Who is interested in being part of a tier 4 campaign with 18th-level characters? I recently purchased a set of high-leveled adventures from the Dungeon Masters Guild, and I have selected one for our play-by-post world. I am intrigued by the idea that characters will interact with at least one member of the Faerûnian pantheon, which is a story element I’ve never incorporated in any of my previous adventures.
For those who are interested, please submit the following information about your character in this thread:
Ability scores* (roll three separate groups--4d6, drop lowest, reroll 1’s once--and then select the set you find most agreeable). If all three sets are deplorable, then you can use standard array instead.
Name
Race (limited to PHB, MotM, and VGtM)
Class (no bloodhunters; no multiclassing)
Appearance
An interesting anecdote of some sort (a great victory, a crushing defeat, a lesson learned, a painful loss, a magic/cursed item gained/lost, etc.)
*The dice roller is a whimsical, fickle, mercurial creature and not always cooperative when you edit your post after making any rolls. So, you should probably make two posts in this thread: one with the ability score rolls and then one with the other information.
Don’t trouble yourself with full character creation unless you’re selected for this adventure. We’ll have much to discuss in session 0 about fleshing out these powerful 18th-level heroes.
I’ll close off recruitment whenever it seems I have the four or five suitable character. I do apologize in advance for being unable to accept everyone.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
(I have been wanting to play a high level character so this is perfect timing)
Abilities: to be rolled later
Name: work in progress
Race: Tabaxi (had been Halfling before reincarnation)
Class: Monk (Way of Mercy)
”it was a crushing defeat.it was five winters ago.The party I was with thought that we knew who was in the cave, but we were wrong. Oh so very wrong. We approached from the mouth of the cave and turned the corner, ready for battle, but not ready for what faced us. We all fought bravely and yet succumbed to our wounds. only I and one other survived, me, only due to reincarnation. It sickens my stomach whenever I think of it“
Name: Luna Silverstar Race: Half-Elf Class: Celestial Warlock of Selûne Appearance:
Anectdote: As a young girl, her family's homestead in the Silvermarches was beset by a drow raiding party prowling in the darkness of the night. The traumatizing event of seeing her parents captured by the vile dark elves made Luna manifest a powerful searing light of the Moonmaiden, blinding the drow and turning them back to the Underdark. As a chosen of Selûne, Luna has since spent her life traveling the Realms, over land and water, protecting those who would suffer the evil of darkness and despair. Having recieved recent visions of night and terror, her journeys have now brought her back towards Silverymoon to serve her goddess one final time.
Name: Zephyryn Race: Air Genasi Class: Paladin - Oath of Glory Appearance:
Anecdote: “There is no better feeling than soaring through the clouds on a Griffon before swooping down on an enemy. The fact that it inspires your allies whilst driving fear into your enemy is just the icing on the cake. This one time I managed to take the enemy general right off his horse and carry him away”.
Name: E. Mosley, self-styled Rat King Race: Half-Elf Class: Ranger (Swarmkeeper) Appearance: (TW body horror)
How he appears normally:
Sort of what his face resembles under the bandages: (just the weird rat stuff, the rest of his face looks like the above image)
Anecdote: "Hunger is a tough thing. It can tear you up from the inside, chew you to pieces until you collapse, hollowed out by your own hunger. Hunger is, in my experience, just about one of the worst things that can happen to a person. When you're on the very edge of it, as I've been several times in my life, so close to tipping over and just collapsing... well, there's no feeling that can top that agony. But. You've gotta be careful with hunger. Cause it's one of the worst things, but it's not the worst. Hunger can take you to places you'd never think of going, just for a scrap. Hunger can make you consider morsels you never would have. When you're hungry, you're gonna want something to eat more than you've ever wanted something in your life, but you gotta keep your right mind. Cause as they say, you are what you eat. And look at me. I wasn't careful, and now I'm the god-damn Rat King."
