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Old Nov 7th, 2020, 05:38 PM
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The Hunters

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"He is really not so ugly after all, provided, of course, that one shuts one's eyes, and does not look at him."

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Old Nov 9th, 2020, 01:45 AM
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Shawzin Sledge, the Cookhouse Cleric
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Name: Shawzin Sledge
Race: Half-Orc
Class: Cleric (Nature Domain)
Background: Guild Artisan (Cooking Guild)
Personality Trait:Nothing great is achieved without commitment to hard work and fair play.
Personality Trait:I will talk about my profession with anyone who will listen.
Ideal: The world benefits from my talents and that is why they were given to me
Bond: One day I plan on returning to my guild so that I can show them all that I am the greatest artisan of them all.
Flaw: I always want more and am never satisfied with what I have accomplished.
Guild Business: Cooks and Bakers
Description: Shawzin is a very muscular half-orc with a surprisingly small set of tusks for his kind. His skin is olive green, with many broad black tattoos in zig-zag patterns across it, making it a tapestry of different culture's styles. He has black hair, which he keeps in dreadlocks and pulled back out of the way. Most interestingly about his appearance is not his looks, but his smell. The man seems to have a body odor that smells faintly of cooking spices, smoke, and chopped vegetables. He wears a simple steel chain around his neck, from which an amulet hangs that appears like a pair of crossed spatulas over a plate, all made of cast pewter.

He has a holy water sprinkler-type mace that hangs at his hip, and the front of his armor is draped with a leather apron, not a tabard. It does indeed bear the lettering 'Kiss the Cook' in elvish across the breast. In the apron pockets are a number of cooking implements, as well as a pair of imposing looking meat cleavers. To most people's surprise, his shield is not in fact a cooking implement, but a good quality circular steel shield with the same plate-and-spatula symbol embossed upon it.

History: Shawzin Sledge was once a dying man. It wasn't physically dying, in any sense of the word, but an emotional, egoistic death that crept closer and closer to him every waking hour. Having spent much of his life since reaching adulthood faffing about and wasting his potential, he too late came to the realization that any of his talents or skills would amount to nothing. He was nothing. Not even good enough to polish the boots of the adventurers who passed by him every day as he scraped by.

The depths of his depression had led him to a dark place in his mind, and a darker place in the city. Only instead of finding his end at the hands of a mugger or slipping into somewhere even worse, Shawzin found... a smell.

Not just any smell, but the smell of cooking food. A smell that was all but unrealized in the deep of the city, one that made him think of happier times and the few precious moments of stability he had in the past. Of dinners with loved ones, of the first meal after a long time fasting. Before he knew it, his nose had led him to a small stall in a nowhere dead end alley. There he encountered a cook. Not just any cook, but someone who was referred to as the 'priest of the plate'. The smells were amazing, but they only spoke to him, led him, and guided him to the little stall.

Shawzin was fed for the first time in a long while. He had of course eaten the day before, but while it nourished his body it had done little to nurture the soul. Tears flowed, unbidden from Shawzin's eyes as he awoke from the fog he had been living his life in up until that moment. And as the last scrap of meat, last dribble of sauce, and last crumb of bread fell into his stomach he finally felt not just full, but satisfied.

That was when he knew he had to learn more. Shawzin NEEDED to follow the way. And for a time, he did. Years passed, and now Shawzin is out on his own to hone his skills and learn to make dishes that satisfy the way he had been satisfied long before. He still hadn't reached the level of mastery that the priest of plates achieved, but he wasn't going to let his life waste away any more.

