When making or editing a post (at least on a computer, I don't know about mobile), there is a button labeled as "Insert/edit image" three buttons from the far right on the row of buttons above the message box. Click that and paste a link to the image you want to use into that.
Sweet, thanks.
Yeah, I keep getting a broken image icon, so I just linked it in text.
Race: Warforged Class Paladin: Oath of the Crown 6 / Sorcerer: Divine Soul 14 Gender: He / Him
Personality: A jovial and gentle demeanor hide scars and a desire to do right by others no matter the cost. He knows he is neither wise nor well read, so he waits before speaking, forging his thoughts as if they were a fine blade, at least in private. In public he knows all the hymns and songs to the Red Knight, the Lady of Strategy and uses them to inspire and aid his allies. His well-rehearsed talks have been known to persuade more than a few enemies to join the cause of righteousness, in and out of battle.
Background: A Knight of the Order of the Red Fellowship. Fresh from the forge, he saw so many of his fellows killed by zealots and fools who mistook enthusiasm for competence. Then he began reading the tactics and holy doctrine of the Red Knight. When he began preaching the doctrine, his words and bearing found him in command of a company despite his inexperience. He found himself falling into the same bad habits that he once scorned in his superiors, zealotry and arrogance. It nearly cost him his command, if not for a war wizard using his skills and spells to bail them out. He relinquished his command and re-dedicated himself to learning not just how to fight the forces of evil, but to lead with both wisdom and passion. He believes working with a small unit to be the first step to earning his lady's favor after seeing her in a dream saying that there was more to his soul than even he suspected.
Roleplay Sample:
The battle was over.
Michael had cleaned the blood off his blade and shield. He felt both a fraud and a failure. He turned back to the walls, siege weapons of all description, some ancient, some cobbled together by his and the war wizard's arts. He had talked the people up onto that wall, he had spoken of holy duty and noble purpose in protecting those they loved. They had followed him without a second thought. He had used the time honored tactics of his forebears. Those with greater wit and wisdom than him had saved the day. The cheering from the walls at the mountains of enemy corpses gave him no respite. One of the artificers walked up to him, Bianca, he thought her name was, to check his wounds. He always felt less than those around him, despite his gifts. As she worked on his dents and scrapes, he decided to ask her a question. When he was ready to ask fifteen minutes later she was almost done.
"I was not wise enough to see the trap, nor learned enough to create better defenses than this in time. I saw the walls, out of the 200 manning them forty will not be going home. Why are they cheering my name when i was not good enough to save them all?"
Bianca looked at him for some time, perhaps she liked sharpening her words before speaking too, "You saved all that you could, they would not have united in their own defense at all if not for you. You were not the best instrument of salvation, but you were the one who could unite enough wisdom and wit to save 160 people on the walls and the hundreds in the town. Be content with that."
Micheal looked up at the sky, contentment, he wondered if that could be learned, he hopped so.
Race: Human (custom origin) Class (include which subclass you are planning to take as well): Bloodhunter - Order of the Mutant Gender: Male
Personality: A peculiar sort indeed. Reserved and somewhat aloof, Fen is often absorbed in his private ponderings. He is antipathic of obnoxious, loud and/ or nervous personalities - claiming these types of people induce severe headaches (whether this is the full truth or not, one thing is certain... the various concoctions he brews do nothing to ease aches and pains!). Moreover, he loves meditation and reflection, recognizing such practices are the surest road to enlightenment... and more importantly, self control.
Background: One who is diligent strives to become a sovereign of their own life. He who understands his toolkit commands his environment, thus shaping and defining himself - learning violin makes a violinist, as learning prayer makes a priest. But no one can control the circumstances of their birth.
This is especially relevant for Fennec Aulay, bastard son of Morgan Aulay, prince of the Western Wastelands and inheritor of a strange disease... a very strange disease. He can neither understand what plagues him nor easily control it. Fennec's father - a mysterious prisoner of the tribe - had shared a hushed liaison with his mother mere months before losing his life to the illness. The baby born to him, succumbing to regular spikes of madness and a noticeable degradation in health, was naturally thought to be doomed to the same fate. However, when a pilgrim apothecary passed through the encampment and laid eyes on young Arden, he proposed a deal: through botany and stern training would he ensure the child's livelihood; in return, the child would travel with him, serving as his apprentice for 16 years. And so begins our tale...
Roleplay example: Breath catching, Randal sinks back against the cold alabaster pillar, allowing the shadows to swallow him. Every little sound he makes in here perforates the perfect silence like a skipping stone breaks the stillness of a lake... sooner or later, those ripples will wake the big fish. From his hiding spot, the gnome is all too aware of his host: one lidless amber eye as large as a wagon wheel writhes liquidly in its socket; countless rows of needle teeth jut out from a mangled lower jaw, stained by a recent meal; snakelike eyestalks protrude from all angles, clicking as they coil and and relax.
