IIt is the last day of summer in the small, mountain kingdom of Runia. There sits the Dwarf-Lord Rudan the Bronze on the venerable Oaken Seat of Runia - great grandson of the great lord Runavald the Deep, a hero of ages past and a legend of the tales and epics.
It is peaceful in this most auspicious time of the year, when the harvest moons hang low and dense overhead in the star-crowded sky, and the warm sun softly fades into autumn bliss. The trees, in their timeless congregations, consider the time of shedding leaves in hosts of brown and crimson in preparation for coming frosts, and many feasts are held across hall home, celebrating the gods great blessings of harvest and hearth.
One such feast, in King Rudan's own fortress of Oldhall, no less, holds rightly that glorious balance of festive and thankful, of goodwill and good cheer in abundance without excess. The carcasses of roast boar - fresh caught in his majesty's deep, dark woods, lie stripped of succulent meats besides mounds of hot bread, deep flagons of rich ale, rounds of cheese, sweet cakes of nuts and honey and a dozen other pies and delicacies besides. The king, brow drooping to a comfortable snooze whilst still seated on his Oaken throne, snaps awake with a startling expression drawn across his creased and bearded complexion. Eyes widen in shock and disbelief, pallor gripping his normally ruddy face, gaze tracking a space between the long tables where his men and dwarves at arms, huntsmen and craftsmen, servants myriad, their wives, children and hounds still feast and cavort. For several minutes, the king remains in this state before he is noticed by his seneschal and the royal surgeon is sent for, hurrying him off to his chambers as the early signs of disorder manifest in more and more distressing ways.
The next day, the king sent for his advisors, and then his wizards.
And then any passerby with a claim to understanding and interpreting dreams and visions here on this mortal plane.
One month later, as the first snows fell, the first monsters appeared, and evil sunk its roots deep into the land.
Runia now stands under threat of curse of unknown scope and portent. Foul evils crouch beneath every shadow, in every hole and peak while suspicion lurks behind every barred door. In desperation, King Rudan has sounded a call for aid from heroes of the land, both his and from territories beyond, promising sizeable rewards to those who can free his people and his land.
Greetings, one and all! After some absence from PbP, I find myself once more with adequate time and energy for this, our most illustrious shared hobby. I have enjoyed this pastime for about six years now, largely as a DM in person and occasionally as a player, especially here in PbP, and have loved many of the more ambitious and expansive stories that this site and format allows for. I trust you do as well.
I seek 3-5 stalwart players able to post at least thrice a week. Some experience with 5e is appreciated but not necessary to apply, as I intend to lean heavily on homebrewed items, special boons, features and monsters as inspiration strikes, though a general sense of fair play, good sportsmanship and strong writing style are greatly esteemed. I tend to create worlds with campaign worthy mysteries ready for the players to explore, but I don't tend to railroad my players into any one path for success. I also don't intend to be intentionally edgy or controversial, but I am not in the habit of shying away from such topics if, as a group of players, we are comfortable with more mature themes. I will not ask for daily posting is not required unless the situation calls for it (for instance, if one is in an active conversation with another player, or it is your turn in combat and we are rotating through the combat order swiftly) but I would request daily checks on the thread, and I do plan to advance the story one way or another on a weekly basis. Hopefully this will not take the form of "Monster appears, roll initiative," but I do hope to maintain a sense of forward progress and momentum. I am not a rules lawyer, and I am a fan of much of what Matt Coleville has said on the topic of "rule of cool" and "failing forward," but I want to see consistency with rules application over the course of the game. As for the world, our story will begin in Runia but will not necessarily remain there. The code word is tanstafl. I have a rough idea of Runia's topography and general layout, but have yet to make a map in detail as I this as an opportunity for collaborative worldbuilding - more on that later. The idea is to keep the edges of the map a little vague until we have need to define them for our campaign. I intend to draw inspiration from a wide range of fantasy (Tolkien, Vance, Cook, Eddings, Leguin, Lawhead, and Sapkowski, to name a few), historical fiction (Cornwell, Pressfield, Forester), perhaps even science fiction (Clarke, Simmons, Bujold, Rowley, Card) books and stories that I have enjoyed over the years, and would invite those of the party to do the same.
Some general information about the world: Runia is a small kingdom, founded by a Dwarf-Lord back in the Age of Heroes, when Civilizations rose and fell beneath a never-setting sun, from which we are now about a thousand years displaced. Neighboring countries in the area are comparable in strength and culture, though foreign merchants speak of vast empires far to the south, in both the East and the West, staring at each other across an inland sea (analogous to the Mediterranean) and gradually exerting their influence through the fractured and often mountainous northern kingdoms, of which Runia is one. To the north, the verdant mountain forests give way to open, tundra, inhospitable and extending as far as any have ever travelled until the lands turn to one endless sheet of packed ice and snow. All standard Wotc races are present, though your usual suspects make up the vast majority: humans, elves, dwarves, in no particular order, followed by gnomes, halflings, dragonborn, and tieflings. Other races appear in rarer numbers. Magic is a well known phenomenon, and in keeping with the traditions of DnD, draws on a common source while manifesting in different traditions, some of which I would be happy to homebrew or reimagine for this campaign. If technology levels interest you, by DM fiat, let us imagine that iron and bronze-smithing dominate this region of the wider world, though distant ports to the south now sell arms and tools of steel, and even sturdier alloys, seemingly of enchanted levels of sharpness and strength. Despite the relative simplicity in metallurgy, craftsmanship with other materials is more creative and advanced, especially in the more trade-accessible kingdoms to Runia's. After all, sufficiently advanced technology takes on the appearance of magic, and all that. The deities of the world will fall into a classic array along axes of Law-Chaos and Good-Evil, though again these terms can and probably will be fairly relative and may not have definitive substance, generally taking broad inspiration from Greco-Roman and Nordic pantheons.
Character Creation: In the final party, I am looking for the party to fill a few roles
Role: Specify which of the following rough party roles your character will likely fill
- The Warrior: I will overcome this curse on Runia by might and skill at arms.
- The Sage: Can this curse be defeated through knowledge and reason?
- The Faithful: I will reverse this curse through truth and repentance!
- The Wildcard: Perhaps this curse can be used to my advantage before it is lifted...
Name: Because every hero needs a good name.
Race/Class: Because mechanics matter in a good dice-rolling game.
Background: A brief family history, homeland and/or occupation.
A reason to take up the call to adventure: It's a life few are called to, and fewer survive.
Example of writing style/RP:
King Rudan's seneschal stares at you across a broad slab of oak and shuffles his parchments with business-like crispness. A chill rain drizzles outside the gatehouse, a despicable damp settling across the entirety of Oldhall. Dressed in a dark-green doublet, eyes squinting at the travel papers you purchased from a merchant at Runia's border - a necessary precaution, you were assured, to gain the right to enter Oldhall, the seneschal's expression is clear through his fraying beard shot with gray: a slight, bureaucratic frown. "Alright," he begins, "I can see that you are here in response to his majesty's summons. Before your audience, however, you must prove to me that you are worthy of his time."
(How will your character respond?)
Ability Scores: (Drop 1's once, point buy or standard array)
Once you have submitted a character outline, PM me with the codeword to discuss worldbuilding, goals/motivations, questions you might have and generally what you as a player might be looking for in a good PbP. If you made it this far, best of luck to you!
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Hello there! I am posting as a placeholder, as I have a live session starting soon and may not have time to create a character before then. I will be back later tonight! (I also wanted to get my ability scores in the public forum in advance)
Background: Jochi grew up in a small home near a famous library (I'll discuss with you what library this was) which his single mom worked in. He was fascinated with the books and knowledge within, and eagerly became a scribe working for the library. Eventually, he joined the aquisitions team for the library that searched out rare texts in the world and in old ruins. He went on a few missions, exploring ruins and ancient sites searching for unique books and artifacts, and he and his group stumbled upon a portal to the fey. Jochi fell into the portal, where he met one of the archfey that he formed a warlock pact with in exchange for freedom from the fae. He was only stuck in the fae for fifteen minute, but when he returned he was alone and 20 years had passed. He worked at the library for a few more years acquiring books, but nobody wanted to work with him so he went on solo acquisition missions. He still works on finding books, but also performs various missions that spark his interest, and this king most certainly sparks his interest.
Reason to adventure: Jochi made a bargain with a fae to gain knowledge on the ancient arcane arts of the world and bring the knowledge to the archfae, so Jochi wanders the world for ancient ruins to find the information his patron seeks. He uses his position in acquisitions from his library to gain funding for adventures, and returns with rare books and to meet with his mom.
Ability scores: 91611131415
RP sample:
Jochi smiles charmingly at the seneschal, wondering how best to approach the situation. He is a young man, perhaps around 25 years old, with fair skin and brown hair. He is wearing the robes from the prominent library he works in (To be worked out with the dm to decide on an in world library) The longer Jochi stands there, the more odd things become noticeable about him. His dark eyes are faintly purple. His cloak shifts with a wind that isn't there. His smile shows a few too many teeth to be normal, and they seem sharper than normal teeth. "Why am I worth your time? Because I've been to the fae, and I know things, human." Jochi suddenly reverts back to normal, and the effect was almost short enought that it might've been pure imagination. "Also, I have credentials from my library I work at. You may wish to take a look at them." and he places his credentials on the table.
Life in the vastness of the frozen northern tundra is harsh and unforgiving, yet survivable if one knows the rules. Sustenance, shelter, and steel. Staying hydrated and warm is the prerequisite, but the gods pity the man found without a means of defense when the predators hunted...Argentus has learned these severe lessons well in the strict classroom of the frigid emptiness of his homeland. A stubborn and hardy people, the Karhu tribe eked out a life in these inhospitable conditions, and the young Argentus just earned his pelt, having struck the killing blow against the ferocious polar bear. The night of his ascension was a blur, but as the warm polar bear pelt settled about his shoulders, there was a hush as the chieftain stumbled and fell to his knees, his eyes going vacant and his countenance becoming ashen.
A reason to take up the call to adventure:
That was a month ago, near enough. Three nights later, the attacks began. Wolves, bears, and worse began to attack the tribe in a frenzy, seemingly feral or cursed. Not only were the tribesmen endangered, but the crazed animals killed without feasting or stopping--including their own pack-mates. Called to the head yurt after a full fortnight of such insanity, Argentus was given the critical task of heading to the civilized lands to the south in the hopes that this curse could be ended before it ended up either slaughtering or starving the tribe. With one last embrace of his parents and sister, the young warrior headed south towards the forested mountains, then beyond to the lands of Runia.
Example of writing style/RP:
King Rudan's seneschal stares at you across a broad slab of oak and shuffles his parchments with business-like crispness. A chill rain drizzles outside the gatehouse, a despicable damp settling across the entirety of Oldhall. Dressed in a dark-green doublet, eyes squinting at the travel papers you purchased from a merchant at Runia's border - a necessary precaution, you were assured, to gain the right to enter Oldhall, the seneschal's expression is clear through his fraying beard shot with gray: a slight, bureaucratic frown. "Alright," he begins, "I can see that you are here in response to his majesty's summons. Before your audience, however, you must prove to me that you are worthy of his time."
