The pounding of your heart and the thudding of your footsteps provide a percussive contrast to the ringing in your ears.
Adrenaline courses through your body as you race toward your village, ignoring the cloud of dust and the guttural sounds of the horde that pursues you.
You need to warn your family, your neighbors, the village warriors.
You're no fighter. You can't do this alone.
But you vow to yourself that, should you survive this... You will never be helpless again...
Amateurs Wanted!
I thought it would be fun to create a play-by-post experience that explores a group of “civilian” characters and sets them (or at least those who survive) on a path toward an adventuring life.
Players will begin the game as commoners with no selected class or class features. No cantrips. Limited equipment. Instead, they’ll have to rely purely on their core abilities, racial features and whatever proficiencies come from their selected Background. With so few resources, it will take a lot of cleaver roleplaying and no small amount of luck to survive.
Those that do survive will, over the course of the adventure, have a chance to develop proficiencies, learn to cast spells, hone whatever skills they’ll need to select an official class by the end of the story and begin their career as a Level 1 Fighter/Rogue/Wizard/Monk/Etc..
A Fully Emergent World
We won’t be using any existing campaign setting. This will be a campaign world tailored for these selected characters. Maps, governments, pantheons will emerge only as they become relevant to the characters and story. If there’s a particular element you want to introduce for your character’s backstory, I look forward to working with you to incorporate it into the world.
A Challenging, High Stakes Adventure
Expect PC death. Not every character is cut out to be a hero. That theme is core to this endeavor. As a result, this will be a potentially lethal campaign. To enhance that experience, we’ll be using optional rules in the DMG which reduce the healing powers of long and short rests. With all that in mind, I anticipate that some Player Characters won’t survive the journey. However, every death will be handled with the thoughtful narrative pathos it deserves. Of course, some characters will not only survive but prevail! Those that do will be forged in fire and better prepared to face the wider adventuring world when the story is through.
How Will We Play?
The game will play using a combination of Forum Posts, Discord for Combat and OOC chat, and Owlbear Rodeo for tactical maps.
You will begin with a racial choice, a background choice, but no class or class features or class-granted equipment. Ability scores will be generated using a point buy system with a limited number of points (12 to be exact). As the story progresses, you’ll gain more points to use to increase ability scores.
This will be a game of collaborative storytelling and roleplay. High-stakes combat will happen, but tactical play is not the central focus here. This will be a more narratively-driven, character-centric adventure. Let’s meet these characters, explore their hopes and dreams before they adopt the adventuring life… or get crushed by the hazards of the fantasy world.
Combination of Collaborative Play and One-On-One Play
Depending on the backstories of the characters chosen, some of the game may begin as a one-on-one experience between the PCs and myself as DM. That is, at least, until the story organically brings player characters together as a group.
Challenges will be faced. Battles will be fought… By the end of the adventure, your character(s) will begin their formal training in whatever class you want them to step into at Level 1.
Applications
If this sounds fun to you and you want in on the experience, apply with the following:
A name:
A race(Selecting from the Players Handbook or MMotM):
A background (Selecting only from options in the Players Handbook):
A brief (200 Words or Less) backstory:
A sample post showing a typical but revealing moment in the life of your character.
Timeline for selection will depend on the applications that come in, but I’ll probably leave the application open until next Friday, 2/23 at the very least. The goal is to put together a group of 4-5 richly drawn characters. So, however long that takes is how long it will take.
I can’t wait to try this out! I think it’s going to be a blast… and if it all works out, I’m happy to run it again with another group of characters sometime soon.
Looking forward to reading applications and starting this journey!
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DM - Classic Adventures Reborn
Rylan - L1 Human Paladin - Barty's "Princes of the Apocalypse"
Pal is your typical 'nerd' that loves to learn and read. He may be employed at the local library or bookstore (setting dependant) or loiter there often if employment isn't an option. He longs to attend a place of higher education, though his parents' turnip farm hasn't quite been productive enough to foot the bill so he saves whatever coin he can to afford tuition. He will often take on side jobs or tasks that he has no practical experience in solely because he wants the coin and excuses his lack of experience by saying he read a book about it once. Overly confident in his abilities and possessed of a wanderlust to explore, discover, and learn.
Covered in grease stains, Pal knocks on the farmer's door while awkwardly trying to hold a box in the other. The man opens the door just as Pal drops the box, spilling its contents on the step, "Whoops! Sorry about that!" Pal smiles and tosses the odd pieces of mechanical doohickery back into the box, "The auto-milker's all done! Got it hooked up to Glenna now and might I say she looked as happy as a... Well, a cow getting milked I suppose, heh." Pal plants his hands on hips and beams as the man looks down at the box, "What're those?" Pal looks quickly down, "Er... Uh, bonus parts! Yes, in case one wears out." Pal smiles again and says, "Now, I believe the job posting said you were paying seven silver?"The man eyes the box of parts for a moment as he says, "Five silver. Posting said five silver." Before Pal can respond, a strange sound suddenly cuts through the conversation, like that of an animal in distress, "Er, five silver! Yes, apologies. My mind is taxed from the effort of building that auto-milker. Anyhow, I will take my silver and be-" The man interrupts, "What in the hells is that noise?" Pal blinks and says, "Hmm? Noise? Oh, that noise. Glenna must be rather enjoying that milker I think. Anyhow, I have another task that needs doing so if you could-" The man pushes past Pal and heads off to investigate the source of the sounds, leaving Pal to stand alone on the step next to the box of parts with a grimace on his face.
Backstory: The only child of the village blacksmith, Coenen spent her entire life around forges and livestock. Without an apprentice or any sons to help out, Coenen's father put her to work at an early age, manning the bellows, splitting wood to feed the forge, and eventually hammer hardening her own creations. The work made Coenen hearty and hale, which is probably why she survived the plague when so many others did not...
After losing her family Coenen stayed on for a while, running the forge in her father's absence, until a journeyman smith and the local lord made an arrangement. Because the lease specified that use of the forge would be passed on to the eldest son, Coenen had no legal claim to it...
Facing pressure towards a marriage of convenience, Coenen opted for a vagabond life, putting her experience with mules and horses to good use.
Sample Post: It was close, too close, but in the end it was her opponent's hand that struck the table with a satisfying thud. As the crowd cheered, the muscular woman with close-cropped hair scooped up the small pile of silver and tucked it away in her coin purse.
"You cheated," her opponent hissed, rising to his feet.
"How," Coenen responded, sincerely interested just how one would cheat at arm wrestling.
"I weren't beat by no woman!"
