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I have two characters that would be interested, but potentially only one that would make a good fit.

"Get off her asshole"
"My butt is now skeleton free"

Lol!  It was just that one time and that was YOUR fault as I recall.   Stupid armor eating retriever.....

I also played Megaira, although no one ever learned her name.  She kept it a secret.  She sold magic items in exchange for people's personal secrets

He was a Hin, yes but didn't use axes.

*laughs*. I remember you....I think.  I played Cade Thorngage and to a lesser extent Adelia Rose

For Harmon Dale:



Crystal Ball by Keane
Who is the man I see
Where I'm supposed to be?
I lost my heart, I buried it too deep
Under the iron sea.
Oh, crystal ball, crystal ball,
Save us all, tell me life is beautiful,
Mirror, mirror on the wall.
Lines ever more unclear,
I'm not sure I'm even here,
The more I look the more I think that I'm
Starting to disappear.
Oh, crystal ball, crystal ball,
Save us all, tell me life is beautiful,
Mirror, mirror on the wall.
Oh, crystal ball, hear my song,
I'm fading out, everything I know is wrong,
So put me where I belong.
I don't where I am,
And I don't really care,
I look myself in the eye,
There's no one there.
I fall upon the earth,
I call upon the air,
But all I get is the same old vacant stare.
Oh, crystal ball, crystal ball,
Save us all, tell me life is beautiful,
Mirror, mirror on the wall.
Oh, crystal ball, hear my song,
I'm fading out, everything I know is wrong,
So put me where I belong.

Good job on the rear, EL.