"You've seen w-worse than this" he whispers to himself, with little conviction. "J-just grab the amulet and skedaddle, it's right there in front of you! Just reach out and take - "
Randal clasps a hand over his mouth and ducks back with a start. The beast's guttural rhoncus had shaken the room violently, as if warning the gnome not to try his luck. However, this little misfire only serves to harden his resolve. Lips licked and eyes glistening, he mutters "come on, come on... you have this cat in a bag! Just focus, focus on why you came here to begin with..."
In truth, the cat is very much out of the bag. However, the beholder finds Randal's pathetic display quite amusing... she decides to feign sleep for a few moments more.
You need to get the image accessible via a link, then paste the link into the "source" section when inserting an image. This can be accomplished via imgur.com.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"And that day, a red rain fell from the sky here."
Class (include which subclass you are planning to take as well): Fighter (I'm newer so I don't understand subclasses yet)
Gender: Female
Personality: She is kind and loves helping people, although mostly for things in return. She tends to find personal questions to intrusive and tries to evade them. If you do something bad in her eyes, then it can take a while before she can trust you again. She will quickly come to the defense of someone in trouble, and hates getting picked on, jokingly or not. She is easily fired up for this reason. She does enjoy a good joke every now and then.
Background: Lethia was left on the doorstep of her adoptive parents 16 years ago. Her parents found her in the early cool morning and with her was tucked a piece of paper. It read, “May the stars always guide you.” and gave no hint to who Lethia’s parents could be. As she grew older, it was clear that Lethia wasn’t fully human. She made plants grow greener wherever she stepped, and Lethia excelled at music. With these and many other differences between her and the humans around her, she started to pull away from everyone and live in her own bubble. Lethia became quieter and more reserved, letting the stars keep her company, as she didn’t feel like she belonged. Finally, when she was 15, she left on a cool early morning as she had arrived. She left a note. “I am off to find where I belong. Please don’t look for me. I will always remember you as the ones who took me in. Lethia.” She has been adventuring since, trying to find a sense of belonging. She has gone to many places, and met many people. Because of seeing so many cultures, Lethia has learned many fighting skills, specifically archery. She feels as though the dark things hovering on the edge of Barovia are a suitable challenge for a fighter such as herself.
Roleplay Sample: Lethia glanced around at her companions, all gathered around the fire. She couldn't believe that just two weeks before they had all been strangers. She glanced at Forien, seeing his dark eyes dart quickly back to the ground. When they had first meet at the village center, Lethia hadn't had the highest opinion of him. She remembered as he had teased a younger human child with a doll that she had previously been playing with. Lethia had stepped in and, talking very angryly, chastised him. He had reluctantly given the doll back. It had taken the majority of the last weeks for Forien to gain Lethia's trust and acceptance. She still didn't fully like him, but guessed she had to deal with him for the time being. Oh well, she thought. There were worse things. (Sorry this is really bad.)
[Include a portrait of your character to be used for a marker on battlemaps]
Alpheus Magnus
Race: Human (with some draconic ancestry) Class (whatever best helps/serves the party): Sorcerer Gender: Male
Personality: Alpheus can be calm and calculated as a sage, but is prone to fits of impulse depending on the scenario. He has a potentially unhealthy love for fire, but then, he also comes from a long line of gifted fire users. He has the ability to crack a joke, but also tends to take himself a little too seriously most of the time. Some have thought and even said that he tries to prove himself too much...while others wonder if a screw might be loose when having caught him at the right moment. However, Alpheus would say he simply has a thirst for knowledge; a passionate love of the powerful feeling fire gives him; and a desire to have someone who appreciates and cares for him as he is.
Background: Alpheus' mother always told him his grandfather was a brass dragonborn, and marveled at young Alphy's propensity for fire. She taught him a lot of what he knows about elemental magic. His father would say that 'true power lies in knowledge', and enjoyed constantly quizzing or giving sage words to Alpheus at every turn. The combination of these things largely shaped Alpheus into who he is today. He struggled making friends as a boy, but often tried his best to understand the way of things. He always found a friend in fire, and would often turn to his practices for comfort during times of overwhelming emotion. Alpheus often wonders just how much he could really do...
Roleplay Sample:A memory...
A group of town children gesturing happily : "Hey Alphy! Come play with us!"
Alpheus clenches his robes tightly in a second of anxious consideration. "Okay!" he replied with a smile growing on his face as he stepped forward.
The children run and jump along the street playing tag until reaching the point of the town bridge.
"Now!" the leader shouts as they approach the crest. Alpheus is suddenly shoved off the bridge by the group, and plunges into the water below.
The water is cold, but was just deep enough, fortunately. He feels his left arm scrape against the river stones. Bursting out of the water in shock and gasping for breath, he hears the kids above laughing hysterically from atop the bridge.
