Hullo, everyone! So, recently I’ve found myself in a bit of an interesting conundrum. I’ve had that urge to DM gnawing away at my little toes, but I haven’t been able to decide exactly what I should DM. On one hand, I’ve got a wonderful little homebrew setting that I’ve been building for quite some time now, and I’m really afraid of. However, I don’t quite have the confidence to come up with an entirely new adventure set in the world. On the other hand, there’s plenty of published adventures out there, but they’re all set in the same old settings as always. And don’t get me wrong, I love those settings dearly, but I’m feeling like something new.
Now, I could go with the logical approach, which would entail blending the two things together, coming up with my own adventure set in the official settings, with a satisfying blend of original content and existing stuff to build off of. However, I happen to be a little goblin, and have instead elected to go with the opposite approach, adapting an already existing adventure to my own, original setting. So, without any further ado, I’d like to present Burying the Baron! Actually, I lied, there’s lots of further ado.
The Further Ado
You folks certainly can’t go about creating characters in my world without any knowledge of… well, what my world actually is. It’s called the Wild Waste, and as the title of the thread and the name of the setting suggests, it is Wild West themed. But it’s not the Wild West you expect. The Wild Waste is rather dark, full of malevolent fiends and creatures of the night, who walk freely under the perpetually overcast sky. Not actually all that unlike Barovia, when you think about it, which is part of the reasons why I think this adventure actually works surprisingly well with the setting. There’s quite a lot of info here, and you don’t necessarily need to read it all, but you should at least read the first bit, to get an idea of what the setting actually is before making a character.
The Setting
The Wild Waste is, at its core, a really big desert. Endless seas of uniform sand, stretching ever onwards. But as expected, it’s no ordinary desert. The Sands of the Waste are unusually fine, so much so that one would almost find it easier to swim through them, rather than walk. Both would be rather ineffective and exhausting, but at least your reckless flailing as you attempt to freestyle through a dune might alert any potential rescuers that could be passing by. However, this flailing would also most likely attract other creatures, carnivorous, vibration-sensitive denizens of the Sands à la Dune. Creatures such as moisture-sucking parchworms, grasping deathrattles, or the molelike sand dragons, which are the closest thing to mascots the Waste has.
While it’s certainly impossible to live directly on the Sands, there is safe ground in the Waste. But par for the course, it takes an incredibly bizarre form. For the only land in the Waste, where towns are built and the vast majority of people live, takes the form of massive stone skeletons of bizarre creatures, known as wastebones. The origin of these bones is unknown, but they serve an important purpose, being the foundation of Wastern towns. Due to the awkward surface that they are built upon, these towns are all quite unique, bizarre mashups of stilts, wooden platforms, lifts and pulleys.
The idea of travel in the Waste presents another interesting conundrum. When a couple hundred meter trek would kill any ordinary person with exhaustion, if they weren’t first devoured by anything that noticed their thrashing, travel on foot is quickly thrown out of the picture. But how else would one cross the Waste? Well, there are two main ways. The first is via mount. Specifically domesticated creatures of Waste, one of its few herbivorous species, sandmounts. These giant cousins of pangolins surf through the surface of the Sands with ease, and most of their denizens ignore them, due to their great speed and their ability to roll into a spiny ball, making swallowing them quite uncomfortable. Still, traveling via sandmount is rather dangerous, for the Waste has no shortage of creatures desperate enough to consider a sandmount and its rider as a meal, even if it would be hard to catch them.
The other option is via the Rails. Bits of enchanted scrap metal scattered over the Sands, the Rails allow travel over them via train, of all things. Any locomotive equipped with a Navvy, a magical device that allows the use of the Rails, can cause them to form a floating track beneath it, carrying it wherever its driver wishes to go. Rail travel, while safer than sandmounts, has a few issues. First of all, it requires functioning Rails to be present on the Sands wherever it travels, so in any area where the Rails are no longer functioning properly or are not present, you can’t take a train. Additionally, it requires high levels of ambient magic in any area to function. This has been achieved in the Waste, but not without certain side effects.
Ambient magic in the Waste is quite high, due to the constant burning of a certain magical resource, known as white coal. White coal is only found in the Waste, and when burned it releases a large amount of magical energy. By burning this coal all over the Waste, the ambient magic has been raised, but there have been other side effects. For starters, a great white cloud of smoke constantly blankets the Waste, blocking out the light of the sun, and plunging the Waste into gloom. Additionally, this magical cloud has created a sort of barrier between the heavens and the earth, making communication with deities difficult. As a result, clerics and paladins are very few and far between, and undead and fiends run free.
The Rail Baron
The Rail Baron is the man who made the Waste happen. A dwarvish businessman, and CEO of Barony Co., the company that acts as the closest thing to a government the Waste has. The Rails and Navvies are all primarily created and owned by Barony Co. The Baron even claims that he is closely related to the dwarf that invented gunpowder. The Baron is responsible for the burning of white coal, and the subsequent retreat of the gods from the Waste. He has made it the place it is now, a refuge for criminals, exiles, and the unholy. But this all benefits him, for the Baron himself is openly a vampire.
For a time, the Baron ruled over the Waste… as close to “justly” as you can get. He allowed anyone in and out, and as long as it didn’t hurt business, anything went. But as he aged, he became less and less of a man, giving in to his undead nature. Where the Waste was once a safe haven for the unjustly(or justly) persecuted, it became a refuge for all that was evil and unholy in the world. Travel became less and less free, especially in and out of the Waste. The Baron’s greed led him to cut back on maintenance, allowing the Rails to fall into disrepair, causing travel to become even harder as trains now had to navigate deadly gaps in the Rails. The people of the Waste now live hard, dismal lives, surviving in a neglected land of devils and dead men.
Races in the Wild Waste
(I’m mostly just covering PHB races here, but feel free to ask about others)
Dhampirs - Uncommon The Waste has a large number of vampires and other hungering creatures wandering around, interacting with mortals in all sorts of ways. A number of these interactions result in Dhampirs, and while they aren’t particularly common, they are much more so than anywhere else in the world.
Dragonborn - Rare Both dragons and their kin are not common at all in the Waste, or just the world. Things of an older age, before the modern inventions of this day. Dragonkind are exiles in this world, but not the type that the Waste appeals to. The smoky skies and chugging trains do not appeal to most in the slightest. Still, a few clanless ones can be found here and there, though they are few and far between.
Dwarves - Very Common Dwarvenkind has driven progress in the Waste since its “discovery”, and you would be hard pressed to not find one in any place people gather. The majority of them previously made their home in the city of Hollowhome, below the orcish city of Anth’Tkur, but the two cities fell into ruin alongside the Waste’s decline, weak from warring with each other so often.
Elves - Rare The Elven race has been endangered for quite some time. There are ancient legends of great elven empires, but these days the race is scattered and few in number. Their numbers in the Waste is actually higher than in many other places, a bizarre statistic that has little explanation, besides the fact that some claim to be drawn to the area, for some reason.
Gnomes - Common Gnomes can usually be found alongside dwarves, for the two races’ largest nations have long been allied. While a bit less common, simply because their overall numbers are less, they can be found all over the Waste.
Halflings - Common There are few places where halflings can’t be found, and the Waste is not exempt. These small folk are a little less common than gnomes, but they still have a large presence in the Waste. Many are often artisans or tradespeople.
Hexbloods - Uncommon Fey are very, very rare, especially in the Waste. However, one type of fey hasn’t been driven to extinction, and instead thrives in the Waste. The impure, wretched creatures known as hags. Plenty of these hags enter into bargains and pacts with mortals, transforming them into Hexbloods.
Humans - Very Common Humans are humans. Need I say more? If it’s even slightly habitable, there’ll be humans there.
Orcs - Common The Orcish race is native to the Waste, having been there for ages, long before the dwarves first dug into Hollowhome and claimed it as their city. No one knows exactly how they got there, but they somehow found themselves stranded in the middle of the Waste, on a giant tortoise-shaped wastebone(giant even by wastebone standards), where they built their city, Anth’Tkur. However after warring for many years with the Dwarves who established the city of Hollowhome on the inside of the shell, the two cities fell, and orckind was scattered.
Reborn - Uncommon A lot of people die in the Waste. I mean, a lot a lot. With so many people dying, there’s bound to be a couple of them who decide that they actually would rather not, thank you very much. These Reborn are fairly common in the Waste because of this, and also because of the frequency of necromantic beings living in the Waste.
Tieflings - Very Common The Waste is the closest thing to a home Tieflings will ever have. Their cursed nature means they are shunned anywhere else, and many flee to the great desert, as deadly as it is, because it is still safer than what awaits them back home. Additionally, the number of fiends wandering the Waste means there are plenty of dark pacts being made, and some fiends choose to mark those they make deals with by transforming them into tieflings.
Well, that’s it for the copious amounts of lore, let’s move on to how you’re actually gonna be applying(if you're interested, of course)!
Character Creation
Don’t make a character sheet yet. The setting is kind of weird, and is going to involve some homebrew, so I’d rather you just apply with a character concept, not with a sheet. Here are the constraints on character creation.
Races - Be whatever. Pretty much anything official is allowed, including Tasha’s stuff, and if you’d like to ask how a certain race works in the setting, feel free to. Homebrew and UA is also permitted, but I must be allowed to view it first. I’ll be more likely to accept homebrew from a source known to put out good content, like Kobold Press, Mage Hand Press, and definitely not dandwiki.
Classes - Same rules as races. For clerics, paladins and other divine magic users, I’m not going to impose any mechanical restrictions on you due to divine influence being weak in the Waste, unless you’d like me to. You can be a special little macguffin person who just has better magic, I guess.
Ability Scores - Even if you’re not making a sheet, I understand that some people use ability scores to shape their character. If you’d like to roll stats, my method is just 4d6 drop lowest, and if they’re really trash you can just take standard array.
Background - Same rules again, do whatever you want, let me know if you want homebrew.
Equipment - Don’t really think about it right now. We’re going to be using Mage Hand Press’ firearms rules from their Complete Gunslinger class, if you’re familiar with those, for those of you who use guns. I will allow everyone to start with a single common magic item, mostly for flavor, because they’re just so fun.
Application
If after all this you're still interested, please apply in this thread using this template.
