Character Art Game

>Swifty Sally

>This mercenary has been working her whole life as a pawn in big mafioso's plans. She didn't care what the next day was made of as long as she got something to eat the day prior. But the mission that weird fella at the tavern gave her might not have been the best decision anyway, even if the pay was good. Turned out that small library from which he wanted scrolls belongs to a psycho mage. Determined to get more out of what she stole, she has to find a dumb rich buyer before either mage find her.

>They had set out from Padara a few days ago, Serena had been worried that the captain hadn't made the needed offerings to ensure safe passage, now it seemed the crew would pay the price for his arrogance
>As the sky spirits circled overhead Serena reaches into her pockets to draw her ritual knife, recalling the words her mother had taught her as a girl, she speaks to calm them and draws the blade across her hand, the blood turning to liquid gold in offering to the gods
>Unimpressed with her desperate ritual the spirits descend on the ship, waves throwing it from side to side, crewmen being carried over the sides by the fierce winds
>Serena now wields the blade defensively, carving runes in the air, only skilled enough to maintain her own safety from the chaos around her
>a cry goes up to flee, Serena recognizes they need a moment of respite to have any chance of survival, seeing a crewman struck by debris unconscious on the deck she goes to his side and kneels down
>holding the knife aloft in her trembling hand she brings it down into the sailor's chest, golden light spills from the hole in his torso as he screams
>Serena sobs out the words to a desperate prayer as golden light surrounds the ship
>She knows it will not last but for now, they sail as fast as the winds will take them

really nice
kudos

>Sir Bhavin

>A veteran of the desert races, he particularly excels when the tracks take them through the crowded city streets, where he can weave in and out through the alleyways.

>When not racing, he's often acting as a courier for nobility. Darting back and forth across the busy city to deliver clandestine correspondence.

is that fuckkin takko?

Ay yo, that is fuggin tako, from TV.
>Kurt Liorsky, Lance Corporal
a heavy weapons expert of the 12th Urban Cavalry, nicknamed the Qs for the "No Quarters!" battlecry which hasn't been relevant for the past century but is still badass. Kurts got a wife and 2 kids back home and he loves football.

>Boss told him this one had drowned puppies on purpose
>...and the last one had stepped on kittens
>...and the one before that had beat up blind orphans
>Boss told him he was doing a GOOD thing by hurting these people.
>If only he had enough of his human brain left to make sense of it all...
>Number eight only stared.
>The crowd went wild.
>The crowd always went wild.

Karvun, son of Karavun, new patriarch of his herd. Wanders the vast Plains of Delonura, following the rains and hunting the wildebeest and wild horses for sustenance.

When a particularly harsh drought lasts for several years, and thins his herd, he decides to abandon the old ways and enter civilization. He becomes a mercenary who sacrifices his independence and freedom for the good of his young charges.

Karvun is typically solemn, quiet, and thoughtful, but he is also unfamiliar with many facets of society. Toys in particular greatly amuse him, and he seems captivated by art and song. He offers prayers to worthy opponents he slays in battle.

awesome

The end came to the Kingdom of Hibernia like sepsis in a wounded soldier. A black corruption erupted throughout the land. Towns rotted to piles of wood pulp and fetid gruel, fortresses crumbled to pebbles, cities to mounds of cinder. At the head of this entropic wave came a cloaked thing. What it was could not be known. So they called it The Veil, and perished praying it would spare them.

There's no such thing as too skinny when you're a knight, you just need the right set of armour. One that lets you hunker down and spy your enemies in the dark. No-one wanders though a cave system and expects a fully-armoured bloke in a sword to charge out of the darkness, run them down and run them through. Veyran smiled to himself as he watched his prey. This poor sod certainly wasn't even expecting a normal ambush, looked like easy pickings once again.