"I am summoned by no man, king or otherwise," says the gruff warrior, the skin of his face already beginning to show the rigors of the northern climate despite his youthfulness. Clad in thick furs of brown and grey and with the skull of a polar bear crowning the massive white pelt that envelops his body, Argentus gazes longingly at the stockpile of weapons he had to lay aside to be allowed to advance this far into the tangled bureaucratic process. Straightening his broad shoulders, he continues, "I have travelled here on behalf of the the Karhu tribe to learn what manner of madness causes the animals of my homeland to attack us and each other in an unreasoning frenzy. If this is your chieftain's purpose, test me now that we may waste no more time with talk. If not, I will continue my journey to find to find the root of this curse and end it myself."
- The Warrior: I will overcome this curse on Runia by might and skill at arms.
Name: Frenevîr Celebhathel.
Race/Class: Elf if multiclassing allowed warrior/wizard (bladesinger) if not, "just" bladesinger.
Background: Frenevîr comes from a long, noble elven bloodline that tracks back to the creation of the elven kingdom. His grandmother was a great warrior/wizard that fought centuries ago against the threat of monsters. She died protecting, not only the elven kingdom, but the whole continent from this threat. Her name is sing in songs and named in myths. A big shoes to fill. But Frenevir is up to the task. At early age he showed great potential and has been trained his whole life. Until now he has lived up to the expectations of both his parents and his masters but not to his. He is eager to prove himself worthy of his legacy.
A reason to take up the call to adventure: When the message came he knew it was destiny calling him. He took his weapon, his gear and parted towards Runia despite that his master told him he was not yet ready.
Example of writing style/RP:
King Rudan's seneschal stares at you across a broad slab of oak and shuffles his parchments with business-like crispness. A chill rain drizzles outside the gatehouse, a despicable damp settling across the entirety of Oldhall. Dressed in a dark-green doublet, eyes squinting at the travel papers you purchased from a merchant at Runia's border - a necessary precaution, you were assured, to gain the right to enter Oldhall, the seneschal's expression is clear through his fraying beard shot with gray: a slight, bureaucratic frown. "Alright," he begins, "I can see that you are here in response to his majesty's summons. Before your audience, however, you must prove to me that you are worthy of his time."
(How will your character respond?)
The tall elf raised his head as if he was sniffing something disgusting. "I am Frenevîr Celebhathel" he looked down to the sturdy seneschal who wasn't impressed by those words. The elf sighed and moved away his grey cloak, revealing a green tunic and trousers, with silvery embroidement. Despite the long journey the clothes and the boots were in pristine condition. A long and partially curve sword was perched on his left hip. He made a slight bow. "I humble ask an audience with King Rudan. I am a warrior of the Laicalässe Taurel, the Green Forest. News of the great need of Runia had reached our borders and I've come to offer my sword to the King's service, this threat menace us all and we will like to offer our neighbors help in good faith. I come with good tidings of the Lord and the Lady of the Green Realm." Despite his fine words it sounded a little bit forced, as if he has practice that speech knowing that it was the proper thing to say. He stared with his silvery eyes to the seneschal waiting for his answer.
Role: The Sage: Can this curse be defeated through knowledge and reason?
Name: Cavia Porcellus Novem "Cavi"
Race/Class: Human Variant / Wizard
Background: Cavi is not a real person. Not really. His creator was himself. He is a failed attempt at the simulacrum spell - one of dozens. He and his "siblings" were not born with the memories or knowledge of their creator, and so became relegated to live in their creator's tower acting as laborers, and often test subjects. Then came the day when a band of very powerful adventurers stormed the tower, and like all of its other defenders, Cavi and his siblings were easily overcome. But, he and several others survived their wounds and crawled out of that place. They knew their creator had died because the magic that held the tower in place had disappeared, and the entire structure had collapsed. Now Cavi wanders the world seeking answers of his own.
A reason to take up the call to adventure: I want what my creator wanted, answers to the great mysteries and forgotten truths of the world.
RP Response: "Interesting." Cavi lets the word hang in the air for a moment. His usual detached demeanor and implacable expression revealing nothing. "Your lord summons me and you question it. Either you are an incredibly loyal servant, or an incredibly disloyal one." He pauses again, unflinching. "Very well. I am worthy because your lord knows my name and has taken the time dictate a correspondence to me. If I were no one of import, why would he, someone who is of import, have bothered? Is that not self-evident?"
Stats: 151015161413 <- I think I'll do standard array
Great writing style! Very interested in joining.. starting with the scores:
Ability scores: 111015131414
Role: - The Faithful: I will reverse this curse through truth and repentance!
Name: Ashley Moon (goes by Ash)
Race/Class: Fire Genasi/Monk
Background: Ash grew up thinking she was human. Her parents were human and didn't let her know she was adopted until she was an adult. She didn't take it well. Luckily, only part of the house burned down and her parents were unscathed. After growing up in deception (as she saw it) she always looked for the truth. She dedicated her life to finding truths, and it brought her to training with the order of monks in the nearby temple. She became an acolyte and studies what she can about martial arts, truth and to rid the world of evil - well at least to the best of her ability.
A reason to take up the call to adventure: She has earned a respected place in the temple amongst the other monks and clerics as she studies hard but wants to start putting this knowledge to use. She knows she can do more out in the world that is corrupted and plagued by lies and evil, than to read about it in the libraries.
Example of writing style/RP:
King Rudan's seneschal stares at you across a broad slab of oak and shuffles his parchments with business-like crispness. A chill rain drizzles outside the gatehouse, a despicable damp settling across the entirety of Oldhall. Dressed in a dark-green doublet, eyes squinting at the travel papers you purchased from a merchant at Runia's border - a necessary precaution, you were assured, to gain the right to enter Oldhall, the seneschal's expression is clear through his fraying beard shot with gray: a slight, bureaucratic frown. "Alright," he begins, "I can see that you are here in response to his majesty's summons. Before your audience, however, you must prove to me that you are worthy of his time."
(How will your character respond?)
Ash stands erect across from the man, sizing him up as he looks at her, raising an eyebrow when he says that she must prove herself to him. Adorned in a fitted black monks robe with fire-red edging to match her fire-red hair that is wildly amassed on her head, is in great contrast to her ash-gray skin that emits just the hint of brimstone. She stands confidently as she considers his words. Ash smiles, "Yes, I have arrived to your kingdom here as requested by your King, though I do find it curious that I must prove myself now? Haven't I already done that since I have been summoned?" she pauses a bit, leans in and as she speaks her next words, her voice crackles like fire, "Though I wouldn't mind playing with you to prove my worth."
Background: Valenz is the emissary of a People whose homeland is not far from Runia, though the folk of Runia may be forgiven for not having heard of them. They have no kingdom, but instead roam the northern forests and tundra as nomads. Their tribe is small, and not terribly powerful, and they have not been in touch with Runia in many years. But these People remember a distant time when an ancestor of Rudan the Bronze did them a great service, and now they intend to return the favor. Among these People, those who remember stories and recount them well are among the most esteemed. The greatest storytellers are called the Seanchai, and the gift of their memories, and of their eloquence, is free to all, from frightened children to great chieftains. They travel between the bands with promises of safe conduct. They settle disputes. They preside over births, marriages, funerals, and coronations. They are the safe-holders of their People’s wit, their wisdom, their joy, and their compassion. They accomplish all of this through a simple gift: knowing the right story for the right moment, and knowing how to tell it best. Whether it be an epic, a tragedy, or a dirty joke. Valenz is one of the Seanchai, though he joined their ranks only recently. When the People heard of the troubles of Runia, the chieftains all came together. They called upon all of the Seanchai to choose which should be the one to aid The Bronze Lord. A contest was declared to decide who would have the honor. A contest of storytelling. Whoever could best touch the assemblage’s hearts would travel to Runia to represent the People and offer the People’s wisdom. Dozens of Seanchai answered the call. Through the night, they each stepped up one by one to the firelight and told their tales. The crowd sobbed, and cackled, and roared with applause until they were hoarse. It was a night no one in attendance would ever forget, especially when Mossen stood to speak. The oldest and most revered of all the Seanchai. She had sat quietly all evening, listening to the stories of the rest, many of whom had once sat at her knee as her pupil. When she spoke, the wolves ceased howling. The voles and foxes and burrowing owls ceased their digging. The wind itself ceased blowing. The story she told had not been heard in four hundred years, and only very few had heard it even then. Through the silent night she told her story, and by the time she was approaching its climax, the sun was starting to rise. But the Night was jealous that his sister Day should know the ending he himself would be denied. So the Night took Mossen, as he has taken so many of our beloved elders. In the center of the circle, with all of the People holding their breath, she lost her rhythm. Her heart ceased beating and she looked to her pupil, Valenz. Her great-grandson. With her last breath she commanded him: “Finish the story.” But Valenz did not know the story. No one had heard it in four hundred years, and he was not yet 25. But he could feel the eyes of thousands of his People upon him. He could smell the half-madness of a crowd whose catharsis had been snatched from them at the moment of its blossoming. Half-mad with grief himself at the loss of his great-grandmother, and his teacher, and of the story now half forgotten, he began to speak. He made things up. When he could think of nothing to make up, he stole. When he could not think of anything to steal, he simply sang wordlessly along the rhythm he imagined the ending may have taken. And when the morning came all of the People sang with him because they knew the story ended with them, together in the daylight, mourning the greatest Seanchai any of them had ever known, and no one needs words to hear the story they themselves are in. The Chieftains and the Seanchai and all of the People named Valenz Seanchai that day, and chose him to go to Runia, though Valenz did not want to go. He wanted to stay with his family and to grieve with them. But he knew he had been swept up in Mossen’s last story, and there was nothing to be done but to see it through. Valenz left the day after Mossen’s funeral, with the blessing of all his People.
A reason to take up the call to adventure: When all the greatest sages and chieftains of your People tell you to undertake a journey to save a distant kingdom from an ancient evil, you go. And may the gods be with you.
Example of writing style/RP:
King Rudan's seneschal stares at you across a broad slab of oak and shuffles his parchments with business-like crispness. A chill rain drizzles outside the gatehouse, a despicable damp settling across the entirety of Oldhall. Dressed in a dark-green doublet, eyes squinting at the travel papers you purchased from a merchant at Runia's border - a necessary precaution, you were assured, to gain the right to enter Oldhall, the seneschal's expression is clear through his fraying beard shot with gray: a slight, bureaucratic frown. "Alright," he begins, "I can see that you are here in response to his majesty's summons. Before your audience, however, you must prove to me that you are worthy of his time."
“I don’t know that I am. The full moon has not risen twice since I’ve been named Seanchai. I have no great deeds of which I could brag to you save one. I gave the eulogy of Mossen. My People gave me their blessing that I should come to you and represent them. The Bronze Lord’s ancestor once did my people a great service. In return, my People offer you our wit, our wisdom, our joy, our compassion. My people believe these boons are wrapped in some story I know. I do not yet know which, but I know many stories, and I will share them with Rudan the Bronze, if he will hear them.”
Role: The Faithful: I will reverse this curse through truth and repentance!