Shawzin Sledge
Half-orc Cleric 4 (Nature Domain)
Medium humanoid, neutral

Armor Class 18 (chain mail, shield)
Hit Points 31 (4d8+8)
Speed 30 ft.
STR 16 (+3), DEX 12 (+1), CON 14 (+2), INT 8 (-1), WIS 16 (+3), CHA 10 (+0)
Feats Increase Wisdom by 1, can read lips, +5 to passive Perception and Investigation rollsObservant
Saving Throws Wis +5, Cha +2
Skills Animal Handling +5, Insight +5, Intimidation +2, Medicine +5, Persuasion +2, Religion +1
Senses darkvision 60 ft., passive Perception 13 (18)
Languages Common, Elvish, Orc
Cleaver Melee or Ranged Weapon Attack: +5 to hit, reach 5 ft. or range 20 ft./60 ft., one target.
Hit: 1d6+3 slashing damage.
Rugged Ladle. Melee Weapon Attack: +5 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target.
Hit: 1d6+3 bludgeoning damage.
Unarmed Strike. Melee Weapon Attack: +5 to hit, reach 5 ft., one creature.
Hit: 4 bludgeoning damage.
Equipment chain mail, Cleaver (Handaxe), Rugged Ladle (Mace), shield, backpack, bedroll, cook's utensils, holy symbol (amulet), mess kit, rations (10), rope, hempen (50 feet), tinderbox, torch (10), waterskin, Self-heating mithril frying pan, 835 gp
Cantrips (unlimited): Guidance, Mending, Sacred Flame, Spare the Dying, Thorn Whip
Level One (4 slots):Animal Friendship, Create/Destroy Water, Cure Wounds, Guiding Bolt, Purify Food and Drink, Speak with Animals
Level Two (3 slots): Aid, Barkskin, Enhance Ability, Gentle Repose, Spike Growth
Posting Status: Ready to play again.

Last edited by Runetide; Nov 9th, 2020 at 01:09 PM.
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Old Nov 9th, 2020, 06:17 AM
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Hellrider's Daughter:
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Name: Lyra Vash
Age: 27 years old
Race: Human (Variant)
Class: Ranger
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Background: Soldier (Cavalry-trained)
Personality trait:
-I can stare down a hell hound without flinching.
-I face problems head-on. A simple, direct solution is the best path to success.
-Greater Good. Our lot is to lay down our lives in defense of others. (Good)
-I fight for those who cannot fight for themselves.
-Those who fight beside me are those worth dying for.
-I have a hard time looking before I leap.

Personality: Lyra is driven and somewhat impetuous, charging into battle without thinking about the consequences but to her own benefit, she usually charges into battle to protect others. She is loyal to a fault, to her friends and who she fights beside and to the Creed Resolute she took in honor of her father and her home city. She never backs down from a fight, no matter the odds nor does she ever turn down a drink when it's time to relax but she tends to get carried away and doesn't like it when others get in her way of relaxing.

Appearance: Lyra stands around six feet tall and boasts a strong, athletic build. She has long, wavy light brown hair that she usually wears unbound. Her hair frames a face with strong, rounded features and focused, hard eyes of dark brown. She fancies a long coat over a leather jerkin and cotton undershirt with thick trousers and tall boots that reach mid-calf. Her closest companion is Gallant, her horse, while not a Destrier of Elturel, he is a strong mount and a loyal friend and has been her mount since she was a teenager. His coat is a rich chocolate bay with a black mane and tail and a white drip down his face, His eyes and ears always seem alert and perked.

Backstory: Lyra was born in the city of Elturel to a renowned Hellrider, and novice gunsmith, John Vash. She was a regular 'helion' and her father groomed her from the day she could walk, to be able to ride, literally born into the saddle as most Elturians. As she grew, she proved to be strong of will and of body. She was a teenager and out on a ride with her father when the city was torn asunder from the plains of Faerun. It was then that Lyra lost her father who bade her to remain behind and go to Baldur's Gate while he rode into the breach to save as many as he could. He never saw him again. To this day, she relives her father's memory in her nightmares but she forever holds to his ways, charging into battle with no forethought to herself.

She did what she could to hold to the Hellrider way, holding to the Creed Resolute without fail. If not for the order from her own father that commanded her soul as much as her being, she might have given into the compulsion to return to Elturel much like her father did. She travels Faerun, doing what she can to help people who can't help themselves as her father attempted and she believes he actually did.

RP Sample: After a long ride on the Gold Coast road and taking down a small party of orcs that felt inclined to attack travelers on their way, it was time to relax and relax was just what Lyra was going to do. She trotted Gallant into the livery and instead of paying the stablehand to tend to her horse, she took it on herself. In Elturel, where Lyra was born, your horse was more than just a mount, it was your life. She took the saddle and blanket from Gallant's back and hung it over the stall wall then took the brush from her saddlebag and started brushing the bay coat of the horse, taking great care until the horse was no longer tense. She pour fresh water in the trough and filled a bucket with oats for the horse, Making sure he started drinking and eating before she left. She put the brush away and headed into the tavern, giving Gallant one last pat.

