Where the golden Narharun desert sands meet the Zaraphresh sea. Where earth speaks in two languages - Sand and Salt
The desert melts into the sea spilling ochre grains onto pail beaches in ribbons of gold. Beneath the water lies the Mirenlace reefs that spread out like jeweled fingers.
The first light of dawn spills across Shahr al-Layali city like honey, gilding the domes and rooftops in soft gold. From the minarets, the call to prayer drifts like a breath across the still air—haunting, melodic, reverent—echoing through the sandstone alleys and over the sleeping waves. In shaded courtyards, doves flutter awake, and the scent of orange blossoms rises with the warmth.
In the early morning hush, the bazaar stirs to life. Merchants roll open the woven doors of their stalls, revealing bolts of silk dyed in indigo, trays of glimmering dates, and glass jars filled with saffron, turmeric, and powdered lapis. A young couple shares sweet qahwa coffee under a jasmine trellis. Laughter echoes from street musicians tuning their ouds and flutes. The air is cool still, touched by the sea breeze, and full of promise.
On this day a letter comes to you. On the front written in unsteady but still beautiful script: To any who still carry justice in their hearts. There is a faint scent of Rose Water when the letter is opened.
To Seekers of Truth
My son, Malik, is dead.
I write with hands that tremble and heart that has forgotten how to beat without pain. He was the beat of my heart, the light in every corner of this darkening world. People called him an advocate, a speaker for the unheard, a man of law—but to me, he was just my boy. My only child. My soul walking in the world.
And now he is gone. Ripped away.
They say things. They say it was an accident. Their explanations are cold, clean, and hollow. They speak of peace and closure, but I find none. I don’t want their kind of peace. I want the truth.
So, I’m begging—pleading—if anyone out there still believes in right and wrong, please help me.
If you can bring me the truth, if you can give my son the justice he deserves, I will give you all I have. My silver, my name, the heirloom rings of my mother’s line. It is yours.
Samir was born to a quiet household in the salt-coast village of Al-Riman, where the sea kisses tombs carved into the cliffs. His mother was a funerary scribe and his father a temple washer. They were those who tend the bodies of the dead but are seldom invited to weddings. From a young age, Samir learned that death was not to be feared, but understood. When his younger sister died suddenly from poisoned water and her death ruled a “tragedy without culprit”, Samir’s path was sealed. He left home days later and sought the Order of the Veiled Inquisition (this can be changed at DMs discretion), a little-known sect that believes wrongful death stains the world like ink in clean water. Over the years, Samir became not just a cleric, but a reckoner of the forgotten. He wandered borderlands and backstreets, performing rites for the unnamed dead, and listening for voices that still clung to this world. He never asked for coin, only truth. Those who killed in secret learned to fear the veiled man who prayed by fresh graves. Recently, during a death vigil, Samir received a scented letter asking for help. He read it only once. That night, he placed the letter beneath his pillow and lay in stillness. When the sun rose, he gathered his satchel, donned his funeral veil, and set his feet toward Shahr al-Layali. He did not leave a note behind. The dead had called and he had heard.
Appearance:
Samir is in his late 30s early 40s with dark sun-baked skin. He wears white robes with golden embroidery over chained armor. Always veiled in public, a mark of his order, the veil is embroidered with the names of unjustly slain souls he has been charged with saving. He has deep-set eyes with the weariness of one who has listened too long to the dead
Short Backstory: Left on the streets as a babe, Melakim basically raised himself by his own wits as soon as he could physically do it. He was a terror of an urchin, but got rescued from the streets by a temple guard who saw the boy's atittude was going to soon bring the big hammer of the law down on him. Given some real combat training he has supported himself as a mercenary and guard since then.
Short Backstory: Ashar was the son of a minor noble, raised in service to the sun god by the paladins and clerics. He excelled at the martial training and was in the top third of his cohort in divine magic, but his coursework was fair at best. In the temple he was taught, and held to, a strict code of conduct. He still holds tightly to this discipline and black-and-white view of good and evil. At eighteen summers, Ashar took the solemn Oath of Vengeance, becoming one of a small group in the order sent to punish those who committed grievously evil acts. He aids those harmed by injustice and shows the wicked who commit these injustices no mercy.
Classe/Subclass: 1 Rogue/1 Wizard/1 Rogue planned Thief subclass and all further levels.