Name: Alvalon Stalarkzy
Class: Cleric
Race: High Elf
Background: Acolyte
Alignment: Neutral Good
Backstory: His parents lived in middle class his mother a stay at home mom and his dad is a shoe maker. When they had Alvalon most of the money was spent on him. Not to spoil him, but because he was very sickly and no matter what his parents tried to do it never seemed to work. His health was getting worse and worse. Eventurally when he as 14, they scrounged up enough wealth to get him healed by a priestess. whom was soft spoken and was nice to him and eventually healed him. He reverened her and swore that one day that he'd become a priest like her. She told him of her faith, god of everlasting love, Evening Glory. When he got old enough he went to the church of Evening Glory and eventually found that the godess believes in love even after death. Even with this revalation he contined to study and learn from the temple. He owed it to the temple to pour his heart out after he was healed when he was young.He must heal others so that he can give back to the community. He knew many priests had heart shaped holes in thier hands, but he couldn't stand it so he got a tattoo of the holy symbol instead on his hand.
When there were news of a curse going around, he initially did not think much of it until the head priest of the church told him that he must go out and get rid of the curse. Starstruck, young, dumb, and wanting to impress the temple he went out to help solve the curse.
Example RP: Alvalon looks out of breath when he comes through the door, the journey taking the wind out of his lungs, he coughs violently, and shudders remembering his youth. He composes himself and looks at the knight, suddenly feeling small and unsure of himself. He had many thoughts as to what to say, but doesn't want to make a fool of himself. Alvalon raises his tattoo hand to his heart "I'm on the behalf of my temple of the goddess Evening Glory, may you find everlasting love! I'm here to purge this curse once and for all!"
Role: The Wildcard: Perhaps this curse can be used to my advantage before it is lifted...
Name: Wiltron Stillblade
Race/Class: Stout Halfling Ranger
Background: Wiltron and his brother were born in the capital city, Farridge, of the distant kingdom Audar. Audar had a large emphasis on military and Wiltron's father was a knight who had a patriotic influence on the two. Their mother was quite strict and never let them do anything fun, so naturally, they had to learn to sneak around to enjoy their childhood. When they eventually grew old enough for service they signed up for the military. Instead of becoming soldiers, Wilton and his brother were selected to become scouts due to their skillset. They trained for several weeks, and for their first mission, the two were tasked to scout an area as a group of their soldiers infiltrated enemy grounds. They completely missed a large group of enemy soldiers planning an ambush and it ended in tragedy for the Audar forces. They felt terrible and knew they couldn't return without redeeming themselves, and upon hearing of the curse in Runia creating monsters, they grew curious as to whether one could gain control of the curse and the armies of monsters it'd created. Wanting to bring this army of monsters back to end the war in Audar, Wiltron set off for Runia to answer the King's call for aid.
*I will flesh this out a little bit more if I'm accepted in, I figured you have a lot of characters to read so keeping it brief for now.
A reason to take up the call to adventure: He needs to redeem himself to his home nation, and hopes to do this by gaining control of the curse. In addition to this, knowing many types of monsters coming from it he wants to learn more about it and see if there's a way to use them for good.
Example of writing style/RP: Wiltron twirls his grimy brown hair around his finger, staring into space in the general direction of the bureaucrat as he sorts through papers. As the man finally looks up and starts talking Wiltron swiftly fixes his posture and tries to look attentive. "Ahem well you see I am very versatile and knowledgable in the wild. I'm also quite good at sneaking around, tracking, and camouflaging. I know my way around herbs, poisons, and curses as well as many of the monsters that the curse has formed. Though I may not be an exceptional mage or world-class fighter, I can hold my own on the battlefield and I'm quite the good shot with a bow. And my honor relies on ending this curse and saving the lands, so you can guarantee it'll be my best work." He then proceeds to stand tall and proud though his head barely peaks over the desk, being a halfling that is.
Role: A Warrior mixed with Faithful? But, if I have to choose one only, let's call it the Warrior.
Name: Verher.
Race/Class: V. Human/Monk (Way of the Kensei, when/if we get there).
Background: Blood relations matter little for one who lives in a monastery. You know who is your brother, but you treat them no different from your other "brothers" - all the others with the same status as yours. You might know your parents, but the moment you pass a certain age, you treat them no different, and vice versa, from the other masters. As for the monastery itself, it was a remnant of another age, so to speak, when warriors were needed to defend the land, built in a kingdom eastern of Runia. The brotherhood kept the old traditions, constantly training new generations of monks in case they'll ever be needed, but none ever were. Due to its uselessness, little to no outsiders ever joined, and defectors were abundant. Thus, the monks in the monastery did not number many.
By the time rumour of the call reached the monastery, passing from mouth to ear most of the way, it had received many alterations. So many, in fact, that the call was deemed not much more than a joke. And yet, the monastery decided to send one of their own to investigate the case. If there was some truth in the rumours, they would not want to be remembered as ones who did not respond when finally they were needed. However, as it did not seem a serious case, they sent one of the younger monks, rather than one of the masters. If it were beyond their capabilities, the proxy would request backup and try to do their best until that arrived. The name of the chosen monk was Verher.
A reason to take up the call to adventure: Protecting the land from monsters was what Verher trained and lived for. It's his purpose, as well as a chance to prove himself capable.
Example of writing style/RP:
Verher has been standing there for a while, getting wet, until he was let in. His hand rests on the hilt of his sword, merely out of habit. Now, they request him to prove himself. That makes sense, he realises. Surely, he was not the only one who came, and perhaps not all were capable enough. Was he? Possibly, possibly not. He bows slightly as the customs he was taught demanded. He didn't know if his manners were strange in this land, but the motion was an almost automated response. "Word of your majesty's summons have reached the monastery I belong to, and my masters have found it right to send me. First and foremost, I am a protector, a warrior who was sent to defend the land, as we were told a concentration of... monsters, were wreaking havoc around this area." He partly indicates his sword to validate his words. "My name is Verher, and I am at your service. If you demand I prove myself first, that I shall do. What kind of demonstration might you seek?"
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Role: The Wildcard: Perhaps this curse can be used to my advantage before it is lifted...
Name: Captain Uterlan
Race/Class: Dragonborn/ Warlock( the fathomless)
Ability scores: 151310141514
Background: Uterlan comes a wealthy family in a Southern kingdom called Stëlkeep. Stëlkeep’s capital is based on a large island that has a rich iron mine below the surface. The capital is called Traxtran. The kingdom has a large naval force and will usually trade with other kingdoms for resources that are difficult to obtain on their land. The kingdom has expanded their territory over the years by building floating cities known as Tidal lands.
Uterlan comes from a Tidal land and his family have been running a naval trading company for 3 generations. Despite his noble upbringing, Uterlan hated the noble bloodlines of the city,including his own. They were always looking down on people and making it seem that the world was centred on them. Uterlan hated how they could have such comfortable life’s doing very little. So when Uterlan turned 18 he decided to leave his home to make the lifestyle of the nobles a bit more difficult. He hired “morally questionable” characters to run a ship that he stole from his family business and took off for the seas. He changed his name to Captain Uterlan, renamed the ship to “ The Dragon of the Sea” and spent years on the seas as a pirate captain reeking havoc on the Tidal lands.
This went on for a few years with quite a large amount of success. Uterlan built up a reputation of being a ruthless pirate and was deep in coin that he stole from the nobility. That was until an accident occurred on the ship. Unknown to Uterlan, the nobles hired an assassin to sneak on board the ship while it was at a distant port and detonate the ship. The assassin did this by lighting a long fuse on a barrel of gunpowder so that when the ship left port it was detonated. As Uterlan was sinking in the water, seemingly alive from the explosion, he saw a Kraken. It spoke to Uterlan, promising power and a chance to regain his lost fortune if he made a pact with him. The creature called himself Gemitla and told Uterlan that if he agreed, he would serve him forever. Blinded by the promise to get a second chance, Uterlan agrees. For 2 years he has now been serving the Kraken by bringing it treasure and telling him of the other cities. It seemed that it was very curious of the land cities and would send Uterlan to scout them out and report back what he finds. So when Uterlan returned with the news of the curse Gemitla grew very joyful. He ordered Uterlan to go and investigate the curse, even cure it if he can. While he was in the kingdom he was also to steal the king’s crown as Gemitla wants this to add to his collection. He has been ordered to steal the crown secretly as Gemitla has another mission for Uterlan that requires his alias to be clean.
A reason to take up the call to adventure: Uterlan has been ordered by his patron to secretly steal the king’s crown to add to his collection. Gemitla believes that this is the best opportunity to do so while everyone is distracted by the curse.
Example of writing style/RP:
Uterlan gives a frown to the person in front of him. After spending what feels like forever in the rain before he was allowed in the gatehouse, he was in no mood to have a glorified guard stop him. He shakes off the water on his hat and says I’ve been told that yah king needs help with a curse. I’ve been asked to speak with HIM on the matter. Uterlan gives a frustrated sign as he now has to justify himself to this idiot who can’t seem to grasp the concept that he was invited to speak with the king. Very well, if I must prove myself to you so be it. I’ve seen many great things on my journeys and I am experienced in many forms of combat and magic. I will sort out yah curse and get paid for doing a job well done. That’s why I’m here, that’s why I’m worth speaking to. He will then pause for a moment. He will give a smirk to the guard and then say If this yer words will not do, I’ll be more than happy to show you what it is your paying for. He chuckles ever so slightly.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Ability scores here: Ability scores: 121412131316
Role: The Wildcard... There's an angle to shoot in every situation if one watches for it and plays their cards right.
Name: Finn Of'Gren
Race/Class: Changeling / Bard
Background: Gambler
Finn Of'Gren is a rambler, a gambler and a long way from home. Moving from town to town, Finn Of'Gren finds work and coin in the bars and taverns of each play they visit by sharing songs, telling tales and generally being the life of every party. And if coin doesn't come in form of payment or tips, by the time the missing coin purses start pointing in Finn's direction they'll have already moved on to the next town.
All is not partying and living the life of a roustabout. Finn Of'Gren is also a chronicler of events, a source of information and a courier of goods. Not all messages are safe to write down and a Bards skill at memorizing the exact wordings of such things is the next best thing. And few others can so freely move about from one town to another, from one part of town to the other and even between the social ranks without raising much question. A Bard is welcome at any dinner table or campfire and Finn Of'Gren uses that to their best advantage.
A reason to take up the call to adventure:
As a Changeling Finn Of'Gren has no face of their own but they can certainly make a name for themself! Be it through songs sung, tales written or deeds done which can inspire the others, Finn Of'Gren is determined their name will live on through history!
Example of writing style/RP:
"You want that I should perform for you?" Finn Of'Gren asks allowing just the slightest incredulity slip into her voice. "A song and dance, perhaps? Of a sweet melody on the flute?"
"Of should I recite the epic poem of Runavald the Deep that tells the tale of their rise to power and how they first claimed the Oaken Seat?" Finn asks, tilting her head and studying the seneschal studiously. Hands free of callouses, typical stout dwarf build but a belly with too much wobble to have ever worked too hard. A Bureaucrat. Finn wanted to sigh in disgust but that certainly wouldn't help things. "I could recite it in Common or Dwarvish... It loses too much in the Elvish translation. I could even tell the ribald version, though that is generally frowned upon here in Runia, is it not? Which is really a shame, the bit where Runavald breaks wind just as they sit upon the Oaken Seat for the first time... I assure you, nobody gets the crowds rolling in laughter at that bit better than I do!"
