In the rolling fields outside his family's manor, as a child he would find joy in the company of a single friend. She was bold where he was cautious, a rush of wind to his measured step. In her hands she would weave strands of magic into playful illusions, sparks trailing from her fingertips. "Keep it a secret," She'd whisper. "They won't understand."
"I'll protect you!" He'd promise.
When the Sentinels came for her, he was not strong enough to keep them from tearing her from his arms. "Her kind is a danger to us all," one had said.
When he pleaded with his family, with the Dravican courts, with any who might listen, he was given cold refusal. "Let it go Dante, this is the way things are," his father had said.
When he arrived at the prison's gates with a stolen blade in his hand and rage in his heart, he was beaten and thrown into a stockade. "You lack the strength. Go home little noble, you're not meant for this," the guard had sneered.
When he returned to his family's estate for the last time and stood before the ancient crest that marked his family name and lineage, he felt disgust. This was a name tied to complacency, to weakness. This was a name that had done nothing for Cassandra. With the edge of knife, he carved his name free from the crest. "I am just Dante," he had said to no one. "Not of this place. Not of them."
The journey was long, marked by hardship and defeat. He sought audience with the one power he knew of that could match the strength of the Sentinels. He sought the power of the Celestial Paragons. His quest carried him to a distant mountain range, to the foot of Mount Mylaris, its peak towering so high above that it disappeared into the clouds.
Each time he failed to reach the peak, each time he tumbled down the mountainside, he picked himself up once more and began the climb again. It was as he crawled up the side of that mountain, cold gripping his body and exhaustion threatening to end his journey that he first saw it -- a dim star winking into existence in the night sky. "You seek strength," it said, its voice both distant and close. "Not for power, but for a promise."
Dante could not speak, but his heart answered.
"I am not one of the Paragons you seek, but within you is the ideal I would embody. Take this gift and rise once more."
The man who descended the mountain was not the same boy who had first challenged its slopes. His steps were surer, his blade lighter in his hand. The Celestial had not given him mastery, nor the strength to single-handedly topple Dravica's draconian regime. What it had given him was something far greater: faith that he was on the right path. He returns to Dravica amidst the chaos of the mage rebellion in search of Cassandra, carrying the fire of his Celestial patron within. He no longer bears the name of his family, but instead the name of the journey that has forged him: Dante of Mylaris.
Well according to Uncle Erwin, Owyn was born in some flea infested hostel. With his parents being a degenerate gambler of a father and a gullible mother who was left with a mountain of debt. Then being weak willed his mother left the liability and burden of a babe at poor Uncle Erwin's doorstep. Owyn has heard this story so many times and each time it changes in various ways. Nowadays Owyn takes that story with a grain of salt. From a young lad Owyn did the cooking and cleaning. Which meant climbing into the attic and dusting the odd and ends. There he discovered his mother's journal and how she was scared of her powers. Being in Dravica he knew what that meant. She may be dead, imprisoned, or waging war. He wanted to go find her but knew not where to look. Such thought would be dashed for a time as his uncle was embroiled in some feud. After a couple of close calls his uncle had a spark of an idea that it would be cheaper to train up Owyn to be his bodyguard. His uncle hired a half-starved man to teach him, and Owyn would sigh in resignation but that half-starved man turned out of be a skilled monk with bad luck.
Master Ambris taught Owyn with savage efficiency as his meal ticket depended on it. Owyn had enough of this cuckoo's nest. He left with his mother's journal and traveled with caravans for a time. He searched for any information but found none. Travelling aimlessly in search of his mother was a bad plan. He needed help which meant he needed influence of some kind. Well, that influence would be the Sentinels. Now he is no Sentinel as he has a grander auxiliary position of Sentinel cook. He traveled to the summit as one of the cooks and was saved from death as he was further back from the explosion. In the chaos he hopes he can speak to any of the surviving arcane casters to see if they know of his mother.
Backstory: The forest had always been Silas's sanctuary. Raised on the edge of the whispering pines, he learned to track animals before he could walk and identify every bird call by the time he was five. He joined the ranger corps at eighteen, eager to protect the wilderness that had shaped him. Now, years later, Silas patrols his beloved woods, a watchful guardian against poachers and the encroaching blight of civilization.
Oh, wow. This is really impressive! I'd be super interested in joining here; let me come up with some character concepts real quick. probably a rogue. (the rogue's parents are probably going to disappear).
Rogue Soulknife Tabaxi if that wasn't already clear by the below.
