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  1. #1
    ddavison's Avatar
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    Sep 2008
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    Central Character Repository

    I thought it would be nice to have people export their PC characters from campaigns and post them up here for other GMs to use. Please give a little background about the character and see the instructions below.

    Instructions for Exporting:
    To export a character, type:
    /exportchar Bob

    Give the XML file a name and then create a post with the information listed below and then attach to your post.

    Instructions for importing:
    Download the attachment. If the attachment is a zip file, you must unzip it to a folder first.
    Inside your 3.5E/Pathfinder campaign, type:
    browse to Bob.xml (or whatever the name) and select it.

    Information to include in your Post : (example)
    Name: Bob Skullcrusher
    Race: Dwarf
    Class: Bar3/Fig6
    Alignment: LG
    Description: Bob is a barbarian fighter specializing in a dual hammer fighting style. He wears half plate armor.
    XML file: Box.xml

  2. #2


    Well this will be a great resource in the future for sure! can't wait to see some of the other characters that get/have been created. Here is one I made the other day for one of my games.

    Name: Shae Blackmire
    Race: Dwarf
    Class: Gunslinger 13
    Alignment: CN
    Description: Loaded with guns. Loves to blow things up for fun. Two-Weapon Fighting Build.
    XML file: Shae Blackmire.XML
    Attached Files Attached Files
    Last edited by madman; April 28th, 2012 at 11:02.
    "Over thinking, over analyzing separates the body from the mind."...MJK... Tool frontman

  3. #3
    Name: Archimedes Archibald Arristonshire XXVI aka Godric Brighton of the Graycloak
    Race: Human
    Class: Pathfinder Paladin 4 (with non-spellcasting archetype)
    Alignment: LG

    “The pearls or the rubies?” Lady Dhalia Ceroth holds the earrings up for her husband’s judgment. “The rubies, mum!” the young boy at her skirt chimes in. “No, the pearls!” The flanking girl replies. “I must side with Marion dear, the rubies will better suit my cufflinks. No pouting, Mary, your face might stay like that.” The lord kisses his children atop their heads while the lady adorns her earrings. “Thank you again, lords Arristonshire. You have always been so kind to our family. The twins simply adore the two of you.” “It is no trouble my lady…” you begin, before your brother cuts you off and ushers the adults out the door. Turning to the children he puts on a large grin. “Now children, why don’t we play hide and seek? I will count to one thousand…” “You always want to play hide and seek!” Mary interrupts. “Yeah, we want to hear your brother’s stories!” her brother Marion chimes in. “Maybe after hide and seek.” “But…” “Go hide, damn you!” Looking slightly frightened the pair of children slink off.

    “That was uncalled for, brother.” “Pardon me for buying us ten minutes of glorious silence in this godforsaken task you insisted upon volunteering for. As much as I am willing to kiss the Ceroth family ring, I draw the line at miniature banshees.” Your twin pours himself a glass of Lord Ceroth’s brandy. “They are called children, and our family’s honor-” “Don’t even start. If you are so keen on this, seek out the wailing loin-spawn yourself.” With a huff you leave the study, your armor clanking across the tiled floor. Behind you your brother seats himself at the lord’s desk.

    Mary sits upon your lap and Marion at your feet, both entirely attentive as you point to your crest. “…partially transmogrified into pudding.” Mary places her tiny palm upon the shield. “So you are going to protect us from everything? Is there anything you can’t save us from?” Her brother stands up and begins posing. “Magic! Nothing is as powerful as a mage!” “Nuh-uh! I bet lord Archdies Bald Arrittonhire the First could beat a mage.” “Now, you two. There are many things more powerful than knights and mages, but there is nothing I cannot protect you from.”

    Returning to the study your brother begins to put away the various reading material he has pulled out. “The children have been washed and put to bed.” You begin to pour yourself a glass of brandy but your brother stops you. “Not only are you on watch, but stealing lord Ceroth’s drink? How could you brother?” You pause, and stopper the flask. “You’re right, our task is not yet complete. We must be vigilant against harm.” “Good, you take over guarding the study while I check on the children.” Nodding, you take up post in the center of the room until your brother returns. He called them children, they must be growing on him.

