You freeze in place under the dense jungle foliage as you hear chittering claws scrape against wood somewhere above you. Your short time in the jungle has taught one thing: everything was out for your blood. Heart pounding, you slowly glance upward, and your breath catches in your throat as you see a colossal centipede easy as thick as you are wide slowly crawling across a limb of a tree about twenty feet up is. Spotty shafts of sunlight that have managed to punch through the virtual ceiling of fauna overhead illuminate in dappled patches the carnivorous insect's glistening crimson carapace. Thousands of skittering legs clack across the branch, each one beating a clamorous staccato against the wooded limb as the centipede languidly traverses the canopy.
You dare not move, barely breathing until the creature finally crawls out of sight. You have seen a centipede like that one take out an entire pack of raptors before, and you know you would be no match for a hungry centipede if it noticed you. You stand still for several minutes after the sound of its skittering limbs crawling upon branches fades away, breathing in the hot and muggy air as you wait to move just in case the centipede is still nearby. The sounds of the jungle are almost deafening: birds squawking and shrieking at one another, insects buzzing about you, distant branches toppling to the ground under the weight of hundreds of pounds of moss and vines, and the not-too-distant reptilian screech of a raptor on the hunt. That last sound is what finally encourages you to move once more. If you avoided that encounter with the centipede only to be torn apart by a pack of voracious raptors... No, it was best not to think about that kind of thing. There was only one thing you could focus on right now...
Survival
Howdy! I've had an idea for a survival-type DnD campaign floating around for a while now, and I think I'm finally ready to try it out! Full disclaimer: this campaign is at least somewhat inspired by the ARK: Survival games and I may have borrowed a few concepts from it, but I have put my own kind of flair to it. I'll will try to make this a more realistic survival campaign than most DnD campaigns, so as such, you will need to worry about things such as shelter, safe food and water, exposure to the elements, predators, etc. Despite this, there is an overarching story arc I have in mind for the campaign, so it's not just a survival grind.
The early parts of the campaign will be very heavily focused on survival (obviously), exploration, and challenges such as natural disasters, predators, combat, etc. The later chapters begin to shift away from the previous as you discover more lore and information. That being said, I believe that the true joy of playing DnD comes from story building, character development, and roleplaying. As such, I will be looking for players who love to roleplay and weave together stories. Think of this campaign more as a collaborative book writing game rather than a number-crunching game.
I will give the players I choose an aspect of control over the events and storyline of the game. For example, if you have a really cool scenario you would like to play out, I can incorporate it into the story. I believe that helps the players feel more invested in the campaign and be less likely to drop out or skip out on juicy narritive and RP moments.
I will be running the campaign here on DnDBeyond and then use Discord for an OOC thread, maps, pictures, and all that good stuff. I know many people don't really like Discord, but I find it much easier to add pictures and organize things, so we'll be using it.
Have a gritty, more realistic survival type of game is fairly difficult to do with the basic 5e DnD rules, so I will be using the following adjustments including a few other minor ones that will come up down the road.
Banned Content/Options
The following spells are banned:
Create/Destroy Water
Goodberry
Heroes' Feast
Create Food and Water
I might ban others later on if I feel like they ruin the gritty, hardcore survival feel I'm going for
The following player options are banned:
The Outlander background
The Artificer class
The Warforged and Reborn races
Healing and Rest Modifications
These optional rules make it easier or harder for adventurers to recover from injury, either increasing or reducing the amount of time your players can spend adventuring before rest is required.
Healer’s Kit Dependency
A character can’t spend any Hit Dice after finishing a short rest until someone expends one use of a healer’s kit to bandage and treat the character’s wounds.
Slow Natural Healing
Characters don’t regain hit points at the end of a long rest. Instead, a character can spend Hit Dice to heal at the end of a long rest, just as with a short rest.
This optional rule prolongs the amount of time that characters need to recover from their wounds without the benefits of magical healing and works well for grittier, more realistic campaigns.
Safe Resting
Long rests can only be performed at "safe areas:" areas cleared of hazards or places where there is a defensible structure.
Reduced Magical Healing
Magical healing is reduced by half rounded up to put an emphasis on natural healing and to help create a gritty atmosphere. For example, if you rolled a total of 12 to heal someone with magic, you would instead heal them by 6.
Injury and Damage
Injuries
Damage normally leaves no lingering effects. This option introduces the potential for long-term injuries.
It’s up to you to decide when to check for a lingering injury. A creature might sustain a lingering injury under the following circumstances:
When it takes a critical hit
When it drops to 0 hit points but isn’t killed outright
When it fails a death saving throw by 5 or more
To determine the nature of the injury, roll on the Lingering Injuries table. This table assumes a typical humanoid physiology, but you can adapt the results for creatures with different body types.
d20
Injury
1
Lose an Eye. You have disadvantage on Wisdom (Perception) checks that rely on sight and on ranged attack rolls. Magic such as theregenerate spell can restore the lost eye. If you have no eyes left after sustaining this injury, you’reblinded.
2
Lose an Arm or a Hand. You can no longer hold anything with two hands, and you can hold only a single object at a time. Magic such as theregenerate spell can restore the lost appendage.
3
Lose a Foot or Leg. Your speed on foot is halved, and you must use a cane or crutch to move unless you have a peg leg or other prosthesis. You fallprone after using theDash action. You have disadvantage on Dexterity checks made to balance. Magic such as theregenerate spell can restore the lost appendage.
4
Limp. Your speed on foot is reduced by 5 feet. You must make a DC 10 Dexterity saving throw after using theDash action. If you fail the save, you fallprone. Magical healing removes the limp.
5–7
Internal Injury. Whenever you attempt an action in combat, you must make a DC 15 Constitution saving throw. On a failed save, you lose your action and can’t use reactions until the start of your next turn. The injury heals if you receive magical healing or if you spend ten days doing nothing but resting.
8–10
Broken Ribs. This has the same effect as Internal Injury above, except that the save DC is 10.
11–13
Horrible Scar. You are disfigured to the extent that the wound can’t be easily concealed. You have disadvantage on Charisma (Persuasion) checks and advantage on Charisma (Intimidation) checks. Magical healing of 6th level or higher, such asheal andregenerate, removes the scar.
14–16
Festering Wound. Your hit point maximum is reduced by 1 every 24 hours the wound persists. If your hit point maximum drops to 0, you die. The wound heals if you receive magical healing. Alternatively, someone can tend to the wound and make a DC 15 Wisdom (Medicine) check once every 24 hours. After ten successes, the wound heals.
17–20
Minor Scar. The scar doesn’t have any adverse effect. Magical healing of 6th level or higher, such asheal andregenerate, removes the scar.
Instead of using the effect described in the table, you can put the responsibility of representing a character’s lingering injury in the hands of the player. Roll on the Lingering Injuries table as usual, but instead of suffering the effect described for that result, that character gains a new flaw with the same name. It’s up to the player to express the lingering injury during play, just like any other flaw, with the potential to gain inspiration when the injury affects the character in a meaningful way.
Massive Damage
This optional rule makes it easier for a creature to be felled by massive damage.
When a creature takes damage from a single source equal to or greater than half its hit point maximum, it must succeed on a DC 15 Constitution saving throw or suffer a random effect determined by a roll on the System Shock table. For example, a creature that has a hit point maximum of 30 must make that Constitution save if it takes 15 damage or more from a single source.
d10
Effect
1
The creature drops to 0 hit points.
2–3
The creature drops to 0 hit points but is stable.
4–5
The creature isstunned until the end of its next turn.
6–7
The creature can’t take reactions and has disadvantage on attack rolls and ability checks until the end of its next turn.
8–10
The creature can’t take reactions until the end of its next turn.
All that being said, I am looking for 4-6 players who are willing to embark on this narrative journey for me! I will post at least once a day, and I expect you to try to do the same. I will warn you, I am a full-time college student and I also work a job, so there will be some days where I might not be able to post. I will let you know when that happens. If you can't post for a bit, also please let the group know about it as well as soon as you can so I don't assume you quit out of the blue. Since this is a survival campaign, I have the unique opportunity to brutally dismember and eviscerate any character that drops out and have it be a great narrative moment, so be warned! On a lighter note, I'm not a huge fan of vulgarity and will not tolerate sexual content, so please try to limit those.
If you would like to apply, please fill out the following application here on this thread. I will close applications in about a week or when I feel like I can choose enough solid, story and RP-loving players.
Character Name
Race
Class and subclass planning on choosing (start at level 2)
Ability scores (4d6, drop lowest, reroll 1's once. If you don't like what you roll you may roll ONE more time and select either result, or you choose standard array or point buy)
Background
Backstory (Your characters will have amnesia, and they only thing they will remember when the campaign starts is their name. Over the course of the campaign, you will determine how quickly and what extent your character's memories return to them. These should be great opportunities to RP.)
Starting equipment (You may select 1 item, excluding packs, granted by your class or background to start the game with)
RP sample from your character's life/perspective (This will be the main determining factor in whether or not you'll be accepted. You should write a sample that is on par with your usual posting style and quality. This is a good time to flex your writing muscles, so make it good!)
Your character's desired role and personality (For example, this is where you would say that in combat, you want to be a tank, but be a versatile outdoorsman/tracker socially. Remember to include their personality, although this should be pretty evident in your RP sample)
Always found it amusing that a character could be one HP away from death but recover to full health after just sleeping 8 hours. Man, I wish real life worked that way!
One question. Will we still be able to craft the backstory for the character as they regain their memories, or is this something that will be dictated by the story? Interested either way, but good to know going in.
I was born to a pair of ne’er-do-well parents in a large township near the coast. At an early age my parents sent older siblings out into the streets to pan-handle, pick pockets and run various other low-level scams. While I was too young to participate in this chicanery, their actions fundamentally altered the course of my life. At the age of three, my parents scammed the wrong noble. They were apprehended and banished from the township.
As a part of a settlement agreement, my siblings and I were “voluntarily” placed under the “guardianship” of the wronged noble, Lord Molarai Heath. We were promptly forced to move to his country estate, a place called Summerspeak.
There, we were raised and trained as foot servants. My older siblings were unable to adapt to their new life and were eventually sent to a work camp. I, however, took well to my position, learned proper etiquette, and would have been happy to remain in that station for the rest of my life.
