[Characters] The Nine Heroes

[Elanir]

Nine they were, under the three moons,
Children of a broken, bloodied world.
From every corner of Ansalon they came, even beyond,
Heroes in their desire to save a single soul.


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[FCastor]

Isandril Moonsilver, Wizard of High Sorcery Name: Isandril Moonsilver Race: Silvanesti Elf Class: Wizard Alignment: Lawful Good Deity: Solinari Affiliation: Wizards of High Sorcery Background: Scion of House Mystic (Noble/Sage) Personality Trait: I am almost always composed and well-mannered, as is expected of and befits one of my upbringing. But if my patience has been sorely tested or my ire raised, the one responsible will regret it through either word or deed. Personality Trait: Though not exactly a priority, fashion and style are definitely an important consideration. After all, an elf and mage of some standing should look the part and do so well. Ideal: Knowledge. The path to power and self-improvement is through knowledge. And the same holds true for the realization of my goals and aspirations. Bond: My sister, my twin, traded her own life for mine and that is a debt I can never repay. Yet I am given the opportunity to at least try, for she cannot rest and calls for my help. And help her I shall. Flaw: I am not always quite as open-minded and trustful, or even tolerant, of other races as I like to think. I truly want to and I try to be, but old prejudices are not that easy to excise it would seem. Of Covers...: At five feet and ten inches tall and possessed of a slender build, Isandril, his youthful appearance belying the fact that he is over a century old, fits the image of the archetypical Silvanesti elf quite well with his beautiful features, fair complexion and silvery-white hair, the latter a somewhat common trait of his bloodline. His eyes, however, are... unusual. Once a vibrant hazel color, they are now green with what can be best described as blood red flecks speckled through the irises, an almost constant reminder of the price of his return to health. As far as clothing is concerned, the Silvanesti noble shows a distinct preference for tailored garments of usually elven craftsmanship, with his current ensemble consisting of an embroidered white shirt, a blue vest and a pair of gray pants, all made of fine cloth. A sleeveless soft leather surcoat with matching bracers and boots, as well as a blue hooded cloak with details in silver thread, serve to complement and complete his attire of choice. Other than that, the trappings of a mage, such as his spellbook and spell component pouch, are also usually not that far from his grasp. ...and Books: To call Isandril aloof would not be that much of a mischaracterization. Generally calm and in control, as well as courteous to others, he can nevertheless appear distant, especially to those not of his long-lived race. It would also not be too far from the truth to say that his experiences and losses served to harden him more than a little, even though he had never been the warmest and friendliest of individuals even before those events, at least not towards those he did not trust or consider friends or kin. Still, slow as he may be to open himself up to new acquaintances, he is neither unkind nor is he cruel, though on occasion he can be... unpleasant, usually when someone or something has given him cause to be. The return of his magic, however, as well as seeing his twin again, in spite of the nature of the meeting, have indeed made him hopeful once more and perhaps, just perhaps, that much easier to get along with. The change in him, even if it is not readily apparent, is there. The Journey So Far:   Born over a hundred years ago, yet still relatively young for an elf, Isandril is old enough to remember a time before the decades-long disappearance of the gods and reign of the Dragon Overlords after what came to be known as the Second Cataclysm. A mere wizard's apprentice when the so-called Chaos War began, the young Silvanesti noble, as well as his twin sister, despite their youth at the time, played whatever part they could alongside their parents and the rest of their elven kin. The conflict, after all, was all-encompassing and almost none on Ansalon had the luxury to simply watch from the sidelines until it ended. And even when it did end, requiring its share of sacrifice and ushering in a new Age, its resolution, however desirable, also marked the beginning of new woes. The loss of High Sorcery and the raising of the Silvanesti Shield were but two of those, yet they were the ones with the most profound effect on Isandril's life. For a gifted member of House Mystic and aspiring White Robe, to no longer be able to cast even the simplest of spells was a feeling not easily put into words. It was as if a part of him was missing, as if there was a constant dull pain for which no balm existed. Still, in a way, the fact that he was no more than a fledgling mage when this happened proved to be his salvation from depression, madness or worse. For he could only imagine how much worse the feeling of loss must have been for the truly powerful wizards to suddenly find themselves powerless. Thus, after the initial shock and as time passed, he started feeling as if he was coming to terms with his new lot in life, even dabbling in primal sorcery, a newly discovered form of magic, but ultimately deciding against devoting himself to it, deeming it too unrefined, a pale imitation of what it was trying to replace. If only the loss of his magic were the only sorrow he would have to live through in this Age of Mortals... The invisible magical shield raised around Silvanesti Forest was meant to protect the elven nation from dangers and threats from beyond its borders. And, truth be told, it fulfilled that purpose admirably as it kept humans and other races and even dragons from passing through it. But the cost for that protection proved to be too high, even if not all of the elves within it shared that particular sentiment. Soon enough the Silvanesti realized that the Shield was, for lack of a better term, feeding on life itself, plant and animal alike. Yet the Governor General Reyl Konnal along with an advisor of his by the name of Glaucous decided the protection it afforded them was worth the price. And perhaps even Isandril might have agreed with them were he and his sister not among those who found themselves paying it. Twins were especially rare among the elves, even more so when it involved a brother and a sister. Perhaps it was because of that bond that the wasting sickness sought to claim them both. And indeed it would have if not for the actions of brave Lirienne. Unwilling to accept having to witness her brother's death before herself succumbing to the disease not long after, she used a magical pendant, a green and red bloodstone set in silver and hung on a silver chain, she had found kept under lock and key in their family's home to gift him with what remained of her strength, saving his life but losing hers in the process. Isandril was inconsolable following his twin's death, even going so far as to blame his Silvanesti kin for their arrogance and pride and xenophobia, as well as himself for being too weak to stop her. He even felt relief and no small amount of joy when the accursed Shield fell, short-lived though those feelings were after first the Dark Knights and then finally the minotaurs took the elven homeland for their own. Now he finds himself among those elves, Silvanesti and Qualinesti and even Kagonesti, who have followed Gilthas Pathfinder, the current Speaker of the Sun and Stars, into Khur, settling outside Khuri-Khan. What the future will bring he cannot be certain, but the recent return of his magic and the feeling that, for good or ill, his twin sister may not be truly gone have caused his grief to give way to a sense of purpose. All the World's a Stage:   The two elven children had been running and playing and enjoying each other's company for the better part of the day. A perfect day that, at least to the boy, felt impossibly long and yet not nearly long enough at the same time. But now the time had come for them to rest and catch their breaths. So that is what they did as they sat down on the warm grass, one facing the other, smiles on their faces, their usually fair cheeks red from the exercise. They looked at each other and for each it was as if looking into a mirror. So similar were they that, if not for their different genders, they would have been nigh indistinguishable. "I thought I would never see you again," said the boy, his smile diminishing ever so slightly at a certain memory. A painful one. The girl's reply was a single word, a teasing question. "Why?" "You know why," came her brother's answer. His tone managed to be both loving and accusatory at the same time. Not an easy feat to be sure. "Well," his twin declared almost triumphantly, "you were wrong. And I know how much you hate being wrong." "Not this time." Contrary to his sister's proclamation, his retort was subdued. He remained silent for a while. He was not sure he wanted to know the answer to his next question. "Will I ever see you again?" The elven girl did not speak right away. Perhaps she was not sure about what to say. Or perhaps she was simply stalling for more time to spend with him. "I do not know," she finally replied. "I do not want this to end," he said, his voice low, his eyes no longer meeting hers. Until he felt her hand on his cheek, a loving gesture to give him strength that he seemed to be lacking at the moment. When he looked up at her once more, they were no longer children. They were as they had been the last time they had seen each other, only hale and healthy rather than ravaged by that wasting sickness. Her next few words broke his heart. "I know, but it must." "Why?" He asked the simple question only to hear the answer he expected. "You know why." The same words as mere moments ago, though spoken by different mouths. He blinked then, no longer able to fight back his tears. And when he opened his eyes he saw that in that instant the distance between them had grown great as his twin was getting farther and farther away from him. He could see her mouth moving. She was saying something but he could not hear. But she kept trying until he finally did. "Look up." ------------------------------------ Isandril opened his eyes and found himself no longer in his room. Still in his nightclothes, he could feel the ground under his bare feet. He tried to clear his head and remember. The ache was still there, in his heart, but the details of his dream were slowly slipping away as dreams are wont to do. Or rather, that was how it went with humans from what he had been told. Elven dreams were different, which made it even more perplexing. Taking a deep breath to center himself, he looked around. It was the middle of the night and it should have been darker than this. But there was a soft light all around him. A silver light, he noted. And then he heard a whisper, just at the edge of hearing. "Look up." So he did. And what he saw up there in the night sky among the stars, stars he had not laid eyes on in many a decade, brought him to his knees, tears of joy running down his cheeks. Yet the ache? The ache still remained.

Stat Block   Isandril Moonsilver | High Elf (Dex +1, Int +2)Silvanesti Elf | Wizard | Skill Proficiencies Arcana, History Languages Two of your choice (Dwarven, Nestari) Equipment A set of fine clothes, a signet ring, a scroll of pedigree, and a purse containing 25 steel pieces Feature: Researcher When you attempt to learn or recall a piece of lore, if you do not know that information, you often know where and from whom you can obtain it. Usually, this information comes from a library, scriptorium, university, or a sage or other learned person or creature. Your DM might rule that the knowledge you seek is secreted away in an almost inaccessible place, or that it simply cannot be found. Unearthing the deepest secrets of the multiverse can require an adventure or even a whole campaign. Specialty Wizard's apprentice Scion of House Mystic | Level 1 | Alignment Lawful Good Inspiration No | Renown 0 | Piety 0 HP 7/7 | AC 12 | Senses Darkvision 60 ft., PP 13 | Speed 30 ft. Stats Str 10 (+0), Dex 14 (+2), Con 13 (+1), Int 18 (+4), Wis 12 (+1), Cha 10 (+0) Languages Common, Dwarven, Elven, Khurish, Magius, Nestari Proficiencies Armor None Weapons Dagger, quarterstaff, longsword, shortsword, dart, light crossbow, shortbow, sling, longbow Tools None Saving Throws Int +6, Wis +3 Skills Arcana +6, History +6, Insight +3, Investigation +6, Perception +3 Weapons Quarterstaff +2, 1d6 bludgeoning (versatile 1d8) Dagger +4, 1d4+2 piercing, range 20/60 (finesse, light, thrown) Armor None Spellcasting Spell Save DC 14 Spell Attack Bonus +6 Cantrips (at will) fire bolt, mage hand, message, minor illusion, prestidigitation 1st level (2 slots) feather fall, grease, magic missile, shield, sleep ASI and Feats You learn to move things with your mind, granting you the following benefits: Increase your Intelligence by 1, to a maximum of 20. You learn the mage hand cantrip. You can cast it without verbal or somatic components, and you can make the spectral hand invisible. As a bonus action, you can try to telekinetically shove one creature you can see within 30 feet of you. When you do so, the target must succeed on a Strength saving throw (DC 8 + your proficiency bonus + Intelligence modifier) or be moved 5 feet toward you or away from you. A creature can willingly fail this save. Telekinetic Racial abilities You know one cantrip of your choice from the wizard spell list (prestidigitation). Intelligence is your spellcasting ability for it.Cantrip, 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 proficiency with the longsword, shortsword, shortbow, and longbow.Elf Weapon Training, You can speak, read, and write one extra language of your choosing (Khurish).Extra Language, You have advantage on saving throws against being charmed, and magic can't put you to sleep.Fey Ancestry, You have proficiency in the Perception skill.Keen Senses, You can speak, read, and write Common and Elven.Languages, Elves don't need to sleep. Instead, they meditate deeply, remaining semiconscious, for 4 hours a day. While meditating, you can dream after a fashion; such dreams are actually mental exercises that have become reflexive through years of practice. After resting in this way, you gain the same benefit that a human does from 8 hours of sleep.Trance Class abilities You have learned to regain some of your magical energy by studying your spellbook. Once per day when you finish a short rest, you can choose expended spell slots to recover. The spell slots can have a combined level that is equal to or less than half your wizard level (rounded up), and none of the slots can be 6th level or higher.Arcane Recovery Spellcasting Cantrips, You can cast a wizard spell as a ritual if that spell has the ritual tag and you have the spell in your spellbook. You don't need to have the spell prepared.Ritual Casting, Your spellbook is the repository of the wizard spells you know, except your cantrips, which are fixed in your mind. 1st level detect magic (R), feather fall, grease, magic missile, shield, sleep Spellbook, You can use an arcane focus as a spellcasting focus for your wizard spells.Spellcasting Focus Equipment Weapons and Armor Quarterstaff, dagger Gear of Note Fine clothes, signet ring, Contents Bedroll, book of lore, ink (1-ounce bottle), ink pen, mess kit, rations (5 days), sheets of parchment (10), tinderbox, waterskin (full), little bag of sand, small knifebackpack, Contents A pyramid of sticky black incense that smells very bad (in a small sealed jar)pouch, Contents Moneypouch, Contents Scroll of pedigreescroll case, A component pouch is a small, watertight leather belt pouch that has compartments to hold all the material components and other special items you need to cast your spells, except for those components that have a specific cost (as indicated in a spell's description).component pouch, Essential for wizards, a spellbook is a leather-bound tome with 100 blank vellum pages suitable for recording spells.spellbook, Hashem's piece of bronze Items of Magic None Consumables None Wealth 15 steel pieces, 9 silver pieces

Notes   The Colors of magic Abjuration = Light blue, blue Conjuration = Violet, purple Divination = Silver Enchantment = Gold Evocation = Orange, red Illusion = Translucent, prismatic Necromancy = Grey, black Transmutation = Viridian, green Languages [no brown (Tegan) or royal blue (Blyne)] Dwarven = "Slate gray" Elven = ? Khurish = "Sienna" Magius = "Cyan" Nestari = ?