"Your silver in my coin purse says otherwise."
Coenen saw the hand drifting for the hilt of his dagger, felt the heft of the coin purse in her hand, a gold crown's worth of silvers and coppers at least...that much weight would pack quite a wallop.
A race (Selecting from the Players Handbook or MMotM): Goblin
A background (Selecting only from options in the Players Handbook): Pirate
A brief (200 Words or Less) backstory: Born the smallest of his hatch, he immediately needed to use his cunning in order to stay alive. To escape a life of squalor, or worse becoming some adventurers quest objective. He smuggled himself onto a ship and convinced the cook to teach him what to do. Things went well until the ship was attacked by pirates. Avoiding the plank by the skin of his teeth, he joined the crew as the cook, apprentice cook... apprentice to the cook, using his prior knowledge to create new concoctions.
A sample post showing a typical but revealing moment in the life of your character.
Looking around the port, his large yellow eyes immediately spot at least three marks merchants not paying close attention to their wares. Shaking his head, "time enough for that later'" he thinks.
He then peers up at the contraption at the end of pier, picking up large loads of goods from the ships. "Now dat could be useful. Smaller scale o' course." He mutters to himself.
He scurries over to it and putting on his best smile, begins to chat up the operator. "Oy! Wut iz dat thingamajig?"
Bare Bones of a Backstory: Sieg is the bastard son of an elven noblewoman. His father Rufi, an eladrin nomad who chanced upon the quaint, Northeasterly village of Aurberie early into his pilgrimage, was enraptured by Eidun's beauty and sought to steal her for himself. She must have seen something in him too - perhaps his exotic gait, or the otherworldly aura he exuded - for although her hand belonged to another, the two shared a single illicit night together... a night of which Sieg was the undesirable product. The spitting image of his father, Sieg's true identity could not be hidden from suspicion for long, and illegitimate heirs never spell good news. As the unavoidable rift grew between Eidun and her husband, bitterness brewed. Bitterness became anger, and anger (kindled by a living, kicking, wailing reminder of infidelity) soon lapsed into violence. Sieg was ushered away to live with an elderly pauper who was kind-of-heart, but too frail to quell his youthful impulses. Eventually falling in with bad company, he learned to fistfight for coin. Although no brawny lad, his sharp wit and whetted tongue could always be relied upon to save his own skin...
Sample:
SMASH! A third empty bottle is lobbed high over the table, shattering on impact with the hardwood double-door. "Tier's sake!"
The target, a confident little brown mouse, barely even flinches this time. The bottle has missed its mark by a spectacular margin on all three attempts, the first two having struck opposite corners of the haymow. Whatever pitiful creature this is, the mouse decides, it possesses the fine motor skills of an infant and is unlikely to pose any real threat, despite being within an arm's-length proximity. The creature in question, a lanky, ginger-haired elf of pallid complexion and name 'Hewin', is huddled in fetal position on the floor of the barn. In his defense, Hewin cannot see just how tantalizingly close his rodent quarry is... in fact, he can see hundreds of mice, all over the barn. And hundreds of tables. And... hundreds of fingers. The world before him seems to swim in a kaleidoscopic sea. Biting back the bile steadily rising in his throat, he silently curses himself for drinking so much Giddy Mead the night prior- enough liquor to knock even the hardiest dwarf out cold. "Tier's sake... Sieg" he groans, eyelids clamped shut. "Sieg. Stamp on this little pest, will you... its squeaks and scratches are piercing my skull like needles!"
Sieg ignores the request, slumping further onto the table and covering his ears with his bruised hands. Every sound is agony... the warm dawn light sears his eyelids... everything aches. If that Hewin whines one more request, the eladrin resolves vindictively, there will be a glass bottle with his AND the mouse's names on it!
I don't have Discord so I might not be able to join if that's how you want to do combat.
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Look at it! Beauty! A spoiler!
Look what you've done, spoiling it for you and everyone who can see this screen. You're a disgrace, you know that, right? You have nothing to be ashamed of but yourself, you moster!
But to be completely fair, every monster has a cute side, like have you seen people draw goblins? Goblins look so cool! You're fine, you may seem like a monster, but I bet you're cute on the inside!
A brief (200 Words or Less) backstory: As an Aasimar, Verelle was placed in the world to serve as a guardians of law and good. As a member of the Order of the Gauntlet, he is expected to strike at evil, lead by example, and further the cause of justice. As part of his oath, he is charged by the powers of good to guard the weak, to strike at evil wherever it arises, and to stand vigilant against the darkness. From a young age, he received advice and directives that urge to stand against evil. Since becoming a member of the order of the gauntlet, with the growing evil across the land, Verelle has been active on the campaign of finding and ridding the land of evil doers and creatures. When trouble arrised, Verelle when answer the call.
A sample post showing a typical but revealing moment in the life of your character. Heythas, moving across the battlefield following their charge, checked on the wounded. He came across a wounded member of the household guard, and he placed his hands upon the wound, and through him, he healed the wounded soldier.
Being born a half-elf in a traditionalist (elf) tribe, I was destined to be an outcast. My dad tried to shelter me to protect me, leaving me nothing but a book to pass the time. Unfortunately, the local merchants wanted nothing to do with me. So sometimes I'd sneak into town and steal a book or two. It didn't take long for me to idolize the characters I read about, dreaming of one day meeting a hero myself.
It took a while for them to find out about my stealing habit, but when they did the whole village turned against me. My petty crimes were combined with the hatred of my existence. And me and my dad and we were put up for execution. I was so scared that I fled town, never looking back.
Eventually, I encountered a human settlement. I befriended a couple of fellow orphans, who took me in as family. Food was hard to find, but luckily my keen sense ik the dark made my mischievous activities even easier then before. I stole from a corrupt merchant and was able to keep our group alive, slowly growing into a hero for the poor.
A revealing moment:
The town is full of corrupt merchants, deceiving and blackmailing the hard working man for their coin. They are always the best to steal from. Of course, capturing me would mean endangering their questionable tactics going public and they know this very well.
The king of the land is man of faith, so any misdemeanor comes with a high cost. Something most man would avoid at all cost.
But herald, the wealthiest merchant, turned out to be a particularly kind of nasty. His exotic "fruits" were kids of all races, most likely to be sold to royalty from other lands or out of town.
So when I decided to rob his place after gaining some intel that he would be passed out drunk this evening, I was quite surprised to find out he was storing something much more valuable then gold, general wares or fruit. And so, our family grew that evening.
