Hey, im interested but it looks like you forgot to add the starting level?
Ability scores: 131715141114
Character Name: Kain Voss Class: Rogue (Probably phantom and will multiclass into barbarian) Stats: (Above) Race: Dhampir Character Sheet: WIP Artwork:
Backstory:
Kain was born into an ancient family of monster hunters, the Voss lineage, a name whispered with respect (and fear) in the slums of Tempest City. His father, Garrick Voss, was a merciless slayer of undead, and his mother, Liora, a scholar of the occult. They trained Kain from childhood to be a blade in the dark, a living weapon against the things that lurked beyond the storm. Years later, Kain took a contract to hunt Lord Malachi of the Crimson Veil, a vampire noble hiding in the city’s underbelly. The job was supposed to be simple. It wasn’t.
Malachi let Kain corner him then tore open his throat with a single swipe of his claws. As Kain bled out on the cobblestones, Malachi crouched beside him, smiling as he forced his blood down Kain's throat. Kain awoke three nights later, his skin was too pale, his teeth too sharp. He could hear heartbeats through walls, smell fear like copper on the air. Worst of all, he remembered the taste of Malachi's blood, and to his horror, wanted more. He devolved into a beast of the night, prowling the alleyways preying on the wicked, or those that cant defend themselves , this is where his family found him. His father drew a silver blade. Kain ran before they could decide whether to kill him or save him.
Now, he walks the razor’s edge between man and monster. He takes contracts, only the worst of the worst, killers and fiends and tells himself it’s justice. But when the frenzy takes him, he doesn’t always stop at his target. Sometimes, he wakes up with blood under his nails and no memory of the night before. Sometimes, he dreams of Malachi's voice, taunting him. "You’re not a hunter anymore, little Voss. You’re just another beast in the storm."
Not immediately, but I can always have the party encounter one along the way to give your character a chance of being infected if you'd really like to play one.
Not immediately, but I can always have the party encounter one along the way to give your character a chance of being infected if you'd really like to play one.
If you don’t know where I am, I’m either sleeping or roleplaying. If I’m doing neither of those things, except the worst. (Do not actually expect the worst) If you need to talk then PM me. Head Acolyte of The Tree Cult.
If you don’t know where I am, I’m either sleeping or roleplaying. If I’m doing neither of those things, except the worst. (Do not actually expect the worst) If you need to talk then PM me. Head Acolyte of The Tree Cult.
Character Name: Clether Ilewaris Class: Bard Background: Outlander Stats (any generation method, if you choose to roll, reroll ones once): STR: 10 DEX: 16 (18) CON: 15 (16) INT: 14 WIS: 14 CHA: 17 Race: Goblin Backstory, including aspirations, alignment and personality:
Clether Ilewaris is from a remote land at the edge of an enchanted forest, where he grew up in a happy goblin tribe that lived on the Fey edge of things, and loved revelry and luring unsuspecting larger races from the nearby villages into parties that lasted for weeks. To Clether, it seemed something of a waste, as the unfortunate chaps often dizzingly found their way back to their own lives far too late to stave off the inevitable famines, kidnappings, affairs, loss of credibility, and other catastrophes that came from unwarned abandonment of work and family. Clether thought it was a bad deal, that greater things could be built, but he had not any idea how to do anything else, so he simply struck off on his own into the wilds and learned to survive by himself. He got pretty good at that, and played music for enough pennies when he wandered into towns to outfit himself with some nomadic farming security. Now he shepherds a small herd of sheep that he can take with him on his travels, graze them in the hills, and sell their milk and fiber and lambs when the season comes for it. But, the one thing he misses after striking off on his own is having an audience. He's got a bit of an itch for the spotlight, but he usually makes sure to leave town before anyone takes TOO much of an interest in him...
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Personality: Clether is confident and happy-go-lucky, proud and content of normal and natural things though he is happy to spice them up with a little bit of fun and magic, and loves to gather tales in his wanderings. He enjoys the spotlight, and his favorite thing in the world is to get others caught up in performance. He's a proud little fellow, though, despite his mild and charming ways, and is not above a bar fight on a rare occasion if the situation calls. He sure doesn't want to get tied down to anything, loving the free and nomadic life, getting attention and appreciation, but disappearing before attention turns into expectation or too many questions. Still, for the right ideals or a good story, he might stay put a while.