She walked up to the bar and leaned forward, "Barkeep, a mug of ale." and one mug turned into three until she was nearly spilling from her stool. A fellow patron helped her to stay in the stool but then the barkeep made a terrible mistake. The big fellow shook his head when Lyra set her mug down for a refill. Lyra grimaced and glared hard at the burly barkeep but he just shook his head. Lyra nearly dove over the bar after the barkeep, kicking a patron in the act which sparked off a terrible brawl as wild, drunken swings brought more and more patrons into the fray.

Once the dust cleared, Lyra climbed the stairs, rubbing her jaw and poking at her fresh black eye with a cocked grin and a hiss of pain before collapsing into a straw bed in her room. That night, in her dreams, she watched her father ride into the void while she was frozen, helpless...forced to stay behind by her father's orders. She woke the next day, swearing at the morning come to early and vowing that she would never be that helpless as she was that day, so long ago.



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Last edited by Arthilian01; Nov 21st, 2020 at 09:48 AM.
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Old Nov 9th, 2020, 09:11 AM
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DemonSlayer DemonSlayer is online now
Great Wyrm
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  • Name: Hazel
  • Class: Druid (Circle of the shepherd)
  • Species: Half-elf
  • Alignment: NG
  • Background: Folk Hero

Short and slender, Hazel is easily spotted from a distance by her fiery red hair. Brilliant green, almond-shaped eyes take in the world around her. Her fair skin sports several tiny scars along her hands and cheeks, each a reminder of a time when she sped through dense forests without paying too much attention to thorny bushes and low branches. More recently, she received a vicious scar running down the length of her arm, a testament to her new vocation.

Hazel prefers to dress in simple, practical clothing- a loose-fitting tunic, sturdy pantaloons, and heavy boots usually make up her attire. She prefers greens, browns and blacks, but is not adverse to the occassional embroidery in white or blue. Hazel wears no jewerly to speak of, but has a dark blue tattoo on the back of her right hand, depicting a long straight line from wrist to just below the middle finger. Two diagonal lines, starting underneath her index and ring finger, connect to this central line, forming a fork of sorts- a rune of protection against evil.

Having grown up with mostly the sheep, the druids and the fey as her companions, Hazel exudes an aura of quiet contentment. Yet underneath this veneer of calm is a melancholy, sometimes showing through in a sad smile. This darkner side to her personality is especially evident when fighting to defend those in her care, revealing desperation born of the need to protect the innocent from injustice- and, perhaps, vanquish the demons of her past...

Born to a human mother, the woman now known as Hazel never met her father. The few times she dared asked about him, she was met with silent, angry glares. There were rumours, of course- her mother had become infatuated with an Eladrin passing briefly through our world, and Hazel was the result of their short-lived union. Other, more wicked tongues, instead whispered Hazel's father had been nothing more than a lowly merchant, who had wanted nothing to do with his child. Whatever the case, Hazel found herself shunned by her own family and, as vicious rumours spread, by the other townsfolk as well. As a child, few elven parents were keen on letting their offspring befriend a girl who would be an adult decades before their own children grew up. And the humans simply felt uneasy around her.

So, Hazel had little growing up, and when her mother passed away she was taken in by the local orphanage. There she received something of a basic education, but her solitude continued, punctuated by the occassional bullying. As a result the girl learned to keep herself entertained, rather than try and make friends with those who clearly did not want her around.

As a teenager she left the orphanage, and took up a position working as a shepherdess for a wealthy landowner. She quite enjoyed her new job, making sure her flock was safe and well-fed. And the animals did not judge her for her mixed blood- they simply knew her as the kind lady who took care of them. For a while, the young woman was happy.

And then the attacks started.

Each morning, several of the sheep were found dead in their barn. It seemed like a wild animal had somehow gotten into the barn and killed some of the flock. However, the lock on the door was intact, and there was no trace of a breach in the walls. The young shepherdess was held responsible and fired, but she could not simply walk away. Instead, she hid herself in the barn during the day, digging a deep pit just behind the barn's doors, and lined the bottom of the pit with upright pitchforks and other sharp farming tools. Then she placed sturdy planks over the pit, which she covered with dirt and hay. The young man who had taken over her job never stepped inside the barn, and so did not notice the trap. As soon as he locked the door, the shepherdess quickly replaced the sturdy planks with far more brittle ones, and again disguised her trap.

