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Old Mar 6th, 2019, 09:08 AM
Wynamoinen's Avatar
Wynamoinen Wynamoinen is offline
Eternal Bard
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Round 0 - D&D 5e Applications

PrologueYou, a great power of the realm, have finally caught a few days of downtime. With all the tombs to plunder, demons to subdue, and ransoms to free, you can barely catch a free moment!

One day, a vision appears before your eyes. A robed figure with a bald head, long thin mustache, and piercing eyes appears before you. He floats above the ground in a shimmering haze. You're no rank amateur; you know a mage's ostentatious messaging when you see it. You let the experience wash over you. He speaks in a confident nasally tone:

"Greetings! You surely know who I am: the arch-mage Rostamoinen, first among equals at the Square of Nine. I am contacting you because I see a potential within you. I refer not to the beliefs you hold deep in your heart nor your moral compass. I seek those beyond simplified concepts of good, evil, law and chaos.

"The Nine seek another! We are the greatest caretakers of this world,"
he says without a hint of modesty, "and we have an opening. We had hoped that the great Labyrinth last year would have produced a worthy individual. Instead, it produced ruin, chaos, and self-aggrandizement. Now we try again. There in the bowels of the collapsed Labyrinth is door. The unworthy treasure-seekers last year did not find it. Those who reach the door will be the greatest candidates to join the Nine. They will sit at my side and influence the fate of the world. Combined with the ability of the other eight members of the Square Table, you will be able to stand up against beings of near omnipotent power. I think you may have the capacity to rightly maintain the alignment of the cosmos against such threats.

"If you agree, then you must show me. You must reach the Labyrinth with all speed. Others from around the world have been summoned. They will strive to arrive more quickly, and with grander laurels. If you would join me, do not let them outshine you. In two days, meet at The Gate. There you will meet one of my colleagues, who will guide you to your fate."

The shimmering vision flickers and vanishes. You know exactly The Gate he mentioned. This seems like an opportunity too good to pass up. You head towards the gate.

Application rules
  • Character level is 8th. Multiclassing is allowed.
  • Abilities are determined by 27 point buy (remembering that the Standard Array is one option under 27 point buy)
  • Feats are allowed (as is variant human). No alternate rules from the DMG are allowed.
  • Use max hit points at first level and roll each level after that (rolls are to be in your character application post)
  • PHB + 1: Create your characters using the core rules of the and DMG for magic itemsPHB, plus no more than ONE other published resource (XGtE, VGtM, or SCAG). If you use another source, please say which you're using.
  • Use the RPGX official character sheet when building your character, and provide a link in your application. Make sure your name does not appear anywhere on the sheet. Be as clear as you can within that sheet about all calculations, including ability scores, skill ratings, and gold spending.
  • In addition to standard starting equipment granted by your class and background, you have an additional 3000gp, which can be spent on items both mundane and magical. Magical items are priced according to rarity and expendability. A list of magic items by rarity may be found here. For enchanted weapons and armor (+1, +2, etc), you must pay for both the base mundane price PLUS the price of the magical bonus. Using the Dungeon Master's Guide (since it's a core rule book) to purchase magic items does NOT count against your one additional allowed rulebook.

Very rare and legendary items are not available. You may buy 15 rounds of magical ammunition at non-consumable prices.
  • Your application should be anonymized. When you post your application, please put it under BOTH a spoiler tag AND a secret tag
  • There is a MAXIMUM length of 1000 This excludes and BBcode mark-up, but DOES include any and all visible text in the applicationwords.
  • Images are not required, but may be included. Please keep them to a reasonable size, if you include any. Musical selections will likely not be considered by the judges.
  • Your character write-up should provide:
    • A backstory
    • A role-play sample of what your character is doing when they receive the above summons (and how they react).
  • Every application must choose which of the four corners of the world you start from. State where you start near the top of your application, by name/class/race. You will begin at either...
    • The Frozen Gate of the North, found at the edge of the frigid homelands of the primitive human hunter society of Kryygsstaan, or
    • The Granite Gate of the East, found at the foot of the mountain homelands of the dwarven nation of Hammerfall, or
    • The Life Gate of the West, found deep in the lush forest home of the elven nation of Tyndanael, or
    • The Free Gate of the South, found at the mouth of the Leeway Pass, passage to the Free States where Dragonborn, goblin, and other 'monstrous' nations are able to hold in relative peace and prosperity.
    (Note that any class and any race can start at any gate. Your race, class, and backstory should put you near one or the other.)
  • Applications close on Friday June 28th at 6pm EST. You may freely edit your submission up to that due date. Any edits after that time will result in disqualification.
GM of Uncaged, a 5e campaign of one-shots inspired by folklore

Last edited by Wynamoinen; Jun 9th, 2019 at 08:30 AM.
Old Jun 7th, 2019, 12:10 PM
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Drachenspirit Drachenspirit is online now
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Name: Raza Vanotar of the Black Lion Uthgardt Tribe
Age: 29
Class/Subclass: Barbarian/Path of the Totem Warrior
Background: Uthgardt Tribe Member
Backstory She's a Protector, currently 'The' Warlord of her Tribe, over its warriors and answering only to the Tribe Chieftain until the quest came to her.
There have been wars and rumors of wars as many have tried to invade and take over her homelands. Some have tried to set up a fort at the head of the river, and simply killed any Barbarians who tried to stand up to them. The Black Lion Tribe stormed this fort not long after it was built, destroying it at great cost to their warriors. When those responsible sent troops to put down these barbarians, the Black Lion tribe quickly made a truce with armies from the lands of the arch-mage Rostamoinen, and fought alongside them, securing the fort, and more importantly the head of the river.
The long held truce between her tribe and the civilized folk to the south is due in part mostly because they now leave her tribe well enough alone. They do keep a small force at the fort, and often ask for small groups of warriors from the tribe to scout for them if the terrain is rugged. These "agreements" are always made on a case by case basis, until recently. Growing frustrations with the soldiers are the fort are mounting, and something is about to give.

Raza's Youth
Raza is one of the few half-orcs within her tribe. It is widely known that she is the product of Orcs raiding from time to time and raping tribal women. This being true, she had to work harder than anyone else, especially since she is a female. Women have rights similar to Vikings of old, and thus Raza was allowed to prove herself as a warrior. She quickly stood out, and soon became one of the best warriors in the tribe. She has been fighting in every battle and skirmish from her earliest days since going through the warrior rituals and initiation more than half her life ago in years.
I can stare down a Hellhound without flenching.
My Tribe, my people, are what matter most.
I fight for those who cannot fight for themselves
Violence is my answer to almost any challenge

Appearance: Raza stands 6'4" tall and strikes an imposing figure. She easily weighs upwards of 230 lbs, and though muscular as is her orcish line, she, has an athletic build due to her always being on the move.

Vision RP Sample She looked down at the piece of metal offered, and she didn't need it. She didn't need it because she knew who it was from. She knew enough to know that if any of the stories of this mage and those of like mind were true, she’d have to watch her steps closely when dealing with him.
She didn't really care if the stories were true or not, what concerned her was what this was all about. It wasn’t about who he was, it was about what he wanted.
Having the blood of Orcs in her veins, she knew full well how this simple fact alone defined many others beliefs of who she was and what she was. She wouldn't do the same with this mage, but his role in helping her help her own was a different thing altogether.
She let the metal wand lay in the cloth. This was probably not good news. Her father did subscribe to the idea that the enemy of my enemy is my friend. She didn't. She made sure the flap to her tent was fully closed before she grabbed the metal, and instantly the vision came to her.
When it was over, she knew immediately what she must do. If she could succeed in this thing, if she could achieve this position of caretaker, then her tribe and it’s line would truly live forever. She stood and gathered her gear quickly, including the three items that every warlord of her tribe had carried. There was the pair of bracers on her arm, adorned with two Black Lions each. Then there were the leather gloved gauntlets portraying a Black Lion fighting an Ogre. And finally, there was her Great Axe, adorned with the mane of a black lion on the backside of the axe blade. Finally, she pulled on the boots, which had been an heirloom from her mother's family.
Leaving the tent, she calls for her son. This would be a good test for him.
Her son was in the last of his preteen years and was already a few inches shy of 6'. He’d accompany her to the gate, and then return on his own. Along the way, Raza clearly followed a trail that wasn't marked, but mentally made of what Scouts called landmarks and handrails (ridges, streams, or natural features that one could follow along one side). Her son could clearly survive on his own, but he intently watched his mother, and she in turn paused some to teach him.
Parting ways Raza said few words to her son, but what she said spoke volumes. "The shamans say there are wars to come and that they will not end, they will only grow. They fear we will be drawn into them. If we must fight, we will only ally with those who "see" our tribe. Pass this along to those on our war council. For me, I must go on a journey that may raise our tribe to a status that will never see us die. Take care. I will see you soon. Here, or in your dreams."
Her son hefted his spear and stole a quick hug from his mother, and he was gone back into the wilds. She knew he was gone, but she still waited a moment as pride welled within her. She finally turned and finished the short walk to the gate.