Character Sheet (Only if you have one ready!): I will try to get one up in a few days! Any other information you want to include!: Clether would always scoff at the stories of Tempest City. Surely they were GREATLY exaggerated. Villagers near his home forest had told similarly wild tales about the fairies and goblins that he himself grew up with, and knew to be not NEARLY so malingering as the villagers' horrific tales would indicate. Really, those folks were just getting imaginative in their woe and troubles caused by the inevitable fallout of revelries that lasted too humanly long to be reasonable. Something tragic has clearly happened in Tempest City, and the folks there likely need a good pick-me-up.
Will characters be able to reach level 4 in this campaign?
Definitely! Levelling should be fairly frequent as every time the party completes a 'set' of quests or crimes (i.e. when the quest board is empty or you have no more leads to follow), you'll get a level. At first you'll only be able to take on a few quests or manageable crimes due to their difficulty, but as you grow stronger the amount you can achieve increases, and so does the potential opportunities, lengthening the gap between levels!
Backstory: Mercy was born to human parents, but their fears and superstitions led to her being abandoned at a Temple dedicated to Ilmater [[or other suffering/compassion deity]] near a slum in a bustling city. Raised by the friars at the church, they desperately tried to teach hewr right and wrong, but based on her frequent criminal escapades in the slums, it didn't stick as much as it could have. She did warm to their teachings as she grew older, but blended her faith with a heaping helping of humility and compassion, as well as her burgeoning talent for martial combat. She has come to Tempest City to try to be a beacon of hope and true justice for any who are not there by choice, or otherwise need help.
Aspirations: She wants to become a known force for good in the city, with a whole faction dispensing true justice for it's residents.
Alignment: Neutral Good
Personality: Mercy, despite her rabid belief system, is actually kind of chill. She doesn't believe in denial of pleasure for its own sake, a tenet she was raised with, but believes everyone should be trying to find happiness in their own way, as long as it isn't hurting others. She likes finding beauty in odd places.
I see you consider to play with 2014 rules or 2024 rules but does it mean you won't allow a mix? I consider a multi class that has one subclass only available for 2014 and one for 2024. I can home-brew them for either 2014 or 2024 if you would accept that. As far as I can tell, there isn't anything that works against either rules but it simply isn't technically implemented for the 2014/2024 base class, and therefore I would need to copy everything to a home-brew version. That said, I also wonder if you accept third party content in general.
I'm happy to accept a mix if that's what you'd like for your character! The party will likely be mixed ruleset so as long as you can manage a mixed rules character, I'm happy for you to play it! I'm also fine with anything officially published, no matter if it's an identical homebrew of existing subclasses/whatever or any of the third party options on DND Beyond. Though, for any homebrew versions of third party content outside of DND Beyond, or completely unofficial homebrew in general, I'd appreciate it being ran past me first! Hopefully that makes sense, I'm not the best when it comes to the terminology, so if feel you want to check something, just ask!
Just as a reminder, recruitment ends tomorrow! It's going to be really hard to narrow down a party of 6 due to how many great applications I've had, I'm incredibly grateful!
Recruitment has closed and PMs have been sent! Thank you very much to everyone who applied, you all made some incredible characters and I'll hopefully see you all again in the future!
The perpetual rain hammers down on Tempest City, the constant noise and thunder drowning out the screams and moans of sorrow that fill its grimy alleys and dark avenues. As it croaks its hoarse cackle, a raven perches on The Timeless Palace, the castle that stands at the centre of the city, its main spire, which doubles as a clock tower, spearing into the grey and tumultuous sky like the tip of an iceberg in churning dark waters. Its ancient and refined design seems like a jewel silhouetted on the dark horizon, but aside from it and the manor houses that cling and cluster around its root, the rest of the city spreads out like a growth, filled with misery and grim stone architecture. The city walls have long contained the growing city, but that didn't prevent construction, as now buildings cannibalise each other, single rooms and other small structures being built on the rooves of others, or stretching across the gaps in already cramped backstreets to block out even more of the unseen sky.
On the outskirts of town, pressed into a narrow row of squalid houses, there is an inn; The Bleeding Rose. It's ran by the redcap Snizgore, an irritable and violent fey that is more often seen stamping about with his dripping scythe in his hands rather than a tray of ale, but for you, he's your landlord. Above his tavern, you live in cramped rooms, just big enough for a bed, small trunk and wardrobe, that you manage to rent for the small price of one bag of wildflowers a month; whilst a murderous and spiteful creature, Snizgore craves the colour and familiarity of flowers, which remind him of his home plane. From your point of view, they seem to be the only specks of colour in the whole city, though it isn't as if you can see them yourself. Snizgore has threatened several times to chop off your fingers if you try and get a peek at the flowers he somehow manages to grow beneath the counter. Claims you're 'stealing his sights'.