[Lazer]

Application The Basics Name: Devari Marossa Race: I'm looking at Actor and Ritual Caster (Wizard) for now, but will look over the Dragonlance feats before deciding for sure.Variant human - of Ergothian (colonial) stock even though she lived her whole life in Nordmaar. Background: With the false identity of Lady Veraline of Staughton (in Abasinia)Charlatan Class: Going College of Eloquence.Bard The Moral Axis Alignment: Chaotic Neutral Deity: We did just fine without the gods so why should we start curtseying and grovelling now?None Affiliation: None The Personality Traits: I find that a simple smile disarms more effectively than any trickery with a sword. My sunny façade conceals a ruthless determination. Ideals: Self-improvement. Although I was born a nobody, there is no reason for me to stay that way. Bonds: My baby sister blames me for her death, I need to show her that I really tried to help her! Flaws: I am my own worst critic and will agonise over every mistake I make. I just can't help but manipulate people, it's the only way I know how to behave. The Creative Touch Appearance: The first thing that people usually notice about Devari is the shock of deep brown hair which seems to have a life of its own. It is wild without being out-of-control, much like Devari herself, and frames a face which seems built to smile. Her wide green eyes dance with mirth, her full lips rarely cover her white, even teeth and her high cheekbones overlook deep dimples. Although charm has always been her first line of defence she has found that sometimes it is not enough, and so she has trained her body hard and is as graceful and nimble as any dancer. She is also comfortable in her leather armor and wielding a rapier, although each are used primarily as a deterrent. Backstory:   What is the first thing that you think of when I say 'Nordmaar'? Easy, 'pirates', isn't it? It's what everyone thinks. Me though, I think of biting insects the size of your hand, of cities filled so full of people you expect their walls to explode outwards, and of hundreds of small theatres putting on bawdy plays and raucous musicals. That's how it was, anyway. Mama was a performer and we toured all the time. She didn't specialise, she would dance or sing, act or clown, or just make herself up all pretty and wave her hands around as a magician pulled off some trick. It wasn't a bad childhood. Could have been worse, anyway. It was worse for Amare, much worse. I was only eight when she was born but things were already getting tough by then. The refugees from other places kept coming and it became harder and harder for mama to get work. Kovo said he would help, I think he was Amare's father but mama never said for sure. He was a big guy with a golden beard and beady little blue eyes. He got mama a job and so they would both go out every night and I would be left to look after Amare. Things were okay, at first, even though we never really saw mama, because we had some money. We had a couple of rooms, clothes, enough to eat. But mama and Kovo got into a fight and he left, got a job on a ship I think. Mama started coming home from her work with bruises. Sometimes she would be robbed and we would have no money for a while. We had to give up one of our rooms and Amare got real grumpy and I hated having to take care of her, but I would do it anyway 'cos 'family stick together'. That's what mama always told us. Then she just didn't come home one morning so maybe that was a lie. We didn't have any choice, so I sold everything we had in our room, every bit of furniture, every cup, every nail, everything, and then we left before the landlord found out. I knew the roads from when mama was touring so we walked and when anybody asked I would say mama was nearby, just in the bushes taking care of nature or something. After a while I had a whole story about how we were off with our parents, going to visit family who were rich landowners with plantations and everything. It's weird, when people think you're rich they're happier to give you things. I don't know why that is. By the time I was sixteen I had already been pretending I was an adult for a few years. I'd learned about makeup and clothes from mama way back so it was pretty easy. Sometimes I even said I was Amare's mama but she didn't like that. She got really upset if she heard me and started screaming and throwing things around, so I would usually just let people decide that for themselves. That was the best way, anyway; if you don't actually say it they can't call you a liar. Looking back, I should never have taken us to Wulfgar. The town was too small, too paranoid. Maybe if the trade caravans had been there it would have been okay but it was one of those weird times when none were around and it was only the locals in the inns. Amare just went straight into the act and I didn't try to stop her. I just thought everything would be okay, the people seemed as dumb there as anywhere else. Unfortunately the last caravan that had come through had told them to look out for us so the guards, with nothing else to do, grabbed Amare straight away. They put her in a cell and I overheard one of them saying they were waiting for her accomplice to try to get her out so they could grab 'her', me, too. I wouldn't have been much good to Amare locked up in a cell beside her, would I? So I hid. I had a plan to convince one of the guards to release her, and it was working, but then a caravan turned up and everything got busy, and… I saw Amare's little body being dumped out of the back door of the jail. I don't know how she died, I just hope she knew that I never gave up. The thing is… in the dreams she doesn't know. She blames me for everything. I know that she's right, but I tried! The gods know I tried! RP Sample:   The Broken Shell was considered one of the more up-market taverns in Teyr, which as far as Devari could see meant that it was just as austere and dull as any of the others, but the tables were a bit further apart. The draconians had so far proven stubbornly resistant to her charms, but fortunately a small group of humans had arrived and Devari had quickly attached herself to them. Lifting two trays piled high with cups of ale high over her head, she threaded her way back to the group, who were drawing disapproving looks from the draconians because they had joined two tables so that they could all sit together. A small cheer went up from the group as she approached, and she smiled wide and then pretended to trip so that the closest two had to jump out of her way for fear of being soaked, but she quickly turned the fall into a graceful bow as she set the trays down gently. "Hurrah!" a voice bellowed over the general laughter. The bellower, a man named Jask with a black beard and bushy eyebrows, held up his hands and shook them in celebration. "The lady Veraline saved the beer!" The others all added their own 'hurrahs' and Devari accepted their congratulations with a smile and a heroic pose as she waited for the sound to die down once again. "And you're lucky I did!" she declared arching a brow before leaning in conspiratorially, "I overheard that group of draconians talking about being two drinks ahead of us already! Human honor is at stake, folks, GET DRINKING!" The table erupted into action and cups were quickly drained before someone shouted "Another!" and staggered towards the bar. Devari, who had been looking on in amusement, seized the opportunity to slip into the vacated seat where she could talk more easily with a quiet man, who was not the best looking one in the group but she had noticed early on that his clothing was the most expensive and the few times that he spoke the others were somewhat deferential. The group were part of a delegation from the Empire of Ergoth, here to sign some kind of pact or trade agreement or something with the city, and they were making the most of a break in proceedings while the ambassador was away on a hunting trip. "Your friends are relentless," she said with a smile, "is it like this all the time?" The man shook his head and turned away giving Devari the opportunity to look him over properly. The ring on his pinky seemed to indicate a noble bloodline, but from this angle she could see that the knees of his breeches had been mended at least twice, so perhaps down on his luck? That was disappointing but there didn't seem to be any better marks around so she pressed on. "I have never made it to Ergoth," she said resting her hand on his upper arm, "even though it is so close. You seem well-travelled though, have you ever visited Staughton?" It was always good to get this out of the way early. If the mark happened to know her supposed home they could ask all kinds of awkward questions and it might be better just to end the night early. "No," he said shortly, eyes firmly on his own cup, "not in person, anyway." Devari frowned and then laughed gently, squeezing his bicep a little as she did. "Not in person? What, so you were there in a dream? Believe me, there are much nicer places to go in your dreams!" That finally got a smile from the man and he turned a little more towards her. The table had grown a little more quiet as several of the party had decided to get some fresh air. "No," the man said, "not in a dream. In books. I have read about your city. I, uh, well, I read a lot." This was more promising! Who had time to sit and read book after book unless they were very wealthy? "People have written about Staughton?" she asked placing her hand on her chest as though in surprise but mostly just so that his eyes would follow it, "you have to tell me, what do they say?" The man smiled and leaned a little closer so that Devari could smell the stale ale on his breath, but she gave no outward sign and instead sat with every impression of being enrapt. "The thing which stands out most in my memory," the man said, his eyes going glassy as he focused on the past, "is the description of the poet, Salwin, who said," and the man screwed up his eyes and puffed out his chest to recite in a deep and serious timbre; "No harbour cradles mine heart more dearly, chalky abodes nuzzling close, for whence the sun doth sparkle clearly, and send mine spirit to sweet repose." Long seconds stretched as Devari sat open mouthed. "Why," she said eventually, "it's like being back home!" Apparently this was the correct response as from then on the man, who it turned out was called Feran, regaled her with verse after verse from all manner of poets. He had long since moved on from descriptions of Staughton, or anywhere for that matter, and was just reciting whatever came into his head next, when a commotion was heard from the door and they turned to see some of the other members of the group bursting in and making straight for the table. Well that was never a good sign. While Feran was distracted by the commotion Devari got quickly to her feet and made for the ladies' room, only pausing to peer back when she reached the door. Nobody seemed to be looking for her, which was a relief, instead they were gesturing outside and the whole table had got to their feet now. Devari followed at a safe distance and when she got out onto the wide red flagstones of the courtyard she found all of them, along with a good many draconians, staring up at the sky. She stepped gingerly out from under the awning and looked up. The moon appeared brighter for some reason, like it had been painted a brilliant white. Nobody could blame this on her so she rejoined the group and pushed her way back through to Feran, who looked completely thunderstruck. "What... what happened to the moon?" she asked him, for some reason whispering. "Solinari," he said without looking at her. She frowned. She had heard that name in some of the plays which her mama had performed in but she couldn't quite place it. Something to do with the ancient gods? Was he still continuing his poetry? "And there!" said someone else, pointing low over the roof of the inn. Everyone turned and Devari frowned. That couldn't be right! "A...red... moon?" "Lunitari!" said Feran, and then he turned around, his hand on his brow as though shading his eyes from the light of the white moon. His body seemed to sag as he pointed to the east. "And there it is, Nuitari." Devari followed his finger but couldn't see anything. She wanted to go back inside and forget about all of this, something about it was sending chills down her spine. "What does it mean?" she asked, and finally Feran looked at her with a strange feverish look on his face. "The gods," he said simply. "They have returned." Devari nodded mutely a few times and then shrugged. "Well, unless they're buying drinks I think it's Jask's round!" The Mundane Familiarity: I read the Autumn/Winter/Spring cycle many times in my youth along with some of the origin stories of the Heroes of the Lance, in fact the one with Kitiara and Sturm was possibly my most read book at one point. I also seem to have picked up knowledge of the continuing adventures of the twins, although I'm pretty sure I haven't read those books so where that knowledge came from is a mystery. Other than that I know nothing of the setting and this ad was the first I had heard of the Age of Mortals. App Status: Complete

[Black Jim]