Character sheet reviewed and approved, pending changes sent via PM and changes made. Please make those changes, then do not modify your character sheet again for the remainder of the competition.
Posting Status: Acceptable Acceptable? By who? Oh, shut up conscience, you're even more ADD than I am.

Last edited by Wynamoinen; Jul 7th, 2019 at 06:29 PM.
Old Jun 7th, 2019, 01:21 PM
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GleefulNihilism GleefulNihilism is offline
The Good Doktor
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Name: Bryn Anvilsong
Alignment: NG
Race: Half-Elf
Class: Fighter
Background: Soldier [Scout Specialty]

Personality Trait:* I always have a Plan.

Ideal:* Greater Good.

Bond:* Never leave a Comrade Behind.

Flaw:* I'd rather eat my armor than admit when I'm wrong.

Bryn Anvilsong always has a look in his eyes like he's expecting a fight. Life did not begin kindly for Bryn and if nature had taken it's course he would have been snuffed out before he had a chance to start. The clue is in his name, his last name is a strong Dwarven one but his first name is a Child Name of the Elves. Bryn Anvilsong is a Half-Elf, but was raised by Dwarves.

Bryn's life however has taught him something important. Life is full of Struggles and Battles - but they can be Beaten. The right planning, the right training, the right action - there is no such thing as an unbeatable enemy or a no-win scenario. Just a question of thinking things through. He doesn't realize it but this makes him just a little genre-savvy for his own good.

Boy, Come Here.

Bryn, I want you to hear this from me first. Your Great-Grandfather has joined the Halls of the God-Kings of the Mountains, may they Bless his Soul. That means there will be some - changes - around the Keep and in the Family. You may hear some words spoken in your direction, words about your Heritage and if ye Belong among the Anvilsong.

I know you know you were adopted when you were a wee babe, it would be hard not to. But I never told you the circumstances, and perhaps I should have. If I hurt you like that, I am sorry. I was a Third Son, so when I was a younger Man I took to the Roads to prove myself to the Anvilsong as we do. I became an Adventurer, and in time I made friends and formed a Company. Among my last companions were a human named Brian and an elf named Xanathia.

I do nae know when they became lovers, I only found out when we had to stop adventuring for a time because Xanathia became with child. Then word got back, my deeds had led to another Clan deciding I was worth an arranged marriage so we decided that our last Adventure would to held escort me to the Clan's Keep. The roads were safe, Xanathia could even ride in the cart as she was heavy with you.

There were Assassins. Your Birth-Father died saving your Mother's life and your Birth-Mother took a poisoned blade meant for Me. Our healers and clerics did what they could but in the end we could only save Her or You and She chose You.

We did try to set you up with your own people, but your Birth-Father was a War Orphan, if we had left you in a human orphanage you'd have died in a gutter in a human city somewhere. Your Birth-Mother's people were part of an elven House but when they found out you were Half-Human they refused to take you. So we raised you, and it is true that your Mother and I figured at the time we at least owed the Debt of Honor, at first. I swear to you though Bryn, Only at first.

Now, Listen Carefully to me Boy, I want you to remember this for as long as you live. We are your Family. To your Mother and I you are our Oldest Son. Ye steps on the Stones in this Keep are lighter than those of ye Brothers and Sisters but they belong here. Unfortunately, in the eyes of the Clans, you are a Debt that our Clan had to pay. If I officially made ye my Heir the other Clans would nae accept you. Ye will have to make your own way, Bryn.

But you have always been quick on ye feet, I still know some people, and most of all ye are an Anvilsong. That will be all ye need. Besides, with that thin dusting you call a Beard I'm pretty sure I couldn't marry you off if I tried.

The SummonsThe rain started just before they got to the Tavern, which was good since it cut into the smell of blood and soot a bit before they had to talk to the client and get paid. Bryn ordered a drink before taking off his helmet and lets a finger trace the scar.

"You're an Elf?"

Ah, right. He hadn't taken his helmet off in front of this group before. It was just a quick Goblin Job. Goblin infestation of an old Elven Scouting Post.

"Just Half. That a Problem?"

"No, just - wasn't burning down the tree-fort your idea?"

"Worked, didn't it?"

It had. The client wanted the goblins gone and they weren't an Elf so he figured if the post was still standing that would just be a bonus. So they burned down the tree that the Post was set up in and just cleaned up the survivors. Work Smarter, not Harder.

The Mage Message comes in the middle of a steak-sandwich, with some vegetables. Bryn was raised by Dwarves, sure - but the Stomach of a Half-Elf can only take so much of that. The message comes like blinding light and a crashing wave and he has to squint his eyes at the fury of it. Which, of course, ruins his sandwich from the surprise.

"Bryn? Buddy?"

"Did any of you see that?"

"See what?"

Crap. Either he's Crazy or it's a Magic thing. He's really not a fan of Magic, and he's pretty sure he's not crazy.

"Nevermind. Looks like I need paid sooner rather than later. Looks like I got another job somewhere else."

Gate: The Granite Gate of the East

HP Rolls
Dice Level 2:
1d10+2 (6)+2 Total = 8

Dice Level 3:
1d10+2 (9)+2 Total = 11

Dice Level 4:
1d10+2 (5)+2 Total = 7

Dice Level 5:
1d10+2 (10)+2 Total = 12

Dice Level 6:
1d10+2 (4)+2 Total = 6

Dice Level 7:
1d10+2 (6)+2 Total = 8

Dice Level 8:
1d10+2 (7)+2 Total = 9

Completed Application

Character sheet reviewed and approved, pending changes sent via PM and changes made. Please make those changes, then do not modify your character sheet again for the remainder of the competition.
Quod Confutat Veritas, Ut Destruatur
Poetice Vivere, Aut Mori Stultitiam - Nullius In Verba
UPDATE -Extra Life - Helping Children's Hospitals with a Gaming Twist

Last edited by Wynamoinen; Jul 7th, 2019 at 06:29 PM.
Old Jun 7th, 2019, 06:30 PM
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Eugene de Gesincourt, Reluctant Prince Charming / (Bard, Sorcerer, Warlock) / Variant Human / Life Gate of the West
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Prince Eugene undertook his coming of age ceremony with trepidation. This was to be the defining event of his life. His parents had invited all every noble from the nearby lands and the court was as full as he’d ever seen it. The nobles weren’t really there for him of course; it was going to be a spectacle and none of them wanted to miss it.
In addition to the nobles of the human kingdoms and domains, diplomatic envoys from the nearby fey lands attended the rites of passage for the royal family. After the traditional feast the guests would be presenting him with their gifts, and the traditional gifts of the Sidhe tended to be unconventional by human standards.

He picked at the pear soufflé dessert course knowing that he’d soon be receiving traditional unusual blessings from the sylvan visitors. His elder brothers had gone through the same thing and the fairies had tried to outshine each other in their generosity. They had gone through their own ceremonies and were blessed with great qualities, but they each had some drawbacks.
He had never been particularly much of anything, and being the youngest he’d been superfluous as an heir to the throne. He knew that the populace considered him an unnecessary adjunct prince. His brother Alfred would be the future king, and Percival was a fallback in case something happened to Alfred. He was aware that the citizenry at large would have preferred a princess who could be married off for political influence.