A much longer backstory, which can be changed to fit the setting, if you're interested:
E. Mosley doesn't know his first name. Well, no, that's not entirely true. He knows the first letter, which is more than many other abandoned children can say. He went much of his early life without a name at all, until he found a fellow urchin who could read the writing on the inside of the too-large coat he had worn all his life. The boy, nicknamed 'Specs' by his peers, (after his level of education, not after his glasses, as Specs actually had excellent eyesight) was heavily respected by the other urchins, since literacy wasn't exactly common among their ranks. He took one look at the writing, and announced that it read "E. Mosley." It was only half of a name plus a letter, but it was better than nothing.
Before he gained a true name, however, E. Mosley had a placeholder. It was tradition among the urchin gangs to bestow a name upon the nameless, and Mosley's gang, the Amphitheaters, (they didn't actually know what the word meant, but it sounded like a rather grand name for a gang) christened him with the nickname of "Rat King." This nickname came from the unusual affinity that Mosley shared with the rats of the city.
Rats are everywhere in any city worth its salt, and in E. Mosley's city doubly so. They scurry in the gutters, paddle in the waterways, lurk in the muck beneath the bridges. While above, the people go about their business, the true rulers of the city devour their scraps and refuse, and multiply, and watch with millions of pairs of glowing, beady eyes. The way Mosley had always seen it, kids like him were barely a step above the rats. He slept in the same gutters as they did, ate the same scraps as them, drank from the same muddy pools of rainwater. E. Mosley made a point of always being wherever the rats where. Because wherever there are rats, there's bound to be food, however mildewed, stale, or both. And if no food can be found, then there's always the rats. He made sure to try and avoid eating them whenever he could, however. They seemed to like him, or at least tolerate him, and he didn't want to get too much of a reputation or they might begin to avoid him.
Still, sometimes he had no choice.
E. Mosley was starving to death when it happened. That sounds dramatic, but it wasn't nearly as bad as it sounds. Well, it was as bad as it sounds in that he was definitely very close to death, but he had also been there before. Dozens of times, really. It was just how things went. Sometimes, when he was in such a situation, the rats would come to his aid. Mosley never saw them, but when he found a little scrap of moldy bread just lying there, with those dozens of little eyes shining from the darkness, he knew. He had almost lost consciousness when he heard it. A shuffling, scraping noise, and the sounds of little feet, quiet squeaks. Weakly craning his head, he saw those little eyes watching from the darkness, and in front of him...
It was a rat. At least, at first he thought it was a rat. But though his vision was blurry, he realized that it wasn't just one. It was a dozen, at least. All of them unmoving, and their tails... each rat's tail stretched out behind it, wrapped around another, kept wrapping and twisting and knotting together with the others until the tails were indistinguishable from each other, just a lumpy pink-beige ball. E. Mosley had heard of such things before. Bits of string, or adhesive, or something else causes the rats' tails to get stuck together, and more and more get stuck until there's too many for them to move around enough to get food and they all starve together, unable to drag the dead masses of their comrades. Mosley looked at the beady eyes, the furry shapes in the darkness. They had brought him their own brethren to eat. Should he be concerned by this? He realized that he was too hungry to care. As he wrapped his hand around the tail-knot, which still felt strange in his hand, somehow both warm and cold at the same time, he remembered what they called these things.
Rat kings.
As he opened his mouth, he allowed himself a delirious little laugh. Oh well, he thought. You are what you eat.
Perhaps if he had paid more attention to the strange cold-warmth of the tail-knot. Perhaps if he had seen the way that the tails weren't just knotted together, and instead fused and bled into each other, like chocolate that had been warmed and chilled again. Perhaps if he had felt the way that the tail-knot gently pulsed, swelled and contracted, like the arrhythmic beating of a sickly heart. Perhaps if any of these things, he would have chosen not to sink his teeth into the ripe rat-flesh. Perhaps he would have chosen the abyss of death instead, gone to whatever end the gods had planned for him. Probably not, but he can dream, can't he?
When E. Mosley woke, he was still hungry. No, not just hungry. Somehow, he was hungrier than he had ever been, even more than when he was lying on the ground half-dead just a little while ago. The hunger burned with a cold heat that felt oddly familiar, but paradoxically he didn't feel as weak as he had before. He felt like garbage, of course, but he could walk. He made it a few steps when he felt it move inside of him. Something in the ragged pit of his stomach. At first, he thought it was just his stomach growling. Then it happened again. Something was somehow, impossibly, alive in there. Inside of him.