Tilvus was never really accepted by the majority of the world. A tabaxi with bursting fascination and curiosity, and little regard for personal safety. Though Tilvus was born and raised in Dravica, he viewed magic as a curiosity, something interesting to learn about or study, not a danger to society. He would constantly be asking questions, and constantly investigate anything that seemed remotely magical. Charismatic, charming, and fun to be around, he inspired a large following. Upon sighting anything that appeared remotely magical, he would ask questions in awe and lead his friends on "investigations" regarding the magic. Naturally, this did not go over well with the Sentinels. Tilvus' parents were blamed for numerous infractions, after some of his friends had reported him to the Sentinels. One day, on a shopping trip, they simply disappeared. Tilvus cried for long hours, awaiting the return of his parents... but they never came back. Tilvus also began noticing armored Sentinels, attempting to remain unnoticed, stalking him wherever he went.
Thus began a new chapter in his life. With nobody to hold the property that Tilvus once called home, the land was retaken by the government and given to another. He had to rely on the kindness of others to survive. On the streets, Tilvus learned quickly. The criminal activities Tilvus came naturally to him, as a quick and charming tabaxi. He had to do anything he could to live. stealing, swindling--even killing, at times. He survived as such for many long years, barely scraping by, keeping his curiosity in check--he had no wish to end up the same way as his parents. However, soon, his curious nature got the better of him, as one day, he found some ancient ruins. He spent long hours, sitting in the shadows, debating on whether or not to inspect the structure before him. He knew that he shouldn't; he knew that he might get caught... but he gave in. He pulled his long hood over his head, and slid towards the ruins like a dark shadow in the middle of the night.
The stone structure was half buried within the ground, and runes coated individual stones. Tilvus was curious, but not stupid, deciding that although it would be really interesting to step on one, that probably wasn't the greatest idea. TIlvus crept through the structure, fascinated by everything he saw. Once graceful and sweeping arches, destroyed amongst the wreckage. Eventually in his wandering, Tilvus came across a door marked with a strange symbol that he did not know (nat 1 arcana check lol). It seemed like an eye, but distorted in a strange fashion. The door was locked, but that was no problem. Tilvus whipped out his tools and began working. The lock was extremely difficult to open; that was probably something magical, but eventually, Tilvus made it in. As he opened the door, he was completely awed by what he saw.
A vast hall, much larger than it appeared on the outside, stood before him (pocket dimension I guess). The destruction and wreckage of the outer part of the ruins did not spread to this part of the structure, it seemed, as it was in perfect and pristine condition. Along the sides of the hall, were gems of pure white, illuminating the hall, clasped upon stands of pure gold. Tilvus gasped in shock as the perfection of this place washed over him, and started walking towards a stone, almost as if he were in a trance (hint hint he was). He gazed at the gem for a moment, reached out his hands, and picked it up. Immediately, his mind seared with pain. So... much... pain. Everything hurt, the world was pain, he knew nothing else. And yet he remained conscious. Fighting a mental battle with whatever was within, he exerted himself like he had never before. Eventually, just as he was beginning to flag, the attack subsided, and Tilvus collapsed.
Tilvus woke to the sound of cries of pain and explosions. For a moment, he forgot who he was, where he was, and what had happened. As he opened his eyes, he remembered, but something was off. As he got up and pulled his cowl over his head, three armed Sentinels burst into the hall, and cowered in fear at the sight before them. In hindsight, Tilvus decided, it probably did seem frightening to them. A figure cloaked in black, a dagger at his side, standing within a vast hall filled with what they hated most: magic. In the moment, however, he had no time to think such thoughts. The Sentinels closed in, as more entered the hall. They moved to encircle him, to trap him... but something seemed off. All of the guards had a strange sheen around them, a red aura that surrounded the group. However, Tilvus could not ponder such thoughts. He bolted for the door, only for a Sentinel to slam it shut before Tilvus could escape. Tilvus pushed and pushed against the door, as Sentinels approached, desperately trying to open the door. White-blue light crept over his body, and threw the door open. Surprised, Tilvus looked for the source of this light, and found... it was him.
Thus, Tilvus slipped away and hid within the big city. In a day, this strange magic-user, cloaked in black, was wanted throughout Dravica--but he existed no longer. Now, there was only a tabaxi, with a mind that he himself could barely begin to understand. Tilvus spend the next few months the way he normally would. Swindling, stealing, the usual--but he found that the usual thrill of a successful swindle, or the satisfaction of a flawless pickpocket, was gone. He would spend long hours pondering his mind and the events within the structure, and eventually pieced together what had happened. And so, he continued his life, saving up gold, though he did not know why exactly. Eventually, he decided that he would discover the truth. Still curious, even now, he decided to pack his bags and leave. He purchased some clothes and leather armor for the journey, in addition to some useful equipment he would use, and set out to learn everything and anything he could.
Uhh backstory doesn't specify this but I'm too lazy to change (go figure); the "cries of pain and explosions" referenced are guards tripping magical fireball traps.
Updated the Q/A post with an answer to 2014's question...