Steam begins to rise from his body, as he feels his blood boil and heartrate slow. He raises a glowing hand toward the surprised face of a child on the stonework...
________________________________
Alpheus heart pounds in his ears as he shoots up in bed. He feels his sweat drenched clothing, and slides a hand over his face.
"Bad dreams again, huh?"
One of the adventures around the campfire stares at him intently while whittling on one of her javelins.
"...yeah." he responds in trialing tone and heavy sigh.
Race: half drow elf Class (include which subclass you are planning to take as well): Paladin, Oath of Redemption Gender: transmasc (he/they)
Personality:
Easy-going and charming, with a penchant for mischievousness, Qazka is a half drow elf in his early 30s. He resides in an old shabby storehouse-repurposed church near the outskirts of Barovia. As the only worker in this church, he supposes he's the priest? He's not sure. He claims to be a faithful follower of the god of this church, but no one has ever seen him remember his god's name correctly. But regardless, he's doing an alright job keeping this old church running.
(He doesn't really believe. But life's just a lot easier when you pretend to have faith in a higher power that has your best interest in mind. Under the friendly face, Qazka is a rather selfish individual. He can be very spiteful if wronged and will holds grudges for life, even if it is the smallest thing.
The goals in his life are to survive and live a comfortable life. First part's going well, but making a comfortable living can be quite difficult in a domain of dread, especially when you come from the streets.)
Background:
An orphan who survived by tagging along with a group of burglars and thieves. Qazka was always the decoy and face of the group, distracting the target while the group pillaged.
One day, tired of being given all the leftovers, Qazka sneaked out and set his eyes on a shabby place of worship on the outskirts. Attempting to swipe the little food offering in front of a crudely sculpted statue, he is caught by the cleric there. Needless to say, he got his ass beat. Instead of killing or giving him over to guards, the cleric gave him food and sent him on his way without a fuss. Over the next few weeks, out of spite, Qazka kept trying to steal from there (and failed every time then stayed for dinner afterwards.) Eventually he just started living there. They shared what little resources there were and hosted a small place of worship for the townspeople that came here.
He never bothered to learn about the deity that he has literally never seen anywhere else, and the cleric never really made him learn. So 10-20 years later he's still not sure what that god's name is and what they were a god of. So the only thing he can do is, of course, make up a bunch of holy teachings and hope he sounds pious enough for it to be convincing.
Eventually, the cleric [died?? went missing?? this part is really not fleshed out] and Qazka decided to stay. He continues to to take care of this place of worship, taking a silent oath to protect what little he has in this small nameless sanctuary.
(Happy to adapt/make changes if selected!)
Roleplay Sample:
Qazka steps out into the foggy night with a set of rusty chains to lock the rickety gates for the night, humming a off-key tune to himself. From the fog, low guttural growls and indistinct almost-words arise at his presence. Qazka pushes his glasses up, smiles and says: "Oh dear, who's here so late in the night? You are either very late to picnic or very early to sermon." Something snarls. Something else shrieks and sound of uneven footsteps approach. Slowly, then gaining speed. There is a dull sound of clay shattering, one of them may have knocked over one of the withering potted plants. Qazka narrows his eyes and the smile drops a little, expression turning cold. Within seconds, he sees several undeads emerge from the fog, charging towards him. "Now, I'm afraid we don't tolerate aggression here." One of the undeads close the distance and swipes at him. Qazka sidesteps and avoids it, then pushes the monster back unceremoniously with a kick. "Oh well. Grant me power to protect and bring them out of their misery, O Great Asti- wait, no, Aster- As-- ahem, I mean, O Holy Spirit!" The chains in his hands light up- then flickers out- then slowly lights again with divine favor, almost as if it were exasperated and indecisive. Qazka nonchalantly comments, as if this wasn't the first time this happened: "cleaning up for the day, I suppose."
[Include a portrait of your character to be used for a marker on battlemaps]
Aluviel Graphanis
Race: Half Elf Class (include which subclass you are planning to take as well): Starting with Hexblade Warlock, taking that to 5, then going Beast Barbarian 3, then taking Hexblade Warlock the rest of the way Gender: He/they pronouns
Personality: A one-paragraph description of your character's personality traits. You don't have to follow the personality trait generation method used in the Basic Rules (in fact, I would prefer you didn't). This applies for ideals, bonds, and flaws as well.
Aluviel is impatient, trying to find the fastest solution to a problem, no matter how messy or dangerous it is. However, this lack of caution causes him to often fall into trouble and the consequences of his actions, but he doesn't mind that. It just provides more opportunities to let out all that bottled up hatred inside of him. But that's not the only reason he rushes to action. He wishes to find his father, and get revenge on him for all the suffering he gave Aluviel. However, his father's greataxe that he left behind for Aluviel has a special meaning to him, as the combat training Aluviel received from him was the only time they both spent together.
Background: At least one paragraph describing your character's backstory.