Short Backstory: Lucan didn’t answer because he wanted redemption. He answered because he hates a lie with a perfect edge. And Malik had deserved better. Why Lucan Hunts the Truth Lucan walks a narrow path — part rogue, part mage, part ghost of who he might’ve been. He still steals. He still lies. But this time, it’s for something more. In a city of masks, he’s the one trying to see behind them all. To learn who killed Malik. Why. And whether justice is still possible in a place that has long since forgotten what that word means.
Appearance: Description or Art piece.
A black-haired high elf of medium build. He is dressed in black traveler's clothes. He carries a rapier, darts on his belt, A quiver of arrows with a slung short bow. He carries a backpack and tools around his belt. I'll add a picture eventually.
Class : Monk (Way of the Shadow) - really a grappler.
Background :
He shouldn’t have opened that letter in the little brass bowl. But as his curiosity got the best of him, he sad and read it several times over in the monastery. Master must not know that I looked at his mail.. obviously this was meant for him, right?
Krakan is an unusual student in the Al Aqba monastery. His skills have grown steadily over the years, he’s the best wrestler in the group. His ability to focus and apply pressure at the proper anatomical points has become legendary among his class. He has also learned how to sneak up on his opponents, almost turn the world dark around them, or he feels that way.
As Krakan reads the letter and hears the desperate plea of the mother who lost her son, he feels this is meant to be, no random chance. He feels something well up inside him, a need for justice, and he crumples the letter up in his hand, putting it in his pack. Krakan gathers his things one night and the next morning he leaves before anyone is up for prayers, makes his way to Shahr al-Layali to look into this murder and bring Salma some justice…
Kaylan doesn't like remembering his childhood, which is a jumble flash of bloodshed and terror, then being sold by slavers to a strange old man. The man was an old wizard, Larx Nordrisk, had a sudden need to pass on a legacy, any legacy really, to satisfy the condition of a deal he had made with a strange entity in his past. He failed to do so before he passed away, but young man traveled to various places for a coupe, of years and managed finished his apprenticeship as a wizard. Along he set up with a traveling group of builders who were finishing up a contract to build roads and watch towers for a lord of the land, where he finished some training as architect and as a cartographer.
Completing his apprenticeships, he is now off to figure out how to survive in this hostile world with this group he has fallen in with.
Calligrapher's Supplies - Concise writing is important for both mapping and wizardly activities, like creating scrolls!
Cartographer Tools - when building roads and making safeholds, good to be able to read a map and make new ones!
Carpenter's & Mason's tools - The basic skills needed when building shelter, furniture and improving roads.
Short Backstory: Ergo Posteriori was originally designed by a famed gnome artificer as a gift for one of the great sultans of the Zaraphresh sea - the culmination of a life's career spent studying a practical application of arcane tinkering. The pinnacle of gnomish engineering. The living, walking problem solving machine was intended to be the ultimate advisor - smarter, wiser, more trustworthy than any other member of the royal court. It could thwart assassination plots as easily as it could calculate grain distribution and defend the sovereign in battle if needed.... However, none of that was to be.
As work progressed on the prototype.... the great gnome artificer started to become quite senile. The social lines blurred between inventor and invention... In time Ergo became less of a masterpiece and more of a companion. Tragically, the artificer's life ended before Ergo could complete his training. For years he languished in storage... until he was discovered by the inventor's heir, a young gnome named Belle.
After some simple repairs, Ergo regained his former strength... though he lacked any purpose. Belle did her best to help him... bringing him out to the market to learn the ways of the world. Children adored the clockwork gnome and merchants enjoyed the attention his patronage drew... but his real value became clear the first time he identified a pick-pocket in the act. He managed to solve several robberies in the following months. Merchants began offering coin to young Belle to purchase Ergo. To date, she's refused all offers, insisting that Ergo is his own person - not something to be bought and sold.
...and now this letter has arrived. Ergo is reluctant to take on a murder case... It's so far outside of his experience. Belle nonetheless convinced him this case is an opportunity to do some real good and find his own purpose. He's not entirely convinced that she's right... but he trusts her implicitly, the thought of doing good thrills him, and... well... he never could resist a good mystery.
Lelet was found as an infant on an isolated temple's steps. The priests took her in and raised her, training her to be a cleric, however it was apparent she lacked the devotion to become one. When her powers manifest one of the priests helped her explore her newfound powers. Once she reached adulthood the priests encouraged her to explore the world and find her own path. Grateful for the love and kindness she was shown she set out on her journey knowing she would always be welcome at the temple.