Regardless of the awful environment, unfriendly host and overall dismal city, you have managed to find some friendship in the storm of it all, as you have became close with the other folk that neighbour you upstairs after enduring the long moths filled with the monotony of daily life together, and now are almost a found family, who have decided that its time to do something for yourselves. You have vowed not to fall under the curse that seems to afflict the rest of the city; a mundane existence. Most others rot away their lifespan within the city walls, but you cannot sit idle and let that be you. So, as you sit around a close table in the quiet tavern, you start to weave your plan to make some money, and climb your way out of this squalor and turmoil.
The candlelight sputters in protest against the damp creeping in from the walls. Rain taps the warped windowpane in a anxious rhythm. Selene sits with the others in a quiet corner of The Bleeding Rose, one boot crossed over her knee, a chipped wineglass of something dark and probably not legal poised idly in her fingers. Her cloak is draped across the back of her chair, still damp from the rain, she leans forward, resting an elbow on the pitted table. Her tone is calm, smooth, and laced with dry amusement, as if all this decay was a private joke she’s learned to stop laughing at.
“So this is what ambition looks like in Tempest City. A table full of misfits with more teeth than coin, scheming in a tavern run by a lunatic who fertilizes his garden with the last people who asked for room service.”
Her gaze flicks to each of them in turn, Kain, the mirror she doesn’t want to look too closely into; Tanis, too human for his own good but all the more dangerous because of it; Thamul, a storm in still waters; and Zifni, lightning bottle. She offers a small, lopsided smile, just enough to be seen, not enough to show fangs.
“I’ve lived long enough in this place to know the rain never stops, and the city doesn’t hand out mercy. But it does respect power. Influence. Presence. And if we’re going to claw our way out of this rot, we’ll need all three. We’re not just surviving anymore.”
She sets her glass down with deliberate care.
“We’re going to make Tempest City see us.”
Then she leans back again, the flicker of a sharper grin just beneath the surface.
“And if it doesn’t like what it sees, all the more reason."
Zifni's fingers drum across the table in a staccato that matches the patter of rain on The Bleeding Rose's window. There are myriad unbearable things about life in Tempest City, but the constant rain is not one of them. Zifni relishes the storm. It is a constant reminder of why he is in this godforsaken city and it is that memory that drives him to want to conquer it.
"We've lived bound by the shackles of the so-called elite for too long."
His voice is light and airy, but something dangerous crackles just beneath the surface, like a lightning bolt waiting to strike. His skin is a light blue, like a bright sunny sky that none of them have seen in what seems like a lifetime. His plain brown cloak is still draped on his shoulders, dropping water to pool underneath his chair. It covers a leather tunic that has seen better days.
"Tonight is the night we break free. All of us."
His expression is earnest and determined as he meets the gaze of his companions. A seemingly sourceless breeze tussles the long, pale fringe of hair that falls from under his hood.
Warrick busied himself collecting empty mugs and clearing dishes from tables. He knew better then to go behind the counter, Snizgore made that very clear the day Warrick had come to find this place, so he couldn't help distributing orders. He felt his payment for shelter was minimal and couldn't risk losing it to a better paying customer and thought helping were he could, would make his patronage more enticing. He was short for a human with a roundish body type, dispite the minimal substance he can openly afford these days. He wore clothes that were once fine but now look like they could hardly pads for rags over fine leather. He wipes his brow as he sits at the table, bussing tables was not as simple as it looked.
"Technically the city is nothing more then a defined area, defined by thise with influence and power. It's a political complexity to who controls the image of power. But really it's the little folks like us that hold the power to give influence. Perhaps presence is all one really needs to qualify for the rest... sorry I'm doing it again aren't I..." He trails off as he realizes thats not what they were referring to and has a sip of his cup.
Warrick shrinks down on his chair a bit. He was never good at making friends, let alone keeping them, and he couldn't afford to overstay his welcome with the company he had found. So far they seem to tolerate him, he hopes.
"Another beautiful day in paradise." Tanis Shaidaro's atonal deadpan sounds indistinguishable from the enthusiasm with which the wiry, stone-faced man might describe the interior of a latrine pit. An overflowing one, not properly dug. He gazes outside The Bleeding Rose at the downpour.
"Had a sergeant, Edd, back in the Watch. Said rain is the gods pissing on us. Liked his drink, Edd. Passed out in the alley couple-three times, but damn if I ever saw a god pissing on him. Dogs sure, a few might have. Gods and dogs alike piss on corpses. Which is us. In the end."
