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The Rynwold Pantheon (D&D 4e)

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JDigital:
Soldiers in chainmail armour and red tabard march from the cathedral and across the gravelled courtyard as their commanding officers bark orders. Outside the castle walls, the cheers and music of the city's harvest festival beckon you back for more revelry, but today, there's money to be made.

Two of the Catharsian soldiers march toward the group of you. One of the soldiers looks to be a senior paladin, judging by his age and elaborate plate armour, and he looks you over carefully.

"Acolyte," he says to the other soldier, "is this really the best you could do? A tiefling girl, a travelling storyteller, a shifty-looking dark elf, an orc-blooded tribeswoman, a gravedigger, and an old mystic with a camel?"

The acolyte frowns. "Your Grace, this was the best we could do at such short notice. I have been assured that each is godsfavoured of a major deity, and has some sort of combat experience. As you requested for this mission, none are dwarves or followers of Catharsus."

"Very well!" snaps the old paladin. "Time is of the essence. Each of you, explain to me just who you are and why the Church of Catharsus the Avenger should trust you with a weight of gold and an important mission?"

Doom:
For easy reference:

Character Sheet

Face, eyes and blue skin like this.
Horns and long black hair like this

Vivi looks like she has spent her entire life in the nearest forest, her vivid blue face looking palid beneath the layer of dirt. A few fresh scratches in obvious three-line claw patterns shine through on her left cheek and her matted black hair has leaves and the occasional branch poking out on it's way down to her waist. Her patched together overcoat has a pleasant odor to it, but this is probably owed to the stems of mint stuffed into every pocket and pouch rather than any attempts at hygiene. She holds some leaves up to her nose and inhales deeply, then plucks two individual leaves and impales them on the tips of her horns.

One hand drops to her side and the other is held up to her face, with three fingers held together in front of her mouth as though stifling a laugh.

"Isn't it obvious? I think if we crossed somebody named the Avenger, we'd be in a load of trouble..."

She bats her eyelashes about a dozen times at the old man.

"You can call me Vivi, and although my titles and qualifications are too numerous to list, I'm the very best mushroom gatherer and void-aligned artificimancer in the entire <City> area! You can trust me because liars are eaten by Red Caps and I'm too beautiful to die young."

Vivi does a curtsy with her old overcoat, the bowing allowing the garish antlers she wears on a dinged-up brass headband to cast a cavalcade of shadows from the nearest torch.

Stush:
Francisca [Fixed it, accidentally wrote vanessa.] stands tall beside Vivi, her chainmail gleaming in the sun, a colourful tabard over the top of many different colours.

She has a heavy looking backpack, which seems to be nearly entirely full of books of various colours and sizes, and on her hip, a longsword in a gleaming green sheath.

She smiles at the paladin, a black eyepatch covering one of her eyes, she reaches up to grasp the monocle that covers her other, cleaning it on her overcoat.

"As i've explained to the young man here, you'll be hard pressed to find a more capable soul for your task, any task, in fact!" She bows "Francisca B. Winterbottom, yes, THE Francisca B. Winterbottom, at your service, writer AND protagonist of "The curse of the red tomb", "The gilded eye" and "The riddle of the box".

She stands back up and pops her monocle back on. "I am well experienced in all forms of dungeon work, problem solving, and of course, combat."

She waves her arm to the side at her companions, "And doesn't this look like a fine group? It definitely has variety, of skills and experience, and that is always what you need to overcome any obstacle, So when you ask if this is the "Best you could do", truly, this group, with me included, are truly the "Best you can do"!"

Lottel:
Dog shifts a bit and frowns. He sets his bag on the floor, causing his various tools clatter about and glasses to lightly tink. He adjusts the mask under his chin and leans against the wall crossing his arms.

"Well, it's easy to tell how I'm the best there is at what I do. I'm still alive, aren't I? And that get's to be a more astounding feat with each passing day. You need me."

Bongo Bill:
"Know thou that I am called Pitamaha, esteemed Grace," said the old whitebeard with a deep stiff-backed bow. He wore a high-necked blue military coat and a blue turban, and a scimitar hung at his waist. "My God, whose domain is all that is mysterious, did see fit to reveal to me some portion of my destiny. I am to aid thee in thy holy mission, whatever it be, and though my bones do creak and my sword hath not drawn blood in many a year, to refuse the call of Destiny would be inconceivable.

"Ah, but perhaps thou believest the doctrine that one must make his own Destiny. My words would then be empty to you, so I shall allay your concerns. Despite my aged appearance, I am strong of sinew and steady of arm, and having traversed this continent I know many secrets of mettle. Knowest thou that to refuse the counsel of elders invites folly? It behooves thee to accept my service, for thereby thou acceptest the will and the wisdom of two Gods."


(I went ahead and stickied this thread and made the signup thread unsticky)

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