    You lie in your bed, self-satisfied with your superlative conclusion of your task when you hear the clamor of knights at your door. “Archimeded Archibald Arristonshire the Twenty-Sixth you are under arrest for the poisoning of Lord and Lady Ceroth, second cousins of Queen Archina Ceroth and perverse actions against his children!” Your brother’s voice calls out. “How-how could you brother!? I knew you were ill all these years but I never thought you would do such a terrible thing!” Quickly you move to don your armor as the door crashes in. “Lies! Slander!” you cry as you are dragged from the room. You watch your brother saunter in, picking up your shield to assess its worth before tossing it aside.
    The Arristonshire family is a family of proud knights, once in service to some ancient and almost forgotten ancestor to Achina of Ceroth. For generation upon generation, the Arristonshire’s were a proud and willful family, always living by some soldier’s code of chivalry or the next, and they went nearly unnoticed. Their claim to fame, in their time, had been when a rather dim-witted nephew of another nameless ancestor of Archina found himself swimming unwisely a shark-infested water the family had vacationed near for a vacation of sorts. When the many-toothed beast looked to swallow himself a lordly lunch, all seemed lost! Enter the vassal Archemides Archibald Arristonshire, the first of his name!

    The brave and valiant vassal, at that point little more than a lowly attendant to Archina’s ancestor, foregoing all conventional ideas of human wisdom, prudence, intelligence, and self preservation, flailed into the water like a lost bat in a lake who had also had the misfortune of being partially transmogrified into pudding, and interceded in the encounter on the young nephew’s behalf, challenging “the dagger-mawed braggart to a rousing tussle” as he put up his dukes.

    When Archimedes I had awoken in the infirmary some days later he was soon visited by the thankful patriarch, and for his bravery was given a lord’s title and land, with a very well-to-do manse and attractive land to rule over with plenty of serfs. The Arristonshire patriarch was overcome with tears, tears separate from the pain emanating from the bleeding stumps of his lost hands and amputated leg, and the Arristonshire family line continued on ever since, producing a number of valiant, chivalrous, brave, and above all gentlemanly knights who worked in his service. As the politics of the region developed and the lords became their own separate alliance, the Arristonshire family continued to flourish, and persisted in raising young, athletic, and valiant men, all named Archemides Archibald after the ancestor that had brought them their station such was the respect for their ancestor, because it was the most gentlemanly way to honor his efforts by taking his name.

    In that time the Arristonshire family grew to be great warriors with the help of the martial resources a lordship and land gave them access to, even going so far as to develop their own fighting style; a dual-wielding flailing of a technique reminiscent of a flopping bat in a lake who had also had the misfortune of being partially transmogrified into pudding. This particular art included a shield, very plainly to protect the fragile wrists and hands, learning from Archimedes Archibald Arristonshire The First’s mistake in his skirmish with the shark.

    The innumerable years went on until finally the 26th scion of the family, Archimedes Archibald Arristonshire XXVI was born, with a less-spry and healthful twin, no less, Archimedes Archibald Arristonshire XXVII. The two brothers never really got along. Ruled by the chivalrous and proper practice of primogenitor, the older Arristonshire twin, yours truly, received all the trappings and accoutrements his title implied; full run of the rich manner, the serfs that worked his fields (whom the family was always very nice to and polite, it was the only gentlemanly thing to do to people who were providing for part of your lifestyle, after all); and most especially, the most prized thing of all – the Accoutrements were a brilliant set of Arristonshire marshal heirlooms. These included gilded masterpieces wrought of mithril and magic, and ancient runes that glowed with power – in total a helm, a set of plate, a sword, a spiked shield, and cloak made up the set of armor and each had been improved by previous owners until they were the pride of the family.