In the middle of the night, she finally heard the chains on the door rattle, and before long the doors flung open. The shepherdess had to suppress a gasp at the creature which strode in from the night. The beast was not a wolf, but a tall, muscular brute, with the head of a wolf yet two heads taller than any man she knew. Sniffing the air, the creature set foot inside the barn...

... And promptly fell through the flimsy planks over the shepherdess' trap. Roaring and yelping loudly, the werewolf tried to climb out again, but found itself caught on the many spikes at the bottom of the pit. With a cry born of outrage, the shepherdess charged forward, wielding nothing but a pitchfork. She then stabbed and stabbed, finally venting her frustration at the creature which had not only cost her her job, but which had murdered the sheep under her care as well. When she was done stabbing, the werewolf lay motionless at the bottom of the pit. Only then did the shepherdess notice the other townsfolk, who had gathered by the barn after hearing the roars of the werewolf. And then, before their eyes, the werewolf reverted back to the landowner who had employed her in the first place.

The shepherdess was hailed as a hero, yet she felt uneasy in town. These people had reviled her all her life, and now only appreciated her for what she had done, not who she was. And besides, the run-in with the lycanthrope had shown the shepherdess that there were grave threats in the world, preying on the innocent. Wracked by nightmares of such monsters, the shepherdess fled town and ran into the forest, where she knew a circle of druids often gathered. The druids were surprised to see the shepherd approach them but, after hearing her story and understanding her motivations, agreed to teach her their ways.

It was the first time the shepherdess felt happy- the wise druids did not only teach her everything she needed to know, but also treated her with respect. And she made many a friend among the pixies and sprites who lived with the druids. In fact, the fey creatures were the ones who named her- although the shepherdess wisely decided to shorten "Hazelbranch" to simply "Hazel".

For two years Hazel studied with the druids, until finally, she and her tutors felt that she was ready to brave the world. Determined to protect the innocent and the weak from the monsters which stalked the night, Hazel left the region of her birth. She travelled from town to town, hunting the creatures who dared threathen humanity, and learning everything she could about them.

While staying in a small town recovering from her latest adventure, Hazel received the letter detailing a job offer in Waterdeep, an opportunity to make a living hunting the monsters she already hunted. Intrigued, Hazel left for the city, excited to hear what this Enduring had to offer...

Stat BlockHazel | Half-elf | Druid (Shepherd) | Level 4

HP: 31/31 | AC: 14 | Speed: 30ft | Initiative: +0

Stats: STR 8
DEX 10
CON 14
INT 14
WIS 18
CHA 14
| STR -1
DEX +0
CON +2
INT +4
WIS +6
CHA +2
| Animal Handling +6
Insight +6
Investigation +4
Nature +4
Persuasion +4
Survival +6
Skill Proficiencies

Languages: Common, Elven, Druidic, Sylvan, beasts, Primordial

Relevant Equipment: +1, 1d6-1 bludgeoning, Versatile (d8)Quarterstaff, Base AC: 12Hide Armor, AC: +2Shield

Features/Traits: Spell save DC: 14
Spell attack modifier: +6
May cast a prepared spell as a ritual
Druid spellcasting, You can find a place to hide, rest, or recuperate among other commoners, unless you have shown yourself to be a danger to them. They will shield you from the law or anyone else searching for you, though they will not risk their lives for you.Rustic Hospitality, Darkvision (60), You have advantage on saving throws against being charmed, and magic can’t put you to sleepFey Ancestry, As an action, can change into a beast (max CR 1/2, no flying) for 2 hours, twice per short rest. Stats except Int, Wis and Cha are replaced by beast's. Use highest for skill/save proficiency. Assume beast's hit points and HD, and revert to your full hp (excess damage is carried over). Cannot cast/speak while in beast form, but concentration on active spells isn't broken, and actions that are part of a spell can still be taken. Retain benefits of features from class/race etc, except special senses like darkvision. Equipment becomes part of you, falls to your feet, or remains on you, as you choose.Wild shape, Once per short rest as a bonus action, summon a spirit with a 30ft. aura. May move it 60ft as a bonus action, and lasts one minute. Choose one;
- Bear: each creature of your choice gains 9 (5+lvl) temporary hit points. You and allies gain advantage on Strength checks and saving throws.
- Hawk: Use reaction to grant a creature attacking a target in the aura advantage. While in the area, you and allies gain advantage on Perception.
- Unicorn: You and allies gain advantage on ability checks to detect creatures. All healing spells cast by you heal an additional 4 (lvl) hit points.
Spirit Totem