Name: Race: Class: Backstory: Can be as small or as large as you like, I'll read everything. Don't worry if it doesn't perfectly line up with the setting, we can always go over it and tweak it later. All I'm looking for is a concept, not a final draft. Physical Description: If including a picture(not required), please spoiler it.
And that's it! For now, that is. I'll leave the recruitment thread open for... well, I don't know exactly how long, but I'll give warning at least 24 hours before closing it. Thank you in advance to all who apply, and apologies as well, for I probably won't be able to choose everyone(unless only around 4-6 of you apply).
Backstory: Larissa was born in the wastes, the daughter of a human mother and a fiend with whom she had unwittingly entered into a pact. She watched in despair as her mother wasted away due to her pact, and grew a robust distaste, even hatred, of fiends as a result. Still, her heritage gave her a connection with the ambient magic of the waste that she is even now trying to understand and master.
Orphaned after her mother’s death, but spared the servitude the original pact required, Larissa turned to petty crime and burglary to support her lifestyle, building a small connection of criminal contacts and fences across the small towns dotting the waste. She desires to lift herself out of poverty and make a name for herself, perhaps even one day raising up a criminal syndicate by uniting the disparate outlaws that flock to the wastes. And perhaps, just perhaps, one day seeking revenge against the fiend that enslaved and destroyed her mother.
Physical Description: Larissa is a female Tiefling of average height and a slight build. She is pale red, with black, soul-draining eyes, and a long, slender tail. She has slender, flattened but straight five inch horns with a small forward tine (think pronghorn antlers) and long flowing black hair. She wears nondescript robes in dark, muted colors with pouches and secret pockets to store components and stash away hidden treasures.
Interested in the story concept and the mash up between the world and the mash up with Curse of Strahd. Would love to play.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Name: Cormac Brungir
Race: Dhamphir (Dwarf)
Class: Artificer
Backstory: Cormac is the son of a dwarven women and a dwarven vampire, his mother claiming it to be either the baron himself or one of the other high ranking spawns of the one that rules the Wastes. Using this to her advantage she managed to get a comfy place to raise Cormac, getting him the best education possible.
For his own part, Cormac played down the vampiric taint in his blood, instead embracing his dwarven heritage and learning to become a craftsmen. With hard work as a young man he managed to get a job with Barony Co, working to keep the rails serviceable where possible. This soon was made to be changed though as the company learned the real money was in guns and other inventions that could be used to deal with the horrors of the wastes.
Cormac spent several years building guns and perfected the process to the point he was allowed to see some of the more advanced blue prints. A few times he even being shown some of these magical tinkering done by the top scientists of the Company, being sworn to silence on some of their more dark research.
Unfortunately or perhaps fortunately Cormac had enough of a conscious that he could not put up with the experiments that involved using other people. He freed them and was forced to flee from the company, running off towards one of the farthest towns the Wastes had, hoping it was out of the reach of Barony Co.
Physical Description: Cormac looks like typical dwarf except for the pale tone of his skin and the slight fangs that mark him as a dhamphir. He has dark brown eyes and black hair that reaches his shoulders. Like many dwarves he has a well groomed beard that reaches his chest with braids and metal rings in it to show his pride in it.
Clothing size he prefers practicality, going for things that allow for comfort and ease of movement. Due to his tinkering he has several pouches and pockets both in and outside of his clothes. His most consistent piece of clothing his a dwarf sized duster like coat where he keeps several things hidden within pockets sewn to the inside.
Backstory - Kronk is an abomination, there is no other word for it. It seems a rather insane Necromancer was experimenting with mashing together different corpses and body parts. In one experiment, his last, unfortunately for him (or maybe not), he was working with the corpse of an halfling and a corpse of an ogre (one of which might have been the original Kronk, who ever that was, but that would be really stretching it.) Needless to say he was working 'discretely,' for fear of persecution you see, out in the middle of nowhere in a very secluded wood. As it happened a thunder and lightening storm sprang up out of nowhere, putting him into a pretty foul mood; but the upshot was dramatic to say the least. Just as he cast the final parts of the spell he was struck by one fork of a bolt of lightening, the other one struck the halfling/ogre meat he was working on. It appears to have killed the necromancer but at the same time transferred his life force into the mess he was ensorcelling, causing it to animate into the being that calls itself Kronk. By-the-by, for some reason unknown to himself, Kronk HATES necromancers. He has no memory of what happened, just remembers coming to in a storm next to a rather crispy corpse and the brutal struggle to find a place in the world that followed. Kronk has a rather strange affinity for dead things, not anything really corrupt or depraved, but he thinks that they talk to him and that he can sometimes talk to them. He has no fear in that regard. I class Kronk as a half-orc, but he is not really, as stated he is a monstrosity, with a rather intense charisma for such a creature. He thinks that lightening gives him powers, just what kind, well it could be that he is just delusional, but who knows, there are stranger things running around. When he became aware of his surroundings the first time he was very confused, no thoughts entered his head as to what had happened or what was going on. Stumbling around in the woods he came upon the necromancer's abode wherein he found supplies and, most fortuitously for him, a tunic and coif of chainmail that fit, not only that, it would help hide what he was from unsympathetic folk who would rather burn him to a crisp - the Frankenstein Syndrome one might say. He also found the iron bar that he uses as a weapon of choice at the present time, and that strange medallion, the one made from some strange red metal, depicting a ghastly alien creature consuming itself. Most folk would find it extremely disturbing to look upon Secretly, in his heart of hearts, Kronk thinks that the creature depicted in the medallion created him. For quite some time, Kronk wandered the edges of civilized spaces trying to figure out how to fit in; he soon came to realize that he could make room for himself using the iron bar and his ferocious strength to make himself fit. People now rarely give him much grief and, surprisingly, seem to be rather polite around him.
Kronk is a little bit hard to describe but, the most immediate feature is his size, a little more than two meters tall and around 200 kilograms he is a presence that forces itself on any one around him. He has one orange eye and one green that sit in his face in a lopsided manner, his nose is broad and hooked over thick lips that barely cover stubby fangs. His hide is a greyish, hairless, and of a pebbly texture, similar as that of a lizard. His hands and feet are armed with short, wicked looking talons which appear capable of shredding most sorts of flesh from bone. And the iron bar he carries, as if it were a toothpick, is indeed a fearsome weapon, capable of crushing most thing that might 'run' into it. For all Kronks disconcerting aspect, he is rather smart, light on his feet and quite personable, when he wants to be.
Did I mention he has a pathological hated of necromancers?
Name: Thardoran Stargazer Race: Reborn (Dwarf) Class: Wizard Backstory: Dying was not part of the plan, Thardoran feels certain of that. Of course, that happened so long ago that it's hard to remember what exactly the plan was, but dying wasn't part of it. From what bits and pieces have come to him over the years, he thinks that he had traveled here when the wastes were 'young', seeking out knowledge and magic... or was it riches? Either way, the cave in put an end to whatever plans he once had. He's grateful he doesn't remember dying, remember waking up dead for the first time is more than enough to deal with.
He came to in the collapsed cavern, white coal dust coating him, his mouth dry and caked with sand. He fumbled around and found his waterskin, flushing his mouth and taking a gulp, though it sat heavy in his gut. Going through his pack, he found a torch and tinder, striking the torch, a wan flame guttering and going out. He tried again and again, only to find there wasn't enough air to keep a flame going. But then how was he still breath--- huh. Alright... not breathing. That's not normal. He lapsed into a catatonic state, rousing himself every so often, pacing the interior of his oubliette. Memories of who he was before are hazy and fractured when they do come, but they are infrequent.
He's accepted that he's no longer alive, accepting that is maddening, but to continue to deny it would be worse. After years? Decades? he began developing abilities he didn't recall having before. The first time he was able to bring forth light to illuminate his prison, it brought him to tears, or would have, had he still been capable of producing tears. It was only at this point that he started thinking of himself as Thardoran, as a book in his pack had "Property of Thardoran Stargazer" on the inside cover. He knew there was a possibility that he'd borrowed it from a Thardoran, but better to be wrong than to continue without a name.
What followed was a long time of experimentation, testing and pushing the limits of what he might be able to bring forth, and he kept notes in the margins of the book in his pack, until he ran out of ink. He had other ideas, and sometimes they worked, but without a good record to be able to test and retest the variables... He read and reread the book untold times, until he had to put it aside for fear of wearing the pages to the point he lost his notes.
He's unsure how long he was down there, but recently a shift in the ground cracked the stone around him and he was able to expand it and wriggle free. Surrounded by sand, he picked a direction and started walking, eventually finding his way to a wastebone community.
Physical Description: He looks like the most ancient of dwarves, were he fully living, he'd look well beyond the average life expectancy of 350 years, perhaps pushing 450 or more. For himself, he's uncertain of how old he actually is, dying and persisting while buried in the Wastes could have prematurely aged his appearance dramatically. Or he might have been down there for the millennia that it felt like. A craggy, lined face, wispy hair sprouting from his scalp and face, and old, faded tattoos, the significance of which he can no longer recall.
Hey there, Humbug! This is, without a doubt, the most unique twist on an official module I have ever had the pleasure of seeing. I couldn't not apply.
NAME: Isoldus Zrashasi. RACE: Dragonborn, Red Dragon ancestry. CLASS: Paladin - Oath of Conquest. ALIGNMENT: Lawful Neutral/Evil, still debating. BACKGROUND: Soldier. PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: As image above, except Isoldus's face is significantly more elongated and draconic in nature. Isoldus stands nearly seven feet tall and red-scaled, cutting by all accounts an imposing figure; donning sandswept armor obsessively polished. The most distinct attribute to his countenance is an intimidating aspect to his appearance almost difficult to pinpoint - the harsh rasp of his voice, the oppressively commanding demeanor, the haunted look in his eye, or the blood-rusted blade he wields with awesome expertise all contribute to the appearance of a man truly frightening in look. BACKSTORY:
(Any part or all can be changed!)
The solemn loneliness of howling winds is only compounded by being one of the sole Dragonborn remaining in the desolate deserts of the Wastes.