I've decided to go ahead and let this thread stay open for a few more days. Hard cut-off is now 6PM CST on December 26th. After that, I'll make decisions on the party. To be clear, I haven't made any selections yet. I'm waiting until all possible applications are in.
I don't get it? I went to QUOTE the post, and the system locked on me. How did that force a reroll and the manipulation warning? No way I would have wanted to reroll the original set (11, 12, 15, 15, 15, 17!)
Must be a sign from the dice gods . . .. I missed the initial open period completely. Yes, the avatar is an image of me, which probably explains HOW I missed the initial period.
I don't get it? I went to QUOTE the post, and the system locked on me. How did that force a reroll and the manipulation warning? No way I would have wanted to reroll the original set (11, 12, 15, 15, 15, 17!)
Must be a sign from the dice gods . . .. I missed the initial open period completely. Yes, the avatar is an image of me, which probably explains HOW I missed the initial period.
I hope you enjoy the game!
As far as I can tell you have until the day after you deliver joy to all the boys and girls that have made good choices this year.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Sooner or later, your Players are going to smash your railroad into a sandbox."
-Vedexent
"real life is a super high CR."
-OboeLauren
"............anybody got any potatoes? We could drop a potato in each hole an' see which ones get viciously mauled by horrible monsters?"
Roland is Lorian, living his entire life amongst the elves and the others species that call Loria home. He was a trusted adviser of Prince Raska the Third, known more commonly as the Archer, for his skill with all bows. Roland was accompanying the Prince to Temple of the Fallen Star, as both an advisor and personal guard. The Prince hoped to further relationships with the inhabitants of Loria and the rest of Teryn.
Now Roland finds himself alone, the Prince gone in an instant when both the skies and ground opened up and let loose their destruction, unsure of his next steps. Returning to Loria alone and with no answers as to what caused the destruction and death of their beloved Prince, isn't an option. Perhaps he can find a way to finish the Prince's task of finding a way to unify Loria with the mainland folk. But first, he must find a way to survive in this new land with their strange views on magic.
This sounds awesome! Placeholder for now as I roll ability scores.
Ability scores: 161115141513
Lets hope the dice gods look upon me favorably today!
Okay, here goes nothing. After a lot of thinking and writing, this is what I came up with. I put it in a spoiler since it is pretty dark. Of course, if any other players have problems with some of the themes within the story, I will strictly not bring those themes up. Ever. Playing a tragic character can be fun, but I would never do it at the expense of another player. Hopefully you don't think I'm some brooding, edge-lord, problem player after this. I swear I'm not. Welp, here goes nothing:
Cassandra Dalanthan, Elven Mage
Memories flashed through her mind. Visions of past events. The many times her life was changed. The many times her life was destroyed. The many times her life was rebuilt. Her story was not one that was easy to hear. It was a brutal tale, fitting for her place in the world. A brutal past for a brutalized person of a brutalized people. She tried to keep it hidden, but it bubbled up inside of her, tears springing to her eyes. Her past was what made her so broken, and it forged her into a new semblance of whole. There were things she would never regain, and she sees the story of how she lost them:
First, a calm. A cold. Eyes fluttering in the winter. The youth of a child, crying out for the warmth of a mother that wasn't there. Then, miraculously, that warmth. Heat. Love. The feel of being held in her father's strong arms. The feeling of feeding at her mother's soft breast. Even when she cried, their songs lulled her to a peaceful sleep. Eventually, she becomes aware that she is different, that some don't like her simply because of who she is and what she could do. But not her parents. Her parents love her. They encourage her to grow and become strong. Independent. Compassionate. Compassion was especially important.
Then, a different kind of warmth. A blaze. Fire. Smoke choking her lungs. Light filling her vision. Running, running away from ruin. Watching as everything she loved goes up in flames. Hearing the dying screams of her parents. Tears running down a face covered in soot. Trying desperately to save them, but to no avail. The flames burning her, hurting her. Pain. She flees, into the dark, away from all she's known.
Lost. Alone. Sad. Despair. She feels a whirl of emotions as she runs on, not sure where she is going. Finally, exhausted, she stumbles upon her salvation. A door, set into a hill. Meekly, she knocks, crawling on her hands and knees. The sound of soft footsteps, the door opens, and she looks up. A kind, wizened face, shimmering eyes. Pointed ears, just like her! A comforting word, a soft blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Safety. Her hunger gone, as she eats and drinks, full and content for the first time in days
Growing. Learning. Lessons she is taught by her new parent. Never given a name, simply: Mentor. She asks if Mentor is her mother or dad. Mentor replies neither, then continues with their day. Confusion. Curiosity. Blossoming into learning. Shaping her talents, letting them truly out for the first time in her life. Then, the truth. Of why the fire happened. Of why her parents died. Explanations of how the world is. Anger, then tempered into passion. Drive. Working harder than ever to be ready to make a difference. Finally, her initiation day. Pride as she is awarded that pendant. Journeying out into the world, a force for good. Traveling, collecting secrets. Freeing the oppressed. Being lauded as a hero. It felt good.