Unfortunately, fate had other plans. One day, my younger sister and I were granted the privilege of accompanying Lady Drea on an ocean voyage as part of her entourage. While traveling across the open sea, our ship was ambushed by a school of sea spawn. To what purpose, I’ll never know…
The moment I saw the creatures climbing the hull of the ship, I immediately abandoned my post in search for my youngest sister, Tess. As I ran, one of the wretched things stabbed me with a poison quill. I was nearly unconscious when I found my sister, about to fall prey to one of the sea spawn.
In that moment, something rose up in me. An arcane force bubbled through my veins. I allowed it to flow through me and blast the wretched thing with a chaotic bolt of arcane energy. My last memory was the smell of salt air mixed with burned piscine flesh and crackling ozone.
I awoke some time later, clinging to life aboard a piece of ship’s flotsam, sun baked, emaciated and dying of thirst. By the luck of the Gods, I was found by a passing vessel. Unfortunately, that vessel turned out to be crewed by pirates, led by a temperamental human madman named Captain Alistair Kreeg. I was press-ganged into service aboard Kreeg’s ship, Beshaba’s Blessing.
The work was torture and my future seemed bleak until I made friends with a young apprentice-level wizard named Bothus, who was also bound to servitude. When he heard my story, he helped me understand the nature of my sorcerous power. He even helped me trial-and-error my way through learning some basic cantrips.
It took a great deal of cunning for us to hide my abilities. However, by doing so, we managed to develop a plan to escape at one of our port landings. It was close going, and we were nearly caught, but we succeeded in creating enough of a distraction at the crew’s favorite watering hole to allow us time to bolt. Our victory was sweet, but the joy was short lived. Alone, together, we realized we were not destined to travel the same path. Unable to bare each other's company due to the trauma, we parted ways, intending to never speak again. I’ve since been trying to earn passage back to my homeland by proffering my newfound abilities as a magical aide aboard various merchant ships. I’ve developed a more rounded knowledge of sea voyaging and I’ve fine-tuned my sorcerous abilities into a reliable set of skills and spells… but I’d give it all up to return to the simple life of a footman in a country estate alongside the surviving members of my family.
Equipment: A sliver of sea glass used as a spell casting focus
RP Sample:
Donnyl sits at the small table, sipping his mead in silence. He watches as his human companion, Bothus moves to the bar, fearlessly inserting himself into a conversation between a pair of half-orc adventurers.
Donnyl shakes his head as he watches the apprentice wizard try (and clearly fail) to impress the pair of brutes, all the while, thinking to himself, "Damn fool of a blunder, approaching that one from his blind side... The lad's lucky he didn't get his throat slit just for being a thoughtless pest. How can such a clever fellow be so dull when it comes to other people? Daresay, it will be the death of him one of these days."
Just then, a homely barmaid approaches, nodding down at his still-full glass of mead. "Ya gonna drink that swill or settle down 'n marry it?" In response, Donnyl looks up to the woman dryly and replies, "We're still courting, thank you... but I do appreciate the confidence in our future together."
In response, the woman snorts in half-amusement, but her eyes quickly narrow. "Drink. Don't drink. Doesn't make no difference to me either way, so long as you paid the coin for it... Still... In all the years I've spent in this hole, I've learned that no good ever comes from folks wot sit in the shadows, ignoring their cups..." Pushing on, she lowers her voice to a near whisper. "So, if you came here t' do bloody work, just do us all a favor and take it outside, okay? This life's hard enough without having to worry about catching a stray dagger and cleaning up the bodies left from a barroom melee, you understand me?"
Donnyl's bright eyes look up at the woman with empathy and understanding as he replies, in earnest, "I understand completely, mum." As if to prove his point, he quickly downs the rest of his drink in a single draft and continues by saying, "You have a keen eye. But I promise, I intend no trouble here." Switching to a disarming smile, he adds. "Besides... If there's one thing I can always guarantee.... It's that I'll never leave behind a mess where one doesn't belong."
With that, he cast a quick Prestidigitation cantrip, instantly removing the soil and beer stains from her apron. As she looks down in shock, Donnyl pulls out a pair of coins and slides them over to the barmaid. "I'll take one more, just like the last... But, while we're on the subject of troublemakers in seaside watering holes... I'm wondering if there's any chance I could hire your keen eye to draw upon yon pair of half-orcs?"
He directs her attention to Bothus and the two half-orcs who now loom over him. They appear to be hammering out some sort of deal. "The Cussfoot twins?" The barmaid replies, spitting on the ground. "Steer clear. Not much else to say. They got no care about anyone but thems-selves. They'll cut your throat and your purse without a second thought, in whichever order strikes their fancy." With that, she looks back down at Donnyl... "But you got eyes of your own... I'd think a sharp a lad as you would see as much without needing to spend no coin."
Donnyl smiles up at the lady, genuine. "You flatter me, miss... But that's not entirely true." He watches as Bothus exchanges a handshake with the half-orcs and begins heading towards Donnyl's table. Behind him, the Cussfoot twins immediately start plotting his demise without the least bit of subtlety. Bothus is completely oblivious. "We all have blind spots." He looks back at the barmaid again, continuing in a friendly manner. "And there's no one who can't do without a good bit of friendly advice every now and then."
The barmaid meets his smile with a half-smile of her own. Genuine. It almost catches her off-guard as she pockets the coins and starts moving toward the bar. "Be back with your drink... And stick around... Next one's on the house."
Donnyl replies with a clasped hand and a subtle nod of appreciation as she walks off. He then turns to his approaching friend, wondering to himself how he's going to safely rid himself of Bothus... The man taught him how to wield his own magic... The man who helped save his life... before he ends up killing them both.
Role/Personality: A Face, for sure, as evidenced in the RP above... A genteel but not erudite guy... Someone who can mingle in the world of nobles, commoners and thieves without even needing to change his tone of voice much. Combat-wise, I'm headed toward Storm Sorcery which is a newer subclass for me which is based more in theme than tactics... Based on what I've read, I imagine I'll be a bit of a blaster who is also fairly mobile... but I'm open to adapting just about any part of this application.
To answer the questions, my thought process about the backstory is that you already have one in place. Throughout the campaign, you determine how quickly and to what extent your memories come back. Of course, feel free to modify your backstory as the story progresses if you’d like.
As for which setting you should be from, try to stick to one of the classic DnD settings, like the Sword Coast, Eberron, etc.,
Class and subclass planning on choosing (start at level 2): Monk, Way of Mercy
Ability scores: will do Point Buy
Background: Soldier
Backstory:
Furlong grew up in a house of modest means, born to blue collar parents in a rural farming village. He spent most of his youth working his father's mill--hard work, long hours--and it taught him both discipline and toned his physique. By age 18, he was a bastion to his town, taking on odd jobs for all who needed them--moving heavy furniture, delivering groceries, tilling soil--all done swiftly, efficiently, and with a courteous smile. He also developed some skills in medicine, starting with caring for the animals around the village and then the people themselves.
At age 20, destruction came to his small village as it was raided and razed by gnolls. His family survived, but Furlong felt helpless--he had spent his whole life doing nothing other than help the people of this village, but when the time came that they were truly in need, he felt helpless. So with a heavy heart, he bid farewell to his family, and moved to the nearest city to join the city guard. His disciplined nature made him a well liked and reliable guard, and his medical talents made him an apt field medic.
At age 25, he was recruited to join the region's armed forces. For over 20 years, he served protecting the region. He received formal combat training, though found his discipline, focus, and clarity of mind made him far more skilled in hand-to-hand combat than wielding heavy weapons. Given this aptitude, he was selected for an elite subgroup within the armed forces--special agents who trained more in precision campaigns, subterfuge, and speed, than open warfare. Some were selected due to their stealth--others, their intelligence--others, their skills as a sniper. Furlong fell into the dual roll of a swift enforcer and field medic--someone who could eliminate threats quickly and silently, and bring allies back from the brink in a pinch. Overtime, he developed the ability to channel his focus into Ki energy, a power that let him strike with more precision, taking advantage of opponents' weakpoints to down them quicker, and heal those around him with the power of his will.
Towards the end of his time with the armed forces, he was part of a mission to thwart an attempted raid on a local noble family by agents of a competing nation. During the mission, he got the jump on some would-be assassins and saved the life of the young patriarch of the family--a man by the name of Arman Ruthiol. The noble thanked Furlong immensely, and promised him gainful employment should he ever leave the military. And just such an opportunity presented itself shortly after Furlong's 45th birthday, when an injury to his left knee left him immobile for a few months. He felt he was aging out of such specialized espionage, and decided to take the noble up on his offer.
From age 45 to 57, Furlong worked for the noble family as a butler and head of household. He managed the family's staff and saw to their every need, from house care to social engagements to childcare. His long history of hard work made the job a perfect fit--in fact, he hadn't been this happy helping people since his days back in his old village. He became particularly fond of Mariah, Arman's daughter, who was only a year old when he joined the family, and who he helped raise and watched grow up into a bright precocious teenager. He loved the girl, and consider her a surrogate daughter whom he would protect with every fiber of his being.
That is, until the family's skeletons came pouring out of their closet. It seemed their wealth was ill-gotten, and that the patriarch was nothing more than a conman. With the parents arrested and Mariah sent into foster care, Furlong found himself unemployed again, and for five years, knocked around doing whatever work he could find--mostly manual labor, some light criminal activity, and a decent amount of extra coins earned in the fighting pits at the local tavern.
Then, at age 62, Furlong got word that Mariah's had been arrested. He bailed her out, and she explained her desire to escape her family's reputation and their wrongdoings, wanting to make a new name for herself. Furlong understood, but demanded he travel with her to make sure she was safe. They soon found work with an adventuring company attempting to be of service around the region, and have been traveling with these adventurers ever since.
Starting equipment (You may select 1 item, excluding packs, granted by your class or background to start the game with): mace (flavored as a walking cane)
RP sample from your character's life/perspective:
Where is that blasted girl? Furlong pushed through the crowded tavern, dodging elbow and spilled drinks in equal measure as he searched for his ward. They had been back in Yartar for barely a day's time, a stop on the journey that was only meant as a quick resupply, but Furlong knew Mariah would make things more complicated. As she does. Incorrigible.