A New Beginning The Basics Character Name: Xihue Race: Human from the continent of Taladas, in Northern Hosk. Background: Xi started as a shepherd so his perception skills are keen. Meditation is a part of that experience which has further enabled his skill in perceiving his surroundings. Although he loves animals and lovingly cares for them, he was never as gifted in handling them as other shepherds were. Once he began his training in preparation for the spirit mission that he is on, Xi honed his acrobatic skills. It is a central part of the discipline that is required for his form of martial art. Since music is a key component to Xi's meditation, he carries a flute and capably plays the instrument as a personal pass time. He's quite skilled with it and rivals some of the bards he's encountered in his travels. Xi speaks the common tongue and a version of Tamire Elvish for it is said that one must understand their enemy's words in order to understand their thoughts. Class: Monk, Way of the Sun-Soul or Way of the Open Hand. Either will work depending on the DM's need for balance (one for range, the other for close combat {close combat preferred}). ******* The Moral Axis Alignment: True Neutral Deity: Xi is a polytheist. He respects the gods and honors several including Kiri-Jolith who is called Qu'an the Warrior, Chislev who is called Jijin, Mishakal who is called Mislaxa, Nuitari who is called Ne'Ugiar, Solinari who is called Toyaqual, Zivilyn who is known as Xivyn, and Takhisis who is called Erestem. In reverence to these gods, Xi wears a long sash that is woven in a pattern that bears the colors of each mentioned deity. The smallest representation is that for Erestem, represented by a thin, black line that is woven throughout the sash. That line expresses the potential for corruption that weaves its way throughout reality and which is always present, even when unbidden or banished. Affiliation: Unaffiliated at the start. ******* The Personality Traits:. Xi admires beauty in all things and will openly comment about art, poetry, or highly charismatic characters that he encounters. He's always looking for the beauty in everything. As a shepherd's son, Xi has an affinity for animals, especially pets and domesticated livestock. Ideal: Ascension. By perfecting himself in mind, body and soul, Xi seeks to Ascend to an enlightened state of being. Bond: The Ascended Master was Xi's Great Grandfather. This is the spirit that has given Xi his visions and motivated him to travel so far from his home in the North. The Master is a revered figure in Xi's culture and is thought to have become a "brother to the gods" after having attained Enlightenment. The reality is that The Master fell just short of that goal and his lost soul has been trapped on this world, trying to complete that ascension (or, perhaps, assist one of his heirs to accomplish what he failed to do?). Flaw: Xi feels compelled to have many children, highly valued by his culture, but has no desire to raise any of them. He believes that his seed is intended to be spread across the world and is willing to do that without any consideration for, or assumed responsibility for any lives he might impact or create upon his journey. There is no consideration for the consequences of his promiscuity. ******* The Creative Touch Appearance: Lean and tall, Xi has a wiry, attractively muscled physique that distracts from his otherwise average appearance. His relaxed, stately bearing exudes a sense of confidence that typically belongs to royalty and people of stature or power. He is simply attired with bandage-wrapped hands and feet with leather-shod sandals. The most notable item of his clothing is a long, mostly brown, sash that winds its way from shoulder to waist where it ends as a obi-style belt. Although Xi's primary weapons are his hands and feet, he walks with a shepherd's crosier and will occasionally carry simple weapons like dao, tambo, emeici, ono, jutte, bian, Bō staff, kuwa, qiang, or kusarigama Backstory: Of the five tribes that populate Northern Hosk, only one lives in the mountains that ring the Great Sea of Fire. These shepherds call themselves the Alan-atu and practice lives of meditation, enlightenment, and introspection to attain transcendence of the spirit. They are in a hostile land where few tools and weapons exist with which to defend themselves, their communities and their families, especially against the Tamire Elves. Hand-to-hand combat has been refined to an art form and the most exceptional warriors require only their focused consciousness for their bodies to become potent weapons. Xi was given a vision that he must travel an immeasurable distance South, into the foreign worlds beyond the mountains, to retrieve what is needed to save his people from an impending catastrophe. He has traveled alone, as his vision demanded, to arrive in the place where this adventure starts. He does not know why. He does not seek an answer to that question. Xi simply knows that he must be here, now, ready to learn what he must know. As a boy, Xihue led a sheltered, quiet life. He tended the goats and sheep, fed the pigs and cattle, did his chores and helped to keep this family's modest home clean and orderly. At the age of 6, he began to have dreams that drove his parents to take Xi to the shaman where it was discovered that he was spirit-touched. Some powerful, beneficent ancestral force had a purpose that required Xi's assistance to effect. From that moment, Xi was trained by the most capable members of his community in order to broadly educate him in preparation for whatever task might be required. Eight years later, a vision appeared to nearly everyone Xi had met that told them that he was ready, that he was needed in a far-away place. Xi's people are fairly remote and their interaction with other races has been limited with the exception of the unique Tamire Elvish folks who's cultural nature is more similar to his own than to traditional Krynn Elf races. The next day, Xi was given gifts by the town elders, his parents, and the shaman. They sent him out, across the world, on his way to destiny. Roleplaying Sample Any post I've ever written in the campaign we've shared under Wodine.   The Soul's Rising Veneration of the gods had been a formality, a tradition, more than it had been any form of worship among the Alen-Atu. The powerful beings that were thought to have created everything in the world had been silent for so long that even the shaman were little more than wise old people at the time Xihue had left his Eej and Aav. There were songs and mantras, combat kata, poetry and dances that had celebrated the divine struggle between good and evil. Xi knew many of them but they were not empowered. There was no magic in them until something profound changed. "Did you see that?!" "The fog is lifting. We shall be among the stars again. Soon." Xihue couldn't understand why the sailor was so stressed. Other than a light fog that rolled and ungulated with the waves like an ephemeral lover locked in a romantic embrace, the monk had not seen the source of the woman's agitation. He was, if he were being honest, admiring the way that her supple form moved beneath her sheer, silken trousers. He had been focused on the shapely seductive curve of her posterior and had not been looking at the sky. "No, NO! That glowing orb beyond the fog. It's beautiful!' Yes, thought Xi. The "glowing orb" WAS beautiful and he turned from one moon, and the thoughts of warm rapturous intimacy that its two perfect hemisphere's implied, to witness another. Xihue knew the stories. There was power and magic held within the moons, power that could vanquish dragons. There was divinity in the sky that hadn't been seen since before he was born and that was, admittedly, frightening. Others upon the deck were beginning to look up, toward the reshaped heavens and all were momentarily stunned. The awe-filled air began to hum with escalated conversation as everyone began to talk at once. Within seconds, the entire company and every passenger was above deck, staring at the sky. The way had been long and arduous. The odd, morality-challenged, short folk called Kinder mingled with other stolid, swarthy, bearded creatures called dwarves. Civilized elves and animal headed creatures all populated the strange Southern shores. All were oppressed by the tight control imposed upon them by the Knights who seemed to oversee everything beyond the shores of Taladas. There was a cacophony of languages rising on the ocean air as the fog began to retreat faster. It was as if the mists were frightened by the heavens too. A tall man opened the gangway door to allow a woman to emerge from below deck. She was draped in heavy fur against the cooler night air but she walked regally, surrounded by three sturdy minions who were armed as if for imminent conflict. A word from her, accompanied by a dismissively raised hand, left the entourage demurely in her wake as she stepped toward the gunnel. She carried a plain staff trimmed with feathers and imbedded with a crystal that caught reflections of the light from above. Her supple arms rose toward the East then swept Northward before separating to West and South. She spun as Xi witnessed that some strange glow now shown brilliantly from the round sockets where her eyes had been and she began to laugh. The woman was practically giddy with emotion. Xihue saw others curl up onto the deck, convulsing. They were all elderly. Had some lunar malady borne from the arrival of this celestial titan plagued them? Xihue's eyes scanned the sky again and he could see that the large white orb was not alone! There were others! This was no sickness, it was celebration. Rough calloused hands clapped like leather tambourines. Spontaneous reverie erupted. A voice nearby spoke softly in Elvish, a heavily accented dialect that was obviously related to the language of the Tamire Elves but still comprehensible. The gleeful grandmother who had identified herself as Qualinesti, cradled her 20 year old grandchild. Xi had spoken with them yesterday and learned that they were bound for the next port, on their way to see a physician who claimed to have a cure for the child's palsy. The smooth-faced old woman had lamented her lost youth and had hinted at some former skill that had been lost at the time of the cataclysm. "Are you alright, Emee?", Xi asked in stilted Elvish as he moved to her side. "Yes, child of the lost lands, we are fine. Thank you. The world will heal now and so will my child's child. Light has returned! There is hope!!" Her fingers moved with suppleness that had not been there a few hours earlier. They drew unseen shapes in the air above her ward's head and a drizzle of light fell from them like golden dust illuminated by an unseen beam of sunlight. The magic settled into the child upon her lap and the youngling began to stir, revitalized in a way that could only have been attributable to some arcane or divine power that Xi had never witnessed before. Xi could feel a radiant medium that reminded him of a peaceful afternoon amidst his flock in the high pastures of home. There was even a hint of wildflowers on the brisk, moonlit air. There was much to learn here. As he had throughout his life, in studious observation of the world that surrounded him, Xihue began to wonder what else would happen next. Though there were only five or six afflicted within the range of his perception, it was clear that all of them were elatedly emotional. Their faces streamed with tears of joy that reflected starlight, MOONLIGHT, that joined their cousin droplets of ocean water upon the boards beneath them all. Sample 1 Sample 2 Sample 3 ******* The Mundane Familiarity with the Dragonlance setting, the Age of Mortals and the adventure modules: I've read two or three Dragonlance books. Other than that, I've mostly played original, sandbox campaigns or Forgotten Realms, especially Neverwinter based stories. Status of the application: complete

[Begon Ugo]