Finn Of'Gren can tell the seneschal is not amused. But that is alright. There are other tactics to use... Giving the dwarf sitting across from her a wan grin and looking down solemnly at the huge oak table they sit at, Finn feigns surrender for a long moment, waiting for the bureaucrat to make the first shuffle or cough or sign of unease and wanting to wrap this up. Once that signal comes, Finn Of'Gren looks up and grab his attention by staring him directly in the eyes, her eyes... Different. Off. Suddenly a darker green than they had been and now with a sharpness that demands attention.
"Or I could recite The Elegy of House Danathar? That is a favorite here in Runia, the tale of the rivals for Oldhall... The foes of Runavald who were defeated so soundly that the entire family tree died out. Or so it is told, is it not?" Finn Of'Gren asks, a bite of malice in her words. "I could recite for you and all the Elegy of House Danathar and recite the genealogies from seven generations before the taking of the Oaken Seat up until the current day...."
The room hung silent except for the sound of rain outside the stone walls of the gatehouse. Finn Of'Gren sat silently praying that she read the details correctly. That she had played her cards right. That the seneschal on the other side of the table was in fact a descendant of House Danathar. A house demolished but not killed outright. Their names were stricken, they and their descendants were forbidden from the martial or masonry trades. Some say a fate even worse than slaughter... For a Dwarf, anyway.
"I am a Bard," Finn said matter of factly once the seneschal broke eye contact. She made her point, she had no need to make him suffer. "We know things. Chief among them is when to keep our mouths shut."
Putting her hands upon the oak table Finn turned them palm up and spread them wide to signal she was unarmed and meant no harm here. "There is no reason for us to be other than friends. As you say, the king summoned me. I respect you and your role. If you wish a song and a dance, then so you shall have... But it is the king who summoned me and I know of no better judge of how to spend his time than himself."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
We're doing one small murder-y thing for a bigger, better reason. The ends justify the means.
Background: Named for the purple flower of the mandrake, Ragora's family of more combat orientated "witches" have been protecting the area around their village for generations. While some see them as little more than glorified mercenaries, the witches make use of both the martial and magical to defend their borders. Using a ritual passed down through the family as long as anyone can remember, they contact a powerful being that bonds with prospective witches to share their magic, providing said witch doesn't pervert the power for evil uses. As part of the latest generation, Ragora chose to leave the village after finishing her basic martial training. Her home seemed so... small compared to the world out there. Even if she were to settle back down again, it would be with scars to show and stories to tell...
A reason to take up the call to adventure: A strong sense of duty, coupled with an adventurous nature
Example of writing style/RP:
King Rudan's seneschal stares at you across a broad slab of oak and shuffles his parchments with business-like crispness. A chill rain drizzles outside the gatehouse, a despicable damp settling across the entirety of Oldhall. Dressed in a dark-green doublet, eyes squinting at the travel papers you purchased from a merchant at Runia's border - a necessary precaution, you were assured, to gain the right to enter Oldhall, the seneschal's expression is clear through his fraying beard shot with gray: a slight, bureaucratic frown. "Alright," he begins, "I can see that you are here in response to his majesty's summons. Before your audience, however, you must prove to me that you are worthy of his time."
(How will your character respond?)
The young woman lifts the brim of her large white hat to lightly scratch at her forehead. Worthy? She didn't know how to judge something like that. Most she'd encountered just accepted help when offered, and she'd never had to think about how worthy she was to help. "Ah, I guess word of us doesn't really reach y'all in these fancier places." She says, with a country drawl heavy enough to sink a ship. She draws herself up to her full (though admittedly not great) height and proudly states, "Me and my family like to lend a hand to people's issues. Whether you need some rats removed or if its something that it's a little magical fixin', us witches have all your bases covered. We've been dealing with troubles like this for generations, so to provide a service to your king would be an honour."
Background: Mae hasn't fit in from day one. They've wandered through numerous countries, with various troupes (at first their family, later circus', then by themselves). When they were only just an adult, their family split apart (having only been held together until the youngest: Mae, was grown). Shortly after this separation, they sought a means of feeling connected. That is when in the circus they met their future wife: Tilya. They married just months after meeting, and on their wedding day Mae vowed to stay with Tilya until the day they died; they should've know they could never keep a promise like that. One year into their marriage, Mae tried to leave the troupe. They only wanted change, but Tilya wanted them to stay. That day, they left and broke their vow. They had previously, unknowingly vowed to something much greater than just Tilya. They had made a promise to some far greater power. Upon breaking that promise, a light that had shined in Mae's heart and mind faded, replaced by a hollow darkness; they had broken their oath. They wandered for a time: weeks? Months? They didn't know exactly how long it was, but they were shaken from their stupor, mostly, by a call for heroes to save a kingdom. They could hardly claim the title "hero," but they had no other purpose in their life. They might as well do something, so for the first time in a while, they walked with purpose. They finally had a direction to head in, they were going to answer the call.
A reason to take up the call to adventure: They felt sorry for themselves and sought any other direction in their life. So, they turned to adventuring (where they could find another purpose).
Example of writing style/RP:
King Rudan's seneschal stares at you across a broad slab of oak and shuffles his parchments with business-like crispness. A chill rain drizzles outside the gatehouse, a despicable damp settling across the entirety of Oldhall. Dressed in a dark-green doublet, eyes squinting at the travel papers you purchased from a merchant at Runia's border - a necessary precaution, you were assured, to gain the right to enter Oldhall, the seneschal's expression is clear through his fraying beard shot with gray: a slight, bureaucratic frown. "Alright," he begins, "I can see that you are here in response to his majesty's summons. Before your audience, however, you must prove to me that you are worthy of his time."
(How will your character respond?)
A figure in clothes that were once vibrantly colored and well formed, now having adopted an ashen hue sits across the desk. Glancing up from where they were fixated on a singular drop gliding down the window, the pale purple elf whose eyes appeared hollow let out a long sigh. It was time to resume the facade of their former life. They lit up: correcting their posture, making eye contact, allowing a smile to creep onto their face; it was a convincing performance, the only break in the illusion were their eyes. No amount of practice, lies, or motivation could bring the life back into those cold silver eyes. In their most animated tone they declared, "My good friend, there are none more worthy than I! I am Maern, I once traveled with the illustrious Luminosity Circus! I was a bit of a dancer, but my true act was the sword juggling. Oh, it was splendid; but all that training with blades was not all for show." Mae stands abruptly, whipping their glistening rapier from their side. With a brief laugh they tossed the blade, tapping it on one side and catching it in the opposite hand. "I do believe that you have grasped just how 'worthy' I am of such an audience." They daintily sheathe their sword and drifted back into their seat, placing their head on their hands upon the desk. Mae's winning smile so bright that it almost convinced them.
Hi there! This looks awesome. :D I love your style and the depth of worldbuilding and the chance to really dive in as a player.
Role: The Faithful: I will reverse this curse through truth and repentance
Name: Tarran Softbrook
Race/Class: Ghostwise halfling/Grave cleric
Background: Folk hero background. For most of his life, Tarran’s been just a stable keeper and horse trainer in a relatively quiet town. Until he was middle-aged, the closest he came to an exciting life was shortly after he became an adult at a festival at the nearby temple of Kelemvor, when a celestial appeared and named him as one of those marked by the god for great potential. Instead of heeding the call or the path of some of his ghostwise ancestors though, Tarran chose to continue his quiet life, simply worshiping Kelemvor faithfully as an ordinary believer. He met and fell in love with a human adventurer woman who frequented his stables, and they married when she retired from adventuring. Together, they lived a quiet life running their stables and taking care of horses, Tarran becoming a stepfather to her three children. However human lifespans are shorter than halflings, and Tarran’s wife, who’d already lived several years by the time they met, has recently passed away, devastating him and upending his simple life
A reason to take up the call to adventure: Tarran didn’t take it up, it was handed to him with no choice. Sort of. Desperate for a few more years together when his wife neared death, Tarran prayed to the Kelemvor to honor her years fighting for good and defending the line between living and undead, by granting her a few more years of life. When that didn’t work, Tarran offered a trade. He was marked for potential after all. A few more years for his wife, and in return, many years of his own as a cleric and Kelemvor’s servant once she passed. It didn’t turn out quite as Tarran hoped. His wife lived longer, but the effects of aging only became more severe, leaving him with bitter feelings toward Kelemvor in addition to grief and guilt. But a deal’s a deal, and the time is up. Tarran may not feel warmly towards Kelemvor but he is still a believer and now Kelemvor’s servant for anything the god commands. The curse on Runia is disrupting the balance of life and death, and so Tarran has come to help set it right.
Example of writing style/RP:
(How will your character respond?)
Tarran regarded the king with his own assessing look. He’d never seen a king up-close before. He seemed not much different than any other man Tarran had known. Less stuck up and more practical than many of the merchants who used to come through the stables, at least. Perhaps that was why Tarran didn’t feel nervous. Perhaps it was because he didn’t give a shit about the man’s birth to begin with.
“As I told your steward and as you can likely see from my clothes, I’m a cleric of Kelemvor. My duty is to maintain the balance of life and death, and defend people from what might take them before their time—” the words didn’t stutter anymore after all his time practicing. “—like from a curse. I can… I don’t know, cut myself and heal it if you need proof of divine magic or something.”
With a sigh, Tarran smoothed the dark garb he’d donned the day Kelemvor’s inevitable summons came for him. His holy symbol hung above his heart on a chain. As usual, Tarran resisted the urge to pick at it. “Look, whether you decide I am worthy or not does't matter to me. I am bidden to investigate this curse of yours and end it if I can, so I will. Makes no difference to me what your kingly judgment is. Feel free to throw me out on my ear, and I’ll do it anyway. But it’d make things a lot easier on both of us if you don’t.”
IIt is the last day of summer in the small, mountain kingdom of Runia. There sits the Dwarf-Lord Rudan the Bronze on the venerable Oaken Seat of Runia - great grandson of the great lord Runavald the Deep, a hero of ages past and a legend of the tales and epics.
It is peaceful in this most auspicious time of the year, when the harvest moons hang low and dense overhead in the star-crowded sky, and the warm sun softly fades into autumn bliss. The trees, in their timeless congregations, consider the time of shedding leaves in hosts of brown and crimson in preparation for coming frosts, and many feasts are held across hall home, celebrating the gods great blessings of harvest and hearth.
