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Wasting Sands: Dark Sun style Pathfinder game - looking for players


Edited 1517938152
GAME WILL BE ON MONDAYS @ 6PM CST WEEKLY In the distant past great sorcerer kings met in secret to plot the casting of the greatest ritual ever to be done on the face of Threshir. Amidst candle light and incense they devised their plans, and agreed to a blood pact to see it through. Each Sorcerer King returned to their respective kingdoms and began to amass slaves, exotic reagents and gold. Years passed before they were prepared, all ready to perform the unthinkable and ascend to godhood. Incantations began, the blood of slaves flowing to feed power to great unholy spell. Before it could be completed, something went horribly wrong and the pent up energy of the spell rebounded and flowed outward. Chaotic energy roiled and ravaged the lands of Threshir, and nothing could escape it's corrupting touch. Trees melted, water evaporated, lands left barren, nothing could stop the power of the failed ritual. Players will be starting in the trading city of Kras. Rife with crime, disease and too many starving people. The only thing keeping the town afloat is the Tyrant Lord Krosis, who owns the everything, most importantly the water. The Tyrant Lord Krosis imports slaves for his gladiator arenas, backbreaking work in the mines or any other purpose they can fill. Psionic guards roam the streets in the name of the Tyrant Lord, keeping the corrupt order in place, using the fear of wiping memories away from any who dare threaten the Tyrant Lords status quo.    The world of Threshir is devoid of divinity, the very gods having abandoned their creation. Most clerics found on Threshir have turned to worshipping the elements around them(Air, Water, Fire, Earth, etc) while those who practice more arcane esoteric traditions are looked upon as demons. Since the Rending magic has now warped, sapping the very life force around it for sustenance, evaporating water, turning stone to ash, plants wilt, and supposedly even pulling the life force from those who dare use it. Psionics have been cultivated to the point of normalcy as a reliable way of not destroying the very environment you live in. Races are not the same as they once were either. Halflings have fallen to more primal roots, forming clans of savage barely intelligent cannibals living in the few remaining forests or near bodies of water. Elves without the lush verdant treescapes of their past have adopted nomadic life styles, grieving any who they come across, raiding any settlement that crosses their path.   Dwarves have likely changed the most of all, relegating a hairless style, to fend off the unbeatable heat of Threshir. Thanks to their extraordinary toughness and psychological conditioning able to withstand the grueling work of the underground. The Rending having demolished most of their once great empires they now congregate around ruins and entrances into the earth, hoping to reclaim their past.  Lizardfolk now go by the name Saurian, having adapted to a scorched earth extremely well. They can be found nearly anywhere and seem to thrive well due to their cold-blooded heritage.  Dromites and Half-Giants, the outcome of a changing world or the machinations of magic have become more common in the last century. Naturally adept at Psionics with an affinity for being nomads, they are slowly integrating into society none the less. Scarce sources of metals, both precious and not, have led to the development of ceramic currency. Additionally, metal coins such as silver, gold, and platinum are worth much more due to their rarity. Typically only extremely the extremely wealthy own silver and gold coins, while platinum are incredibly rare and only found in treasure caches from before the Rending. Lead Bead = 1 copper, Ceramic Bit = 1 silver, Ceramic piece = 1 gp.  Metal being as rare as it is, most weapons and armor are constructed with alternate materials such as bone, obsidian, chitin, wood, etc.  Sages say that before the Rending our world was full of green and water, instead of all the harsh ground and scorching sun we have now. They say you could find water on the ground and it would even fall from the sky, can you imagine that? Food was plentiful and things were safer. Fairy tales if you ask me. Look around, you can see for yourself that never could have been.  Starting level 1, Dreamscarred Press Psionics Unleashed allowed, only races listed in post, no metal equipment(must be replaced with alternate materials)  This will be a high stakes game with zero DM hand holding, the world of Threshir is painful and brutal, so my GMing will attempt to showcase that fact. :) For applications nothing mechanical need be noted, simply name the character, tell me their proposed class and a short backstory on them. 
There are a few houserules beyond this, but I would get much more longwinded listing them all. They will of course be discussed in a session zero.  Time has not been listed as I am open during evenings so once players are chosen time will be aligned to everyone's liking. 