Characters: Anchor, Selanet, Aramil, Kellen, Hazel

Last edited by DemonSlayer; Nov 13th, 2020 at 07:47 AM. Reason: quick stats
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Old Nov 9th, 2020, 10:43 AM
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orichulum orichulum is offline
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Name: Celeste De'Luca
Race: Half-Elf
Background: Noble
Class: Warlock 4
Patron: Titania & Queen of Air and Darkness
Character Sheet: Character Sheet

Personality Traits: No one could doubt by looking at my regal bearing that I am a cut above the unwashed masses.
Ideals: Responsibility. It is my duty to respect the authority of those above me, just as those below me must respect mine. (Lawful)
Bonds: My loyalty to my sovereign is unwavering
Flaws: I have an insatiable desire for carnal pleasures.

Appearance: Clearly unnatural at a glance, Celeste's face has six marks on her face, each of which is a streak of blood traced across her visage and represents a geas binding her to their wills - but balanced between light and dark. Sylvan magic radiates from these marks and bleeds into her eyes and hair. Rather than normal clothes, Celeste wraps herself in sheets of pure magic pulled from her very soul. As a result, she is always bathed in the twilight colors of the feywild. Celeste carries herself with a mix of noble bearing and delirium as the competing powers within drive her to the edges of sanity.

Background: [WIP] Born into the noble aristocracy, Celeste was raised to be married off to another family for wealth or political leverage. The young woman was in a carriage headed out to the family's horse ranch to meet with a potential suitor. At the crossing of a major river, the carriage was waylaid by bandits as it was crossing the stone bridge. Rather than coming to a stop the horses panicked and one of the carriage wheels juked off the side of the bridge, and despite the horse's best efforts, the entire carriage slid into the waters in a tangled mess. Celeste fought against the carriage doors to escape, but they were bound shut by the weight of the water as the carriage sank and filled up. Soon there wasn't anywhere to sneak a break, and as her lungs burned for a new breath she saw figures opening the carriage door before Celeste's eyes rolled back and the air in her lungs bubbled out.

At the cusp of death, Celeste awakens coughing up water from her lungs but finding herself at the side of the lake in the feywild. Two nereids leaned over the young woman and fussed over her health and once she seemed to have recovered, they take her hand and lead her through the feywild version of the road she had just traveled down. She wasn't certain if the walk took minutes or days, but the journey ended in a grove of dappled sunlight. There she was surrounded by creatures of wonder and beauty in the light, and absolute terror lurking in the shadows. Everyone was tense as it was rare for the Seelie and Unseelie to hold court together, but today they found common cause and all eyes fell on Celeste. With Celeste owing her very life the converged courts, the two opposing queens both reach out and shape her very spirit by painting her face with six marks of their blood, each delivered under the utterance of holy and profane geas. Once they had finished remaking Celeste, light, and darkness twisted within her soul as perpetual twilight of the Feywild. Just as abruptly as she had found herself in the Feywild, Celeste found herself returned to the prime material plane. Now she serves both courts as a joint ambassador of the fey to mortal nations of Toril to arbitrate between fey and mortal, or exact fey justice when called for.

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Last edited by orichulum; Nov 13th, 2020 at 03:21 PM.
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Old Nov 9th, 2020, 12:16 PM
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Strangemund Strangemund is offline
Undead and Lovin' It
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The ApplicationName: Thunder in the Morning
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Race: Tabaxi
Gender: Male (he/him)
Age: Thirtysomething
Class: Fighter
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Background: Folk Hero

  • Personality Trait One: I have a joke for every occasion, especially occasions where humor is inappropriate.
  • Personality Trait Two: I'm well known for my work, and I want to make sure everyone appreciates it. I'm always taken aback when people haven't heard of me.
  • Ideal: Friendship. Material goods come and go. Bonds of friendship last forever.
  • Bond: Something important was taken from me, and I aim to steal it back.
  • Flaw: I'm a sucker for a pretty face.