One such feast, in King Rudan's own fortress of Oldhall, no less, holds rightly that glorious balance of festive and thankful, of goodwill and good cheer in abundance without excess. The carcasses of roast boar - fresh caught in his majesty's deep, dark woods, lie stripped of succulent meats besides mounds of hot bread, deep flagons of rich ale, rounds of cheese, sweet cakes of nuts and honey and a dozen other pies and delicacies besides. The king, brow drooping to a comfortable snooze whilst still seated on his Oaken throne, snaps awake with a startling expression drawn across his creased and bearded complexion. Eyes widen in shock and disbelief, pallor gripping his normally ruddy face, gaze tracking a space between the long tables where his men and dwarves at arms, huntsmen and craftsmen, servants myriad, their wives, children and hounds still feast and cavort. For several minutes, the king remains in this state before he is noticed by his seneschal and the royal surgeon is sent for, hurrying him off to his chambers as the early signs of disorder manifest in more and more distressing ways.
The next day, the king sent for his advisors, and then his wizards.
And then any passerby with a claim to understanding and interpreting dreams and visions here on this mortal plane.
One month later, as the first snows fell, the first monsters appeared, and evil sunk its roots deep into the land.
Runia now stands under threat of curse of unknown scope and portent. Foul evils crouch beneath every shadow, in every hole and peak while suspicion lurks behind every barred door. In desperation, King Rudan has sounded a call for aid from heroes of the land, both his and from territories beyond, promising sizeable rewards to those who can free his people and his land.
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Greetings, one and all!
After some absence from PbP, I find myself once more with adequate time and energy for this, our most illustrious shared hobby. I have enjoyed this pastime for about six years now, largely as a DM in person and occasionally as a player, especially here in PbP, and have loved many of the more ambitious and expansive stories that this site and format allows for. I trust you do as well.
I seek 3-5 stalwart players able to post at least thrice a week. Some experience with 5e is appreciated but not necessary to apply, as I intend to lean heavily on homebrewed items, special boons, features and monsters as inspiration strikes, though a general sense of fair play, good sportsmanship and strong writing style are greatly esteemed. I tend to create worlds with campaign worthy mysteries ready for the players to explore, but I don't tend to railroad my players into any one path for success. I also don't intend to be intentionally edgy or controversial, but I am not in the habit of shying away from such topics if, as a group of players, we are comfortable with more mature themes. I will not ask for daily posting is not required unless the situation calls for it (for instance, if one is in an active conversation with another player, or it is your turn in combat and we are rotating through the combat order swiftly) but I would request daily checks on the thread, and I do plan to advance the story one way or another on a weekly basis. Hopefully this will not take the form of "Monster appears, roll initiative," but I do hope to maintain a sense of forward progress and momentum. I am not a rules lawyer, and I am a fan of much of what Matt Coleville has said on the topic of "rule of cool" and "failing forward," but I want to see consistency with rules application over the course of the game. As for the world, our story will begin in Runia but will not necessarily remain there. The code word is tanstafl. I have a rough idea of Runia's topography and general layout, but have yet to make a map in detail as I this as an opportunity for collaborative worldbuilding - more on that later. The idea is to keep the edges of the map a little vague until we have need to define them for our campaign. I intend to draw inspiration from a wide range of fantasy (Tolkien, Vance, Cook, Eddings, Leguin, Lawhead, and Sapkowski, to name a few), historical fiction (Cornwell, Pressfield, Forester), perhaps even science fiction (Clarke, Simmons, Bujold, Rowley, Card) books and stories that I have enjoyed over the years, and would invite those of the party to do the same.
Some general information about the world: Runia is a small kingdom, founded by a Dwarf-Lord back in the Age of Heroes, when Civilizations rose and fell beneath a never-setting sun, from which we are now about a thousand years displaced. Neighboring countries in the area are comparable in strength and culture, though foreign merchants speak of vast empires far to the south, in both the East and the West, staring at each other across an inland sea (analogous to the Mediterranean) and gradually exerting their influence through the fractured and often mountainous northern kingdoms, of which Runia is one. To the north, the verdant mountain forests give way to open, tundra, inhospitable and extending as far as any have ever travelled until the lands turn to one endless sheet of packed ice and snow. All standard Wotc races are present, though your usual suspects make up the vast majority: humans, elves, dwarves, in no particular order, followed by gnomes, halflings, dragonborn, and tieflings. Other races appear in rarer numbers. Magic is a well known phenomenon, and in keeping with the traditions of DnD, draws on a common source while manifesting in different traditions, some of which I would be happy to homebrew or reimagine for this campaign. If technology levels interest you, by DM fiat, let us imagine that iron and bronze-smithing dominate this region of the wider world, though distant ports to the south now sell arms and tools of steel, and even sturdier alloys, seemingly of enchanted levels of sharpness and strength. Despite the relative simplicity in metallurgy, craftsmanship with other materials is more creative and advanced, especially in the more trade-accessible kingdoms to Runia's. After all, sufficiently advanced technology takes on the appearance of magic, and all that. The deities of the world will fall into a classic array along axes of Law-Chaos and Good-Evil, though again these terms can and probably will be fairly relative and may not have definitive substance, generally taking broad inspiration from Greco-Roman and Nordic pantheons.
Character Creation: In the final party, I am looking for the party to fill a few roles
Role: Specify which of the following rough party roles your character will likely fill
- The Warrior: I will overcome this curse on Runia by might and skill at arms.
- The Sage: Can this curse be defeated through knowledge and reason?
- The Faithful: I will reverse this curse through truth and repentance!
- The Wildcard: Perhaps this curse can be used to my advantage before it is lifted...
Name: Because every hero needs a good name.
Race/Class: Because mechanics matter in a good dice-rolling game.
Background: A brief family history, homeland and/or occupation.
A reason to take up the call to adventure: It's a life few are called to, and fewer survive.
Example of writing style/RP:
King Rudan's seneschal stares at you across a broad slab of oak and shuffles his parchments with business-like crispness. A chill rain drizzles outside the gatehouse, a despicable damp settling across the entirety of Oldhall. Dressed in a dark-green doublet, eyes squinting at the travel papers you purchased from a merchant at Runia's border - a necessary precaution, you were assured, to gain the right to enter Oldhall, the seneschal's expression is clear through his fraying beard shot with gray: a slight, bureaucratic frown. "Alright," he begins, "I can see that you are here in response to his majesty's summons. Before your audience, however, you must prove to me that you are worthy of his time."
(How will your character respond?)
Ability Scores: (Drop 1's once, point buy or standard array)
Once you have submitted a character outline, PM me with the codeword to discuss worldbuilding, goals/motivations, questions you might have and generally what you as a player might be looking for in a good PbP. If you made it this far, best of luck to you!
Hello there! I am posting as a placeholder, as I have a live session starting soon and may not have time to create a character before then. I will be back later tonight! (I also wanted to get my ability scores in the public forum in advance)
Roll: The Sage
Name: Jochi Kholin (Pronounced Yoh - chee Coal - in)
Race/Class: Scourge Aasimar Warlock
Background: Jochi grew up in a small home near a famous library (I'll discuss with you what library this was) which his single mom worked in. He was fascinated with the books and knowledge within, and eagerly became a scribe working for the library. Eventually, he joined the aquisitions team for the library that searched out rare texts in the world and in old ruins. He went on a few missions, exploring ruins and ancient sites searching for unique books and artifacts, and he and his group stumbled upon a portal to the fey. Jochi fell into the portal, where he met one of the archfey that he formed a warlock pact with in exchange for freedom from the fae. He was only stuck in the fae for fifteen minute, but when he returned he was alone and 20 years had passed. He worked at the library for a few more years acquiring books, but nobody wanted to work with him so he went on solo acquisition missions. He still works on finding books, but also performs various missions that spark his interest, and this king most certainly sparks his interest.
Reason to adventure: Jochi made a bargain with a fae to gain knowledge on the ancient arcane arts of the world and bring the knowledge to the archfae, so Jochi wanders the world for ancient ruins to find the information his patron seeks. He uses his position in acquisitions from his library to gain funding for adventures, and returns with rare books and to meet with his mom.
Ability scores: 9 16 11 13 14 15
RP sample:
Jochi smiles charmingly at the seneschal, wondering how best to approach the situation. He is a young man, perhaps around 25 years old, with fair skin and brown hair. He is wearing the robes from the prominent library he works in (To be worked out with the dm to decide on an in world library) The longer Jochi stands there, the more odd things become noticeable about him. His dark eyes are faintly purple. His cloak shifts with a wind that isn't there. His smile shows a few too many teeth to be normal, and they seem sharper than normal teeth. "Why am I worth your time? Because I've been to the fae, and I know things, human." Jochi suddenly reverts back to normal, and the effect was almost short enought that it might've been pure imagination. "Also, I have credentials from my library I work at. You may wish to take a look at them." and he places his credentials on the table.
I will protect those I hate. Even ... even if the one I hate most ... is ... myself.
Ability scores: 17 14 10 14 12 14
Ranger to follow via PM
Ability scores here: Ability scores: 17 11 12 11 13 11
Role: The Warrior: I will overcome this curse on Runia by might and skill at arms.
Name: Argentus Skyreaver
Race/Class: Variant Human / Barbarian
Background: Outlander
Life in the vastness of the frozen northern tundra is harsh and unforgiving, yet survivable if one knows the rules. Sustenance, shelter, and steel. Staying hydrated and warm is the prerequisite, but the gods pity the man found without a means of defense when the predators hunted...Argentus has learned these severe lessons well in the strict classroom of the frigid emptiness of his homeland. A stubborn and hardy people, the Karhu tribe eked out a life in these inhospitable conditions, and the young Argentus just earned his pelt, having struck the killing blow against the ferocious polar bear. The night of his ascension was a blur, but as the warm polar bear pelt settled about his shoulders, there was a hush as the chieftain stumbled and fell to his knees, his eyes going vacant and his countenance becoming ashen.
A reason to take up the call to adventure:
That was a month ago, near enough. Three nights later, the attacks began. Wolves, bears, and worse began to attack the tribe in a frenzy, seemingly feral or cursed. Not only were the tribesmen endangered, but the crazed animals killed without feasting or stopping--including their own pack-mates. Called to the head yurt after a full fortnight of such insanity, Argentus was given the critical task of heading to the civilized lands to the south in the hopes that this curse could be ended before it ended up either slaughtering or starving the tribe. With one last embrace of his parents and sister, the young warrior headed south towards the forested mountains, then beyond to the lands of Runia.
Example of writing style/RP:
King Rudan's seneschal stares at you across a broad slab of oak and shuffles his parchments with business-like crispness. A chill rain drizzles outside the gatehouse, a despicable damp settling across the entirety of Oldhall. Dressed in a dark-green doublet, eyes squinting at the travel papers you purchased from a merchant at Runia's border - a necessary precaution, you were assured, to gain the right to enter Oldhall, the seneschal's expression is clear through his fraying beard shot with gray: a slight, bureaucratic frown. "Alright," he begins, "I can see that you are here in response to his majesty's summons. Before your audience, however, you must prove to me that you are worthy of his time."
"I am summoned by no man, king or otherwise," says the gruff warrior, the skin of his face already beginning to show the rigors of the northern climate despite his youthfulness. Clad in thick furs of brown and grey and with the skull of a polar bear crowning the massive white pelt that envelops his body, Argentus gazes longingly at the stockpile of weapons he had to lay aside to be allowed to advance this far into the tangled bureaucratic process. Straightening his broad shoulders, he continues, "I have travelled here on behalf of the the Karhu tribe to learn what manner of madness causes the animals of my homeland to attack us and each other in an unreasoning frenzy. If this is your chieftain's purpose, test me now that we may waste no more time with talk. If not, I will continue my journey to find to find the root of this curse and end it myself."