>Lotte was not a careful person, and definitely not what you'd call a forward thinker
>She liked having ideas and immediately putting them to action, but she was never really good at thinking of the consequences
>And she was, in the paraphrased words of her mother, "reckless to the point of almost burning our fucking house down for the 50th time in the same month"
>The fact that she chose to study magic, an art that requires care and precise planning, was not doing her or her immediate surroundings any favors
>But she liked to think her determination and the ability to make quick decisions was her strong point
>This all came full circle when, she accidentally destroyed at least 500 years worth of research in the academy's library and she was expelled for property destruction.
>But she knew in her heart that magic was for her, screw the general public, screw the educational system, and gave herself a new, better goal than finishing at a prestigious magic academy
>She was going to start her own school of magic

>Walter was the son of a fisherman but longed for a chance to rise above his station
>One fateful day his village was attacked by monstrous creatures
>On that day he took up a spear and sought to make a name for himself as a great slayer of beasts rather than die son of a fisherman

His official title was the Imperial Cross. Whoever he was before was unimportant, his life before being scrubbed away to make room for his new identity. When the Imperial Cross walked the street, it meant one thing: a purge was coming.
Surrounded by his personal band executioners and clad in blessed armor, the Cross walked sauntered froward from the ivory gates of the Eternal Palace. Behind him an army of slaves pushed great wheeled engines of death.
After an hour, the band came to a stop outside a dark hamlet nestled into a deep valley. The executioners fanned out, each grasping a holy blade and a torch. The engines were positioned well above the hamlet, their bronze mouths angled towards the sky.
The order came.
With a ferocious roar the engines belched out orbs of flaming tar. The burning projectiles landed upon the homes of those wretched villagers, consuming them in a hellish inferno. Those that ran were cut down, their bodies burned. The Cross watched with muted satisfaction. Not a single heretic would survive.
For the glory of the radiant one!

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I don't think you guys understand the game...

I see this picture and, while it's cool and creepy, I really couldn't help but think of the mantalope from Man After Man.

I think everyone just saw the "Character Art" part of the subject and just autopiloted.

>be OP
>break your own rules in your very first post inthread
>tfw -6 int
>Erezza Pommeller
>self deprecating elf teach
>Born to a minor noble house, Erezza was destined from a young age to be a pretty bargaining chip/proper lady in the game of politics. One day her carriage was ambushed by bandits and Erezza managed to escape amidst the confusion. The freedom she felt that night inspired her to cut ties with her past and take up the sword. She was not missed much back at home as they had multiple backup poker chip siblings.

>While her enthusiasm was commendable her wisdom was not. Erezza, as fit for a proper débutante, never before held a sword or weapon for that matter. Nor was she trained in the arcane arts out of fear she might become a troublesome meddler in court or a planted saboteur at home. All she ever was taught was how to play the harp and common court etiquette. Seeing these as the brand of her imprisonment the lessons never took hold in her heart. In fact, she would later come to loathe politics and the courtesan life, as it reminded Erezza of her own captive time.

>She trained hard and surpassed her peers! except not. While Erezza's acute elven senses helped her dodge blows gracefully and launch brilliant counterattacks, her thin -4 STR frame didn't grant Erezza enough power to capitalize on her extended dexterity. After seeing one too many friends die she decided to retire from adventuring.

>She became a guard in some backwater town, helping the elderly younger than her and offering a warm smile to her fellow simple average countrymen. During her down time not chasing bandits and beasts she likes teaching children and novice adventures her own brand of defensive fencing. Erezza has taken a number of lovers(she has a thing for teacher-apprentice /ss/) throughout the years, but they have drifted apart for this reason or the other. Mostly age
Kind of more NPC at the end I guess.

she looks like tumblr

>post apoc.
>Guy on the right is the son of the Lich on the left
>They kill passerbys who stop by their farm for their meat for the son and their soul for the Lich

Rudalf Summerbrine, a human raised by dwarves in a mountain village. joined the military at a young age, and served valiantly in the Siege of Duskdorne. Given the rank of Knight and granted a noble title.

One fateful day, Rudalf was tasked with subduing an unruly wizard who spoke openly against the crown. Fighting his way through the wizard's monsters and minions, he came face-to-face with the wizened elder. The wizard offered him a bargain: he would share his knowledge and power with Rudalf, if Rudalf served as his protector. He gave Rudalf visions of a future where his people served no king, and had the power to shape their own futures.

Rudalf agreed, as the temptation was great. He returned to his king and renounced his titles. The king attempted to have him executed, but with gifts from the wizard, Rudalf slew the king, and organized a full coup.

Over the years, the wizard's bargain held true. Rudalf's people served him, but he was no king, and neither was the wizard. He led his armies across the continent, subjugating and slaughtering in the name, or perhaps ideal, of self-rule, knowledge, and magic. Some spit his name as a despotic tyrant, and some sing his praises as a liberator.

So a fantasy Simon Bolivar? Nice.

Where's his penis?