"The Bastard Child." All his life, that has been Aluviel Graphanis' title. With a selfish, greedy, and vile elven adventurer for a father, and a busy human mother who worked multiple jobs, he didn't have anybody to rely on growing up. Aluviel's father spent almost all of his family's money on adventuring supplies and magic items, leaving Aluviel and his mother poor and powerless to stop the vile elf. Aluviel was never very popular as a child, and in fact was bullied frequently, labeled as an outcast by his peers. Anger, hatred, and woe swelled and stormed through him like a tornado stuck in an ocean of fear, of loneliness. But one day...
The winds of rage consumed him.
Covered in blood, Aluviel, just 13, opened his eyes and looked in shock at the pile of gore that once bullied him. Long, jagged claws had emerged from his fingertips. Students screamed, naming him a beast, a monster, a murderer. And Aluviel... he cried, and fled his village, into the wilds. But on the way, he grabbed his father's axe from the closet. It called to Aluviel, offered him a chance to use this anger through revenge. What was bottled inside of him now had a purpose. A name. A target. His father.
Roleplay Sample:
A middle-aged man wearing a long hooded cloak walked through the streets, headed to the tavern. However, an urchin stopped in front of him, attempting to sell- the man hastily pushed past the boy, a low growl emanating from his throat. The boy fled swiftly afterward. The half elf made his way into the establishment, a couple folks stopping their meal to glance at him before quickly going back to what they were doing, a little shaken. He threw a pouch of 5 gold at the bartender, saying in a deep voice, "Room and ale. Now."The bartender chuckled nervously as they fetched what the man wanted. "N-name, sir?" "Aluviel." Aluviel grabbed the drink and keys to his room as the bartender resumed work, and made his way up for some rest, the floorboards creaking as he did.
Intimidating and charismatic both, Jin Grey is a tower of storm beaming with a bright white smile. He makes himself the center of attention in an attempt to control his surroundings: so long as everyone’s watching him play his lyre or recite his ancient fey poetry, he feels safe. Half-drow and half-human, he knows no home but for the open road and the vast night sky. His fey ancestry haunts him in ways he doesn’t understand, and he’s enchanted and terrified by it. He seeks new songs like others seek love or fortune. Tall, lithe and dexterous, he fits the description of a versatile stage performer.
Background:
Jin Grey will tell you he’s journeying to find a new song—the one which haunts him, the whispers of which he hears even now—but what he won’t tell you is that he’s running away. Nearing his fortieth year (though his half-elf blood makes this nearly impossible to discern), finding himself past the precipice of youth and on the cusp of maturity, he’s determined now to put as much distance as he can between where he comes from and where he’s headed.
Roleplay Sample:
Mist settled around the thick trunks of evergreen trees as the forest fell to night. In the distance, but closer by far than it had been yesterday, the giant skeleton of the castle Ravenloft stood like a beacon of dark flame, and Jin Grey was drawn to it like a fey-touched moth.
He whipped his thick black hair over his shoulder as he craned his neck to look up towards the castle. It stood some distance away yet; he’d reach it in a few hours if he kept a steady pace. His midnight-colored silk-and-wool entertainer’s robes rustled against the forest night as he walked. One finger strummed idly at the seven-stringed lyre at his waist; it surrounded him with the voice of bells and soft faerie light, and he took comfort in the sound.
Physical Description (additional info):
At 6’1”, his skin the color of deep dark oakwood, his eyes silvery-black and wide like almonds, Jin Grey appears neither human nor drow, but a stormcloud mix of both. If not for the impossible silver-sheen of his eyes, he’d pass for a taller-than-average Rashemi human. The dark black beard shaping his jaw and chin, streaked here and there with red and gold and copper strands, reveals him to be no elf. His thick dark hair falls to his shoulders in braided pleats.
He wears the costume of a musician, or an entertainer—dark silks ribboned and cloaked over his tall lithe body, the colors of midnight and deep dusk—and indeed he carries a seven-string lyre at his hip. Over his back he drapes a larger, three-stringed lyre, with an accompanying bow, nestled against the backpack and bedroll strapped over his shoulders. A curved rapier with an ornamental hilt sits sheathed at his waist. Around his neck he wears the trinket of a former admirer: an iron holy symbol, shaped like a figure-eight, devoted to an unknown god.
Recruitment has ended. Within the next two days, I will select 4-6 of these submissions to partake in the campaign. You will receive your invitation via PM.
Thank you all for your submissions! Sorry if you aren't chosen.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"And that day, a red rain fell from the sky here."
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Yeah, I keep getting a broken image icon, so I just linked it in text.
No worries. As long as I can access it you're good to go.