The meal concluded, he began receiving guests individually and accepting gifts. The nobles and lords presented him with fine clothing, perfumes and oils, gems, horses or weaponry, traditional displays of wealth and generosity, that he offered thanks for, before passing them off to a steward to be displayed, put away or stabled as appropriate.
The foreign dignitaries of the seven neighboring fey courts came forward after the mundane benefactions to present their own unique endowments.
“Such a fine young prince, you shall ever grow more handsome.” the first declared, and he felt the enchantment flow from her words.
“Thank you for your kind words and wishes.” He said meekly.
“Thy words are pleasing as well,” said the second, eager to bless him “Let your voice be ever beautiful and-”
“An it please thee,” interrupted the third, “it shall serve you well with a heart e’er full of song.”
“And my heart gladdens-” He found himself saying, before the fourth chimed in.
“With grace, of course. For what use is song without dancing?” She declared.
Eugene was becoming acutely aware that the fey before him would likely have preferred a princess as well. His brothers had been granted courage, strength and health or intellect, patience and understanding among other things. The audience could clearly tell the fairies had been hoping the royal family would have a daughter to dote upon.
“A well mannered prince must have a silver tongue as well.” Chimed in the fifth, evidently taking a hint from the crowd. “Mine shall be a gift with words.” She said bestowing something a bit more masculine.
“And I shall grant a gift of magic.” The sixth said, dispensing with subtlety altogether. The whole court swayed from the surge of power that flowed from her.
The seventh fey approached with a sinister gleam in her eye. She was a hag known to be the most dangerous of the emissaries. “What generous boons you all grant,” She said looking around at the assembled guests, “I imagine it must be quite overwhelming for the young prince.” Eugene grew nervous again, her "gifts" always had a double edge to them. She had granted his brothers Ferocity and Ambition respectively, but his ancestors had learned the hard way that not inviting her was drastically worse.
“I think he may feel he needs some control.” She continued. “I offer my services and magical expertise. Simple call upon me when you find you lack control and your gifts become too much to bear.”

He thanked them all for their gifts, and tried for years to control the magic and blessing on his own. He studied hard but wasn’t very bright. Of course he found out far too late that the hag's offer wasn’t for training or apprenticeship. When he asked for her help she granted him a measure of control of his magic in exchange for a measure of control over him.

The illusory sending snapped Eugene out of his reminiscing. He had been travelling through the Elvenlands, trying to gain the wisdom to use his blessings for the benefit of his kingdom without his ties to his patron undermining his intent. Though it seemed that rather than becoming more knowledgeable he only grew more handsome.
I would be sought to use my gifts for such a responsibility. Eugene thought. He had been petitioned to use his blessings since his youth. On the other hand though, a seat at the table of the Nine would be a hard won honor. Not something to be granted to just anyone, it would have to be earned. And the Nine aren't likely to be swayed by unearned blessing or the station of one's birth. If I can join them it would have to be through my own merits.
The legendary Labyrinth was only a couple days away. This could be a chance to finally prove myself, it couldn't hurt to make the attempt.
He set out for the nearest Gate, leaving off reflections of his youth and looking forward to new experiences.
OOC Rolls
Dice HP rolls:
6d8 7, 6, 6, 2, 3, 6 Total = 30
1d6 1

Dice trinket roll:
d100 11


Character sheet reviewed and approved, pending changes sent via PM and changes made. Please make those changes, then do not modify your character sheet again for the remainder of the competition.
Currently playing: 100 Questions and Tug of War 99

Last edited by Wynamoinen; Jul 7th, 2019 at 06:28 PM.
Old Jun 7th, 2019, 10:48 PM
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Name: Rapido Hayai
Class: Monk 7, Cleric 1
Race: Human Variant

Backstory: Rapido, a Waterdeep orphan, but one of the lucky few who were left with fond memories of their parents. The Hayais were good people in life, and in their death this left Rapido with an advantage. The good work that they did for the temple of Lathander meant that when they died from the plague, Rapido was taken in by the clerics there. He soon proved himself useful, and earned his keep on his own merits as a quick and trusted messenger. The clerics kept him busy, with errands and schooling, but each spare moment he got, he would sit up open the temple roof and watch Lathander's monks train in the courtyard of the neighboring monastery. If you ask the clerics about Rapido they would surely say "He has definitely inherited his parents heart. His motions may seem wild, but his soul is calm. Every single action is controlled. Now, if he could just sit still and focus on academia he would go far". Nevertheless, the clerics noticed Rapido's fascination with the monks, and gave their blessing for him to move across the street.

RP sample:
10 years later…

The apparition appeared to him in the middle of the busy market street, just poof it appeared and, poof it was gone again. Time hand slowed, the people passing had barely even taken a step by the time the apparition had gone. Yet time had resumed but they were still not moving. No, they were stood still, starring at the loud idiot spinning around with his arms wide in the air and stupid grin across his face.

“OH! YES!” Rapido grabed one lady and span her round in a dizzying tango, “WONDERUL NEWS!” He told her as he span her away and scooped up the puppy, excited by all the noise. “I CAN’T BELIEVE IT!”. He kissed the puppy full on its wet nose as he handed it back to it’s owner, spinning around them. “I BETTER BE GOING!” He said to the baker. “CAN’T WASTE ANOTHER MOMENT!” to the baker’s wife. And off he ran through the market back to the monastery. Darting through the people, never faltering, never knocking into any one. A graceful blur of wild, but deliberate movements.

The only thing to do was to inform the master that he would be leaving for a while. He ran through the courtyard to the monastery with a wide smile plastered all over his face. He never had been one for masking his emotions well. As always the halfling master was sat under the old maple tree, his eyes closed in meditation.

“You may run as if stepping on the clouds, Rapido. But you’re energy is like an Orc’s war horn.” One ancient eye split open, and the master croaked. “It seem’s you will be leaving for a time. So be it. I could hear it clearly in your breathing”.
“Yes, Master. An Archmage came before me! He said I could join the Square of Nine!” Said Rapido excitedly, trying to slow his breathing.
“Yes, yes. Well, take with you all that you have learnt. But don’t forget this.” A bony finger jabs Rapido in the chest. “Don’t forget your kindness, don’t forget the good, don’t forget yourself, boy”
“Yes Master! I will. I will do the right thing.” Rapido bowed and ran, with all intention of not stopping.
A old sigh escapes the master as both eyes open. “Yes, let the young take care of this world...” He slowly stands and shuffles off of his patch under the tree. “I do hope there’s no plums tonight.”


Character sheet reviewed and approved, pending changes sent via PM and changes made. Please make those changes, then do not modify your character sheet again for the remainder of the competition.

Last edited by Wynamoinen; Jul 7th, 2019 at 06:28 PM.
Old Jun 8th, 2019, 09:00 PM
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Name: Ikol
Character Sheet: The Goblin Jester
Race: Goblin
Class: Bard
Background: Charlatan
Additional source: VGtM
Starting Gate: South

Personality Trait: I have a joke for every occasion, especially occasions where humour is inappropriate.
Ideals: Independence. I am a free and rather chaotic spirit--no one tells me what to do.
Bonds: I will win outplay or throughly entertain myself in my attempt.
Flaws: If there is a plan, I'll forget it. If I don't forget it, I'll ignore it.


In ancient times, the goblins had their own pantheon, and among them existed a trickster. When the goblin gods fell, the trickster, determined to have the last laugh, was not slain as the other gods were, but rather allowed himself to be shattered and scattered amongst the worlds. Those sentient slithers of the mischief incarnate can still possess goblins to this day, fueling them with a desire for chaos, trickery and hedonistic pursuits.

Ikol is one such goblin, or possibly he's just... mad. He talks to himself and sings in riddles while prancing and dancing, delighting in deceit and mockery. Dressed in faded motley and ruined silks, this goblin jester wields a fool's scepter formed in the likeness of his own face. His sceptre is (to the confusion of many) also named 'Ikol' and he often converses with his own likeness on issues of importance. Ikol is not a pleasant creature to look upon wiry and short even by goblin standards with a bald head, filthy claw-like nails and stained pointed teeth. He wears a manic smile and his mismatched eyes burn with something between passion and insanity.

Ikol spent his childhood lauded as some form of semi-divine figure amongst his tribe. He grew accustomed to luxury, wealth and power. He was born a jester and thus afforded the fear and respect such a role entailed amongst his people. However, a growing sense of wanderlust led Ikol to abandon his tribe on a whim one day. Ever since, he has travelled throughout the world, usually in one guise or another – a gnomish antiques dealer here, a halfling street performer there. Rarely does Ikol appear as his true self when dealing with the common races.