Her journey has led her to this city and the adventures and mysteries to be found here.
She is a Drow in her early 20s. She often wears darkened glasses to protect her sensitive eyes from the harsh daylight, preferring the night.
Short Backstory: Tavi grew up in a quiet halfling village, where her life changed the day a traveling performance troupe arrived. They told the tale of a mythical dance so beautiful it could calm any storm—of weather or heart. Enchanted and inspired, Tavi went out to travel the world and find that lost dance, hoping to spread joy and peace through movement and music. Along the way, she helps others rediscover their rhythm and purpose, always guided by her gentle heart and the wind at her heels.
On this day, however, something new stirs her path. Rumors litter the streets of the bazaar, of an accident, a shane but at least the lad has now found peace. The folks who are more down on their luck however, they speak of a tragedy. With one of their voices silenced so ruthlessly, who will dare to speak for them now?
Chasing down the rumors, she soon comes across someone holding an envelope, still baring a faint scent of rose water: “To any who still carry justice in their hearts.” Tavi’s fingers tremble—not in fear, but in certainty. A story is calling to her. Perhaps someone needs her dance now more than ever.
Appearance: Tavi is a young halfling with copper-brown wavy hair and bright, blueish-gray eyes full of youthful optimism. She wears modest, flowing layers in greens, blues, and purples, designed for freedom of movement. She proudly carries a tambourine etched with pale blue wind-swirls and wears a silver armlet gifted to her by a dancer from the troupe that first inspired her. Her movements are fluid and captivating, often accompanied by a subtle breeze, as if the wind itself dances with her.
Backstory: she usually pursues poachers in savannah with helt of her yaguar companion. She followed trail of one gang till she lost it in many of Shahr al-Layali's bazaars, but Glerbac recieved the letter and decided to give this investigation a try to not leave city empty-handed
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Name: Handel Denstrob
Race: Aasimar
Class/Subclass: Paladin/Oath of the Ancients
Short Backstory: Handel was abandoned after he was born. His parents didnt have enough money to sustain having a child, because of this he spent his childhood in an orphanage with little to eat or drink. He was always picked on because he was the nerd of the orphanage. At 12 years old, he was tired of the orphanage and ran away. He found a way to make money and got food and water with it, he lived on the streets with no one close to him. He is scarred by his child hood and doesn’t like to talk about it.
Appearance: Handel appears to be a green eyed, 30 year old male with bushy black hair. He has no facial hair and he hardly ever shows emotion.
If you don’t know where I am, I’m either sleeping or roleplaying. If I’m doing neither of those things, except the worst. (Do not actually expect the worst) If you need to talk then PM me. Head Acolyte of The Tree Cult.
Drow lineage on her mother’s side, human from the desert on her father’s
Class/Subclass:
Rogue (Inquisitive)
Short Backstory:
Layla Siroon grew up on the border of light and shadow. The daughter of a desert-born trader and a drow exile, she learned early how to read what wasn't said—how a raised brow or a twitch of fingers could speak louder than words. Her mother taught her the art of secrets, her father taught her the ethics of survival. When she was twelve, her mother vanished beneath the dunes on a caravan route to Zaraphresh. No body. No trail. Just silence.
In her search for answers, Layla turned to the guilds of Shahr al-Layali, apprenticing as a scribe by day and shadowing investigators by night. Her uncanny ability to see through lies and read motive like script earned her a name among those who need truth uncovered discreetly. Now, three years into her work as a freelance investigator, the letter from Salma Al-Hakim arrives like the whisper of fate.
A mother’s grief, a son’s lost truth, and a city thick with unspoken power.
Layla can’t walk away. She knows what it's like to lose someone to silence.
Appearance:
Layla has sun-kissed bronze skin with a cool undertone that hints at her drow heritage. Her hair is jet-black and braided tightly against her scalp, wrapped in indigo silk to protect it from the desert wind. Her eyes are mismatched—one storm grey, the other silver with a violet shimmer that glows faintly in darkness. A thin scar runs from her chin to the edge of her jaw, a gift from someone who didn’t like being found out.
She wears fitted desert leathers under a flowing, dark cerulean cloak lined with hidden pockets. Around her neck hangs a small amulet carved from black coral, a memento from her mother. Her voice is low and steady, her presence quiet but intense.
