Day: Will be decided when group is formed Time: Will be decided when group is formed Tools/Applications: • DnDBeyond • Discord • Map System Requirements(*Optional but desired): • A Discord account • A microphone, whether attached to the device or external does not matter • *A camera, whether attached to the device or external does not matter • 16 years of age up to 24 year of age (*18 to 21 years of age desired) • *A non-evil character idea
Salutations fellow internet individuals, you may refer to me as Nikita for the purposes of this interaction
This campaign is a post-apocalyptic scenario. The short history of how the apocalypse happened will be placed last on this post. In this campaign, you (the party) find yourselves travelling to Tantra (As to why, it is up to you). Whether or not your individual characters knew about each other or why the others are also travelling to Tantra is, again, up to the individual. Now, some quick notes for characters. • Once everyone is assembled, we will go through session 0 for the purposes of answering questions, figuring out characters, and plotting or creating backstories for said characters • Combat between players is allowed and is not discouraged nor encouraged • Your party will be the heroes of this world (Unless certain choices are made, then the party would become the villains), so starting with a neutral or positive alignment is desired • Out-Of-The-Box characters (aka heavy homebrew) are welcomed, I have no quarrels with them • Death of a character is a great and present possibility, however, I will not actively set out for a character's death
With that out of the way, should you prove interested in joining this campaign or desire further information (like character creation rules), you may contact me through my discord handle (unteto_corel_lunar). Hope to hear from you.
Code Apocalypse (Pardon the poor writing, I wrote this at like, 03:00 in the morning)
The Designer had summoned the rest of the council for a meeting to discuss the future of the “Desolaters”, a small group known for acts of terrorism (or what the council saw as terrorism). The high council consisted of The Designer, The Harvester, The Threader, and The Weaver. Each believed an absolute control of magic would lead to a prosperous and safe world for all living and dead. The Desolaters did not share those beliefs. The Desolaters were constantly hunted by the council’s highest warriors for their use of “untamed” and “dangerous” displays and uses of magic in public areas.
The meeting took place in the largest court the kingdom of Tantra had to offer. Tens of thousands of Tantrians gathered both in and out of the court, rumors and whispers a constant among the historically large crowd. The Designer began the trial by ringing The Commander, a magic bell which allowed whoever rung the item to control all who heard the ring of the deathly looking bell. The effect is said to be so strong even some gods fell victim to its effects. Only the oldest of the gods and the council members were immune to the effect. Now the trial has started.
The Designer was the first to speak, his voice was old and decorated with words lost to time long ago. “We are gathered for a trial long overdue.” The Designer’s voice carried with disgust, “The Desolaters are guilty of desolating our weave of magic, they are a stain on the fabric so carefully crafted by my siblings and I. Such an act is deemed as terrorism, for the disturbance of the peace. The only punishment sufficient is death, as many of you among the crowd already know by now. However, death leaves the soul intact…” The Designer’s voice trails off as a wicked grin grows larger and larger on his face. The crowd begins to speak amongst themselves, what did The Designer mean by “leaves the soul intact?” He rings the bell once more to silence the crowd. The Harvester then stands slowly, her age showing in her stiff and rigid movements. She reaches into the air and closes her hand, then pulling with speed contradicting her usual old and slow movement. Seemingly pulling raw magic from the air, she hands the soft black and white looking material to her sister, the Threader. The Threader pulls and stretches the raw magic, easily forming the blob into thin silk-like strands before passing it to their youngest sibling, The Weaver. The Weaver stood out from her siblings. While his siblings appeared impossibly ancient, time being a lost concept on them, he was still young in appearance and true age. He took the threads of magic and began quickly and effortlessly forming them into a fabric which had began reeking of necrotic magic.
Soon after, the fabric was finished and bared the image of a ghostly blue wisp being pulled from a humanoid body and being shattered. The entirety of the crowd fell silent for the third time the whole trial. The major image display focusing on the design for the crowd to get a clearer view, with The Weaver’s solemn face was just out of view. The Designer snaps his fingers, his grin now eerily large. Four guards walk down from where the siblings stood with a large pouch in a hand of each guard, heading towards the Desolaters who had been immobilized and silenced by The Designer. One by one, a guard marks their stomach with an image of a wisp in a red powder. Eventually, The Desolaters and their four leaders all had been marked with this red symbol. “Now will be their final words,” The Designer waves his hand and the magic holding the group still dissipates in a glittery mist, “I wonder what they’ll be” he chuckles to himself.