The invitation

Deep within the bowels of the earth a scene of deplorable nonsense was playing out. Backlit by the of bio-luminescent fungi of the cavern was figure bending over in a most provocative manner. Their frilly satin skirt leaving little to the imagination. Black stockings rose seductively to curve of their buttock. They hummed softly as they harvested the subterranean mushrooms with gentle, reverent movements.

It was behind this figure that the hazy image of arch-mage Rostamoinen materialised. The individual turned revealing themselves...

Mismatched eyes, one a filthy mustard-yellow the other a dirty brown, met the mage's. A creature unsightly by even the standards of his own race regarded the missive. Ikol had forgone his usual attire and instead donned the costume of a scantily-clad scullery maid. A costume appropriate for little beyond burlesque performances and fulfilling the lurid fantasies of pallid obese noblemen. To add to the lamentable nature of his appearance lipstick had been lavishly applied to a large portion of his lower face and the bodice was stuffed with crumpled rags. The goblin retrieved his crop and sauntered over.

Originally Posted by Arcane missive
"Greetings!... I see a potential within you. I refer not to the beliefs you hold deep in your heart nor your moral compass. I seek those beyond simplified concepts of good, evil, law and chaos".
At this proclamation Ikol looked about himself, searching for the intended target.

Originally Posted by Arcane missive
...We had hoped that the great Labyrinth last year would have produced a worthy individual. Instead, it produced ruin, chaos, and self-aggrandisement. Now we try again...
"You again?" Ikol said with sudden clarity. "I was robbed last year" and with angry motion he summoned an image of a mouldy old tome upon which is printed the title 'Da Rulz ass Riten'. He cast the illusionary book through the mage. "Third place!" he protests ""I stole that cup, fair and square, dimension doored the hell out of there, did I get those treasure points, did I heck, robbed in the closing minutes...".

"Then to add insult to gave the victory to that hobbit girl... oh soooooo edgy... 'I have a voice in my head, makes me do bad things ooouuhhhh'" Ikol pointed a gnarled finger at his own cranium "one voice? That's amateur".

"Then second place went to Crocodile Shoes, why? Cause he felt hungry..." Ikol mocked condescendingly. "I... get... hungry... toooo! but I don't consider it a crux of my character."

The missive continued....

Originally Posted by Arcane missive
...They will sit at my side and influence the fate of the world...
Ikol shivered slightly "Why do I suddenly feel like a choir boy in the church of Lathander?"

Originally Posted by Arcane missive
... I think you may have the capacity to rightly maintain the alignment of the cosmos against such threats.
Ikol was unable to hold back his amusement any longer. The snorting, cackling goblin continued straight through the illusion to a bound and gagged dark elf beyond. The captive looked with pleading eyes to the mage. Beside the prisoner lay two other drow... clearly dead.

"Time for your medicine"
Ikol said with skin-crawling kindness before grabbing a handful of the harvested fungus and adding them to a foul smelling pot. Using a funnel the choking captive was force-fed the thick noxious mixture. The drow's eyes rolled back into their skull as they collapsed forward. Kneeling Ikol stroked the elf's lush silver locks with motherly care "ssssshhhhhh, rest now" he soothed "Daddy's got work to do."

Ikol turned to the shadows. There driven into the cavern floor was a broken staff upon which a bronze likeness of the goblin's own maniacal visage stared back at him. "Yes Ikol, once more unto the breach." Ikol agreed with a toothy grin .


Character sheet reviewed and approved, pending changes sent via PM and changes made. Please make those changes, then do not modify your character sheet again for the remainder of the competition.
Posting rate: Wrapping up games May 2021

=]✠[= Under Sanguine Oath =]✠[=

Last edited by Wynamoinen; Jul 7th, 2019 at 06:28 PM.
Old Jun 9th, 2019, 01:22 AM
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Complete, or rather ready for review

Robinette inherited his equipment and code of personal ethics from his father. A long and grisly career as a watchman and criminal investigator taught him the value of dealing with criminals on their own level. He has the utmost respect for the greater good, but doesn’t care if someone else’s opinion contradicts his own version of what that is. Tapped early on to investigate the more grisly and arcane mysteries, he developed an extreme approach to solving and surviving his investigations.

Viewed as effective but brutal by most of his peers, he tends to let things like debriefing and interrogation be handled if, not when, a target survives. When aimed at a target he is sufficiently convinced of he prefers direct and absolute action, after all why go big when you can go nuclear on the first strike?

He does worry that his methods make him exploitable to manipulation but so far, the threat of him launching a personal retaliation against the manipulator has seemed to prevent this from occurring.

The message
Another night of waiting. Hunger, cold, weariness, they care not how long he waits. They will all win over him in the end so they are quite patient. The man has learned this through much trial and error, and he accepts it. His impatience comes not from the necessity for waiting, but the interminable variables disrupting his plan that could occur before it is over.

He doesn’t like surprises, he doesn’t like inaccuracy, he doesn’t like spontaneity. He likes calm and calculation, he likes correctness, he likes well informed decisiveness. With a smile grim as an executioners he realizes why he doesn’t get along with most other sentient beings. Well it doesn’t help that most of them you deal with are the criminal scum... he shrugs the thought away like an errant fly before it can distract him further.

Just on the corner of his awareness he feels thoughts suddenly approaching from behind the wall, gotcha!

The man emerges from his hiding spot high in the corner of the building and the birds and insects scatter as they hear the distinct sounds of sudden human intrusion. The mans smile fades as his three bolts disappear harmlessly through the bastar- wait... he blinks...again...

It is not his quarry but a messenger, from the nine! Not knowing what he did to get the attention of so August a group, the man listens carefully, idly wondering if the kidnapper he was hunting was still inside...

of course I’d be stuck in this northern crap hole when I get this... he thinks, to no one at all.

Dice Hit point fighter rolls:
5d10 9, 4, 7, 9, 1 Total = 30

Dice Hit point rogue rolls:
2d8 1, 1 Total = 2

Character sheet reviewed and approved, pending changes sent via PM and changes made. Please make those changes, then do not modify your character sheet again for the remainder of the competition.

Last edited by Wynamoinen; Jul 7th, 2019 at 06:28 PM.
Old Jun 9th, 2019, 11:36 PM
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  • Name: Vash Vin Vishara
  • Race: Variant Human
  • Class: Rogue 4 / Sorcerer 4
  • Books: Players Hand Book + Xanthar's Guide to Everything
  • Starting: Frozen Gate of the North

  • Description:
    Thanks to his squalid lifestyle, Vash is a bit on the thin side and a little short for your average human. The malnutrition of his youth aside, he tends always to look sick. From his sunken eyes to his naturally grey hair and pale complexion, Vash seems to look as if he's in his fifties instead of thirty-three years old. It doesn't help that Vash has a love for the color black, as his pale complexion stands out against such a dark color. The only weapons he carries are two daggers in his boots and two Rapiers, the right-hand one having a ruby embedded in the cross guard. A raged scar on his left cheek from a mace, plus the unkempt stubble on his face and a black cloak finished off his intimidating look.

  • Backstory:
    As a baby, Vash was found in an alley in the slums of Adel by a deaf Halfling woman named Myria. Why she decided to raise such a sickly looking child as her own, Vash will never know. When he was six, a Half-elf assassin named Effin killed Myria in their hovel just because he needed a place to lay low. Vash did not know why the man left him alive, but Vash has vowed to get revenge. Orphaned for a second time, Vash somehow survived in the slums alone. His strange nature and untrusting personality meant he grew up with virtually no friends.

    He got his name from an old lead coin Myria had found with him. It was worthless, but it had the words Vash Vin Vishara inscribed on it, so that is what Myria called him. Only later in life did he find out the words were from a lost civilization that read, "Live To Serve". By that time he was used to the name and kept it, no matter how stupid the meaning was.

    Vash could not know that his biological mother entered the Shadowfell when she was three months pregnant with him before eventually escaping. While he did finally figure out his heritage, Vash learned a different set of skills and readily put them to use without letting his morals get the better of him. Deciding to meld his birthright with his current skillset, Vash entered the estate of a noble and stole enough wealth to leave Adel for good. On his way out, he encountered the noble's daughter and her manservant. Surprisingly, the woman was much more skilled than the manservant, and Vash was forced to defend himself with all his skills. In the end, he ended up killing both to make sure his escape and is still hunted to this day for the crime of murder.