A name: Keystone Joister (pronounced with a 'Y' sound, Yoister)
A race: Mountain Dwarf
A background: Guild Artisan (Carpentry)
A brief (200 Words or Less) backstory: Keystone grew up among the other dwarves of his community and learned a healthy work ethic at a young age. From his family he learned to work the stone becoming an apprentice mason from his father and uncles. In his youth however, he was apprenticed to a Guild Artisan who instructed Keystone in carpentry. It was the hopes of his family that the young dwarf would earn honor (and money) by being able to find steady employment regardless of the material being used. With over a score of years learning each trade in becoming a Journeyman, Keystone Joister strode out into the world to seek employment. For ne'er a community could use a handy man to construct new buildings, a mining town to dig and shore up its tunnels, or an outpost to build fast its ramparts against encroachment. However, construction is a dangerous line of work, especially when the adventure is sometimes in just arriving at the job site...or dealing with those that would rather not compensate you what your worth.
A sample post showing a typical but revealing moment in the life of your character. "Try it again!" were the words Keystone recalled of his master as he assembled the intricate lattice work of the scaffolding. Such construction was needed to work on any stone wall higher than five feet, and the dwarf by this time was proficient at it. Keystone works through the steps completed so far for the present project. "Got the basement carved out, will be able to use that stone fer the walls. Will need a wee bit more lime fer the mortar mix though. I ken bring the water 'morrow. Will have to stop inta town to pickup some more nails." Hearing the foreman call up to him, Keystone bellows back down, "OI, be right down boss!"
Backstory : Nib grew up in a close knit hamlet of halflings. His momma and papa were lost in a flood, swept downriver and he was brought up in the community, always a subject of pity and concern. Although he doesn’t want anyone’s pity.. or charity, he wants to make his way on his own. The problem was that he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed and he tended to daydream. Sometimes community tasks that would have normally been assigned to him were looked over, someone else was appointed and whispers occurred behind hands with furtive looks. Nib’d show ‘em. He gathers his things one day and sets off on his path to go on an adventure, a real adventure! The thing is, he didn’t know how to do much, other than what he learned along the way in Figbrook.
Sample Post : “You didn’t clear the fields? Don’t you know what you’re doin’ boy?!? Half the time ya hoe the carrots on purpose I think, so you’ll be pulled off duty. Well not so, ya dingbat! Into the kitchen with ya, you’re on tater duty now, Mister!” Nib’s shoulders visibly sunk when Elder Reed was around, it seemed like each word weighed his soul down a little further. He was standing in the field, hands crossed and chin resting on them on top of the hoe, as he looked at the clouds and watched them float by. “Someday. Someday soon…..”. *sigh* He comes to out of his reverie and heads in to the kitchen to do as he’s told. The thing that they didn’t see is that he slipped some of those very same carrots, taters, mushrooms and other odds and ends into a sack behind the basket at the end of the preparation table. He peels the taters but every fifth one he slips into his bag. “Tonight…” he says. No one is there to hear. He takes the spare paring knife and puts it into his boot. Tonight, the big adventure begins….
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A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Dang, these are all great so far! You folks are gonna make it tough for me aren't ya... Glad to see so many players who are into this idea.
My plan is still to hold off until next Friday to make final decisions, but my head is already spinning with ideas. Also, I get the feeling I'll be doing a second round of this campaign format, building off of the world that emerged from the first. So, if you don't find a spot during this recruitment phase, I might still be reaching out to you some time in the future!
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DM - Classic Adventures Reborn
Rylan - L1 Human Paladin - Barty's "Princes of the Apocalypse"
A race(Selecting from the Players Handbook or MMotM): Triton
A background (Selecting only from options in the Players Handbook): Noble
A brief (200 Words or Less) backstory: Arolyn of House Vanaseth is a princess of sorts. Much like a feudal system, House Vanaseth provides for and watches over a collection of other tritons' property in exchange for their service or labor. This arrangement benefits all. House Vanaseth has held this position for many generations. In general, those under House Vanaseth's watch have had little trouble from the sahuagin. That has changed recently, and Arolyn escaped to the surface when her House was attacked. Her goal is to grow in her own abilities to infiltrate the sahuagin and get revenge.
A sample post showing a typical but revealing moment in the life of your character:
Arolyn huddled within the armoire as she had been instructed. "Don't make a sound," Duthen Vanaseth had told her. His face had held such a mix of rage and fear that even now, what seemed like an eternity after his departure, Arolyn still wanted to weep over his anguish. But she didn't dare. The chaos, so loud in the house moments ago, was now silent. She had begged Duthen to stay with her, but he had insisted that he had to fight. "Don't make this harder than it already is," he had whispered to her. "You know I must go." He had looked deeply into her eyes, then closed the door, disappearing from view and leaving Arolyn alone in the dark of her hiding place.
Her thin, blue arms held her bent legs to her chest, and she pressed her eyes into her knees so hard, they ached. Let him be alive, she thought over and over. Let him be alive. She could imagine the green-skinned monsters roaming the house ... entering the room where she hid ... throwing open the armoire to find her shivering and vulnerable.
After another hour of hiding in the silence, Arolyn finally couldn't wait any longer. She pushes the door to the armoire open and launched herself into the room, trying to move as quietly as possible. She still couldn't hear anything. Duthen's room looked as it always did. It looked undisturbed. She moved into the hallway. To the left was more bedrooms. To the right were the kitchen, dining hall, meeting rooms ... all of the important chambers. She decided to move in that direction.
Arolyn slid along the wall, her dark eyes darting everywhere as she went. Still, her ears picked up no sounds. She reached an intersecting hallway and carefully peered around the corner. As her eye fell on someone, she jerked back. Immediately, her mind replayed what she had seen, and recognizing the individual, she looked around the corner again. It was one of the guards. His lifeless body was floating limply toward the ceiling. His neck was nearly severed. She continued forward, encountering similar corpses. She couldn't help it. She began to cry.
Over the next half an hour, Arolyn searched the entire house. She did not find the bodies of any of the members of House Vanaseth — only guards and the household workers who had bravely taken up arms to fight with the others. A few had hidden. A few had run. But Arolyn was now the only living soul in the house. It was impossible to think that the sahuagin had taken hostages. But that's what she hoped. As horrible as that would be, that is what she hoped.
She felt impossibly alone. What was she to do? Was there someone who could help? No; everyone who could help her was dead or gone. Could she do something? Her desperate mind immediately put together a plan. An impossible plan. But for him, she could do the impossible. She immediately began her journey ... to land.