Edited 1518458283
Name : Ellrod Delrohmon Race : Half-Giant Class : Warlord Backstory :  Ellrod was born in a nomad clan of outcasts. Each of the known races was represented, all people who had nowhere else to go, or simply wanted to get away from the trials of the lives they once lead. Out in the harsh elements there was little time for learning anything other than how to survive, which he picked up on quite well. By the time he was a teenager duties such as hunting, tracking, and most importantly, finding water had become second nature to him. In addition, Ellrod learned that he had a certain glibness about him, more than likely picked up from speaking to the wandering traders or other nomad groups their small clan encountered. His skills with a blade came mostly from experience dealing with the fiends and raiders of the wastes, generally able to help protect the clan or atleast deter the attackers. Like most peolpe who wander the wastes, however, his luck eventually ran out, along with his clan's. A large raid of lizardfolk happened upon them in the night in complete suprise. The sentries were felled without a sound and by the time an alarm was raise Ellrod barely had time to get to his feet before he saw only darkness. He awoke some time later with the blistering sun in his eyes, both his feet and arms bound by sturdy chains and the smell of death invading his nose. All around him tents burned, blood flowed and bodies littered the sands. With him, several others were bound in a similar manner, and were eventually forced to their feet and marched off in a direction. He spent the next decade or so in slavery, mostly forced to do manual labor ranging from hauling heavy objects to mining stone and gems. Once he tried to escape, only to be caught a day or two later collapsed in the sands from the blistering heat and lack of water, and since then he hadn't tried. Despite being a slave, and having to be whipped a couple of times, he was treated a bit better than the other slaves. He received more food due to his massive size compared to the others and was generally made to do work that kept him in shape. As it turned out, it was all intentional as his owner decided to sell him off one day for what looked like a sack of coins. Ellrod didn't know who this new man was, only that he was to be hauled off to some place named Kras which had an arena he was going to be forced to fight in. Having all but given up on any kind of life, he did little to resist in the travels through the wastes. It took a number of weeks to arrive, but eventually their little caravan was perched on top of a hill overlooking the large city. That night, while camped, the caravan was approached by a group of men who had come from the city. Ellrod could not overhear what was being said, but he could see the frustration building in his new owner's face, which eventually changed to fury. Some screams and shouts later, the two groups were at blows causing a massive chaos to ensue. Battle raged on for several minutes, at which point only a couple of the caravan's defenders remained alive but quite bloodied. The other slaves siezed the opportunity and pounced on them, quickly ending their lives. After having his chains removed, what few slaves that remained gathered what they could and dispursed in the general direction of the city. Ellrod, having nowhere else to go gathered some armor, weapons and gear from among the dead bodies, and traveled there as well in hopes of finding a new chance at life.

Edited 1517961792
Name : Ravo Race : Elf Class : Cleric (Air) His Story : (Apologies if it's a little... long-winded .) Ravo, of the Chalk Eye tribe, is not a unique creature among his people. The Chalk Eyes are primarily herders, though like many elves, they are opportunistic predators of the wastes-and any city they visit. Tribal unity is the only bond of an elf, and Ravo was no different. Being raised in an elven tribe is a competitive, and dangerous, series of events. Compared to his peers, Ravo was mediocre in most ways. All ways but running; a talent that garners respect among elves. He was in the process of studying under Anemna, an elderly priestess of the winds. It was she who navigates the tribe, and its herds, across the wastes. She was a master of reading the will of the eight winds, and Ravo had the great privilege of learning under her tutelage. He wasted his early years of instruction engaging in drink and banditry with the other young upstarts in the tribe, and he never learned as much as he should have over the years. Eventually, Anemna was too old to keep up with the tribe as they moved across the wastes. She was left behind by the tribe, as was their way, and suddenly Ravo was the new tribe's priest. Thoroughly unprepared for this role, Ravo failed his chieftain and tribe many times over. He would fail to find an oasis when the tribe needed water, or a settlement when the chieftain wanted to herd slaves, rather than beasts. He lost herds to the wastes, and led his tribe to dead ends and dangerous terrain more times than his increasingly disgruntled kin could count. Eventually, Ravo found himself the most hated elf in the tribe. The winds brought Ravo and the Chalk Eyes to Kral. Another mistake, as misery was this city's only abundant resource. Despite bringing a herd of beasts in a half-starved settlement, there were no merchants willing to trade with the elves. His chieftain decided to stay, at least overnight, to attempt to broker a trade with the Tyrant Lord's men. Surely there are hungry guards. Ravo, distressed with another fruitless lead and falling to his old ways, took to the alleys with other Chalk Eyes. Having convinced them a night of burglary and robbery would change their fortunes, he had no idea that his bretheren came along only to get Ravo alone in an alleyway. Before he knew it, his kin were putting a bag over his head and beating him to a pulpy mess. They scurried into the night, leaving behind Ravo: just another twitching body in Kral. May as well be a brick in the wall. By the time Ravo could peel himself off the sandstone, the tribe was long gone, having packed up and left the city before the locals decided to mob up and take the elves' cattle for themselves. (Or worse, before the Templar decide the same thing.) Injured, tribeless, and in a cramped and windless city sprawl, surely the winds of fortune have changed now . He can feel it.
Giving this a bump, setting looks like its going to be some good fun.