Isoldus recalls the very day his sharp, clawed hand shook the one of a prospector foolish enough to lead an expedition of people inadequately prepared for the harshness of the sands. He was a military soldier, after all - even more, his oath was to defend the lives of those who were incapable of it. While not one to venerate a specific deity, the dragonborn received the attention - and numerous gifts - of the kindhearted deities who noticed Isoldus's dedication to preventing needless slaughter.
Only after Isoldus made it to the shantytown settlements of the Wild Wastes did he realize what a dire situation it seemed to be indeed. Food was scarce - living commodities less so. Danger seemed to fill the air with a nearly palpable sense of dread. Even worse, the militaristic training Isoldus underwent in the far East of the realms - a time so long ago it almost feels surreal - failed to instruct him on how to organize a militia when half the town's able population were drunkards and the other half thieving criminals seeking to evade the law in the first place.
Either way, after countless months of struggle and failure, Isoldus managed to scrap together a serviceable group of civilians who sought to clean the proverbial sand from the gaping wounds of the Wastes - making a name for himself, the Dragonborn - despite a firm proclivity towards traditional, route, military tactics rather than any of the more modernized technological and magical advances - carved a sizeable name for himself as a shining paragon of what law and justice meant in the depths of the desert.
If asked, Isoldus will give a different answer as to what changed. The truth is - a culmination of factors led to the soldier's downfall. Perhaps The Baron's grip on the realm turning the wastes into a hive of treachery and monsters broke the Paladin's will. Maybe the desert's isolation - and lack of his own kin - turned Isoldus's heart bitter with repressed frustration,. People feared the unknown, after all, and with an extremely small amount of monstrous-looking Dragonborn around, rumors and speculations tend to spread faster than wildfire; tales of barbarism and savagery mingled with stories told around campfires to foster fear of the Dragonspawn eroded Isoldus's will like sand in the wind. Either way - one day, he snapped, potentially corrupted by the pull of the wastes.
Isoldus has perhaps become the very rumor the people whisper of about Dragonborn - pamphlets calling for his scaled head (and a reward of a hundred gold, too) line the city's tavern boards. A bout of anger, a murderous rampage - that was all it took. Considered a public enemy of the Baron, Isoldus has turned to his own form of evil - the subjugation of those below him. Considering himself the only upholder of true law, the Dragonborn finds allies in those seeking to oppose the Baron - provided they will accept him as their righteous ruler.
And, finally - Isoldus's desire is to unite the scattered, isolated, shunned, and exiled Dragonborn of the wastes, uproot The Baron as a ruler, and restore the Wastes to what they should be; an oases for dragonkin in the sands, and an area to fall under Isoldus's rule.
The setting sounds fantastic and yes please, definitely sign me up.
Ability scores: 12111215149
Name: Tia Zoido Race: Human Class: Trickery Cleric
Backstory:
I was a captain. Or at least, I pretended to be.
You see that map on the wall? Throw this stiletto at it. Wherever the knife sticks, I’ll tell you that’s where I was born and I guarantee I’ll make you believe me. Because for the duration of our conversation, I’ll believe it too. The best disguises are the ones not painted onto the face, but poured out of the heart.
Thing is, I am no captain at all. What I am is a priestess of the Nameless. The Lord of Shadows, Master of All Thieves, the Watcher and the Benefactor. I am a consecrated servant of - and you may know him as - Mask.
The thing about our line of trade, is that we make sure the rich remember. They need to know they are not invincible. Locks can be picked and treasures can be stolen, for those people of high means who have attained their privileges neither by hard work or fortunate chance. They may fall off a cliff and the gods will move a cloud to catch them, but we will be the stone in their shoe, the thorn in their side, we are the little spark of divine judgement in their privileged lives.
Now on the topic of how I got myself in this predicament. Several months ago, I planned a long con. I cheated my way, floor by floor, up the famed house, and eventually I caught the attention of the gaming house’s master. He took an interest in me and invited me to the home of Admiral Shelton, of Azure Sea’s naval legion.
The Admiral, it emerged, had become aware of a previous identity I had used. In the middle of the card game on his island fortress, I was surrounded and threatened with being thrown into a dungeon. Why only threatened, you say? Well, as it turned out, the Admiral had no interest in keeping me prisoner in the traditional sense. What he wanted was something much more laborious.
It seemed that Shelton had recently lost popularity in light of that fact that the navy’s upkeep cost a lot of money, and there hadn’t been any serious threat from the seas in over a decade. Therefore, what Shelton wanted me to do was use my exceptional skills to board one of his ships impersonating a captain. Only one person - the first mate - would know the truth, and he would make all of the important decisions for me. That was a relief, because in truth I know absolutely nothing all about how a ship works.
The crew eventually figured out I wasn’t a real captain, of course. I’m not sure whether it was the fact that I thought a ‘taffrail’ was a type of bread or the fact that I gave the order to volte face instead of tack into the wind. But they figured me out, and they were furious. They put me into a life raft and cast me adrift.
Oh, but don’t worry. That wasn’t the end game. Because just as the ship sailed onward, leaving me behind, a real pirate ship lurched from the mists and completely destroyed our ship. No survivors at all. Except for me. The pirates picked me up and I was introduced to Captain Ezra Alkmaeon. I told him who I was - a priestess, and when Ezra learned that I would be worth a fortune in ransom, he found it in his heart to keep me alive.
And that brings us more or less up to the present moment. I’m tied up. You’re tied up. But the difference between you and I, is that by the end of tomorrow, I will have gambled my way into a more comfortable position on the ship and then, as soon as we make land of any sort, I will be gone.
What about you? Hmm, I suppose you’ll be fed to the sharks before the sun sets tonight. But keep a spark of hope alive, friend. When I’ve bluffed and charmed my way into Captain Alkmaeon's bed, I’ll be sure to put in a good word for ya.
Physical Description:
Tia is a young human in her early twenties, stands slightly above average with her elegant long legs, slim waist and limber frame - though everyone who glances at her would think she is much taller, due to her radiant dark-skin and her thick, luminous icewhite hair that makes her stand out in a crowd. She moves with legerity of a feline, light steps and effortless, almost in a melodic, leggiero fashion. She wears spiked pauldrons on her shoulders, with sharp daggers strapped on her thigh and two shortswords hanging from her belt, the bracers she wears on her legs and ankles expose the smooth contour of her agile figure.
Keep 'em coming, people! I'm already seeing a lot of great applications! I think I'll probably close the thread on the 1st, somewhere around the late afternoon PST, though the time is flexible.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Hey, before I make a complete application, I wanted to ask two questions. After I get your answers, I'll fill the application. 1. How might a Warforged fit into the world? I usually don't really like this race, but while reading about your world, I thought of a character concept that I believe fits the world. I also have another idea, though, so it's fine if you don't think Warforged fit into your world. I'm also not really sure myself, so I might not choose it regardless. Just wanted to know before making a whole application. 2. Since you're open to the option of homebrewed races and other things, are homebrewed feats good as well? Or, in my case, a revised feat? I was thinking about the Grappler feat, and though we know that feat is not a good one, there are many good revisions out there. Alternatively, I could think of one myself and let you review it.
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Name: Swan Piper Race: Kenku Class: Monk Backstory: While most of his flock wandered around aimlessly with no real purpose and lost in their tale of woe, Piper always possessed more of an inner drive to strive for something, anything. It took a bit of effort to pull himself out of his plan-less drifting lifestyle and toward the monastery where he learned to still his mind and focus his thoughts and energies. With this discipline, came clarity of purpose -- to uncover if there was any truth to the legend of the lost wings. Now, he's a lone wanderer searching for clues or information that might help him learn more about the source of the legends. Physical Description: Piper wears the dark hooded robes typical of his flock, allowing him to hide his rare and unwelcomed avian features.
Hey, before I make a complete application, I wanted to ask two questions. After I get your answers, I'll fill the application. 1. How might a Warforged fit into the world? I usually don't really like this race, but while reading about your world, I thought of a character concept that I believe fits the world. I also have another idea, though, so it's fine if you don't think Warforged fit into your world. I'm also not really sure myself, so I might not choose it regardless. Just wanted to know before making a whole application. 2. Since you're open to the option of homebrewed races and other things, are homebrewed feats good as well? Or, in my case, a revised feat? I was thinking about the Grappler feat, and though we know that feat is not a good one, there are many good revisions out there. Alternatively, I could think of one myself and let you review it.
There are a number of ways warforged might fit into the Waste. You might have some sort of connection to the Reckoners, a crew of Railpirates that once roamed the Waste. Their leader, Brasslung Bill, was capable of creating arcanomechanical prosthetics that he outfitted his crew with. He himself almost completely replaced his body with mechanical parts, and could probably be considered more machine than man. The Reckoners have since fallen, and Brasslung Bill has disappeared. He was the only one capable of creating the prosthetics, but perhaps you could have somehow gained similar prosthetics, becoming more machine than man. Alternatively, the Waste is no stranger to mad scientists and artificers who build all sorts of things, which could include a living construct. You could also potentially go the Pinocchio route, being an unloving thing given life by some sort of magical being, be it angel or (far more likely) devil.
As for homebrew feats, feel free to propose something to me, and I’ll look over it. We can probably save something like that until after recruitment, if you’re accepted.
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"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Hey! I gotta say this sounds rather intriguing. I've been doing some theory crafting for a potential character and then remembered you mentioned the firearms rules. Since you already mentioned being fine with Homebrew things, whats your take on Matt Mercers Gunslinger?
Hey! I gotta say this sounds rather intriguing. I've been doing some theory crafting for a potential character and then remembered you mentioned the firearms rules. Since you already mentioned being fine with Homebrew things, whats your take on Matt Mercers Gunslinger?
Since I’ll be using different firearm rules, I think I’m probably not going to use that gunslinger. However, if you want to play a gunslinger character I encourage you to look at mage hand press’ complete gunslinger class. It uses the rules I’ll be using, and is a cool class. If you can’t find a pdf for it, I’d be happy to pm you a link.
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"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Any and all aspects that need to be changed to fit more accurately into the world are malleable and I would happily work together with you to make the changes fit accordingly.
This story, like many stories of our time, is about luck, and the limited supply of it. Some will say luck is about give and take, 'you win some you lose some', but we know that this is a lie told to us to keep us poor, hungry, and in our place. Those, like myself, who try to elevate their position, well we soon find out the hard way that luck is a commodity that very few can afford.