"And that day, a red rain fell from the sky here."
https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&url=https://eberron.fandom.com/wiki/Warforged&psig=AOvVaw25Qrw8YbgL8bm8iaI2HbTF&ust=1649370289809000&source=images&cd=vfe&ved=0CAoQjRxqFwoTCIDUu6a9gPcCFQAAAAAdAAAAABAD
Michael Pax
Race: Warforged
Class Paladin: Oath of the Crown 6 / Sorcerer: Divine Soul 14
Gender: He / Him
Personality: A jovial and gentle demeanor hide scars and a desire to do right by others no matter the cost. He knows he is neither wise nor well read, so he waits before speaking, forging his thoughts as if they were a fine blade, at least in private. In public he knows all the hymns and songs to the Red Knight, the Lady of Strategy and uses them to inspire and aid his allies. His well-rehearsed talks have been known to persuade more than a few enemies to join the cause of righteousness, in and out of battle.
Background: A Knight of the Order of the Red Fellowship. Fresh from the forge, he saw so many of his fellows killed by zealots and fools who mistook enthusiasm for competence. Then he began reading the tactics and holy doctrine of the Red Knight. When he began preaching the doctrine, his words and bearing found him in command of a company despite his inexperience. He found himself falling into the same bad habits that he once scorned in his superiors, zealotry and arrogance. It nearly cost him his command, if not for a war wizard using his skills and spells to bail them out. He relinquished his command and re-dedicated himself to learning not just how to fight the forces of evil, but to lead with both wisdom and passion. He believes working with a small unit to be the first step to earning his lady's favor after seeing her in a dream saying that there was more to his soul than even he suspected.
Roleplay Sample:
The battle was over.
Michael had cleaned the blood off his blade and shield. He felt both a fraud and a failure. He turned back to the walls, siege weapons of all description, some ancient, some cobbled together by his and the war wizard's arts. He had talked the people up onto that wall, he had spoken of holy duty and noble purpose in protecting those they loved. They had followed him without a second thought. He had used the time honored tactics of his forebears. Those with greater wit and wisdom than him had saved the day. The cheering from the walls at the mountains of enemy corpses gave him no respite. One of the artificers walked up to him, Bianca, he thought her name was, to check his wounds. He always felt less than those around him, despite his gifts. As she worked on his dents and scrapes, he decided to ask her a question. When he was ready to ask fifteen minutes later she was almost done.
"I was not wise enough to see the trap, nor learned enough to create better defenses than this in time. I saw the walls, out of the 200 manning them forty will not be going home. Why are they cheering my name when i was not good enough to save them all?"
Bianca looked at him for some time, perhaps she liked sharpening her words before speaking too, "You saved all that you could, they would not have united in their own defense at all if not for you. You were not the best instrument of salvation, but you were the one who could unite enough wisdom and wit to save 160 people on the walls and the hundreds in the town. Be content with that."
Micheal looked up at the sky, contentment, he wondered if that could be learned, he hopped so.
Two ideas... second is a work in progress
Character Name
Fen
Race: Human (custom origin)
Class (include which subclass you are planning to take as well): Bloodhunter - Order of the Mutant
Gender: Male
Personality: A peculiar sort indeed. Reserved and somewhat aloof, Fen is often absorbed in his private ponderings. He is antipathic of obnoxious, loud and/ or nervous personalities - claiming these types of people induce severe headaches (whether this is the full truth or not, one thing is certain... the various concoctions he brews do nothing to ease aches and pains!). Moreover, he loves meditation and reflection, recognizing such practices are the surest road to enlightenment... and more importantly, self control.
Background: One who is diligent strives to become a sovereign of their own life. He who understands his toolkit commands his environment, thus shaping and defining himself - learning violin makes a violinist, as learning prayer makes a priest. But no one can control the circumstances of their birth.
This is especially relevant for Fennec Aulay, bastard son of Morgan Aulay, prince of the Western Wastelands and inheritor of a strange disease... a very strange disease. He can neither understand what plagues him nor easily control it. Fennec's father - a mysterious prisoner of the tribe - had shared a hushed liaison with his mother mere months before losing his life to the illness. The baby born to him, succumbing to regular spikes of madness and a noticeable degradation in health, was naturally thought to be doomed to the same fate. However, when a pilgrim apothecary passed through the encampment and laid eyes on young Arden, he proposed a deal: through botany and stern training would he ensure the child's livelihood; in return, the child would travel with him, serving as his apprentice for 16 years. And so begins our tale...
Roleplay example: Breath catching, Randal sinks back against the cold alabaster pillar, allowing the shadows to swallow him. Every little sound he makes in here perforates the perfect silence like a skipping stone breaks the stillness of a lake... sooner or later, those ripples will wake the big fish. From his hiding spot, the gnome is all too aware of his host: one lidless amber eye as large as a wagon wheel writhes liquidly in its socket; countless rows of needle teeth jut out from a mangled lower jaw, stained by a recent meal; snakelike eyestalks protrude from all angles, clicking as they coil and and relax.