Haylin grimaced slightly as he slowly decended the stairs.  Leaning heavily against the walls for support he slowly made his way down the short span of stairs, his arthritic knees protesting every step.  Somewhere in the back of his mind stirred the very small apprehension that if he should fall there would be no one to come to his aid.  He had rented the house a few days ago for the privacy it afforded.  An old farmhouse on the outskirts of Silverymoon which was seldom visited anymore.  He had furthermore paid the owner of the land more then 4000 gold coins to be allowed to stay one week, more then enough for the landlords discretion, not that anyone was looking for him anyways.  Haylin smiled thinly to himself as he thought that at least age had afforded himself a certain amount of anonymity.  Few cared about the doings of an old man.  Reaching the bottom of the stairs Haylin paused to shift his weight to the staff he was forced to carry about, or rather, was forced to carry him about.  He looked about the basement calmly.  This was where it would happen.  The next ritual described in the Mad Lich's grimoire, it was by far the most complex one he had dared to undertake.  Although his skill and knowledge of the arcane had grown, many of the concepts and spells in the grimoire continued to confound full understanding.  Haylin did not really care though, he could live without enlightenment, as long as he could have rejuvination.  He made his way over to where he had set up his preparations, leaning on his staff for support.  A small cot of hay was set up, and next to it a table with a chest.  Haylin carefull layed his staff aside and sat on the edge of the cot.  His eyes fell on the Grimoire for a moment, and although no visible emotion crossed his face, a thin line of perspiration broke out on his brow.  Tearing his gaze away from the strangly compelling book, he bagan to strip off his clothes.  As he removed each article of clothing, he meticulously folded it and set it at the foot of the cot.  When that was complete he struggled to his feet again and opened the small chest.  The basement air was cold on his aged bare skin and he shivered slightly.  With a trembling hand he slowly removed the chests contents.  Long strips of linen smelling of exotic and profane perfumes, wrappings taken from an animated mummy by his own hand, with Willow's help.  Along the entire length of the wrappings were the strange and partially incomprehensible magical runes copied from the grimoire, written in an ink brewed from elvish blood and vampiric ash.  Haylin methodically began to wrap himself with the inscribed linens, taking great pains to not accidentally damage the already frayed material.  He wrapped every inch of his exposed flesh, and when he was done he laid back on the straw cot.  He couldnt see through the wrappings, and the only sound which came was that of his own ragged breath which seemed loud to his ears.  The sickly perfume of the wrappings former occupent stung his nostrils and made breathing difficult.  He could feel his heart hammering in his chest.  For a moment he hesitated, and while it was only briefly to him it seemed an eternity.  Would this work?  Had he prepared the wrappings correctly?  What would happen if it failed?  What would happen if it succeeded?  His breathing became louder and he felt hot and stifled, as if he was suffocating.  Steeling himself he raised his arms and brought them together in a circle, each hand clasping the opposite wrist, completeing the magical circle inscribed into his very flesh.
Pain...its a small word, just four letters long and yet it is meant to encompass the whole range of human suffering.  Haylin fell through a void, lost at the extreme range of those four letters.  The bottom had fallen out of the universe, and he plunged through darkness like a screaming comet of bright anguish.  To his pain wracked and fevered senses it seemed to him as if he could glimpse dark halls through ornate archways, twisting staircases which crossed the space of his his decent at impossible angles, and impossible stone monoliths whose bizarre architecture denied his enflamed mind comprehension.
...In the dark passageway he could see the goblin.  The spark of life had long left it and it shambled torwards him with a slow unsteady gate.  Portions of its decayed flesh were absent, revealing bone.  Its mouth fell open accusingly but no voice emerged, only a cascade of tiny wriggling white maggots.  Haylin screamed and ran, running into a large half orc.  The creatures eye sockets were empty, dark red holes which stared at Haylin without sight.  It lunged for him screaming curses.  Haylin fled again, all reason gone.  He was a creature driven by pain and pure terror and then the drow was there.  Its throat was neatly cut but did not bleed, for the thing had no more blood left to do so.  It too clutched at Haylin from the darkness grabbing him by one wrist and pulling Haylin inexorably closer.
"You did this to me......."
"nononononononoNONONO!"
With Herculean effort Haylin tore himself free of the vengeful corpse and spiraled once more through darkness. Fleeing down passages he ran into the room, slamming the door behind him and shoving the small bed up against the door.  The room seemed big, and fading daylight illuminated it in a pale yellow.  The door handle turned and the door shook.
"Haylin?  You in there, boy?"
All strength in his legs gave out and he slumped to his knees as the room seemed to grow and swell about him.  His eyes were wide with a horror too great for one face to express.  The door banged harder shoving the bed back an inch.
"Dont make me force this door open!  You hear me?!  Haylin!?"
A lifetime spent wounded.  A lifetime spent obsessed with self preservation.  A lifetime spent on repression and denial.  A lifetime spent on nothing.
Through the haze of pain and terror something else began to grow..anger.  It welled up from some hidden place and swept him away in a white hot rage.  Behind that door was the reason for that lifetime.  Behind that door was the source for all of it.  
"HAYLIN!?"  The door shuddered again with greater force and opened a fraction wider.
With the savage fury born from decades of repression Haylin grabbed at the door and threw it open.....
Somewhere he could hear a sound.  It's faint familiarity pulled at the corners of his mind.  It was constant and unending, but try as he might he couldn't quite grasp recognition.  A puzzle.  Concentrating, the sound began to grow louder.  It was...was......screaming..
That lightning moment when conciousness wrests self realization from sleep flashed through Haylin's mind.  The screaming was coming from him, from a throat grown hoarse from the act.  He screamed as he tore up the staircase from the basement.  He screamed as he broke through the door outside into a rainstorm.  Rain fell in sheets from a black starless sky, the tatters from the wrappings blackened and in disarray.  Slipping in the mud, Haylin fell to his hands and knees, his breath coming in ragged sobs as the weight of water coursed along his body dragging the bloodsoaked mummy wrappings down with it.  Lightning flashed in the sky overhead and in the brief moment of illumination Haylin saw his bare hands against the dark ground.  Eyes widening he gasped as he sat back on his knees and tore what little of the wrappings still remained from his body.  Once more lightning coursed through the sky overhead, and in its light Haylin saw he had not been decieved.  Gone was the aged flesh raveged by time, replaced by pale firm skin.  Haylin got to his feet slowly, under his own power and unhindered by arthritis.  As thunder pealed through the heavens he threw back his head and answered it with a scream of his own.  This was not a scream of pain or terror however, this was the scream of a newborn...it was the scream of triumph.