Talia Dawnstar Name: Talia Dawnstar Race: True Kender Alignment: CG Class: Rogue (Inquisitive) Background: Handler Diety: Gilean Personality Traits: Nothing can dim my shine... even if I have to fake it. Want some... get some. Bad enough... take some. Ideal: The status quo is the enemy of knowledge. Truth must be tested and dogmatic thinking leads to inexorable decay. Bond: The stars above, the trail followed by my father all his life now lead to nothingness. He wanders aimlessly, searching for the Dawnstar but the sky has changed... the map rewritten. I must show him the way. Flaw: As above... so below... if there is astronomical knowledge to be gained... I would risk everything. Appearance: Talia is a small, slender kender, quick with a smile, and blessed with even quicker fingers. Irrepressibly cheerful to the point of willful obliviousness at times, Talia goes through life in a search for a cure for the tragic affliction that has befallen her people. She prefers to be dressed in simple, loose clothing… a nice pocketed vest and some comfortable mucking boots. You never know when a sewer is calling your name. Not yet twenty years of age, Talia retains the optimism of youth yet she is surrounded by a transformed Kendermore where happiness seems to be a fleeting notion most often buried under fearfulness and paranoia. Talia replenishes her happiness by filling her many pouches, hidden and otherwise. History: Hailing from Goodlund... from what recently became known as the Desolation, Talia Dawnstar was weaned on the tales her father told her of the wonders of the Age of Starlight. Her father was a highly skilled navigator that sailed for the wealthy merchants of the Jade Coast. But that was before. Now her father and the rest of Talia’s family are gone, nothing but memories. The Dawnstar, the family namesake Talia was told, was a blazing sun that had burned its way across the sky and disappeared long ago… but destined to return. While an exciting tale… it was something more for Talia’s father. He was certain that the Dawnstar would return. He became obsessed with the Dawnstar, creating detailed star charts as he tried to unravel the mysteries of the cosmos and the gods above. Of course, Talia learned by his side, becoming infected with the same insatiable curiosity. Tagion Dawnstar was sure that impending catastrophe from above fast approached and as he fell deeper and deeper into his fears, he repeated a single phrase over and over. "As above… so below." Role-Playing Sample:   Map Heist Talia sat on a high stool, her shorts legs dangling like a child as she pored over the series of maps on the angled desk in front of her. Her fingers slowly traced their way across the constellations depicted on the stellar map by elaborate ink designs and figures. Her eyes narrowed and strained in the dim light provided by a dying candle, the remaining wax dripping ever so slowly down the side. “It’s gettin’ late girl. Closin’ time!” the librarian’s gruff attendant barked as the kender ignored him… for the third time. Talia’s fingers came to a halt on the map, the truth there for her to see, even if she did not want to believe it. She laid the map of the stars she had been studying next to one of the star charts her father had made. They were completely different… as if made from the surface of another world. Her father’s passion… all of his hard work had been for naught. The slight kender carefully folded up her father’s work and placed it lovingly in one of her many pouches and pockets. As she did so, she slid off of the cumbersome stool and dropped to the ground. She picked up her slingstaff and made her way to the door, nodding to the old man. “Thanks for your time,” Talia said sweetly with a smile as she dropped a copper in the tip jug on the counter. “I left the materials on the desk, just like I found them.” Her lips curled up at the corners as she fought off a mischievous laugh. As the man went to return the maps to the archive, Talia dashed out the front door. Behind her, the sound of yelling could be heard as the attendant found, sitting on the desk where a valuable map should have been,… instead sat a connect the dots picture of a donkey. The Mundane Familiarity with the Dragonlance setting, the Age of Mortals and the adventure modules: I was a huge dragonlance fan when I was younger. The twins trilogy is one of, if not, my favorite books of all time. I have enjoyed diving back into the lore just to complete the application. Stat Block   Talia Dawnstar | KenderTrue Kender | Thief | Skill Proficiencies Acrobatics, Insight, Investigation, Perception, Sleight of Hand (E), Stealth (E) Languages ?, ? Equipment a scroll case, a map handed down from a family member, a bag of marbles, a set of thieves’ tools, a set of commoner’s clothes, and a belt pouch containing 10 gp. Feature: Hard to Hold: A Handler can automatically escape a jail at will (with the DM’s approval), though that is not true for their companions as well. ? Handler | Level 1 | Alignment Chaotic Good HP 8/8 | AC 13 | PP 14 | Speed 30 ft. | Inspiration 0 Stats Str 8 (-1), Dex 17 (+3), Con 10 (+0), Int 12 (+1), Wis 14 (+2), Cha 14 (+2) Languages Common, Thieves Cant Proficiencies Armor Light Armor Weapons Crossbow, Hand, Longsword, Rapier, Shortsword, Simple Weapons, Improvised weapons Tools Thieves Tools +7 Saving Throws Dex +5, Int +3, Wis +2, Cha +2 Skills Stealth +7, Sleight of hand +5, Acrobatics +5, Perception +4, Insight +4 Weapons Hoopak 1d6 piercing or 1d4 bludgeoning 3 lb Ammunition, Range (30/120), Versatile [spear only] (d8), Special (spear/sling) Dagger +4, 1d4+2 piercing, range 20/60 (finesse, light, thrown) Armor Leather Armor Racial abilities Cha save or will be enraged at TaliaTaunt, Immune to fearImmune to fear, Chance to discover item in pouchDiscover, Class abilities Your proficiency bonus is doubled for any ability check you make for two chosen proficiencies. [6th] Choose two additional proficiencies.Expertise, Once per turn, you can deal an extra 1d6 damage to one creature you hit with an attack with a finesse or ranged weapon if you have advantage on the attack roll. You don’t need advantage on the attack roll if another enemy of the target is within 5 ft. of it, that enemy isn’t incapacitated, and you don’t have disadvantage on the attack roll.Sneak Attack, You have learned thieves’ cant, a secret mix of dialect, jargon, and code that allows you to hide messages in seemingly normal conversation. It takes four times longer to convey such a message than it does to speak the same idea plainly.Thieves Cant Equipment Weapons and Armor Hoopak, dagger Gear of Note Commoner clothes, Map, Map Case, Bag of marbles, A blank book whose pages refuse to hold ink, chalk, graphite, or any other substance or marking backpack, a bag of 1,000 ball bearings, 10 feet of string, a bell, 5 candles, a crowbar, a hammer, 10 pitons, a hooded lantern, 2 flasks of oil, 5 days rations, a tinderbox, and a waterskin. The pack also has 50 feet of hempen rope strapped to the side of it.Burglar's pack Items of Magic None Consumables None Wealth 10 steel pieces,

[Hayar]

The Basics Name: Kaylen Nightstone (born Kaylen Firehammer) Race: Dwarf (Daewar) Background: Mercenary Veteran Class: Cleric (Twilight)

The Moral Axis Alignment: Chaotic Good Deity: Mishakal Affiliation: Holy Order of the Stars

The Personality Traits: I take on the role of surrogate mother for my companions. I feel personally responsible for and fiercely protective of every one of them. My emotions often get the better of me whether it is anger, joy, or sadness. Ideals: We are nothing without each other. Alone we can only serve ourselves, together we can heal the world. Bonds: I have forsaken my people to build a new life. But running could not change the past. My son is dead and his soul unable to move on. Is there any finer torture for a mother? Flaws: Secular traditions and laws uphold the corrupt. I will do what I feel is right no matter what.

The Creative Touch Appearance: Kaylen is still young for a dwarf, though she carries with her the sorrow of a lifetime of experience. Her auburn hair is kept back in braids only a dwarf could have learned. Her skin is colored with so many years under the sun that most non-dwarves might mistake her for Neidar. But any Dwarf can tell from her strong, square features and large frame that she hails from deep inside the mountains. She is a bit smaller than many Dwarves, coming up to only a little over 4' but she carries her chainmail and shield as comfortably as her larger kin. Her garb is closer to a mercenary than a cleric of Mishakal. She does not wear white or blue, but instead only reveals her faith in the Medallion hanging around her neck. Kaylen has a compassionate face, often mirroring those she is ministering to, but it can transform into bright joy or knit anger as quickly as a spring storm. There is something comforting about her presence that goes beyond even her holy order. She doesn't speak of her motherhood, but it comes off her nonetheless in waves. Backstory:   My new life began on the surface, on the road. The time before that seems like a dream now, a terrible dream that replays itself over and over with every coming night... I was still young when Severus Stonehand led my family and the other faithful in his exile from Thorbardin. My family had always been armorers and weaponsmiths for the Daewar clan and the clergy of Reorx. When the priests lost their connection to The World Smith it was a time of great turmoil for all dwarves, but especially me. My son, my sweet Rolis, was only a baby then. I won't tell you of my husband or my parents or siblings. It is too painful and those that remain in Thoradin deserve their own history free from mine. I will tell you that mine has always been a soft heart and so I fell in love deeply before I should have, embracing the time of peace after the War [400AC]and starting my own family before my parents approved. The Daewar had more to concern themselves with than underage dwarf getting married, though. Serverus Stonehand was already trying to get the entire clan to leave to claim a new home outside Thorbardin and after he had successfully predicted the Storm of Chaos and seemed to still have the magical power of Reorx behind him, it was becoming more and more difficult to deny his claims. We had already allied with him when he exploded the Red Dragon egg to kill Beryl's invading dragons and destroyed a large section of Thorbardin itself, so when he was exiled for that act, we chose to go with him eagerly and willingly. We held onto the belief that we were Reorx's chosen and the Prophet was our connection to him. I was too young to understand why Severus led us to Thoradin. Now I see things clearer, that he saw an opportunity to make himself Thane and took it. The poor Zhakar and their mold plague did not deserve our ire. I spoke up several times in that year of conflict that what we were doing was wrong, but I was silenced by my husband and those further up in leadership. The conquest of Thoradin was beyond my control. Still, I tried to help the Zhakar who chose to be conquered. Stonehand's curing of their plague did not change their circumstance and bowing to the new Thane made it worse, something that the exiled deep dwarves knew as well. My Rolis... The exiled Zhakar took him in a raid with other children. Our people say they wanted them as slaves some said it was retribution. I had broken down entirely and didn't care what the reason was. I just wanted him back. But I didn't get him back. He was killed when our people tried to retrieve them. Rolis...Rolis was thirteen. Severus, the new Thane, had no remorse for our loss besides platitudes. His concern was in the loss of his artifact, the Gauntlet of Ventyr. Even my family didn't share my pain the way I needed them to. When Severus gathered volunteers to chase down the human thief he said took it, I convinced them to let me go on the expedition to find her. It wasn't three days on the surface before I slipped away from my group during a noonday nap and abandoned my Dwarven home forever. It is my new life. I will always miss the Mountains, but I will never regret my choice. I made a lot of mistakes in dealing with the races of the surface before I found my rhythm. I was guarded but still gullible and I was taken advantage of more times than not. The first few mercenary companies I ended up with turned out to be no better than the corrupt Daewar I had left. But after a few years I found the Company of the Sun and developed my first and true companionships. Kef, head of the Company, was a disillusioned human but he wanted to do good in an age without the Gods. We were kindred spirits, as were the others, but when the Gods returned, he did not return to them. We parted ways with differing ideas but with profound respect for each other. Mishakal claimed me, but if our paths ever cross again I'm sure it will be as it was between us before. Good done in the name of good is and will always be equal to that done in the name of a Goddess. RP Sample:   "You're sure about this? I can't offer you a bigger share just because you're threatening to go, but that doesn't mean I want to lose you." Kef smiled in that frowny way of his. His bushy eyebrows pulled down in a way that reminded her of the eyes of a loving hound. "No, I'm not," Kaylen replied. Her time with the Company of the Sun was among the best years of her life and the least complicated. It had been two days since they ran into the merchant on the road from Alek-Khan proclaiming the night sky had changed signaling the return of the gods. But even before the news, Kaylen knew something had changed. Visions of Rolis had begun to appear in the firelight at sunset and in the windswept leaves in the break of morning. She never had stopped thinking of her son, how he might look or what his passions would have been, but nothing like these visions. She saw his face at times in them, at others his whole form as if running to her with arms outstretched. She was scared because she felt the fear and confusion coming from him. She wondered after a few days if she was beginning to go mad. But then the news came. Under the cloudy nights, the Company hadn't seen the change in the heavens, but Kaylen knew now the two were linked. "But it is something I have to do." She glanced back at the temple behind her. Excited pilgrims could be seen entering and exiting the grand doors under the recently replaced symbol. A blue loop of infinity. When she looked back at him, there were tears in her eyes. Kef knelt down and embraced her. Behind them, Feldspar whistled annoyingly. There were rumors in the bored Company that Kaylen and Kef had moved beyond friendship. It was the usual invented drama of idle minds. Kef ignored the Hill Dwarf and kissed her on the forehead before standing again and sweeping up into his saddle. "If you change your mind, we will be at the inn for another two days--" "Yeah we will!!" Feldspar quipped. "--replenishing our stock and looking for two Dwarf replacements," Kef finished. There were laughs from the others including her friend, Feldspar. Kaylen watched them slowly move off down the road until they could no longer be seen. Only then did she take a deep breath and make her way inside the temple. The cold wash of marble felt like something from another time in the mountains, but she felt out of place as the only dwarf among humans. Blue flames from torches lit the interior with a cool light but dark recesses could be found that that is where Kaylen went to pray. She was the people of Reorx, the Life-bringer, but she had given up that religion long ago. It did not feel right to share it with a people she abandoned. So much wrong had been done in his name that she had trouble separating the God from his worshipers. Half her adult life she had gone without prayers at all, so the act came slowly to her. But she knew to whom she need to pray. Mishakal. She was the Goddess of home, of family, of finding those things that are lost. Every civilization on Ansalon and perhaps beyond had a place for her because her message was universal. Back in Thorbardin, the god was the Mother-Father, Miralax the Hearth. Here, she was known as Elir-Sana. But even in this holy place Kaylen knew in her blasphemy that she would give up all the Gods forever if she could have that one thing back that she had lost, her only son. She knelt and bent her head, "I don't know why you have come back, just to place these visions in front of me, Mishakal. I have no home. I have no family. My boy is gone!" The last came out as a hiss to not disturb the other faithful inside. She took another breath and realized she was crying. Her tears created dark spots on the smooth white stone. "He is lost and gone forever. What can you do?" But something inside her felt the heavy cynicism of those words and she closed her eyes. "What can Ido?" she whispered. "Help me face the dark. Help me understand your message. Help me find peace for Rolis' memory, Mishakal." Suddenly there were sounds of gasping from the assembled parishioners. Kaylen opened her eyes and looked to see what the disturbance was. Something was off. She had been sitting in a dark corner of the pews, but a holy light filled the space around her. The continual flames of the revitalized temple were an azure blue, but this light was almost like condensed starlight. She felt the holy aura fill her with calm acceptance and at the same time with decades of buried sorrow. But it was the sweet sorrow she had only felt once before when giving birth. An old human swept up to her in his white robes edged in blue. "We should speak," he said simply and he held his hand out to take hers.

The Mundane Familiarity: I read the war of the lance trilogy and the twins trilogy and then some Legends books many, many, years ago. I had no idea there was so much after that and I'm trying to catch up. It's a lot, but hopefully I have the basics enough to give this a go!