One of the leaders takes the opportunity, “We will never stop” he says with a confident smile, “There are many of us, and our deaths will not discourage them from freeing people of your control.” The Designer frowns at the leader’s words. “Such disappointing last words, not begging for your life or trying to save your subordinates? Such a shame. No matter, you won’t be coming back from this.” The Designer then reaches his hand towards The Weaver expectantly and, reluctantly, The Weaver hands the fabric over. “This spell was specifically designed for these delinquents, they should be honored we went to this extent for them. This spell will cleave their soul from their body. Then, once the soul has left the body, it will be shattered, removed, cleaned from existence.” The crowd begins whispering among themselves again. A spell which shatters the soul? That’s only been heard in tales of the gods and holy wars among them. Is this actually real? What happens when someone’s soul is broken? Some in the crowd grow anxious while others restless.
The Designer stretches his arms outwards and begins chanting in a language of ancient times and a protection barrier forms around the Desolaters, not to protect the group from the crowd, but the crowd from the spell. The Designer begins to speak and the marks on the Desolaters’ stomachs begin to glow.
“Take this voice and hear it clear, make it law and take this soul, Hear it now and use the magic, cleave the marked for all and more. Take the cleaved and break the soul, split it into many fractures, Eat the soul and leave no trace, let what’s left rot in place”
As he finished speaking, the earth began to quake and rumble, the winds carried the dirt and dust away, the brazens snuffed out, and the lakes and rivers traveling through the kingdom began to reverse and dry. The elements of this world seemed to be running way from this spell. Once the retreating elements calmed, a new horror began. Those who had been marked, their stomachs started to bulge, bigger and bigger, almost to an inhumane size before bursting open. Their stomach contents, intestines, and other organs flooded out of the tear on their torsos. Then ghostly white wispy, humanoid figures emerged from the tears. These ghastly figure hovered in place, face devoid of features. Quickly followed after the wisps emerging, cracks form along their form. The cracks begin leaking a sickly green and void black light as the souls break and disintegrate in pieces and mists.
As the crowd falls silent on their own, The Designer speaks “To all those who defy us and our fabrics to this extent, this will be a warning of what will happen should you continue.” His smile grew into a wicked grin devoid of sympathy. Suddenly, someone among the crowd shouts “Look!” The crowd member points to the leader who spoke previously. The four leaders who had lead the Desolaters began to move on its own, eyes filled with a black void and moving as if they were controlled like a puppet on strings. Then a low, ancient voice speaks from the bodies all in unison. “High council members, I must thank you for providing me a vessel to embody… Even if that wasn’t your intention.” The ancient voice almost cackles in laughter.
“Who are you?” The Threader asks.
“And what are you?” The Harvester asks after.
“Who you speak with is none other than Altor, the God of Nothing.” The possessed bodies smile all in unison. “I’ve now a body fit for I, and I seek to claim this world again. Starting with thou.” One of the puppets points towards The Weaver, “A body capable of creating new spells is invaluable among the gods, and I will have it.” There is an audible gasp among the crowd, and in the blink of an eye, The Threader appears in front of one of Altor’s puppets, quickly decapitating the first body with a luminescent pair of thread scissors. “You will not take our lives so easily.” A stern expression was apparent on her face. “You surprised me, I must be rusty. You won’t surprise me again, though.” Another of Altor’s puppets says.
A battle quickly breaks out between the 3 oldest siblings and the 3 remaining puppets. An explosion of magic there, clashing of weapons here. The Weaver quickly begins evacuation protocols. Though there is a barrier surrounding the battle, The Weaver will not rely on it. Citizens are quickly ushered away from the court and guided towards evacuation airships and boats. The barrier surrounding The battle begins to fade and shrink, its magic flickering. After a few long minutes, most of the people in Tantra have been boarded onto the airships and boats. Just as the first of the evacuation vessels begin to take off, The Weaver notices the sounds of the battle, the exploding spells and clashing of metals, had ceased. He looks towards the court and sees a pale green mist begin forming, then, without warning, begins moving towards the evacuating citizens and The Weaver.
After the world ending event, which came to be known as Nothing’s Return, the world became barren and desolate. With anything living or possessing a soul became hunted by the shattered and void souls, restless and horrid abominations which never stopped. Trees and plants were withered, animals and live stock consumed, and intelligent species hunted for sport. A few of the largest countries and kingdoms survived the initial onset, but the smallest of them quickly became overran and desecrated. Even the largest kingdoms and nations are starting to struggle with the growing numbers of their soulless enemies. This is where the party will find themselves, six years after Nothing’s Return. Six years after the world changed and twisted.