"You've seen w-worse than this" he whispers to himself, with little conviction. "J-just grab the amulet and skedaddle, it's right there in front of you! Just reach out and take - "
Randal clasps a hand over his mouth and ducks back with a start. The beast's guttural rhoncus had shaken the room violently, as if warning the gnome not to try his luck. However, this little misfire only serves to harden his resolve. Lips licked and eyes glistening, he mutters "come on, come on... you have this cat in a bag! Just focus, focus on why you came here to begin with..."
In truth, the cat is very much out of the bag. However, the beholder finds Randal's pathetic display quite amusing... she decides to feign sleep for a few moments more.
You need to get the image accessible via a link, then paste the link into the "source" section when inserting an image. This can be accomplished via imgur.com.
"And that day, a red rain fell from the sky here."
Character Name: Lethia Florlun
Race: Half-Elf
Class (include which subclass you are planning to take as well): Fighter (I'm newer so I don't understand subclasses yet)
Gender: Female
Personality: She is kind and loves helping people, although mostly for things in return. She tends to find personal questions to intrusive and tries to evade them. If you do something bad in her eyes, then it can take a while before she can trust you again. She will quickly come to the defense of someone in trouble, and hates getting picked on, jokingly or not. She is easily fired up for this reason. She does enjoy a good joke every now and then.
Background: Lethia was left on the doorstep of her adoptive parents 16 years ago. Her parents found her in the early cool morning and with her was tucked a piece of paper. It read, “May the stars always guide you.” and gave no hint to who Lethia’s parents could be. As she grew older, it was clear that Lethia wasn’t fully human. She made plants grow greener wherever she stepped, and Lethia excelled at music. With these and many other differences between her and the humans around her, she started to pull away from everyone and live in her own bubble. Lethia became quieter and more reserved, letting the stars keep her company, as she didn’t feel like she belonged. Finally, when she was 15, she left on a cool early morning as she had arrived. She left a note. “I am off to find where I belong. Please don’t look for me. I will always remember you as the ones who took me in. Lethia.” She has been adventuring since, trying to find a sense of belonging. She has gone to many places, and met many people. Because of seeing so many cultures, Lethia has learned many fighting skills, specifically archery. She feels as though the dark things hovering on the edge of Barovia are a suitable challenge for a fighter such as herself.
Roleplay Sample: Lethia glanced around at her companions, all gathered around the fire. She couldn't believe that just two weeks before they had all been strangers. She glanced at Forien, seeing his dark eyes dart quickly back to the ground. When they had first meet at the village center, Lethia hadn't had the highest opinion of him. She remembered as he had teased a younger human child with a doll that she had previously been playing with. Lethia had stepped in and, talking very angryly, chastised him. He had reluctantly given the doll back. It had taken the majority of the last weeks for Forien to gain Lethia's trust and acceptance. She still didn't fully like him, but guessed she had to deal with him for the time being. Oh well, she thought. There were worse things. (Sorry this is really bad.)
WORKING ON AN IMAGE!
Is there a place I can go to create a picture of my character?
Hero Forge
[Include a portrait of your character to be used for a marker on battlemaps]
Alpheus Magnus
Race: Human (with some draconic ancestry)
Class (whatever best helps/serves the party): Sorcerer
Gender: Male
Personality: Alpheus can be calm and calculated as a sage, but is prone to fits of impulse depending on the scenario. He has a potentially unhealthy love for fire, but then, he also comes from a long line of gifted fire users. He has the ability to crack a joke, but also tends to take himself a little too seriously most of the time. Some have thought and even said that he tries to prove himself too much...while others wonder if a screw might be loose when having caught him at the right moment. However, Alpheus would say he simply has a thirst for knowledge; a passionate love of the powerful feeling fire gives him; and a desire to have someone who appreciates and cares for him as he is.
Background: Alpheus' mother always told him his grandfather was a brass dragonborn, and marveled at young Alphy's propensity for fire. She taught him a lot of what he knows about elemental magic. His father would say that 'true power lies in knowledge', and enjoyed constantly quizzing or giving sage words to Alpheus at every turn. The combination of these things largely shaped Alpheus into who he is today. He struggled making friends as a boy, but often tried his best to understand the way of things. He always found a friend in fire, and would often turn to his practices for comfort during times of overwhelming emotion. Alpheus often wonders just how much he could really do...
Roleplay Sample: A memory...
A group of town children gesturing happily : "Hey Alphy! Come play with us!"
Alpheus clenches his robes tightly in a second of anxious consideration. "Okay!" he replied with a smile growing on his face as he stepped forward.
The children run and jump along the street playing tag until reaching the point of the town bridge.
"Now!" the leader shouts as they approach the crest. Alpheus is suddenly shoved off the bridge by the group, and plunges into the water below.
The water is cold, but was just deep enough, fortunately. He feels his left arm scrape against the river stones. Bursting out of the water in shock and gasping for breath, he hears the kids above laughing hysterically from atop the bridge.