Name: Phyrenna Orestiuul Race: Elf Background: Guild Merchant A brief backstory: Local craftsmen dreaded the unpredictable appearance of the exotic elven caravans from the deep forests. The reclusive elves, while rumors said they were passionate and whimsical among their own kind, showed only a cold and mysterious demeanor to outsiders, often wearing hoods, robes, and masks to emphasize their separation from the human farmers and local lords they traded with. And what riches they brought! Elaborately decorated wagons drawn by horses of an ethereal breed contained artisanal goods of a bewitching make--inks that changed reality when you wrote with them, weapons that always seemed to find their target, ceramics and paintings of entrancing beauty. And the cost--the elves sold for pittance to the local nobles. The work of the devil, local clergy decried it. And so, in response to the hardships of the local artisans and the moral decline of the populace, the vassals of the lord organized their soldiers and knights to set a course of war against the elven traders. Sample Post:
It was always a disorienting experience, riding from the mists of the forest into the steppes. Everything seemed flat, dull, colorless, turned at odd angles. And the people--though she was oddly intrigued by the wrinkles and expressions on their lumpy faces--they were so poor. They had to tear their sustenance from unyielding ground, and even standing up straight seemed a great weight on them.
Phyrenna loved to see those lumpy faces transform into wide-eyed awe and smiles when the caravan rode up. She hid her own smile, her head covered by a substantial hood and a mask over her eyes. They hadn't brought the wagon today, just packed a few goods on the backs of the sprightly elven horses, their harnesses wrought with elaborate and abstract depictions of alien floral vines, birds, crowns, and stars. Phyrenna had watched a human artisan at work once. How he had to painstakingly bore and carve every detail in his stubborn material. Not like the elves, who sang their beautiful works into existence with a joy and ease that would stump human ingenuity. The poor things! Phyrenna was glad to be able to provide them with elvencraft, to try and beautify that harsh, disorienting landscape of drudgery.
"Well met, ma'am," a man who had the look of a rough-handed farmer bowed to her. He did not seem as delighted to see the elven caravan as she would have expected, his hand on the bridle of a sodden looking mule pulling a cart. "Begging your pardon, ma'am, we're delivering our own tax to the lord today. We've nothing this season to trade with you, ma'am." Two other men, perhaps his offspring, stood near him, watching the elves warily.
Phyrenna dismounted and walked up to them. She did not hide her smile now, hoping to reassure them. She had not seen this reaction before, and didn't know what to make of it. "Then let me give you a gift, in honor of our future association," she said. Holding out one slender gloved hand, she showed them a tiny cast brooch, with jeweled eyes, of a long-tailed bird, its wings outstretched. A beautiful item, to be sure, and Phyrenna knew that it would magically enhance the confidence and appeal of whomever wore it. These poor humans needed all the help they could get!
But, to her surprise, the man demurred. "No, ma'am," he said, a nervous sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. "I really can't, ma'am." One of his sons clenched a trembling hand, his eyes on the finely wrought bird.
Phyrenna could not understand. The humans had never acted like this. "Very well," she said, her smile fading. She lifted her hand, and the brooch animated, spreading its delicately carved wings and flying up into the air, quickly out of sight. It was an illusion, of course. She thought, vainly, that perhaps it would impress them. But they continued to stand stiffly, and so she turned to remount her horse and continue the ride along the colorless dirt road.
As they continued on, leaving the group of humans behind, one of Phyrenna's companions, Therlahane, rode to her side. Masked, and hooded, as she herself was, she could still easily see the concern on his face, in his eyes boring into hers. "Something is wrong, Phyrenna," he said. "We should return to the forest, and now."
"But we have sold nothing," she said.
"I think we are in danger," he replied, his voice low.
"What threatens us here?" Phyrenna said, but she did not have to wait for her answer. Ahead of them, and on each flank, clouds of dust rose under the distant pounding hooves of a horde of the muscled dumb brutes of horses that the human knights rode. The knights. Vassals of the local lord. Phyrenna turned, puzzled, to Therlahane, with a smile, but alarm was written all over the other elf's face as he spun his horse away from her side, shouting to the rest of the merchants in the caravan.
Phyrenna turned back again, and already the brutes surrounded the small caravan, the lumpy faces of the humans twisted in rage and hostility, the flash of their blades in the dim, wan sun, the sweat and froth of their maddened horses. Her own horse screamed and reared, and looking down, she saw an arrow protruding from its chest, the fletching rough, ugly, the shaft poorly hewn… Oh, what better arrows we could have brought to them…she thought as she began to fall, her elven grace doing her no good in the heavy, disorienting air, and she watched her horse crashing to the ground on top of her.
Are Variant Humans permitted and, if so, would the Magic Initiate feat be allowed? One of the ideas I'm toying with is a Charlton who passes himself off as a Wizard.
Other (questionable) options I'm thinking about...
- Variant Human (Healer) Acolyte of Ilmater
- Variant Human (Ritual Caster) Wizard's Apprentice/Sage
Great question. I’d say Variant Human is allowed, but not every feat would be. I’d need to take some time to write up an approved list, but in the meantime I can review on a case by case basis.
No one is starting off with spells, so any feat that grants them or an ability matching a spell would be off the table. Stating this off as a low/rare magic world where wielding abilities of that sort would be way beyond the imagination of most commoners.
The model for these characters are more like Bilbo Baggins at the start of The Hobbit or Taran at the start of The Black Cauldron/The Chronicles of Prydain. Someone with virtually no abilities at all who picks up skills and becomes a hero by the story’s end.
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DM - Classic Adventures Reborn
Rylan - L1 Human Paladin - Barty's "Princes of the Apocalypse"
Thanks! I do have a character application more along those lines but I was intrigued by the possibility of a character that seems more competent than they actually are and have to try and keep up the charade or possibly a character more along the lines Schmendrake the Magician at the start of The Last Unicorn.
A race(Selecting from the Players Handbook or MMotM): Aarakocra
A background (Selecting only from options in the Players Handbook): Outlander
A brief (200 Words or Less) backstory: Born and raised far from any civilized area, Aeriel makes a living in the wilds. His natural ability to safely guide travelers to their destination, or hunters to their quarry has led to many days enjoying the vast beauty of the outdoors as well as take notice of its dangers. It is a meager existence, but he is content to do what he loves. When work is slow, he will resort to entering town to offer his services although he does question whether it is worth the awkwardness he feels while he is there.