Some see me as a roguish type, a sneak and a fool, but my origins come from an altogether more wholesome background, you see, I'm an entertainer at heart, a musician and performer. I hear tell of other elves, full and half alike being drawn to these wastes, towards Hollowhome or the other colonies and I too felt a pull, but here I found nothing profound, no destiny or whirlwind adventure to call my own, and so, I did what any bard in my situation would do, I started off my days providing musical delights to the public in their drinking establishments and in their markets and I was good, oh boy was I ever good! Y'know 'old Anth’Tkur blues'? that was one of my originals! but as we all know luxuries are sparse and living on handouts for an unnecessary trade gets you nowhere, nowhere that is, until I was scouted and picked up by a local dwarven man who had taken a liking to me.
As luck would have it, this gentleman happened to be the top dog in a ring of local scavengers, this 'legitimate business-dwarf' headed a crew that scoured the wastes for scrap metals and wreckages to provide these resources to Barony Co. who could then extend rail network, they would also sell other found 'resources' to the highest bidder whomever that may be. As entertainment for these ne'er do wells I found myself in some very elusive and slightly disreputable social circles, I believe I've even rubbed elbows with members of the baron's family themselves (or so I have been told) and when that happens you tend to make friends of all kinds, and with friends like that there's coin to be made! So I played along with their social games and then their actual games, betting and the like, never getting myself in too much trouble but always keeping my head just above water. that was until I made one fateful mistake.
You see, throughout all this time I still had the favour and, more importantly, the ear of my dwarven gentleman friend, he used my socialite skills often to get information from other competitors or contractors and some of them were wise enough to know it. So one day, one of these competitors, a dhampir I believe, offered me a LOT of coin to give The scavengers some false information, just a little white lie to send them out of the way whilst the dhampir swooped in on some deal, or made some silly little power play, except it wasn't that at all, it was an ambush and I had personally over sold the situation causing my dwarf companion to send out his best crew. When news reached me that not a single on of the crew survived I knew something was wrong and now my benefactor wanted me dead, I fled, making my way to the dhampir to either collect my payment or get some protection. What I found waiting for me was someone the dhampir used to make problems go away and so I used my charms to appeal to this brutish enforcer's better judgement, beguiling them into believing that I was definitely no problem at all. After that I haven't been able to look back ever since, now I roam from place to place seemingly just trying to survive on what little coin I can, In reality I'm looking for people to help, people who might just have the same attitudes toward the ruling classes that I do, the same motivations for change, because you know what I learned? Wealth and money talk in the wastes and If I can't talk my way out of a problem I sure as hell can buy my way out, all I need now is some money, and we all know who has the most of it around here.
So, my question to you is.. if you're down on your 'luck' and you want to change it, why don't you come with me? If destiny isn't coming for me then I'm going to find it. I'm going after the Baron, and you should too.
Dusty is a silver tongued bard with a greedy streak as well as having what it takes to work well in a group (even with being as self centred as he is) he has a tendency to get over excited and carried away and loves the façade of high society even in a desolate and dangerous wasteland, he would much rather try to talk his way out of situations than fight especially if the chance to pay someone to fight for him is on the table, that being said his bardic words can harm as well as heal. When given the opportunity I think Dusty would value life over monetary gain, but he wouldn't easily admit this, openly wanting to present as someone who does well in wealthy socialite situations, I think deep down Dusty longs for a place to belong.
Physical appearance,
Dusty, despite being in his late 30's has a young effeminate face (half elves, am I right?) with shoulder length black hair, he is the kind of tall skinny man that makes you wonder how on earth a body supports a head like that, but he pulls it off by moving gracefully and with purpose. his clothes are a simple suit, currently crumpled and slightly too large, it is accented with silver on the cuffs and collars in an attempt to exude some 'class' however this is overshadowed by his long draped duster coat that hides any hint of weaponry and also doubles as a nice blanket on nights when being on the run means no bed. visually there is a disconnect between a man who wants to look distinct and also needs to blend in, and this shows in Dusty's clothing choices.
Things I think you should likely be aware of, I have no experience with PBP at all and I know that can maybe be a bit of a turn off for some DM's, but I do have DnD experience. i just haven't been able to play in a while (getting them cravings you know), so I was recently introduced to PBP, that being the case it does mean that I won't have a problem keeping up with the one post a day minimum, I'm super excited to play.
Well then, since it seems Warforged works, that will be my choice. It's slightly different from what I thought of originally, but I can make a very similar concept out of it. I'll leave the feat discussion for when it will matter, if it will.
Name: Hugeo Chromeye. Race: Warforged. Class: Rogue (Phantom, most likely). Backstory: (In a spoiler to save space, though it isn't particularly long.)
(I'm going with an idea of Hugeo being part of the Reckoners. If for some reason that is not optional, then he'd be a part of a similar Railpirates crew that perhaps bought/stolen from Bill/someone else? I'm open to changes that will make it work.)
Hugeo was his real name, but Chromeye was one he was given to him after Brasslung Bill gave him his first prosthetic - an eye made of chromium - after he lost his real eye in an accident. Hugeo was just a child when he first joined the Reckoners. An urchin in one of the cities in the Waste, given the opportunity of his life for reasons he never knew. Perhaps the Reckoners just wanted someone else to clean for them, but it didn't matter for him. Accidents were not a rare thing on the rails, considering how poorly they were maintained. As he grew up with the Reckoners, he lost many parts of his body, one after the other. At the age of nineteen, after an accident took away his left arm, he was starting to look more a machine than a man, just like Bill.
When the Reckoners fell, Hugeo survived somehow, but he remained devastated. His only home, his only friends, everything he cared about... gone. Moreover, with this strange body of his, he couldn't just fit in a new place. Most people wouldn't want to befriend a former pirate. Quickly, Hugeo was back to the streets, back to where he spent his early childhood. Hugeo blames the Rail Baron for all that happened. He is convinced that the reason he lost all he had was the Baron's neglection of the rails, causing the poor condition of the rails which in turn caused all the accidents that befell him over the years, as well as the fall of his crew, in the end. He seeks vengeance, and he knows the skills he learned as a pirate will aid him.
Physical Description: More a machine than a man, but still somewhat a man. Both his legs, his left arm all the way to the shoulder, as well as about three-fourths of his torso, from the left side of it; all of those are prosthetics made of aluminium. His right eye is also a prosthetic, made of chromium. That leaves a fourth of his torso, his right hand, his neck and his head - other than that right eye - as the only parts of him that are still flesh. His head, as well as his size and form, are those of a man in his late twenties. His short, dirty hair is brown and the colour of his left eye, the natural eye, is also brown.
Class: Druid (Subclass depends a bit on the party composition, but Land or Dreams seems fun) Backstory:
Arin comes from about as humble of beginnings as you can get. Born and raised in a family that worked in training sandmounts, she never had much in the way of luxuries. Everything she had was a hand-me-down until she was nine, but that was because she made an animal toy out of scraps. Each day was always a bit different, especially as she collected new chores with age. She always enjoyed working with the animals, making sure they were well taken care of and happy.
One day, when Arin was 19, she and her family woke up to the sound of loud crashing and voices yelling. They ran out to see a group of ruffians destroying the sandmount pens, and terrorizing the creatures to make them flee. While none of the family were formally trained fighters, they were scrappy, and had the numbers advantage. The band of ruffians were chased off, leaving the Huberts alone in the night once more. Wasting no time, Arin's eldest sister, Lilian, took one of the few remaining creatures, and rode out to try and find the escaped mounts. Two days went by without any sign of her returning. Her brother Zem, who often was the one who acted as a guide for those travelling the wastes, was too injured to go looking for her. So Arin volunteered in his place. Packing up some gear, she took one of the three sandmounts left and headed off into the Sands.
There was little sign of Lilian throughout the first day of travel. Late into her second day of travel, just as hope was starting to dwindle, she spotted that way a silhouette in the distance. At first wary of it being a raider, a piecing screech came from that direction. Arin recognized her sister's voice, and started riding as fast as she could towards her. As she raced closer, she could see her sister being attacked by a hungry predator of the Sands. Lilian, perhaps a bit foolishly, was trying her hardest to get her mount to move, and only had a dagger for protection. Arin got there just as the predator lunged towards her sister. Luck would be on their side, as a wild slash across the creature's face from Lilian was enough to get it to momentarily retreat. It was enough time for Arin to get Lilian on her sandmount, and start getting out of there. The journey home was long, with Arin doing her best to patch up some of Lilian's more serious wounds. Relief and exhaustion overwhelmed the pair when they finally returned home.
While the two returning was a joyous thing indeed, the lack of their animals was concerning. With so few sandmounts remaining, they would be struggling to provide for a while, if they even managed to stay afloat at all. After taking a few days to recover, Arin decided to leave. To find opportunities to help, she told her family. That was one factor yes, but not her primary motivation. Truly, she wanted answers. Why target her family? Who even were the attackers? How could it be allowed to happen? She needed to know, and if she needed to bring justice, or bring truths to light, then so be it.
That was two years ago. Two years, and not much progress has been made. But the Wastes are a strange place, and strange things are sure to happen.
Physical Description: Arin is a tall young woman, standing close to six feet tall. Years of physical labor has given her some tone to her muscles. Her slightly tanned skin is heavily freckled, and occasionally dotted with scars. One of the most notable of which being a jagged line running across the back of her left hand. Her eyes are a light brown color, that in some lightings almost looks colorless. Though her shoulder blades length dirty brown hair is often tied back into a braid, when it is down, there is some natural waviness to it. Matching her general appearance, her clothes are nothing too standout. It mostly consists of several light layers, shin-high boots, and a long scarf wrapped several times around her neck.
Ability scores:141516131312
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The ever growing document of character concepts can never be too long, can it?
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Hullo, everyone! So, recently I’ve found myself in a bit of an interesting conundrum. I’ve had that urge to DM gnawing away at my little toes, but I haven’t been able to decide exactly what I should DM. On one hand, I’ve got a wonderful little homebrew setting that I’ve been building for quite some time now, and I’m really afraid of. However, I don’t quite have the confidence to come up with an entirely new adventure set in the world. On the other hand, there’s plenty of published adventures out there, but they’re all set in the same old settings as always. And don’t get me wrong, I love those settings dearly, but I’m feeling like something new.