[Mindsiege]

Application - Blyne The Basics Name Blyne Race Irda Background Far Traveler (customized) Class Sorcerer (Clockwork/Divine Soul) The Moral Axis Alignment True Neutral Deity None Affiliation None The Personality Traits I consider the consumption of meat as barbaric and frown upon wearing an animal's coat as clothing. I feel like my kind has lost their place in Krynn, which at times leads me to exasperation or impatience. Ideal A lack of familiarity and friendship can be compensated by ingratiating oneself with others. Pretense is only an affront if it's seen through. Bond My mother passed away in a natural accident before she managed to teach me all that I still needed to learn from her. I thought neither her soul nor I would ever find rest before the gods returned. Flaw I am secretly convinced of the superiority of my race and consider our reclusive nature justified by how the rest of the world acts. The Creative Touch Appearance   As one of the almost extinct high ogres, if you were to catch Blyne in her natural appearance she has the skin of a blue colour that resembles a clear summer sky, paired with long, flowing black hair, and eyes that are almost shining with the colour of silver. Despite her relative youth she already portrays the awe-inspiring grace and cold beauty of her race, achieving this representation even in the most casual of circumstances. For lack of a better cover story, Blyne has been recently traveling under the guise of a lonesome silk weaver, garbed in her own exotic silks and delicate metal adornments that are bound to draw a lot of attention. Given the history and the magical gift of an Irda, the young woman has chosen an appearance that she uses for her cover and that is supposed to be far enough from her original appearance to not allow anybody to make a connection to her actual race. In her disguised shape, Blyne keeps elven features that are closest to her original appearance, yet her skin is that of the palest rose, while her hair is an auburn that's bordering on red, and instead of her original silver eye colour she keeps them a clear turquoise. Even as she doesn't want to draw too much attention to her being different from all the other races in Krynn, Blyne knows that she isn't good enough of an actor to hide the mannerisms and sheer elegance that she has gotten from her mother and so instead of suppressing her nature she has decided to embrace her exoticness in a way that keeps her highly noticeable but draws attention away from the actual truth of her secret origins. And somewhere in the back of her mind, although she knows this is vanity she subtly enjoys it when others turn their head after her. Even if she wouldn't allow herself to admit to this. Backstory   Blyne was born on one of the many Dragon Isles, secret and secluded from the rest of the world. And as her parents had agreed between each other, she was taken in by her mother to be raised while her father turned away to whatever life he had lived before the magic of the Valin had brought Blyne's parents together. In her early years, the young Irda was raised by her mother in the image of what the older woman thought was befitting for an Irda in the current state of the world. Blyne was taught many things by her mother, among them the history of her race, the prejudices against them, how to grow plants, how to cultivate and weave silk, and not least how to wield the primal sorcery of their high ogre heritage. Alas, as much as Blyne was able to learn at a young age as she was a bright, prospering child, all too soon her mother came to an unexpected end when she got surprised by bad weather and an unforeseen landslide. Blyne was not yet fully matured, but at least halfway through her formative years on the day that her mother never come home. At least old enough to take action by herself, it didn't take long for Blyne to follow into the hills where she found out about her sole parent's ill fate. To her benefit, she had already accrued enough strength and knowledge that being left all alone didn't mean the end of her own life as well, but for a while surviving and maintaining what had been left to her was certainly a challenge that Blyne had to raise up to. For years she lived on her isle alone, growing up fast and teaching herself all she could from what literature had been left behind in their recluse home. With frustration, Blyne had to accept that by losing her sole teacher it had become much more difficult to follow in her mother's footsteps as an immaculate Irda, even as gifted and independent as she already was. Especially being cut off from one that could teach her to properly harness her primal sorcery, strapped for time to develop those abilities fully, Blyne turned to faster methods to hone her abilities and in doing so discovered the arts of mysticism by herself, which she then combined with the natural gifts of her high ogre nature. Yet even as Blyne managed to make strides with exploring her sorcery in ways that even her mother had never walked, the young Irda always kept a partial fear that she wouldn't be able to measure up to the superiority that her race was entitled to now that it was just her, all on her own. Making the most of her situation, Blyne did manage to keep the cultivation of necessities running, kept herself healthy and fed on her own abilities, and eventually managed to find her own kind of normalcy on the isle as she kept going through the books that had been left to her. Much of the knowledge that her mother had passed on so far had focused on maintaining a life in seclusion, yet Blyne was aware that there had been much left that was in none of the books and only ever in her mother's mind. A lot of life experience about the outer world that had meaning to know, just not at the young age that Blyne had been when her centuries-old mother passed away. And although such a loss of knowledge was regretful, Blyne had never needed to consider leaving her isle before. A perception that would soon change. Over the years, the young Irda couldn't help but feel haunted by premonitions that her mother was unable to find any rest. Even as young as she was, Blyne hadn't been raised to be one for superstitions, but eventually as time progressed the patterns of oddities forming around her home and the little farm couldn't be ignored. Things would be out of place, left how her mother would leave them even if Blyne herself had arranged them differently a mere night ago. Blyne was alone on this hidden isle, yet not completely. And while at first she drew comfort from the manifestation of her mother's memory, soon she remembered that such an emotion was undignified, and she bethought herself to realize that as a wandering soul her mother was restless. A terrible state to be in. That's what finally gave Blyne her resolution to leave. It took years for Blyne to get ready to leave her own exile from the world in which she had been born. Years of preparation, further study, and honing herself for such a daunting task that it might as well end up costing her life at sea. Yet it was something that Bylne felt had to happen because on this isle she had no way to ever give her mother the rest that she deserved. Or herself, for that matter. Surely she could have lived uncaringly, staying in isolation and attempting to forge herself through the mystic arts as was now possible to her, yet it dawned on Blyne that such a fate would not be acceptable for her in the end. To turn away from her mother would have been accepting defeat in a way, just another nail in the coffin of the Irda race where the youngest of them had lost so much of their splendor that she couldn't even return to the rest of Krynn on her own strength if she wanted. As such, staying on the island became undesirable to Blyne, and instead she determined herself to work hard with the hand which she had been dealt. Needless to say, the eventual journey across the sea was both arduous and taxing, possibly a miracle that it succeeded at all, maybe even a feat deserving to be called heroic. But for Blyne it was the only way forward, the only way to do more than to call herself bested by circumstance and to submit to merely surviving on the isle by herself. And yet survive she did. When she came ashore with the ragged canoe that she had crafted herself, the young Irda was not in a good state. All her preparation of many years had not let her overcome the limits of her own body and although the gifts she had been born with were great and manifold, she was certainly not great or strong in the physical sort of sense. But however much the bravely stupid voyage had weakened her, she did reach the shore alive with some provisions intact and without having been eaten by the Golden Whale as she had feared. In fact, she was glad to recall not having met the fabled leviathan at all. And this was how Blyne found herself outside of the exile in which her mother or simply her fate had kept her inadvertently before she had crossed the sea successfully. A stranger to the world at large, yet bright, gifted, and determined. Ready to assimilate herself in a realm that didn't welcome her race, but that was also hiding those things that Blyne didn't know, yet had to learn in order to ever find peace. And while Blyne couldn't quite hide that she was special, in record time she managed to learn how to behave now that she was part of a society. Assuming the identity of a weaveress that had come from the distant island of Southern Ergoth, she found a story to explain what inconsistencies in her identity would arise due to her poor understanding of the world at large. It took Blyne quite a bit of patience to adapt as quickly as she did, but to succeed on the path that she had set for herself she knew that the time of acting alone was over and that she had turned a new leaf definitively. To walk among humans, elves and all the other races didn't suit her own origins, yet Blyne determined that she would be able to make it suit herself. And so she found a way to recover her strength after crossing the sea and then started her travels along the roads of Krynn, searching for knowledge that would give her mother's life the conclusion that she deserved. At times she attached herself to other travelers, at times she kept her distance from the lesser races. In time Blyne found her way to Palanthas and its great library, yet along her path she was forced to realize that her life of seclusion had been far from ideal in preparing her for all the tribulations that she could meet along the way. And still she persevered, ever pushing forward in a world that was ready to forget the Irda and had given Blyne a fate that at times felt like it was actively holding her back. But even as young as she was, Blyne was headstrong and still one of the last of the Irda. Trusting in none than herself, she still managed to uphold the strength of heart which she had found inside of her sublime soul. And so it came, that eventually Blyne would find the roads of fate were still urging her to follow her own path. And it just so happened that her latest destiny would be leading her to the lands of Khur... Roleplaying Sample   As she sat on the balcony of her inn room, knees folded underneath her and the silken cowl drawn off to reveal her auburn hair, Blyne's thoughts were as dark as the night that surrounded her. She had come out to contemplate, knowing full well of the trap that rested within that activity. Where have my hopes been leading me...? Melancholy was an emotion that was merely that, just as distracting and impeding as the rest of them. The young Irda knew this. Although her mother had been dead for half of her whole life by now, Blyne by far hadn't forgotten that emotionality was a malpractice of lesser races. Or at least something Blyne shouldn't give herself over to. Yet as far as she had gotten after leaving their home on the isle behind, Blyne had learned many new things. The biggest was probably the sheer size of the world, but that was maybe the least of the revelations that her travels had gotten in store for her. And yet... The Gate of Souls cannot be working. It is the only thing that makes sense... Yet why? Has something interfered with such a cosmic thing that it has already resolved itself?! Blyne had been travelling Krynn for a few years by now, yet things had changed over the last few months. The premonitions of her mother which had intermittently followed Blyne all her life had suddenly ceased, and although they were the reason and purpose that had brought the young Irda out into the world, the absence of this guidance had left her confused about what to do next. Partially she was ready to return to a life of seclusion, yet that she had not had any hand in bringing her mother to rest had left her unfulfilled in an odd, ironic twist. Am I ready? To forget the world once more and in turn be forgotten? For good...? Blyne peered out into the night and a shiver ran through her as a breeze came through and ruffled the leaves of a tree right opposed to the small garden that she was overlooking. It was a rather mundane thing to witness and nothing which should have prompted a big reaction, but just as Blyne had felt the breeze brushing through her hair, her eyes shot open in recognition. Her heart immediately set to beat faster as she felt something true. Her mother had visited her once more. It was such a nonsensical thing to draw a connection from, but the wind flowing through her hair had oddly felt like much more than just that. It had felt almost the same as how her mother would brush Blyne's hair out of her face when she had been pouting as a child. The young Irda couldn't help but let out a helpless laugh. It was silly to feel so much from something that had just been the wind, but the timing had been so perfect. Just as if her mother's spirit had meant to encourage her in her hour of insecurity. Another shiver ran through Blyne, but not because the wind had been cold. The sensation that she had felt from the wind wasn't bad, but it also drove home that she was still lost. Her mother's fate was still unresolved. And although it meant that the journey she had set out on still had meaning, Blyne was still exactly where she had placed herself. On the road and right in the saddle of her own life. But still lost in a way. As shook as Blyne was from the premonition which she had believed to be gone until just a second ago, she still tried to remind herself about being rational about all these things. The feelings of melancholy and self-pity were emotions, facets of her inner workings that were sure to hold her back. And Blyne didn't want to be held back. Not by herself, not by anybody. The young Irda had long determined that she would carve her path with her very own hands, if that's what it took. Figuratively speaking of course. Digging trenches was something Blyne only reluctantly had done, and only because her magic had been far too underdeveloped to make the water reach her fields without relying on mundane means, and such things had to be maintained lest they would be worn down by weather. Not that this particular memory had much to do with anything that Blyne had been doing with herself the last few months. Or with remotely anything that she had done since she had left the isle. Leaving unbidden thoughts to return. What am I supposed to do with myself then?? How does one become part of cosmic events...? Blyne had no guidance in the paths that she took. Irda were solitary beings, at least historically and how both her parents had been, yet that wasn't really Blyne's reason. She knew that her detachment from others was only holding her back, yet to accept guidance from another who would find it impossible to relate to her plight? The mere thought was met by internal resistance from the young woman. But then again, it was even more difficult to allow another to know her enough to be able to relate to her. Near impossible, when the Irda were so harshly rejected by the other races. And for all intents and purposes, Blyne felt that her cover as Blainneth was still far too superficial to allow for a connection as deep that she could directly ask those who might know what she must do to help her mother's soul. And no matter what shape she took, the denizens of Krynn still had it out for her. That much she had been forced to experience when last she had been to Palanthas, searching for just that guidance which she lacked. The world is in strife... Yet here I am. Apart from it, but still being in strife myself... As she was resting on the balcony in her disguise as just a slightly irregular elf, Blyne might have carried on with her train of thought until either the cold of the night or simple tiredness would have forced her to go back inside and sleep. The last few weeks she had many similar evenings like this, yet after the mother's manifested memories had returned, Blyne felt far too excited to turn to sleep. Especially as she was still lost on what to do next. She didn't think much more would happen that night, yet unbeknownst to Blyne, the wheels of fate had been turning outside of her purview and this particular night was quite different from any night that had come before. This fated fact blatantly revealed itself to her when she rose her gaze from the lightless garden and let it wander towards the cloudless sky instead. And at first, she merely blinked in surprise. What is with the moon? The confounded Blyne couldn't help but notice that the moon's silvery sheen was not the only thing odd about this night's sky. Is that... a second moon? Red?? She had never seen either of those sights before, yet nonetheless, Blyne's ingenious mind swiftly connected the dots of her memory and she gasped inaudibly as it dawned on her what this meant. I've read about this! No. It couldn't be, could it?! Lunitari and Solitari were history from a time when she had been too young to recall them as memories. Yet before she had even thought to react so strongly, the young Irda had already smoothly risen to her feet and grasped the balcony's railings. Her back was arched as she tilted her head and stared up at the stars in sheer awe. Would that mean... The gods of magic?! High sorcery came from the moons, who were the symbols of their gods. That's what her mother had said. The return of these moons was so significant, that Blyne could barely fathom that it was real. Because when the moons went, they had gone in a departure of cosmological and fate-altering magnitude. Together with all the gods. "Would that mean they have returned as well?!" There was nobody around for Blyne to speak to, but the question burned so strongly on her mind that she just had to ask it out loud. Rather than just awe, and even if her thoughts were mere conjecture, the young sorcerer did not have the mental fortitude to prevent yet another feeling to overcome her heart. Hope. Not desperate hope like the one that had gotten her this far. A hope that spoke of events being underway that were all that which she had been searching for. In her excitement, Blyne lacked the capacity to predict how the return of the gods would favour her or what those events could be, yet if there were any signs more promising that there was indeed a solution for her mother's restless soul, the awestruck Irda could not imagine them. And now this could mean the best chance at resolving her own fate that Blyne had ever had before. The young woman's grip relaxed around the railing as nobody answered, yet her thoughts were still running with all she knew about these gods that had left their world for so long. To her discontent, it was regrettably little. But still enough to reinforce that this feeling of hope wasn't irrational. Mishakal once reached out to preserve what jealousy would have seen undone. If the gods are back... They might just reach out again! Or they already have! It must have meaning... Now it's upon me to do the right thing. To follow the right path. Igrane... If it worked for him, why would it not work for maybe the last of the Irda! It was still night and on the surface, nothing besides the sky had changed. But underneath, something had changed inside of Blyne as well. She would still have to give in to sleep, then wake up and leave this inn, but now she felt the determination inside her heart had been set ablaze anew. If she had been more of a girl and less of an Irda, then she might have wept. Instead, she just stood still in reverent thoughts, basking in the new, silvery light of Solinari. On their own, her lips curled into a rare, genuine, and most beautiful smile. The Mundane Familiarity with the Dragonlance setting, the Age of Mortals and the adventure modules I'm brand new to everything but I've started reading up quite a bit and am excited about this concept. I'm predicting that the character will be rather forgiving towards any gaps in my own knowledge. Status of the application Completed