    After fleeing the city of Adel, Vash wandered from place to place. He made enemies, acquaintances, and the occasional friend that he felt he could trust, a little bit at least. He even fell in love. Her name was Seere Modean, a red-skinned Tiefling. She was also wanted for a crime and was on the run too. For three months they were on the run together until one day, Vash mentioned that he was after an assassin named Effin. Seere said that she knew a Half-elf by that name back in her home city of Abul. Vash was ecstatic, and though Seere would not come with him due to a crime she committed there, he went anyway. An eighteen-year-old vengeance seethed in his veins and not even love could stop him.

  • Role-play Sample:
    Vash ran through the dark streets of Abul, on the heels of his prey. It had been a long cold night in this city. Abul was the last bastion of civilization this far north before one entered the territories of the primitive human hunter society of the Kryygsstaan. Vash found the chill air invigorating. Seeing the two he was chasing enter an alley, he decided it was time. With a glance at the rooftop's and a muttered incantation, Vash disappeared in a cloud of silvery mist before appearing on the roof of a two-story building. Creeping along the edge, he peered down upon the two. They were breathing hard, and the strain of their run came out in the sound of their voices. "D-damn it, Paul. I told you he was <gasp> bad news." The other figure coughed before replying, "Yea, but we still got away with our prize." The one called Paul held up Vash's money pouch and started on the knots holding it closed.

    Vash shook his head; these were not part of Effin's crew. If they were, the two would not dare to divvy up the spoils of their theft without Effin present. The Half-elf had that kind of a reputation. Without hesitation, Vash summoned up his darkness so only he could see through it and centered the spell on his sword. A second later, he disappeared with a puff of silvery mist only to appear behind both would be thieves, and his darkness came with him. The thieves only had enough time to shout "What the hell?" Then he was upon them. It was a lucky stroke that saw the unnamed rogue clutching at his throat trying to stop the blood flowing from the opening in his neck. As the thief died choking on his own blood, it took only a moment to subdue the one called Paul. Vash was about to start interrogating him about Effin's location only to have Rostamoinen's vision appear before him. With his blade pressed against Pauls' neck, Vash listened to words only he could hear. When the vision finished, it took him only a second to make a decision and plunge the blade into the man's neck. Effin forgotten, for now, Vash made his way north out of the city.

Dice Hit Points:
3d8 1, 2, 6 Total = 9
4d6 2, 1, 4, 4 Total = 11

Character sheet reviewed and approved, pending changes sent via PM and changes made. Please make those changes, then do not modify your character sheet again for the remainder of the competition.

Expect the worst, Hope for the best. ~ words to live by

Sunday - Wensday: NORMAL / Thusday - Saturday: Don't expect anything.

Last edited by Wynamoinen; Jul 7th, 2019 at 06:27 PM.
Old Jun 11th, 2019, 12:18 AM
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Application cleared. Standing by for Round 0

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Psyliana Amastacia
Starting Gate:The life gate of the west
+1 book: SCAG
Appearance: Standing at 6’00’’ and weighing 127 lbs, Psyliana is a peak specimen of elvenkind. Tall, slender, and graceful, her movements are fluid and purposeful. Her fair skin, blue eyes, and brown hair betray her moon elf heritage. Her slender frame is not simply from the elves’ natural physiology; she is as nimble as a dear and as light on her feet as a cat. She wears scholar’s robes woven in the elven capital city, accentuated with a Cloak of Protection, winged boots, and a variety of packs and tools all woven together into a minimalistic design, showing rank and serving function while allowing the bladesinger free range of motion. The two most noticeable accessories of her ensemble are her enchanted rapier, often sitting sheathed at her hip, and her arcane focus, a slender rod etched with elven script and arcane symbols.

Backstory: From a young age, Psyliana’s parents knew she would grow up to be something special. High elves were known for being exceptionally intelligent, but the young girl’s mind was something else entirely. Knowledge that often slipped through the uninitiated’s mind Psyliana hunted and ensnared as though she were a ranger of thought. In addition, she showed great control over her own body and had an unusual endurance and hardiness for an elf. But knowledge was where her heart lay, and it was clear that she had the potential to be a wizarding prodigy. So off to the Academy she went; but it was both her mental and physical capabilities that caught the eye of her soon to be mentor.

This mentor approached her after observing Psyliana for some time, both in classrooms and in her leisure. It was only after Psyliana’s companions compelled her to sing a long-lost Fey song the academy had recovered that this mentor was certain that Psyliana was the one who she sought. The young wizard was offered a rare opportunity: instead of specializing into a singular field of magic, she would be offered a position among a rare, elite few. It was a chance to become one of the sagacious protectors of the kingdom of the elves, a Bladesinger. Psyliana, out of curiosity and a small amount of vanity, instantly accepted the position.

Bladesingers were more secluded than most, often living in small towers on the outskirts of cities. Just outside of one of the more western towns was where Psyliana and her master trained. Her academic studies continued in full force, but their applications had been focused on more martial ends. In addition, the two could often be seen sparring in the field outside their tower. The bladesinger which chose Psyliana was a master of the rapier, and a sparring with her was a deadly dance of steel and spell. They practiced what was known as the Cheetah discipline, a fighting style focused on quick movements followed by a devastating impact. They served the elves of that region as guardians: slaying monsters, delving into ruins and tombs, and even assassinations and espionage were all things Psyliana became accustomed to. This lifestyle provided challenge, one that the young wizard was barely able to overcome, a sharp contrast to her usual automatic excellence. But this was nothing compared to the hardship which followed.

It started as the whispers and rumors from the mouths of refugees. A hobgoblin general, known as the Harbringer, had united multiple hobgoblin tribes into a massive army and was marching north. The elves dismissed the notion that the hobgoblins could invade their kingdom; that was, until their southern border was in flames as the hobgoblins burned a path through their forests. A call to arms went out. One day, Psyliana awoke to her master packing their bags. When asked their destination, the elder wizard replied, “War.”

Every guard, ranger, green knight, and battlemage the elves had were sent to stop this sudden threat. Most of the fighting was done on the defensive, peppering the goblins with arrows and spells from the trees, but Psyliana’s mentor saw an opening. Weaving their magic to provide them with near untouchable speed, the two bladesingers tore through the hobgoblin ranks, attempting to breach the line and kill the Harbinger. It was while fighting the elite guard, however, that the Harbinger drove his spear through the head of the master wizard. He had only a few seconds to relish before the tune of a funeral dirge filled the air and he was decimated by Psyliana’s blade.

RP sample
: Psyliana opened the door to the tower. It had been a few months since the defeat of the Harbinger, and her schedule had been filled with meetings and parades. She was a celebrated hero, although her heart was still heavy with the death of her mentor. Psyliana was tired- tired of fighting, tired of sleeping in tents, tired of always being on the move. It was time for some well-deserved time of quiet study and rest.

Not having the heart to move her master’s equipment, Psyliana went to her customary desk in the study. Pulling several tomes off of the shelves, the elf settled down for a long period of learning. If she had her way, it would be a long time before she ever stepped back out that door. However, the familiar tinge of communication magic filled the air, and Psyliana stood to greet the new arrival. Her words of greeting failed her as Rostamoinen greeted her and gave his challenge. An old glint came back into the young mage’s eyes; she had always been a bit too competitive. She looked over to her adventuring gear in the corner: she could do one more adventure.


Character sheet reviewed and approved, pending changes sent via PM and changes made. Please make those changes, then do not modify your character sheet again for the remainder of the competition.
I have taken the oath of Sangus.

Posting status: currently sick. May be a few days depending on how awake I am.

Last edited by Wynamoinen; Jul 7th, 2019 at 06:27 PM. Reason: Backstory edit
Old Jun 13th, 2019, 04:48 PM
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Application COMPLETE

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Kayne Cyire
Name: Kayne Cyire (Sigh-Err)
Race: Half-Elf
Class: Warlock (Hexblade Pact) Lvl 3 / Paladin (Vengeance) Lvl 5
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Chosen Gate: The Free Gate of the Sout

Born to a human father and elven mother, his parents union was not considered an acceptable one by either of their families. While his father was mostly a wandering storyteller, his mother was the heiress to an elven noble family. When the union was discovered, “handlers” were sent to “escort” Kayne’s mother home. Barely two years after he was born, Kayne’s family was found. His father was killed, his mother kidnapped and taken, and Kayne was left alone, whisked away to his human uncle’s farm to be raised in obscurity, never knowing who his parents really were.