Then, manacles roughly clamping over wrists, hands grabbing her, taking her to a dark room. Pain. Immense pain. She tried not to break, but she wasn’t strong enough. “Stop!” She cries “I’ll tell you!” immense shame as she is locked in a grimy cell. She doesn’t see the light of the sun for days. Until the door opens, and a figure steps in. He is ugly and horrible. He looks her up and down, appraises her every feature. Evaluates her magic. “She will more than satisfy my needs” He says to the guard. I’ll take her”
Sold. As if she was cattle. The man takes her to his laboratory. He is experimenting with arcane magic, to turn it against the rebellion. And she would be his test subject. She shudders. But for now he leaves her alone. Then, one day, the door opens and he walks inside. “Come” He orders, and marches to the top of his tower. The laboratory. It is filled with all sorts of things. He makes her strip, then lay down on a table, strapping her to it. Fear. Fear in her eyes, in her breath, in her soul. He starts, as mechanical components wield surgical implements. The pain is immense, and she eventually passes out. He is not looking for information this time. He wants to invade. To violate. To push boundaries that shouldn’t be pushed.
When she awakens, she is back on the table. “Very good” he says, and she sees that her chest now glows. Her veins are no longer filled with the blood of life, but pure energy. Magic. She is no longer pure and normal, she is an abomination. The wonderful magic she once used for good twisted for His evil gain. But there is no escape. She is changed and twisted. Violated and invaded. It doesn’t stop with that. It continues. The experiments. The poking. The prodding. Wherever someone visits, she puts on a polite face, but she cries in her room for hours. At night, He comes and uses her, and she cries once more. Her life is pain.
Until one day, she has enough. When he tries to use her again, she lashes out. Striking him dead. She escapes. She is free. But she still has work to do. She tracks down her old comrades, but they reject her. They tell her that her betrayal led to the death of her friends. She is a traitor, and she is outcast. She wanders for days, aimless, until she finds herself back in the forest of her youth. She finds her old house, her parent. She cries and cries, and tells her parent of all that has happened. The parent comforts her, then tells her that even though she does not work for the cause anymore, she can still be a beacon. She can still fight for justice and liberty. She can still be a hero.
So, she journeys out, looking for a way to regain her honor. Looking for a way to make a difference again. Looking for a way to prevent the injustices committed against her to be repeated. She was not on a mission for vengeance, no. She was on a mission of justice. Her personal vendettas didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she made sure what happened to her never happened again. She would fight for good, for what her parents died for. For what her parents taught her. So, she now travels the road, from town to town, doing good and helping those oppressed. She doesn’t need the glory. She needs the peace of mind that what she’s accomplished is more for good than bad. More for the life of her people than the death of her friends. More for justice. More for hope.
Side note: I just listened to the Ithaca saga from EPIC: the musical, so if this seems a tad too brooding and fanciful, that's why. In reality, it's probably not gonna be this....extra in gameplay. I just felt inspired to make something epic. So yeah...
Also, if this too dark, I'd be glad to change something else if this isn't the tone of game you're looking for. I like 'fun' characters, I just play a lot of them at the moment (Idiot barbarian, elemental crime boss, ETC), I won't bring up all these dark elements in game often, to avoid being annoying, and Aurora is definitely not an edge-lord, but she does have a less than pleasant past.
Thanks for the opportunity to apply for this! Super excited to see who gets in!
"I have reached my limit a thousand times -- and still, I press further."
════════════════════════════════════✸ ✷ ✶ ✵════════════════════════════════════
It feels like a lifetime ago...
In the rolling fields outside his family's manor, as a child he would find joy in the company of a single friend. She was bold where he was cautious, a rush of wind to his measured step. In her hands she would weave strands of magic into playful illusions, sparks trailing from her fingertips. "Keep it a secret," She'd whisper. "They won't understand."
"I'll protect you!" He'd promise.
When the Sentinels came for her, he was not strong enough to keep them from tearing her from his arms. "Her kind is a danger to us all," one had said.
When he pleaded with his family, with the Dravican courts, with any who might listen, he was given cold refusal. "Let it go Dante, this is the way things are," his father had said.
When he arrived at the prison's gates with a stolen blade in his hand and rage in his heart, he was beaten and thrown into a stockade. "You lack the strength. Go home little noble, you're not meant for this," the guard had sneered.
When he returned to his family's estate for the last time and stood before the ancient crest that marked his family name and lineage, he felt disgust. This was a name tied to complacency, to weakness. This was a name that had done nothing for Cassandra. With the edge of knife, he carved his name free from the crest. "I am just Dante," he had said to no one. "Not of this place. Not of them."