[Noquarter19]

Application for ‘Dragons of a Broken World’ Character Name: Aric Armitage (son of Robard Armitage, a hunter and woodcutter, and Myrrah Armitage, a barmaid – and former sorceress) Race: Abanasinian (variant human) Background: Inheritor (SCAG). Aric holds what he thinks is his late mother’s journal, though it is in fact her libram. He studies it every chance he can, though there is much he does not understand. Class: Arcane Archer (fighter) Alignment: Neutral Good Deity: Though his father was not very religious, Aric was brought up by Robard to pray to Habbakuk, the god of hunters. His mother was a follower of Lunitari, though Aric does not know this. Affiliation: Aric is unaffiliated but seeks magic user(s) who could help decipher his mother’s journal (though it is in fact her librum). Personality Traits: I may not be brave on my own, but I can be brave for others. I have a curious nature and will go anywhere that seems mysterious. (custom) Ideal: Equity: Just because someone is different, or starts off with less in life, or has different beliefs, does not make them less of a person. (custom) Bond: Myrrah Armitage, Aric’s mother, was killed by who he was told were mage hunters. Aric feels a strong connection to her through dreams and through what he thinks is her journal. Flaw: Anxiety: Aric becomes agitated by loud, angry voices, by abusive people, and in general by people who remind him of his father. This manifests itself in the form of a stutter when speaking. Appearance: Aric has delicate features for a boy, much to the lasting chagrin of his barrel-chested and hirsute father. He has his mother’s dark auburn hair that hangs down to his shoulders, as well as her thin cheekbones and pale white skin. He does have his father’s height, standing tall and thin at 6’ 4”, as well as Robard’s sharp grey eyes, though Aric’s lack the hard look of disapproval that was so often directed his way. Aric’s arms are long and thin, and they lack the coarse black hair that carpeted his father’s body. What other hair he has is largely thin and blonde, almost white. He wears plain peasant’s dress and a deerskin jacket that is too small for his tall frame. Most of his wardrobe has been crafted from skins of animals hunted by his father, but since the passing of Aric’s mother it has been a while since he had any new clothes. Aric is only fifteen years old and has yet to grow any noticeable facial hair.   ”Aric! Aric, wake up, the fire’s gone out. Wake up you useless boy, I want my breakfast!” The disgruntled voice of his father awoke Aric Armitage from a lovely dream, a dream he had been having with increasing regularity for the last several months. Mother… why didn’t you tell me? I wish- The slap caught him completely by surprise and awoke the boy with the shock of cold water. Stinging pain lit up his cheek like hot metal at the forge, and his eyes jerked open to see his drunken father standing over him. Robard Armitage’s eyes were bloodshot even at seven bells, and he swayed slightly as he recovered his balance following the backhanded blow. The man’s left arm was thick, ropy muscle and coarse black hair. His right arm stopped at the shoulder. Aric’s shock at being awakened so violently and rudely made him scrunch back in bed, his lithe body recoiling from a further blow. His eyes darted almost by instinct away from the leering orbs of his fathers eyes… and flickered to the ugly mess of flesh and bone not three feet away from him.The blackened scar tissue where the mans arm had been cauterized by the town blacksmith loomed like the black moon of Nuitari. Too late, his father caught the boy’s wayward glance, and a red tide of fresh wrath washed over the drunken man. ”You are a worthless bitch of a boy, and if it weren’t for you and your damned mother I wouldn’t have to live like this, a useless drunken cripple!” Robard barked down at the teen, spitting this last word, his body continuing to sway from drink. ”GET UP!” he shouted, and half lunged, half fell toward the boy. Robard Armitage had been a hunter and a woodsman in the small and imaginatively named village of Oakgrove when he’d lost his arm ten years prior. His wife Myrrah had been a red-haired minx of a woman who’d tended bar at Mychael’s Place, the one watering hole in Oakgrove, a glorified clearing of a village situated in the thick forest to the south of the ruined city of Xak Tsaroth. Together Robard and Myrrah - though mostly Myrrah - had raised a son, a thin, curious little red-haired boy who she’d named Aric. Robard had been off on a hunt when Myrrah had given birth to the boy fifteen years prior. ”He looked like an Aric,” she’d told her bearded husband as he hunched with his knife and cut the guts out of the buck he’d felled. Robard grunted and continued his work, his arms and knife only slightly bloodier than Myrrah’s had been after she’d delivered Aric and severed the umbilical cord that’d bound them for nine months. Robard had been distant from the beginning, begrudging the burden of another mouth. Today the man who’d once prided himself on his ability to fell a deer through the heart at 70 yards was now reliant on his fifteen-year-old waif of a son for his basic needs. He stood there sweating and glaring, the itch in his stump as maddening as a swarm of bees. ”A-alright dad, I-I’m getting up.” Aric scrambled up from under the warm fur blanket and set about his morning chores. He had slept in, gods be damned, so loathe was he to break from the sweet dream of a time when his mother lived. She had been talking about the moon, the three moons, one pale white, one blood red, and one absent, a spherical void of darkness in the night sky. She’d mentioned her life before Oakgrove, before she’d had to bury her robes and scatter fistfuls of components to the winds, before she’d had to abandon her life as a sorceress for the provincial insularity of Oakgrove. My sweet little Aric, you’re the only one who knows that mommy used to be able to cast spells. And some day, when you’re older, I’ll show you my libram and teach you myself. Maybe by then the Veiled Maiden will return and we can find some place else, just you and me. And then she’d hugged him and kissed his brow. And then he awoke and she was gone all over again. Aric dressed quickly and set about kindling a fire. There was oatmeal for breakfast like there was most mornings, or perhaps the remains of the previous night’s stew. Last night was rabbit with carrots and potatoes. Aric had tried a peach once, a gift from a traveler smitten with his mother, and it had been the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. I wish I had a peach with my oats, he thought vainly as he poured a splash of gone-by milk into the wooden bowl. I wish for a lot of things. He finished his morning routine and waited for his father to either give him something else to do, or to pass out in his chair so Aric could go back to the book he had found under the floorboards. It was a strange, red-leather bound book filled with curious words and incomprehensible symbols. Sometimes when he stared at it for long enough it almost made sense. He wondered where it had come from, and the dream popped back into his head. Hadn’t mother said something about a book? His desire to learn more grew with each beat of his heart, but there would be no getting out of archery practice this day. ”Twenty-five yards and not a step closer,” his father barked as Aric finished stringing the longbow. ”I could hit the bullseye when I was nearly half your age, so you should have no problem from this distance. It’s all you’re good for anyway, with those limp arms you’d be shite with a sword,” the drunkard belched out. ”I-I’m doing the best I can, f-father,” Aric stuttered out. He had no problem hitting the target – when his father wasn’t around, that is. When Robard was up and about and lashing his son with his barbed tongue, Aric had all he could do to even hit the target. His palms got sweaty and his heart jackhammered with tension at every dig. It felt like dying. He’d not yet reached his sixteenth name-day, but already he longed to see the world outside of Oakgrove. Any opportunity to get away would be welcome, even two miles away. As long as I was free of him. The bowstring went twang, and the arrow whistled through the air and struck the small circle of dried blood dabbed on the pale skin of a deer that had been draped over a hay bale. Bullseye, he thought triumphantly. ”Hrmph. Finally getting through to you about keeping your body straight. Well, what are you waiting for? Do it again.” His opportunity for freedom came not two weeks later, in the form of a violent confrontation over a bar tab that ended with Robard getting run through with the tavern owner’s dagger. He lingered in pain for three days with a hole in his guts before lapsing into a coma and dying in the filthy bed he once shared with a red-haired mage. Aric did not bury him. He took his bow and quiver, the one other pair of clothes he owned, what food he could carry… and the journal. Someone out there on Krynn knew what the journal contained, and Aric was determined to find out, determined to find out more about his mother and her life before Oakgrove – and why she’d been killed.   It was raining heavily, had been for days. The dirt path was now a quagmire of mud that pulled at Aric’s simple leather boots with the same determination as a horde of street urchins might grab for a coinpurse. Or at least they would have done, except that he had taken them off miles back when it became clear that the mud and the rain were not going away any time soon. The squelch of mud between his toes might have been reminiscent of playing as a child with the few other village children – but here in the midst of this never-ending monsoon it was just another slice of misery pie. The clouds looked like they might just keep bulging and drooping until they crashed to the earth, so grey and swollen were they with rain. How can there be so much? Aric thought to himself. Surely there cannot be this much water in all of the world, so why is it all falling down on my head? Aric was a sodden mess, his legs mud up to the knees, while the rest of him was dripping leather clothing. He’d had a map, a hand drawn affair he had thought to grab before leaving home – but a gust of wind had ripped the paper from his grasp and sent it rolling and sailing out of reach and down a steep ravine, where it had fallen with a gentle splash into a brook. He’d watched the paper float away from him from his place atop the hill. That’s alright – it’s not like I really know where I’m going anyway. His stomach growled – or that might have been thunder; the two were very nearly interchangeable at this point. The weather made hunting very much an impossibility, not to mention he was unsure whose lands these were and had no desire to go to the gallows for poaching. He had a small rag filled with berries that he was fairly sure were safe, and these he had been munching periodically as he walked. Nothing wrong with taking berries, his juvenile mind reasoned. Morality was all well and good, but it couldn’t stand against hunger. If I find someone who owns the land, I can offer them a copper for the food, or perhaps I can pay a little more to sleep in their barn until the storm passes. He didn’t hold out much hope for that. It had been two weeks since he had left the remains of his father and the only home he had known and set out for parts unknown. Oakgrove had no prospects for the son of a drunk and a witch, a fact that had grown quite clear since the death of his mother. Aric and his father had been largely shunned by the community since it became public knowledge that the late Myrrah Armitage had been a sorceress before she became a barmaid and had a child. For Robard it was hard to determine which hurt more – the pain of losing his arm in an attempt to save his wife, or the deception. But it didn’t really matter in the end; dead was dead. And now Aric was an orphan with no home and no real direction in life. He found a farm that evening and agreed to work for a few days in exchange for a bit of stew and a mat of hay to sleep on. He helped muck the stables and chopped a half cord of wood, a task that left him breathless and panting. There was a rain barrel full to the brim that he helped himself to repeatedly as he worked, and when dinnertime came around it was all he could do to stay standing. The couple who owned the farm were an elderly couple in their sixties who had seen their own children grow and leave home. They were courteous and thanked Aric for his hard work. As he took greedy spoonfuls of stew, Aric looked around the cozy little dining room. The house was a simple timber frame house with a wrought-iron chandelier above the oak table that cast flickering candlelight on the three figures. There was a comfortable looking chair near the fire and another, smaller, rocking chair with a ball of thread and two knitting needles on the seat. Aric smiled. There was life here, life and warmth and contentment. There was a momentary pang as he thought of his own home, but it was gone in a heartbeat. Home held only death. ”Th-thank you so much for the meal and the place to sleep. I lost my m-map a while back, and I was hoping you could tell me where we are?” The farmer snorted. ”You lost, boy? Well you’re two days walk from Solace - or what's left of it. I’m sure you’ve heard of it.” Aric had. Of course he had. Everyone had heard of Solace. That was the home of the heroes of the lance. Aric’s mother had told him tales of their bravery and courage, and Aric had grown up wondering what it would be like to have walked with them, to have fought goblins and stared down dragons, to have sailed into a maelstrom. To have saved the world. He had spent many a night wrapped up in his dreams, only to come up against the harsh reality of morning’s light. ”I-I know Solace, sir. My mother used to tell me stories.” He went quiet at this, mourning for times long past. The clatter of dinnerware against clay dishes was all the noise for several minutes. "You remind me a bit of my son," the old woman said. "He was a quiet boy as well." "Thank you," Aric said, unsure if it was a compliment or not, but not certain what else to say. "Where does he live?" The old lady sipped her lemonade. "Well, our Brandon is a soldier up north. It broke my heart to see him go, but he was drafted to go fight almost as soon as he came of age. He must be nearly 30 now, and I can count on one hand how many times he's been back home." The old farmer said nothing while his wife talked, only throwing in the occasional grunt while he chewed his meat. Aric said little as well. Home had not been a place that had a lot of conversation, and he had been raised not to speak unless spoken to by his elders. He took another bite of his meal. It was delicious, the fresh greens and savory meat filling a hole that had been hollowed out by weeks on the road. His eyes closed as he savored the delicious morsels when he suddenly realized that he had been asked a question. He gulped the food in his mouth down quickly. "I'm so sorry, I was just enjoying this lovely meal. I did not mean to ignore you; what was it that you were asking?" The old farmer snorted, and his wife gave a beaming smile that took ten years off her age. "Such a sweet boy. I miss having a young person to cook for. I was asking if you had ever been on a sailing ship? Our Brandon has been away so long, but I know the last time we had heard from him he'd mentioned something about sailing off to free a city. I can't quite remember the name of it. Something like Sanctity... or Sanctuary... Harold? Harold! What was the name of that city Bran said his company was heading to?" The old farmer paused from picking gristle out from between two yellowed teeth. "Sanction." His wife clapped her hands once. "Sanction! Yes, that was the one. Anyway, that was... well that was quite some time ago. I don't suppose..." The old woman trailed off, her eyes looking Aric over as if assessing him for the first time. Appraising him. The young boy began to blush and hunched a bit inward at her inspection. She noticed his shyness and smiled. "Sorry dear. I was just wondering if you might be willing to go on a bit of a journey for an old woman. I understand Sanction is quite far by boat, but I have some money I can give you to book passage out of Crossing." She caught sight of her husband's scowl at the idea of giving a stranger money and went on. "It's just... I miss him so much!" the woman said, suddenly overcome with sobs. "He's our only son, now that - now that his brother has passed on." Tears coursed down her lined face. Aric did not pry; it was not his place. He offered a quiet mutter of condolence for their loss. "Damned boy'd been drinking and fell from the hayloft," his father mumbled quietly. Aric just looked at the man, this old man who seemed to think that ridiculing the manner of his son's death would somehow deaden the pain of loss. He cleared his throat. "I would do this for you. I don't have my map anymore, and I've never been to Crossing - or to Sanction. But this means a lot to you, and you've both been kind to me. If you can show me where to go, and give me any more information about who I should talk to once I'm there, then I will take your letter to Brandon." And that is how the fifteen year old orphan found himself pulling into the hectic port of Sanction - and all of the chaos that followed. Familiarity with Dragonlance universe: It’s been several years but I’ve read Autumn, Winter, and Spring a number of times, and I think I read Summer as well. I’ve read the Twins trilogy, and I have dozens more that I have yet to read that are just gathering dust on my shelf. Application Status: Donezo