A sample post showing a typical but revealing moment in the life of your character: Carried aloft by the thermal uplift of a warm breeze, Aeriel peered through the thick canopy of forest below. He spotted not one, but two herds of the elusive blue-tailed elk that the hunters had hired him to track. After a good look at each he returned to camp. "There is a large herd of over 70 north of us about 800 yards. There is a smaller herd of 30 to the south a bit further away. I recommend you make ready and I will lead you to the smaller herd." Several of the burly men looked to the south and noting the difficulty of the terrain replied, "Nah, we ain't climbing down that shite only to pack it all back up. We're head'n north where the ground is more level and there's more animals, better odds ya know." "If you head north the wind is with you and will carry your scent ahead of you," said Aeriel, "And there is an eerie quiet in the wood there, something else is present, unseen.""Tell you wat," they replied. "Take the lads to the south, (pointing to the boys among them) they are younger, more nimble and a bit of climbin' will do them good. We'll meet back 'ere and compare who 'ad a better day, aye?"they said with a laugh. Unable to persuade them, Aeriel led the boys to a successful hunt in the south. When they returned to camp towards evening, they discovered that a successful hunt had also occurred in the north...but not by the hunters.
A background: Acolyte to Kelemvor Lyonsbane, Lord of the Dead. (“Heed death’s cawwwll!”). And traveling salesman.
A brief backstory: Carlos’ parents are day workers on an orc farm. Or rather, a farm owned by orcs. Who would run a farm that grew orcs, after all? I was speaking of his parents. Work, work work, roosting on the scarecrows and keeping rabbits and deer from the fields. It doesn’t require an education, but it’s a living. But not according to Carlos, who found disorder -- chaos, even -- in the living and dying of those around him. When his grandparents – all four of them – passed in the same winter, Carlos felt the call of Kelemvor, the judge of the deceased. He told his parents he would travel in search of the meaning of life. They shrugged, unable to find a suitable reason why he should not go, or even to really understand what in the hells he was talking about.
A sample post showing a typical but revealing moment in the life of your character.
“I said, Carl!”
“Sounded like, ‘caww.’”
“It wasn’t.”
“Well, okay then, Carl, what kin I do fer ya?”
It wasn’t even the first time today that someone had misheard him. Did all humans fill their ears with candle wax in their spare time? What was so difficult. Carl. Carl. It’s a common name. Mustn’t get my feathers ruffled. No really.
“I’m a traveling errrmm traveler. Cawww! I need a place to sleep. Your stable looks inviting. May I?”
“Sure. Let’s say… five silver.”
So sure of himself. That is a pity.
“That is a pity. I thought at first that you were the kind that Kelemvor would judge lightly.”
“Oh yeah. Kelemvor. God of the errr… god of scales?”
“Judgment.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“I was wrong.”
“Wrong?”
“About the Lord of the Dead. Judging you lightly. It’s a pity. Eternity in the Hells and all. Cawww!”
So, You Want to Be a Hero...
The pounding of your heart and the thudding of your footsteps provide a percussive contrast to the ringing in your ears.
Adrenaline courses through your body as you race toward your village, ignoring the cloud of dust and the guttural sounds of the horde that pursues you.
You need to warn your family, your neighbors, the village warriors.
You're no fighter. You can't do this alone.
But you vow to yourself that, should you survive this... You will never be helpless again...
Amateurs Wanted!
I thought it would be fun to create a play-by-post experience that explores a group of “civilian” characters and sets them (or at least those who survive) on a path toward an adventuring life.
Players will begin the game as commoners with no selected class or class features. No cantrips. Limited equipment. Instead, they’ll have to rely purely on their core abilities, racial features and whatever proficiencies come from their selected Background. With so few resources, it will take a lot of cleaver roleplaying and no small amount of luck to survive.
Those that do survive will, over the course of the adventure, have a chance to develop proficiencies, learn to cast spells, hone whatever skills they’ll need to select an official class by the end of the story and begin their career as a Level 1 Fighter/Rogue/Wizard/Monk/Etc..
A Fully Emergent World
We won’t be using any existing campaign setting. This will be a campaign world tailored for these selected characters. Maps, governments, pantheons will emerge only as they become relevant to the characters and story. If there’s a particular element you want to introduce for your character’s backstory, I look forward to working with you to incorporate it into the world.
A Challenging, High Stakes Adventure
Expect PC death. Not every character is cut out to be a hero. That theme is core to this endeavor. As a result, this will be a potentially lethal campaign. To enhance that experience, we’ll be using optional rules in the DMG which reduce the healing powers of long and short rests. With all that in mind, I anticipate that some Player Characters won’t survive the journey. However, every death will be handled with the thoughtful narrative pathos it deserves. Of course, some characters will not only survive but prevail! Those that do will be forged in fire and better prepared to face the wider adventuring world when the story is through.
How Will We Play?
The game will play using a combination of Forum Posts, Discord for Combat and OOC chat, and Owlbear Rodeo for tactical maps.
You will begin with a racial choice, a background choice, but no class or class features or class-granted equipment. Ability scores will be generated using a point buy system with a limited number of points (12 to be exact). As the story progresses, you’ll gain more points to use to increase ability scores.
This will be a game of collaborative storytelling and roleplay. High-stakes combat will happen, but tactical play is not the central focus here. This will be a more narratively-driven, character-centric adventure. Let’s meet these characters, explore their hopes and dreams before they adopt the adventuring life… or get crushed by the hazards of the fantasy world.
Combination of Collaborative Play and One-On-One Play
Depending on the backstories of the characters chosen, some of the game may begin as a one-on-one experience between the PCs and myself as DM. That is, at least, until the story organically brings player characters together as a group.
Challenges will be faced. Battles will be fought… By the end of the adventure, your character(s) will begin their formal training in whatever class you want them to step into at Level 1.
Applications
If this sounds fun to you and you want in on the experience, apply with the following:
Timeline for selection will depend on the applications that come in, but I’ll probably leave the application open until next Friday, 2/23 at the very least. The goal is to put together a group of 4-5 richly drawn characters. So, however long that takes is how long it will take.
I can’t wait to try this out! I think it’s going to be a blast… and if it all works out, I’m happy to run it again with another group of characters sometime soon.
Looking forward to reading applications and starting this journey!
DM - Classic Adventures Reborn
Rylan - L1 Human Paladin - Barty's "Princes of the Apocalypse"
FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS
I'll update this post to address any big questions that come up during the recruitment process.