Steam begins to rise from his body, as he feels his blood boil and heartrate slow. He raises a glowing hand toward the surprised face of a child on the stonework...
________________________________
Alpheus heart pounds in his ears as he shoots up in bed. He feels his sweat drenched clothing, and slides a hand over his face.
"Bad dreams again, huh?"
One of the adventures around the campfire stares at him intently while whittling on one of her javelins.
"...yeah." he responds in trialing tone and heavy sigh.
Qazka
Race: half drow elf
Class (include which subclass you are planning to take as well): Paladin, Oath of Redemption
Gender: transmasc (he/they)
Personality:
Easy-going and charming, with a penchant for mischievousness, Qazka is a half drow elf in his early 30s. He resides in an old shabby storehouse-repurposed church near the outskirts of Barovia. As the only worker in this church, he supposes he's the priest? He's not sure. He claims to be a faithful follower of the god of this church, but no one has ever seen him remember his god's name correctly. But regardless, he's doing an alright job keeping this old church running.
(He doesn't really believe. But life's just a lot easier when you pretend to have faith in a higher power that has your best interest in mind. Under the friendly face, Qazka is a rather selfish individual. He can be very spiteful if wronged and will holds grudges for life, even if it is the smallest thing.
The goals in his life are to survive and live a comfortable life. First part's going well, but making a comfortable living can be quite difficult in a domain of dread, especially when you come from the streets.)
Background:
An orphan who survived by tagging along with a group of burglars and thieves. Qazka was always the decoy and face of the group, distracting the target while the group pillaged.
One day, tired of being given all the leftovers, Qazka sneaked out and set his eyes on a shabby place of worship on the outskirts. Attempting to swipe the little food offering in front of a crudely sculpted statue, he is caught by the cleric there. Needless to say, he got his ass beat. Instead of killing or giving him over to guards, the cleric gave him food and sent him on his way without a fuss. Over the next few weeks, out of spite, Qazka kept trying to steal from there (and failed every time then stayed for dinner afterwards.) Eventually he just started living there. They shared what little resources there were and hosted a small place of worship for the townspeople that came here.
He never bothered to learn about the deity that he has literally never seen anywhere else, and the cleric never really made him learn. So 10-20 years later he's still not sure what that god's name is and what they were a god of. So the only thing he can do is, of course, make up a bunch of holy teachings and hope he sounds pious enough for it to be convincing.
Eventually, the cleric [died?? went missing?? this part is really not fleshed out] and Qazka decided to stay. He continues to to take care of this place of worship, taking a silent oath to protect what little he has in this small nameless sanctuary.
(Happy to adapt/make changes if selected!)
Roleplay Sample:
Qazka steps out into the foggy night with a set of rusty chains to lock the rickety gates for the night, humming a off-key tune to himself. From the fog, low guttural growls and indistinct almost-words arise at his presence. Qazka pushes his glasses up, smiles and says: "Oh dear, who's here so late in the night? You are either very late to picnic or very early to sermon." Something snarls. Something else shrieks and sound of uneven footsteps approach. Slowly, then gaining speed. There is a dull sound of clay shattering, one of them may have knocked over one of the withering potted plants. Qazka narrows his eyes and the smile drops a little, expression turning cold. Within seconds, he sees several undeads emerge from the fog, charging towards him. "Now, I'm afraid we don't tolerate aggression here." One of the undeads close the distance and swipes at him. Qazka sidesteps and avoids it, then pushes the monster back unceremoniously with a kick. "Oh well. Grant me power to protect and bring them out of their misery, O Great Asti- wait, no, Aster- As-- ahem, I mean, O Holy Spirit!" The chains in his hands light up- then flickers out- then slowly lights again with divine favor, almost as if it were exasperated and indecisive. Qazka nonchalantly comments, as if this wasn't the first time this happened: "cleaning up for the day, I suppose."
Adding a portrait:
made in picrew
[Include a portrait of your character to be used for a marker on battlemaps]
Aluviel Graphanis
Race: Half Elf
Class (include which subclass you are planning to take as well): Starting with Hexblade Warlock, taking that to 5, then going Beast Barbarian 3, then taking Hexblade Warlock the rest of the way
Gender: He/they pronouns
Personality: A one-paragraph description of your character's personality traits. You don't have to follow the personality trait generation method used in the Basic Rules (in fact, I would prefer you didn't). This applies for ideals, bonds, and flaws as well.
Aluviel is impatient, trying to find the fastest solution to a problem, no matter how messy or dangerous it is. However, this lack of caution causes him to often fall into trouble and the consequences of his actions, but he doesn't mind that. It just provides more opportunities to let out all that bottled up hatred inside of him. But that's not the only reason he rushes to action. He wishes to find his father, and get revenge on him for all the suffering he gave Aluviel. However, his father's greataxe that he left behind for Aluviel has a special meaning to him, as the combat training Aluviel received from him was the only time they both spent together.