Gerrard Feldren - Human Noble in Ghosts of Saltmarsh
Kerric Brightblade - Elven Warrior in "Apocalypse"
Role:
- The Warrior: I will overcome this curse on Runia by might and skill at arms.
Name: Frenevîr Celebhathel.
Race/Class: Elf if multiclassing allowed warrior/wizard (bladesinger) if not, "just" bladesinger.
Background: Frenevîr comes from a long, noble elven bloodline that tracks back to the creation of the elven kingdom. His grandmother was a great warrior/wizard that fought centuries ago against the threat of monsters. She died protecting, not only the elven kingdom, but the whole continent from this threat. Her name is sing in songs and named in myths. A big shoes to fill. But Frenevir is up to the task. At early age he showed great potential and has been trained his whole life. Until now he has lived up to the expectations of both his parents and his masters but not to his. He is eager to prove himself worthy of his legacy.
A reason to take up the call to adventure: When the message came he knew it was destiny calling him. He took his weapon, his gear and parted towards Runia despite that his master told him he was not yet ready.
Example of writing style/RP:
King Rudan's seneschal stares at you across a broad slab of oak and shuffles his parchments with business-like crispness. A chill rain drizzles outside the gatehouse, a despicable damp settling across the entirety of Oldhall. Dressed in a dark-green doublet, eyes squinting at the travel papers you purchased from a merchant at Runia's border - a necessary precaution, you were assured, to gain the right to enter Oldhall, the seneschal's expression is clear through his fraying beard shot with gray: a slight, bureaucratic frown. "Alright," he begins, "I can see that you are here in response to his majesty's summons. Before your audience, however, you must prove to me that you are worthy of his time."
(How will your character respond?)
The tall elf raised his head as if he was sniffing something disgusting. "I am Frenevîr Celebhathel" he looked down to the sturdy seneschal who wasn't impressed by those words. The elf sighed and moved away his grey cloak, revealing a green tunic and trousers, with silvery embroidement. Despite the long journey the clothes and the boots were in pristine condition. A long and partially curve sword was perched on his left hip. He made a slight bow. "I humble ask an audience with King Rudan. I am a warrior of the Laicalässe Taurel, the Green Forest. News of the great need of Runia had reached our borders and I've come to offer my sword to the King's service, this threat menace us all and we will like to offer our neighbors help in good faith. I come with good tidings of the Lord and the Lady of the Green Realm." Despite his fine words it sounded a little bit forced, as if he has practice that speech knowing that it was the proper thing to say. He stared with his silvery eyes to the seneschal waiting for his answer.
Ability Scores: 10 15 16 11 17 8
PbP Character: A few ;)
Role: The Sage: Can this curse be defeated through knowledge and reason?
Name: Cavia Porcellus Novem "Cavi"
Race/Class: Human Variant / Wizard
Background: Cavi is not a real person. Not really. His creator was himself. He is a failed attempt at the simulacrum spell - one of dozens. He and his "siblings" were not born with the memories or knowledge of their creator, and so became relegated to live in their creator's tower acting as laborers, and often test subjects. Then came the day when a band of very powerful adventurers stormed the tower, and like all of its other defenders, Cavi and his siblings were easily overcome. But, he and several others survived their wounds and crawled out of that place. They knew their creator had died because the magic that held the tower in place had disappeared, and the entire structure had collapsed. Now Cavi wanders the world seeking answers of his own.
A reason to take up the call to adventure: I want what my creator wanted, answers to the great mysteries and forgotten truths of the world.
RP Response: "Interesting." Cavi lets the word hang in the air for a moment. His usual detached demeanor and implacable expression revealing nothing. "Your lord summons me and you question it. Either you are an incredibly loyal servant, or an incredibly disloyal one." He pauses again, unflinching. "Very well. I am worthy because your lord knows my name and has taken the time dictate a correspondence to me. If I were no one of import, why would he, someone who is of import, have bothered? Is that not self-evident?"
Stats: 15 10 15 16 14 13 <- I think I'll do standard array
Great writing style! Very interested in joining.. starting with the scores:
Ability scores: 11 10 15 13 14 14
Role: - The Faithful: I will reverse this curse through truth and repentance!
Name: Ashley Moon (goes by Ash)
Race/Class: Fire Genasi/Monk
Background: Ash grew up thinking she was human. Her parents were human and didn't let her know she was adopted until she was an adult. She didn't take it well. Luckily, only part of the house burned down and her parents were unscathed. After growing up in deception (as she saw it) she always looked for the truth. She dedicated her life to finding truths, and it brought her to training with the order of monks in the nearby temple. She became an acolyte and studies what she can about martial arts, truth and to rid the world of evil - well at least to the best of her ability.
A reason to take up the call to adventure: She has earned a respected place in the temple amongst the other monks and clerics as she studies hard but wants to start putting this knowledge to use. She knows she can do more out in the world that is corrupted and plagued by lies and evil, than to read about it in the libraries.
Example of writing style/RP:
King Rudan's seneschal stares at you across a broad slab of oak and shuffles his parchments with business-like crispness. A chill rain drizzles outside the gatehouse, a despicable damp settling across the entirety of Oldhall. Dressed in a dark-green doublet, eyes squinting at the travel papers you purchased from a merchant at Runia's border - a necessary precaution, you were assured, to gain the right to enter Oldhall, the seneschal's expression is clear through his fraying beard shot with gray: a slight, bureaucratic frown. "Alright," he begins, "I can see that you are here in response to his majesty's summons. Before your audience, however, you must prove to me that you are worthy of his time."
(How will your character respond?)
Ash stands erect across from the man, sizing him up as he looks at her, raising an eyebrow when he says that she must prove herself to him. Adorned in a fitted black monks robe with fire-red edging to match her fire-red hair that is wildly amassed on her head, is in great contrast to her ash-gray skin that emits just the hint of brimstone. She stands confidently as she considers his words. Ash smiles, "Yes, I have arrived to your kingdom here as requested by your King, though I do find it curious that I must prove myself now? Haven't I already done that since I have been summoned?" she pauses a bit, leans in and as she speaks her next words, her voice crackles like fire, "Though I wouldn't mind playing with you to prove my worth."
Role: The Sage (Or maybe the Faithful?)
Name: Valenz
Race/Class: Eladrin/Bard
Background: Valenz is the emissary of a People whose homeland is not far from Runia, though the folk of Runia may be forgiven for not having heard of them. They have no kingdom, but instead roam the northern forests and tundra as nomads. Their tribe is small, and not terribly powerful, and they have not been in touch with Runia in many years. But these People remember a distant time when an ancestor of Rudan the Bronze did them a great service, and now they intend to return the favor.
Among these People, those who remember stories and recount them well are among the most esteemed. The greatest storytellers are called the Seanchai, and the gift of their memories, and of their eloquence, is free to all, from frightened children to great chieftains. They travel between the bands with promises of safe conduct. They settle disputes. They preside over births, marriages, funerals, and coronations. They are the safe-holders of their People’s wit, their wisdom, their joy, and their compassion. They accomplish all of this through a simple gift: knowing the right story for the right moment, and knowing how to tell it best. Whether it be an epic, a tragedy, or a dirty joke.
Valenz is one of the Seanchai, though he joined their ranks only recently. When the People heard of the troubles of Runia, the chieftains all came together. They called upon all of the Seanchai to choose which should be the one to aid The Bronze Lord. A contest was declared to decide who would have the honor. A contest of storytelling. Whoever could best touch the assemblage’s hearts would travel to Runia to represent the People and offer the People’s wisdom.
Dozens of Seanchai answered the call. Through the night, they each stepped up one by one to the firelight and told their tales. The crowd sobbed, and cackled, and roared with applause until they were hoarse. It was a night no one in attendance would ever forget, especially when Mossen stood to speak.
The oldest and most revered of all the Seanchai. She had sat quietly all evening, listening to the stories of the rest, many of whom had once sat at her knee as her pupil. When she spoke, the wolves ceased howling. The voles and foxes and burrowing owls ceased their digging. The wind itself ceased blowing. The story she told had not been heard in four hundred years, and only very few had heard it even then. Through the silent night she told her story, and by the time she was approaching its climax, the sun was starting to rise.
But the Night was jealous that his sister Day should know the ending he himself would be denied. So the Night took Mossen, as he has taken so many of our beloved elders.
In the center of the circle, with all of the People holding their breath, she lost her rhythm. Her heart ceased beating and she looked to her pupil, Valenz. Her great-grandson. With her last breath she commanded him: “Finish the story.”
But Valenz did not know the story. No one had heard it in four hundred years, and he was not yet 25. But he could feel the eyes of thousands of his People upon him. He could smell the half-madness of a crowd whose catharsis had been snatched from them at the moment of its blossoming. Half-mad with grief himself at the loss of his great-grandmother, and his teacher, and of the story now half forgotten, he began to speak. He made things up. When he could think of nothing to make up, he stole. When he could not think of anything to steal, he simply sang wordlessly along the rhythm he imagined the ending may have taken. And when the morning came all of the People sang with him because they knew the story ended with them, together in the daylight, mourning the greatest Seanchai any of them had ever known, and no one needs words to hear the story they themselves are in.
The Chieftains and the Seanchai and all of the People named Valenz Seanchai that day, and chose him to go to Runia, though Valenz did not want to go. He wanted to stay with his family and to grieve with them. But he knew he had been swept up in Mossen’s last story, and there was nothing to be done but to see it through. Valenz left the day after Mossen’s funeral, with the blessing of all his People.
A reason to take up the call to adventure: When all the greatest sages and chieftains of your People tell you to undertake a journey to save a distant kingdom from an ancient evil, you go. And may the gods be with you.
Example of writing style/RP:
King Rudan's seneschal stares at you across a broad slab of oak and shuffles his parchments with business-like crispness. A chill rain drizzles outside the gatehouse, a despicable damp settling across the entirety of Oldhall. Dressed in a dark-green doublet, eyes squinting at the travel papers you purchased from a merchant at Runia's border - a necessary precaution, you were assured, to gain the right to enter Oldhall, the seneschal's expression is clear through his fraying beard shot with gray: a slight, bureaucratic frown. "Alright," he begins, "I can see that you are here in response to his majesty's summons. Before your audience, however, you must prove to me that you are worthy of his time."
“I don’t know that I am. The full moon has not risen twice since I’ve been named Seanchai. I have no great deeds of which I could brag to you save one. I gave the eulogy of Mossen. My People gave me their blessing that I should come to you and represent them. The Bronze Lord’s ancestor once did my people a great service. In return, my People offer you our wit, our wisdom, our joy, our compassion. My people believe these boons are wrapped in some story I know. I do not yet know which, but I know many stories, and I will share them with Rudan the Bronze, if he will hear them.”
Ability Scores: STR: 8 DEX: 8+2 CON: 12 INT: 14 WIS: 14 CHA: 15+1 (Point buy)
Ability scores: 13 12 15 13 16 14
Role: The Faithful: I will reverse this curse through truth and repentance!
