Experienced RPer (new to D&D) seeks D&D Beyond PBP Group

Game: D&D 5e
Group preferred: D&D Beyond PBP
Experience: Veteran role-player/new to D&D rules
Location/Timezone: UK/GMT
Availability: I can post Mondays to Fridays pretty much without exception
Preferred role: Player
Game style: Looking for a group that will be patient with me in coming to terms with the rules. I’m good at the fluff and need help to fully understand the crunch (and will gladly accept feedback/advice—in fact I would seek it). I'm ideally looking for a good mix of roleplay, character interactions, exploration, and combat
About me: I’ve played plenty of homebrew RPGs and many, many game systems. I’ve played sandbox through to published campaigns and I’m a reliable poster (really only wanting D&D Beyond PBP as this fits in with my work and lifestyle, as I can’t commit to a specific time any more)

Might I suggest Everweave? It's a D&D-ish game that is right up your alley. You and an AI DM, that's it. You tell it what your character is doing, and it fills out the rest. Here's an example taken from my game:

DM: You come to with your face in the snow. When you push yourself up, the world tilts - dark trees, the setting sun, it all starts to slide until you steady yourself. Breath fogging the air in shallow bursts, you take in the faint ribbon of a path and the slick sheen of ice you clearly didn’t see in time. Your temple throbs where you must have hit the ground. Bits of memory slot back into place as you gather yourself. Lanterns and pine wreaths. The worried faces in the village hall. A promised reward. The... what was it called again? You think you'd forgotten the name even before hitting your head, but regardless, it was taken - and it was important enough that without it, the Midwinter celebration can't go on. Traditions missed. Songs unsung. A long night made longer by disappointment. Tonight's job is to save a celebration, and you’d been following the trail. You still are - ahead, fresh footprints puncture the immaculate, freshly fallen snow, leading off the path and into the trees. What do you do?

Aryanna: Take stock of myself.

DM: You pat yourself down, checking for any serious injury beyond the throbbing in your temple. A quick inventory confirms your dagger is still sheathed, the small pouch of coin at your hip, and your lockpicks secured within your boot. Everything seems to be in its place, thankfully. The bite of the arctic air quickly reminds you of your purpose here, the memory of the missing Midwinter artifact spurring you onward. You look at the tracks, wondering if whoever took it was as clumsy as you were.

Aryanna: Look for a trail, try to deduce who or what I'm following.

DM: You kneel, brushing away a light dusting of fresh powder to reveal the crisp imprints beneath. The tracks are surprisingly clear, betraying a hurried, almost frantic pace, but with a surprising lightness. They seem to belong to a single individual, small in stature, perhaps even smaller than yourself, suggesting an agile figure. There's an unusual, almost rhythmic skip in their stride, as if the person was used to moving over uneven terrain or perhaps had a slight limp. The snow is disturbed only by these prints; no sign of a struggle, no dropped items, just the purposeful path leading deeper into the silent, snow-laden woods.

Aryanna: Stand and carefully follow those tracks, dagger in hand and at the ready.

DM: Clutching your dagger, you move with the silent grace of a hunter through the hushed, snow-laden woods. Each step is placed with care, your boots making barely a whisper on the frozen ground as you shadow the distinct prints. The rhythmic skip you noticed earlier becomes more pronounced as the trail winds deeper into a grove of ancient, gnarled pines. The trees here are thick, their branches heavy with snow, casting long, dancing shadows in the faint light. The tracks lead you to a small, almost hidden alcove formed by a cluster of rocks. A faint wisp of smoke curls lazily into the cold night air, carrying with it a faint, sweet smell – something akin to burning herbs and pine needles. The tracks end abruptly at the entrance to this alcove, suggesting your quarry is very near.

Aryanna: Slip silently as possible and try to look into the alcove, while remaining unseen, dagger clutched tight, just in case...

DM: You press yourself against the cold stone, slowly easing your head around the rough edge of the alcove. Inside, the small space is illuminated by a crackling fire, fed by bits of dry pine. Huddled close to the flames is a figure, surprisingly young and slight, with nimble fingers. It’s a goblin, its skin a sickly green under the firelight, its face etched with a mix of fear and desperation. It clutches a small, intricately carved wooden stag, its antlers spiraling elegantly upwards. This must be the missing Midwinter Stag. The goblin rocks slightly, a nervous twitch, as it murmurs softly to itself, a guttural song that hints at loneliness rather than malice. Its eyes dart nervously to the opening of the alcove every few moments, a palpable anxiety radiating from its hunched form.

Aryanna: Easing back silently, I sheath my dagger and carefully, quietly, dig into my pouch of coins, pulling two, then, taking a slow, deep breath, step into the alcove, holding up the coins so the goblin can see them and off a trade: My coins for the Stag...

DM: You step into the alcove, the crunch of your boots on the snow a harsh sound in the quiet space. The goblin's head snaps up, its eyes wide with sudden terror, a high-pitched squeak escaping its throat. It clutches the wooden stag to its chest with surprising strength, its small, clawed fingers digging into the carved wood. Your outstretched hand with the coins seems to agitate it further, misinterpreted as a threat. It scrambles backward, pressing itself against the cold stone wall, its green face contorted in fear, a low growl rumbling in its chest. The sweet, herbal smoke from the fire momentarily masks the acrid smell of its rising panic.

Aryanna: Sighing, I again hold up the coins, emphasizing a trade, coins for stag. If it looks like action is the only answer, well, I'll deal with that in time.

DM: Your sigh does nothing to soothe the agitated creature. When you hold up the coins again, its eyes, already wide with terror, seem to bulge further. It lets out another high-pitched, chittering sound, a frantic warning. It tries to make itself even smaller against the rock, its entire body trembling. The Midwinter Stag is pressed so tightly against its chest that you fear for the delicate carvings. A low, guttural snarl ripples through the goblin's throat, a sound of desperate defense rather than aggression. Its small, clawed hand, still clutching the stag, moves to its belt, where a rusty, chipped dagger is now visible. Its fear has curdled into a cornered animal's resolve, and it glares at you, ready to protect its stolen treasure at any cost.

Aryanna: "Dammit. I don't want to kill you, I just want the stag." I say as I drop the coins and draw my short sword... 

And there you have it. The play by play of Everweave. I hope this helped. Good Luck.

Everweave.ai