Mosley suddenly doubled over, coughed, retched, gasped and hacked. Tears streamed down his face as he convulsed. Eventually, after a terrible, awful... minute? Hour? Day? He had no idea how long he was there, coughing, but eventually he felt something come up, and he spat it on the ground. It was a lump of black fur. For a moment, he thought it was over. Then, the lump twitched, stood up, turned, looked at him with those beady, shining eyes. And then the movement started again. As E. Mosley screamed, the thing with a hundred and one heads but a single tail, the thing that was dead but refused to die, screamed along with him, a terrible cacophony of high pitched screeching, and the thousands of glowing beady eyes watched from the shadows.
Since that time, E. Mosley has changed. He rarely enters the sunlight these days, though occasionally he surfaces for food or other little jobs that earn a few coins that he spends on provisions for himself. Though ordinary food isn't entirely to their tastes, anymore. Mosley's human hunger is sated by it, but the thing that lives inside of him, the thing that is him, needs more than that. And when his murine friends hunger, he hungers as well. If the hundreds of tiny black shapes that surround him at all times don't feed, Mosley feels as if he hasn't eaten either, and then the pangs start all over again. And they like meat. At the very least, Mosley is happy that he doesn't have to directly sink his teeth into anyone.
E. Mosley is very careful about who he chooses to... join the swarm, in a way. He may be monstrous, but he's no monster. The worst of the worst, the killers, the crooks, the people who ruin others' lives for their own gain. The ones who deserve to, if you'll forgive the little joke, pay the piper for their misdeeds. The monsters of the city have learned to fear a monster of their own, for no one knows what alley the Rat King, as they call it, might be lurking in. At times, Mosley hates what he's become, what the rats have made him into, but most of the time he understands that he couldn't be anything other than a monster.
For such a high level, I just can't resist playing this character. I just wish I could MC him... maybe during play?
Name: Grom
Race (limited to PHB, MotM, and VGtM): Protector Aasimar (VGtM)
Class (no bloodhunters; no multiclassing): Storm Sorcerer
Appearance: Dressed simply in a gray robe and conical hat such as a peasant might wear against the rain, with a broad head and long gray hair, he may be mistaken at first glance for a simple commoner going about his business. His intense gaze and aura of controlled power quickly dispel such impressions.
An interesting anecdote of some sort: Known under a different name in a different realm, Grom had been a champion of the gods there in defense against an extradimensional tyrant and his forces. Banished from that place by an unknown magic, he seeks to find his way back and resume his duties. For now, he has adopted this new place as his new home and tirelessly seeks to protect it and its people from evil.
An interesting anecdote of some sort: Aelius is a member of a militant order of Church Knights, known as the Pandion Order, who mix magic and martial skills as their means of
Appearance: (Something like this - based on a Warhammer 40k Space Marine Champion...)
An interesting anecdote of some sort: Grimaldus grew up in the military academy of the Silver Dragon Chapter of the Adeptus Astartes. This highly militant group is descended from ancient spacefaring gods of war. Bred for their massive size and ferocious personalities, they are neither barbarians nor half breeds. They are masters of warfare and worship the distant God-Emperor of their forefathers. He is lawful neutral - believing in order over chaos. He wears plate mail and carries a greatsword as massive as himself. He has traveled across the planes to serve his calling, and has known joys and sorrows of such magnitude they would break a lesser man.
Appearance: Katar is a handsome, tall elf with bronze complexion and chiselled features sharp as an acient statue. Captivating golden eyes glowing faintly like feline eyes, under the gentil veneer is something feral and untamed. His finely defined features are beautiful and elegant, his entire demeanor exudes a casual authoritative air, with a wickedly handsome smile playing on his thin lips. His hair was an orange-red colour that shone like the dazzling sun and fell over his shoulders. On long legs are a pair of white boots, golden silk twisting up to just below the knee. Beneath a long cloak he wears a delicate crafted half-plate, on his back a shield engraved in gilt with the holy symbol of Belenus, a radiant sun with eight points.