The journey was long, marked by hardship and defeat. He sought audience with the one power he knew of that could match the strength of the Sentinels. He sought the power of the Celestial Paragons. His quest carried him to a distant mountain range, to the foot of Mount Mylaris, its peak towering so high above that it disappeared into the clouds.
Each time he failed to reach the peak, each time he tumbled down the mountainside, he picked himself up once more and began the climb again. It was as he crawled up the side of that mountain, cold gripping his body and exhaustion threatening to end his journey that he first saw it -- a dim star winking into existence in the night sky. "You seek strength," it said, its voice both distant and close. "Not for power, but for a promise."
Dante could not speak, but his heart answered.
"I am not one of the Paragons you seek, but within you is the ideal I would embody. Take this gift and rise once more."
The man who descended the mountain was not the same boy who had first challenged its slopes. His steps were surer, his blade lighter in his hand. The Celestial had not given him mastery, nor the strength to single-handedly topple Dravica's draconian regime. What it had given him was something far greater: faith that he was on the right path. He returns to Dravica amidst the chaos of the mage rebellion in search of Cassandra, carrying the fire of his Celestial patron within. He no longer bears the name of his family, but instead the name of the journey that has forged him: Dante of Mylaris.
Class: Paladin (1) / Celestial Warlock (X)
Background: Noble
Species: Human
Thanks for the lore ~
Derpwerping, I’d just like to say I absolutely love that backstory! (The post also looks very nice)
Abilities:
16 14 11 13 15 12
Ability scores: 10 17 14 11 11 12
Many good characters so far! I'll leave this thread open at least through tomorrow.
Name: Owyn Yulson
Race: Human
Class: Monk/Way of Shadows
Background: Wayfarer
Backstory:
Well according to Uncle Erwin, Owyn was born in some flea infested hostel. With his parents being a degenerate gambler of a father and a gullible mother who was left with a mountain of debt. Then being weak willed his mother left the liability and burden of a babe at poor Uncle Erwin's doorstep. Owyn has heard this story so many times and each time it changes in various ways. Nowadays Owyn takes that story with a grain of salt. From a young lad Owyn did the cooking and cleaning. Which meant climbing into the attic and dusting the odd and ends. There he discovered his mother's journal and how she was scared of her powers. Being in Dravica he knew what that meant. She may be dead, imprisoned, or waging war. He wanted to go find her but knew not where to look. Such thought would be dashed for a time as his uncle was embroiled in some feud. After a couple of close calls his uncle had a spark of an idea that it would be cheaper to train up Owyn to be his bodyguard. His uncle hired a half-starved man to teach him, and Owyn would sigh in resignation but that half-starved man turned out of be a skilled monk with bad luck.
Master Ambris taught Owyn with savage efficiency as his meal ticket depended on it. Owyn had enough of this cuckoo's nest. He left with his mother's journal and traveled with caravans for a time. He searched for any information but found none. Travelling aimlessly in search of his mother was a bad plan. He needed help which meant he needed influence of some kind. Well, that influence would be the Sentinels. Now he is no Sentinel as he has a grander auxiliary position of Sentinel cook. He traveled to the summit as one of the cooks and was saved from death as he was further back from the explosion. In the chaos he hopes he can speak to any of the surviving arcane casters to see if they know of his mother.
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Ability scores: 15 10 14 15 8 13
"Sooner or later, your Players are going to smash your railroad into a sandbox."
-Vedexent
"real life is a super high CR."
-OboeLauren
"............anybody got any potatoes? We could drop a potato in each hole an' see which ones get viciously mauled by horrible monsters?"
-Ilyara Thundertale
Name: Silas
Race: Thri-Kreen
Class: Ranger/Rogue
Backstory: The forest had always been Silas's sanctuary. Raised on the edge of the whispering pines, he learned to track animals before he could walk and identify every bird call by the time he was five. He joined the ranger corps at eighteen, eager to protect the wilderness that had shaped him. Now, years later, Silas patrols his beloved woods, a watchful guardian against poachers and the encroaching blight of civilization.
https://www.dndbeyond.com/characters/138610326/fQ2KWp
"Sooner or later, your Players are going to smash your railroad into a sandbox."
-Vedexent
"real life is a super high CR."
-OboeLauren
"............anybody got any potatoes? We could drop a potato in each hole an' see which ones get viciously mauled by horrible monsters?"
-Ilyara Thundertale
Oh, wow. This is really impressive! I'd be super interested in joining here; let me come up with some character concepts real quick. probably a rogue. (the rogue's parents are probably going to disappear).
Rogue Soulknife Tabaxi if that wasn't already clear by the below.