The Cointoss was a seedy spot, even for Yartar's standards. Furlong knew it well, though, as he made many a coin himself tussling in the bar's famous fighting pit, and even more helping to heal the bruises on the faces he himself pummeled. He caught a glimpse of the pit out the corner of his eye, and as if through pure muscle memory, his shoulders tensed, and the veins in his wrist began to pulse. But that is not why he is here; he put his hand to chin, cracked his neck, and refocused on the mission at hand.
A large crowd was forming around one of the tavern's bars. Drunken patrons were rallying around something--unclear from here what it was--but it sure was a ruckus. Hmmm...indeed.
Furlong approached the crowd and sure enough, there in the center of the chaos was Mariah, leaned over the bar with a copper in her hand. She looked a bit wobbly and her cheeks were flushed. Suddenly, she pressed her finger to her lips. "Shhhhhh! Quiet down you lot, let a girl focus!" Then, she drew the copper back behind her head and threw it towards a helm hanging on the wall behind the bar. The crowd fell silent, holding their collective breath as the coin flip twice through the air and then slid through the eye slit in the helm. The crowd erupted once more, now louder than before. "That's five in a row!" Mariah shouted. "Better pour me another freebie, Tantaskar."
"Yeah yeah, I'm on it," the grizzled barkeep muttered to himself as he filled a tankard with ale and slid it down the bar towards Mariah. The tankard crashed into a collection of empties before Mariah grabbed it.
Hmph. Furlong began pushing through Mariah's fan club. "Excuse me, good sir. Pardon me."
"Hey, watchit gramps!" shouted a mountainous half-orc, shoving Furlong back with one hand and then turning back try and talk to Mariah.
Furlong clenched his jaw. "I believe I said excuse me."
"Yeah, and I believe I said whatch--" the half-orc went to push Furlong again but then fell silent, as he found his wrist twisted backward by the steady old man. Furlong tighten his grip and the half-orc dropped to his knees.
"I believe what you meant to say was, oh, right this way sir." Furlong stared unflinching into the eyes of the half-orc, who twitched and writhed in pain as Furlong continued to tweak his wrist further towards it's breaking point.
"Yeah, yeah, that's right. Go ahead, sir."
"Hmm. Indeed." Furlong release his grip and the half-orc fell backward, grabbing his wrist as he backed himself away. Furlong cleared his throat as the din of cheers from the crowd quieted. "Mariah, my dear, I believe we really must be going."
"Huh? Wha--oh! Hi Furlong!" Mariah hopped down from the bar and gave Furlong a big hug. He clothes were noticeably damp and she smelled of booze. "I was just showing these chumps how--blech--easy this silly game is." Mariah pointed her thumb towards the helm on the wall.
"Yes. Quite." Furlong steadied the young woman onto her feet and brushed off his clothes. Then he tapped his walking stick on the ground. "Well now, come along."
"What? Nooooo, we were just getting started." Mariah whined. Furlong hated when she acted childish; there was no room for that in her life now without the support of her family.
"Well it is time to be finished. Now come along." Furlong hooked his arm under Mariah's and began leading her out. She came willingly, stumbling a bit and leaning on him as they walked.
"Our first time back in Yartar in YEARS and you want to make it an early night? Come oooon," Mariah pleaded as they approached the door. Furlong opened it for her duteously; Mariah answered with a mocking curtsy before stepping through. Furlong hid a small smile as the pair stepped out into the cobblestone streets of the river city. "I was still a child last time I was here I just want to...WOAH!" Mariah's foot hit a slick bit of stone and she lost her footing, tumbling to the ground and scuffing up her knees. Furlong rushed over to her. He channeled his Ki and placed his hands over the wound. His hands flowed with a faint silver light and the wound began to mend.
"You still are a child, my dear," Furlong said softly as he pulled his hands away. Mariah frowned, pushed him aside, stood herself up, and began walking away. Furlong gave chase, doing his best to keep a distinguished gate while still keeping pace. "I'm sorry, Mariah, what I meant was, there are plenty of people in this city who still..." Furlong looked over his shoulders to make sure no one was listening. He quieted his voice. "...who still remember the Ruthiol name. Who may very well have been swindled by your parents prior to their arrest. And who would love nothing more than to get even. What if one of these ne'er-do-wells were to recognize you, hmm? What then?"
Mariah stopped and lowered her head. She sighed. "I am so SICK of living in my family's shadow."
"I know, my dear. I know." Furlong placed a firm hand on Mariah's shoulder and smiled, something she very rarely sees him do. "And that is why we must focus on the task at hand, yes? A good night's sleep..." Furlong looked Mariah up and down. "...erm, perhaps a shower..." Mariah giggled "...a quick stop by the local shops for supplies and then we will be off. That pack of pesky goblins isn't going to exterminate itself, you know."
Mariah nodded and smiled. She hooked her arm under Furlong's this time, rested her head on his shoulder, and they began walking again. "What would I do with you, Furlong?"
"A question that will never need an answer, my dear."
Your character's desired role and personality: Furlong is quiet, strong-willed, professional, and stalwart. He stays calm under fire and carries himself with an air of nobility or station, despite having none. In fact, he is actually quite rough-and-tumble when push comes to shove; the type of gentleman with a soft voice but hard, calloused hands. He is a skilled survivalist and a decent healer from his time in the military. His role in a party would be a mix of melee combat and survivability.
Intriguing concept. Most of all, I like the idea that this is about a collaborative story - that’s what got me. I have a similar attitude towards games, especially PBP.
In addition to 35 years of RPG experience, I’m a published author and professional DM. I’d love to join up and tell this story with you (and fellow players).
For my concept, I wanted to go with something on the “normal” side. I ended up with this character, who I think will be really interesting to explore and see how he evolves.
Character Name: John Brown (yes, his name is "Farmer Brown")
Race:Human (variant). For his feat, I’d like to take Durable, or if that breaks things too much, Chef.
John grew up in the village of Greenbriar, a small village of about 50 people in the Shining Plains region of Faerun. John’s father, Baldric, owned a barley farm, and John was raised to know the value of a solid day’s work. He and his younger brother, Marcus, worked side by side with their dad from an early age. Their mother, Isabelle, was kind, and an excellent cook, baking the barley bread that was perhaps the only thing Greenbriar was known for. She kept a happy home.
Marcus and John were very close when they were younger, but as they grew up, they started to grow in different directions. John felt a strong sense of responsibility for the family farm. He tended to his chores with stoic pride. Marcus, on the other hand, was less inclined towards the farm life. He longed for adventures like the ones in the books he read. He wanted romance and to experience the world. This difference started to create a rift in the family. Marcus and their father were always at odds. Starting with verbal arguments and, as Marcus grew up, turning into physical altercations. After one particularly bad fight where Marcus punched his father so hard he broke the man’s nose, Marcus left home, saying he was going to join the Harpers and be a hero.
John stayed behind, eventually marrying a local girl and taking over the family farm when Baldric retired. John’s wife, Mary, tried to learn baking from Isabella, but she did not have the knack. John had gotten his mom’s sense of cooking, but he was needed to run the farm. Mary instead focuses on taking care of John’s aging parents, the house, and the house garden where they grew lettuce, blackberries, raspberries, apples, herbs, leeks, peas, and pumpkins. She also tended to the chicken coop.
Life went on as it does, but John rose to local prominence when he became a bit of a local hero. It was the first day of summer in Greenbriar and the sun was shining brightly over the Five Towns Fayre, the annual harvest festival that brought the villages in the area together. The Fayre was in full swing, with vendors from across the Shining Plains setup in their stalls selling their wares - everything from fresh fruits and vegetables, cooked meats on sticks, assorted wood and metal crafts, textile goods, honey, soap, and nearly anything else one could think of.
The environment was jovial, with music, dancing, and even a puppet show for the wee children. It seemed like everyone had one of Quince’s lamb and mushroom pies and an Old Peculiar beer in hand. But the star of the Fayre just might have been the Appleblossom’s summer candy apples.
Everyone was having a grand day at the Fayre… until a pack of rats stormed out of the sewers and wreaked havoc. John used what was at hand to chase the rats away, then investigated the sewers to find several shattered barrels from the Stranglefoot brewery up the road. After some investigating, John discovered a tainted water source that had been the cause of the bad brew. Sam Stranglefoot had tried to conceal things, not wanting his reputation tarnished, but he had nearly poisoned the whole town with his poisoned beer.
John was hailed a hero. The local blacksmith made him a sword and they called him the Greenbriar Knight. But John shunned the attention, preferring to tend to his farm. The sword, a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, sat on the mantlepiece, collecting dust. Over the next few years, things settled back down. John’s parents both died within months of each other. Mary and John had a daughter. Things were fine.
Then John got the letter from Marcus. He’d made it into the Harpers, after all, and had heard about their parents’ passing. He said he had something important to tell John and would arrive within a fortnight. John figured it was just his brother’s exuberance and put the letter aside, continuing his daily work. He’d welcome his brother home with open arms when he arrived, he told himself.
John went to bed, a night like any other. He read softly to Mary as their daughter fed. John was happy.
And then he woke up somewhere else. The sword he’d been given for his heroic acts lay by his side. He knew his name was John Brown, but everything else was foggy, and as he sat up and looked around, noting he was in a forest of some kind, everything from his past slipped away.
Where was he? Who was he? What was going on?
Starting equipment: I thought the sword of the reluctant hero was a good choice.
RP sample from your character's life/perspective:
John's eyes blinked open, the unfamiliar surroundings of the forest causing a momentary disorientation. As he sat up, the weight of the sword by his side caught his attention, triggering a cascade of questions in his mind. Who was he? Where was he? And why was he here? His thoughts swirled, grasping at fragments of memory like elusive mist. The name "John Brown" echoed in his mind, a familiar anchor in the sea of uncertainty. But beyond that, his past seemed shrouded in fog, slipping away with each passing moment.
“What in the world is happening?” John asked out loud, startled by his own deep bass voice.
Instinctively, John reached for the sword, fingers tracing the intricate patterns etched into its hilt. It was a tangible reminder of a life he couldn't quite grasp, a symbol of heroism and responsibility he couldn't fully comprehend. “And where did this come from?”