Now, I could go with the logical approach, which would entail blending the two things together, coming up with my own adventure set in the official settings, with a satisfying blend of original content and existing stuff to build off of. However, I happen to be a little goblin, and have instead elected to go with the opposite approach, adapting an already existing adventure to my own, original setting. So, without any further ado, I’d like to present Burying the Baron! Actually, I lied, there’s lots of further ado.
The Further Ado
You folks certainly can’t go about creating characters in my world without any knowledge of… well, what my world actually is. It’s called the Wild Waste, and as the title of the thread and the name of the setting suggests, it is Wild West themed. But it’s not the Wild West you expect. The Wild Waste is rather dark, full of malevolent fiends and creatures of the night, who walk freely under the perpetually overcast sky. Not actually all that unlike Barovia, when you think about it, which is part of the reasons why I think this adventure actually works surprisingly well with the setting. There’s quite a lot of info here, and you don’t necessarily need to read it all, but you should at least read the first bit, to get an idea of what the setting actually is before making a character.
The Setting
The Wild Waste is, at its core, a really big desert. Endless seas of uniform sand, stretching ever onwards. But as expected, it’s no ordinary desert. The Sands of the Waste are unusually fine, so much so that one would almost find it easier to swim through them, rather than walk. Both would be rather ineffective and exhausting, but at least your reckless flailing as you attempt to freestyle through a dune might alert any potential rescuers that could be passing by. However, this flailing would also most likely attract other creatures, carnivorous, vibration-sensitive denizens of the Sands à la Dune. Creatures such as moisture-sucking parchworms, grasping deathrattles, or the molelike sand dragons, which are the closest thing to mascots the Waste has.
While it’s certainly impossible to live directly on the Sands, there is safe ground in the Waste. But par for the course, it takes an incredibly bizarre form. For the only land in the Waste, where towns are built and the vast majority of people live, takes the form of massive stone skeletons of bizarre creatures, known as wastebones. The origin of these bones is unknown, but they serve an important purpose, being the foundation of Wastern towns. Due to the awkward surface that they are built upon, these towns are all quite unique, bizarre mashups of stilts, wooden platforms, lifts and pulleys.
The idea of travel in the Waste presents another interesting conundrum. When a couple hundred meter trek would kill any ordinary person with exhaustion, if they weren’t first devoured by anything that noticed their thrashing, travel on foot is quickly thrown out of the picture. But how else would one cross the Waste? Well, there are two main ways. The first is via mount. Specifically domesticated creatures of Waste, one of its few herbivorous species, sandmounts. These giant cousins of pangolins surf through the surface of the Sands with ease, and most of their denizens ignore them, due to their great speed and their ability to roll into a spiny ball, making swallowing them quite uncomfortable. Still, traveling via sandmount is rather dangerous, for the Waste has no shortage of creatures desperate enough to consider a sandmount and its rider as a meal, even if it would be hard to catch them.
The other option is via the Rails. Bits of enchanted scrap metal scattered over the Sands, the Rails allow travel over them via train, of all things. Any locomotive equipped with a Navvy, a magical device that allows the use of the Rails, can cause them to form a floating track beneath it, carrying it wherever its driver wishes to go. Rail travel, while safer than sandmounts, has a few issues. First of all, it requires functioning Rails to be present on the Sands wherever it travels, so in any area where the Rails are no longer functioning properly or are not present, you can’t take a train. Additionally, it requires high levels of ambient magic in any area to function. This has been achieved in the Waste, but not without certain side effects.
Ambient magic in the Waste is quite high, due to the constant burning of a certain magical resource, known as white coal. White coal is only found in the Waste, and when burned it releases a large amount of magical energy. By burning this coal all over the Waste, the ambient magic has been raised, but there have been other side effects. For starters, a great white cloud of smoke constantly blankets the Waste, blocking out the light of the sun, and plunging the Waste into gloom. Additionally, this magical cloud has created a sort of barrier between the heavens and the earth, making communication with deities difficult. As a result, clerics and paladins are very few and far between, and undead and fiends run free.
The Rail Baron
The Rail Baron is the man who made the Waste happen. A dwarvish businessman, and CEO of Barony Co., the company that acts as the closest thing to a government the Waste has. The Rails and Navvies are all primarily created and owned by Barony Co. The Baron even claims that he is closely related to the dwarf that invented gunpowder. The Baron is responsible for the burning of white coal, and the subsequent retreat of the gods from the Waste. He has made it the place it is now, a refuge for criminals, exiles, and the unholy. But this all benefits him, for the Baron himself is openly a vampire.
For a time, the Baron ruled over the Waste… as close to “justly” as you can get. He allowed anyone in and out, and as long as it didn’t hurt business, anything went. But as he aged, he became less and less of a man, giving in to his undead nature. Where the Waste was once a safe haven for the unjustly(or justly) persecuted, it became a refuge for all that was evil and unholy in the world. Travel became less and less free, especially in and out of the Waste. The Baron’s greed led him to cut back on maintenance, allowing the Rails to fall into disrepair, causing travel to become even harder as trains now had to navigate deadly gaps in the Rails. The people of the Waste now live hard, dismal lives, surviving in a neglected land of devils and dead men.
Races in the Wild Waste
(I’m mostly just covering PHB races here, but feel free to ask about others)
Dhampirs - Uncommon
The Waste has a large number of vampires and other hungering creatures wandering around, interacting with mortals in all sorts of ways. A number of these interactions result in Dhampirs, and while they aren’t particularly common, they are much more so than anywhere else in the world.
Dragonborn - Rare
Both dragons and their kin are not common at all in the Waste, or just the world. Things of an older age, before the modern inventions of this day. Dragonkind are exiles in this world, but not the type that the Waste appeals to. The smoky skies and chugging trains do not appeal to most in the slightest. Still, a few clanless ones can be found here and there, though they are few and far between.
Dwarves - Very Common
Dwarvenkind has driven progress in the Waste since its “discovery”, and you would be hard pressed to not find one in any place people gather. The majority of them previously made their home in the city of Hollowhome, below the orcish city of Anth’Tkur, but the two cities fell into ruin alongside the Waste’s decline, weak from warring with each other so often.
Elves - Rare
The Elven race has been endangered for quite some time. There are ancient legends of great elven empires, but these days the race is scattered and few in number. Their numbers in the Waste is actually higher than in many other places, a bizarre statistic that has little explanation, besides the fact that some claim to be drawn to the area, for some reason.
Gnomes - Common
Gnomes can usually be found alongside dwarves, for the two races’ largest nations have long been allied. While a bit less common, simply because their overall numbers are less, they can be found all over the Waste.
Halflings - Common
There are few places where halflings can’t be found, and the Waste is not exempt. These small folk are a little less common than gnomes, but they still have a large presence in the Waste. Many are often artisans or tradespeople.
Hexbloods - Uncommon
Fey are very, very rare, especially in the Waste. However, one type of fey hasn’t been driven to extinction, and instead thrives in the Waste. The impure, wretched creatures known as hags. Plenty of these hags enter into bargains and pacts with mortals, transforming them into Hexbloods.
Humans - Very Common
Humans are humans. Need I say more? If it’s even slightly habitable, there’ll be humans there.
Orcs - Common
The Orcish race is native to the Waste, having been there for ages, long before the dwarves first dug into Hollowhome and claimed it as their city. No one knows exactly how they got there, but they somehow found themselves stranded in the middle of the Waste, on a giant tortoise-shaped wastebone(giant even by wastebone standards), where they built their city, Anth’Tkur. However after warring for many years with the Dwarves who established the city of Hollowhome on the inside of the shell, the two cities fell, and orckind was scattered.
Reborn - Uncommon
A lot of people die in the Waste. I mean, a lot a lot. With so many people dying, there’s bound to be a couple of them who decide that they actually would rather not, thank you very much. These Reborn are fairly common in the Waste because of this, and also because of the frequency of necromantic beings living in the Waste.
Tieflings - Very Common
The Waste is the closest thing to a home Tieflings will ever have. Their cursed nature means they are shunned anywhere else, and many flee to the great desert, as deadly as it is, because it is still safer than what awaits them back home. Additionally, the number of fiends wandering the Waste means there are plenty of dark pacts being made, and some fiends choose to mark those they make deals with by transforming them into tieflings.
Well, that’s it for the copious amounts of lore, let’s move on to how you’re actually gonna be applying(if you're interested, of course)!
Character Creation
Don’t make a character sheet yet. The setting is kind of weird, and is going to involve some homebrew, so I’d rather you just apply with a character concept, not with a sheet. Here are the constraints on character creation.
Races - Be whatever. Pretty much anything official is allowed, including Tasha’s stuff, and if you’d like to ask how a certain race works in the setting, feel free to. Homebrew and UA is also permitted, but I must be allowed to view it first. I’ll be more likely to accept homebrew from a source known to put out good content, like Kobold Press, Mage Hand Press, and definitely not dandwiki.
Classes - Same rules as races. For clerics, paladins and other divine magic users, I’m not going to impose any mechanical restrictions on you due to divine influence being weak in the Waste, unless you’d like me to. You can be a special little macguffin person who just has better magic, I guess.
Ability Scores - Even if you’re not making a sheet, I understand that some people use ability scores to shape their character. If you’d like to roll stats, my method is just 4d6 drop lowest, and if they’re really trash you can just take standard array.
Background - Same rules again, do whatever you want, let me know if you want homebrew.
Equipment - Don’t really think about it right now. We’re going to be using Mage Hand Press’ firearms rules from their Complete Gunslinger class, if you’re familiar with those, for those of you who use guns. I will allow everyone to start with a single common magic item, mostly for flavor, because they’re just so fun.
Application
If after all this you're still interested, please apply in this thread using this template.
Name:
Race:
Class:
Backstory: Can be as small or as large as you like, I'll read everything. Don't worry if it doesn't perfectly line up with the setting, we can always go over it and tweak it later. All I'm looking for is a concept, not a final draft.
Physical Description: If including a picture(not required), please spoiler it.