[Tommyk382]

Tegan Uth William Name: Tegan Uth William Race: Human Class: Fighter (planning on Knight of the Sword) Alignment: Lawful Good Deity: Kiri-Jolith Affiliation: Knights of Solamnia (Squire) Background: Squire (based on soldier background) Personality Traits: Courage. When everything is overwhelming, facing fear head-on is often the best approach. Faith. Kiri-Jolith guides my path, like my ancestors before me. That path may end in death, but it's my path. Ideal: Honor. Est Sularus Oth Mithas. Tegan has taken the Solamnic Oath also known as the code. His father demonstrated this during his life and Tegan holds honor in the highest standard. Bond: Tegan's father, William Uth Cedric, fell during the War of Souls. Tegan has had images of William flashing in his dreams. Although there are no words and the dreams are cryptic, Tegan is sure that his father needs him. Perhaps Kiri-Jolith is encouraging him to go and help. Flaw: Pride. Tegan has pride in his family, in the Knights, and in Kiri-Jolith. He is loathe to admit it, but when that pride is damaged, his temper can flare. Naivety. At 26, Tegan has not travelled the world much. He has lived in Solanthus all his life, partially under the control of the Dark Knights when the Knights of Solamnia were expelled. Appearance: Tegan is a tall man, approaching 6’3”. He has the bearing of a knight, broad shoulders and a strong arm. He has proud posture. His bright blonde hair flanks a joyous face. Optimistic in almost all challenges, Tegan’s brown eyes resonate brightly. His trim beard and strong jaw finish the look. He had clearly seen lean times but persevered through them. His armor is well-maintained. His metal gauntlets rest on a sword belt. A round shield is swung across his shoulders. His sword is plain, but well-made. His father had taught him that a beautiful sword is just extra weight. The sword is balanced, with a finely honed edge. His boots had seen some use but had plenty of life in them. Tegan had kept them well polished. In contrast, his pack sighed on his back. It carried enough to survive, but little more. It also carried a large bisons horn, a symbol or Kiri-Jolith, strapped to the outside of the pack. It was a gift from Tegan’s father, William. Backstory: Born in 396 AC, Tegan was born into a well-off, but not rich, family. His father was a Knight of Solamnia, as was his father before him. Before that his family still had the honor of a knightly family, but they were smiths, forging arms and armor for the Knights. The gods were absent, but William taught Tegan of Kiri-Jolith anyways. With no gods, Tegan still had faith. As a boy, Tegan dreamed of becoming a Knight. He had visions of grandeur, seeing himself at a column of knights, pushing back the wyrm Skie and his armies. He had little idea of the gruesome nature of war. It’s less acts of honor and glory, and more about perseverance, fighting for a cause, and hoping that favor shines upon you and yours. Living in Solanthus, Tegan was able to train with a swordmaster from a young age. He knew that he would have the opportunity to present his case to the council and hopefully be granted the title of squire. This was granted when he was 19. When Mina and her knights took the city, Tegan wished to go with the Knights on their march to Solace. It hurt his pride when he was told that he was not ready. His time had not yet come. His father marched South and Tegan was left at home. Not all was lost. Tegan was to care for his grandfather, Cedric, who had lived a rich, long life. He taught Tegan much about the values of being a knight. It went beyond the Measure, even beyond the Code. Being a Knight was not just a rank or following a set of rules. It was a way of life that was difficult, but also the most rewarding. Tegan continued to practice his sword skills, practice his faith, and made sure that his grandfather was safe. He recently started having dreams of his father. They were just glimpses and images, but Tegan knew the worst had come. It wasn’t a fortnight later when a report came to their home that William had fallen in honorable combat. Tegan and Cedric were crushed. Gradually Cedric’s health worsened. Tegan stayed with his grandfather until his end. He died peacefully. Shortly there-after, the gods returned. Tegan continued to have dreams of his father. The emotions related to the dreams became more urgent; more stressed. With all these events: the death of his father, then his grandfather, the dreams, and the return of the gods, Tegan knew that this was clear indication that the time had come to move forward. He hadn’t been ordered to leave, but he needed to prove himself worthy of the knighthood. That wouldn’t come staying at home alone. Roleplaying Sample: Tegan awoke in a cold sweat. He sat up, breathing heavily. His heart raced and he slowly took stock of his surroundings. He scanned left to right, trying to determine what woke him. The dreams continue. I can feel father's call. As he thought this, he knew it wasn't the dreams that woke him. His dreams may be intense, but they had never woken him before. He sat for a moment, letting his heart slow as he breathed deeply. The scent of smoke filled the air. He had fallen asleep before extinguishing his small bedside candle. Wax had spilled onto his nightstand. He pulled the covers back and walked to the window. He cracked it, hoping for some fresh air. Tegan loved the cool, tranquil, evening air. It gave him great peace. As Tegan gazed over the city from his second story window, he noticed the night was quite bright. Glancing up, his eyes locked on the presence of the bright moon. His grandfather had told him stories of Solinari. Tegan's stomach clenched and he blinked, forcing the shock down. The moon is... back? What does that mean? He sat on a stool and reflected on what he knew. In a moment of inspiration, Tegan prayed. He had been taught the sacraments of Kiri-Jolith by his father and grandfather. It had always been a ritualistic worship. They knew the gods had left, but they taught Tegan anyways. This prayer was different. As he prayed the ritualistic words, he felt something stir inside him. He faltered and couldn't remember the words. He felt... a call. He could sense a presence. Tegan couldn't define how he knew, but he could feel Kiri-Jolith. It was an odd but invigorating feeling. In that moment he knew. He knew it was time to set out. He knew not where, but he knew it was time. Retrieving his sword from the trunk at the foot of his bed, Tegan felt it's comforting and calming presence. He was far from an expert Knight, but his sword gave him peace. Feeling conviction towards his call, Tegan packed his belongings, ate a meager breakfast, donned his armor, and set out. In one hand he carried the bisons horn his father gave him to represent Kiri-Jolith. It gave him more comfort. He only wished his grandfather could have lived to see the moon return. Familiarity with the Dragonlance Settings, the Age of Mortals and the adventure modules: I grew up to my father reading Dragons of Autumn Twilight to my brother and I as we went to bed. I loved the stoic and honorable Sturm Brightblade, uncompromising in his morals. I loved other characters too, but Sturm was definitely my favorite. I went on the read the first six novels multiple times (Dragons of Autumn Twilight - Test of the Twins). From there I have read lots of lore online, primarily to find out the end of the stories of the various Heroes of the Lance. For this application I have read a bit about the War of Souls, but do not claim to really be super knowledgeable (very open to correction). I also played in my father's pathfinder port of the original Heroes of the Lance game. Surprise, surprise, I played Sturm Brightblade (and later Tanis).