Haylin sat at his table carefully laying his ever present staff by his side.  After taking a moment to carefully arrange his instruments he regarded the specimen jars before him.  Pulling one closer he held it up to the light to examine its ghoulish content.  Floating in preservative was a pair of eyes, the same as all the other jars carefully arranged before him.  The time had come for yet another experiment, one crucial to his future success.  It was imperative that he undertake this particular endeavor, but the cost of failure.....
Haylin shook his head briefly, it was best not to think of such outcomes.  Opening the jar he carefully spilled the eyes it contained onto an examining tray before him.  Picking up a pair of calipers he took prodigious measurements which he fastidiously recorded in his notes.  
He had hired Willow to escort him to High Hold, knowing they would most likely be attacked by bandits en route. Her services were expensive, true, but more often then not she proved herself worth the expenditure. Haylin had been right about the inevitable bandit attack, indeed, he had planned his route to take him straight through their territory. Willow had dealt with the bandits with the customery competence which Haylin had come to rely upon.  In the aftermath of the battle he had taken from their corpses what he felt was a fair trade for their attempt on his life.  
It was this tribute which Haylin bent all his focus on.  He measured and examined each pair of eyes meticulously, inevitably consigning them back to their specimen jars for either real or percieved imperfections.  At last he settled upon a pair which he felt to be the most suitable.  Haylin was surprised that they were from the half orc, and he checked and rechecked his measurements to be sure.  Once he was certain he was correct, Haylin carefully washed the disembodied eyes to removed any traces of the preservative.  They sat in the tray staring up at him, the moisture making them glisten slightly in the light of the room.  Staring back at them, Haylin reached over to a small vial.  He had prepared the potent pain killer in advance, and now was the time to use it.  He drunk the contents down quickly, and returned his attention to the silently staring eyes with their optic nerves splayed out behind them like a ghoulish pony tail.  He had to act quickly before the herbal mixture he just drank clouded his focus.  Channeling the forces of negative energy as he had learned to do from the ancient Path of the Dead, Haylin funneled the energy into the eyes before him.  The bloody optic nerves twitched and then thrashed about in the tray.  Haylin stared at the eyes as they pushed themselves about on the examining table grimly.  He could feel the numbness begin to set in, the drowsiness begin to overtake him.  Haylin slipped his glasses off his face and laid them carefully aside.  He stood up and gripped the edges of the table and slowly lowerd his face torwards the animated eyes.  The eyes stopped their aimless tumbling as if sensing Haylins approach.  The filamentous optic nerves stretched hungrily up at his face, straining to reach him.  Haylin brought his face within their reach, gripping the edges of the table with whitened knuckles as the wet tendrils slid over his cheeks.  The grotesquely quivering nerve and muscle fibers slid beneath Haylins eye lids, and then plunged into the space behind.  His old mans body shook with revulsion at the unnatural invasion.  The foreign eyes drove themselves into his head, and Haylin vomited as his knees gave out, toppling backwards onto the floor.  The pain was overwhelming and his heels drummed against the ground while he writhed and gargled, his hands clawing at the floor as he desperately fought the urge to pluck the invading eyes from his head.  For one brief insane moment Haylin saw the room through a red haze as if viewed from two pairs of eyes, but then there was a final flare of pain as the half orcs eyes succeeded in dislodging his own and settling into his eye sockets, first the left, then the right.  Haylin lay there gasping as his own dying eyes slid down his cheeks, wet with his own blood tears.  After a moment he crawled over to a chair, pulling himself into it.   The last thing Haylin saw before losing conciousness was the room in perfect clarity.