At the age of 16, Kayne had lived his life working the land for an uncle that seemingly cared not for him, until a travelling paladin, Nadia Moonwing, offered to train and raise Kayne as a Paladin of a special Order. Ever in service to her Order and the gods, she kept a constant eye out for potential recruits.

Leaving the only home he’d ever known, Kayne was eager to venture forth with Nadia to learn what he could from her. His long black hair was tied back into a ponytail, but still obscuring what pointed features his ears retained. Nadia tried to reassure the boy that being a half-elf was nothing to be ashamed of, but the derision he’d faced all his life was deeply ingrained within Kayne. Even as a young man, he stood 6’1”, weighing about 200 lbs with a lithe build that spoke more of a dancer’s physique than someone suited to farm work, or even swinging a sword.

For several weeks they travelled, and every day Kayne would collapse on his bed-roll, exhausted from the practice sessions before bed. Nadia would mercilessly instruct the youth in swordsmanship, ceremonial rituals, combat tactics, Tales of Saint Chalna of the Silver Lantern, Saint Surinor of Istven Nor, even Saint Bresdilan of Cerana Pass. Each tale filled Kayne’s head with a purpose, a renewed sense of worth, of hope that had evaded him for so long.

Kayne had no idea that when he fell asleep that night, it would be the last time he saw Nadia alive. He awoke to the sound of screams, roars, and battle. Pulling his longsword from its sheath, one gifted by Nadia for training purposes, Kayne awoke to see the female paladin who had offered him so much fall backward in the campfire light, her body torn asunder by a creature lurking in the shadows. Acting out of rage rather than common sense, the half-elf squire launched himself towards the creature, using what untrained skills Nadia had taught him to try and seek vengeance.

It was little contest, as the beast threw Kayne backward, slamming into a tree-trunk behind and knocking the back of his head. Groaning with pain, his vision blurred, and he could see the beast approaching, glowing yellow eyes in the darkness streaking across his vision. As his vision drifted upwards to the tree canopy above, the peculiar sight of a figure, wrapped in a dark robe with black feather details, feminine in form, viewed the one-sided battle atop a tree branch.

His vision became clearer as the beast approached him, wings unfurled, claws flexing, piercing eyes staring at the young half-elf, but his sword moved blindingly fast upward, and the blade split through the creature's shadowy substance where before it had merely passed through harmlessly.

Kayne managed to fend the creature off, leaving the youth with the unenviable task of determining how to deal with Nadia’s body, and what to do with abilities that by all rights seemed to be either divine blessing… or infernal curse.

Upon Kayne’s arrival to Nadia’s order, the Sacred Order of the Dusk, he was treated with suspicion, considered touched by a demonic presence, until finally the former master of Nadia, a black-scaled dragonborn named Xorn, sees this young half-elf for himself. After hearing the story, testing Kayne’s own powers, and discussing with the other highly ranked paladins of the order, it is determined that Kayne should be allowed into their order, but under very close supervision by Xorn himself. It would be the unusual beginning of the paladin known as Kayne Cyire.

RP Sample:
Kayne and Xorn both spared in a training yard on the fateful day that the “vision” appears to Kayne… right when he was about to overpower Xorn for the first time since his training began. Just as his longsword is about to come down to make contact and call the match, the appearance of a robed figure, Arch-mage Rostamoinen, startles both Kayne and Xorn. With each sentence spoken, Kayne becomes more and more drawn in, possibilities swirling in his mind.

If he could join the ranks of the Nine… perhaps he could avenge Adina’s death. He could track down the nightmarish creature and end it… thoroughly. Xorn looked to Kayne, eyes intent, "Perhaps you are ready to pursue your own mission, rather than those provided to you, youngling."

Glancing at the black-scaled dragonborn, Kayne nodded, and sheathed his longsword, slowly unbuckling his shield while still in thought. Flexing his fingers, small arcs of crimson energy jump between his fingertips. "Vengeance could be achieved… if I succeed in making my way through the labyrinth. There is a gate close by, the Southern Gate. I must leave at once. Thank you for the sparring session, I sincerely hope I retain it all for the challenges ahead."

With a deep, respectful bow to the dragonborn paladin, Kayne makes sure he has gathered all of his belongings, and quickly leaves the training yard, heading in the direction of the Southern Gate, and his destiny.

ROLLSHP Level 1 Warlock: 10 (8 + 2)
Dice HP Level 2 Pally 1:
1d10+2 (7)+2 Total = 9

Dice HP Level 3 Pally 2:
1d10+2 (9)+2 Total = 11

Dice HP Level 4 Pally 3:
1d10+2 (8)+2 Total = 10

Dice HP Level 5 Pally 4:
1d10+2 (5)+2 Total = 7

Dice HP Level 6 Pally 5:
1d10+2 (6)+2 Total = 8

Dice HP Level 7 Warlock 2:
1d8+2 (3)+2 Total = 5

Dice HP Level 8 Warlock 3:
1d8+2 (3)+2 Total = 5

Character sheet reviewed and approved, pending changes sent via PM and changes made. Please make those changes, then do not modify your character sheet again for the remainder of the competition.
PCs: Dramoth "Nova" / Rhokax Soulreader / Kayne Cyire / Torm / Donovan Whistler
GM: Scales of War 5e & Yeohven: Fall from Grace
Real Life hitting harder and harder. Working on updates as soon as I can, please have pity (patience) on me!

Last edited by Wynamoinen; Jul 7th, 2019 at 06:27 PM.
Old Jun 14th, 2019, 09:29 PM
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APPLICATION COMPLETE!!! [Insert wild cheering]

Kethra Helder, Halfling Bard currently at The Free Gate of the South.

BackgroundKethra had never been one of the world's great thinkers. When it came to matters of intellect, she'd yawn and shrug, possibly giggling as well. When called upon to figure things out for herself, she'd wrinkle her nose a bit, and one could almost detect the smell of smoke before she'd give a characteristic shrug and chirp, "I dunno?"

But she could really play. The entirety of what small amount of intellect she possessed seemed exclusively dedicated to the learning of music. It was her gift; she was her own muse. Her slender halfling fingers played the various instruments she'd collected the way a wizard's hands wove spells, and her singing was just as magical as the mightiest mage.

And she knew people, too. She could be charming and engaging, clever and witty. She was the epitome of the social savant, and could probably sell makeup to a harpy.

She'd spent years drifting from adventuring group to adventuring group, talking her way in and managing to become the heart of each group, before eventually wandering off to find another group. For she loved travel and adventure, and meeting new people, and though she dearly enjoyed entertaining a tavern full of customers with her music, it was in wandering and performing for new people where her heart truly lay.

Still, she felt that something was lacking. True, she was highly sought-after as a musician and storyteller, welcomed and appreciated in all four corners of the lands. And true, she'd had marvelous adventures, and met a great many dear friends. Yet, she had not experienced what she felt to be a grand, epic adventure. She yearned for a genuine, seat-of-your-pants, save-the-world, oh-gods-we're-doomed-oh-wait-here-comes-Kethra-we're-saved-yay tale worthy to be sung for generations to come. Something truly, truly adventurous.

So she wandered, and played, and adventured, and wandered again. And all the while, she waited for her chance...

Role-play sampleKethra sang at the top of her lungs, enjoying both the warm, soapy bath and the break between adventures. Inn baths were always extra-luxurious for halflings, as they were typically built for human-sized residents. To a halfling, such a tub was practically a lake.

Kethra washed casually, kicking a foot to send soapy bubbles into the air and giggling as they drifted lazily through the room. Suddenly, a ghostly apparition appeared right where the soap bubbles were drifting, turning Kethra's vibrato note into a high shriek of alarm. Ducking back down beneath the water, her widened eyes barely above the surface, she stared at the image of the gross old man staring down at her. The effect was ruined, somewhat, by the soap bubbles floating through the elderly wizard's nose as the image gave it's stern speech, filled with lots of words that just sailed right over the bard's head.

When the speech was over, and the image had vanished, Kethra was impressed and a bit overwhelmed by the message...the parts she'd understood, anyway. "The Labrynth!" she exclaimed breathlessly. "Now that is an adventure worthy of song!" No longer content to waste time relaxing, the spry halfling leaped from the bath and rushed out the room. "Hey everybody," she yelled to the full room, "guess who just got summoned to the Labrynth?!"