DM - Classic Adventures Reborn
Rylan - L1 Human Paladin - Barty's "Princes of the Apocalypse"
Name: Coenen Colesdotter, Coenen Smythe, Coenen Smythesdotter
Race: Variant Human (Tavern Brawler)
Concept: Teamster/Wagon Driver
Background: Folk Hero
Backstory: The only child of the village blacksmith, Coenen spent her entire life around forges and livestock. Without an apprentice or any sons to help out, Coenen's father put her to work at an early age, manning the bellows, splitting wood to feed the forge, and eventually hammer hardening her own creations. The work made Coenen hearty and hale, which is probably why she survived the plague when so many others did not...
After losing her family Coenen stayed on for a while, running the forge in her father's absence, until a journeyman smith and the local lord made an arrangement. Because the lease specified that use of the forge would be passed on to the eldest son, Coenen had no legal claim to it...
Facing pressure towards a marriage of convenience, Coenen opted for a vagabond life, putting her experience with mules and horses to good use.
Sample Post: It was close, too close, but in the end it was her opponent's hand that struck the table with a satisfying thud. As the crowd cheered, the muscular woman with close-cropped hair scooped up the small pile of silver and tucked it away in her coin purse.
"You cheated," her opponent hissed, rising to his feet.
"How," Coenen responded, sincerely interested just how one would cheat at arm wrestling.
"I weren't beat by no woman!"
"Your silver in my coin purse says otherwise."
Coenen saw the hand drifting for the hilt of his dagger, felt the heft of the coin purse in her hand, a gold crown's worth of silvers and coppers at least...that much weight would pack quite a wallop.
The night was about to get interesting...
A name: Boom'r
A race (Selecting from the Players Handbook or MMotM): Goblin
A background (Selecting only from options in the Players Handbook): Pirate
A brief (200 Words or Less) backstory: Born the smallest of his hatch, he immediately needed to use his cunning in order to stay alive. To escape a life of squalor, or worse becoming some adventurers quest objective. He smuggled himself onto a ship and convinced the cook to teach him what to do. Things went well until the ship was attacked by pirates. Avoiding the plank by the skin of his teeth, he joined the crew as the
cook,apprentice cook... apprentice to the cook, using his prior knowledge to create new concoctions.A sample post showing a typical but revealing moment in the life of your character.
Looking around the port, his large yellow eyes immediately spot at least three
marksmerchants not paying close attention to their wares. Shaking his head, "time enough for that later'" he thinks.He then peers up at the contraption at the end of pier, picking up large loads of goods from the ships. "Now dat could be useful. Smaller scale o' course." He mutters to himself.
He scurries over to it and putting on his best smile, begins to chat up the operator. "Oy! Wut iz dat thingamajig?"
Name: Sieg of Aurberie
Race: Eladrin, spring-born
Background: Gladiator (ring brawler)
Bare Bones of a Backstory: Sieg is the bastard son of an elven noblewoman. His father Rufi, an eladrin nomad who chanced upon the quaint, Northeasterly village of Aurberie early into his pilgrimage, was enraptured by Eidun's beauty and sought to steal her for himself. She must have seen something in him too - perhaps his exotic gait, or the otherworldly aura he exuded - for although her hand belonged to another, the two shared a single illicit night together... a night of which Sieg was the undesirable product. The spitting image of his father, Sieg's true identity could not be hidden from suspicion for long, and illegitimate heirs never spell good news. As the unavoidable rift grew between Eidun and her husband, bitterness brewed. Bitterness became anger, and anger (kindled by a living, kicking, wailing reminder of infidelity) soon lapsed into violence. Sieg was ushered away to live with an elderly pauper who was kind-of-heart, but too frail to quell his youthful impulses. Eventually falling in with bad company, he learned to fistfight for coin. Although no brawny lad, his sharp wit and whetted tongue could always be relied upon to save his own skin...
Sample:
SMASH! A third empty bottle is lobbed high over the table, shattering on impact with the hardwood double-door. "Tier's sake!"
The target, a confident little brown mouse, barely even flinches this time. The bottle has missed its mark by a spectacular margin on all three attempts, the first two having struck opposite corners of the haymow. Whatever pitiful creature this is, the mouse decides, it possesses the fine motor skills of an infant and is unlikely to pose any real threat, despite being within an arm's-length proximity. The creature in question, a lanky, ginger-haired elf of pallid complexion and name 'Hewin', is huddled in fetal position on the floor of the barn. In his defense, Hewin cannot see just how tantalizingly close his rodent quarry is... in fact, he can see hundreds of mice, all over the barn. And hundreds of tables. And... hundreds of fingers. The world before him seems to swim in a kaleidoscopic sea. Biting back the bile steadily rising in his throat, he silently curses himself for drinking so much Giddy Mead the night prior- enough liquor to knock even the hardiest dwarf out cold. "Tier's sake... Sieg" he groans, eyelids clamped shut. "Sieg. Stamp on this little pest, will you... its squeaks and scratches are piercing my skull like needles!"
Sieg ignores the request, slumping further onto the table and covering his ears with his bruised hands. Every sound is agony... the warm dawn light sears his eyelids... everything aches. If that Hewin whines one more request, the eladrin resolves vindictively, there will be a glass bottle with his AND the mouse's names on it!
Hi there! I'm a Christian musician based in Canada :)
I don't have Discord so I might not be able to join if that's how you want to do combat.
Look at it! Beauty! A spoiler!
Look what you've done, spoiling it for you and everyone who can see this screen. You're a disgrace, you know that, right? You have nothing to be ashamed of but yourself, you moster!
But to be completely fair, every monster has a cute side, like have you seen people draw goblins? Goblins look so cool! You're fine, you may seem like a monster, but I bet you're cute on the inside!
Hope I've made your day!
I don’t have discord either but this looks cool…. :(
Conflicted
Confused
Maybe I will return. Perhaps not.
Extended Signature!
A name:
Aether Maxbrook
A race:
Half elf
A background:
Folk Hero
A backstory:
Being born a half-elf in a traditionalist (elf) tribe, I was destined to be an outcast. My dad tried to shelter me to protect me, leaving me nothing but a book to pass the time. Unfortunately, the local merchants wanted nothing to do with me. So sometimes I'd sneak into town and steal a book or two. It didn't take long for me to idolize the characters I read about, dreaming of one day meeting a hero myself.
It took a while for them to find out about my stealing habit, but when they did the whole village turned against me. My petty crimes were combined with the hatred of my existence. And me and my dad and we were put up for execution. I was so scared that I fled town, never looking back.
Eventually, I encountered a human settlement. I befriended a couple of fellow orphans, who took me in as family. Food was hard to find, but luckily my keen sense ik the dark made my mischievous activities even easier then before. I stole from a corrupt merchant and was able to keep our group alive, slowly growing into a hero for the poor.
A revealing moment:
The town is full of corrupt merchants, deceiving and blackmailing the hard working man for their coin. They are always the best to steal from. Of course, capturing me would mean endangering their questionable tactics going public and they know this very well.
The king of the land is man of faith, so any misdemeanor comes with a high cost. Something most man would avoid at all cost.
But herald, the wealthiest merchant, turned out to be a particularly kind of nasty. His exotic "fruits" were kids of all races, most likely to be sold to royalty from other lands or out of town.
So when I decided to rob his place after gaining some intel that he would be passed out drunk this evening, I was quite surprised to find out he was storing something much more valuable then gold, general wares or fruit. And so, our family grew that evening.
Name : Nib Thunderbee
Race : Lightfoot Halfling
Background : Urchin
Backstory : Nib grew up in a close knit hamlet of halflings. His momma and papa were lost in a flood, swept downriver and he was brought up in the community, always a subject of pity and concern. Although he doesn’t want anyone’s pity.. or charity, he wants to make his way on his own. The problem was that he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed and he tended to daydream. Sometimes community tasks that would have normally been assigned to him were looked over, someone else was appointed and whispers occurred behind hands with furtive looks. Nib’d show ‘em. He gathers his things one day and sets off on his path to go on an adventure, a real adventure! The thing is, he didn’t know how to do much, other than what he learned along the way in Figbrook.
Sample Post : “You didn’t clear the fields? Don’t you know what you’re doin’ boy?!? Half the time ya hoe the carrots on purpose I think, so you’ll be pulled off duty. Well not so, ya dingbat! Into the kitchen with ya, you’re on tater duty now, Mister!” Nib’s shoulders visibly sunk when Elder Reed was around, it seemed like each word weighed his soul down a little further. He was standing in the field, hands crossed and chin resting on them on top of the hoe, as he looked at the clouds and watched them float by. “Someday. Someday soon…..”. *sigh* He comes to out of his reverie and heads in to the kitchen to do as he’s told. The thing that they didn’t see is that he slipped some of those very same carrots, taters, mushrooms and other odds and ends into a sack behind the basket at the end of the preparation table. He peels the taters but every fifth one he slips into his bag. “Tonight…” he says. No one is there to hear. He takes the spare paring knife and puts it into his boot. Tonight, the big adventure begins….
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Dang, these are all great so far! You folks are gonna make it tough for me aren't ya... Glad to see so many players who are into this idea.
My plan is still to hold off until next Friday to make final decisions, but my head is already spinning with ideas. Also, I get the feeling I'll be doing a second round of this campaign format, building off of the world that emerged from the first. So, if you don't find a spot during this recruitment phase, I might still be reaching out to you some time in the future!
DM - Classic Adventures Reborn
Rylan - L1 Human Paladin - Barty's "Princes of the Apocalypse"
Arolyn huddled within the armoire as she had been instructed. "Don't make a sound," Duthen Vanaseth had told her. His face had held such a mix of rage and fear that even now, what seemed like an eternity after his departure, Arolyn still wanted to weep over his anguish. But she didn't dare. The chaos, so loud in the house moments ago, was now silent. She had begged Duthen to stay with her, but he had insisted that he had to fight. "Don't make this harder than it already is," he had whispered to her. "You know I must go." He had looked deeply into her eyes, then closed the door, disappearing from view and leaving Arolyn alone in the dark of her hiding place.
Her thin, blue arms held her bent legs to her chest, and she pressed her eyes into her knees so hard, they ached. Let him be alive, she thought over and over. Let him be alive. She could imagine the green-skinned monsters roaming the house ... entering the room where she hid ... throwing open the armoire to find her shivering and vulnerable.
After another hour of hiding in the silence, Arolyn finally couldn't wait any longer. She pushes the door to the armoire open and launched herself into the room, trying to move as quietly as possible. She still couldn't hear anything. Duthen's room looked as it always did. It looked undisturbed. She moved into the hallway. To the left was more bedrooms. To the right were the kitchen, dining hall, meeting rooms ... all of the important chambers. She decided to move in that direction.
Arolyn slid along the wall, her dark eyes darting everywhere as she went. Still, her ears picked up no sounds. She reached an intersecting hallway and carefully peered around the corner. As her eye fell on someone, she jerked back. Immediately, her mind replayed what she had seen, and recognizing the individual, she looked around the corner again. It was one of the guards. His lifeless body was floating limply toward the ceiling. His neck was nearly severed. She continued forward, encountering similar corpses. She couldn't help it. She began to cry.
Over the next half an hour, Arolyn searched the entire house. She did not find the bodies of any of the members of House Vanaseth — only guards and the household workers who had bravely taken up arms to fight with the others. A few had hidden. A few had run. But Arolyn was now the only living soul in the house. It was impossible to think that the sahuagin had taken hostages. But that's what she hoped. As horrible as that would be, that is what she hoped.
She felt impossibly alone. What was she to do? Was there someone who could help? No; everyone who could help her was dead or gone. Could she do something? Her desperate mind immediately put together a plan. An impossible plan. But for him, she could do the impossible. She immediately began her journey ... to land.
Name: Phyrenna Orestiuul
Race: Elf
Background: Guild Merchant
A brief backstory: Local craftsmen dreaded the unpredictable appearance of the exotic elven caravans from the deep forests. The reclusive elves, while rumors said they were passionate and whimsical among their own kind, showed only a cold and mysterious demeanor to outsiders, often wearing hoods, robes, and masks to emphasize their separation from the human farmers and local lords they traded with.
And what riches they brought! Elaborately decorated wagons drawn by horses of an ethereal breed contained artisanal goods of a bewitching make--inks that changed reality when you wrote with them, weapons that always seemed to find their target, ceramics and paintings of entrancing beauty. And the cost--the elves sold for pittance to the local nobles.
The work of the devil, local clergy decried it. And so, in response to the hardships of the local artisans and the moral decline of the populace, the vassals of the lord organized their soldiers and knights to set a course of war against the elven traders.
Sample Post:
It was always a disorienting experience, riding from the mists of the forest into the steppes. Everything seemed flat, dull, colorless, turned at odd angles. And the people--though she was oddly intrigued by the wrinkles and expressions on their lumpy faces--they were so poor. They had to tear their sustenance from unyielding ground, and even standing up straight seemed a great weight on them.