And that's it! For now, that is. I'll leave the recruitment thread open for... well, I don't know exactly how long, but I'll give warning at least 24 hours before closing it. Thank you in advance to all who apply, and apologies as well, for I probably won't be able to choose everyone(unless only around 4-6 of you apply).
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Name: Larissa
Race: Tiefling
Class: Sorcerer, Shadow Magic Criminal background
Backstory: Larissa was born in the wastes, the daughter of a human mother and a fiend with whom she had unwittingly entered into a pact. She watched in despair as her mother wasted away due to her pact, and grew a robust distaste, even hatred, of fiends as a result. Still, her heritage gave her a connection with the ambient magic of the waste that she is even now trying to understand and master.
Orphaned after her mother’s death, but spared the servitude the original pact required, Larissa turned to petty crime and burglary to support her lifestyle, building a small connection of criminal contacts and fences across the small towns dotting the waste. She desires to lift herself out of poverty and make a name for herself, perhaps even one day raising up a criminal syndicate by uniting the disparate outlaws that flock to the wastes. And perhaps, just perhaps, one day seeking revenge against the fiend that enslaved and destroyed her mother.
Physical Description: Larissa is a female Tiefling of average height and a slight build. She is pale red, with black, soul-draining eyes, and a long, slender tail. She has slender, flattened but straight five inch horns with a small forward tine (think pronghorn antlers) and long flowing black hair. She wears nondescript robes in dark, muted colors with pouches and secret pockets to store components and stash away hidden treasures.
Interested in the story concept and the mash up between the world and the mash up with Curse of Strahd. Would love to play.
Name: Cormac Brungir
Race: Dhamphir (Dwarf)
Class: Artificer
Backstory: Cormac is the son of a dwarven women and a dwarven vampire, his mother claiming it to be either the baron himself or one of the other high ranking spawns of the one that rules the Wastes. Using this to her advantage she managed to get a comfy place to raise Cormac, getting him the best education possible.
For his own part, Cormac played down the vampiric taint in his blood, instead embracing his dwarven heritage and learning to become a craftsmen. With hard work as a young man he managed to get a job with Barony Co, working to keep the rails serviceable where possible. This soon was made to be changed though as the company learned the real money was in guns and other inventions that could be used to deal with the horrors of the wastes.
Cormac spent several years building guns and perfected the process to the point he was allowed to see some of the more advanced blue prints. A few times he even being shown some of these magical tinkering done by the top scientists of the Company, being sworn to silence on some of their more dark research.
Unfortunately or perhaps fortunately Cormac had enough of a conscious that he could not put up with the experiments that involved using other people. He freed them and was forced to flee from the company, running off towards one of the farthest towns the Wastes had, hoping it was out of the reach of Barony Co.
Physical Description: Cormac looks like typical dwarf except for the pale tone of his skin and the slight fangs that mark him as a dhamphir. He has dark brown eyes and black hair that reaches his shoulders. Like many dwarves he has a well groomed beard that reaches his chest with braids and metal rings in it to show his pride in it.
Clothing size he prefers practicality, going for things that allow for comfort and ease of movement. Due to his tinkering he has several pouches and pockets both in and outside of his clothes. His most consistent piece of clothing his a dwarf sized duster like coat where he keeps several things hidden within pockets sewn to the inside.
Ability scores: 16 15 14 11 18 13
Ability scores: 15 9 16 13 13 15
Name - Kronk
Race - Construct?
Class - Fighter
Backstory - Kronk is an abomination, there is no other word for it. It seems a rather insane Necromancer was experimenting with mashing together different corpses and body parts. In one experiment, his last, unfortunately for him (or maybe not), he was working with the corpse of an halfling and a corpse of an ogre (one of which might have been the original Kronk, who ever that was, but that would be really stretching it.) Needless to say he was working 'discretely,' for fear of persecution you see, out in the middle of nowhere in a very secluded wood. As it happened a thunder and lightening storm sprang up out of nowhere, putting him into a pretty foul mood; but the upshot was dramatic to say the least. Just as he cast the final parts of the spell he was struck by one fork of a bolt of lightening, the other one struck the halfling/ogre meat he was working on. It appears to have killed the necromancer but at the same time transferred his life force into the mess he was ensorcelling, causing it to animate into the being that calls itself Kronk. By-the-by, for some reason unknown to himself, Kronk HATES necromancers. He has no memory of what happened, just remembers coming to in a storm next to a rather crispy corpse and the brutal struggle to find a place in the world that followed. Kronk has a rather strange affinity for dead things, not anything really corrupt or depraved, but he thinks that they talk to him and that he can sometimes talk to them. He has no fear in that regard. I class Kronk as a half-orc, but he is not really, as stated he is a monstrosity, with a rather intense charisma for such a creature. He thinks that lightening gives him powers, just what kind, well it could be that he is just delusional, but who knows, there are stranger things running around. When he became aware of his surroundings the first time he was very confused, no thoughts entered his head as to what had happened or what was going on. Stumbling around in the woods he came upon the necromancer's abode wherein he found supplies and, most fortuitously for him, a tunic and coif of chainmail that fit, not only that, it would help hide what he was from unsympathetic folk who would rather burn him to a crisp - the Frankenstein Syndrome one might say. He also found the iron bar that he uses as a weapon of choice at the present time, and that strange medallion, the one made from some strange red metal, depicting a ghastly alien creature consuming itself. Most folk would find it extremely disturbing to look upon Secretly, in his heart of hearts, Kronk thinks that the creature depicted in the medallion created him. For quite some time, Kronk wandered the edges of civilized spaces trying to figure out how to fit in; he soon came to realize that he could make room for himself using the iron bar and his ferocious strength to make himself fit. People now rarely give him much grief and, surprisingly, seem to be rather polite around him.
Kronk is a little bit hard to describe but, the most immediate feature is his size, a little more than two meters tall and around 200 kilograms he is a presence that forces itself on any one around him. He has one orange eye and one green that sit in his face in a lopsided manner, his nose is broad and hooked over thick lips that barely cover stubby fangs. His hide is a greyish, hairless, and of a pebbly texture, similar as that of a lizard. His hands and feet are armed with short, wicked looking talons which appear capable of shredding most sorts of flesh from bone. And the iron bar he carries, as if it were a toothpick, is indeed a fearsome weapon, capable of crushing most thing that might 'run' into it. For all Kronks disconcerting aspect, he is rather smart, light on his feet and quite personable, when he wants to be.
Did I mention he has a pathological hated of necromancers?
Panic is a mechanism that strengthens the gene pool.
Ability scores: 14 14 15 11 14 6
Name: Thardoran Stargazer
Race: Reborn (Dwarf)
Class: Wizard
Backstory: Dying was not part of the plan, Thardoran feels certain of that. Of course, that happened so long ago that it's hard to remember what exactly the plan was, but dying wasn't part of it. From what bits and pieces have come to him over the years, he thinks that he had traveled here when the wastes were 'young', seeking out knowledge and magic... or was it riches? Either way, the cave in put an end to whatever plans he once had. He's grateful he doesn't remember dying, remember waking up dead for the first time is more than enough to deal with.
He came to in the collapsed cavern, white coal dust coating him, his mouth dry and caked with sand. He fumbled around and found his waterskin, flushing his mouth and taking a gulp, though it sat heavy in his gut. Going through his pack, he found a torch and tinder, striking the torch, a wan flame guttering and going out. He tried again and again, only to find there wasn't enough air to keep a flame going. But then how was he still breath--- huh. Alright... not breathing. That's not normal. He lapsed into a catatonic state, rousing himself every so often, pacing the interior of his oubliette. Memories of who he was before are hazy and fractured when they do come, but they are infrequent.
He's accepted that he's no longer alive, accepting that is maddening, but to continue to deny it would be worse. After years? Decades? he began developing abilities he didn't recall having before. The first time he was able to bring forth light to illuminate his prison, it brought him to tears, or would have, had he still been capable of producing tears. It was only at this point that he started thinking of himself as Thardoran, as a book in his pack had "Property of Thardoran Stargazer" on the inside cover. He knew there was a possibility that he'd borrowed it from a Thardoran, but better to be wrong than to continue without a name.
What followed was a long time of experimentation, testing and pushing the limits of what he might be able to bring forth, and he kept notes in the margins of the book in his pack, until he ran out of ink. He had other ideas, and sometimes they worked, but without a good record to be able to test and retest the variables... He read and reread the book untold times, until he had to put it aside for fear of wearing the pages to the point he lost his notes.
He's unsure how long he was down there, but recently a shift in the ground cracked the stone around him and he was able to expand it and wriggle free. Surrounded by sand, he picked a direction and started walking, eventually finding his way to a wastebone community.
Physical Description: He looks like the most ancient of dwarves, were he fully living, he'd look well beyond the average life expectancy of 350 years, perhaps pushing 450 or more. For himself, he's uncertain of how old he actually is, dying and persisting while buried in the Wastes could have prematurely aged his appearance dramatically. Or he might have been down there for the millennia that it felt like. A craggy, lined face, wispy hair sprouting from his scalp and face, and old, faded tattoos, the significance of which he can no longer recall.
DM: Forged in Chaos, Spiders of the Abyss, The Sundered Way, Champions of the Citadel
Active Characters:
Breldo, Halfling Ranger | Kathryn, Wood Elf Rogue/Ranger | Kroshav, Dragonborn Paladin | T'laren Farsiel, Wood Elf Fighter | Trill, Kenku Bard | Val "Janellae", Mark of Shadow Elf Warlock
Hey there, Humbug! This is, without a doubt, the most unique twist on an official module I have ever had the pleasure of seeing. I couldn't not apply.
NAME: Isoldus Zrashasi.
RACE: Dragonborn, Red Dragon ancestry.
CLASS: Paladin - Oath of Conquest.
ALIGNMENT: Lawful Neutral/Evil, still debating.
BACKGROUND: Soldier.
PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: As image above, except Isoldus's face is significantly more elongated and draconic in nature. Isoldus stands nearly seven feet tall and red-scaled, cutting by all accounts an imposing figure; donning sandswept armor obsessively polished. The most distinct attribute to his countenance is an intimidating aspect to his appearance almost difficult to pinpoint - the harsh rasp of his voice, the oppressively commanding demeanor, the haunted look in his eye, or the blood-rusted blade he wields with awesome expertise all contribute to the appearance of a man truly frightening in look.