Name: Qarsan al-Bachar Race: Human Classe/Subclass: Ranger (Gloom Stalker) Short Backstory: Qarsan first exchanged black eyes with a fellow at the tavern on account of a pretty Tiefling then exchanged ale and laughter after that pretty Tiefling decided she wanted nothing to do with either no-account, no-good sailor. It was just as well since someone then read out the letter from Salma Al-Hakim. While the others laughed at the maudlin sentiment, Qarsan found his sense of justice and desire for reward stir. With a flash of his backside to his former ship, the Boisterous Bastard, since he had spent 15 of his 22 years on that ship and had recently decided it was time to do something less wet, Qarsan went to join this quest.
Abishai is an older man who found service with the temple after being mugged by a roving band of halfling thieves. They left him in the gutter to die after taking everything he had. Fortunately, Abishai was rescued by his Pastor and taught the way of the weapon and how that weapon blends with divine guidance to enact justice across the realm. While Abishai seeks to right the world's wrongs, he can't seem ever to trust a halfling again and views them all with suspicion.
I absolutely love the flavour and richness of your opening post, and the setting and letter for a murder mystery is *chef’s kiss*. I notice you’ve no Warlocks in your applications yet and as a ‘Seeker’ of Justice, who fits better than an Eldritch Warlock of strange and aberrant places
Name: Nagin Al’Moud
Race: Human
Class/Subclass: 2024 Warlock/Great Old One
Short Backstory: Al’Moud was once a magistrate of a lower market and then a travelling circuit he performed well, with an eye for detail and consideration for when justice was served and when other … more economic interests were served also. He did as others did, and he did it well. What should’ve been a comfortable life turned stranger with one dreadful case and plaintiff that he just couldn’t stop investigating, and answer he couldn’t stop contemplating and can never quite remember
Al’Moud finds himself now a year or two on from that mystery, utterly changed. Every unsolved crime, every unresolved and unrepentant criminal investigation, it compels him, like an itch, like a tick bite, like nails on a chalkboard and a smell of sweet and sewer that he can’t ignore, can’t help but follow. The letter he receives now is impossible to ignore. Justice? Perhaps. Seeker? Inevitably
Appearance: Will edit in the suitably creepy picture once I find one.
By age six I ran away from home and into the vast scorching sands. I found a band of brigands and they took me under their wing. By the time I was nine, I was well-versed in the ways of death and deception. Many people didn't think a nine year old boy would ever commit a crime- and that's exactly why the bandits kept me.
At age twelve, my comrades were all slain by Shahr al-Layali soldiers. However, it seemed they were unwilling to cut down a child, and presented me to a man named Malik.
The men quarreled and agreed I should be sent to prison- but Malik denied them of their solution. He said I should have a second chance- a child raised by infidels would not know better than the treason he was taught.
Malik took me under his wing and introduced me to the path of law. He was like a father to me.
But only until recently has a pang of sorrow washed over me. I received word that Malik has been slain. I now seek justice, and I will do whatever I can to avenge my greatest friend.
Appearance:
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
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Where the golden Narharun desert sands meet the Zaraphresh sea. Where earth speaks in two languages - Sand and Salt
The desert melts into the sea spilling ochre grains onto pail beaches in ribbons of gold. Beneath the water lies the Mirenlace reefs that spread out like jeweled fingers.
The first light of dawn spills across Shahr al-Layali city like honey, gilding the domes and rooftops in soft gold. From the minarets, the call to prayer drifts like a breath across the still air—haunting, melodic, reverent—echoing through the sandstone alleys and over the sleeping waves. In shaded courtyards, doves flutter awake, and the scent of orange blossoms rises with the warmth.
In the early morning hush, the bazaar stirs to life. Merchants roll open the woven doors of their stalls, revealing bolts of silk dyed in indigo, trays of glimmering dates, and glass jars filled with saffron, turmeric, and powdered lapis. A young couple shares sweet qahwa coffee under a jasmine trellis. Laughter echoes from street musicians tuning their ouds and flutes. The air is cool still, touched by the sea breeze, and full of promise.
On this day a letter comes to you. On the front written in unsteady but still beautiful script: To any who still carry justice in their hearts. There is a faint scent of Rose Water when the letter is opened.
To Seekers of Truth
My son, Malik, is dead.
I write with hands that tremble and heart that has forgotten how to beat without pain. He was the beat of my heart, the light in every corner of this darkening world. People called him an advocate, a speaker for the unheard, a man of law—but to me, he was just my boy. My only child. My soul walking in the world.