As he surveyed the forest, searching for clues amidst the trees and underbrush, a sense of unease settled over him. The chirping of birds and rustle of leaves provided little solace as he grappled with the unsettling realization that he was adrift in a sea of unknowns. He felt like he had something to do. Somewhere to be. People that counted on him. But his head ached when he tried to remember. Better to just push on. Keep going.
John stood, strapping the sword to his waist. He wore a simple outfit. Breeches of sturdy brown cotton, worn leather boots, and a long cotte of green linen. Atop his head was a wide-brimmed straw hat that worked well to keep the sun out of his eyes. He looked down at his hands. They were thickly calloused and rough, the hands of someone who worked for a living. They contrasted, John noted, with the fine blade that hung by his side. Another mystery to discover, it seemed.
“Might as well look around, eh?” John asked of a squirrel that had run across his path and up a nearby tree. “Let’s see where we are.”
Your character's desired role and personality: John is a simple farmer. He just keeps going. He’s not particularly smart or special but he’s patient. Like the earth. Practical. He’s not flashy, but he is kind. He’s quick to help others and to laugh at a joke. He has a presence about him, born from his stability. He just seems like the kind of guy you look to in a crisis to keep it together and find a way through. Party role-wise, he’s a fighter. Pretty straight forward sword out front kinda guy. He doesn’t shy from a fight, but he also doesn’t go looking for one. He’d prefer to work things out without fighting if possible.
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Writer • Podcaster • Professional Gamemaster
playing Jin Wei, human (Kara-tur) way of the Four Elements Monk in the Princes of the Apocalypse
Backstory, or prototyped backstory, to be fleshed out later: As a child on the docks, he'd listen to old sea dogs swap stories of great serpents in the water and fiersome dragons in the sky. At night, he'd dream of soaring through the sky on the back of a great winged shadow or swimming deep beneath azure waves. His dreams reached their crescendo when a fey approached him with a deal - his own drake. The details of his deal are fuzzy, but upon awakening, he found himself holding a soft blue egg...
Starting equipment: A birch longbow, well-treated with ornate shallow carvings of sea serpents along it's boiled leather handle.
RP sample from your character's life/perspective:'This isn't right. None of this is right.' His brow furrows as he paces around the clearing. 'The thick air, the moist soil, the verdant jungle and temperate climate -- it's all so... wonderful.' He should feel at home, wherever home is. Or perhaps was? "Focus."He shakes his head, as if some strange net has cast across his mind. His eyes dart about, searching for some visual indicator. 'Wait. no, don't get distracted. Now what's missing? There's something gone that was here before. But what?' Rrrrgh! He could punch something right about now. Or bite. He stops. 'Wait, bite? Why bite?' "Focus." 'Right, right. Hmm.' As he's contemplating his apparent loss, a green beetle the size of an apple zips by. In a flash, his hand whips out, catching the wayward insect. It struggles in vain, even as he takes a big juicy bite out of it's head. 'What could be missing?' He tears a piece of the bug off and holds it beside his head, dropping it off his shoulder with a light thump. He turns and stares at the piece in a moment of contemplation. It hits him. "Eureka." 'It's not what, it's who! Someone's missing. Someone close. But... who?' His brow furrows and his eyes wander once more. 'Who...?'
Your character's desired role and personality: When his better half is with him, he's a calm and measured individual, if a tad blunt. He's not afraid to scout ahead or fight, but his true talents lie in planning and tact. Without his companion, however, he's much rougher around the edges, prone to act on his whim rather than his wit. When push comes to shove, however, he's more than capable of shoving back.
Character Name: Shindo ("Shin") <-- Link to dndbeyond character sheet. Race: Goblin Class: Wizard / Bladesinging Background: Custom (urchin adopted by an elven sage) Starting Equipment: Spell book and arcane focus. Character's Role and Personality: Eccentric and sometimes delusional wizard, yet talkative, and one who along with casting spells, once he finds or crafts a dagger or shortsword will charge into melee during battle, using a hit and run approach as he has been trained, whistling a jaunty goblin tune as he does. Backstory: (See spoiler immediately below).
Shin was always the oddball in his goblin tribe, teased mercilessly as a child for being more focused on books (and worse, reading them) than on playing with blades and bows, eating spiders and worms, and generally grubbing around in caves. Which is why Shin could not believe his luck when he found the elven hermit in an unexplored corner of the woods. The retired Bladesinger, whose name Shin had difficulty pronouncing, had been growing restless, thinking he needed a pupil to teach just when the lost goblin stumbled upon his forest cottage.
A year's worth of training with arcane books and a shortsword later, Shin had grown restless. He had asked his mentor whether it was finally time to put his 'expertise' to practice and go out adventuring. The old elf shook his head, musing as he often did when observing Shin, on the radical impatience of the short-lived. No, not ready yet. Not by a long shot.
Yet the elven master also knew that Shin would leave anyway. He just hoped the goblin would learn his own limitations and find a way to fit in with whichever adventurers he would inevitably ended up with.
(RP sample below contains some of "the rest" of Shin's backstory).
^^^ See spoiler above for backstory. ^^^
RP Sample: (See spoiler immediately below).
"Everything comes down to proper technique, proper investigation, proper performance," Shin whispers to Pinky-toe, "Everything! Even a child's game such as this. Which I have won."
The little owl turns slowly to regard the goblin adventurer as only owls can, rolling her huge eyes extravagantly in response. Well, extravagantly for an owl, anyway. A slight circular motion of the pupils, a slow blink, then a refocusing. It is in these moments that Pinky-toe is forced to wonder how she, a noble and free fey spirit, has been chosen to be this silly wizard's familiar. Looking more than a little miffed, she begins to preen herself somewhat more aggressively than strictly necessary.
Yet Shin plows ahead undeterred as if he had not noticed, crouched in his perfect hiding spot.
"I knew when I asked them what they were doing today, and they looked at each other and drawled that they were going to play hide-and-seek, and that I should go hide - I knew! The perfect hiding spot where they would never find me. I have studied how their minds work, you see. Rogues with their 'jobs', warlocks with their strange 'patrons', fighters forever polishing their armor and blades, clerics with their faith, sorcerers with their 'aberrant' minds, and barbarians with their... well whatever it is barbarians do. And now..." Shin's whisper rises to a triumphant timbre, "... I am the winner! I win! They have not found me as I knew they wouldn't! I win the game of hide-and-seek!"
Pinky-toe's telepathic response is flat and deadpan.
No. You lose, you buffoon of a goblin. They ditched you. Your adventurer 'friends' all waited until you trekked up here into these misbegotten foothills, gave each other knowing grins, then sauntered off back to the tavern to drink and carouse while you waited cramped between these boulders for well over an hour thinking someone was looking for you. They are still there now. There was no game. Can we finally go join them, or are you going to sit here reading your spell book for another hour mumbling about investigation and technique?
Shin looks at the owl for a long moment, then stands up, the owl flapping its wings once to maintain balance on the goblin's shoulder. "I... I knew that. But I win anyway. You'll see. They might not admit it, but they kn-"
It is at this moment that the roc descends like a thunderclap from the sky and bears Shindo off above the mountains in its talons as an eagle might a disappointingly small minnow, Pinky-toe flapping as unobtrusively as she can behind, the size of a mosquito by comparison.
"Well, I guess we'll never know," shouts Shin back to his familiar, still fixated on having outsmarted his fellow adventurers as he struggles to free himself from the vast bird's grip. Which, being quite agile for a wizard, he does just in time to plummet into the rushing torrent of a mountain river, smashing his head on a rock and losing consciousness as he is swept downstream, Pinky-toe still valiantly chasing behind as the waters flow far and long, from mountain to gorge to lush, thick jungle...
When Shin finally awakes, bedraggled on the muddy banks of the tropical tributary, Pinky-toe has to admit, it's true that he'll probably never know. For the wizard barely remembers his own name and that of his familiar. Amazingly, his spell book, which he had made waterproof in another fit of self-proclaimed 'genius', and his arcane focus are all that remain of the goblin's gear and provisions. But all other memories seem to be gone from Shin's brain, and in an odd synergy, the same memories recede from Pinky-toe's mind as well as amnesia sets in. And they both freeze as they notice the giant centipede crawling above...
^^^ See spoiler immediately above for RP sample ^^^
Backstory: born under the arena I was not like my brothers. My parents mistook me for a teifling and thus were tough on me. Never strong or tough I was half beat to death by them. My love of fire never helped, one day they caught me running my hands through the fireplace they called me a spawn of the devil and threw me into the arena. I barely survived by the skin of my teeth. After that I was sent into the arena to face ferocious beasts and evil men. One particularly hard fight I was overtaken by this rage inside and fire blasted from my hands, I burnt alive the man in front of me and sent the others fleeing. This seemed to be in my favor, for afterward people wanted me to work for them. But after a while of fighting I found my life to have no meaning. And then my best friend died in the arena. I finally snapped, after that fight I killed my employer and took some items to leave, finding an orange wizards Cloak and hat I took them and left.
RP: the man in an orange Cloak and orange large brimmed hat stands at the bar arguing with the bartender about drinks being overpriced. The argument is getting heated when finally the mam lights a fire in his hand threatening to burn the tavern down if he doesnt lower the prices. The bartender calls the guard and has the man thrown out. Then yells at the doors as they are shut in his face. He stands there for a moment and hears a small voice below him. Seeing a young child asking for coin, his heart is broken and he gives the boy a few gold coins and asking if he needs anything else.
What I want to be: maybe a sorta gunner/support, I want to be the intimidater of the party and the person who helps the weak. I do not want to be the face at all.
I would love to play. I just can't get into discord at all. So if you do want me I was wondering how I could play without discord. If that's possible I want to join. If not sorry for the giant amount of text I just shoved into your thing.
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You better watch out you better not cry you better not pout I'm telling you why. Murderers are coming to town.
Day 14
You freeze in place under the dense jungle foliage as you hear chittering claws scrape against wood somewhere above you. Your short time in the jungle has taught one thing: everything was out for your blood. Heart pounding, you slowly glance upward, and your breath catches in your throat as you see a colossal centipede easy as thick as you are wide slowly crawling across a limb of a tree about twenty feet up is. Spotty shafts of sunlight that have managed to punch through the virtual ceiling of fauna overhead illuminate in dappled patches the carnivorous insect's glistening crimson carapace. Thousands of skittering legs clack across the branch, each one beating a clamorous staccato against the wooded limb as the centipede languidly traverses the canopy.
You dare not move, barely breathing until the creature finally crawls out of sight. You have seen a centipede like that one take out an entire pack of raptors before, and you know you would be no match for a hungry centipede if it noticed you. You stand still for several minutes after the sound of its skittering limbs crawling upon branches fades away, breathing in the hot and muggy air as you wait to move just in case the centipede is still nearby. The sounds of the jungle are almost deafening: birds squawking and shrieking at one another, insects buzzing about you, distant branches toppling to the ground under the weight of hundreds of pounds of moss and vines, and the not-too-distant reptilian screech of a raptor on the hunt. That last sound is what finally encourages you to move once more. If you avoided that encounter with the centipede only to be torn apart by a pack of voracious raptors... No, it was best not to think about that kind of thing. There was only one thing you could focus on right now...
Survival
Howdy! I've had an idea for a survival-type DnD campaign floating around for a while now, and I think I'm finally ready to try it out! Full disclaimer: this campaign is at least somewhat inspired by the ARK: Survival games and I may have borrowed a few concepts from it, but I have put my own kind of flair to it. I'll will try to make this a more realistic survival campaign than most DnD campaigns, so as such, you will need to worry about things such as shelter, safe food and water, exposure to the elements, predators, etc. Despite this, there is an overarching story arc I have in mind for the campaign, so it's not just a survival grind.
The early parts of the campaign will be very heavily focused on survival (obviously), exploration, and challenges such as natural disasters, predators, combat, etc. The later chapters begin to shift away from the previous as you discover more lore and information. That being said, I believe that the true joy of playing DnD comes from story building, character development, and roleplaying. As such, I will be looking for players who love to roleplay and weave together stories. Think of this campaign more as a collaborative book writing game rather than a number-crunching game.
I will give the players I choose an aspect of control over the events and storyline of the game. For example, if you have a really cool scenario you would like to play out, I can incorporate it into the story. I believe that helps the players feel more invested in the campaign and be less likely to drop out or skip out on juicy narritive and RP moments.
I will be running the campaign here on DnDBeyond and then use Discord for an OOC thread, maps, pictures, and all that good stuff. I know many people don't really like Discord, but I find it much easier to add pictures and organize things, so we'll be using it.
Have a gritty, more realistic survival type of game is fairly difficult to do with the basic 5e DnD rules, so I will be using the following adjustments including a few other minor ones that will come up down the road.
Banned Content/Options
Healing and Rest Modifications
These optional rules make it easier or harder for adventurers to recover from injury, either increasing or reducing the amount of time your players can spend adventuring before rest is required.
Healer’s Kit Dependency
A character can’t spend any Hit Dice after finishing a short rest until someone expends one use of a healer’s kit to bandage and treat the character’s wounds.
Slow Natural Healing
Characters don’t regain hit points at the end of a long rest. Instead, a character can spend Hit Dice to heal at the end of a long rest, just as with a short rest.
This optional rule prolongs the amount of time that characters need to recover from their wounds without the benefits of magical healing and works well for grittier, more realistic campaigns.
Safe Resting
Long rests can only be performed at "safe areas:" areas cleared of hazards or places where there is a defensible structure.
Reduced Magical Healing
Magical healing is reduced by half rounded up to put an emphasis on natural healing and to help create a gritty atmosphere. For example, if you rolled a total of 12 to heal someone with magic, you would instead heal them by 6.
Injury and Damage
Injuries
Damage normally leaves no lingering effects. This option introduces the potential for long-term injuries.
It’s up to you to decide when to check for a lingering injury. A creature might sustain a lingering injury under the following circumstances:
To determine the nature of the injury, roll on the Lingering Injuries table. This table assumes a typical humanoid physiology, but you can adapt the results for creatures with different body types.
d20
Injury
1
Lose an Eye. You have disadvantage on Wisdom (Perception) checks that rely on sight and on ranged attack rolls. Magic such as the regenerate spell can restore the lost eye. If you have no eyes left after sustaining this injury, you’re blinded.
2
Lose an Arm or a Hand. You can no longer hold anything with two hands, and you can hold only a single object at a time. Magic such as the regenerate spell can restore the lost appendage.
3
Lose a Foot or Leg. Your speed on foot is halved, and you must use a cane or crutch to move unless you have a peg leg or other prosthesis. You fall prone after using the Dash action. You have disadvantage on Dexterity checks made to balance. Magic such as the regenerate spell can restore the lost appendage.
4
Limp. Your speed on foot is reduced by 5 feet. You must make a DC 10 Dexterity saving throw after using the Dash action. If you fail the save, you fall prone. Magical healing removes the limp.
5–7
Internal Injury. Whenever you attempt an action in combat, you must make a DC 15 Constitution saving throw. On a failed save, you lose your action and can’t use reactions until the start of your next turn. The injury heals if you receive magical healing or if you spend ten days doing nothing but resting.
8–10
Broken Ribs. This has the same effect as Internal Injury above, except that the save DC is 10.
11–13
Horrible Scar. You are disfigured to the extent that the wound can’t be easily concealed. You have disadvantage on Charisma (Persuasion) checks and advantage on Charisma (Intimidation) checks. Magical healing of 6th level or higher, such as heal and regenerate, removes the scar.
14–16
Festering Wound. Your hit point maximum is reduced by 1 every 24 hours the wound persists. If your hit point maximum drops to 0, you die. The wound heals if you receive magical healing. Alternatively, someone can tend to the wound and make a DC 15 Wisdom (Medicine) check once every 24 hours. After ten successes, the wound heals.
17–20
Minor Scar. The scar doesn’t have any adverse effect. Magical healing of 6th level or higher, such as heal and regenerate, removes the scar.
Instead of using the effect described in the table, you can put the responsibility of representing a character’s lingering injury in the hands of the player. Roll on the Lingering Injuries table as usual, but instead of suffering the effect described for that result, that character gains a new flaw with the same name. It’s up to the player to express the lingering injury during play, just like any other flaw, with the potential to gain inspiration when the injury affects the character in a meaningful way.
Massive Damage
This optional rule makes it easier for a creature to be felled by massive damage.
When a creature takes damage from a single source equal to or greater than half its hit point maximum, it must succeed on a DC 15 Constitution saving throw or suffer a random effect determined by a roll on the System Shock table. For example, a creature that has a hit point maximum of 30 must make that Constitution save if it takes 15 damage or more from a single source.
d10
Effect
1
The creature drops to 0 hit points.
2–3
The creature drops to 0 hit points but is stable.
4–5
The creature is stunned until the end of its next turn.
6–7
The creature can’t take reactions and has disadvantage on attack rolls and ability checks until the end of its next turn.
8–10
The creature can’t take reactions until the end of its next turn.
All that being said, I am looking for 4-6 players who are willing to embark on this narrative journey for me! I will post at least once a day, and I expect you to try to do the same. I will warn you, I am a full-time college student and I also work a job, so there will be some days where I might not be able to post. I will let you know when that happens. If you can't post for a bit, also please let the group know about it as well as soon as you can so I don't assume you quit out of the blue. Since this is a survival campaign, I have the unique opportunity to brutally dismember and eviscerate any character that drops out and have it be a great narrative moment, so be warned! On a lighter note, I'm not a huge fan of vulgarity and will not tolerate sexual content, so please try to limit those.
If you would like to apply, please fill out the following application here on this thread. I will close applications in about a week or when I feel like I can choose enough solid, story and RP-loving players.
Looking forward to seeing your applications!
Place Holder Scores:
Ability scores: 15 16 15 13 14 12
Absolutely love this concept!
Always found it amusing that a character could be one HP away from death but recover to full health after just sleeping 8 hours. Man, I wish real life worked that way!
One question. Will we still be able to craft the backstory for the character as they regain their memories, or is this something that will be dictated by the story? Interested either way, but good to know going in.
Character Name: Donnyl Coldcloak
Race: Lightfoot Halfling
Ability Scores: (Point Buy): STR: 8, DEX: 14, CON: 14, INT: 10, WIS: 13, CHA: 16
Background: Sailor
Backstory (If we're allowed to use it):
I was born to a pair of ne’er-do-well parents in a large township near the coast. At an early age my parents sent older siblings out into the streets to pan-handle, pick pockets and run various other low-level scams. While I was too young to participate in this chicanery, their actions fundamentally altered the course of my life. At the age of three, my parents scammed the wrong noble. They were apprehended and banished from the township.
As a part of a settlement agreement, my siblings and I were “voluntarily” placed under the “guardianship” of the wronged noble, Lord Molarai Heath. We were promptly forced to move to his country estate, a place called Summerspeak.
There, we were raised and trained as foot servants. My older siblings were unable to adapt to their new life and were eventually sent to a work camp. I, however, took well to my position, learned proper etiquette, and would have been happy to remain in that station for the rest of my life.
Unfortunately, fate had other plans. One day, my younger sister and I were granted the privilege of accompanying Lady Drea on an ocean voyage as part of her entourage. While traveling across the open sea, our ship was ambushed by a school of sea spawn. To what purpose, I’ll never know…
The moment I saw the creatures climbing the hull of the ship, I immediately abandoned my post in search for my youngest sister, Tess. As I ran, one of the wretched things stabbed me with a poison quill. I was nearly unconscious when I found my sister, about to fall prey to one of the sea spawn.
In that moment, something rose up in me. An arcane force bubbled through my veins. I allowed it to flow through me and blast the wretched thing with a chaotic bolt of arcane energy. My last memory was the smell of salt air mixed with burned piscine flesh and crackling ozone.
I awoke some time later, clinging to life aboard a piece of ship’s flotsam, sun baked, emaciated and dying of thirst. By the luck of the Gods, I was found by a passing vessel. Unfortunately, that vessel turned out to be crewed by pirates, led by a temperamental human madman named Captain Alistair Kreeg. I was press-ganged into service aboard Kreeg’s ship, Beshaba’s Blessing.
The work was torture and my future seemed bleak until I made friends with a young apprentice-level wizard named Bothus, who was also bound to servitude. When he heard my story, he helped me understand the nature of my sorcerous power. He even helped me trial-and-error my way through learning some basic cantrips.
It took a great deal of cunning for us to hide my abilities. However, by doing so, we managed to develop a plan to escape at one of our port landings. It was close going, and we were nearly caught, but we succeeded in creating enough of a distraction at the crew’s favorite watering hole to allow us time to bolt. Our victory was sweet, but the joy was short lived. Alone, together, we realized we were not destined to travel the same path. Unable to bare each other's company due to the trauma, we parted ways, intending to never speak again. I’ve since been trying to earn passage back to my homeland by proffering my newfound abilities as a magical aide aboard various merchant ships. I’ve developed a more rounded knowledge of sea voyaging and I’ve fine-tuned my sorcerous abilities into a reliable set of skills and spells… but I’d give it all up to return to the simple life of a footman in a country estate alongside the surviving members of my family.
Equipment: A sliver of sea glass used as a spell casting focus
RP Sample:
Donnyl sits at the small table, sipping his mead in silence. He watches as his human companion, Bothus moves to the bar, fearlessly inserting himself into a conversation between a pair of half-orc adventurers.
Donnyl shakes his head as he watches the apprentice wizard try (and clearly fail) to impress the pair of brutes, all the while, thinking to himself, "Damn fool of a blunder, approaching that one from his blind side... The lad's lucky he didn't get his throat slit just for being a thoughtless pest. How can such a clever fellow be so dull when it comes to other people? Daresay, it will be the death of him one of these days."
Just then, a homely barmaid approaches, nodding down at his still-full glass of mead. "Ya gonna drink that swill or settle down 'n marry it?" In response, Donnyl looks up to the woman dryly and replies, "We're still courting, thank you... but I do appreciate the confidence in our future together."
In response, the woman snorts in half-amusement, but her eyes quickly narrow. "Drink. Don't drink. Doesn't make no difference to me either way, so long as you paid the coin for it... Still... In all the years I've spent in this hole, I've learned that no good ever comes from folks wot sit in the shadows, ignoring their cups..." Pushing on, she lowers her voice to a near whisper. "So, if you came here t' do bloody work, just do us all a favor and take it outside, okay? This life's hard enough without having to worry about catching a stray dagger and cleaning up the bodies left from a barroom melee, you understand me?"
Donnyl's bright eyes look up at the woman with empathy and understanding as he replies, in earnest, "I understand completely, mum." As if to prove his point, he quickly downs the rest of his drink in a single draft and continues by saying, "You have a keen eye. But I promise, I intend no trouble here." Switching to a disarming smile, he adds. "Besides... If there's one thing I can always guarantee.... It's that I'll never leave behind a mess where one doesn't belong."
With that, he cast a quick Prestidigitation cantrip, instantly removing the soil and beer stains from her apron. As she looks down in shock, Donnyl pulls out a pair of coins and slides them over to the barmaid. "I'll take one more, just like the last... But, while we're on the subject of troublemakers in seaside watering holes... I'm wondering if there's any chance I could hire your keen eye to draw upon yon pair of half-orcs?"
He directs her attention to Bothus and the two half-orcs who now loom over him. They appear to be hammering out some sort of deal. "The Cussfoot twins?" The barmaid replies, spitting on the ground. "Steer clear. Not much else to say. They got no care about anyone but thems-selves. They'll cut your throat and your purse without a second thought, in whichever order strikes their fancy." With that, she looks back down at Donnyl... "But you got eyes of your own... I'd think a sharp a lad as you would see as much without needing to spend no coin."
Donnyl smiles up at the lady, genuine. "You flatter me, miss... But that's not entirely true." He watches as Bothus exchanges a handshake with the half-orcs and begins heading towards Donnyl's table. Behind him, the Cussfoot twins immediately start plotting his demise without the least bit of subtlety. Bothus is completely oblivious. "We all have blind spots." He looks back at the barmaid again, continuing in a friendly manner. "And there's no one who can't do without a good bit of friendly advice every now and then."
The barmaid meets his smile with a half-smile of her own. Genuine. It almost catches her off-guard as she pockets the coins and starts moving toward the bar. "Be back with your drink... And stick around... Next one's on the house."
Donnyl replies with a clasped hand and a subtle nod of appreciation as she walks off. He then turns to his approaching friend, wondering to himself how he's going to safely rid himself of Bothus... The man taught him how to wield his own magic... The man who helped save his life... before he ends up killing them both.
Role/Personality: A Face, for sure, as evidenced in the RP above... A genteel but not erudite guy... Someone who can mingle in the world of nobles, commoners and thieves without even needing to change his tone of voice much. Combat-wise, I'm headed toward Storm Sorcery which is a newer subclass for me which is based more in theme than tactics... Based on what I've read, I imagine I'll be a bit of a blaster who is also fairly mobile... but I'm open to adapting just about any part of this application.
DM - Origins - A Level Zero Adventure
DM - Dragons of Stormwreck Isle
The Forge of Fury - Lehmani (L3 Tiefling Cleric, Forge Domain)
Wild Beyond the Witchlight - Fa'amae (L2 Shadar-kai Druid, Circle of the Spores)
Greyhawk - Tilliman Treewick Toadswaddler the First (L1 Gnome Rogue)
Ability scores: 16 17 12 12 16 11
And, a question: Is there any particular world or setting that our characters ought to be from?
To answer the questions, my thought process about the backstory is that you already have one in place. Throughout the campaign, you determine how quickly and to what extent your memories come back. Of course, feel free to modify your backstory as the story progresses if you’d like.
As for which setting you should be from, try to stick to one of the classic DnD settings, like the Sword Coast, Eberron, etc.,
Ability scores: 14 11 12 10 11 10
Liarin: Against the Cult of the Reptile God
Adewild: Shadows and Light 2
Brother Thaddeus: Rime of the Frostmaiden.
Ability scores: 14 12 13 16 14 11
Liarin: Against the Cult of the Reptile God
Adewild: Shadows and Light 2
Brother Thaddeus: Rime of the Frostmaiden.
Liarin: Against the Cult of the Reptile God
Adewild: Shadows and Light 2
Brother Thaddeus: Rime of the Frostmaiden.
Ability Scores: Ability scores: 15 17 12 7 13 13
Furlong grew up in a house of modest means, born to blue collar parents in a rural farming village. He spent most of his youth working his father's mill--hard work, long hours--and it taught him both discipline and toned his physique. By age 18, he was a bastion to his town, taking on odd jobs for all who needed them--moving heavy furniture, delivering groceries, tilling soil--all done swiftly, efficiently, and with a courteous smile. He also developed some skills in medicine, starting with caring for the animals around the village and then the people themselves.
That is, until the family's skeletons came pouring out of their closet. It seemed their wealth was ill-gotten, and that the patriarch was nothing more than a conman. With the parents arrested and Mariah sent into foster care, Furlong found himself unemployed again, and for five years, knocked around doing whatever work he could find--mostly manual labor, some light criminal activity, and a decent amount of extra coins earned in the fighting pits at the local tavern.
Where is that blasted girl? Furlong pushed through the crowded tavern, dodging elbow and spilled drinks in equal measure as he searched for his ward. They had been back in Yartar for barely a day's time, a stop on the journey that was only meant as a quick resupply, but Furlong knew Mariah would make things more complicated. As she does. Incorrigible.
The Cointoss was a seedy spot, even for Yartar's standards. Furlong knew it well, though, as he made many a coin himself tussling in the bar's famous fighting pit, and even more helping to heal the bruises on the faces he himself pummeled. He caught a glimpse of the pit out the corner of his eye, and as if through pure muscle memory, his shoulders tensed, and the veins in his wrist began to pulse. But that is not why he is here; he put his hand to chin, cracked his neck, and refocused on the mission at hand.
A large crowd was forming around one of the tavern's bars. Drunken patrons were rallying around something--unclear from here what it was--but it sure was a ruckus. Hmmm...indeed.
Furlong approached the crowd and sure enough, there in the center of the chaos was Mariah, leaned over the bar with a copper in her hand. She looked a bit wobbly and her cheeks were flushed. Suddenly, she pressed her finger to her lips. "Shhhhhh! Quiet down you lot, let a girl focus!" Then, she drew the copper back behind her head and threw it towards a helm hanging on the wall behind the bar. The crowd fell silent, holding their collective breath as the coin flip twice through the air and then slid through the eye slit in the helm. The crowd erupted once more, now louder than before. "That's five in a row!" Mariah shouted. "Better pour me another freebie, Tantaskar."
"Yeah yeah, I'm on it," the grizzled barkeep muttered to himself as he filled a tankard with ale and slid it down the bar towards Mariah. The tankard crashed into a collection of empties before Mariah grabbed it.
Hmph. Furlong began pushing through Mariah's fan club. "Excuse me, good sir. Pardon me."
"Hey, watchit gramps!" shouted a mountainous half-orc, shoving Furlong back with one hand and then turning back try and talk to Mariah.
Furlong clenched his jaw. "I believe I said excuse me."
"Yeah, and I believe I said whatch--" the half-orc went to push Furlong again but then fell silent, as he found his wrist twisted backward by the steady old man. Furlong tighten his grip and the half-orc dropped to his knees.
"I believe what you meant to say was, oh, right this way sir." Furlong stared unflinching into the eyes of the half-orc, who twitched and writhed in pain as Furlong continued to tweak his wrist further towards it's breaking point.
"Yeah, yeah, that's right. Go ahead, sir."
"Hmm. Indeed." Furlong release his grip and the half-orc fell backward, grabbing his wrist as he backed himself away. Furlong cleared his throat as the din of cheers from the crowd quieted. "Mariah, my dear, I believe we really must be going."
"Huh? Wha--oh! Hi Furlong!" Mariah hopped down from the bar and gave Furlong a big hug. He clothes were noticeably damp and she smelled of booze. "I was just showing these chumps how--blech--easy this silly game is." Mariah pointed her thumb towards the helm on the wall.
"Yes. Quite." Furlong steadied the young woman onto her feet and brushed off his clothes. Then he tapped his walking stick on the ground. "Well now, come along."