BACKSTORY:
(Any part or all can be changed!)
The solemn loneliness of howling winds is only compounded by being one of the sole Dragonborn remaining in the desolate deserts of the Wastes.
Isoldus recalls the very day his sharp, clawed hand shook the one of a prospector foolish enough to lead an expedition of people inadequately prepared for the harshness of the sands. He was a military soldier, after all - even more, his oath was to defend the lives of those who were incapable of it. While not one to venerate a specific deity, the dragonborn received the attention - and numerous gifts - of the kindhearted deities who noticed Isoldus's dedication to preventing needless slaughter.
Only after Isoldus made it to the shantytown settlements of the Wild Wastes did he realize what a dire situation it seemed to be indeed. Food was scarce - living commodities less so. Danger seemed to fill the air with a nearly palpable sense of dread. Even worse, the militaristic training Isoldus underwent in the far East of the realms - a time so long ago it almost feels surreal - failed to instruct him on how to organize a militia when half the town's able population were drunkards and the other half thieving criminals seeking to evade the law in the first place.
Either way, after countless months of struggle and failure, Isoldus managed to scrap together a serviceable group of civilians who sought to clean the proverbial sand from the gaping wounds of the Wastes - making a name for himself, the Dragonborn - despite a firm proclivity towards traditional, route, military tactics rather than any of the more modernized technological and magical advances - carved a sizeable name for himself as a shining paragon of what law and justice meant in the depths of the desert.
If asked, Isoldus will give a different answer as to what changed. The truth is - a culmination of factors led to the soldier's downfall. Perhaps The Baron's grip on the realm turning the wastes into a hive of treachery and monsters broke the Paladin's will. Maybe the desert's isolation - and lack of his own kin - turned Isoldus's heart bitter with repressed frustration,. People feared the unknown, after all, and with an extremely small amount of monstrous-looking Dragonborn around, rumors and speculations tend to spread faster than wildfire; tales of barbarism and savagery mingled with stories told around campfires to foster fear of the Dragonspawn eroded Isoldus's will like sand in the wind. Either way - one day, he snapped, potentially corrupted by the pull of the wastes.
Isoldus has perhaps become the very rumor the people whisper of about Dragonborn - pamphlets calling for his scaled head (and a reward of a hundred gold, too) line the city's tavern boards. A bout of anger, a murderous rampage - that was all it took. Considered a public enemy of the Baron, Isoldus has turned to his own form of evil - the subjugation of those below him. Considering himself the only upholder of true law, the Dragonborn finds allies in those seeking to oppose the Baron - provided they will accept him as their righteous ruler.
And, finally - Isoldus's desire is to unite the scattered, isolated, shunned, and exiled Dragonborn of the wastes, uproot The Baron as a ruler, and restore the Wastes to what they should be; an oases for dragonkin in the sands, and an area to fall under Isoldus's rule.
Stats: Ability scores: 17 10 14 13 12 17
The setting sounds fantastic and yes please, definitely sign me up.
Ability scores: 12 11 12 15 14 9
Name: Tia Zoido
Race: Human
Class: Trickery Cleric
Backstory:
I was a captain. Or at least, I pretended to be.
You see that map on the wall? Throw this stiletto at it. Wherever the knife sticks, I’ll tell you that’s where I was born and I guarantee I’ll make you believe me. Because for the duration of our conversation, I’ll believe it too. The best disguises are the ones not painted onto the face, but poured out of the heart.
Thing is, I am no captain at all. What I am is a priestess of the Nameless. The Lord of Shadows, Master of All Thieves, the Watcher and the Benefactor. I am a consecrated servant of - and you may know him as - Mask.
The thing about our line of trade, is that we make sure the rich remember. They need to know they are not invincible. Locks can be picked and treasures can be stolen, for those people of high means who have attained their privileges neither by hard work or fortunate chance. They may fall off a cliff and the gods will move a cloud to catch them, but we will be the stone in their shoe, the thorn in their side, we are the little spark of divine judgement in their privileged lives.
Now on the topic of how I got myself in this predicament. Several months ago, I planned a long con. I cheated my way, floor by floor, up the famed house, and eventually I caught the attention of the gaming house’s master. He took an interest in me and invited me to the home of Admiral Shelton, of Azure Sea’s naval legion.
The Admiral, it emerged, had become aware of a previous identity I had used. In the middle of the card game on his island fortress, I was surrounded and threatened with being thrown into a dungeon. Why only threatened, you say? Well, as it turned out, the Admiral had no interest in keeping me prisoner in the traditional sense. What he wanted was something much more laborious.
It seemed that Shelton had recently lost popularity in light of that fact that the navy’s upkeep cost a lot of money, and there hadn’t been any serious threat from the seas in over a decade. Therefore, what Shelton wanted me to do was use my exceptional skills to board one of his ships impersonating a captain. Only one person - the first mate - would know the truth, and he would make all of the important decisions for me. That was a relief, because in truth I know absolutely nothing all about how a ship works.
The crew eventually figured out I wasn’t a real captain, of course. I’m not sure whether it was the fact that I thought a ‘taffrail’ was a type of bread or the fact that I gave the order to volte face instead of tack into the wind. But they figured me out, and they were furious. They put me into a life raft and cast me adrift.
Oh, but don’t worry. That wasn’t the end game. Because just as the ship sailed onward, leaving me behind, a real pirate ship lurched from the mists and completely destroyed our ship. No survivors at all. Except for me. The pirates picked me up and I was introduced to Captain Ezra Alkmaeon. I told him who I was - a priestess, and when Ezra learned that I would be worth a fortune in ransom, he found it in his heart to keep me alive.
And that brings us more or less up to the present moment. I’m tied up. You’re tied up. But the difference between you and I, is that by the end of tomorrow, I will have gambled my way into a more comfortable position on the ship and then, as soon as we make land of any sort, I will be gone.
What about you? Hmm, I suppose you’ll be fed to the sharks before the sun sets tonight. But keep a spark of hope alive, friend. When I’ve bluffed and charmed my way into Captain Alkmaeon's bed, I’ll be sure to put in a good word for ya.
Physical Description:
Tia is a young human in her early twenties, stands slightly above average with her elegant long legs, slim waist and limber frame - though everyone who glances at her would think she is much taller, due to her radiant dark-skin and her thick, luminous icewhite hair that makes her stand out in a crowd. She moves with legerity of a feline, light steps and effortless, almost in a melodic, leggiero fashion. She wears spiked pauldrons on her shoulders, with sharp daggers strapped on her thigh and two shortswords hanging from her belt, the bracers she wears on her legs and ankles expose the smooth contour of her agile figure.
Hey, I'm very very interested! The setting and vibes you are going for sound fantastic,
posting to bookmark, currently on mobile, will post an application this evening. Thank you!
Keep 'em coming, people! I'm already seeing a lot of great applications! I think I'll probably close the thread on the 1st, somewhere around the late afternoon PST, though the time is flexible.
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Hey, before I make a complete application, I wanted to ask two questions. After I get your answers, I'll fill the application.
1. How might a Warforged fit into the world? I usually don't really like this race, but while reading about your world, I thought of a character concept that I believe fits the world. I also have another idea, though, so it's fine if you don't think Warforged fit into your world. I'm also not really sure myself, so I might not choose it regardless. Just wanted to know before making a whole application.
2. Since you're open to the option of homebrewed races and other things, are homebrewed feats good as well? Or, in my case, a revised feat? I was thinking about the Grappler feat, and though we know that feat is not a good one, there are many good revisions out there. Alternatively, I could think of one myself and let you review it.
Varielky
Name: Swan Piper
Race: Kenku
Class: Monk
Backstory: While most of his flock wandered around aimlessly with no real purpose and lost in their tale of woe, Piper always possessed more of an inner drive to strive for something, anything. It took a bit of effort to pull himself out of his plan-less drifting lifestyle and toward the monastery where he learned to still his mind and focus his thoughts and energies. With this discipline, came clarity of purpose -- to uncover if there was any truth to the legend of the lost wings. Now, he's a lone wanderer searching for clues or information that might help him learn more about the source of the legends.
Physical Description: Piper wears the dark hooded robes typical of his flock, allowing him to hide his rare and unwelcomed avian features.
Ability scores: 15 15 10 15 10 10
There are a number of ways warforged might fit into the Waste. You might have some sort of connection to the Reckoners, a crew of Railpirates that once roamed the Waste. Their leader, Brasslung Bill, was capable of creating arcanomechanical prosthetics that he outfitted his crew with. He himself almost completely replaced his body with mechanical parts, and could probably be considered more machine than man. The Reckoners have since fallen, and Brasslung Bill has disappeared. He was the only one capable of creating the prosthetics, but perhaps you could have somehow gained similar prosthetics, becoming more machine than man. Alternatively, the Waste is no stranger to mad scientists and artificers who build all sorts of things, which could include a living construct. You could also potentially go the Pinocchio route, being an unloving thing given life by some sort of magical being, be it angel or (far more likely) devil.
As for homebrew feats, feel free to propose something to me, and I’ll look over it. We can probably save something like that until after recruitment, if you’re accepted.
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Hey! I gotta say this sounds rather intriguing. I've been doing some theory crafting for a potential character and then remembered you mentioned the firearms rules. Since you already mentioned being fine with Homebrew things, whats your take on Matt Mercers Gunslinger?
Since I’ll be using different firearm rules, I think I’m probably not going to use that gunslinger. However, if you want to play a gunslinger character I encourage you to look at mage hand press’ complete gunslinger class. It uses the rules I’ll be using, and is a cool class. If you can’t find a pdf for it, I’d be happy to pm you a link.
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Great characters here, I’m not going to apply, I just wanted to say that this looks amazing, will be fun reading. Awesome Humbug!
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Name, Argent 'Dusty' Pullv
Race, Half-Elf
Class, Bard
Background,
Any and all aspects that need to be changed to fit more accurately into the world are malleable and I would happily work together with you to make the changes fit accordingly.