Background: At least one paragraph describing your character's backstory.
"The Bastard Child." All his life, that has been Aluviel Graphanis' title. With a selfish, greedy, and vile elven adventurer for a father, and a busy human mother who worked multiple jobs, he didn't have anybody to rely on growing up. Aluviel's father spent almost all of his family's money on adventuring supplies and magic items, leaving Aluviel and his mother poor and powerless to stop the vile elf. Aluviel was never very popular as a child, and in fact was bullied frequently, labeled as an outcast by his peers. Anger, hatred, and woe swelled and stormed through him like a tornado stuck in an ocean of fear, of loneliness. But one day...
The winds of rage consumed him.
Covered in blood, Aluviel, just 13, opened his eyes and looked in shock at the pile of gore that once bullied him. Long, jagged claws had emerged from his fingertips. Students screamed, naming him a beast, a monster, a murderer. And Aluviel... he cried, and fled his village, into the wilds. But on the way, he grabbed his father's axe from the closet. It called to Aluviel, offered him a chance to use this anger through revenge. What was bottled inside of him now had a purpose. A name. A target. His father.
Roleplay Sample:
A middle-aged man wearing a long hooded cloak walked through the streets, headed to the tavern. However, an urchin stopped in front of him, attempting to sell- the man hastily pushed past the boy, a low growl emanating from his throat. The boy fled swiftly afterward. The half elf made his way into the establishment, a couple folks stopping their meal to glance at him before quickly going back to what they were doing, a little shaken. He threw a pouch of 5 gold at the bartender, saying in a deep voice, "Room and ale. Now." The bartender chuckled nervously as they fetched what the man wanted. "N-name, sir?" "Aluviel." Aluviel grabbed the drink and keys to his room as the bartender resumed work, and made his way up for some rest, the floorboards creaking as he did.
The three teachings of Tyre:
Nothing is forbidden.
Nothing is sacred.
Nothing is impossible.
Also I stan Tomoe for life
Jin Grey
Race: Half-Elf
Class: Bard (Warlock)
Gender: Male
Personality:
Intimidating and charismatic both, Jin Grey is a tower of storm beaming with a bright white smile. He makes himself the center of attention in an attempt to control his surroundings: so long as everyone’s watching him play his lyre or recite his ancient fey poetry, he feels safe. Half-drow and half-human, he knows no home but for the open road and the vast night sky. His fey ancestry haunts him in ways he doesn’t understand, and he’s enchanted and terrified by it. He seeks new songs like others seek love or fortune. Tall, lithe and dexterous, he fits the description of a versatile stage performer.
Background:
Jin Grey will tell you he’s journeying to find a new song—the one which haunts him, the whispers of which he hears even now—but what he won’t tell you is that he’s running away. Nearing his fortieth year (though his half-elf blood makes this nearly impossible to discern), finding himself past the precipice of youth and on the cusp of maturity, he’s determined now to put as much distance as he can between where he comes from and where he’s headed.
Roleplay Sample:
Mist settled around the thick trunks of evergreen trees as the forest fell to night. In the distance, but closer by far than it had been yesterday, the giant skeleton of the castle Ravenloft stood like a beacon of dark flame, and Jin Grey was drawn to it like a fey-touched moth.
He whipped his thick black hair over his shoulder as he craned his neck to look up towards the castle. It stood some distance away yet; he’d reach it in a few hours if he kept a steady pace. His midnight-colored silk-and-wool entertainer’s robes rustled against the forest night as he walked. One finger strummed idly at the seven-stringed lyre at his waist; it surrounded him with the voice of bells and soft faerie light, and he took comfort in the sound.
Physical Description (additional info):
At 6’1”, his skin the color of deep dark oakwood, his eyes silvery-black and wide like almonds, Jin Grey appears neither human nor drow, but a stormcloud mix of both. If not for the impossible silver-sheen of his eyes, he’d pass for a taller-than-average Rashemi human. The dark black beard shaping his jaw and chin, streaked here and there with red and gold and copper strands, reveals him to be no elf. His thick dark hair falls to his shoulders in braided pleats.
He wears the costume of a musician, or an entertainer—dark silks ribboned and cloaked over his tall lithe body, the colors of midnight and deep dusk—and indeed he carries a seven-string lyre at his hip. Over his back he drapes a larger, three-stringed lyre, with an accompanying bow, nestled against the backpack and bedroll strapped over his shoulders. A curved rapier with an ornamental hilt sits sheathed at his waist. Around his neck he wears the trinket of a former admirer: an iron holy symbol, shaped like a figure-eight, devoted to an unknown god.
Hello everyone!
Recruitment has ended. Within the next two days, I will select 4-6 of these submissions to partake in the campaign. You will receive your invitation via PM.
Thank you all for your submissions! Sorry if you aren't chosen.
"And that day, a red rain fell from the sky here."