    Needless to say, Archimedes Archibald Arristonshire XXVII did not take kindly to the emphasis placed on his brother, and the lower position he occupied because of it. Never one with the physical stature to take up the knight’s work (a first in the family line, a product of their mother, Dame Arristonshire’s last two children being quickened in her womb after Archimedes Archibald Arristonshire XXV took her while under the influence of some hastily burned weeds or another in the family fields), so he turned his cunning mind to the work of politics, until he had gathered enough allies to allege false claims upon his brother of many unspeakable things, the lightest of which being ‘engagement in laying with chickens and consuming the results of that union’. The shame of these false claims brought ruin onto Archimedes Archibald Arristonshire XXVI, and he fled, for years wandering the continent of Etzem under the guise of Godric Brighton of the Graycloak, until one day he could find a way to bring his brother to justice and clear his name, as well as claim his lands and Accoutrements. Among all, though, nothing would be sweeter than recompensing his brother for the most ungentlemanly and barbaric slight he had thrust upon his own blood, for none was as savage and as uncouth as one whom would sabotage their own blood and kin….
    Attached Files Attached Files
    Last edited by PoisonAlchemist; July 8th, 2012 at 18:57.

  4. #4
    Name: Aarati Phara
    Race: Asimar
    Class: Pathfinder Cleric 4 (Spells not selected)
    Alignment: NG

    You like being in the market, unlike the chapel the place is so full of life the pulse of it can be felt throbbing through your body. You stand beside the gambling table, having snuck off for the third time from Devoted Mother’s side to explore. Your eyes, at the level of the table, can watch the Celkie’s dark fingers better than the pale foreigners beside you as he switches the loaded dice in and out. A heavy hand on your head startles you as you are yanked from the tableside. The smell of salt and tobacco assault you looking up into the man’s weathered face. As he pulls your hair in the direction of the slavers block you realize his intention and begin to thrash and scream. The man pauses, and you see a die clatter to the cobbles.

    “That ain’t no kitten, whoreson.” The slaver turns, hauling you with him, to face the offending Celkie. “Drop her and I won’t report you to the Devoted Mother. You would like to set port in the Sezod Islands again, wouldn’t you?” Your captor moves towards the table to impress his full measure upon the Celkie before responding in a growling voice. “She’s not Sezodian, therefore I can lay claim to her. Do not cross me.” Casually the Celkie places a toothpick in his mouth and looks down at you. “Song of the Wicked, verse ten.” Reflexively you begin the recitation instilled in you by the priestesses of the chapel.

    “Wicked is the Gambler,
    corrupter of mens souls,
    pulling them from the fold
    with lies of easy gold.
    The courts of the gods will judge,
    and all the wicked shal burn,
    and all the wicked shal burn.”

    As you continue the gambler talks over you. “She is a child of the church, which makes her Sezodian regardless of her skin.” The pirate narrows his eyes, but turns and walks away. You and your champion move back to the table to find it empty. “Looks like I pissed off someone important.” He gives your hair a friendly muss. “Help me pack up, and we’ll get you back to the chapel.” As the man begins to fold the table you speak up. “You rig the game, why don’t you let the dice fall as fate says?” Kneeling down to look you in the eye, the Celkie hands you a die. As it rolls into your hand you can feel the imbalance. “People think fate is what you‘re given, decisions made by someone else. We can make our own decisions, so why not our own fate?”

    As you approach the chapel you feel a chill come over you, several devoted sisters add firewood to a growing pile in the blackened center of the yard. When you reach the chapel Devoted Mother swoops down from the steps and plucks you from the side of your savior. “Behold the wicked, corruptor of the innocent! Let the gambler burn in the fire of judgment!” The Celkie has only a moment to look to you before you are swept into the chapel and he to the awaiting pyre. As the chapel doors close behind you a waft of salt and tobacco follows a passing man out into the growing light. Quickly Devoted Mother dresses you for bed, sending you to your cot without supper. You clutch the die tightly in your hand as the evening sky grows brighter, and the cries of the market quiet into a single scream.
    Found on the steps of the church as a baby with only a silver necklace of a skull, with the chains running through its eyes, abandoned by her mother who could not care for her, Aarati grew up being taught that she had been sent to them by god. At a young age, she showed zealousness for god, and the ladies of the church, her “mothers” gave her the name which means “Towards the highest love for god” as well as the name Phara, based off the name of their god. Even as she studied the healing arts at a young age, the leaders of the church noticed her raw talent for mending the sick and injured. Her greatest healing was a man who had his arm severed in a fight. She reattached the arm at the age of 7 and promptly went unconscious for a week. At age 11, she has finished her training, and had been sent out to find her fated place and the source of her only possession, the skull necklace. She is still searching to this day.