Haylin crept slowly down the darkened mine corridor, leaning heavily on his staff for support.  The uneven flooring was difficult for him to move across, and the cool damp air was wreaking havoc with his arthritis.  The air was heavy and stale, reeking with the stench of goblin.  Haylin detested the place, and he feared the goblins who infested the warrens like rats.  He was compelled to come here however.  Ever since he had wrested the ancient tome entitled the Path of the Dead from the lich in the High Forest he had spent days lost in studies of the tome, hoping to unlock its long forgotten secrets.  Finally after months of constant intense research he had made a break through.  He had been staggered by what he discovered.  The laws and processes by which the dead were animated were laid bare.  The tome detailed methods by which the dead could be animated with a simplicity that was almost beautiful.  Its intuitive method made the traditional complex arcanists spells look like childs play in comparison.  But Haylin had to know for sure, had to see for himself whether this method worked, or if it was yet another in a long series of disapointments.  And so he had come to this long abandoned mine with its vicious and cruel inhabitants.  
From somewhere up ahead Haylin heard a faint scuffling noise.  His heart beat faster and perspiration broke out upon his brow.  He squeezed himself up against the wall as flat as he could and listened.  The noise persisted, and Haylin slowly crept foreward, sliding along the wall for concealment and support.  As he came to the corner he peeked cautiously around.  There in a small room stood a lone goblin sentry, one knobby little finger with its dirty nail digging in its green nose as it muttered incomprehensibly to itself.  Haylin withdrew quickly and pressed his back against the wall, his breath coming faster.  He sent his mind out into the darkness and made contact with Cane, bidding it to come foreward.  The large bat came flying silently along the tunnel and landed clinging to the rock wall, regarding Haylin with its small dark shiny eyes.
"Kill it." Haylin whispered, and the large bat flared its leathery wings and took flight.  Cane streaked around the corner, catching the goblin by surprise.  It swung its crude morning star clumsily and Cane deftly flew underneath the weapons arc and sunk its sharp teeth into the goblins dirty throat.  It gave a strangled cry as it clutched futily and the bat, falling backwards as a jet of arterial blood sprayed into the air.  Haylin gripped the wall behind him, terrified other goblins would have heard the dying cry and would be coming to investigate.  Cane released its grip from the now dead goblin and flew to the darkened passage opposite the one Haylin cowered in, clinging to the ceiling.  After a minute, Haylin felt the bats empathic signal that the corridor was clear.  Leaning on his staff for support Haylin slowly made his way to the corpse of the goblin.  He stood over it, watching the the now sluggish stream of its blood spill from its torn neck to pool upon the rocky floor.  This was the moment of truth, the moment he would truly see if the secrets the Path of the Dead held were true and valid. This moment was the reason he had endured the fear and pain of this fetid hole in the ground. Extending one wrinkled and slightly trembling hand over the goblins corpse, he concentrated and and channeled the force of negative energy into the goblins dead body exactly as the ancient tome said to.  The goblins body suddenly jerked spasmodically, and the lids slowly rose revealing dull lifeless eyes.  Haylin's own eyes widened as he watched, riveted and unable to look away.  Slowly the goblin zombie rose to its feet, and Haylin staggered backwards, tripping painfully over loose rocks as he eyes were riveted by the abomination before him.  The zombie stood there, and its jaw dropped slack as it issued a low moan from dead and ravaged vocal chords.  Haylin broke out in a cold sweat as he looked at the thing before him which should not be, but was.
It worked!  By all the gods it had-
Haylin's thoughts were interupted by Cane's urgent empathic warning that two goblins were approaching.  In a panic, Haylin quickly prepared to cast an invisibility spell and make his escape.  Suddenly he paused.  A thin smile spread across his face as he turned his attention to the undead goblin before him.
"Two goblins are approaching from that corridor," he said to it "Deal with them."
As the zombie slowly turned and shambled off to meet its former tribe mates, Haylin looked on, a small smile of triumph playing upon his features.

Some of us were talking about pale masters earlier and it got me thinking about the one I played many, many years ago on a server far, far away.  I found three of his stories, and I'm kinda fond of how they turned out.  Rare because I generally dislike what I write.  Figured I'd share because some of em have a very Far kinda vibe.  The backround of this character was that he was a very rich, but very old merchant terrified by his own impending mortality.  He gave all his wealth to a group of adventurers to retrieve a tome said to contain the secrets of immortality from a lich.  With what little money he had left over, he used to find tutors to teach him magic.  He started off old, and decrepit, couldn't run, only walk with the help of a staff, eyesight was failing etc, etc.  Typical age related ailments.  The more levels of pale master he took, the stronger and younger he became.  LETOs were done periodically to change his appearance.  Fair warning, some of it is particularly gruesome, particularly the second story.  Body horror and such.  These entries correspond to certain pale master levels.

Mirabell Rivenstone: Gnome Wizard 21
Randa Stoneshield- Gold dwarf barb/cleric.  Currently only lvl 3 as RL issues have kept me from logging a lot of time lately, but I'm hoping to get a few levels on her in the next couple of weeks.  Cleric of Haela Brightaxe

"Little horns never get the job done"
"I wouldn't know"

I have a female dwarf of Haela I was meaning to play more, but have been out for most of December.  I will be around more in January though