This story, like many stories of our time, is about luck, and the limited supply of it. Some will say luck is about give and take, 'you win some you lose some', but we know that this is a lie told to us to keep us poor, hungry, and in our place. Those, like myself, who try to elevate their position, well we soon find out the hard way that luck is a commodity that very few can afford.
Some see me as a roguish type, a sneak and a fool, but my origins come from an altogether more wholesome background, you see, I'm an entertainer at heart, a musician and performer. I hear tell of other elves, full and half alike being drawn to these wastes, towards Hollowhome or the other colonies and I too felt a pull, but here I found nothing profound, no destiny or whirlwind adventure to call my own, and so, I did what any bard in my situation would do, I started off my days providing musical delights to the public in their drinking establishments and in their markets and I was good, oh boy was I ever good! Y'know 'old Anth’Tkur blues'? that was one of my originals! but as we all know luxuries are sparse and living on handouts for an unnecessary trade gets you nowhere, nowhere that is, until I was scouted and picked up by a local dwarven man who had taken a liking to me.
As luck would have it, this gentleman happened to be the top dog in a ring of local scavengers, this 'legitimate business-dwarf' headed a crew that scoured the wastes for scrap metals and wreckages to provide these resources to Barony Co. who could then extend rail network, they would also sell other found 'resources' to the highest bidder whomever that may be. As entertainment for these ne'er do wells I found myself in some very elusive and slightly disreputable social circles, I believe I've even rubbed elbows with members of the baron's family themselves (or so I have been told) and when that happens you tend to make friends of all kinds, and with friends like that there's coin to be made! So I played along with their social games and then their actual games, betting and the like, never getting myself in too much trouble but always keeping my head just above water. that was until I made one fateful mistake.
You see, throughout all this time I still had the favour and, more importantly, the ear of my dwarven gentleman friend, he used my socialite skills often to get information from other competitors or contractors and some of them were wise enough to know it. So one day, one of these competitors, a dhampir I believe, offered me a LOT of coin to give The scavengers some false information, just a little white lie to send them out of the way whilst the dhampir swooped in on some deal, or made some silly little power play, except it wasn't that at all, it was an ambush and I had personally over sold the situation causing my dwarf companion to send out his best crew. When news reached me that not a single on of the crew survived I knew something was wrong and now my benefactor wanted me dead, I fled, making my way to the dhampir to either collect my payment or get some protection. What I found waiting for me was someone the dhampir used to make problems go away and so I used my charms to appeal to this brutish enforcer's better judgement, beguiling them into believing that I was definitely no problem at all. After that I haven't been able to look back ever since, now I roam from place to place seemingly just trying to survive on what little coin I can, In reality I'm looking for people to help, people who might just have the same attitudes toward the ruling classes that I do, the same motivations for change, because you know what I learned? Wealth and money talk in the wastes and If I can't talk my way out of a problem I sure as hell can buy my way out, all I need now is some money, and we all know who has the most of it around here.
So, my question to you is.. if you're down on your 'luck' and you want to change it, why don't you come with me? If destiny isn't coming for me then I'm going to find it. I'm going after the Baron, and you should too.
Dusty is a silver tongued bard with a greedy streak as well as having what it takes to work well in a group (even with being as self centred as he is) he has a tendency to get over excited and carried away and loves the façade of high society even in a desolate and dangerous wasteland, he would much rather try to talk his way out of situations than fight especially if the chance to pay someone to fight for him is on the table, that being said his bardic words can harm as well as heal. When given the opportunity I think Dusty would value life over monetary gain, but he wouldn't easily admit this, openly wanting to present as someone who does well in wealthy socialite situations, I think deep down Dusty longs for a place to belong.
Physical appearance,
Dusty, despite being in his late 30's has a young effeminate face (half elves, am I right?) with shoulder length black hair, he is the kind of tall skinny man that makes you wonder how on earth a body supports a head like that, but he pulls it off by moving gracefully and with purpose. his clothes are a simple suit, currently crumpled and slightly too large, it is accented with silver on the cuffs and collars in an attempt to exude some 'class' however this is overshadowed by his long draped duster coat that hides any hint of weaponry and also doubles as a nice blanket on nights when being on the run means no bed. visually there is a disconnect between a man who wants to look distinct and also needs to blend in, and this shows in Dusty's clothing choices.
Things I think you should likely be aware of, I have no experience with PBP at all and I know that can maybe be a bit of a turn off for some DM's, but I do have DnD experience. i just haven't been able to play in a while (getting them cravings you know), so I was recently introduced to PBP, that being the case it does mean that I won't have a problem keeping up with the one post a day minimum, I'm super excited to play.
Thank you for taking the time to read this.
Well then, since it seems Warforged works, that will be my choice. It's slightly different from what I thought of originally, but I can make a very similar concept out of it. I'll leave the feat discussion for when it will matter, if it will.
Name: Hugeo Chromeye.
Race: Warforged.
Class: Rogue (Phantom, most likely).
Backstory: (In a spoiler to save space, though it isn't particularly long.)
(I'm going with an idea of Hugeo being part of the Reckoners. If for some reason that is not optional, then he'd be a part of a similar Railpirates crew that perhaps bought/stolen from Bill/someone else? I'm open to changes that will make it work.)
Hugeo was his real name, but Chromeye was one he was given to him after Brasslung Bill gave him his first prosthetic - an eye made of chromium - after he lost his real eye in an accident. Hugeo was just a child when he first joined the Reckoners. An urchin in one of the cities in the Waste, given the opportunity of his life for reasons he never knew. Perhaps the Reckoners just wanted someone else to clean for them, but it didn't matter for him.
Accidents were not a rare thing on the rails, considering how poorly they were maintained. As he grew up with the Reckoners, he lost many parts of his body, one after the other. At the age of nineteen, after an accident took away his left arm, he was starting to look more a machine than a man, just like Bill.
When the Reckoners fell, Hugeo survived somehow, but he remained devastated. His only home, his only friends, everything he cared about... gone. Moreover, with this strange body of his, he couldn't just fit in a new place. Most people wouldn't want to befriend a former pirate. Quickly, Hugeo was back to the streets, back to where he spent his early childhood.
Hugeo blames the Rail Baron for all that happened. He is convinced that the reason he lost all he had was the Baron's neglection of the rails, causing the poor condition of the rails which in turn caused all the accidents that befell him over the years, as well as the fall of his crew, in the end. He seeks vengeance, and he knows the skills he learned as a pirate will aid him.
Physical Description: More a machine than a man, but still somewhat a man. Both his legs, his left arm all the way to the shoulder, as well as about three-fourths of his torso, from the left side of it; all of those are prosthetics made of aluminium. His right eye is also a prosthetic, made of chromium. That leaves a fourth of his torso, his right hand, his neck and his head - other than that right eye - as the only parts of him that are still flesh. His head, as well as his size and form, are those of a man in his late twenties. His short, dirty hair is brown and the colour of his left eye, the natural eye, is also brown.
Varielky
Seeing even more great characters, I'll be closing this thread in 24 hours and making selections, keep 'em coming!
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Very cool concept!
Name: Arin Hubert
Race: Human
Class: Druid (Subclass depends a bit on the party composition, but Land or Dreams seems fun)
Backstory:
Arin comes from about as humble of beginnings as you can get. Born and raised in a family that worked in training sandmounts, she never had much in the way of luxuries. Everything she had was a hand-me-down until she was nine, but that was because she made an animal toy out of scraps. Each day was always a bit different, especially as she collected new chores with age. She always enjoyed working with the animals, making sure they were well taken care of and happy.
One day, when Arin was 19, she and her family woke up to the sound of loud crashing and voices yelling. They ran out to see a group of ruffians destroying the sandmount pens, and terrorizing the creatures to make them flee. While none of the family were formally trained fighters, they were scrappy, and had the numbers advantage. The band of ruffians were chased off, leaving the Huberts alone in the night once more. Wasting no time, Arin's eldest sister, Lilian, took one of the few remaining creatures, and rode out to try and find the escaped mounts. Two days went by without any sign of her returning. Her brother Zem, who often was the one who acted as a guide for those travelling the wastes, was too injured to go looking for her. So Arin volunteered in his place. Packing up some gear, she took one of the three sandmounts left and headed off into the Sands.
There was little sign of Lilian throughout the first day of travel. Late into her second day of travel, just as hope was starting to dwindle, she spotted that way a silhouette in the distance. At first wary of it being a raider, a piecing screech came from that direction. Arin recognized her sister's voice, and started riding as fast as she could towards her. As she raced closer, she could see her sister being attacked by a hungry predator of the Sands. Lilian, perhaps a bit foolishly, was trying her hardest to get her mount to move, and only had a dagger for protection. Arin got there just as the predator lunged towards her sister. Luck would be on their side, as a wild slash across the creature's face from Lilian was enough to get it to momentarily retreat. It was enough time for Arin to get Lilian on her sandmount, and start getting out of there. The journey home was long, with Arin doing her best to patch up some of Lilian's more serious wounds. Relief and exhaustion overwhelmed the pair when they finally returned home.
While the two returning was a joyous thing indeed, the lack of their animals was concerning. With so few sandmounts remaining, they would be struggling to provide for a while, if they even managed to stay afloat at all. After taking a few days to recover, Arin decided to leave. To find opportunities to help, she told her family. That was one factor yes, but not her primary motivation. Truly, she wanted answers. Why target her family? Who even were the attackers? How could it be allowed to happen? She needed to know, and if she needed to bring justice, or bring truths to light, then so be it.
That was two years ago. Two years, and not much progress has been made. But the Wastes are a strange place, and strange things are sure to happen.
Physical Description: Arin is a tall young woman, standing close to six feet tall. Years of physical labor has given her some tone to her muscles. Her slightly tanned skin is heavily freckled, and occasionally dotted with scars. One of the most notable of which being a jagged line running across the back of her left hand. Her eyes are a light brown color, that in some lightings almost looks colorless. Though her shoulder blades length dirty brown hair is often tied back into a braid, when it is down, there is some natural waviness to it. Matching her general appearance, her clothes are nothing too standout. It mostly consists of several light layers, shin-high boots, and a long scarf wrapped several times around her neck.
Ability scores: 14 15 16 13 13 12
The ever growing document of character concepts can never be too long, can it?