[Andor]

Character Name: PnoahyghFrugwarrynKelgrimTwistpatchBilminCobblesto neVorkasBellowFerntowinGlitterbellVorgrimSwiftfron tTratorMeesgastoyBarbamplenEmplexorynHemblenambleS alstonMakkaneckNesyurSembledemble Seheppen ...SHORT version!: Oh. Pnoah.
Race: Tinker gnome
Background: Guild Artisan
Class: Artificer (Armorer)
Alignment: Neutral Good
Deity: Reorx
Affiliation: Technical Guild
Traits: I always want to know how things work and what makes machines tick. I also like to talk at length about my profession, though most non-gnomes don't seem to listen for very long, for some reason.
Ideal: Aspiration. I work hard to be the best there is at my craft.
Bond: I've had disturbing dreams lately of my Uncle Thosh. He appears to be in a foggy, withered landscape, and in anguished torment, though I can't tell if it's physical or mental pain. It's not unusual for a gnome to have an uncomfortable afterlife, at least until the Life Quest is completed, but Thosh's Life Quest was to discover the breaking point of the tensile strength of the steel used in the type of spring that killed him, and the Council declared the quest complete. It's disturbing to think that even a completed Life Quest won't grant eternal rest.
Flaw: I'm never satisfied with what I've done — I always want to improve. Bigger! Better! Faster! Larger explosions!
Appearance: Pnoah is a young gnome, with few of the wrinkles associated with gnomes who spend decades squinting at intricate devices, or the scars that come when such devices inevitably explode. His sideburns are beginning to come in, though it'll be decades more before it forms a proper beard. His black hair is 'styled' in the usual gnomish fashion of a bird's nest and his dark eyes glitter with intelligence, curiosity, and mirth. Rather small and slight of build, even for a gnome, he still has a sense of verve and virility, and nearly boundless energy. His hands are slender and clever, though calloused and decorated with various cuts, burns, and bruises from his work, which he completely ignores, particularly when he's working. His voice is still clear and soft; it will take years of breathing in smoke and dust, and yelling over the noise of invention, before it achieves proper gruffness. Though he keeps himself clean on a fairly regular basis, it doesn't take long at all to become covered once again in stains from oil, grease, and dirt. His clothing looks like a mechanic and a blacksmith used it for a game of tug of war, and his belt and pockets are stuffed with all manner of tools, parts, connectors, and the occasional sandwich.
Backstory: The god Reorx, having forged the world, took a number of men with him over the seas to learn his crafts and help him complete his...

Abbreviated!

...work. *sigh* Fine.

Pnoah1 hails from Mount Nevermind2, the seventh child and fourth son of father Alzu3 and mother Eiliceli4,5. He was just a baby when the red dragon Pyrothraxus captured Nevermind, but he has almost no memory of the event. He did, however, grow up under the rule of the evil dragon, until the dragon finally had its fill of constant pestering, requests for testing, attempted interviews about its lineage and history, and...in one bold case...an attempt at retrieving a still-attached scale (Pnoah and his repair crew was quite busy repairing the damage caused by the dragon's indignant wrath). As he grew up, he showed early aptitude for design, analysis, and repair of mechanics and devices. While perhaps not quite as prestigious a talent as some of the others, there was certainly no shortage of work for a repair expert in a gnomish settlement, where a project isn't considered successful unless it breaks spectacularly. Pnoah was able to hone his combat skills at the same time, as it is quite dangerous to try to get a gnome to allow another gnome to make repairs on someone else's machine. Usually, the machine to be repaired is damaged further or completely destroyed in the ensuing "discussion", which actually turns out quite well for both gnomes: Pnoah has more to repair, and the other gnome usually takes this as a sign to start completely from scratch.

Pnoah also applied his repairing skills to Nevermind itself. Between the frequent explosions, runaway clockworks, weapons development, and maladjusted gnomeflingers...not to mention being inside a semi-active volcano...there are always plenty of repairs, excavations, and reinforcements that need to be done, and Pnoahygh's clan was among the gnomes who first responded to the terrible aftermath of both Cataclysms. In fact, Pnoahygh's Uncle Thosh was a casualty of one of the measures installed by the gnomes to prevent Cataclysmic damage, due to a broken shock-absorbing spring whipping through him and essentially reducing him to gnomish curly fries. The blotter containing his remains sits proudly on the family hearth. Pnoahygh himself was a burgeoning guild member who helped rebuild Nevermind after the attack of Pyrothraxus, continuing the family tradition of repairing what the outside forces of the world came in and broke.

Pnoahygh is now thirty winters old, and would like to venture out to give his designs some practical field testing before returning to Nevermind to settle down and start a family. Also, he has been having disturbing dreams of his uncle lately, dreams that suggest that there is a need to find answers to the question of the gods. He has no delusions about being a hero, and no desire for the bards to compose heroic epics to his bravery. But he knows how to research and he knows how to fix things. Maybe he can get a few answers. Or at least enough notes to submit a fully-annotated thesis on his discoveries.

 

1. True name PnoahyghFrugwarrynKelgrimTwistpatchBilminCobblesto neVorkasBellowFerntowinGlitterbellVorgrimSwiftfron tTratorMeesgastoyBarbamplenEmplexorynHemblenambleS alstonMakkaneckNesyurSembledemble Seheppen shortened for the benefit of the less-verbose races.
2. Also known as, "A Great, Huge, Tall Mound Made of Several Different Strata of Rock of Which We Have Identified Granite, Obsidian, Quartz With Traces of Other Rock We Are Still Working On, That Has Its Own Internal Heating System Which We Are Studying In Order to Copy Some Day That Heats Up the Rock to Temperatures That Convert It Into Both Liquid and Gaseous States Which Occasionally Come to the Surface and Flow Down the Side of the Great, Huge Tall Mound..." (see later footnotes for continuation.)
3. Shortened from AlzuWagglegraceQuodriBroadsparkSabarFizzleguardFel stonFiddleshieldOrkurDeepguardWrecorinSosgruragNis tonMumlinirMerlenHacklerockleLomopSebblenobbleLanx ifFobblobirack.
4. Shortened from EiliceliTosslefrontHespineFinecordTifatinaDappleba ckZanibysBellystandUriwyseDazzleflightLilganiSarru birUriliGebblesebbleInahanaDimpanetorInaxiAmpasaEl yarisFamlan.
5. It has been requested by the editor that the footnotes be eliminated from the body of this work, despite the author's strong insistence that it will irreparably damage the integrity of both the narrative and the information contained therein. It is suspected by this humble author that had the work been edited by a gnomish editor, the information would be unadulterated and complete (though, to be fair, it would also likely still be in production). Perhaps a fully annotated volume of appendices shall be released at a later date for the reader's edification.

 

Discoveries:

"The actual conversation has been translated from Gnomish for the convenience, and sanity, of our readers.Pnoah! Pnoah, wake up!"

Pnoah flailed in bed, wondering if the alarm clock he'd designed months before had come back to life to seek revenge. "Whosiwhatsiz?? No, you exploded!...wait, what? Who's calling me?" As he struggled to get his bearings and pull himself fully into the world of the wakened, his mother Eiliceli threw his bedroom door open, spilling light into the dark room. "Pnoah! It's..."

Immediately after, his friend and fellow guildmember Wrepip fairly tumbled into the room, pushing past his mother...earning him a solid kick in the rump. "Pnoah, they...ow! What was that for, Missus Seheppen?!" Rubbing his backside and glaring at the retreating woman, Wrepip turned back, "Pnoah..."

"We don't have all day to keep greeting each other," snapped Pnoah, by this point halfway dressed and anxious to find out what was going on. "What's going on, anyway? Why's everyone in such a fuss? Has there been an accident? A breakthrough?" Gasping, he gripped Wrepip's arms and whispered, "Did the dragon return??"

Wrepip paled at the very thought, but after a brief gulp, he composed himself. "No! Even better! Err...worse...err, just come see!" With that, he sprinted out of the room, forcing Pnoah to hop until he could finish lacing his remaining boot, then racing after his friend. Pnoah would've expected to have to dart through halls filled with gnomes, though it was a fairly common sight in Nevermind with all the bustle and activity. But it seemed everyone was running and, even more curious, running in the same direction! Pnoah and Wrepip followed the crowd, which surged through the halls like a herd of miniature cattle being herded, until he was able to deduce that they were headed toward the observatory. As they ran, Wrepip shouted over the din to Pnoah, "We're going to have to rebuild and repair the ThreeDimensionalNotToScaleRelativePositionMapofthe UniverseContainingPrimarilythePlanetKrynnWhichisth eThirdPlanetintheSolarSystem..."

"What?!" shouted Pnoah in exasperation, cutting the other gnome off. He wasn't exasperated over the long name, which was only proper and taken in stride, but rather at the fact that they had only fairly recently deconstructed it, once the Council had finally agreed that the planet shifting and losing its moons wasn't just an anomaly and voted to have it taken apart, cataloged, and stored, and a new model crafted and installed. "It's obsolete, that's why we took it down in the first place!"

"...andIncludingtheThreeKnownSatellitesNamedSolinariLunitariandNuitar i(theLastBasedPrimarilyonMathmathematicalCalculatio nsandSpeculation)," finished Wrepip (having skipped most of the actual description to get to the relevant part), pointing up at the gigantic telescope in the room they now crowded into. A mechanical device had been hooked up to the eyepiece to project the images seen by the Great Telescope'sAbbreviated name, naturally.* perspective. Following the pointing finger, Pnoah stared...along with much of the gnomish population...at the image of two moons on the wall, one silver, one red. A team of gnome astrologers were alternately making calculations, looking at charts, barking orders, and moving a rimwire hoop to indicate the theoretical position of a third moon...one that even gnomes could not see without very specific training.

"That's...that's impossible..." whispered Pnoah, staring at the display with a mixture of disbelief, awe, fear, and excitement. There hadn't been three moons like this since before he was born, but their positions were well documented in the archives. Pnoah had been too young to have been part of the team that dismantled the old model, once the decision had finally been made, but he remembered seeing it as a young boy. Now, it seemed, the moons were back....somehow.

"They're saying that Krynn has corrected back to its former position," whispered Wrepip, also staring.

"And the moons have returned," noted Pnoah.

"Everything has reverted to its previous state!"

"Wrepip! Do you realize what this means??"

Pnoah and Wrepip suddenly turned toward each other, eyes wide in exultation at the revelation that had struck them both, shaking them to their very core and reigniting the spark of faith that had long since died out. Gripping each other tightly and jumping up and down, they screamed, "WE GET TO BE ON THE TEAM THAT REBUILDS THE THREEDIMENSIONALNOTTOSCALERELATIVEPOSITIONMAPOFTHE UNIVERSE!!!"

Familiarity with the Dragonlance Setting, the Age of Mortals, and the adventure modules: Significant familiarity. I have read the first nine DL books several times, though it's been a few years. Also read quite a bit of the supplemental materials, including Leaves From the Inn of the Last Home. I think I even played a Dragonlance MUD once...lol. I read one of the DL modules for AD&D long ago, but don't remember it much and never actually played it. No familiarity with Age of Mortals.

 

Pnoah Seheppen
Tinker Gnome Artificer (Armorer)			Arcana +6 ♦ History +6 ♦ Insight +4 ♦ Investigation +6 ♦ Persuasion +3 ♦ Mason's/Tinker's/Carpenter's Tools +4 ♦ All other Tool Kits +2Proficient Skills
	Ability Scores Str 11/+0 Int 19/+4   Dex 14/+2 Wis 14/+2   Con 16/+3 Cha 12/+1   Sheet	Stats & Saves HP 11/11 HD 1d8 AC 14 CON +5 Init +0 INT +6 Speed 25 ft.	Attacks Quarterstaff +2 1d6 Dagger +4 1d4+2 Light Crossbow +4 1d8 Attack 4	Current Actions Action:   Bonus Action:   Movement:   Reaction/Free Object InteractionFOI:	Quick Equipment 15 Steel       Abilities & Spells Darkvision 60' Gnome Cunning ADV on INT, WIS, CHA saves vs. magic. Proficiency in WIS and CHA saves vs. magical and mundane attempts to change mind. Guild Membership Shelter, legal, funeral benefits. Dues 5gp/month. Magical Tinkering Use thieves tools or tinkerer tools to touch Tiny object - * Object sheds bright light 5', plus dim light another 5' * 6-second recorded message heard up to 10' away when tapped * Continuously emits your choice of an odor or a nonverbal sound up to 10' away * Static visual effect (picture, up to 25 words, lines) appears on one of the object's surfaces Cantrips Firebolt, Guidance 1st Level Spells Cure Wounds, Sanctuary XP & Inspiration 0 Inspiration Notes Free bonus feat: Skill Expert - +1 INT, History proficiency, tool expertise   ADV on INT, WIS, CHA saves vs. magic.