And now he is gone.
Ripped away.
They say things. They say it was an accident. Their explanations are cold, clean, and hollow. They speak of peace and closure, but I find none. I don’t want their kind of peace. I want the truth.
So, I’m begging—pleading—if anyone out there still believes in right and wrong, please help me.
If you can bring me the truth, if you can give my son the justice he deserves, I will give you all I have. My silver, my name, the heirloom rings of my mother’s line. It is yours.
Please.
Do not let him be forgotten.
Salma Al-Hakim
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Murder Mystery
Here on the Forums
Level 3
Use Standard Array for ability scores
All official classes and species are fine. No Homebrew.
Application
Name:
Race:
Classe/Subclass:
Short Backstory:
Appearance: Description or Art piece.
Will we get a level up during campaign?
Yes, there will be level ups. Milestone Leveling.
Name: Samir
Race: Human (variant)
Class/Subclass: Grave Cleric
Short Backstory:
Samir was born to a quiet household in the salt-coast village of Al-Riman, where the sea kisses tombs carved into the cliffs. His mother was a funerary scribe and his father a temple washer. They were those who tend the bodies of the dead but are seldom invited to weddings. From a young age, Samir learned that death was not to be feared, but understood. When his younger sister died suddenly from poisoned water and her death ruled a “tragedy without culprit”, Samir’s path was sealed. He left home days later and sought the Order of the Veiled Inquisition (this can be changed at DMs discretion), a little-known sect that believes wrongful death stains the world like ink in clean water.
Over the years, Samir became not just a cleric, but a reckoner of the forgotten. He wandered borderlands and backstreets, performing rites for the unnamed dead, and listening for voices that still clung to this world. He never asked for coin, only truth. Those who killed in secret learned to fear the veiled man who prayed by fresh graves. Recently, during a death vigil, Samir received a scented letter asking for help.
He read it only once. That night, he placed the letter beneath his pillow and lay in stillness. When the sun rose, he gathered his satchel, donned his funeral veil, and set his feet toward Shahr al-Layali. He did not leave a note behind. The dead had called and he had heard.
Appearance:
Samir is in his late 30s early 40s with dark sun-baked skin. He wears white robes with golden embroidery over chained armor. Always veiled in public, a mark of his order, the veil is embroidered with the names of unjustly slain souls he has been charged with saving. He has deep-set eyes with the weariness of one who has listened too long to the dead
Name: Melakim
Race: Fire Genasi
Class/Subclass: Fighter (Battlemaster)
Short Backstory: Left on the streets as a babe, Melakim basically raised himself by his own wits as soon as he could physically do it. He was a terror of an urchin, but got rescued from the streets by a temple guard who saw the boy's atittude was going to soon bring the big hammer of the law down on him. Given some real combat training he has supported himself as a mercenary and guard since then.
Appearance:
Coriana - Company of the Grey Chain
Wagner - Dragon Heist: Bards.
DM - The Old Keep
Name: Ashar Zu'lugor
Species: Human
Class/Subclass: Paladin / Oath of Vengeance
Short Backstory: Ashar was the son of a minor noble, raised in service to the sun god by the paladins and clerics. He excelled at the martial training and was in the top third of his cohort in divine magic, but his coursework was fair at best. In the temple he was taught, and held to, a strict code of conduct. He still holds tightly to this discipline and black-and-white view of good and evil. At eighteen summers, Ashar took the solemn Oath of Vengeance, becoming one of a small group in the order sent to punish those who committed grievously evil acts. He aids those harmed by injustice and shows the wicked who commit these injustices no mercy.
Appearance:
Love God. Love Others. Any Questions?
I am fine with either for character creation but for rules I lean towards 5.24
Application
Name: Lucan Silentcloud
Race: High Elf
Standard array and sheet listed below.
Classe/Subclass: 1 Rogue/1 Wizard/1 Rogue planned Thief subclass and all further levels.
Short Backstory: Lucan didn’t answer because he wanted redemption. He answered because he hates a lie with a perfect edge. And Malik had deserved better. Why Lucan Hunts the Truth Lucan walks a narrow path — part rogue, part mage, part ghost of who he might’ve been. He still steals. He still lies. But this time, it’s for something more. In a city of masks, he’s the one trying to see behind them all. To learn who killed Malik. Why. And whether justice is still possible in a place that has long since forgotten what that word means.
Appearance: Description or Art piece.