Day: Will be decided when group is formed
Time: Will be decided when group is formed
Tools/Applications:
• DnDBeyond
• Discord
• Map System
Requirements(*Optional but desired):
• A Discord account
• A microphone, whether attached to the device or external does not matter
• *A camera, whether attached to the device or external does not matter
• 16 years of age up to 24 year of age (*18 to 21 years of age desired)
• *A non-evil character idea
Salutations fellow internet individuals, you may refer to me as Nikita for the purposes of this interaction
This campaign is a post-apocalyptic scenario. The short history of how the apocalypse happened will be placed last on this post. In this campaign, you (the party) find yourselves travelling to Tantra (As to why, it is up to you). Whether or not your individual characters knew about each other or why the others are also travelling to Tantra is, again, up to the individual. Now, some quick notes for characters.
• Once everyone is assembled, we will go through session 0 for the purposes of answering questions, figuring out characters, and plotting or creating backstories for said characters
• Combat between players is allowed and is not discouraged nor encouraged
• Your party will be the heroes of this world (Unless certain choices are made, then the party would become the villains), so starting with a neutral or positive alignment is desired
• Out-Of-The-Box characters (aka heavy homebrew) are welcomed, I have no quarrels with them
• Death of a character is a great and present possibility, however, I will not actively set out for a character's death
With that out of the way, should you prove interested in joining this campaign or desire further information (like character creation rules), you may contact me through my discord handle (unteto_corel_lunar). Hope to hear from you.
Code Apocalypse (Pardon the poor writing, I wrote this at like, 03:00 in the morning)
The Designer had summoned the rest of the council for a meeting to discuss the future of the “Desolaters”, a small group known for acts of terrorism (or what the council saw as terrorism). The high council consisted of The Designer, The Harvester, The Threader, and The Weaver. Each believed an absolute control of magic would lead to a prosperous and safe world for all living and dead. The Desolaters did not share those beliefs. The Desolaters were constantly hunted by the council’s highest warriors for their use of “untamed” and “dangerous” displays and uses of magic in public areas.
The meeting took place in the largest court the kingdom of Tantra had to offer. Tens of thousands of Tantrians gathered both in and out of the court, rumors and whispers a constant among the historically large crowd. The Designer began the trial by ringing The Commander, a magic bell which allowed whoever rung the item to control all who heard the ring of the deathly looking bell. The effect is said to be so strong even some gods fell victim to its effects. Only the oldest of the gods and the council members were immune to the effect. Now the trial has started.
The Designer was the first to speak, his voice was old and decorated with words lost to time long ago. “We are gathered for a trial long overdue.” The Designer’s voice carried with disgust, “The Desolaters are guilty of desolating our weave of magic, they are a stain on the fabric so carefully crafted by my siblings and I. Such an act is deemed as terrorism, for the disturbance of the peace. The only punishment sufficient is death, as many of you among the crowd already know by now. However, death leaves the soul intact…” The Designer’s voice trails off as a wicked grin grows larger and larger on his face. The crowd begins to speak amongst themselves, what did The Designer mean by “leaves the soul intact?” He rings the bell once more to silence the crowd. The Harvester then stands slowly, her age showing in her stiff and rigid movements. She reaches into the air and closes her hand, then pulling with speed contradicting her usual old and slow movement. Seemingly pulling raw magic from the air, she hands the soft black and white looking material to her sister, the Threader. The Threader pulls and stretches the raw magic, easily forming the blob into thin silk-like strands before passing it to their youngest sibling, The Weaver. The Weaver stood out from her siblings. While his siblings appeared impossibly ancient, time being a lost concept on them, he was still young in appearance and true age. He took the threads of magic and began quickly and effortlessly forming them into a fabric which had began reeking of necrotic magic.
Soon after, the fabric was finished and bared the image of a ghostly blue wisp being pulled from a humanoid body and being shattered. The entirety of the crowd fell silent for the third time the whole trial. The major image display focusing on the design for the crowd to get a clearer view, with The Weaver’s solemn face was just out of view. The Designer snaps his fingers, his grin now eerily large. Four guards walk down from where the siblings stood with a large pouch in a hand of each guard, heading towards the Desolaters who had been immobilized and silenced by The Designer. One by one, a guard marks their stomach with an image of a wisp in a red powder. Eventually, The Desolaters and their four leaders all had been marked with this red symbol. “Now will be their final words,” The Designer waves his hand and the magic holding the group still dissipates in a glittery mist, “I wonder what they’ll be” he chuckles to himself.