The Tale: What was there to say about Thunder in the Morning that you hadn’t heard already. He was a hero. A mighty warrior who stood defiant to a monster so fierce and so vile that it left dozens of farmlands in devastation. A beast whose hunger for destruction could only spring from humanity’s worst nightmares as its rending claws and gnashing teeth all but devoured those unlucky enough to cross its path. Hundreds left to rot in its foul gullet. Men, women, and children-- all victims of the Great Ravager.

Many bards swear to any who would hear their tale that it would have left the entire south in ruins, a graveyard of broken homes and corpses, had it not been for Thunder in the Morning. A once simple man whose only trials were faced at the forge, where he molded metal into blades for adventurers far braver than he. But when the Great Ravager came upon his home, courage somehow found its way into the young Tabaxi, and while his neighbors ran in terror of its terrible roar, he stood alone in the shadow of the beast.

With only his smithing hammer in one hand and a broken door in the other, he did the unthinkable and fought back. Beating upon its hellish hide with all his might while it tore into his flesh with tooth and claw. Blood spilled across the ground from both sides. Thunder in the Morning's fur soaked in red while the Great Ravager bled a vile black ichor that sizzled in the cool night air. It is said the battle between the two raged on from midnight to morning, their roars of anger heard for miles until all fell silent at morning’s first light.

The Great Ravager was beaten back. Wounded badly enough that it fled across the land and returned to whatever pit it crawled out from. As for Thunder in the Morning, he miraculously survived, but at the cost of his left hand. And yet as the story goes, his injuries were hardly of concern to him. Thunder in the Morning, bloodied and broken, was found in the dirt, laughing at what he had just done. The reality of his actions finally sinking in. He-- a simple Tabaxi blacksmith-- had accomplished the unbelievable; he had bested a legend.

His village and many more heralded Thunder in the Morning as a hero. Celebrated his name with gifts, drinks, and grandiose retellings of his heroic battle against the Great Ravager which seemingly vanished overnight. The beast was nowhere to be found after their battle, thought dead by everyone but Thunder in the Morning who sought out its body in the hills and the mountain but found nothing but dried blood and broken scales. For any other man, Thunder in the Morning’s tale would have ended here, neatly tied with banquets and revelry befitting his bravery. But for Thunder in the Morning, his tale was just beginning, for the Great Ravager took more than his hand that fateful day.

The wedding band of his beloved late wife rested in the Great Ravager’s stomach. Stolen from Thunder in the Morning the instant its jaws clamped tightly around his wrist. And maybe it was foolish sentimentalism that sent him on the road-- to adventure across lands as mysterious and as dangerous as the beast he fought so many years ago in search of a simple band of silver-- but it was that same foolish sentimentalism that earned him the reputation as a monster slayer. An adventurer who was willing to slay any beast that stood in his way during his search for the one that got away.

Concept: A Tabaxi blacksmith turned monster slayer. Not as cool as the stories claim he is, but Thunder in the Morning doesn't know that. A little scarred. A little grizzled. Full of ultimate dad jokes. Adventuring suits him surprisingly well despite the sedentary life he once lived-- that is if you ignore the many mistakes he made to get where he is today.

Character SheetThunder in the Morning | Tabaxi | Fighter (Champion) | Level 4

HP: 36/36 | AC: 18 | Speed: 30 ft. | Initiative: +3

Stats: Strength: 16
Dexterity: 16
Constitution: 14
Intelligence: 8
Wisdom: 11
Charisma: 12
Abilities | Strength: +5
Dexterity: +3
Constitution: +4
Intelligence: -1
Wisdom: 0
Charisma: +1
Saves | Acrobatics: +5
Animal Handling: +2
Athletics: +5
Perception: +2
Stealth: +5
Survival: +2
Skill Proficiencies