A black-haired high elf of medium build. He is dressed in black traveler's clothes. He carries a rapier, darts on his belt, A quiver of arrows with a slung short bow. He carries a backpack and tools around his belt. I'll add a picture eventually.
Lucan Silentcloud's Character Sheet - D&D Beyond
Signature
Levi Flint - DM - Mad Mage; Korvin - DM - Tyranny of Dragons; Player Lucan - The One Breath, Player Gildor Surion - Balder's Gate-Decent;
Name : Krakan Serpentfriend Vathunugate
Race : Goliath
Class : Monk (Way of the Shadow) - really a grappler.
Background :
He shouldn’t have opened that letter in the little brass bowl. But as his curiosity got the best of him, he sad and read it several times over in the monastery. Master must not know that I looked at his mail.. obviously this was meant for him, right?
Krakan is an unusual student in the Al Aqba monastery. His skills have grown steadily over the years, he’s the best wrestler in the group. His ability to focus and apply pressure at the proper anatomical points has become legendary among his class. He has also learned how to sneak up on his opponents, almost turn the world dark around them, or he feels that way.
As Krakan reads the letter and hears the desperate plea of the mother who lost her son, he feels this is meant to be, no random chance. He feels something well up inside him, a need for justice, and he crumples the letter up in his hand, putting it in his pack. Krakan gathers his things one night and the next morning he leaves before anyone is up for prayers, makes his way to Shahr al-Layali to look into this murder and bring Salma some justice…
Character Sheet : https://www.dndbeyond.com/characters/147286389/PjHXgz
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Name: Kaylan Blaine
Race: Human
Classe/Subclass: Wizard (Illusionist)
Short Backstory:
Kaylan doesn't like remembering his childhood, which is a jumble flash of bloodshed and terror, then being sold by slavers to a strange old man. The man was an old wizard, Larx Nordrisk, had a sudden need to pass on a legacy, any legacy really, to satisfy the condition of a deal he had made with a strange entity in his past. He failed to do so before he passed away, but young man traveled to various places for a coupe, of years and managed finished his apprenticeship as a wizard. Along he set up with a traveling group of builders who were finishing up a contract to build roads and watch towers for a lord of the land, where he finished some training as architect and as a cartographer.
Completing his apprenticeships, he is now off to figure out how to survive in this hostile world with this group he has fallen in with.
Calligrapher's Supplies - Concise writing is important for both mapping and wizardly activities, like creating scrolls!
Cartographer Tools - when building roads and making safeholds, good to be able to read a map and make new ones!
Carpenter's & Mason's tools - The basic skills needed when building shelter, furniture and improving roads.
Cats go Moo!
Name: Ergo
Race: Autognome
Class/Subclass: Rogue - Inquisitive
Short Backstory: Ergo Posteriori was originally designed by a famed gnome artificer as a gift for one of the great sultans of the Zaraphresh sea - the culmination of a life's career spent studying a practical application of arcane tinkering. The pinnacle of gnomish engineering. The living, walking problem solving machine was intended to be the ultimate advisor - smarter, wiser, more trustworthy than any other member of the royal court. It could thwart assassination plots as easily as it could calculate grain distribution and defend the sovereign in battle if needed.... However, none of that was to be.
As work progressed on the prototype.... the great gnome artificer started to become quite senile. The social lines blurred between inventor and invention... In time Ergo became less of a masterpiece and more of a companion. Tragically, the artificer's life ended before Ergo could complete his training. For years he languished in storage... until he was discovered by the inventor's heir, a young gnome named Belle.
After some simple repairs, Ergo regained his former strength... though he lacked any purpose. Belle did her best to help him... bringing him out to the market to learn the ways of the world. Children adored the clockwork gnome and merchants enjoyed the attention his patronage drew... but his real value became clear the first time he identified a pick-pocket in the act. He managed to solve several robberies in the following months. Merchants began offering coin to young Belle to purchase Ergo. To date, she's refused all offers, insisting that Ergo is his own person - not something to be bought and sold.
...and now this letter has arrived. Ergo is reluctant to take on a murder case... It's so far outside of his experience. Belle nonetheless convinced him this case is an opportunity to do some real good and find his own purpose. He's not entirely convinced that she's right... but he trusts her implicitly, the thought of doing good thrills him, and... well... he never could resist a good mystery.