"What? Nooooo, we were just getting started." Mariah whined. Furlong hated when she acted childish; there was no room for that in her life now without the support of her family.
"Well it is time to be finished. Now come along." Furlong hooked his arm under Mariah's and began leading her out. She came willingly, stumbling a bit and leaning on him as they walked.
"Our first time back in Yartar in YEARS and you want to make it an early night? Come oooon," Mariah pleaded as they approached the door. Furlong opened it for her duteously; Mariah answered with a mocking curtsy before stepping through. Furlong hid a small smile as the pair stepped out into the cobblestone streets of the river city. "I was still a child last time I was here I just want to...WOAH!" Mariah's foot hit a slick bit of stone and she lost her footing, tumbling to the ground and scuffing up her knees. Furlong rushed over to her. He channeled his Ki and placed his hands over the wound. His hands flowed with a faint silver light and the wound began to mend.
"You still are a child, my dear," Furlong said softly as he pulled his hands away. Mariah frowned, pushed him aside, stood herself up, and began walking away. Furlong gave chase, doing his best to keep a distinguished gate while still keeping pace. "I'm sorry, Mariah, what I meant was, there are plenty of people in this city who still..." Furlong looked over his shoulders to make sure no one was listening. He quieted his voice. "...who still remember the Ruthiol name. Who may very well have been swindled by your parents prior to their arrest. And who would love nothing more than to get even. What if one of these ne'er-do-wells were to recognize you, hmm? What then?"
Mariah stopped and lowered her head. She sighed. "I am so SICK of living in my family's shadow."
"I know, my dear. I know." Furlong placed a firm hand on Mariah's shoulder and smiled, something she very rarely sees him do. "And that is why we must focus on the task at hand, yes? A good night's sleep..." Furlong looked Mariah up and down. "...erm, perhaps a shower..." Mariah giggled "...a quick stop by the local shops for supplies and then we will be off. That pack of pesky goblins isn't going to exterminate itself, you know."
Mariah nodded and smiled. She hooked her arm under Furlong's this time, rested her head on his shoulder, and they began walking again. "What would I do with you, Furlong?"
"A question that will never need an answer, my dear."
Long live the PCs of the Past:
Puck of the Shivering Summit -- Tabaxi Bard, College of Lore -- Lyrel's Lost Mines of Phandelver
Alus -- High Elf Cleric of Valkur, Tempest Domain -- Yet Another Storm King's Thunder
Ah'brasar -- Aarakocra Druid, Circle of Wildfire -- Yet Another Storm King's Thunder
Furlong J. Rosewood -- Human Monk, Way of the Open Hand -- The Exploits of Misfit Company
Intriguing concept. Most of all, I like the idea that this is about a collaborative story - that’s what got me. I have a similar attitude towards games, especially PBP.
In addition to 35 years of RPG experience, I’m a published author and professional DM. I’d love to join up and tell this story with you (and fellow players).
For my concept, I wanted to go with something on the “normal” side. I ended up with this character, who I think will be really interesting to explore and see how he evolves.
Character Name: John Brown (yes, his name is "Farmer Brown")
Race: Human (variant). For his feat, I’d like to take Durable, or if that breaks things too much, Chef.
Class: Fighter. And for subclass, Champion.
Ability scores: ST 15 | DX 8 | CN 16 | IN 10 | WS 14 | CH 12 (standard array)
Background: Folk Hero (Farmer)
Backstory:
John grew up in the village of Greenbriar, a small village of about 50 people in the Shining Plains region of Faerun. John’s father, Baldric, owned a barley farm, and John was raised to know the value of a solid day’s work. He and his younger brother, Marcus, worked side by side with their dad from an early age. Their mother, Isabelle, was kind, and an excellent cook, baking the barley bread that was perhaps the only thing Greenbriar was known for. She kept a happy home.
Marcus and John were very close when they were younger, but as they grew up, they started to grow in different directions. John felt a strong sense of responsibility for the family farm. He tended to his chores with stoic pride. Marcus, on the other hand, was less inclined towards the farm life. He longed for adventures like the ones in the books he read. He wanted romance and to experience the world. This difference started to create a rift in the family. Marcus and their father were always at odds. Starting with verbal arguments and, as Marcus grew up, turning into physical altercations. After one particularly bad fight where Marcus punched his father so hard he broke the man’s nose, Marcus left home, saying he was going to join the Harpers and be a hero.
John stayed behind, eventually marrying a local girl and taking over the family farm when Baldric retired. John’s wife, Mary, tried to learn baking from Isabella, but she did not have the knack. John had gotten his mom’s sense of cooking, but he was needed to run the farm. Mary instead focuses on taking care of John’s aging parents, the house, and the house garden where they grew lettuce, blackberries, raspberries, apples, herbs, leeks, peas, and pumpkins. She also tended to the chicken coop.
Life went on as it does, but John rose to local prominence when he became a bit of a local hero. It was the first day of summer in Greenbriar and the sun was shining brightly over the Five Towns Fayre, the annual harvest festival that brought the villages in the area together. The Fayre was in full swing, with vendors from across the Shining Plains setup in their stalls selling their wares - everything from fresh fruits and vegetables, cooked meats on sticks, assorted wood and metal crafts, textile goods, honey, soap, and nearly anything else one could think of.
The environment was jovial, with music, dancing, and even a puppet show for the wee children. It seemed like everyone had one of Quince’s lamb and mushroom pies and an Old Peculiar beer in hand. But the star of the Fayre just might have been the Appleblossom’s summer candy apples.
Everyone was having a grand day at the Fayre… until a pack of rats stormed out of the sewers and wreaked havoc. John used what was at hand to chase the rats away, then investigated the sewers to find several shattered barrels from the Stranglefoot brewery up the road. After some investigating, John discovered a tainted water source that had been the cause of the bad brew. Sam Stranglefoot had tried to conceal things, not wanting his reputation tarnished, but he had nearly poisoned the whole town with his poisoned beer.
John was hailed a hero. The local blacksmith made him a sword and they called him the Greenbriar Knight. But John shunned the attention, preferring to tend to his farm. The sword, a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, sat on the mantlepiece, collecting dust. Over the next few years, things settled back down. John’s parents both died within months of each other. Mary and John had a daughter. Things were fine.
Then John got the letter from Marcus. He’d made it into the Harpers, after all, and had heard about their parents’ passing. He said he had something important to tell John and would arrive within a fortnight. John figured it was just his brother’s exuberance and put the letter aside, continuing his daily work. He’d welcome his brother home with open arms when he arrived, he told himself.
John went to bed, a night like any other. He read softly to Mary as their daughter fed. John was happy.
And then he woke up somewhere else. The sword he’d been given for his heroic acts lay by his side. He knew his name was John Brown, but everything else was foggy, and as he sat up and looked around, noting he was in a forest of some kind, everything from his past slipped away.
Where was he? Who was he? What was going on?
Starting equipment: I thought the sword of the reluctant hero was a good choice.
RP sample from your character's life/perspective:
John's eyes blinked open, the unfamiliar surroundings of the forest causing a momentary disorientation. As he sat up, the weight of the sword by his side caught his attention, triggering a cascade of questions in his mind. Who was he? Where was he? And why was he here? His thoughts swirled, grasping at fragments of memory like elusive mist. The name "John Brown" echoed in his mind, a familiar anchor in the sea of uncertainty. But beyond that, his past seemed shrouded in fog, slipping away with each passing moment.
“What in the world is happening?” John asked out loud, startled by his own deep bass voice.
Instinctively, John reached for the sword, fingers tracing the intricate patterns etched into its hilt. It was a tangible reminder of a life he couldn't quite grasp, a symbol of heroism and responsibility he couldn't fully comprehend. “And where did this come from?”
As he surveyed the forest, searching for clues amidst the trees and underbrush, a sense of unease settled over him. The chirping of birds and rustle of leaves provided little solace as he grappled with the unsettling realization that he was adrift in a sea of unknowns. He felt like he had something to do. Somewhere to be. People that counted on him. But his head ached when he tried to remember. Better to just push on. Keep going.
John stood, strapping the sword to his waist. He wore a simple outfit. Breeches of sturdy brown cotton, worn leather boots, and a long cotte of green linen. Atop his head was a wide-brimmed straw hat that worked well to keep the sun out of his eyes. He looked down at his hands. They were thickly calloused and rough, the hands of someone who worked for a living. They contrasted, John noted, with the fine blade that hung by his side. Another mystery to discover, it seemed.
“Might as well look around, eh?” John asked of a squirrel that had run across his path and up a nearby tree. “Let’s see where we are.”
Your character's desired role and personality: John is a simple farmer. He just keeps going. He’s not particularly smart or special but he’s patient. Like the earth. Practical. He’s not flashy, but he is kind. He’s quick to help others and to laugh at a joke. He has a presence about him, born from his stability. He just seems like the kind of guy you look to in a crisis to keep it together and find a way through. Party role-wise, he’s a fighter. Pretty straight forward sword out front kinda guy. He doesn’t shy from a fight, but he also doesn’t go looking for one. He’d prefer to work things out without fighting if possible.
Writer • Podcaster • Professional Gamemaster
playing Jin Wei, human (Kara-tur) way of the Four Elements Monk in the Princes of the Apocalypse
Character Name: Korinth
Race: Water Genasi
Class and subclass: Ranger/Drake Warden
Ability scores: see above
Background: Sage
Backstory, or prototyped backstory, to be fleshed out later: As a child on the docks, he'd listen to old sea dogs swap stories of great serpents in the water and fiersome dragons in the sky. At night, he'd dream of soaring through the sky on the back of a great winged shadow or swimming deep beneath azure waves. His dreams reached their crescendo when a fey approached him with a deal - his own drake. The details of his deal are fuzzy, but upon awakening, he found himself holding a soft blue egg...
Starting equipment: A birch longbow, well-treated with ornate shallow carvings of sea serpents along it's boiled leather handle.
RP sample from your character's life/perspective: 'This isn't right. None of this is right.' His brow furrows as he paces around the clearing. 'The thick air, the moist soil, the verdant jungle and temperate climate -- it's all so... wonderful.' He should feel at home, wherever home is. Or perhaps was? "Focus." He shakes his head, as if some strange net has cast across his mind. His eyes dart about, searching for some visual indicator. 'Wait. no, don't get distracted. Now what's missing? There's something gone that was here before. But what?' Rrrrgh! He could punch something right about now. Or bite. He stops. 'Wait, bite? Why bite?' "Focus." 'Right, right. Hmm.' As he's contemplating his apparent loss, a green beetle the size of an apple zips by. In a flash, his hand whips out, catching the wayward insect. It struggles in vain, even as he takes a big juicy bite out of it's head. 'What could be missing?' He tears a piece of the bug off and holds it beside his head, dropping it off his shoulder with a light thump. He turns and stares at the piece in a moment of contemplation. It hits him. "Eureka." 'It's not what, it's who! Someone's missing. Someone close. But... who?' His brow furrows and his eyes wander once more. 'Who...?'
Your character's desired role and personality: When his better half is with him, he's a calm and measured individual, if a tad blunt. He's not afraid to scout ahead or fight, but his true talents lie in planning and tact. Without his companion, however, he's much rougher around the edges, prone to act on his whim rather than his wit. When push comes to shove, however, he's more than capable of shoving back.
Character sheet: https://www.dndbeyond.com/characters/118207889
Ability scores: 14 18 16 10 15 13
Mud(Paladin2):Frandal's Scourge/Inge(Barbarian1):Krayveneer's After the Fall/Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1):Uhtred's Windward Isles/Shin(Wizard2):Dimir_MTG's Surviving
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric3):Vos' Beyond the Veil/Soren(Druid4):Bartjeebus' Ravenloft/Nivi(Rogue3):Raiketsu's CoS/Lyra(Warlock2/Bard2):BlameItOnWinter's Will of the Ancients
Joren(Fighter5):NotDrizzt's Simple Request/Quyen(Adept1):Constance's Nentir Vale/Rel(Warlock2):Uhtred's Phandelver/Xarian(Fighter1/Wizard1):ShieldHero's Drakkenheim
2nd try: Ability scores: 12 18 16 11 14 18
Mud(Paladin2):Frandal's Scourge/Inge(Barbarian1):Krayveneer's After the Fall/Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1):Uhtred's Windward Isles/Shin(Wizard2):Dimir_MTG's Surviving
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric3):Vos' Beyond the Veil/Soren(Druid4):Bartjeebus' Ravenloft/Nivi(Rogue3):Raiketsu's CoS/Lyra(Warlock2/Bard2):BlameItOnWinter's Will of the Ancients
Joren(Fighter5):NotDrizzt's Simple Request/Quyen(Adept1):Constance's Nentir Vale/Rel(Warlock2):Uhtred's Phandelver/Xarian(Fighter1/Wizard1):ShieldHero's Drakkenheim
Character Name: Shindo ("Shin") <-- Link to dndbeyond character sheet.
Race: Goblin
Class: Wizard / Bladesinging
Background: Custom (urchin adopted by an elven sage)
Starting Equipment: Spell book and arcane focus.
Character's Role and Personality: Eccentric and sometimes delusional wizard, yet talkative, and one who along with casting spells, once he finds or crafts a dagger or shortsword will charge into melee during battle, using a hit and run approach as he has been trained, whistling a jaunty goblin tune as he does.
Backstory: (See spoiler immediately below).
Shin was always the oddball in his goblin tribe, teased mercilessly as a child for being more focused on books (and worse, reading them) than on playing with blades and bows, eating spiders and worms, and generally grubbing around in caves. Which is why Shin could not believe his luck when he found the elven hermit in an unexplored corner of the woods. The retired Bladesinger, whose name Shin had difficulty pronouncing, had been growing restless, thinking he needed a pupil to teach just when the lost goblin stumbled upon his forest cottage.
A year's worth of training with arcane books and a shortsword later, Shin had grown restless. He had asked his mentor whether it was finally time to put his 'expertise' to practice and go out adventuring. The old elf shook his head, musing as he often did when observing Shin, on the radical impatience of the short-lived. No, not ready yet. Not by a long shot.
Yet the elven master also knew that Shin would leave anyway. He just hoped the goblin would learn his own limitations and find a way to fit in with whichever adventurers he would inevitably ended up with.
(RP sample below contains some of "the rest" of Shin's backstory).
^^^ See spoiler above for backstory. ^^^
RP Sample: (See spoiler immediately below).
"Everything comes down to proper technique, proper investigation, proper performance," Shin whispers to Pinky-toe, "Everything! Even a child's game such as this. Which I have won."
The little owl turns slowly to regard the goblin adventurer as only owls can, rolling her huge eyes extravagantly in response. Well, extravagantly for an owl, anyway. A slight circular motion of the pupils, a slow blink, then a refocusing. It is in these moments that Pinky-toe is forced to wonder how she, a noble and free fey spirit, has been chosen to be this silly wizard's familiar. Looking more than a little miffed, she begins to preen herself somewhat more aggressively than strictly necessary.
Yet Shin plows ahead undeterred as if he had not noticed, crouched in his perfect hiding spot.
"I knew when I asked them what they were doing today, and they looked at each other and drawled that they were going to play hide-and-seek, and that I should go hide - I knew! The perfect hiding spot where they would never find me. I have studied how their minds work, you see. Rogues with their 'jobs', warlocks with their strange 'patrons', fighters forever polishing their armor and blades, clerics with their faith, sorcerers with their 'aberrant' minds, and barbarians with their... well whatever it is barbarians do. And now..." Shin's whisper rises to a triumphant timbre, "... I am the winner! I win! They have not found me as I knew they wouldn't! I win the game of hide-and-seek!"
Pinky-toe's telepathic response is flat and deadpan.
No. You lose, you buffoon of a goblin. They ditched you. Your adventurer 'friends' all waited until you trekked up here into these misbegotten foothills, gave each other knowing grins, then sauntered off back to the tavern to drink and carouse while you waited cramped between these boulders for well over an hour thinking someone was looking for you. They are still there now. There was no game. Can we finally go join them, or are you going to sit here reading your spell book for another hour mumbling about investigation and technique?
Shin looks at the owl for a long moment, then stands up, the owl flapping its wings once to maintain balance on the goblin's shoulder. "I... I knew that. But I win anyway. You'll see. They might not admit it, but they kn-"
It is at this moment that the roc descends like a thunderclap from the sky and bears Shindo off above the mountains in its talons as an eagle might a disappointingly small minnow, Pinky-toe flapping as unobtrusively as she can behind, the size of a mosquito by comparison.
"Well, I guess we'll never know," shouts Shin back to his familiar, still fixated on having outsmarted his fellow adventurers as he struggles to free himself from the vast bird's grip. Which, being quite agile for a wizard, he does just in time to plummet into the rushing torrent of a mountain river, smashing his head on a rock and losing consciousness as he is swept downstream, Pinky-toe still valiantly chasing behind as the waters flow far and long, from mountain to gorge to lush, thick jungle...
When Shin finally awakes, bedraggled on the muddy banks of the tropical tributary, Pinky-toe has to admit, it's true that he'll probably never know. For the wizard barely remembers his own name and that of his familiar. Amazingly, his spell book, which he had made waterproof in another fit of self-proclaimed 'genius', and his arcane focus are all that remain of the goblin's gear and provisions. But all other memories seem to be gone from Shin's brain, and in an odd synergy, the same memories recede from Pinky-toe's mind as well as amnesia sets in. And they both freeze as they notice the giant centipede crawling above...
^^^ See spoiler immediately above for RP sample ^^^
Mud(Paladin2):Frandal's Scourge/Inge(Barbarian1):Krayveneer's After the Fall/Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1):Uhtred's Windward Isles/Shin(Wizard2):Dimir_MTG's Surviving
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric3):Vos' Beyond the Veil/Soren(Druid4):Bartjeebus' Ravenloft/Nivi(Rogue3):Raiketsu's CoS/Lyra(Warlock2/Bard2):BlameItOnWinter's Will of the Ancients
Joren(Fighter5):NotDrizzt's Simple Request/Quyen(Adept1):Constance's Nentir Vale/Rel(Warlock2):Uhtred's Phandelver/Xarian(Fighter1/Wizard1):ShieldHero's Drakkenheim
Name: Gregory burning
Race: fire genasi
Class + sub: sorcerer draconic bloodline
Ability score: point buy
Background: gladiator
Backstory: born under the arena I was not like my brothers. My parents mistook me for a teifling and thus were tough on me. Never strong or tough I was half beat to death by them. My love of fire never helped, one day they caught me running my hands through the fireplace they called me a spawn of the devil and threw me into the arena. I barely survived by the skin of my teeth. After that I was sent into the arena to face ferocious beasts and evil men. One particularly hard fight I was overtaken by this rage inside and fire blasted from my hands, I burnt alive the man in front of me and sent the others fleeing. This seemed to be in my favor, for afterward people wanted me to work for them. But after a while of fighting I found my life to have no meaning. And then my best friend died in the arena. I finally snapped, after that fight I killed my employer and took some items to leave, finding an orange wizards Cloak and hat I took them and left.
RP: the man in an orange Cloak and orange large brimmed hat stands at the bar arguing with the bartender about drinks being overpriced. The argument is getting heated when finally the mam lights a fire in his hand threatening to burn the tavern down if he doesnt lower the prices. The bartender calls the guard and has the man thrown out. Then yells at the doors as they are shut in his face. He stands there for a moment and hears a small voice below him. Seeing a young child asking for coin, his heart is broken and he gives the boy a few gold coins and asking if he needs anything else.
What I want to be: maybe a sorta gunner/support, I want to be the intimidater of the party and the person who helps the weak. I do not want to be the face at all.
You better watch out you better not cry you better not pout I'm telling you why. Murderers are coming to town.
Character sheet
https://www.dndbeyond.com/characters/118093173
You better watch out you better not cry you better not pout I'm telling you why. Murderers are coming to town.
I would love to play. I just can't get into discord at all. So if you do want me I was wondering how I could play without discord. If that's possible I want to join. If not sorry for the giant amount of text I just shoved into your thing.
You better watch out you better not cry you better not pout I'm telling you why. Murderers are coming to town.
Ability scores: 13 16 18 11 11 15
And 2nd attempt?
Ability scores: 11 12 9 13 15 10