Languages: Common, Elvish

Relevant Equipment: +6 melee, 1d8 +4, Bludgeoning, VersatileBlacksmith's Hammer, Base AC: 14Breastplate, Base AC: +2 when equippedProsthetic Metal Hand, +5 melee, +5 thrown, Slashing, Light, Thrown, Range 20/60Handaxes x 2
Status: Slow Post Rate Due to Shenanigans
DMing: And the Devil Dances Beneath a Mosaic Sky
Characters: Thunder in the Morning - Harp Strum

Last edited by Strangemund; Nov 12th, 2020 at 05:28 PM.
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Old Nov 9th, 2020, 01:35 PM
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Zhosa DescriptionName: Zhosa
Race: Yuan-ti Pureblood
Class: Ranger (Hunter)
Background: Outlander

Personality Trait 1: I prefer to be alone rather than among other creatures, including my own kind.
Personality Trait 2: I place no stock in wealthy or well-mannered folk. Money and manners won’t save you from a hungry owlbear.
Ideal: Power. Everything I choose to do is determined by whether it will make me smarter and stronger.
Bond: I am the last of my tribe, and it is up to me to ensure their names enter legend.
Flaw: I feel twinges of emotion, and it shames me that I am imperfect in this way.
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Zhosa is a Yuan-ti woman in her early 20s. She has tan skin and long dark hair, which she wears in a braid most of the time. Though she appears mostly human, her eyes shine yellow and patches of iridescent scales shimmer on her face and arms. And like the serpents her people worshipped, she bears fangs that, while not in use, fold back to stay hidden out of sight. Best not get her angry though… her bite’s worse than her bark.

After the slaughter of her people, Zhosa set off on her own, taking odd jobs to fund her travel and put as much space between her and Chult as possible. Every new job is an opportunity to grow and learn. To prove her merit as a hunter, to grow skilled enough to one day return home, to learn everything she can about the creature that took her family so that she might defeat it for good.

Zhosa was born to a tribe of Yuan-ti in the jungles of Chult. A prodigy with a bow, she followed in her mother’s footsteps and joined the tribe’s hunting party early on, helping to provide food, materials, and protection for her people. She was good at what she did and the tribe lived a peaceful, isolated life.

Until a year ago. The day the naga came.

While she’d been out on a hunting trip by herself, a spirit naga came to her village and destroyed it. Her people, her family, were all gone. She returned to find the village in ruins and the naga making to settle into her people’s temple. Enraged and heartbroken, she went after the creature and slayed it herself. But with its dying breath, the naga issued a grim warning: It would return for Zhosa and make sure she suffered as her people suffered, as it had suffered.

Zhosa fled that day. She gathered as many supplies as she could carry and she left her home, and the jungle, behind. She headed to the coast and bartered her way onto the first ship she could find. Over the next several months, Zhosa traveled, taking odd jobs to stay on the move, lest the naga track her down and carry out its final wish.


HP: 32/32 | AC: 13 | Speed: 30ft | Initiative: +2

Stats: STR 8
DEX 15
CON 13
INT 14
WIS 14
CHA 12
| STR -1
DEX +4
CON -1
INT +2
WIS +1
| Athletics +1
Investigation +4
Nature +4
Stealth +4
Survival +4
Skill Proficiencies

Languages: Common, Abyssal, Draconic, Infernal, Primordial

Relevant Equipment: +4, 1d4+2 Piercing, Simple, Finesse, Light, Thrown, Range 20/60Dagger x2, +6, 1d8+2 piercing, Ammunition, Heavy, Two-handed, Range 150/600Longbow, +1, 1d6/1d8 -1 bludgeoning, Simple, VersatileQuarterstaff, Base AC: 11Leather Armor