Appearance:
DM - Classic Adventures Reborn
Rylan - L1 Human Paladin - Barty's "Princes of the Apocalypse"
Lelet Nightgift
Drow
Sorcerer/Draconic Bloodline
Backstory
Lelet was found as an infant on an isolated temple's steps. The priests took her in and raised her, training her to be a cleric, however it was apparent she lacked the devotion to become one. When her powers manifest one of the priests helped her explore her newfound powers. Once she reached adulthood the priests encouraged her to explore the world and find her own path. Grateful for the love and kindness she was shown she set out on her journey knowing she would always be welcome at the temple.
Her journey has led her to this city and the adventures and mysteries to be found here.
She is a Drow in her early 20s. She often wears darkened glasses to protect her sensitive eyes from the harsh daylight, preferring the night.
https://www.dndbeyond.com/characters/147296221
Name: Tavi Softstep
Race: Lightfoot Halfling
Class/Subclass: Bard (College of Dance)
Short Backstory:
Tavi grew up in a quiet halfling village, where her life changed the day a traveling performance troupe arrived. They told the tale of a mythical dance so beautiful it could calm any storm—of weather or heart. Enchanted and inspired, Tavi went out to travel the world and find that lost dance, hoping to spread joy and peace through movement and music. Along the way, she helps others rediscover their rhythm and purpose, always guided by her gentle heart and the wind at her heels.
On this day, however, something new stirs her path. Rumors litter the streets of the bazaar, of an accident, a shane but at least the lad has now found peace. The folks who are more down on their luck however, they speak of a tragedy. With one of their voices silenced so ruthlessly, who will dare to speak for them now?
Chasing down the rumors, she soon comes across someone holding an envelope, still baring a faint scent of rose water: “To any who still carry justice in their hearts.” Tavi’s fingers tremble—not in fear, but in certainty. A story is calling to her. Perhaps someone needs her dance now more than ever.
Appearance:
Tavi is a young halfling with copper-brown wavy hair and bright, blueish-gray eyes full of youthful optimism. She wears modest, flowing layers in greens, blues, and purples, designed for freedom of movement. She proudly carries a tambourine etched with pale blue wind-swirls and wears a silver armlet gifted to her by a dancer from the troupe that first inspired her. Her movements are fluid and captivating, often accompanied by a subtle breeze, as if the wind itself dances with her.
Name:Glerbac
Raсe: Infernal Tiefling
Class: Ranger/Beast Master
Backstory: she usually pursues poachers in savannah with helt of her yaguar companion. She followed trail of one gang till she lost it in many of Shahr al-Layali's bazaars, but Glerbac recieved the letter and decided to give this investigation a try to not leave city empty-handed
https://www.dndbeyond.com/characters/146392036
Name: Handel Denstrob
Race: Aasimar
Class/Subclass: Paladin/Oath of the Ancients
Short Backstory: Handel was abandoned after he was born. His parents didnt have enough money to sustain having a child, because of this he spent his childhood in an orphanage with little to eat or drink. He was always picked on because he was the nerd of the orphanage. At 12 years old, he was tired of the orphanage and ran away. He found a way to make money and got food and water with it, he lived on the streets with no one close to him. He is scarred by his child hood and doesn’t like to talk about it.
Appearance: Handel appears to be a green eyed, 30 year old male with bushy black hair. He has no facial hair and he hardly ever shows emotion.
Ability Scores: Ability scores: 13 14 16 13 12 15
Lightning flashes, it creates ash. The ash forms a human.
If you don’t know where I am, I’m either sleeping or roleplaying. If I’m doing neither of those things, except the worst. (Do not actually expect the worst) If you need to talk then PM me. Head Acolyte of The Tree Cult.
D&D Character Application – Layla Siroon
Character Application
Name:
Layla Siroon
Race:
Half-Elf (Drow Descent)
Drow lineage on her mother’s side, human from the desert on her father’s
Class/Subclass:
Rogue (Inquisitive)
Short Backstory:
Layla Siroon grew up on the border of light and shadow. The daughter of a desert-born trader and a drow exile, she learned early how to read what wasn't said—how a raised brow or a twitch of fingers could speak louder than words. Her mother taught her the art of secrets, her father taught her the ethics of survival. When she was twelve, her mother vanished beneath the dunes on a caravan route to Zaraphresh. No body. No trail. Just silence.