Tilvus was never really accepted by the majority of the world. A tabaxi with bursting fascination and curiosity, and little regard for personal safety. Though Tilvus was born and raised in Dravica, he viewed magic as a curiosity, something interesting to learn about or study, not a danger to society. He would constantly be asking questions, and constantly investigate anything that seemed remotely magical. Charismatic, charming, and fun to be around, he inspired a large following. Upon sighting anything that appeared remotely magical, he would ask questions in awe and lead his friends on "investigations" regarding the magic. Naturally, this did not go over well with the Sentinels. Tilvus' parents were blamed for numerous infractions, after some of his friends had reported him to the Sentinels. One day, on a shopping trip, they simply disappeared. Tilvus cried for long hours, awaiting the return of his parents... but they never came back. Tilvus also began noticing armored Sentinels, attempting to remain unnoticed, stalking him wherever he went.
Thus began a new chapter in his life. With nobody to hold the property that Tilvus once called home, the land was retaken by the government and given to another. He had to rely on the kindness of others to survive. On the streets, Tilvus learned quickly. The criminal activities Tilvus came naturally to him, as a quick and charming tabaxi. He had to do anything he could to live. stealing, swindling--even killing, at times. He survived as such for many long years, barely scraping by, keeping his curiosity in check--he had no wish to end up the same way as his parents. However, soon, his curious nature got the better of him, as one day, he found some ancient ruins. He spent long hours, sitting in the shadows, debating on whether or not to inspect the structure before him. He knew that he shouldn't; he knew that he might get caught... but he gave in. He pulled his long hood over his head, and slid towards the ruins like a dark shadow in the middle of the night.
The stone structure was half buried within the ground, and runes coated individual stones. Tilvus was curious, but not stupid, deciding that although it would be really interesting to step on one, that probably wasn't the greatest idea. TIlvus crept through the structure, fascinated by everything he saw. Once graceful and sweeping arches, destroyed amongst the wreckage. Eventually in his wandering, Tilvus came across a door marked with a strange symbol that he did not know (nat 1 arcana check lol). It seemed like an eye, but distorted in a strange fashion. The door was locked, but that was no problem. Tilvus whipped out his tools and began working. The lock was extremely difficult to open; that was probably something magical, but eventually, Tilvus made it in. As he opened the door, he was completely awed by what he saw.
A vast hall, much larger than it appeared on the outside, stood before him (pocket dimension I guess). The destruction and wreckage of the outer part of the ruins did not spread to this part of the structure, it seemed, as it was in perfect and pristine condition. Along the sides of the hall, were gems of pure white, illuminating the hall, clasped upon stands of pure gold. Tilvus gasped in shock as the perfection of this place washed over him, and started walking towards a stone, almost as if he were in a trance (hint hint he was). He gazed at the gem for a moment, reached out his hands, and picked it up. Immediately, his mind seared with pain. So... much... pain. Everything hurt, the world was pain, he knew nothing else. And yet he remained conscious. Fighting a mental battle with whatever was within, he exerted himself like he had never before. Eventually, just as he was beginning to flag, the attack subsided, and Tilvus collapsed.
Tilvus woke to the sound of cries of pain and explosions. For a moment, he forgot who he was, where he was, and what had happened. As he opened his eyes, he remembered, but something was off. As he got up and pulled his cowl over his head, three armed Sentinels burst into the hall, and cowered in fear at the sight before them. In hindsight, Tilvus decided, it probably did seem frightening to them. A figure cloaked in black, a dagger at his side, standing within a vast hall filled with what they hated most: magic. In the moment, however, he had no time to think such thoughts. The Sentinels closed in, as more entered the hall. They moved to encircle him, to trap him... but something seemed off. All of the guards had a strange sheen around them, a red aura that surrounded the group. However, Tilvus could not ponder such thoughts. He bolted for the door, only for a Sentinel to slam it shut before Tilvus could escape. Tilvus pushed and pushed against the door, as Sentinels approached, desperately trying to open the door. White-blue light crept over his body, and threw the door open. Surprised, Tilvus looked for the source of this light, and found... it was him.
Thus, Tilvus slipped away and hid within the big city. In a day, this strange magic-user, cloaked in black, was wanted throughout Dravica--but he existed no longer. Now, there was only a tabaxi, with a mind that he himself could barely begin to understand. Tilvus spend the next few months the way he normally would. Swindling, stealing, the usual--but he found that the usual thrill of a successful swindle, or the satisfaction of a flawless pickpocket, was gone. He would spend long hours pondering his mind and the events within the structure, and eventually pieced together what had happened. And so, he continued his life, saving up gold, though he did not know why exactly. Eventually, he decided that he would discover the truth. Still curious, even now, he decided to pack his bags and leave. He purchased some clothes and leather armor for the journey, in addition to some useful equipment he would use, and set out to learn everything and anything he could.