    Devout follower of Pharasma, the god of fate, death, prophecy, and birth. While she believes the law should be followed, there are times when, for the good of all things, it should be broken. When a friend is in need, she will willingly put her life on the line for them. She takes great pride in her healing, and will heal a comrade, even at the expense of her own health. She does not cling to life, but is simply grateful for the time she has been given.
    Attached Files Attached Files
    Last edited by PoisonAlchemist; July 8th, 2012 at 18:57.

  5. #5
    Name: Fleetham Winway
    Race: Human
    Class: Pathfinder Rogue 4
    Alignment: TN

    You were running around the yard making swooshing noises, your patchwork blanket a magnificent cape flowing behind you. “Fleetham!” Your mother’s voice called melodic from inside the house. Turning you swoop to rescue your mother from the great monster which surely was attacking. Puttering into the house you clamor up the chair beside her. “Fleetham dear, your siblings have found something most remarkable and want to share it with you.” Looking over at the table you see Marissa and Taria giggling and Wildbridge is sitting with a self-satisfied smile. Yarry, however, looks solemn and deathly serious as ever. “Fleetham, we have discovered… “ Yarry pauses for dramatic effect, ”a treasure map.” Taria lets out a laughing snort, and is elbowed by Wildridge in the ribs. “We need you to find the treasure, Fleetham.” Delicately Yarry hands over the slate which smells of fresh woodburning. You study the ‘map’ intently, and make out the local landmarks. A small x is marked in the garden of the lord’s manor. Without hesitation you are off, dragging a much too large shovel behind you.

    The lord’s garden is mostly overgrown with weeds, with a lone gardener working in the fog to prepare for his return. “Ho there littlest Winway, where’re you going ‘round here with that shovel?” Breathless with excitement you blurt out “I’m going to dig up the treasure!” “Is that so. I can’t have you mussing up the lord’s garden, but if you clear the weeds from that plot there I might allow you the privilege.” Your face forms a pout. The plot was indeed the smallest in the garden, but to a little boy it appeared much too large. Dejected, you begin the long trek back to your home.

    Dark is falling as you walk the empty festival streets. There is no fear in Fleetham Winway, bold adventurer. The shovel you continue to drag behind you clatters along the cobblestone in a terrible racket. Tired, you pause to look back at the lord’s manor. A fleeting idea crosses your mind; most people are home at this hour. With a sigh you resolutely turn around and begin the walk back to the lord’s estate. No gardener is going to keep the great Fleetham Winway from his treasure!

    Digging in the dark is difficult, but the smell of earth and the thought of treasure keep you motivated. It is not long before your shovel clangs against a metal box, buried in the soil. Eagerly you pull up the box and clutch it to your chest. Hearing the noise a silhouette opens the door to the manor, searching the darkness. Panicked you begin to run, abandoning the shovel in favor of the mysterious treasure box and fleeing towards home. Exhausted and smeared with dirt you curl up in bed, clutching your prize.

    Bleary-eyed and still clinging to your treasure box you waddle into the kitchen the next morning. Your father sits at the head of the table, circles lining his eyes from a night spent searching for a lost son. Mother sits beside him, covering her mouth to disguise her amusement. Yarry stands in the doorway, chucking. “Well Wildbridge I hope that teaches you not to try and trick Fleetham into doing your chores, and on his birthday no less.” Marissa pulls you into her lap and places the box on the table. With a flourish Taria undoes the clasp to reveal the gleaming contents. What seems like a thousand buttons glitter and shine in the morning light. In your mind it is a treasure to rival that of any king. Leaning across the table your mother runs your soiled cape through her fingers. “I’ll sew some to your blanket if you like, my little rogue.”
    Estate Westershroud lies at the westernmost edge of the lands pledged to the Edowsan Alliance, and takes its name from the daily fog which rolls onto the rocky shores where locals frequently send their young children to clam. It is a large, but not terribly prosperous holding for its lord, though it is cannily run by Eldest Winway, who makes sure that just enough of a stipend is sent off to Lord Westershroud to dissuade him from making the long and arduous journey back to his lands, where he spends just a single month of the year, always claiming that the cold and fog make his bones ache.