Name: Alvalon Stalarkzy
Class: Cleric
Race: High Elf
Background: Acolyte
Alignment: Neutral Good
Backstory: His parents lived in middle class his mother a stay at home mom and his dad is a shoe maker. When they had Alvalon most of the money was spent on him. Not to spoil him, but because he was very sickly and no matter what his parents tried to do it never seemed to work. His health was getting worse and worse. Eventurally when he as 14, they scrounged up enough wealth to get him healed by a priestess. whom was soft spoken and was nice to him and eventually healed him. He reverened her and swore that one day that he'd become a priest like her. She told him of her faith, god of everlasting love, Evening Glory. When he got old enough he went to the church of Evening Glory and eventually found that the godess believes in love even after death. Even with this revalation he contined to study and learn from the temple. He owed it to the temple to pour his heart out after he was healed when he was young.He must heal others so that he can give back to the community. He knew many priests had heart shaped holes in thier hands, but he couldn't stand it so he got a tattoo of the holy symbol instead on his hand.
When there were news of a curse going around, he initially did not think much of it until the head priest of the church told him that he must go out and get rid of the curse. Starstruck, young, dumb, and wanting to impress the temple he went out to help solve the curse.
Example RP:
Alvalon looks out of breath when he comes through the door, the journey taking the wind out of his lungs, he coughs violently, and shudders remembering his youth. He composes himself and looks at the knight, suddenly feeling small and unsure of himself. He had many thoughts as to what to say, but doesn't want to make a fool of himself. Alvalon raises his tattoo hand to his heart "I'm on the behalf of my temple of the goddess Evening Glory, may you find everlasting love! I'm here to purge this curse once and for all!"
Sheet: https://www.dndbeyond.com/profile/DeadOnes/characters/65853763
Ability scores: 17 12 15 11 12 12
wip… codeword and a sheet in a pm once I’ve picked at it a bit.
Paladin - warforged - orange
Role: The Wildcard: Perhaps this curse can be used to my advantage before it is lifted...
Name: Wiltron Stillblade
Race/Class: Stout Halfling Ranger
Background: Wiltron and his brother were born in the capital city, Farridge, of the distant kingdom Audar. Audar had a large emphasis on military and Wiltron's father was a knight who had a patriotic influence on the two. Their mother was quite strict and never let them do anything fun, so naturally, they had to learn to sneak around to enjoy their childhood. When they eventually grew old enough for service they signed up for the military. Instead of becoming soldiers, Wilton and his brother were selected to become scouts due to their skillset. They trained for several weeks, and for their first mission, the two were tasked to scout an area as a group of their soldiers infiltrated enemy grounds. They completely missed a large group of enemy soldiers planning an ambush and it ended in tragedy for the Audar forces. They felt terrible and knew they couldn't return without redeeming themselves, and upon hearing of the curse in Runia creating monsters, they grew curious as to whether one could gain control of the curse and the armies of monsters it'd created. Wanting to bring this army of monsters back to end the war in Audar, Wiltron set off for Runia to answer the King's call for aid.
*I will flesh this out a little bit more if I'm accepted in, I figured you have a lot of characters to read so keeping it brief for now.
A reason to take up the call to adventure: He needs to redeem himself to his home nation, and hopes to do this by gaining control of the curse. In addition to this, knowing many types of monsters coming from it he wants to learn more about it and see if there's a way to use them for good.
Example of writing style/RP: Wiltron twirls his grimy brown hair around his finger, staring into space in the general direction of the bureaucrat as he sorts through papers. As the man finally looks up and starts talking Wiltron swiftly fixes his posture and tries to look attentive. "Ahem well you see I am very versatile and knowledgable in the wild. I'm also quite good at sneaking around, tracking, and camouflaging. I know my way around herbs, poisons, and curses as well as many of the monsters that the curse has formed. Though I may not be an exceptional mage or world-class fighter, I can hold my own on the battlefield and I'm quite the good shot with a bow. And my honor relies on ending this curse and saving the lands, so you can guarantee it'll be my best work." He then proceeds to stand tall and proud though his head barely peaks over the desk, being a halfling that is.
Ability scores: 18 10 13 12 11 13
That is a lotttt of writing to read. Took me 28 mins. Good campaign Jabathar!
Role: A Warrior mixed with Faithful? But, if I have to choose one only, let's call it the Warrior.
Name: Verher.
Race/Class: V. Human/Monk (Way of the Kensei, when/if we get there).
Background: Blood relations matter little for one who lives in a monastery. You know who is your brother, but you treat them no different from your other "brothers" - all the others with the same status as yours. You might know your parents, but the moment you pass a certain age, you treat them no different, and vice versa, from the other masters.
As for the monastery itself, it was a remnant of another age, so to speak, when warriors were needed to defend the land, built in a kingdom eastern of Runia. The brotherhood kept the old traditions, constantly training new generations of monks in case they'll ever be needed, but none ever were. Due to its uselessness, little to no outsiders ever joined, and defectors were abundant. Thus, the monks in the monastery did not number many.
By the time rumour of the call reached the monastery, passing from mouth to ear most of the way, it had received many alterations. So many, in fact, that the call was deemed not much more than a joke. And yet, the monastery decided to send one of their own to investigate the case. If there was some truth in the rumours, they would not want to be remembered as ones who did not respond when finally they were needed. However, as it did not seem a serious case, they sent one of the younger monks, rather than one of the masters. If it were beyond their capabilities, the proxy would request backup and try to do their best until that arrived. The name of the chosen monk was Verher.
A reason to take up the call to adventure: Protecting the land from monsters was what Verher trained and lived for. It's his purpose, as well as a chance to prove himself capable.
Example of writing style/RP:
Verher has been standing there for a while, getting wet, until he was let in. His hand rests on the hilt of his sword, merely out of habit. Now, they request him to prove himself. That makes sense, he realises. Surely, he was not the only one who came, and perhaps not all were capable enough. Was he? Possibly, possibly not. He bows slightly as the customs he was taught demanded. He didn't know if his manners were strange in this land, but the motion was an almost automated response. "Word of your majesty's summons have reached the monastery I belong to, and my masters have found it right to send me. First and foremost, I am a protector, a warrior who was sent to defend the land, as we were told a concentration of... monsters, were wreaking havoc around this area." He partly indicates his sword to validate his words. "My name is Verher, and I am at your service. If you demand I prove myself first, that I shall do. What kind of demonstration might you seek?"
Ability Scores: Ability scores: 14 16 9 6 15 13.
Varielky | Emma
Ability scores: 14 10 15 8 15 17
Let's see.
Role: The Wildcard: Perhaps this curse can be used to my advantage before it is lifted...
Name: Captain Uterlan
Race/Class: Dragonborn/ Warlock( the fathomless)
Ability scores: 15 13 10 14 15 14
Background: Uterlan comes a wealthy family in a Southern kingdom called Stëlkeep. Stëlkeep’s capital is based on a large island that has a rich iron mine below the surface. The capital is called Traxtran. The kingdom has a large naval force and will usually trade with other kingdoms for resources that are difficult to obtain on their land. The kingdom has expanded their territory over the years by building floating cities known as Tidal lands.
Uterlan comes from a Tidal land and his family have been running a naval trading company for 3 generations. Despite his noble upbringing, Uterlan hated the noble bloodlines of the city,including his own. They were always looking down on people and making it seem that the world was centred on them. Uterlan hated how they could have such comfortable life’s doing very little. So when Uterlan turned 18 he decided to leave his home to make the lifestyle of the nobles a bit more difficult. He hired “morally questionable” characters to run a ship that he stole from his family business and took off for the seas. He changed his name to Captain Uterlan, renamed the ship to “ The Dragon of the Sea” and spent years on the seas as a pirate captain reeking havoc on the Tidal lands.
This went on for a few years with quite a large amount of success. Uterlan built up a reputation of being a ruthless pirate and was deep in coin that he stole from the nobility. That was until an accident occurred on the ship. Unknown to Uterlan, the nobles hired an assassin to sneak on board the ship while it was at a distant port and detonate the ship. The assassin did this by lighting a long fuse on a barrel of gunpowder so that when the ship left port it was detonated. As Uterlan was sinking in the water, seemingly alive from the explosion, he saw a Kraken. It spoke to Uterlan, promising power and a chance to regain his lost fortune if he made a pact with him. The creature called himself Gemitla and told Uterlan that if he agreed, he would serve him forever. Blinded by the promise to get a second chance, Uterlan agrees. For 2 years he has now been serving the Kraken by bringing it treasure and telling him of the other cities. It seemed that it was very curious of the land cities and would send Uterlan to scout them out and report back what he finds. So when Uterlan returned with the news of the curse Gemitla grew very joyful. He ordered Uterlan to go and investigate the curse, even cure it if he can. While he was in the kingdom he was also to steal the king’s crown as Gemitla wants this to add to his collection. He has been ordered to steal the crown secretly as Gemitla has another mission for Uterlan that requires his alias to be clean.
A reason to take up the call to adventure: Uterlan has been ordered by his patron to secretly steal the king’s crown to add to his collection. Gemitla believes that this is the best opportunity to do so while everyone is distracted by the curse.
Example of writing style/RP:
Uterlan gives a frown to the person in front of him. After spending what feels like forever in the rain before he was allowed in the gatehouse, he was in no mood to have a glorified guard stop him. He shakes off the water on his hat and says I’ve been told that yah king needs help with a curse. I’ve been asked to speak with HIM on the matter. Uterlan gives a frustrated sign as he now has to justify himself to this idiot who can’t seem to grasp the concept that he was invited to speak with the king. Very well, if I must prove myself to you so be it. I’ve seen many great things on my journeys and I am experienced in many forms of combat and magic. I will sort out yah curse and get paid for doing a job well done. That’s why I’m here, that’s why I’m worth speaking to. He will then pause for a moment. He will give a smirk to the guard and then say If this yer words will not do, I’ll be more than happy to show you what it is your paying for. He chuckles ever so slightly.
Role: The Wildcard... There's an angle to shoot in every situation if one watches for it and plays their cards right.
Name: Finn Of'Gren
Race/Class: Changeling / Bard
Background: Gambler
Finn Of'Gren is a rambler, a gambler and a long way from home. Moving from town to town, Finn Of'Gren finds work and coin in the bars and taverns of each play they visit by sharing songs, telling tales and generally being the life of every party. And if coin doesn't come in form of payment or tips, by the time the missing coin purses start pointing in Finn's direction they'll have already moved on to the next town.
All is not partying and living the life of a roustabout. Finn Of'Gren is also a chronicler of events, a source of information and a courier of goods. Not all messages are safe to write down and a Bards skill at memorizing the exact wordings of such things is the next best thing. And few others can so freely move about from one town to another, from one part of town to the other and even between the social ranks without raising much question. A Bard is welcome at any dinner table or campfire and Finn Of'Gren uses that to their best advantage.
A reason to take up the call to adventure:
As a Changeling Finn Of'Gren has no face of their own but they can certainly make a name for themself! Be it through songs sung, tales written or deeds done which can inspire the others, Finn Of'Gren is determined their name will live on through history!