Phyrenna loved to see those lumpy faces transform into wide-eyed awe and smiles when the caravan rode up. She hid her own smile, her head covered by a substantial hood and a mask over her eyes. They hadn't brought the wagon today, just packed a few goods on the backs of the sprightly elven horses, their harnesses wrought with elaborate and abstract depictions of alien floral vines, birds, crowns, and stars. Phyrenna had watched a human artisan at work once. How he had to painstakingly bore and carve every detail in his stubborn material. Not like the elves, who sang their beautiful works into existence with a joy and ease that would stump human ingenuity. The poor things! Phyrenna was glad to be able to provide them with elvencraft, to try and beautify that harsh, disorienting landscape of drudgery.
"Well met, ma'am," a man who had the look of a rough-handed farmer bowed to her. He did not seem as delighted to see the elven caravan as she would have expected, his hand on the bridle of a sodden looking mule pulling a cart. "Begging your pardon, ma'am, we're delivering our own tax to the lord today. We've nothing this season to trade with you, ma'am." Two other men, perhaps his offspring, stood near him, watching the elves warily.
Phyrenna dismounted and walked up to them. She did not hide her smile now, hoping to reassure them. She had not seen this reaction before, and didn't know what to make of it. "Then let me give you a gift, in honor of our future association," she said. Holding out one slender gloved hand, she showed them a tiny cast brooch, with jeweled eyes, of a long-tailed bird, its wings outstretched. A beautiful item, to be sure, and Phyrenna knew that it would magically enhance the confidence and appeal of whomever wore it. These poor humans needed all the help they could get!
But, to her surprise, the man demurred. "No, ma'am," he said, a nervous sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. "I really can't, ma'am." One of his sons clenched a trembling hand, his eyes on the finely wrought bird.
Phyrenna could not understand. The humans had never acted like this. "Very well," she said, her smile fading. She lifted her hand, and the brooch animated, spreading its delicately carved wings and flying up into the air, quickly out of sight. It was an illusion, of course. She thought, vainly, that perhaps it would impress them. But they continued to stand stiffly, and so she turned to remount her horse and continue the ride along the colorless dirt road.
As they continued on, leaving the group of humans behind, one of Phyrenna's companions, Therlahane, rode to her side. Masked, and hooded, as she herself was, she could still easily see the concern on his face, in his eyes boring into hers. "Something is wrong, Phyrenna," he said. "We should return to the forest, and now."
"But we have sold nothing," she said.
"I think we are in danger," he replied, his voice low.
"What threatens us here?" Phyrenna said, but she did not have to wait for her answer. Ahead of them, and on each flank, clouds of dust rose under the distant pounding hooves of a horde of the muscled dumb brutes of horses that the human knights rode. The knights. Vassals of the local lord. Phyrenna turned, puzzled, to Therlahane, with a smile, but alarm was written all over the other elf's face as he spun his horse away from her side, shouting to the rest of the merchants in the caravan.
Phyrenna turned back again, and already the brutes surrounded the small caravan, the lumpy faces of the humans twisted in rage and hostility, the flash of their blades in the dim, wan sun, the sweat and froth of their maddened horses. Her own horse screamed and reared, and looking down, she saw an arrow protruding from its chest, the fletching rough, ugly, the shaft poorly hewn… Oh, what better arrows we could have brought to them… she thought as she began to fall, her elven grace doing her no good in the heavy, disorienting air, and she watched her horse crashing to the ground on top of her.
Are Variant Humans permitted and, if so, would the Magic Initiate feat be allowed? One of the ideas I'm toying with is a Charlton who passes himself off as a Wizard.
Other (questionable) option
sI'm thinking about...- Variant Human (Healer) Acolyte of Ilmater- Variant Human (Ritual Caster) Wizard's Apprentice/Sage
Great question. I’d say Variant Human is allowed, but not every feat would be. I’d need to take some time to write up an approved list, but in the meantime I can review on a case by case basis.
No one is starting off with spells, so any feat that grants them or an ability matching a spell would be off the table. Stating this off as a low/rare magic world where wielding abilities of that sort would be way beyond the imagination of most commoners.
The model for these characters are more like Bilbo Baggins at the start of The Hobbit or Taran at the start of The Black Cauldron/The Chronicles of Prydain. Someone with virtually no abilities at all who picks up skills and becomes a hero by the story’s end.
DM - Classic Adventures Reborn
Rylan - L1 Human Paladin - Barty's "Princes of the Apocalypse"
Thanks! I do have a character application more along those lines but I was intrigued by the possibility of a character that seems more competent than they actually are and have to try and keep up the charade or possibly a character more along the lines Schmendrake the Magician at the start of The Last Unicorn.
A name: Carlos Indigo Featherbane Shucks
A race: Kenku (“Cawww, shucks!”)
A background: Acolyte to Kelemvor Lyonsbane, Lord of the Dead. (“Heed death’s cawwwll!”). And traveling salesman.
A brief backstory: Carlos’ parents are day workers on an orc farm. Or rather, a farm owned by orcs. Who would run a farm that grew orcs, after all? I was speaking of his parents. Work, work work, roosting on the scarecrows and keeping rabbits and deer from the fields. It doesn’t require an education, but it’s a living. But not according to Carlos, who found disorder -- chaos, even -- in the living and dying of those around him. When his grandparents – all four of them – passed in the same winter, Carlos felt the call of Kelemvor, the judge of the deceased. He told his parents he would travel in search of the meaning of life. They shrugged, unable to find a suitable reason why he should not go, or even to really understand what in the hells he was talking about.
A sample post showing a typical but revealing moment in the life of your character.
“I said, Carl!”
“Sounded like, ‘caww.’”
“It wasn’t.”
“Well, okay then, Carl, what kin I do fer ya?”
It wasn’t even the first time today that someone had misheard him. Did all humans fill their ears with candle wax in their spare time? What was so difficult. Carl. Carl. It’s a common name. Mustn’t get my feathers ruffled. No really.
“I’m a traveling errrmm traveler. Cawww! I need a place to sleep. Your stable looks inviting. May I?”
“Sure. Let’s say… five silver.”
So sure of himself. That is a pity.
“That is a pity. I thought at first that you were the kind that Kelemvor would judge lightly.”
“Oh yeah. Kelemvor. God of the errr… god of scales?”
“Judgment.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“I was wrong.”
“Wrong?”
“About the Lord of the Dead. Judging you lightly. It’s a pity. Eternity in the Hells and all. Cawww!”
“Wow. That’s kinda harsh.”
“Five silver is kinda harsh.”
“Look, fine. Four.”
“Deal. Enjoy the Hells.”
DM for Candlekeep Mysteries // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Eclipse Faraway in Gallows Dancer