Features/Traits: You know the poison spray cantrip. You can cast animal friendship (snakes only) at will. You can cast suggestion once per long rest. CHA is your spellcasting ability.Innate Spellcasting | Lvl 1: 3/3 | Spell Bonus +4 | Spell Save DC: 12Ranger Spellcasting | You can see in dim light within 60 feet of you as if it were bright light, and in darkness as if it were dim light. You can’t discern color in darkness, only shades of gray.Darkvision | You have advantage on saving throws against spells and other magical effects.Magic Resistance | You are immune to poison damage and the poisoned condition.Poison Immunity | Increase your INT score by 1. You always know which way is north, the number of hours left before the next sunrise or sunset, and can accurately recall anything you have seen or heard within the past month.Keen Mind | MONSTROSITIES | You have advantage on Survival checks to track your favored enemies, as well as on INT checks to recall information about them. You also learn one language of your choice that is spoken by your favored enemies, if they speak one at all.Favored Enemy | FOREST/JUNGLE | Your proficiency bonus is doubled for proficient skills when you make an INT or WIS check related to it. While traveling for an hour or more in your chosen terrain, difficult terrain doesn’t slow your group’s travel, your group can’t become lost except by magical means, you remain alert to danger even when you are engaged in another activity, you can move stealthily at a normal pace (while alone), you find twice as much food while foraging, and while tracking creatures, you learn the exact number, sizes, and how long ago they passed through the area.Natural Explorer | As an action, you can expend one ranger spell slot (1 minute per level of spell slot) to sense whether any aberrations, celestials, dragons, elementals, fey, fiends, or undead are present within 1 mile of you (or within up to 6 miles if you are in your favored terrain). This feature doesn’t reveal the creatures’ location or number.Primeval Awareness | COLOSSUS SLAYER | Once per turn, when you hit a creature with a weapon attack, the creature takes an extra 1d8 damage if it’s below its HP maximum.Hunter's Prey

And if you ever feel like you're all alone
After the night, the morning comes

Last edited by starkidmack; Nov 10th, 2020 at 07:42 PM.
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Old Nov 9th, 2020, 02:12 PM
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PalladiaMors PalladiaMors is offline
Elder Dragon Legend
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Last Visit: Jan 27th, 2021
RPXP: 15361
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The Tactician
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Name: Bellandra Lonas
Race: Feral tiefling
Class: Fighter - Battle Master
Background: Waterdhavian Noble



Last edited by PalladiaMors; Nov 20th, 2020 at 04:03 PM.
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Old Nov 9th, 2020, 08:39 PM
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girlplay girlplay is offline
Good girl by day.
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Last Visit: Jan 27th, 2021
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Opal, Human Fighter
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Name: Alvia "Opal" Opalborne

Character concept: Opal is a feisty warrior, trained and hardened for battle while trying to overthrow a tyrant. Forced into excile, she does what she can with what she has and is not afraid to rely on others. She's often very protective of those she fights beside. She has a warrior's spirit and does not give up easily..


Important people to Opal:
  • Father (age 46): Doedle Opalborne, enfeebled from disease
  • Mother (age 50): Alvia Opalborne, full-time caregiver
  • Brother (age 27): Kloder Opalborne, simple stone mason
  • Sister (age 22): Cesarinna Kalister. Married to Lensen Kalister, age 25
  • Last member of the Savvy Few: Jube. Just Jube. Opal's trainer. Age: 37.
  • Opal's lover in Pike's Crest: Isandra Haniston, age: 24.
  • Opal's local lover: Xilnia Miller, age: 19

Mechanical stuff: Alvia "Opal" Opalborne is a Human (variant) Fighter. Champion archetype, favoring dexterity over strength. She's a 2-weapon fighting specialist. Her background will be custom: a "Freedom Fighter", gaining skills like stealth and perception. Somewhat loosely based on the criminal background.

Character sheet here.


Character SheetOpal | Human (variant) | Fighter (Champion) | Level 4

HP: 40/40 | AC: 14 (15) | Speed: 30 ft. | Initiative: +3

Stats: Strength: 11
Dexterity: 16
Constitution: 16
Intelligence: 10
Wisdom: 12
Charisma: 12
Abilities | Strength: +2
Dexterity: +3
Constitution: +5
Intelligence: +0
Wisdom: +1
Charisma: +1
Saves | Acrobatics: +5
Animal Handling: +3
Athletics: +2
Perception: +3
Stealth: +5
Skill Proficiencies

Languages: Common, Orc

Relevant Equipment: +5 to hit, 1d6+3, piercing, lightShort swords, Base AC: 11 (+3 dex)Leather armor, +5 to hit, 1d8+3 piercing damage, heavy, 2-handed, range 150/600Longbow, +5 melee, +5 thrown, Slashing, Light, Thrown, Range 20/60Handaxes x 2

Last edited by girlplay; Nov 11th, 2020 at 10:09 PM.
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