Example of writing style/RP:
"You want that I should perform for you?" Finn Of'Gren asks allowing just the slightest incredulity slip into her voice. "A song and dance, perhaps? Of a sweet melody on the flute?"
"Of should I recite the epic poem of Runavald the Deep that tells the tale of their rise to power and how they first claimed the Oaken Seat?" Finn asks, tilting her head and studying the seneschal studiously. Hands free of callouses, typical stout dwarf build but a belly with too much wobble to have ever worked too hard. A Bureaucrat. Finn wanted to sigh in disgust but that certainly wouldn't help things. "I could recite it in Common or Dwarvish... It loses too much in the Elvish translation. I could even tell the ribald version, though that is generally frowned upon here in Runia, is it not? Which is really a shame, the bit where Runavald breaks wind just as they sit upon the Oaken Seat for the first time... I assure you, nobody gets the crowds rolling in laughter at that bit better than I do!"
Finn Of'Gren can tell the seneschal is not amused. But that is alright. There are other tactics to use... Giving the dwarf sitting across from her a wan grin and looking down solemnly at the huge oak table they sit at, Finn feigns surrender for a long moment, waiting for the bureaucrat to make the first shuffle or cough or sign of unease and wanting to wrap this up. Once that signal comes, Finn Of'Gren looks up and grab his attention by staring him directly in the eyes, her eyes... Different. Off. Suddenly a darker green than they had been and now with a sharpness that demands attention.
"Or I could recite The Elegy of House Danathar? That is a favorite here in Runia, the tale of the rivals for Oldhall... The foes of Runavald who were defeated so soundly that the entire family tree died out. Or so it is told, is it not?" Finn Of'Gren asks, a bite of malice in her words. "I could recite for you and all the Elegy of House Danathar and recite the genealogies from seven generations before the taking of the Oaken Seat up until the current day...."
The room hung silent except for the sound of rain outside the stone walls of the gatehouse. Finn Of'Gren sat silently praying that she read the details correctly. That she had played her cards right. That the seneschal on the other side of the table was in fact a descendant of House Danathar. A house demolished but not killed outright. Their names were stricken, they and their descendants were forbidden from the martial or masonry trades. Some say a fate even worse than slaughter... For a Dwarf, anyway.
"I am a Bard," Finn said matter of factly once the seneschal broke eye contact. She made her point, she had no need to make him suffer. "We know things. Chief among them is when to keep our mouths shut."
Putting her hands upon the oak table Finn turned them palm up and spread them wide to signal she was unarmed and meant no harm here. "There is no reason for us to be other than friends. As you say, the king summoned me. I respect you and your role. If you wish a song and a dance, then so you shall have... But it is the king who summoned me and I know of no better judge of how to spend his time than himself."
We're doing one small murder-y thing for a bigger, better reason. The ends justify the means.
-- Eleanor Shellstrop
Role: Some mix of the Warrior and Sage
Name: Ragora Cinarum
Race/Class: V.Human Warlock
Background: Named for the purple flower of the mandrake, Ragora's family of more combat orientated "witches" have been protecting the area around their village for generations. While some see them as little more than glorified mercenaries, the witches make use of both the martial and magical to defend their borders. Using a ritual passed down through the family as long as anyone can remember, they contact a powerful being that bonds with prospective witches to share their magic, providing said witch doesn't pervert the power for evil uses. As part of the latest generation, Ragora chose to leave the village after finishing her basic martial training. Her home seemed so... small compared to the world out there. Even if she were to settle back down again, it would be with scars to show and stories to tell...
A reason to take up the call to adventure: A strong sense of duty, coupled with an adventurous nature
Example of writing style/RP:
King Rudan's seneschal stares at you across a broad slab of oak and shuffles his parchments with business-like crispness. A chill rain drizzles outside the gatehouse, a despicable damp settling across the entirety of Oldhall. Dressed in a dark-green doublet, eyes squinting at the travel papers you purchased from a merchant at Runia's border - a necessary precaution, you were assured, to gain the right to enter Oldhall, the seneschal's expression is clear through his fraying beard shot with gray: a slight, bureaucratic frown. "Alright," he begins, "I can see that you are here in response to his majesty's summons. Before your audience, however, you must prove to me that you are worthy of his time."
(How will your character respond?)
The young woman lifts the brim of her large white hat to lightly scratch at her forehead. Worthy? She didn't know how to judge something like that. Most she'd encountered just accepted help when offered, and she'd never had to think about how worthy she was to help. "Ah, I guess word of us doesn't really reach y'all in these fancier places." She says, with a country drawl heavy enough to sink a ship. She draws herself up to her full (though admittedly not great) height and proudly states, "Me and my family like to lend a hand to people's issues. Whether you need some rats removed or if its something that it's a little magical fixin', us witches have all your bases covered. We've been dealing with troubles like this for generations, so to provide a service to your king would be an honour."
Ability scores: 8 17 14 13 16 11
Ability scores: 13 17 13 14 13 13
Role: The Wildcard
Name: Maern "Mae"
Race/Class: Drow Rogue (Swashbuckler)/Paladin (Oathbreaker)
Background: Mae hasn't fit in from day one. They've wandered through numerous countries, with various troupes (at first their family, later circus', then by themselves). When they were only just an adult, their family split apart (having only been held together until the youngest: Mae, was grown). Shortly after this separation, they sought a means of feeling connected. That is when in the circus they met their future wife: Tilya. They married just months after meeting, and on their wedding day Mae vowed to stay with Tilya until the day they died; they should've know they could never keep a promise like that. One year into their marriage, Mae tried to leave the troupe. They only wanted change, but Tilya wanted them to stay. That day, they left and broke their vow. They had previously, unknowingly vowed to something much greater than just Tilya. They had made a promise to some far greater power. Upon breaking that promise, a light that had shined in Mae's heart and mind faded, replaced by a hollow darkness; they had broken their oath. They wandered for a time: weeks? Months? They didn't know exactly how long it was, but they were shaken from their stupor, mostly, by a call for heroes to save a kingdom. They could hardly claim the title "hero," but they had no other purpose in their life. They might as well do something, so for the first time in a while, they walked with purpose. They finally had a direction to head in, they were going to answer the call.
A reason to take up the call to adventure: They felt sorry for themselves and sought any other direction in their life. So, they turned to adventuring (where they could find another purpose).
Example of writing style/RP:
King Rudan's seneschal stares at you across a broad slab of oak and shuffles his parchments with business-like crispness. A chill rain drizzles outside the gatehouse, a despicable damp settling across the entirety of Oldhall. Dressed in a dark-green doublet, eyes squinting at the travel papers you purchased from a merchant at Runia's border - a necessary precaution, you were assured, to gain the right to enter Oldhall, the seneschal's expression is clear through his fraying beard shot with gray: a slight, bureaucratic frown. "Alright," he begins, "I can see that you are here in response to his majesty's summons. Before your audience, however, you must prove to me that you are worthy of his time."
(How will your character respond?)
A figure in clothes that were once vibrantly colored and well formed, now having adopted an ashen hue sits across the desk. Glancing up from where they were fixated on a singular drop gliding down the window, the pale purple elf whose eyes appeared hollow let out a long sigh. It was time to resume the facade of their former life. They lit up: correcting their posture, making eye contact, allowing a smile to creep onto their face; it was a convincing performance, the only break in the illusion were their eyes. No amount of practice, lies, or motivation could bring the life back into those cold silver eyes. In their most animated tone they declared, "My good friend, there are none more worthy than I! I am Maern, I once traveled with the illustrious Luminosity Circus! I was a bit of a dancer, but my true act was the sword juggling. Oh, it was splendid; but all that training with blades was not all for show." Mae stands abruptly, whipping their glistening rapier from their side. With a brief laugh they tossed the blade, tapping it on one side and catching it in the opposite hand. "I do believe that you have grasped just how 'worthy' I am of such an audience." They daintily sheathe their sword and drifted back into their seat, placing their head on their hands upon the desk. Mae's winning smile so bright that it almost convinced them.
Hello, idk what to do rn and i wanna ask if i could join so yeah...
Hi there! This looks awesome. :D I love your style and the depth of worldbuilding and the chance to really dive in as a player.
Role: The Faithful: I will reverse this curse through truth and repentance
Name: Tarran Softbrook
Race/Class: Ghostwise halfling/Grave cleric
Background: Folk hero background. For most of his life, Tarran’s been just a stable keeper and horse trainer in a relatively quiet town. Until he was middle-aged, the closest he came to an exciting life was shortly after he became an adult at a festival at the nearby temple of Kelemvor, when a celestial appeared and named him as one of those marked by the god for great potential. Instead of heeding the call or the path of some of his ghostwise ancestors though, Tarran chose to continue his quiet life, simply worshiping Kelemvor faithfully as an ordinary believer. He met and fell in love with a human adventurer woman who frequented his stables, and they married when she retired from adventuring. Together, they lived a quiet life running their stables and taking care of horses, Tarran becoming a stepfather to her three children. However human lifespans are shorter than halflings, and Tarran’s wife, who’d already lived several years by the time they met, has recently passed away, devastating him and upending his simple life
A reason to take up the call to adventure: Tarran didn’t take it up, it was handed to him with no choice. Sort of. Desperate for a few more years together when his wife neared death, Tarran prayed to the Kelemvor to honor her years fighting for good and defending the line between living and undead, by granting her a few more years of life. When that didn’t work, Tarran offered a trade. He was marked for potential after all. A few more years for his wife, and in return, many years of his own as a cleric and Kelemvor’s servant once she passed. It didn’t turn out quite as Tarran hoped. His wife lived longer, but the effects of aging only became more severe, leaving him with bitter feelings toward Kelemvor in addition to grief and guilt. But a deal’s a deal, and the time is up. Tarran may not feel warmly towards Kelemvor but he is still a believer and now Kelemvor’s servant for anything the god commands. The curse on Runia is disrupting the balance of life and death, and so Tarran has come to help set it right.
Example of writing style/RP:
(How will your character respond?)
Tarran regarded the king with his own assessing look. He’d never seen a king up-close before. He seemed not much different than any other man Tarran had known. Less stuck up and more practical than many of the merchants who used to come through the stables, at least. Perhaps that was why Tarran didn’t feel nervous. Perhaps it was because he didn’t give a shit about the man’s birth to begin with.
“As I told your steward and as you can likely see from my clothes, I’m a cleric of Kelemvor. My duty is to maintain the balance of life and death, and defend people from what might take them before their time—” the words didn’t stutter anymore after all his time practicing. “—like from a curse. I can… I don’t know, cut myself and heal it if you need proof of divine magic or something.”
With a sigh, Tarran smoothed the dark garb he’d donned the day Kelemvor’s inevitable summons came for him. His holy symbol hung above his heart on a chain. As usual, Tarran resisted the urge to pick at it. “Look, whether you decide I am worthy or not does't matter to me. I am bidden to investigate this curse of yours and end it if I can, so I will. Makes no difference to me what your kingly judgment is. Feel free to throw me out on my ear, and I’ll do it anyway. But it’d make things a lot easier on both of us if you don’t.”
Ability Scores:
14 14 13 12 11 13