Anecdote: Being the youngest son in his family, all three eldest Naekian children pursued magic in their own ways. In truth, nobody had any expectation that Katar would join his siblings in any sort of mastery of the weave. Indeed, he saw little appeal in following any of the paths he’d seen others tread. Books were boring, bards were austentatious, druids were too obsessed with nature and warlocks had to sell their soul. There is always another way - and he soon found with just a little faith, saying the right words, performing the right rituals, and he was bestowed the rank of Cleric of Belenus. With ordination came the gift of divine magic. Though deep down, he sometimes asked himself the question: were the gods truly as easily beguiled as they seem? Why was it that Belenus accepted his shallow faith and allowed him to carry all the gifts that came with his position? He knew, deep inside, he asked these things not because he was afraid that Belenus would take his favour away, but rather that the day would come when his god would expect him to use those gifts in ways he wasn’t prepared for...And that was when he found himself in a death duel with the champion of Asmodeus, Xargrag, staring down the hellish depth of the fiend’s eyes.
Anecdote: Grevul was bread for military life and he devoured the arts of war. Reading military history carefully preserved by scribes is his favorite pastime. It took years before he gained his own command. He fought the foul abominations and knew throwing bodies at the problem was not the answer. Grevul took a more patient approach and slowly amassed vast amount of information on how the monsters were created. He found the mad mage's weakness and his strength. It the was the Agar Amulet that let the mad mage create the abominations. Grevul led the small strike team himself. It was a pitched battle, but once Grevul had taken the amulet the battle was in his favor. He ended the mad mage with a swift thrust of his blade and a twist to maker sure the mad mage was truly died.
Appearance: Not one for fancy robes, he wears simple blue clothing and white beads, which hover between his fingertips while he's casting spells. He also wears a circlet which once belonged to a mind flayer, and the tip of his beak is painted purple.
Anecdote: He once infiltrated an evil king's palace. The king's guard were under mind control, so Rorik avoided killing them, instead distracting them with both magic and mundane trickery. Finally he made it to the king and killed him, breaking the guards' mind control. The kingdom was saved, and no unnecessary blood had been shed.
To everyone who has posted here (including characters that are works in progress) or contacted me by private message: please use the next 24 hours to finish your character concepts.
Thank you!
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
To post a comment, please login or register a new account.
Greetings, storytellers!
Who is interested in being part of a tier 4 campaign with 18th-level characters? I recently purchased a set of high-leveled adventures from the Dungeon Masters Guild, and I have selected one for our play-by-post world. I am intrigued by the idea that characters will interact with at least one member of the Faerûnian pantheon, which is a story element I’ve never incorporated in any of my previous adventures.
For those who are interested, please submit the following information about your character in this thread:
*The dice roller is a whimsical, fickle, mercurial creature and not always cooperative when you edit your post after making any rolls. So, you should probably make two posts in this thread: one with the ability score rolls and then one with the other information.
Don’t trouble yourself with full character creation unless you’re selected for this adventure. We’ll have much to discuss in session 0 about fleshing out these powerful 18th-level heroes.
I’ll close off recruitment whenever it seems I have the four or five suitable character. I do apologize in advance for being unable to accept everyone.
(I have been wanting to play a high level character so this is perfect timing)
Abilities: to be rolled later
Name: work in progress
Race: Tabaxi (had been Halfling before reincarnation)
Class: Monk (Way of Mercy)
”it was a crushing defeat.it was five winters ago.The party I was with thought that we knew who was in the cave, but we were wrong. Oh so very wrong. We approached from the mouth of the cave and turned the corner, ready for battle, but not ready for what faced us. We all fought bravely and yet succumbed to our wounds. only I and one other survived, me, only due to reincarnation. It sickens my stomach whenever I think of it“
Ability scores: 14 12 16 14 12 11
Ability scores: 11 15 17 18 16 16
Ability scores: 13 13 9 16 8 14
D&D since 1984
Ability scores: 16 11 17 16 13 17
Ability scores: 9 12 6 13 14 11
Ability scores: 13 14 15 15 13 10
Name: Luna Silverstar
Race: Half-Elf
Class: Celestial Warlock of Selûne
Appearance:
Anectdote: As a young girl, her family's homestead in the Silvermarches was beset by a drow raiding party prowling in the darkness of the night. The traumatizing event of seeing her parents captured by the vile dark elves made Luna manifest a powerful searing light of the Moonmaiden, blinding the drow and turning them back to the Underdark. As a chosen of Selûne, Luna has since spent her life traveling the Realms, over land and water, protecting those who would suffer the evil of darkness and despair. Having recieved recent visions of night and terror, her journeys have now brought her back towards Silverymoon to serve her goddess one final time.
Ability scores: 13 13 18 15 14 15
Ability scores: 15 13 13 15 11 11
Ability scores: 14 15 15 11 13 15
11 13 13 12 15 12
11 14 15 13 17 12
16 17 10 12 18 16
Name: Zephyryn
Race: Air Genasi
Class: Paladin - Oath of Glory
Appearance:
Anecdote: “There is no better feeling than soaring through the clouds on a Griffon before swooping down on an enemy. The fact that it inspires your allies whilst driving fear into your enemy is just the icing on the cake. This one time I managed to take the enemy general right off his horse and carry him away”.
Ability scores: 9 10 14 14 14 16
Ability scores: 15 16 9 13 7 17
Ability scores: 15 16 16 14 17 16
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Ability scores: 13 9 11 16 10 14
Ability scores: 13 17 14 13 11 13
Ability scores: 17 16 17 14 12 14
Name: E. Mosley, self-styled Rat King
Race: Half-Elf
Class: Ranger (Swarmkeeper)
Appearance: (TW body horror)
How he appears normally:
Sort of what his face resembles under the bandages: (just the weird rat stuff, the rest of his face looks like the above image)
Anecdote: "Hunger is a tough thing. It can tear you up from the inside, chew you to pieces until you collapse, hollowed out by your own hunger. Hunger is, in my experience, just about one of the worst things that can happen to a person. When you're on the very edge of it, as I've been several times in my life, so close to tipping over and just collapsing... well, there's no feeling that can top that agony. But. You've gotta be careful with hunger. Cause it's one of the worst things, but it's not the worst. Hunger can take you to places you'd never think of going, just for a scrap. Hunger can make you consider morsels you never would have. When you're hungry, you're gonna want something to eat more than you've ever wanted something in your life, but you gotta keep your right mind. Cause as they say, you are what you eat. And look at me. I wasn't careful, and now I'm the god-damn Rat King."
A much longer backstory, which can be changed to fit the setting, if you're interested:
E. Mosley doesn't know his first name. Well, no, that's not entirely true. He knows the first letter, which is more than many other abandoned children can say. He went much of his early life without a name at all, until he found a fellow urchin who could read the writing on the inside of the too-large coat he had worn all his life. The boy, nicknamed 'Specs' by his peers, (after his level of education, not after his glasses, as Specs actually had excellent eyesight) was heavily respected by the other urchins, since literacy wasn't exactly common among their ranks. He took one look at the writing, and announced that it read "E. Mosley." It was only half of a name plus a letter, but it was better than nothing.
Before he gained a true name, however, E. Mosley had a placeholder. It was tradition among the urchin gangs to bestow a name upon the nameless, and Mosley's gang, the Amphitheaters, (they didn't actually know what the word meant, but it sounded like a rather grand name for a gang) christened him with the nickname of "Rat King." This nickname came from the unusual affinity that Mosley shared with the rats of the city.
Rats are everywhere in any city worth its salt, and in E. Mosley's city doubly so. They scurry in the gutters, paddle in the waterways, lurk in the muck beneath the bridges. While above, the people go about their business, the true rulers of the city devour their scraps and refuse, and multiply, and watch with millions of pairs of glowing, beady eyes. The way Mosley had always seen it, kids like him were barely a step above the rats. He slept in the same gutters as they did, ate the same scraps as them, drank from the same muddy pools of rainwater. E. Mosley made a point of always being wherever the rats where. Because wherever there are rats, there's bound to be food, however mildewed, stale, or both. And if no food can be found, then there's always the rats. He made sure to try and avoid eating them whenever he could, however. They seemed to like him, or at least tolerate him, and he didn't want to get too much of a reputation or they might begin to avoid him.
Still, sometimes he had no choice.
E. Mosley was starving to death when it happened. That sounds dramatic, but it wasn't nearly as bad as it sounds. Well, it was as bad as it sounds in that he was definitely very close to death, but he had also been there before. Dozens of times, really. It was just how things went. Sometimes, when he was in such a situation, the rats would come to his aid. Mosley never saw them, but when he found a little scrap of moldy bread just lying there, with those dozens of little eyes shining from the darkness, he knew. He had almost lost consciousness when he heard it. A shuffling, scraping noise, and the sounds of little feet, quiet squeaks. Weakly craning his head, he saw those little eyes watching from the darkness, and in front of him...
It was a rat. At least, at first he thought it was a rat. But though his vision was blurry, he realized that it wasn't just one. It was a dozen, at least. All of them unmoving, and their tails... each rat's tail stretched out behind it, wrapped around another, kept wrapping and twisting and knotting together with the others until the tails were indistinguishable from each other, just a lumpy pink-beige ball. E. Mosley had heard of such things before. Bits of string, or adhesive, or something else causes the rats' tails to get stuck together, and more and more get stuck until there's too many for them to move around enough to get food and they all starve together, unable to drag the dead masses of their comrades. Mosley looked at the beady eyes, the furry shapes in the darkness. They had brought him their own brethren to eat. Should he be concerned by this? He realized that he was too hungry to care. As he wrapped his hand around the tail-knot, which still felt strange in his hand, somehow both warm and cold at the same time, he remembered what they called these things.
Rat kings.
As he opened his mouth, he allowed himself a delirious little laugh. Oh well, he thought. You are what you eat.
Perhaps if he had paid more attention to the strange cold-warmth of the tail-knot. Perhaps if he had seen the way that the tails weren't just knotted together, and instead fused and bled into each other, like chocolate that had been warmed and chilled again. Perhaps if he had felt the way that the tail-knot gently pulsed, swelled and contracted, like the arrhythmic beating of a sickly heart. Perhaps if any of these things, he would have chosen not to sink his teeth into the ripe rat-flesh. Perhaps he would have chosen the abyss of death instead, gone to whatever end the gods had planned for him. Probably not, but he can dream, can't he?
When E. Mosley woke, he was still hungry. No, not just hungry. Somehow, he was hungrier than he had ever been, even more than when he was lying on the ground half-dead just a little while ago. The hunger burned with a cold heat that felt oddly familiar, but paradoxically he didn't feel as weak as he had before. He felt like garbage, of course, but he could walk. He made it a few steps when he felt it move inside of him. Something in the ragged pit of his stomach. At first, he thought it was just his stomach growling. Then it happened again. Something was somehow, impossibly, alive in there. Inside of him.
Mosley suddenly doubled over, coughed, retched, gasped and hacked. Tears streamed down his face as he convulsed. Eventually, after a terrible, awful... minute? Hour? Day? He had no idea how long he was there, coughing, but eventually he felt something come up, and he spat it on the ground. It was a lump of black fur. For a moment, he thought it was over. Then, the lump twitched, stood up, turned, looked at him with those beady, shining eyes. And then the movement started again. As E. Mosley screamed, the thing with a hundred and one heads but a single tail, the thing that was dead but refused to die, screamed along with him, a terrible cacophony of high pitched screeching, and the thousands of glowing beady eyes watched from the shadows.
Since that time, E. Mosley has changed. He rarely enters the sunlight these days, though occasionally he surfaces for food or other little jobs that earn a few coins that he spends on provisions for himself. Though ordinary food isn't entirely to their tastes, anymore. Mosley's human hunger is sated by it, but the thing that lives inside of him, the thing that is him, needs more than that. And when his murine friends hunger, he hungers as well. If the hundreds of tiny black shapes that surround him at all times don't feed, Mosley feels as if he hasn't eaten either, and then the pangs start all over again. And they like meat. At the very least, Mosley is happy that he doesn't have to directly sink his teeth into anyone.