    The economy is primarily agricultural, with farming of wheat and barley occupying most of the populace. The typical family owns two to three oxen for plowing and lives in a small sod house, wood being hard to come by in this area. Typically a new house is built every few years, as the family relocates to be closer to the lands it is actually farming; crop rotation in the thin topsoil having been found necessary many generations before. Most families also have a plot of land in the festival town next to the Lord's manor. Over generations each family has constructed small, ramshackle stone houses with wood fronts. Called "festival houses," these buildings are used for the town's major social events, quarterly festivals that are part celebration, part commerce, and never coincide with the Lord's residency. Lasting two to four days, these festivals bring together the Estate for marriages, feasting, and trading.

    Throughout the rest of the year the festival town is populated only by the blacksmith, shopkeep, and the servants responsible for maintaining the Lord's manor. In the morning fog the abandoned houses have the look of a ghost town, the cheap paint applied for the previous festival peeling in the damp air. One of the larger, longer established festival houses belongs to the Winway clan, a family long established on the Estate, but which would have died off but for the prosperity of Dorwold Winway, now Eldest of Westershroud.

    Dorwold, his parent's only son, worked hard and married late, whereupon he and his wife Lynnea set upon furthering his name most heartily, begetting three sons and two daughters. The eldest is Yarry Winway, a sturdily-built and industrious boy prone to overwork and much beloved by the family oxen (Un, Do, and Tre), who has short, straight dark hair. Following him is Wilbridge, of similar appearance and disposition but less fond of oxen than climbing in trees, and willing to walk miles to find new enfoliaged challenges, should the opportunity present. The two daughters, Márisa and Taira, serve as maids in the manor, where the latter annoys the former to no end, ever hanging on. They both share their mother's dark eyes and tightly curled dark hair. Finally, Fleetham Winway is the baby of the group, having been something of a surprise to his parents. Above all, he enjoys clambering about the rocks for clams, occasionally stopping to look out to the sea and wonder what lies beyond it.
    Attached Files Attached Files
    Last edited by PoisonAlchemist; July 8th, 2012 at 18:58.

  6. #6
    This is a great idea! The other thing that would be worth mentioning is whether the character uses the 3.5 or the Pathfinder rules (and, I suppose, whether they use any non-core rules).

  7. #7
    ddavison's Avatar
    Join Date
    Sep 2008
    Blog Entries
    You no longer need to zip them prior to attaching them.

  8. #8
    Trenloe's Avatar
    Join Date
    May 2011
    Colorado, USA

    Pathfinder Society core class pregens - level 1

    Here is Fantasy Grounds XML ready for loading directly into a GMs campaign using the /importchar chat command.

    Players, you can import these into your local character cache using the Fantasy Grounds Character Converter and selecting the "local import" option. This will then allow you to access the in "Manage Characters".

    Ezren (Wizard 1): Attachment 2695

    Kyra (Cleric 1): Attachment 2696

    Merisiel (Rogue 1): Attachment 2697

    Valeros (Fighter 1): Attachment 2698

    More PFS pregens can be found here: https://www.fantasygrounds.com/forum...ad.php?t=16900
    Private Messages: My inbox is forever filling up with PMs. Please don't send me PMs unless they are actually private/personal messages. General FG questions should be asked in the forums - don't be afraid, the FG community don't bite and you're giving everyone the chance to respond and learn!

  9. #9

    FGII Export to Import in Hero Labs

    It is GREAT to now have the ability to EXPORT characters OUT of FG II.... now if I can only figure out how to IMPORT these same characters into Hero Labs! This would complete the circle... and greatly help in managing and maintaining characters...

    Some day....

  10. #10
    Building a program that can import back into Hero Lab from any VT would require coding on both sides. While FG uses a loosely tied data model (i.e. does not enforce character creation rules), Hero Lab does enforce the rules and the character files are tied to their specific data files with IDs.

    You can currently get an export in XML format from FG. Even if someone wrote a program to convert the data into something similar to Hero Lab character format, the problem is still figuring out how to link up all the IDs for every feat, spell, power, etc; since all that data is internal to Hero Lab and changes every time they update.

    Basically, it's not an easy problem to solve.


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