Her question was answered only by the scream of a scandalized barmaid, and several wolf whistles and catcalls from appreciative patrons. "Oh. Right. Clothing is important," she muttered as the room burst into applause and cheering, reversing course and heading back up to her room.

Dice Hit Points:
7d8+24 (3, 2, 2, 6, 4, 7, 4)+24 Total = 52

Character sheet reviewed and approved, Please do not modify your character sheet again for the remainder of the competition.

Last edited by Wynamoinen; Jul 7th, 2019 at 06:26 PM.
Old Jun 20th, 2019, 06:12 PM
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Edvik, the Bastard - WIP
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( Sheet ), Source: SCAG


I was too young at the time to remember it for myself, but I have heard the story enough times: How my mother's father brought me to the manor one morning. I suppose grandfather had no desire to feed and house some human's by-blow. And so it was that I came to live with my father and his new wife, who was already pregnant with my brother. I suppose it would make me seem more sympathetic if I weaved a tale of childhood neglect and abuse. But to be honest, my youth was spent in ease and comfort. My father was cool and distant, to be sure, but no more than he was to his heir, and he provided for me generously. My stepmother was surprisingly kind towards the living, breathing evidence of her husband's earlier adventures. I don't think it was in her nature to be cruel. And my half-brother, Corwin, was my closest friend and ally for a great many years.

No, I do not blame any of them for what came next, not any more than I blame myself at least. And it certainly wasn't the fault of my dear Celerity. She, most of all, was an innocent victim in all of this. I first met my brother's fiancée in my twentieth year when she came into my stepmother's service. Now, lest you think me a thief or cad, I should explain that they had been betrothed since her birth, and they met the same day. She had been sent to be my stepmother's lady in waiting as a sort of chaperoned extended visit. To cut a long story short, the heart wants what it wants, reason be damned. She and I fell in love, in that way that only two young, foolish people can.

For many years, my family had been pushing me towards joining the clergy. Eldest though I was, as a bastard, I was clearly unsuited to be heir, and becoming a priest would lessen any threat I might present. I had no particular desire to become lord in my father’s stead, so I had not fought too hard to control my own destiny. So it was to my younger brother that the marquis’ only daughter was promised, a strong diplomatic match that would bring the family much prestige. When our affair was discovered, there were those who whispered that it was an attempt to usurp my brother’s position by claiming the alliance for my own.

For our parts, Celerity and I only wanted to be free of such obligations and the shackles of a world that was constantly telling what to do, say and think. Although I now have my freedom, the price was a high one. Corwin’s honor had been injured and his own responsibilities as an heir, as a fiancé and as a lord demanded that he challenge me. The duel between us was intense and drawn out. We had sparred together since youth, and knew each other as only brothers can, but truth be told, he was the better warrior. A blow to the head left me bleeding freely and dropped me to my knees. He pulled back for a final strike, and I could only watch through a haze of blood as Celerity threw herself in front of his blade.

When I had recovered enough to stand and process what had happened, I found him standing over her body, wordless and grief-stricken. My spear lay on the ground at my feet, then it was in my hands, and then piercing his body. I had stabbed my own brother in the back, then I fled into the night. Perhaps he did not deserve it. But neither did she.

RP Sample:

“Fire”. I watched green flames dance along the head of my spear as I said the word. “Many different cultures have a story of how it was stolen from the gods and gifted to mortals.” I spared a glance for the would-be assassin laying before me in the dirt. Perhaps it was a sign of lingering affection that my brother never seemed to send competent killers after me. Either way, I could never go home again, just as he would never walk again.

“Fire itself is no great gift. But the power to control it? Ah, that is magical indeed.” I smiled cruelly at my own joke, but my audience didn’t seem to appreciate the humor. Unbidden, a drop of flame dropped from the spear to sputter briefly on his chest. “Of course, control is an illusion, isn’t it? We all think we have power, but in turn we are slaves to the whims of an uncaring universe.”

This assassin had caught me in a philosophical mood and so I had neither killed him nor let him go. Instead I toyed with him a little as I made him endure my lecture. The mood faded and I was about to end things when I heard a throat cleared behind me. The glowing apparition was certainly an unusual sight. I lowered the point of my spear and shrugged at the assassin.

“Pressing business I’m afraid. So today you live. Send my best to my brother and”, I paused, “tell him that he could be a little less insulting with the quality of killers he sends.” I turned away then, barely heeding the sound of the man scrabbling away. My full attention fixed on the arch-mage’s sending, I absorbed the contents of his message, and mulled it over in my mind. From here in the Free States, the southern gate wasn’t too far a journey. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps there was a way to have true control over one’s own destiny…

Dice hit points:
7d8 2, 4, 8, 3, 8, 7, 7 Total = 39

Character sheet reviewed and approved, pending changes sent via PM and changes made. Please make those changes, then do not modify your character sheet again for the remainder of the competition.
Characters: Del CorganIris KetteringCaleb ShawYrena
Squire GainsboroBaruuk TalonfaceKonstantin Lumyn

Last edited by Wynamoinen; Jul 7th, 2019 at 06:26 PM.
Old Jun 24th, 2019, 09:41 AM
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Dice HP for seven levels of shadow monk, just the dice:
7d8 4, 2, 4, 4, 4, 4, 1 Total = 23
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Art by Drkav on DeviantArt
Name: Berthe ‘Mitty’ Bovary
Race: Hill Dwarf
Class: Rogue 1 / Shadow Monk 7
Starting point: The Free Gate of the South

Personality Traits:
  • My swagger and cockiness cover deep seated anxiety
  • I live in daydreams as much as reality
Bond: My husband Magnus and daughter Freya
Ideal: To be the WGBTH(bD) -- World’s Greatest Burglar Treasure Hunter (but Dwarfy)
Flaw: Potions of Giant Strength are my security blanket

Extra source: Xanathar’s Guide to Everything

BackstoryWhen Berthe was young, her mother Emma committed suicide. There's a whole book about it if you want the sordid details. We only bring Emma up because the defining characteristic that led to her suicide -- a restless insistence that everyday life should be as exciting as stories -- is what led Berthe to become an adventurer.

For Berthe, it was one story in particular -- The Halfling: or there and back again. The titular character, Bulby Bigguns, was a source of both inspiration and aggravation to Berthe. On the one hand, he was a role model: Dwarven culture valorized the muscular warrior, but strength was Berthe’s dump stat. Bulby's use of stealth, trickery, deception was a path Berthe could hope to emulate. But most of all: he escaped his quiet life for adventure. The secret message Flandag wrote on Bulby's door seemed to Berthe a code to live by:
Burglar wants a good job, plenty of Excitement and reasonable Reward, that's how it is usually read. You can say Expert Treasure-hunter instead of Burglar if you like. Some of them do.
But on the other hand, The Halfling's portrayal of dwarves went beyond problematic and straight into racist. Forget general incompetence, greed, and jokey names: why does a group of seven dwarves need an untrained halfling to help them get a dwarven treasure back? Couldn’t a dwarf be a burglar?

Berthe promised herself she'd become the WGBTH(bD), but instead of acting on it, sat around waiting for a wizard to write a coded message on her door. Until her midlife crisis.

As she entered her thirteenth decade, Bethe had it all. A successful career running a trendy microbrewery, a handsome trophy husband, a daughter just setting out on her own. It wasn't enough for Berthe. She wanted more, just as her mother had. But society had advanced since her mother's time: women had options now. A series of long, respectful negotiations with Magnus, a leave of absence from the brewery, a tearful goodbye to her daughter, and she was off, alone, with a year to live her dream of becoming the WGBTH(bD).

Space is really tight, now, so we’ll skip the bungled early break-ins, the training montages, the countless awkward evenings in taverns with other adventurers she didn't quite click with. She did find a party. Backstabbing wasn’t Dwarf-y enough, so Berthe multiclassed into monk (cult of CrossFit) so she could hit things better. She made a name for herself.

It wasn’t all platinum pieces. She missed her husband and daughter and wrote to them every night. Even mid-dungeon she would fantasize about other, more dangerous dungeons. Lance Armstrong, her party’s improbably named paladin, got her hooked on Potions of Giant Strength. The usual.

Now Berthe’s year is up. She's not sure she is the WGBTH(bD), but she’s made a good run of it. Readjusting to civilian life will be tough (she's in in denial about her ‘roid habit), but she's ready to return to family and super-hoppy IPAs.

