar was going to be a lean, mean, grapplin' machine. Unfortunately, due to poor performance in just about every combat situation before 4th level (bad die rolls; horrible, horrible die rolls), his personality to a natural turn for the worse. Imagine trainging for something all your life, and then being unable to to perform said thing to save your immortal soul. Naturally Bolivar was devastated, and everyone else in the party felt tremendous pity for him as well. That was until we stopped for an evening in an abandoned dwarven mountain dwelling. The crew happened to fine a wine celler (of sorts) just filled with still drinkable alcoholic bevarages. That evening, Bolivar got s###-faced, much to the annoyance/amusement of the group. Not long after this event, Wizards of the coast published Complete Warrior, in which was a prestige class that seemed to have been destined for me. All my party thought was that I had gone on a drinking binge with a bunch of drunken gymnasts, and that ever since that night I had become a raging alcoholic who was never without several mugs of ale in him, or at least a couple of shots of hard liquer. But they soon discovered that with my seemingly inhuman ability to consume mass quantities of fermented vegetables and fruits, I also had gained the uncanny ability to do battle with whatever was at hand, as drunk as a skunk, and was better at it than ever!

Due to unforeseeable events, that particular campaign was cut to a devastating halt. And just when Bolivar was getting good too. The most memorable of the memorable about him? The fact that when he asked the party's elevn ranger to pick him up a good stout clay jug to hold his good stuff in, the guy comes back with a jug that has been painted purple, with white and yellow flowers, much to the amusement of the group. Bolivar's response? "Meh, could've been bigger, but it should hold a few pints."

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"Apparently getting your ass kicked is now part of a complete breakfast." - Roy Greenhilt, Order Of The Stick


- An Answerer of questions, and Questioner of answers.

Bolivar sounds a good character. It's nice playing a drunk.

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Scratchit: But he's a cripple!
Blackadder: He's not a cripple, Mrs Scratchit. Occasionally saying "Phew! My leg hurts!" when he remembers to wouldn't fool Baldrick!

Well, my main D&D character was Faliss Mixedblood. It all started off with the stats. Two fifteens, a sixteen, a seventeen, and two eighteens, without fudging the dice. So I ask - can he be a tiefling? And the DM sez it was okay. Thus, Faliss was born. Now, on the outside, he looks like a half-elf with horns and black hair that shifts tints (A.K.A. blue-black, green-black, and so forth). Faliss was a tiefling bard of Oliddamarra (yes, my main was a 3rd Edition. I may not be a classic player, but I'm still a player). So this bard, he loved wine, women, and song. So whenever I entered a tavern, I'd order some "fine elven wine". Not just any elven wine would do - it had to be FINE elven wine. He didn't limit himself to just wine though - dwarven mead, gnomish spirits, so long as the brew was good, he'd drink it.

So he went on for that session, and I brought him back when I DMed a session. This time he had a couple of pets - a flame fox and a frost fox. He also had a tendency of scoring criticals with his halfspear. So not only did he drink, he fought too.

Well, I made a group of adventurers, the Shards of Fate, for a short story that I was going to do, as well as for backup characters. In this group he obtained some dragonhide leather from a Black they brought down, a quartz amulet to link him to the group, and the Drakolis Brand, a spiffy (in his hand) spear, with the effigy of a head of a dragon. The "fire" the dragon breathed worked out to be the blade of the weapon.

Anyhow, I decided to bring him out of RP retirement for an online RP. About a century older, he's no longer the fun-loving self he once was - his life had not gone well in the last few decades, and he hid behind a mask, in both the physical and emotional sense. I just wonder what's gonna happen to him now...