Strangely, Tanis demeanor, if anything, seems more enthusiastic than usual, though whether due to the prospect of dying or being urinated on is unclear.
"You want the city to see us?" Tanis glances over at Selene with a rare, if weary smile. "I'm with you,Dark Sister. Not so sure it won't like what it sees, though. Like a spider watching a cricket crawl towards its web. But damn if I don't want to see it back. Whatever waits at the center of... all this."
He raises his (still mostly full) glass of nondescript ale slightly at Zifini's exhortation, nodding somberly at the air genasi. "That's the spirit,Cool Breeze. I'm in. Freedom and Truth. Heard lots say they hunger for 'em, yet seldom enjoy the taste when they're served up. Us though... thinking we got fewer illusions. Besides, old Snizgore's too floral and cheery by half for my taste to stay stuck here. Anyone crosses us, Doc Warrick here'll talk 'em to death."
Kain sits in a dark corner of the tavern, his presence almost blending into the shadows that envelop him. The flickering candlelight casts an eerie glow on his pale skin, accentuating the sharp angles of his face and the pronounced curve of his fangs, which he, unlike Selene, makes no effort to conceal, he seems to flaunt his vampiric heritage and relishes the discomfort it causes in the patrons. He observes the others, his bloodshot eyes peering over the rim of his mug, a mixture of curiosity and hunger flickering within their depths. Kain's fingers, long and dexterous, tap restlessly against the wooden table.
"How do you propose we make them see us? I assure you I have no intention of staying hidden." Kain drawls in a low melodic voice, as he does his lips curl into a sly smile revealing his fangs and his eyes light up with hunger, reminding everyone of the predator lurking just below the surface.
Thamul throws a final axe at the board, right in the bull before he sits down with the rest. A large mug of ale in front of him, and a bigger chair than the others have as the regular ones broke when the massive Goliath sat on them.
"The city will know of Thamul the greatest thrower there is, yes!" he says loudly. As he takes yet another axe from his side, just so he has something in hand. "Are we just going out there of do you guys know anyone that has ways for us to gain that fame?"
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"grandpa" Salkur, Gnome Arti/Sorc: Forged in Chaos | Pepin, Human Arti/Cleric: Goblin horde | Mixtli, Volc Genasi Arti: Champions of the Citadel | Erix Vadalitis, Human Druid: Rising from the last war |Smithy, Human Arti: Night Ravens: Black orchids for Biscotti | Tamphalic Aliprax, Dragonborn Wizard: Chronicles of the Accursed | Doc, Dwarven Cleric (2024): Adventure at Hope's End | Abathax, Tiefling Illriger: Hunt for the Balowang | Gorin Mestel, Human Arti: Descend into Avernus
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Character Name: Kain Voss
Class: Rogue (Probably phantom and will multiclass into barbarian)
Stats: (Above)
Race: Dhampir
Character Sheet: WIP
Artwork:
Backstory:
Kain was born into an ancient family of monster hunters, the Voss lineage, a name whispered with respect (and fear) in the slums of Tempest City. His father, Garrick Voss, was a merciless slayer of undead, and his mother, Liora, a scholar of the occult. They trained Kain from childhood to be a blade in the dark, a living weapon against the things that lurked beyond the storm. Years later, Kain took a contract to hunt Lord Malachi of the Crimson Veil, a vampire noble hiding in the city’s underbelly. The job was supposed to be simple. It wasn’t.
Malachi let Kain corner him then tore open his throat with a single swipe of his claws. As Kain bled out on the cobblestones, Malachi crouched beside him, smiling as he forced his blood down Kain's throat. Kain awoke three nights later, his skin was too pale, his teeth too sharp. He could hear heartbeats through walls, smell fear like copper on the air. Worst of all, he remembered the taste of Malachi's blood, and to his horror, wanted more. He devolved into a beast of the night, prowling the alleyways preying on the wicked, or those that cant defend themselves , this is where his family found him. His father drew a silver blade. Kain ran before they could decide whether to kill him or save him.
Now, he walks the razor’s edge between man and monster. He takes contracts, only the worst of the worst, killers and fiends and tells himself it’s justice. But when the frenzy takes him, he doesn’t always stop at his target. Sometimes, he wakes up with blood under his nails and no memory of the night before. Sometimes, he dreams of Malachi's voice, taunting him. "You’re not a hunter anymore, little Voss. You’re just another beast in the storm."
Characters (Links!):
Faelin Nighthollow - 7th Sojourn
Not immediately, but I can always have the party encounter one along the way to give your character a chance of being infected if you'd really like to play one.
Xaul Lackluster: Half-Orc Fathomless Warlock: Warlock Dragon Heist
Borvnir Chelvnich: Black Dragonborn Barbarian: Dragons of Stormwreck Isle
Pushover Gerilwitz: Tiefling Wizard: Acquisitions Incorporated
Callow Sunken-Eyes: Goliath Arctic Druid: We Are Modron
DMing The 100 Dungeons of the Blood Archivist , The Hunt for the Balowang and Surviving Tempest City!
Killer Queen has already extended this signature, though not by much!
Ok! I’ll provide a character later!
Lightning flashes, it creates ash. The ash forms a human.
If you don’t know where I am, I’m either sleeping or roleplaying. If I’m doing neither of those things, except the worst. (Do not actually expect the worst) If you need to talk then PM me. Head Acolyte of The Tree Cult.
Rolling for my character to be posted later.
Ability scores: 18 14 Unable to parse dice roll. 17 12 17
Coriana - Company of the Grey Chain
Wagner - Dragon Heist: Bards.
DM - The Old Keep
Ability scores: 12 14 10 12 13 13
Lightning flashes, it creates ash. The ash forms a human.
If you don’t know where I am, I’m either sleeping or roleplaying. If I’m doing neither of those things, except the worst. (Do not actually expect the worst) If you need to talk then PM me. Head Acolyte of The Tree Cult.
Will characters be able to reach level 4 in this campaign?
Ability scores: 17 15 13 16 13 13
Character Name: Clether Ilewaris
Class: Bard
Background: Outlander
Stats (any generation method, if you choose to roll, reroll ones once): STR: 10 DEX: 16 (18) CON: 15 (16) INT: 14 WIS: 14 CHA: 17
Race: Goblin
Backstory, including aspirations, alignment and personality:
Clether Ilewaris is from a remote land at the edge of an enchanted forest, where he grew up in a happy goblin tribe that lived on the Fey edge of things, and loved revelry and luring unsuspecting larger races from the nearby villages into parties that lasted for weeks. To Clether, it seemed something of a waste, as the unfortunate chaps often dizzingly found their way back to their own lives far too late to stave off the inevitable famines, kidnappings, affairs, loss of credibility, and other catastrophes that came from unwarned abandonment of work and family. Clether thought it was a bad deal, that greater things could be built, but he had not any idea how to do anything else, so he simply struck off on his own into the wilds and learned to survive by himself. He got pretty good at that, and played music for enough pennies when he wandered into towns to outfit himself with some nomadic farming security. Now he shepherds a small herd of sheep that he can take with him on his travels, graze them in the hills, and sell their milk and fiber and lambs when the season comes for it. But, the one thing he misses after striking off on his own is having an audience. He's got a bit of an itch for the spotlight, but he usually makes sure to leave town before anyone takes TOO much of an interest in him...
Character Sheet (Only if you have one ready!): I will try to get one up in a few days!
Any other information you want to include!: Clether would always scoff at the stories of Tempest City. Surely they were GREATLY exaggerated. Villagers near his home forest had told similarly wild tales about the fairies and goblins that he himself grew up with, and knew to be not NEARLY so malingering as the villagers' horrific tales would indicate. Really, those folks were just getting imaginative in their woe and troubles caused by the inevitable fallout of revelries that lasted too humanly long to be reasonable. Something tragic has clearly happened in Tempest City, and the folks there likely need a good pick-me-up.
Definitely! Levelling should be fairly frequent as every time the party completes a 'set' of quests or crimes (i.e. when the quest board is empty or you have no more leads to follow), you'll get a level. At first you'll only be able to take on a few quests or manageable crimes due to their difficulty, but as you grow stronger the amount you can achieve increases, and so does the potential opportunities, lengthening the gap between levels!
Xaul Lackluster: Half-Orc Fathomless Warlock: Warlock Dragon Heist
Borvnir Chelvnich: Black Dragonborn Barbarian: Dragons of Stormwreck Isle
Pushover Gerilwitz: Tiefling Wizard: Acquisitions Incorporated
Callow Sunken-Eyes: Goliath Arctic Druid: We Are Modron
DMing The 100 Dungeons of the Blood Archivist , The Hunt for the Balowang and Surviving Tempest City!
Killer Queen has already extended this signature, though not by much!
Character Name: Mercy
Class: Paladin
Stats : Str-18 Dex-14 Con-14 Int-12 Wis-14 Cha-18
Race: Tiefling
Backstory:
Mercy was born to human parents, but their fears and superstitions led to her being abandoned at a Temple dedicated to Ilmater [[or other suffering/compassion deity]] near a slum in a bustling city. Raised by the friars at the church, they desperately tried to teach hewr right and wrong, but based on her frequent criminal escapades in the slums, it didn't stick as much as it could have. She did warm to their teachings as she grew older, but blended her faith with a heaping helping of humility and compassion, as well as her burgeoning talent for martial combat.
She has come to Tempest City to try to be a beacon of hope and true justice for any who are not there by choice, or otherwise need help.
Aspirations:
She wants to become a known force for good in the city, with a whole faction dispensing true justice for it's residents.
Alignment:
Neutral Good
Personality:
Mercy, despite her rabid belief system, is actually kind of chill. She doesn't believe in denial of pleasure for its own sake, a tenet she was raised with, but believes everyone should be trying to find happiness in their own way, as long as it isn't hurting others. She likes finding beauty in odd places.
Character Sheet (Only if you have one ready!):
https://www.dndbeyond.com/characters/146496530/iHF32z
Coriana - Company of the Grey Chain
Wagner - Dragon Heist: Bards.
DM - The Old Keep
I'm happy to accept a mix if that's what you'd like for your character! The party will likely be mixed ruleset so as long as you can manage a mixed rules character, I'm happy for you to play it! I'm also fine with anything officially published, no matter if it's an identical homebrew of existing subclasses/whatever or any of the third party options on DND Beyond. Though, for any homebrew versions of third party content outside of DND Beyond, or completely unofficial homebrew in general, I'd appreciate it being ran past me first! Hopefully that makes sense, I'm not the best when it comes to the terminology, so if feel you want to check something, just ask!
Xaul Lackluster: Half-Orc Fathomless Warlock: Warlock Dragon Heist
Borvnir Chelvnich: Black Dragonborn Barbarian: Dragons of Stormwreck Isle
Pushover Gerilwitz: Tiefling Wizard: Acquisitions Incorporated
Callow Sunken-Eyes: Goliath Arctic Druid: We Are Modron
DMing The 100 Dungeons of the Blood Archivist , The Hunt for the Balowang and Surviving Tempest City!
Killer Queen has already extended this signature, though not by much!
Just as a reminder, recruitment ends tomorrow! It's going to be really hard to narrow down a party of 6 due to how many great applications I've had, I'm incredibly grateful!
Xaul Lackluster: Half-Orc Fathomless Warlock: Warlock Dragon Heist
Borvnir Chelvnich: Black Dragonborn Barbarian: Dragons of Stormwreck Isle
Pushover Gerilwitz: Tiefling Wizard: Acquisitions Incorporated
Callow Sunken-Eyes: Goliath Arctic Druid: We Are Modron
DMing The 100 Dungeons of the Blood Archivist , The Hunt for the Balowang and Surviving Tempest City!
Killer Queen has already extended this signature, though not by much!
Recruitment has closed and PMs have been sent! Thank you very much to everyone who applied, you all made some incredible characters and I'll hopefully see you all again in the future!
Xaul Lackluster: Half-Orc Fathomless Warlock: Warlock Dragon Heist
Borvnir Chelvnich: Black Dragonborn Barbarian: Dragons of Stormwreck Isle
Pushover Gerilwitz: Tiefling Wizard: Acquisitions Incorporated
Callow Sunken-Eyes: Goliath Arctic Druid: We Are Modron
DMing The 100 Dungeons of the Blood Archivist , The Hunt for the Balowang and Surviving Tempest City!
Killer Queen has already extended this signature, though not by much!
Campaign Start
The perpetual rain hammers down on Tempest City, the constant noise and thunder drowning out the screams and moans of sorrow that fill its grimy alleys and dark avenues. As it croaks its hoarse cackle, a raven perches on The Timeless Palace, the castle that stands at the centre of the city, its main spire, which doubles as a clock tower, spearing into the grey and tumultuous sky like the tip of an iceberg in churning dark waters. Its ancient and refined design seems like a jewel silhouetted on the dark horizon, but aside from it and the manor houses that cling and cluster around its root, the rest of the city spreads out like a growth, filled with misery and grim stone architecture. The city walls have long contained the growing city, but that didn't prevent construction, as now buildings cannibalise each other, single rooms and other small structures being built on the rooves of others, or stretching across the gaps in already cramped backstreets to block out even more of the unseen sky.
On the outskirts of town, pressed into a narrow row of squalid houses, there is an inn; The Bleeding Rose. It's ran by the redcap Snizgore, an irritable and violent fey that is more often seen stamping about with his dripping scythe in his hands rather than a tray of ale, but for you, he's your landlord. Above his tavern, you live in cramped rooms, just big enough for a bed, small trunk and wardrobe, that you manage to rent for the small price of one bag of wildflowers a month; whilst a murderous and spiteful creature, Snizgore craves the colour and familiarity of flowers, which remind him of his home plane. From your point of view, they seem to be the only specks of colour in the whole city, though it isn't as if you can see them yourself. Snizgore has threatened several times to chop off your fingers if you try and get a peek at the flowers he somehow manages to grow beneath the counter. Claims you're 'stealing his sights'.
Regardless of the awful environment, unfriendly host and overall dismal city, you have managed to find some friendship in the storm of it all, as you have became close with the other folk that neighbour you upstairs after enduring the long moths filled with the monotony of daily life together, and now are almost a found family, who have decided that its time to do something for yourselves. You have vowed not to fall under the curse that seems to afflict the rest of the city; a mundane existence. Most others rot away their lifespan within the city walls, but you cannot sit idle and let that be you. So, as you sit around a close table in the quiet tavern, you start to weave your plan to make some money, and climb your way out of this squalor and turmoil.
Please feel free to introduce your characters!
Xaul Lackluster: Half-Orc Fathomless Warlock: Warlock Dragon Heist
Borvnir Chelvnich: Black Dragonborn Barbarian: Dragons of Stormwreck Isle
Pushover Gerilwitz: Tiefling Wizard: Acquisitions Incorporated
Callow Sunken-Eyes: Goliath Arctic Druid: We Are Modron
DMing The 100 Dungeons of the Blood Archivist , The Hunt for the Balowang and Surviving Tempest City!
Killer Queen has already extended this signature, though not by much!
The candlelight sputters in protest against the damp creeping in from the walls. Rain taps the warped windowpane in a anxious rhythm. Selene sits with the others in a quiet corner of The Bleeding Rose, one boot crossed over her knee, a chipped wineglass of something dark and probably not legal poised idly in her fingers. Her cloak is draped across the back of her chair, still damp from the rain, she leans forward, resting an elbow on the pitted table. Her tone is calm, smooth, and laced with dry amusement, as if all this decay was a private joke she’s learned to stop laughing at.
“So this is what ambition looks like in Tempest City. A table full of misfits with more teeth than coin, scheming in a tavern run by a lunatic who fertilizes his garden with the last people who asked for room service.”
Her gaze flicks to each of them in turn, Kain, the mirror she doesn’t want to look too closely into; Tanis, too human for his own good but all the more dangerous because of it; Thamul, a storm in still waters; and Zifni, lightning bottle. She offers a small, lopsided smile, just enough to be seen, not enough to show fangs.
“I’ve lived long enough in this place to know the rain never stops, and the city doesn’t hand out mercy. But it does respect power. Influence. Presence. And if we’re going to claw our way out of this rot, we’ll need all three. We’re not just surviving anymore.”
She sets her glass down with deliberate care.
“We’re going to make Tempest City see us.”
Then she leans back again, the flicker of a sharper grin just beneath the surface.
“And if it doesn’t like what it sees, all the more reason."
Zifni's fingers drum across the table in a staccato that matches the patter of rain on The Bleeding Rose's window. There are myriad unbearable things about life in Tempest City, but the constant rain is not one of them. Zifni relishes the storm. It is a constant reminder of why he is in this godforsaken city and it is that memory that drives him to want to conquer it.
"We've lived bound by the shackles of the so-called elite for too long."
His voice is light and airy, but something dangerous crackles just beneath the surface, like a lightning bolt waiting to strike. His skin is a light blue, like a bright sunny sky that none of them have seen in what seems like a lifetime. His plain brown cloak is still draped on his shoulders, dropping water to pool underneath his chair. It covers a leather tunic that has seen better days.
"Tonight is the night we break free. All of us."
His expression is earnest and determined as he meets the gaze of his companions. A seemingly sourceless breeze tussles the long, pale fringe of hair that falls from under his hood.
Warrick busied himself collecting empty mugs and clearing dishes from tables. He knew better then to go behind the counter, Snizgore made that very clear the day Warrick had come to find this place, so he couldn't help distributing orders. He felt his payment for shelter was minimal and couldn't risk losing it to a better paying customer and thought helping were he could, would make his patronage more enticing. He was short for a human with a roundish body type, dispite the minimal substance he can openly afford these days. He wore clothes that were once fine but now look like they could hardly pads for rags over fine leather. He wipes his brow as he sits at the table, bussing tables was not as simple as it looked.