Or so she thought.

Call to adventureTrudging home through the Free States after her last adventure -- retrieving some dwarven artifacts from a band of orcs -- the sound of birdsong morphed into something more in Berthe's mind...

Dooo-doo-doo-doo, doot-doot-doot, doo-doo-doo
Deee-dee-dee-dee, deet-deet-deet, dee-dee-dee

Trumpets blared a fanfare as Berthe strode down the red carpet to the king, who shook her hand, beaming, and addressed the rapt crowd.

"Today we welcome home Berthe Bovary. After a perilous journey, she snuck into the lair of the dragon Smawg, and stole, -- er...liberated the magic treasures of Torgga Fireforge! It is an honor to proclaim this paragon of dwarfiness the World's Great Burgl -- errr, Treasure Hunt--"

When Rostamoinen appears, Berthe thinks for a moment that one daydream is being interrupted by another, but she quickly recognizes his call to adventure for what it is.

"Bit abrupt and tasteless as these things go -- no easing me slyly into it like Flandag did Bulby. Girl could use a bit of foreplay, she could -- and that awful facial hair! Now Flandag, he had a proper beard -- for a human. Still, the Labyrinth! Couldn't ask for better treasure hunting. Course, Magnus and Freya are expecting me....but I can't pass this up..."

After a brief rustle through her backpack, Berthe is writing a letter on her battered copy of The Halfling.

My dearest Magnus and darling Freya,How I long to see you both again, to tell you of my adventures face to face, to hug you. However, I fear our reunion must be delayed a bit longer ...

Finished, her mind is wandering again, and as she passes her sealing wax through the flame of her candle her imagination dials the fire up to eleven...


Though Smawg's lair is massive, the inferno of his breath fills it entirely. When at last the flames abate a red haired dwarf floats in the smoke, unscathed by the dragon's wrath. As she dives toward the massive dragon, her words boom through the cavern:

"Your doom has arrived, Smawg -- I, Berthe Bovary, expert treasure hunter, Member of the Nine will retake the lost treasure of Hammerfall!"

Character sheet reviewed and approved. Please do not modify your character sheet again for the remainder of the competition.

Last edited by Wynamoinen; Jul 7th, 2019 at 06:26 PM.
Old Jun 27th, 2019, 07:40 PM
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Nicolette Quinn

"This is going to be an easy night for you." Nicolette pointed out, perhaps trying to encourage the woman she'd hired, perhaps just trying to ease her way into broaching the next topic. "I don't want you to touch me or anything. Nor I you. I just ..." It was hard to say, and caused the redheaded halfling some obvious discomfort, though clearly not as much discomfort as the lack of sleep the dark circles under her eyes betrayed. "I just ... need to be held."

In a few moments, she was being spooned by a dwarven prostitute who was, unfortunately, a bit too large for the illusion Nicole had wanted to create. And too soft. Neither of which were nearly as detrimental to her sleep as the visions that hounded her. She thought she'd finally left them behind, some years ago now, but the recent battle at the Free Gate had brought it all crashing back. Every time she closed her eyes,
all she could see was fire, smoke, and a trail littered with the possessions of her clan scattered in the dirt of broken wagon parts, blood and bodies. Oh! The empty bodies of her kin, scattered and strewn about like so much kindling when the goat kicks over the wood pile! Here, the body of an uncle, staring emptily at the darkened sky. There, the body of a niece, shattered upon the ground next to a pony. Nicolette could barely move. No one responded to her strangled calls. Nothing moved aside from curls of smoke that drifted lazily into the sky.

"... Ralis." Nicolette whimpered, a spasm wrenching her from the realm between sleeping and waking. With the back of her hand, she wiped away tears that had become too frequent these last couple of days. "Ralis, why did you leave me?" she whispered into the pillow. Left her forever. Alone on this side of eternity. Nicole forced her tense fingers to relax and let go of the bedsheet she'd unconsciously been clutching. Instead, she clutched a small stuffed pony to her midsection. The only reminder of the family that was taken from her. Leela. Her only child. The only child she would ever have after how brutal what was done to her in the raid was. The halfling's pale hand slid to her belly, felt the nearly faded stretch marks. Remembered the pain when her insides were nearly torn out of her by her multiple attackers brutality.

Was it hours? or days? before she could move again? She crawled her way over to a smashed barrel that had some muddy, ash tasting beer in the bottom. She drank it all. And fell asleep again. Some travelers found her, barely clinging to life, and nursed her back to health. 'Health.'

This wasn't helping! She couldn't banish the memories. Maybe drinking would help. Maybe drinking enough would make the pain go away for good. This is wrong! This was the stupidest idea she'd had! A dwarf woman?! A dwarf woman and Leela's pony, as stand-ins for her stolen family? Nicolette dragged the back of a hand to blot out tears and snot that covered her face. She must look pretty terrible. A memory of Leela came to the surface; her distraught little girl, covered in tears and snot, thinking "Tixie Pony" couldn't be repaired of her severed leg. Nicole felt the pony's repaired leg, slightly off from the others.

"Momma!" Leela begged.

"Momma ..." Nicole's mind drifted. Drifted far, far away. Ninety-some years ago, when she was but a girl.

Nicky clutched a doll to her chest, happy to have received a new dress for her doll. Such a pretty dress! A pretty dress for a pretty dolly! She was so happy, on that birthday, curled in her mother's arms. "Momma ..."

Nicolette finally drifted off to sleep, held in the arms of her own mother, when she was small. An illusion the dwarven woman was actually quite suited for.
"Nicolette Quinn!" Nicole's eyes shot wide open at the unexpected, male, voice that ripped her too soon from her slumber. Rostamoinen's ostentatious message spell floated there before the halfling, and delivered his summons. Please be the pre-recorded sort of message spell, and not the two-way communication sort! The shimmering vision flickers and vanishes without asking for a reply, letting Nicolette believe the message to be of the pre-recorded sort.
"You're Colette Quinn!" an astonished voice called out from behind her.
"Yes." So glad the vision wasn't two-way kind!
"Wow! Heck, if I knew I'd be bedding a celebrity, I wouldn'ta charged you nothin'!" There was a pause while the woman considered her fortune. "Naw! I'da charged you double!" Apparently, this addendum amused the dwarf. 'Colette' didn't respond though, she was so tired still, and unamused. This non-responsiveness left time for the prostitute's mind to wander. "So, Miss Colette ..." her fingers gently glided up and down Nicole's arm, brushing her alabaster skin tenderly before drifting to her back, "Have you always been attracted to other women?"
Nicolette pulled the pillow up over her head, and began punching it weakly from the outside.
"So ... Will I be seeing you again tonight then?"
"Nope." Nicole's muffled voice came up through the pillow. "Looks like I've got a gate to be getting to!"

As she geared up, and her irritation began to ebb, the halfling bard considered the simple prostitute in a warmer light. As her sword made its way to her hip, being the last article to be buckled on, Nicolette knelt by the bed where her temporary companion lay. "Brenda, I want to thank you for your services. You've actually helped me immensely."
"It's Merida!"
" 'Brenda' is the Elvish version of 'Merida.' "
"Oh." That seemed to work. At any rate, Nicole was truly thankful to the woman. 'Merida' had, even by accident, given her a tool to fight the visions, if and when they came again. Don't fight going back, but go way way back.

Character sheet reviewed and approved, pending a number of changes sent via PM. Please make those changes, then do not modify your character sheet again for the remainder of the competition.
PathfinderSRD 5eSRD PF2 SRD
Genesis 2: When God took a spare rib, and turned it into prime rib.
"Funny, but you are cruel, cruel Bio." ~Dbaque

Last edited by Wynamoinen; Jul 7th, 2019 at 06:26 PM.
Old Jun 28th, 2019, 04:14 AM
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right-aligned image
Name: Vordur Blackburn
Race: Dwarf (Hill)
Class: Cleric (Light Domain)
Background: Acolyte
Personality Trait: I see omens in the flames
Bond: Everything I do is for my people.
Flaw: I judge others harshly, and myself even more severely.

+1 Sourcebook: XGtE


RP Sample:

Character sheet reviewed and approved, pending changes sent via PM and changes made. Please make those changes, then do not modify your character sheet again for the remainder of the competition.

Last edited by Wynamoinen; Jul 7th, 2019 at 06:25 PM.
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