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anyways just read the questions post.
my character probably wuoldn't aspire to do this, but do you think it would be possible for a player character to become a paragon?
wait maybe my character could do this
something like the paragon of curiosity
the thrill of discovery... purity of the truth... trickery knowledge domains... that actually seems kind of okay
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Uhh backstory doesn't specify this but I'm too lazy to change (go figure); the "cries of pain and explosions" referenced are guards tripping magical fireball traps.
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Ability scores: 17 15 18 14 10 17
let's see what we get
Ability scores: 7 10 15 16 6 17
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Updated the Q/A post with an answer to 2014's question...
I've decided to go ahead and let this thread stay open for a few more days. Hard cut-off is now 6PM CST on December 26th. After that, I'll make decisions on the party. To be clear, I haven't made any selections yet. I'm waiting until all possible applications are in.
Wow! Thorough prep. Very nice. Obviously interested, but I won't have much time for a couple of days. I think that's generally expected right now.
Let us see what the dice gods have to say:
Ability scores: 14 11 15 18 10 14
I don't get it? I went to QUOTE the post, and the system locked on me. How did that force a reroll and the manipulation warning? No way I would have wanted to reroll the original set (11, 12, 15, 15, 15, 17!)
Must be a sign from the dice gods . . .. I missed the initial open period completely. Yes, the avatar is an image of me, which probably explains HOW I missed the initial period.
I hope you enjoy the game!
As far as I can tell you have until the day after you deliver joy to all the boys and girls that have made good choices this year.
"Sooner or later, your Players are going to smash your railroad into a sandbox."
-Vedexent
"real life is a super high CR."
-OboeLauren
"............anybody got any potatoes? We could drop a potato in each hole an' see which ones get viciously mauled by horrible monsters?"
-Ilyara Thundertale
Roland the Wild
Human male, Wayfarer background
Druid, Circle of the Land
https://www.dndbeyond.com/characters/138623988
Background:
Roland is Lorian, living his entire life amongst the elves and the others species that call Loria home. He was a trusted adviser of Prince Raska the Third, known more commonly as the Archer, for his skill with all bows. Roland was accompanying the Prince to Temple of the Fallen Star, as both an advisor and personal guard. The Prince hoped to further relationships with the inhabitants of Loria and the rest of Teryn.
Now Roland finds himself alone, the Prince gone in an instant when both the skies and ground opened up and let loose their destruction, unsure of his next steps. Returning to Loria alone and with no answers as to what caused the destruction and death of their beloved Prince, isn't an option. Perhaps he can find a way to finish the Prince's task of finding a way to unify Loria with the mainland folk. But first, he must find a way to survive in this new land with their strange views on magic.
Okay, here goes nothing. After a lot of thinking and writing, this is what I came up with. I put it in a spoiler since it is pretty dark. Of course, if any other players have problems with some of the themes within the story, I will strictly not bring those themes up. Ever. Playing a tragic character can be fun, but I would never do it at the expense of another player. Hopefully you don't think I'm some brooding, edge-lord, problem player after this. I swear I'm not. Welp, here goes nothing:
Cassandra Dalanthan, Elven Mage
Memories flashed through her mind. Visions of past events. The many times her life was changed. The many times her life was destroyed. The many times her life was rebuilt. Her story was not one that was easy to hear. It was a brutal tale, fitting for her place in the world. A brutal past for a brutalized person of a brutalized people. She tried to keep it hidden, but it bubbled up inside of her, tears springing to her eyes. Her past was what made her so broken, and it forged her into a new semblance of whole. There were things she would never regain, and she sees the story of how she lost them:
First, a calm. A cold. Eyes fluttering in the winter. The youth of a child, crying out for the warmth of a mother that wasn't there. Then, miraculously, that warmth. Heat. Love. The feel of being held in her father's strong arms. The feeling of feeding at her mother's soft breast. Even when she cried, their songs lulled her to a peaceful sleep. Eventually, she becomes aware that she is different, that some don't like her simply because of who she is and what she could do. But not her parents. Her parents love her. They encourage her to grow and become strong. Independent. Compassionate. Compassion was especially important.
Then, a different kind of warmth. A blaze. Fire. Smoke choking her lungs. Light filling her vision. Running, running away from ruin. Watching as everything she loved goes up in flames. Hearing the dying screams of her parents. Tears running down a face covered in soot. Trying desperately to save them, but to no avail. The flames burning her, hurting her. Pain. She flees, into the dark, away from all she's known.