"Technically the city is nothing more then a defined area, defined by thise with influence and power. It's a political complexity to who controls the image of power. But really it's the little folks like us that hold the power to give influence. Perhaps presence is all one really needs to qualify for the rest... sorry I'm doing it again aren't I..." He trails off as he realizes thats not what they were referring to and has a sip of his cup.
Warrick shrinks down on his chair a bit. He was never good at making friends, let alone keeping them, and he couldn't afford to overstay his welcome with the company he had found. So far they seem to tolerate him, he hopes.
"Another beautiful day in paradise." Tanis Shaidaro's atonal deadpan sounds indistinguishable from the enthusiasm with which the wiry, stone-faced man might describe the interior of a latrine pit. An overflowing one, not properly dug. He gazes outside The Bleeding Rose at the downpour.
"Had a sergeant, Edd, back in the Watch. Said rain is the gods pissing on us. Liked his drink, Edd. Passed out in the alley couple-three times, but damn if I ever saw a god pissing on him. Dogs sure, a few might have. Gods and dogs alike piss on corpses. Which is us. In the end."
Strangely, Tanis demeanor, if anything, seems more enthusiastic than usual, though whether due to the prospect of dying or being urinated on is unclear.
"You want the city to see us?" Tanis glances over at Selene with a rare, if weary smile. "I'm with you, Dark Sister. Not so sure it won't like what it sees, though. Like a spider watching a cricket crawl towards its web. But damn if I don't want to see it back. Whatever waits at the center of... all this."
He raises his (still mostly full) glass of nondescript ale slightly at Zifini's exhortation, nodding somberly at the air genasi. "That's the spirit, Cool Breeze. I'm in. Freedom and Truth. Heard lots say they hunger for 'em, yet seldom enjoy the taste when they're served up. Us though... thinking we got fewer illusions. Besides, old Snizgore's too floral and cheery by half for my taste to stay stuck here. Anyone crosses us, Doc Warrick here'll talk 'em to death."
Tanis(Ranger1): Shiverquill's Tempest City | Xarian(Fighter2): NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons | Ophelia(Sorcerer4): Ashen_Age's Risen from the Sands
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric4): Vos' Beyond the Veil | Soren(Druid5): Bartjeebus' Ravenloft | Nivi(Rogue4): Raiketsu's CoS
Joren(Fighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Sabetha(Monk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court | Seri(Cleric3/Sorcerer1): Bartjeebus' Greyhawk
Kain sits in a dark corner of the tavern, his presence almost blending into the shadows that envelop him. The flickering candlelight casts an eerie glow on his pale skin, accentuating the sharp angles of his face and the pronounced curve of his fangs, which he, unlike Selene, makes no effort to conceal, he seems to flaunt his vampiric heritage and relishes the discomfort it causes in the patrons. He observes the others, his bloodshot eyes peering over the rim of his mug, a mixture of curiosity and hunger flickering within their depths. Kain's fingers, long and dexterous, tap restlessly against the wooden table.
"How do you propose we make them see us? I assure you I have no intention of staying hidden." Kain drawls in a low melodic voice, as he does his lips curl into a sly smile revealing his fangs and his eyes light up with hunger, reminding everyone of the predator lurking just below the surface.
Characters (Links!):
Faelin Nighthollow - 7th Sojourn
Thamul throws a final axe at the board, right in the bull before he sits down with the rest. A large mug of ale in front of him, and a bigger chair than the others have as the regular ones broke when the massive Goliath sat on them.
"The city will know of Thamul the greatest thrower there is, yes!" he says loudly. As he takes yet another axe from his side, just so he has something in hand. "Are we just going out there of do you guys know anyone that has ways for us to gain that fame?"
"grandpa" Salkur, Gnome Arti/Sorc: Forged in Chaos | Pepin, Human Arti/Cleric: Goblin horde | Mixtli, Volc Genasi Arti: Champions of the Citadel | Erix Vadalitis, Human Druid: Rising from the last war | Smithy, Human Arti: Night Ravens: Black orchids for Biscotti | Tamphalic Aliprax, Dragonborn Wizard: Chronicles of the Accursed | Doc, Dwarven Cleric (2024): Adventure at Hope's End | Abathax, Tiefling Illriger: Hunt for the Balowang | Gorin Mestel, Human Arti: Descend into Avernus