E. Mosley is very careful about who he chooses to... join the swarm, in a way. He may be monstrous, but he's no monster. The worst of the worst, the killers, the crooks, the people who ruin others' lives for their own gain. The ones who deserve to, if you'll forgive the little joke, pay the piper for their misdeeds. The monsters of the city have learned to fear a monster of their own, for no one knows what alley the Rat King, as they call it, might be lurking in. At times, Mosley hates what he's become, what the rats have made him into, but most of the time he understands that he couldn't be anything other than a monster.
After all, you are what you eat.
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
For such a high level, I just can't resist playing this character. I just wish I could MC him... maybe during play?
Ability scores A: 12 16 14 13 11 14
Ability scores B: 14 13 12 16 12 10
Ability scores C: 15 14 16 14 18 17
Love God. Love Others. Any Questions?
Love God. Love Others. Any Questions?
Name: Katar Naekian
Race: High Elf
Class: Light Cleric
Appearance: Katar is a handsome, tall elf with bronze complexion and chiselled features sharp as an acient statue. Captivating golden eyes glowing faintly like feline eyes, under the gentil veneer is something feral and untamed. His finely defined features are beautiful and elegant, his entire demeanor exudes a casual authoritative air, with a wickedly handsome smile playing on his thin lips. His hair was an orange-red colour that shone like the dazzling sun and fell over his shoulders. On long legs are a pair of white boots, golden silk twisting up to just below the knee. Beneath a long cloak he wears a delicate crafted half-plate, on his back a shield engraved in gilt with the holy symbol of Belenus, a radiant sun with eight points.
Anecdote: Being the youngest son in his family, all three eldest Naekian children pursued magic in their own ways. In truth, nobody had any expectation that Katar would join his siblings in any sort of mastery of the weave. Indeed, he saw little appeal in following any of the paths he’d seen others tread. Books were boring, bards were austentatious, druids were too obsessed with nature and warlocks had to sell their soul. There is always another way - and he soon found with just a little faith, saying the right words, performing the right rituals, and he was bestowed the rank of Cleric of Belenus. With ordination came the gift of divine magic. Though deep down, he sometimes asked himself the question: were the gods truly as easily beguiled as they seem? Why was it that Belenus accepted his shallow faith and allowed him to carry all the gifts that came with his position? He knew, deep inside, he asked these things not because he was afraid that Belenus would take his favour away, but rather that the day would come when his god would expect him to use those gifts in ways he wasn’t prepared for...And that was when he found himself in a death duel with the champion of Asmodeus, Xargrag, staring down the hellish depth of the fiend’s eyes.
Ability scores: 14 15 14 14 13 14
Ability scores: 14 11 16 15 16 13
Ability scores: 15 13 14 16 10 15
Name: Grevul
Race: Hobgolblin
Class: Fighter/Eldritch Knight
Appearance:
Anecdote: Grevul was bread for military life and he devoured the arts of war. Reading military history carefully preserved by scribes is his favorite pastime. It took years before he gained his own command. He fought the foul abominations and knew throwing bodies at the problem was not the answer. Grevul took a more patient approach and slowly amassed vast amount of information on how the monsters were created. He found the mad mage's weakness and his strength. It the was the Agar Amulet that let the mad mage create the abominations. Grevul led the small strike team himself. It was a pitched battle, but once Grevul had taken the amulet the battle was in his favor. He ended the mad mage with a swift thrust of his blade and a twist to maker sure the mad mage was truly died.
Ability scores: 13 8 9 10 17 11
Ability scores: 15 6 15 15 11 14
Ability scores: 11 14 12 15 18 11
Name: Rorik
Race: Kenku
Class: Wizard (Illusionist)
Appearance: Not one for fancy robes, he wears simple blue clothing and white beads, which hover between his fingertips while he's casting spells. He also wears a circlet which once belonged to a mind flayer, and the tip of his beak is painted purple.
Anecdote: He once infiltrated an evil king's palace. The king's guard were under mind control, so Rorik avoided killing them, instead distracting them with both magic and mundane trickery. Finally he made it to the king and killed him, breaking the guards' mind control. The kingdom was saved, and no unnecessary blood had been shed.
This recruitment thread is now closed.
To everyone who has posted here (including characters that are works in progress) or contacted me by private message: please use the next 24 hours to finish your character concepts.
Thank you!