Lost. Alone. Sad. Despair. She feels a whirl of emotions as she runs on, not sure where she is going. Finally, exhausted, she stumbles upon her salvation. A door, set into a hill. Meekly, she knocks, crawling on her hands and knees. The sound of soft footsteps, the door opens, and she looks up. A kind, wizened face, shimmering eyes. Pointed ears, just like her! A comforting word, a soft blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Safety. Her hunger gone, as she eats and drinks, full and content for the first time in days
Growing. Learning. Lessons she is taught by her new parent. Never given a name, simply: Mentor. She asks if Mentor is her mother or dad. Mentor replies neither, then continues with their day. Confusion. Curiosity. Blossoming into learning. Shaping her talents, letting them truly out for the first time in her life. Then, the truth. Of why the fire happened. Of why her parents died. Explanations of how the world is. Anger, then tempered into passion. Drive. Working harder than ever to be ready to make a difference. Finally, her initiation day. Pride as she is awarded that pendant. Journeying out into the world, a force for good. Traveling, collecting secrets. Freeing the oppressed. Being lauded as a hero. It felt good.
Then, manacles roughly clamping over wrists, hands grabbing her, taking her to a dark room. Pain. Immense pain. She tried not to break, but she wasn’t strong enough. “Stop!” She cries “I’ll tell you!” immense shame as she is locked in a grimy cell. She doesn’t see the light of the sun for days. Until the door opens, and a figure steps in. He is ugly and horrible. He looks her up and down, appraises her every feature. Evaluates her magic. “She will more than satisfy my needs” He says to the guard.
I’ll take her”
Sold. As if she was cattle. The man takes her to his laboratory. He is experimenting with arcane magic, to turn it against the rebellion. And she would be his test subject. She shudders. But for now he leaves her alone. Then, one day, the door opens and he walks inside. “Come” He orders, and marches to the top of his tower. The laboratory. It is filled with all sorts of things. He makes her strip, then lay down on a table, strapping her to it. Fear. Fear in her eyes, in her breath, in her soul. He starts, as mechanical components wield surgical implements. The pain is immense, and she eventually passes out. He is not looking for information this time. He wants to invade. To violate. To push boundaries that shouldn’t be pushed.
When she awakens, she is back on the table. “Very good” he says, and she sees that her chest now glows. Her veins are no longer filled with the blood of life, but pure energy. Magic. She is no longer pure and normal, she is an abomination. The wonderful magic she once used for good twisted for His evil gain. But there is no escape. She is changed and twisted. Violated and invaded. It doesn’t stop with that. It continues. The experiments. The poking. The prodding. Wherever someone visits, she puts on a polite face, but she cries in her room for hours. At night, He comes and uses her, and she cries once more. Her life is pain.
Until one day, she has enough. When he tries to use her again, she lashes out. Striking him dead. She escapes. She is free. But she still has work to do. She tracks down her old comrades, but they reject her. They tell her that her betrayal led to the death of her friends. She is a traitor, and she is outcast. She wanders for days, aimless, until she finds herself back in the forest of her youth. She finds her old house, her parent. She cries and cries, and tells her parent of all that has happened. The parent comforts her, then tells her that even though she does not work for the cause anymore, she can still be a beacon. She can still fight for justice and liberty. She can still be a hero.
So, she journeys out, looking for a way to regain her honor. Looking for a way to make a difference again. Looking for a way to prevent the injustices committed against her to be repeated. She was not on a mission for vengeance, no. She was on a mission of justice. Her personal vendettas didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she made sure what happened to her never happened again. She would fight for good, for what her parents died for. For what her parents taught her. So, she now travels the road, from town to town, doing good and helping those oppressed. She doesn’t need the glory. She needs the peace of mind that what she’s accomplished is more for good than bad. More for the life of her people than the death of her friends. More for justice. More for hope.
Side note: I just listened to the Ithaca saga from EPIC: the musical, so if this seems a tad too brooding and fanciful, that's why. In reality, it's probably not gonna be this....extra in gameplay. I just felt inspired to make something epic. So yeah...
Also, if this too dark, I'd be glad to change something else if this isn't the tone of game you're looking for. I like 'fun' characters, I just play a lot of them at the moment (Idiot barbarian, elemental crime boss, ETC), I won't bring up all these dark elements in game often, to avoid being annoying, and Aurora is definitely not an edge-lord, but she does have a less than pleasant past.
Thanks for the opportunity to apply for this! Super excited to see who gets in!
~Raccoon_Master
Hi, I'm Raccoon_Master, a young genderfluid actor, writer, explorer, and bass vocalist. Pronouns They/Them/Theirs
My Characters: Brormin the Devout Crusher; Morgrom the Cunning Summoner; Thea the Rebellious Beauty;
Check out my EXTENDED SIGNATUR and don’t forget to join the Anything but the OGL 2.0 Thread!
"I don't make sense to you, and I don't make sense to myself. Maybe the only one I make sense to is God" ~ Me, trying to sound smart
~ Players chosen and messaged thank you everyone for your interest ~