One of the leaders takes the opportunity, “We will never stop” he says with a confident smile, “There are many of us, and our deaths will not discourage them from freeing people of your control.” The Designer frowns at the leader’s words. “Such disappointing last words, not begging for your life or trying to save your subordinates? Such a shame. No matter, you won’t be coming back from this.” The Designer then reaches his hand towards The Weaver expectantly and, reluctantly, The Weaver hands the fabric over. “This spell was specifically designed for these delinquents, they should be honored we went to this extent for them. This spell will cleave their soul from their body. Then, once the soul has left the body, it will be shattered, removed, cleaned from existence.” The crowd begins whispering among themselves again. A spell which shatters the soul? That’s only been heard in tales of the gods and holy wars among them. Is this actually real? What happens when someone’s soul is broken? Some in the crowd grow anxious while others restless.
The Designer stretches his arms outwards and begins chanting in a language of ancient times and a protection barrier forms around the Desolaters, not to protect the group from the crowd, but the crowd from the spell. The Designer begins to speak and the marks on the Desolaters’ stomachs begin to glow.
“Take this voice and hear it clear, make it law and take this soul,
Hear it now and use the magic, cleave the marked for all and more.
Take the cleaved and break the soul, split it into many fractures,
Eat the soul and leave no trace, let what’s left rot in place”
As he finished speaking, the earth began to quake and rumble, the winds carried the dirt and dust away, the brazens snuffed out, and the lakes and rivers traveling through the kingdom began to reverse and dry. The elements of this world seemed to be running way from this spell. Once the retreating elements calmed, a new horror began. Those who had been marked, their stomachs started to bulge, bigger and bigger, almost to an inhumane size before bursting open. Their stomach contents, intestines, and other organs flooded out of the tear on their torsos. Then ghostly white wispy, humanoid figures emerged from the tears. These ghastly figure hovered in place, face devoid of features. Quickly followed after the wisps emerging, cracks form along their form. The cracks begin leaking a sickly green and void black light as the souls break and disintegrate in pieces and mists.
As the crowd falls silent on their own, The Designer speaks “To all those who defy us and our fabrics to this extent, this will be a warning of what will happen should you continue.” His smile grew into a wicked grin devoid of sympathy. Suddenly, someone among the crowd shouts “Look!” The crowd member points to the leader who spoke previously. The four leaders who had lead the Desolaters began to move on its own, eyes filled with a black void and moving as if they were controlled like a puppet on strings. Then a low, ancient voice speaks from the bodies all in unison. “High council members, I must thank you for providing me a vessel to embody… Even if that wasn’t your intention.” The ancient voice almost cackles in laughter.
“Who are you?” The Threader asks.
“And what are you?” The Harvester asks after.
“Who you speak with is none other than Altor, the God of Nothing.” The possessed bodies smile all in unison. “I’ve now a body fit for I, and I seek to claim this world again. Starting with thou.” One of the puppets points towards The Weaver, “A body capable of creating new spells is invaluable among the gods, and I will have it.” There is an audible gasp among the crowd, and in the blink of an eye, The Threader appears in front of one of Altor’s puppets, quickly decapitating the first body with a luminescent pair of thread scissors. “You will not take our lives so easily.” A stern expression was apparent on her face. “You surprised me, I must be rusty. You won’t surprise me again, though.” Another of Altor’s puppets says.
A battle quickly breaks out between the 3 oldest siblings and the 3 remaining puppets. An explosion of magic there, clashing of weapons here. The Weaver quickly begins evacuation protocols. Though there is a barrier surrounding the battle, The Weaver will not rely on it. Citizens are quickly ushered away from the court and guided towards evacuation airships and boats. The barrier surrounding The battle begins to fade and shrink, its magic flickering. After a few long minutes, most of the people in Tantra have been boarded onto the airships and boats. Just as the first of the evacuation vessels begin to take off, The Weaver notices the sounds of the battle, the exploding spells and clashing of metals, had ceased. He looks towards the court and sees a pale green mist begin forming, then, without warning, begins moving towards the evacuating citizens and The Weaver.
After the world ending event, which came to be known as Nothing’s Return, the world became barren and desolate. With anything living or possessing a soul became hunted by the shattered and void souls, restless and horrid abominations which never stopped. Trees and plants were withered, animals and live stock consumed, and intelligent species hunted for sport. A few of the largest countries and kingdoms survived the initial onset, but the smallest of them quickly became overran and desecrated. Even the largest kingdoms and nations are starting to struggle with the growing numbers of their soulless enemies. This is where the party will find themselves, six years after Nothing’s Return. Six years after the world changed and twisted.
Sent you a request.