In her search for answers, Layla turned to the guilds of Shahr al-Layali, apprenticing as a scribe by day and shadowing investigators by night. Her uncanny ability to see through lies and read motive like script earned her a name among those who need truth uncovered discreetly. Now, three years into her work as a freelance investigator, the letter from Salma Al-Hakim arrives like the whisper of fate.
A mother’s grief, a son’s lost truth, and a city thick with unspoken power.
Layla can’t walk away. She knows what it's like to lose someone to silence.
Appearance:
Layla has sun-kissed bronze skin with a cool undertone that hints at her drow heritage. Her hair is jet-black and braided tightly against her scalp, wrapped in indigo silk to protect it from the desert wind. Her eyes are mismatched—one storm grey, the other silver with a violet shimmer that glows faintly in darkness. A thin scar runs from her chin to the edge of her jaw, a gift from someone who didn’t like being found out.
She wears fitted desert leathers under a flowing, dark cerulean cloak lined with hidden pockets. Around her neck hangs a small amulet carved from black coral, a memento from her mother. Her voice is low and steady, her presence quiet but intense.
Name: Qarsan al-Bachar
Race: Human
Classe/Subclass: Ranger (Gloom Stalker)
Short Backstory: Qarsan first exchanged black eyes with a fellow at the tavern on account of a pretty Tiefling then exchanged ale and laughter after that pretty Tiefling decided she wanted nothing to do with either no-account, no-good sailor. It was just as well since someone then read out the letter from Salma Al-Hakim. While the others laughed at the maudlin sentiment, Qarsan found his sense of justice and desire for reward stir. With a flash of his backside to his former ship, the Boisterous Bastard, since he had spent 15 of his 22 years on that ship and had recently decided it was time to do something less wet, Qarsan went to join this quest.
Name: Abishai Sturm
Race: Human Variant
Classe/Subclass: Cleric/Life
Short Backstory:
Abishai is an older man who found service with the temple after being mugged by a roving band of halfling thieves. They left him in the gutter to die after taking everything he had. Fortunately, Abishai was rescued by his Pastor and taught the way of the weapon and how that weapon blends with divine guidance to enact justice across the realm. While Abishai seeks to right the world's wrongs, he can't seem ever to trust a halfling again and views them all with suspicion.
Appearance:
DM for Tyranny of Dragons and Phandelver and Below, two in-person campaigns that meet weekly on Friday and Saturday nights.
I absolutely love the flavour and richness of your opening post, and the setting and letter for a murder mystery is *chef’s kiss*. I notice you’ve no Warlocks in your applications yet and as a ‘Seeker’ of Justice, who fits better than an Eldritch Warlock of strange and aberrant places
Name: Nagin Al’Moud
Race: Human
Class/Subclass: 2024 Warlock/Great Old One
Short Backstory: Al’Moud was once a magistrate of a lower market and then a travelling circuit he performed well, with an eye for detail and consideration for when justice was served and when other … more economic interests were served also. He did as others did, and he did it well. What should’ve been a comfortable life turned stranger with one dreadful case and plaintiff that he just couldn’t stop investigating, and answer he couldn’t stop contemplating and can never quite remember
Al’Moud finds himself now a year or two on from that mystery, utterly changed. Every unsolved crime, every unresolved and unrepentant criminal investigation, it compels him, like an itch, like a tick bite, like nails on a chalkboard and a smell of sweet and sewer that he can’t ignore, can’t help but follow. The letter he receives now is impossible to ignore. Justice? Perhaps. Seeker? Inevitably
Appearance: Will edit in the suitably creepy picture once I find one.
https://www.dndbeyond.com/characters/147322954/ZGrZve
Name: Tythius Aelthorn
Race: Human
Class/Subclass: Warrior/Champion
Backstory:
By age six I ran away from home and into the vast scorching sands. I found a band of brigands and they took me under their wing. By the time I was nine, I was well-versed in the ways of death and deception. Many people didn't think a nine year old boy would ever commit a crime- and that's exactly why the bandits kept me.
At age twelve, my comrades were all slain by Shahr al-Layali soldiers. However, it seemed they were unwilling to cut down a child, and presented me to a man named Malik.
The men quarreled and agreed I should be sent to prison- but Malik denied them of their solution. He said I should have a second chance- a child raised by infidels would not know better than the treason he was taught.
Malik took me under his wing and introduced me to the path of law. He was like a father to me.
But only until recently has a pang of sorrow washed over me. I received word that Malik has been slain. I now seek justice, and I will do whatever I can to avenge my greatest friend.
Appearance: