[Characters] The Crew

[Touketsu]

Post your original application here, as well as a link to your character sheet.

Characters will begin at level 5, 27-point buy. Max HP at first level, after which you can roll for HP or take the standard for your class. Starting equipment and gold as per Class and Background (or you can roll for starting wealth), plus 700 gp to spend on non-magical gear.

[hafrogman]

Hannah, Dwarven Gladiator Name: Hannah Volkan Race: Dwarf (Mountain) Class: Rogue (Swashbuckler) Background: Gladiator Personality Trait: Like a nomad, I can't settle down in one place for very long. Personality Trait: When I see others struggling, I offer to help. Ideal: Competition. I strive to test myself in all things. (Chaotic) Bond: Nothing is more important than the other members of my family. Flaw: I don't know when to quit. Especially when everyone else is telling me to. Flaw: I'd rather eat my armor than admit that I don't know what I'm doing. Appearance: Lithe and nimble, particularly so for one of her kind, Hannah turns certain dwarven stereotypes on their heads, while still managing to look like she was carved from solid stone. Her career has led her to eschew the quiet utilitarianism of her homeland, favoring the flashy yet still deadly. Iconic, eye-catching and heavily decorated, her armor and costume are perhaps not as effective as they could be, the audience likes nothing more than a little blood now and again. Her personal style mimics that of her equipment. Piercings, dramatic make-up, and a partially shaven head... all combine to give her a distinctive and memorable look. Description: Hanna carries herself with all the confidence of a woman who makes a living knocking other people on their rear-ends. In combat she is brassy and bold, relying just as much on the force of her personality as on the tip of her sword. But outside the ring, she is (slightly) more reserved, with a quiet self-confidence and a dry wit. She has no need of the loud-mouthed braggadocio of some of her competitors. Still, for all her success and skill, the thrills of the arena and fighting for coin have begun to pall after many years. Perhaps there is something more out there? Backstory: Seven sons, each broader and hairier than the last. Seven sons born to Jethro Volkan and his long-suffering wife. Seven sons... and one daughter. Hannah was the eighth and last-born child of Jethro. She was a small child, and though she grew up tall enough (Not too tall, of course. She's still a dwarf.), she never achieved anything close to the bulk of her brothers, which led to no small amount of paternal neglect. Jethro didn't need a child who couldn't work, he needed strong arms and strong backs to work his claim with him. When the orcish economy collapsed, increased raids upon the more remote dwarven settlements drove many dwarves to seek new homes. The elder Volkan chose to delve even further into the granite peaks, in search of riches buried deep in the heart of the mountain range. He had found his fortune, he knew it... he just needed the willpower and the workforce to extract from it's rocky tomb. But no matter how hard Volkan and his sons labored, the mountains refused to cede more than a pittance of gold to their efforts. In truth, the merest hint of gold was worse than finding nothing at all, because it fed Jethro's stubborn convictions. This was the life Hannah found herself born into, a father who had no use for her, and a mother beaten down by life's hardships. To her brothers, she simply became eighth among their number. Brawling came naturally to her, and she soon learned to hold her own against the roughhousing and hazing that were the primary expression of affection among them all. She was younger and smaller than all of them, so she had to become twice as tough as any of them. And she did. Her second eldest brother, Bix, was the first among them to leave. The walls of the bunkhouse reverberated with the argument he had with Dad the night before. He left with the dawn, putting the first cracks into their family. No, that was unfair. Just like chipping away at a fault in the rock, Bix hadn't put the cracks there... he'd simply let them become seen. There was no future to be had among these barren rocks, and Dad was too damned stubborn to see it. Slowly, but surely, the other six brothers started making their own plans to depart, to set off seeking their own fortunes. The mine had produced no wealth, but it had taught them all skills that would be useful enough elsewhere... in less impoverished regions. Except Hannah. She'd never worked the mines, all she really knew how to do was fight. As more brothers left, an icy sullenness settled across the camp and Hannah made her choice. She didn't know where she'd go, but she knew how to start. When you're at the top of a mountain, the only way to go is down. The young dwarven lass could have become a soldier, or brigand or even an adventurer. It all depended on what she met on that road down into the valleys below, on which forks she took and which paths she spurned. In the end it was no more than happenstance that led her to Bjorn's, a disreputable roadside establishment with even more disreputable clientele. She had a hunger in her belly, little coin to her name and a sword strapped to her belt. A burly man, convinced by stupidity and drink of his own immortality, was challenging all comers... with gold on the line! That was merely the first bout of what would become a long-lived career. As she grew into her skills and persona, Hannah eventually graduated from sleazy knife fights to chasing glory among the glorious arenas of the southlands. Hannah Volkan has traveled up and down the coasts of the Glimmering Sea and fought for her supper everywhere she went. But lately, the victories have felt hollow. The roaring crowds chant her name and her blood sings, but after the bout... what is left? Her sixth brother Hect settled in Silverpoint Harbor several years ago. He had always been the wisest and most level-headed of her brothers. Perhaps it was time to pay him a visit, to reconnect... to catch up... and to perhaps get his opinion.   RP Sample A quick flash of steel, a spray of blood, droplets scattered across the filthy straw that littered the ground. Hannah Volkan twirled away from her opponent, the crowds' feet pounding out a rhythm that matched the beating of her heart. In truth, this place was a hole. Literally. The basement of some grubby tavern with a few makeshift stands and a wooden palisade to keep the spectators from falling in, this was a far cry from the dedicated arenas of the southland with their hot sands and their soaring marble arches. But it didn't matter if her audience was measured in dozens or hundreds, she would play for them just the same. She stood there a moment, facing away, her sword raised to the sky (or at least the ceiling above), basking in the roaring cheers. Of course, turning one's back on one's opponent would be a foolish move in any real fight... but this hardly qualified. Hannah pirouetted on one foot, ready to shift her weight in order to dodge the next swing of... the man currently huddled against the far wall, clutching at the back of his hand. His spiked club lay forgotten on the ground between them. Had he... had he dropped his weapon? She took a moment to reassess her opponent. The half-orc brute stood at least two feet taller than her, but apparently none of that excess twenty-four inches was occupied by anything resembling a brain. The quality of combatant was unfortunately well matched to the quality of the venue. Apparently, she was going to have to do this all by herself. The dwarven gladiator mockingly re-sheathed her blade to a smattering of laughter from the crowd, then stepped forward, gesturing in that universally understood language. 'Come at me, bro.' "You little bi-" He snarled and obligingly rushed forward halfway through his own oath, arms spread wide... and way too high. Was he used to wrestling ogres? Even if she hadn't been ducking out of the way, he never would have come close to laying a single meaty, green finger on her. It was child's play to roll forward, knocking the hulking slab of man-meat ass over teakettle... where he landed gratifyingly close to his fallen club. She backed away a moment, redrawing her blade and waiting for him to put two and two together. It took a depressingly long time for the green-tinged gentleman to master basic arithmetic, but he eventually rose to his feet, armed once more. Hannah stepped into his next swing instead of relying on her usual acrobatic evasion. Her sword was not designed to parry a blow like that, so she took the brunt on her armored arm. Oof. Even having come in close to avoid the spikes, that hurt. She was able to bring her free arm up to bind the weapon... temporarily. For all the muscle stored between his ears, he clearly kept a fair supply in his arms as well. But for now, she could hiss in his ear... or at least up towards it, without the crowd overhearing. "You need to get your act together! I'll try to start telegraphing more, but you have got to look like you know what you're doing. You've got height and reach on me. Big sweeping swings, right? Make me keep my distance. And for Moradin's sake, keep your guard down. I'm a dwarf, not a gods damned giant!" The confused look upon her opponent's face was not reassuring, but he mercifully kept up the pressure, nearly bending her over backwards with his brutish strength. "Why are you trying to help me? Don't you want to win?" The dwarf just rolled her eyes. "I'm not here to win...", taking a deep breath, she relaxed the grip on his club and allowed the spikes to sink, just about half an inch, into her bare left shoulder. A rictus grin of pain and glory spread wide across her face, "...I'm here to make money!" Trickles of blood flowed freely down her arm now and she pulled back from the spikes, quickly ducking out of the clinch and rolling away. Concerned whispers grew among the crowd above her and she could just imagine the renewed round of betting as the oddsmakers made their circuit. She nodded to the orc and tapped her right foot, just once, before darting forward in a quick lunge. This time his swing was gratifyingly low, the spikes cutting small grooves in the dirt beneath the straw. Hannah was forced to course correct and fetched up hard against the palisade. Good. She stood quickly, shaking her head to clear it. Now they could get down to business. "How's Dad these days?" Hannah's second youngest brother (still several years her senior) looked over at the question. He'd been too caught up in whatever tale the man at the other end of the table was spinning. Hect shrugged eloquently. "Same as ever. You know Dad, still convinced that one of these days that mine is suddenly going to start churning out gold..." He grimaced a little. "Just him and mom now. You heard that Sette left?" Hannah nodded idly and drew a small circle on the table with the condensation from her ale. "Yeah... joined the navy. A Volkan on the high seas... who would have thought it?" She'd gotten a letter from her youngest brother a few months ago... or had it been last year? Not important. That wasn't what had brought her to Silverpoint, and she certainly hadn't come here for the gladiatorial scene. That thing last night had been... well, at least it had paid for their lunch today. "Listen, Hect..." Hannah paused, unsure how to proceed. She'd always been closest to her sixth brother, but it'd been a few years... how do you tell someone that you have no idea what you're doing with your life anymore? She was saved from her verbal quandary by a sudden shaking, and a whole new set of words sprang readily to her lips. "What the fu-" Her astonishment at the distant vines was cut off abruptly as the ground beneath their very feet started reverberating. In a flash, Hannah jumped onto the table and launched herself at her brother, tumbling the both of them to the ground as a crystalline growth obliterated the bench he'd been sitting on a moment before. Her own issues forgotten, Hannah glanced at Hect, then away to the vines suddenly blotting out the sky. "Oh, I gotta see this!"

OOC   Actions Move: Action: Bonus Action:   Stat Block Hannah Volkan | Dwarf (Mountain) | Rogue (Swashbuckler) | Level 5 HP: 43/43 | AC: half plate17 | PP: Darkvision 60'13 | Initiative: +4 | Speed: 30ft Stats: Str 14 (+2), Dex 14 (+2), Con 16 (+3), Int 10 (+0), Wis 10 (+0), Cha 14 (+2) Saves: Dex +5 | Int +3 Attacks: Attack +5 ; 1d6+2 piercing damageShortsword, Attack +5 ; 1d4+2 piercing damage; Range 20/60Dart Skills: expertiseAcrobatics +8 | Athletics +5 | Deception +5 | expertiseInsight +6 | Intimidation +5 | Perception +3 | Performance +5 Languages: Common, Dwarvish Relevant Equipment: Shortsword, Darts (10), Half Plate You have advantage on saving throws against poison, and you have resistance against poison damage.Dwarven Resilience | You have proficiency with the battleaxe, handaxe, light hammer, and warhammer.Dwarven Combat Training | You gain proficiency with the artisan’s tools of your choice: mason’s tools.Tool Proficiency | Whenever you make an Intelligence (History) check related to the origin of stonework, you are considered proficient in the History skill and add double your proficiency bonus to the check, instead of your normal proficiency bonus.Stonecunning +6 | You have proficiency with light and medium armor.Dwarven Armor Training | Feature: You can always find a place to perform in any place that features combat for entertainment — perhaps a gladiatorial arena or secret pit fighting club. At such a place, you receive free lodging and food of a modest or comfortable standard (depending on the quality of the establishment), as long as you perform each night. In addition, your performance makes you something of a local figure. When strangers recognize you in a town where you have performed, they typically take a liking to you.By Popular Demand | Once per turn, you can deal an extra 3d6 damage to one creature you hit with an attack if you have advantage on the attack roll. The attack must use a finesse or a ranged weapon. You don’t need advantage on the attack roll if another enemy of the target is within 5 feet of it, that enemy isn’t incapacitated, and you don’t have disadvantage on the attack roll.Sneak Attack (3d6) | During your rogue training you learned thieves’ cant, a secret mix of dialect, jargon, and code that allows you to hide messages in seemingly normal conversation. Only another creature that knows thieves’ cant understands such messages. It takes four times longer to convey such a message than it does to speak the same idea plainly. In addition, you understand a set of secret signs and symbols used to convey short, simple messages, such as whether an area is dangerous or the territory of a thieves’ guild, whether loot is nearby, or whether the people in an area are easy marks or will provide a safe house for thieves on the run.Thieves’ Cant | You can take a bonus action on each of your turns in combat. This action can be used only to take the Dash, Disengage, or Hide action.Cunning Action | As a bonus action, you give yourself advantage on your next attack roll on the current turn. You can use this bonus action only if you haven’t moved during this turn, and after you use the bonus action, your speed is 0 until the end of the current turn.Steady Aim | During your turn, if you make a melee attack against a creature, that creature can’t make opportunity attacks against you for the rest of your turn.Fancy Footwork | You can give yourself a bonus to your initiative rolls equal to your Charisma modifier. You also gain an additional way to use your Sneak Attack; you don’t need advantage on the attack roll to use your Sneak Attack against a creature if you are within 5 feet of it, no other creatures are within 5 feet of you, and you don’t have disadvantage on the attack roll. All the other rules for Sneak Attack still apply to you.Rakish Authority | Feat: Increase your Strength or Dexterity score by 1, to a maximum of 20. Dexterity Increase your walking speed by 5 feet. You gain proficiency in the Acrobatics or Athletics skill (your choice) Athletics You have advantage on any Strength (Athletics) or Dexterity (Acrobatics) check you make to escape from being grappled. Skill Expert | When an attacker that you can see hits you with an attack, you can use your reaction to halve the attack’s damage against you.Uncanny Dodge

[O2CXt3]

Topip Name: Topip Tinkercase Race: Autognome Class: Wizard (Order of Scribes) Background: Criminal Description: Topip is a small robot - technically, a construct. His creator fashioned him after himself: a flowing (synthetic) chestnut beard, a jaunty blue wizard’s hat, two arms; two legs (both platinum), feet encased in (silver-iron magnetic) boots, a compact torso (perfectly rectangular), malachite-green eyes, and the faintest sliver of a mouth. You wouldn’t think it, but when he is well oiled, he can slip through the forest without a sound, metal feet on moss. The squirrels barely notice him. Nobody notices him, really. And that’s a bit of a problem for Topip, but also a blessing, I suppose. You’d think a sentient robot would stand out in Silverpoint Harbor, but no. People assume he’s just some gnome’s creation: a clockwork plaything, a soulless assembly of metal, wound up, and wandering about. Who says good morning to Topip? Nobody. Who asks Topip how his day was? Nobody. Who sees Topip wander into people’s houses and rifle through all their possessions? Nobody…? Backstory: Topip was created by a gnome wizard on the planet Reorx. His prime directive is to collect all known wizard spells in the universe and return them to his creator. Unfortunately, he has forgotten who his creator is. But if he ever finds them, he plans to kill them for inflicting this life upon him. Topip is suffering from a rare form of robotic amnesia. He doesn’t know how he came to be in Silverpoint Harbor, or why he has no memory of it. All he knows is that he feels an uncontrollable compulsion to collect wizard spells. He is aided in this pursuit by people’s general lack of interest in him. He learned quickly that he can go anywhere and do nearly anything he wants in Silverpoint Harbor as long as he keeps his mouth shut, plays dumb, and pretends to be a bit of clockwork. He’s been in Silverpoint Harbor for well over fifty years now, but he hasn’t aged a day. Time drags on endlessly and monotonously. In his first few years in Silverpoint Harbor, he “discovered” nearly all the spells there were to discover and copied them neatly into his spellbook, which he hides in a small cavity in his torso. His “discovery” process involved breaking into people’s homes, local libraries, town archives - really, anywhere with books or papers - in the dead of night, and searching through them for wizard spells. He doesn’t consider this stealing, exactly, since he doesn’t take anything; he just copies the spells down in his little spell book, puts things back, and lets himself out quietly. But on the few occasions when he has almost been caught, he has been accused of being some sort of thief or a criminal - a label that he doesn’t appreciate, but that is technically (and non-technically) true. Most people in Silverpoint Harbor eventually came to recognize him, in one way or another, and decided that he was just part of the background of the town. For a while, he kept searching for spells, but he eventually gave up on that - there were just no more to find. He passed the time by studying the spells himself and slowly became a passable wizard. Unsure what to do with the never ending abundance of time on his hands, Topip has been looking for a break. Something. Anything to end the monotony of his life in Silverpoint Harbor. He just needs to get somewhere that he can learn some new spells. Or, if not that, he would also be happy to find his creator and destroy them.   RP Sample: Topip was just finishing his midday meal. Well... actually, he was watching other people finish their midday meals. Being a robot, Topip didn’t eat. He resented the people around him cheerfully chewing away on their salads and sandwiches as he stood perfectly still in a shadowy alcove of his favorite restaurant. He had been standing there for a week without moving. If you didn’t know better (and nobody did), you would think he was just an odd sculpture, or maybe some kind of tinkerer’s art. But this is what he called “having a meal”: he watched other people have their meals and eavesdropped on whatever they were talking about. He didn’t really have anything better to do. Today, Topip was eavesdropping on a blacksmith telling a story to a motley assortment of adventurers about some vine that had burst out of the ground and punched a hole in the baker’s roof. "Must be divine punishment for the bad pies and steep prices," the blacksmith said. Topip rolled his eyes inside in his mind. First falling stars? Gods walking the land? Now vines bursting through roofs? What’s next? These people and their crazy… As he was thinking this, the ground began to rumble under his feet. A moment later, huge crystalline vines erupted from the ground around the restaurant. His little green eyes went wide when the vines shot into the air towards the heavens. Where were they going? Was it like that story about the magical beanstalk? This is my chance! the little robot thought, and he darted out of his alcove towards the nearest vine. "Out of my way!" he cried as he pushed through the melee and ran with his clomping iron feet towards the nearest vine. I’m going to climb that thing and get out of here!

 

Stat Block Actions Move: - Action: - Bonus Action: - Free Action: - Reaction: - Conditions: - Notes/Rolls: - Topip Tinkercase Autognome | Order of ScribesWizard | Level 5 HP 32/32 | AC 10 + Armored Casing(3) + dex(3)16 | Senses PP 10 | Hit Dice 5d6+2 (5 left5/5) | Speed 30ft Initiative +3 | Inspiration No | Conditions - STR 8 (-1) | DEX 16 (+3) | CON 14 (+2) | INT 18 (+4) | WIS 10 (+0) | CHA 8 (-1) Saves Str -1, Dex +3, Con +2, Int +7, Wis +3, Cha -1 Proficient Skills Arcana +7, Deception +2, Investigation +7, Stealth +6, Thieves' Tools +3, Tinker's Tools +3, Dragonchess Set +3, Calligrapher's Supplies +3 Weapons 2x, +6, 1d4+3, Piercing, Finesse, Light, Thrown (20'/60')Daggers | +2, 1d6-1, Bludgeoning, Versatile (1d8)Staff Feats & Abilities Common, GnomishLanguages | You are encased in thin metal or some other durable material. While you aren't wearing armor, your base Armor Class is 13 + your Dexterity modifier.Armored Casing | You can add a d4 to one attack roll, ability check, or saving throw you make, and you can do so after seeing the d20 roll but before the effects of the roll are resolved. You can use this trait a number of times equal to your proficiency bonus, and you regain all expended uses when you finish a long rest.Built for Success (3 left3/3) | If the mending spell is cast on you, you can spend a Hit Die, roll it, and regain a number of hit points equal to the roll plus your Constitution modifier (minimum of 1 hit point). In addition, your creator designed you to benefit from several spells that preserve life but that normally don't affect Constructs: cure wounds, healing word, mass cure wounds, mass healing word, and spare the dying.Healing Machine | You have resistance to poison damage and immunity to disease, and you have advantage on saving throws against being paralyzed or poisoned. You don't need to eat, drink, or breathe.Mechanical Nature | When you take a long rest, you spend at least 6 hours in an inactive, motionless state, instead of sleeping. In this state, you appear inert, but you remain conscious.Sentry's Rest | You gain two tool proficiencies of your choice, selected from the Player's Handbook. (Tinker's Tools, Thieves' Tools)Specialized Design | As a student of arcane magic, you have a spellbook containing spells that show the first glimmerings of your true power. See Spells Rules for the general rules of spellcasting and the Spells Listing for the wizard spell list.Spellcasting | 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. For example, if you're a 4th-level wizard, you can recover up to two levels worth of spell slots. You can recover either a 2nd-level spell slot or two 1st-level spell slots.Arcane Recovery | As a bonus action, you can magically create a Tiny quill in your free hand. The magic quill has the following properties: (*) The quill doesn't require ink. When you write with it, it produces ink in a color of your choice on the writing surface. (*) The time you must spend to copy a spell into your spellbook equals 2 minutes per spell level if you use the quill for the transcription. (*) You can erase anything you write with the quill if you wave the feather over the text as a bonus action, provided the text is within 5 feet of you. This quill disappears if you create another one or if you die.Wizardly Quill | Using specially prepared inks and ancient incantations passed down by your wizardly order, you have awakened an arcane sentience within your spellbook. While you are holding the book, it grants you the following benefits: (*) You can use the book as a spellcasting focus for your wizard spells. (*) When you cast a wizard spell with a spell slot, you can temporarily replace its damage type with a type that appears in another spell in your spellbook, which magically alters the spell's formula for this casting only. The latter spell must be of the same level as the spell slot you expend. (*) When you cast a wizard spell as a ritual, you can use the spell's normal casting time, rather than adding 10 minutes to it. Once you use this benefit, you can't do so again until you finish a long rest. If necessary, you can replace the book over the course of a short rest by using your Wizardly Quill to write arcane sigils in a blank book or a magic spellbook to which you're attuned. At the end of the rest, your spellbook's consciousness is summoned into the new book, which the consciousness transforms into your spellbook, along with all its spells. If the previous book still existed somewhere, all the spells vanish from its pages.Awakened Spellbook | You learn to move things with your mind, granting you the following benefits: (*) You learn the mage hand cantrip. You can cast it without verbal or somatic components, and you can make the spectral hand invisible. If you already know this spell, its range increases by 30 feet when you cast it. Its spellcasting ability is the ability increased by this feat. 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 + the ability modifier of the score increased by this feat) or be moved 5 feet toward you or away from you. A creature can willingly fail this save.Telekinetic | You have a reliable and trustworthy contact who acts as your liaison to a network of other criminals. You know how to get messages to and from your contact, even over great distances; specifically, you know the local messengers, corrupt caravan masters, and seedy sailors who can deliver messages for you.Criminal Contact Cantrips Mind Sliver | Mage Hand | Create Bonfire | Fire Bolt | Mending 1st Level Spells (4 spell slots left4/4) Absorb Elements (P) | Comprehend Languages (R) | Detect Magic (R) | Find Familiar (R) | Identify (R) | Feather Fall (P) | Magic Missile (P) | Shield (P) | Chromatic Orb | False Life 2nd Level Spells (3 spell slots left3/3) Darkvision (P) | Invisibility (P) | Knock | Misty Step (P) | Web | Phantasmal Force 3rd Level Spells (2 spell slots left2/2) Dispel Magic (P) | Fireball (P) | Counterspell

 

Character Sheet

[Still_Pond]

Name: Gloopglorp; or gloop or glorp; (a specific series of quivers and gas pocket evacuations)
Race: Plasmoid (medium)
Class: Monk (way of Astral Self the Primordial Ooze)
Character sheet

(Gloopglorp taking a nap on the stairs)

Background: Anthropologist/spy/(custom)
Appearance: Born crystal clear, plasmoids become more opaque as they mature. Their color is that of what is absorbed, for Gloopglorp that would be inky black with some trace lines of gold here and there.
Description: A puddle in the shadows, a blob clogging a storm drain, a black onyx sculpture of an Adonis.
Personality: A mimic, both physically (form) and emotionally. Gloopglorp absorbs more than surface dust, they absorb vibes. If the vibe is tense, Gloopglorp is tense; if the vibe is chill, Gloopglorp is chill. Sometimes the energies they tune into are not really the ones they should be mimicking in a given situation, but they try. Who is Gloopglorp when they are alone? They are pensive and curious, enjoying puzzles and thought experiments. They love humans, and are particularly inspired by behaviors that favor the group rather than the individual. They also work out, continually practicing their humanoid forms, working hard to achieve more and more fidelity. The fine details of the human form are extremally difficult to form, like fingers or genitalia, but that doesn't stop Gloopglorp from trying.

Backstory: Gloopglorp arrived to this world in a diaspora cannister. Prior to arriving, there was only darkness and void. When the human child found and opened the cannister, there was suddenly light and color and food! Once enough organic matter from the child had been absorbed, consciousness was restored. Early communications with the indigenous lifeforms, specifically a series of screams and feral cries of a mother's anguish were not very productive nor informative. It proved much more advantageous to remain unseen, and observe from shadow.

Years passed. An identity was forged. Friends were made. A name was given, Li'l Gloop. Said friends were the humans who ran the Shambling Mounds, a local brothel. Li'l Gloop observed. Li'l Gloop protected. Li'l Gloop occasionally assisted. It was during one such assistance that Gloopglorp was introduced to the monastic order of Prime Self. After following this monastic client to their brotherhood, Gloopglorp observed. Gloopglorp learned. Gloopglorp eventually joined. The monks didn't care that they were an ooze, for to them a body and flesh were mere illusions. If anything, as an ooze, they were closer to the primordial self than one born human. The monastic order was comprised of humanoids in many different forms, from stocky and thick to long and frail, and Gloopglorp delighted in observing.

When it was discovered that the district the brothel was built upon was located on an ancient meteor impact site the humble brothel was suddenly under threat. Dwarven machines were already moving into position to start exploratory mining. Some warehouses were demolished and a hole was dug, a hole that would soon expand to claim the Shambling Mounds. GloopGlorp took it upon themselves to venture into the hole, which quickly opened up into a weird lacework of glass-like tunnels. Whatever had impacted here had melted the earth in fractal like ways. Some of larger chambers were coated in a strange slime that felt very comforting. Could this have come from the astral sea itself? Was this slime a clue to their own origins? After collecting a few samples, Gloopglorp emerged from the tunnel only to find a group of miners ready to drill further. The sight of a black ooze shambling out of the hole frightened them. Having studied humanoids, the ooze knew the power of fear. Gloopglorp extended pseudopod after pseudopods snaking toward the miners. Fear of strange alien creatures who were trapped below the earth quelled the desire to dig. When the monks of the Prime Self requested the site be declared a pilgrimage site, efforts to excavate the ruin were dropped. The Shambling Mounds could shamble on. Gloopglorp continued to explore the strange mine, alone able to traverse tight confines and cave-ins, until finally reaching the core. What they found there made them quiver in enlightenment. The monks were right, gloopglorp's mortal flesh was simply an echo of a greater primordial self.

Working collaboratively among humans from different backgrounds toward a goal of prosperity and enlightenment; utilizing martial discipline to unlock their true self; this is what brought Li'l Gloop joy.

 

- What is Gloopglorp’s greatest fear?
Death, but probably more isolation - whatever was their existence pre-awareness. They don't want to go back to that. Further, they still have lingering guilt and shame over eating that first human child and fear of ever loosing control like that again.

What is their fondest memory since gaining sentience?
Being accepted completely by the ladies of the brothel. On slow nights they would all sit around and get rowdy and silly. They would share stories, insults, jokes and opinions over cheap booze. Gloopglorp was treated as just one of the ladies, and they cherish the memories of those evenings very much.

 

RP sample "Again." A black and gold robed monk stands in the sandy yard behind the local bakery. The monk is posed with a quarterstaff behind him and he gestures for his opponent to advance. His opponent is a small blob of reluctant black undulating slime. A gas pocket ruptures releasing sounds in the monk's language, "You are too quick. If this were real, I'd hide in that rain gutter and wait for you to loose interest." The monk relaxes, and leans on the quarterstaff. He rubs his eyebrows. "But what if you couldn't. Sometimes force must be met with force. What if I held an innocent life? What if your inaction allowed me to harm others? Hesitation is a weakness, little ooze." Then, with sudden quickens, the monk draws two shirken from somewhere inside their robes and throws them at the roughly goat sized lump of jelly. They strike, the jiggly surface caving in around each impact. One shirken pierces in, but the other is expelled as a psudo-pod ejects it back toward the offending monk! The monk moves only his hand, catching the returned shirken inches from his nose. Then the ooze leaps into the air, forming a torpedo like shape as they hurl themselves at the monk. The first impact sends the monk sprawling to the ground. Then three more lumps of jelly-flesh form and lash out in rapid succession, but the monk is too quick and rolls away. The ooze slides between the monk's feet and rises up behind him. The monk spins and somehow manages to strike the ooze in such a way that an electric like jolt stuns their structure. Unable to move, the ooze is helpless. "Good, but you have neglected your exercises. Your...material flesh...is still weak. You must focus, for we will not be there to help you in the coming months." The monk moves away, drawing their quarterstaff while the stun wears off. "Again!" ~~~~the next morning~~~~~ Living inside the walls of a brothel made one accustomed to shaking and pounding walls. The rhythmic pounding felt good on Li'l Gloop's battered and punctured mesoglea. This vibration felt different, however, deeper. Gloopglorp forces themselves to coalesce out through a vent and into the alley behind the brothel. From the shadows of the ally, the ooze watches a panicked populace point into the sky at a tall and twisted shapes. The shapes were almost vine-like, but crystalline and alien. Not exactly like the meteor but close enough that Gloopglorp understood the profound Oman. Structures tied to Gloopglorp's primordial existance had, quite literally, erupted from the ground in front of them.

[/FIELDSET]

 

Stat Block Gloopglorp | Plasmoid| Level 5 way of the astral self primordial ooze. Monk | Feature : Adept Linguist: after 1 day studying any humanoid who has a language, they can communicate with them.Custom Background HP: 43/43 | AC 16 | Speed: 40 | Hit Dice:5d8 (0/5 spent) Conditions: -none- Weapons: attack bonus: +6, damage: 1d6+6 bludgeoningunarmed strike | attack bonus: +7, damage:1d6+7 Bludgeoning, reach 10' on turn.primordial unarmed strike | attack bonus: +6, damage: 1d4+3 Piercing, 20/6020/20 Shirken Magic Items: -none- STR 8(-1) DEX 16(+3) CON 16(+3) INT 8(-1) WIS 18(+4) CHA 8(-1) Saves: STR*: +2 DEX*: +6 CON: +3 INT: -1 WIS: +4 CHA: -1 Proficiencies: Simple weapons, short swordsWeapons | Alchemist's supplies Tools | Languages: Common, Dwarven, Elvish, Celestial   Skills   Acrobatics* +6   Animal Handling +4   Arcana -1   Athletics* +2/+7*when astral arms primordial pseudopods are active*   Deception -1   History -1   Insight +4   Intimidation -1   Investigation -1   Medicine +4   Nature -1   Perception* +7   Performance -1   Persuasion -1   Religion -1   Sleight of Hand +3   Stealth* +6   Survival +4   Racial Features: I'm an oozeCreature type:ooze | If you are not incapacitated, you can reshape your body to give yourself a head, one or two arms, one or two legs, and makeshift hands and feet, or you can revert to a limbless blob (no action required). As a bonus action, you can extrude a pseudopod that is up to 6 inches wide and 10 feet long or reabsorb it into your body. You can use this pseudopod to manipulate an object, open an unlocked door or container, stow or retrieve an item from an open container, or pour out the contents of a container. The pseudopod can’t attack, activate magic items, or carry more than 10 pounds.Shape Self. | You can hold your breath for 1 hour.Hold Breath | You have resistance to acid and poison damage, and you have advantage on saving throws against being poisoned.Natural Resilience | You can squeeze through a space as narrow as 1 inch wide, provided you are wearing and carrying nothing. You also have advantage on ability checks you make to initiate or escape a grapple.Amorphous | 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 discern colors in that darkness only as shades of gray.Darkvision Class Features: While you are wearing no armor and not wielding a shield, your AC equals 10 + your Dexterity modifier + your Wisdom modifier.Unarmored Defense | Your practice of martial arts gives you mastery of combat styles that use unarmed strikes and monk weapons, which are shortswords and any simple melee weapons that don't have the two-handed or heavy property. You gain the following benefits while you are unarmed or wielding only monk weapons and you aren't wearing armoror wielding a shield: You can use Dexterity instead of Strength for the attack and damage rolls of your unarmed strikes and monk weapons. You can roll a d6 in place of the normal damage of your unarmed strike or monk weapon. This die changes as you gain monk levels, as shown in the Martial Arts column of the Monk table. When you use the Attack action with an unarmed strike or a monk weapon on your turn, you can make one unarmed strike as a bonus action. For example, if you take the Attack action and attack with a quarterstaff, you can also make an unarmed strike as a bonus action, assuming you haven't already taken a bonus action this turn. Martial Arts | Your speed increases by 10 feet while you are not wearing armor or wielding a shield. This bonus increases when you reach certain monk levels, as shown in the Monk table.Unarmored Movement You train yourself to use a variety of weapons as monk weapons, not just simple melee weapons and shortswords. Whenever you finish a short or long rest, you can touch one weapon, focus your ki on it, and then count that weapon as a monk weapon until you use this feature again. The chosen weapon must meet these criteria: The weapon must be a simple or martial weapon, You must be proficient with it, It must lack the heavy and special properties.Dedicated Weapon | Starting at 3rd level, you can use your reaction to deflect or catch the missile when you are hit by a ranged weapon attack. When you do so, the damage you take from the attack is reduced by 1d10 + your Dexterity modifier + your monk level. If you reduce the damage to 0, you can catch the missile if it is small enough for you to hold in one hand and you have at least one hand free. If you catch a missile in this way, you can spend 1 ki point to make a ranged attack with a range of 20/60 using the weapon or piece of ammunition you just caught, as part of the same reaction. You make this attack with proficiency, regardless of your weapon proficiencies, and the missile counts as a monk weapon for the attack. Deflect Missiles | Beginning at 4th level, you can use your reaction when you fall to reduce any falling damage you take by an amount equal to five times your monk level.Slow Fall Beginning at 5th level, you can attack twice, instead of once, whenever you take the Attack action on your turn.Extra Attack | You harness the mystic energy of ki. Your access to this energy is represented by a number of ki points (5). (1 per level) You can spend these points to fuel various ki features. When you spend a ki point, it is unavailable until you finish a short or long rest, at the end of which you draw all of your expended ki back into yourself. You must spend at least 30 minutes of the rest meditating to regain your ki points. Some of your ki features require your target to make a saving throw to resist the feature's effects. The saving throw DC is calculated as follows: Ki save DC = 8 + your proficiency bonus + your Wisdom modifierKi | At 3rd level, your mastery of your ki allows you to summon a portion of your astral self. (see "Summon pseudopodia" under "ki based features" below) Monastic Tradition: Way of the Primordial Ooze. Ki based features (5th level save DC: 15) Immediately after you take the Attack action on your turn, you can spend 1 ki point to make two unarmed strikes as a bonus action.Flurry of Blows You can spend 1 ki point to take the Dodge action as a bonus action on your turn.Patient Defense You can spend 1 ki point to take the Disengage or Dash action as a bonus action on your turn, and your jump distance is doubled for the turn.Step of the Wind You can interfere with the flow of ki in an opponent's body. When you hit another creature with a melee weapon attack, you can spend 1 ki point to attempt a stunning strike. The target must succeed on a Constitution saving throw or be stunned until the end of your next turn.Stunning Strike At 3rd level, if you spend 1 ki point or more as part of your action on your turn, you can make one attack with an unarmed strike or a monk weapon as a bonus action before the end of the turn. Ki-Fueled Attack At 4th level, as an action, you can spend 2 ki points and roll a Martial Arts die. You regain a number of hit points equal to the number rolled plus your proficiency bonus.Quickened Healing At 5th level, when you miss with an attack roll, you can spend 1 to 3 ki points to increase your attack roll by 2 for each of these ki points you spend, potentially turning the miss into a hit.Focused Aim As a bonus action, you can spend 1 ki point to summon the arms of your primordial self. When you do so, each creature of your choice that you can see within 10 feet of you must succeed on a Dexterity saving throw (DC 15) or take force damage equal to two rolls of your Martial Arts die. (2d6) For 10 minutes, these spectral arms hover near your shoulders or surround your arms (your choice). You determine the arms' appearance, and they vanish early if you are incapacitated or die. While the spectral arms are present, you gain the following benefits: You can use your Wisdom modifier in place of your Strength modifier when making Strength checks and Strength saving throws. You can use the spectral arms to make unarmed strikes. When you make an unarmed strike with the arms on your turn, your reach for it is 5 feet greater than normal. The unarmed strikes you make with the arms can use your Wisdom modifier in place of your Strength or Dexterity modifier for the attack and damage rolls, and their damage type is force. Summon pseudopodia

[RossN]

Lyra, Half-Elf Charlatan Name: Lyrindal 'Lyra' Moonbow Race: Half-Elf Class: Rogue (Arcane Trickster) Background: Charlatan Personality Traits: I lie about almost everything, even when there’s no good reason to. I have a joke for every occasion, especially occasions where humor is inappropriate. Ideals: Independence. I am a free spirit—no one tells me what to do. (Chaotic) Bonds: I fleeced the wrong person and must work to ensure that this individual never crosses paths with me or those I care about. Flaws: I can’t resist a pretty face. Appearance: An attractive half-elf woman who stands at about 5'5 with dark brown hair and green-hazel eyes. She has a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks along with a ready smile and a twinkle to her eyes. Her favoured colour is purple and unless the situation calls for a disguise or something inconspicuous she prefers to wear at least some clothing with that shade, generally well cut, feminine and fashionable. She also always wears a hat. Description: A stylish, witty and charming young woman Lyra is quick with a joke or flirt who is loyal to her friends if little else. In the company of those she dislikes her wit turns barbed and she has difficulty controlling her tongue unless she is pursing a con. She is proud of her wits and ability with magic and is almost as clever as she thinks she and even when not deliberately trying to make a coin out of it she delights in telling tall tales and seeing if she is believed. Unfortunately for her Lyra is vain, greedy and not very strong willed and her weaknesses - gold, a pretty face or sometimes the sheer lure of mischief against someone who deserves it - have tripped her up more than once. Backstory: Lyra herself would tell you half a dozen fanciful tales about her origin but the truth is that she is a former pickpocket from the poor quarter of Silverpoint Harbor. She was assigned male at birth but always identified as female and eventually several years back found the money and contacts in the Mage's Guild to have her physical body polymorphed to match the person she was. At the same time she dropped the old masculine and very human sounding name her parents had given her in favour of the much more Elf sounding 'Lyrindal 'Lyra' Moonbow' (Lyra's parents were both half-elves themselves but had been humble folk not wanting to stand out.) Her magical abilities developed after a chance dalliance with a handsome young illusionist named Rorik whom Lyra met at a card game. The romance was wild and short lived (though the two remain close friends) but the mage recognised Lyra's natural gift for magic and taught her a few minor spells. Lyra lacks the patience and work ethic to make it as a full wizard but she does find magic fascinating and has become quite adept at the tricks she knows. Since her early teens Lyra has been a con-woman and scoundrel along with returning to her roots as a pickpocket now and then. She draws the line at murder and having grown up poor she won't steal from those who can't afford it at all but she has delighted in stealing from the rich and stupid and recently made a powerful enemy in the merchant's guild. She is now looking to lay low for a while or even skip town altogether until the heat dies down. RP Sample: The townhouse window opened and a lithe figure lowered a rope, working her way down with practiced ease and pausing only to make sure her plumed hat was in place. Dropping lightly to her feet in the alley Lyra smirked and untangled the rope, before making an arcane gesture and reciting a cantrip to close the window behind her. She knew well that guild master would not return to his townhouse for an hour yet and when he found both his new chambermaid and several of his more portable object d'art missing... well Lyra would be safely away by then. The young half-elf cheerfully departed the alley, pleased not only with her success but also that after three days of wearing a drab servant's clothes in order to infiltrate the townhouse she could don her own attire. Long cons could make a lot of gold but by the gods they had their drawbacks... A little later and she was enjoying her well (albeit dishonestly) earned lunch, and chuckling at the blacksmith's joke when the earthquake or whatever was struck. "Ye gods the pies aren't that bad!" she yelped, jumping to her feet and joining the confused throng as they moved outside.

[Grouchy]

Character Concept Name: The Honourable Reginauld Weatherby Race: Giff Class: Ranger 5 (Hunter) Background: Same as Noble background, just extra focus on being pampered and spoiled Pampered Noble Appearance: Reginauld Weatherby is head and shoulders above the average man, with a massively thick torso and round belly and thick gray skin over heavy limbs. His head is an enormous muzzle with round protruding black eyes and a small snout, with a large mouth full of flat teeth. He wears a glass monocle over his right eye and on his head he is fond of a deerstalker cap with his family crest embroidered on the front of it. He wears a suit of mail with interlocking scales, the metal dulled with brown, with a dark green cloak thrown over his shoulders to better camouflage himself during his hunts. When not in his armor, he prefers to wear highly starched and pressed beige safari clothes with comfortable brown boots. In his massive hands he holds a well maintained and oiled hunting musket, and on a thick leather belt at his waist are a pair of oversized hunting knives. Reginauld stands with the poise and grace of one who was properly raised, and his deep booming voice is highly cultured and polished. Description: Reginauld grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth (actually - many of them, as he was quite the eater, but you get the point) and before he began running the spelljamming circuits he had never worked an honest day in his life before. As soon as he could walk his father thrust a musket into his hands, and Reginauld began joining the Baron Weatherby on his hunts. Reginauld proved to be a natural, and soon he spent every chance he could on the family land hunting game. He even had a tendency to skip some of his lessons and sneak off into the woods, much to the chagrin of his tutors. His parents spoiled him immensely so Reginauld was never dissuaded from his hunts, and soon the entire southern wing of their manor was dedicated to his hunting trophies. As Reginauld grew older, he bored of the more mundane hunts and began to hunt predators - more exciting and dangerous, thus more fun! Soon too he began to outclass these beasts, and grew immensely bored. He almost thought of giving up his beloved hunting and joining his father in the appropriate social circles. As luck would have it, his father was searching for armed guards for one of his trading caravans and, seeing an opportunity, Reginauld volunteered. Although the Baron Weatherby tried to talk him out of it, he eventually relented (after all, they never said no to him much before in his life) and Reginauld joined the caravan. As luck would have it, they got into a bit of a scrap with a group of bandits. The caravan easily came out on top, but Reginauld's thirst was stoked in ways it had never been before. This is the true test of a hunter - comparing his might and mettle against the most dangerous opponents one can find. The joy of hunting was back in full swing for Reginauld, and he has since earned many a fair coin of his own hiring himself out as a mercenary. Of course, he still makes plenty of time for hunting too - wherever he travels to, he always tries to find what kind of dangerous beasts like in the area, and Reginauld then hunts them down and earns another trophy for the southern wing. He hopes through his exploits he can bring honor to the Weatherby name. Backstory: A hodag was troubling some of the small villages and homesteads outside of Silverpoint, and a bounty was placed on it and word put out to those passing by. Reginauld has claimed the bounty and is in town waiting for the local taxidermist to finish treating and mounting the hodag's head so he can send it home to Weatherby Manor. RP Sample: Folding his arms over his quite prominent belly as he leans back in his chair, Reginauld takes a deep drag of his cigar and looks with a gleam in his eye at his captive audience. Smiling as only a giff can, he leans back in and in his polished tone he continues the story, his voice dripping with dramatic menace. "I could hear him in the bushes, you know. The clacking of his spiked tail. Claws raking along the dirt. The heavy breathing through sharp, deadly teeth. But with the darkness all around me, I couldn't pinpoint where... exactly... he was. All I could hear, was this..." The well dressed giff begins to scratch his fingers along the table, bringing them closer and closer to the slightly tipsy human with the bad teeth, who grinned and shivered in appreciation for the tale. "But do you think that would stop me?" he continues, grinning ear to ear. "Ho-ho-ho, not a chance, my good chaps! I thumbed the hammer on my trusty musket, and slowly drew a bead on the encroaching noise. Slowly, I squeezed the trigger. Slowly... slowly... and then BAM!" he shouts, slapping on the table for good effect, before hurriedly continuing into the tale. "A hit! But just a glancing blow! Gentlemen, I thought my goose was cooked at this moment. Hurriedly dumping in another ball and powder as the nightmarish beast rushed me, its roar so loud I can still hear it now and get shivers in my nethers, I thought this was the end. But as luck would have it, the hammer was back and the musket was up in a flash, and with another report of my trusty musket, the beast was down!" He bows in slight appreciation for the scattering of light applause, then keeps going, now in a conspiratorial tone. "Even in its death throes it was still a monstrous thing to behold. I waited until long after it was dead to even touch it, and longer still until I strapped it up and hauled it back to Silverpoint for the bounty. The bounty, of course, being paid in more drinks for one of the loveliest audiences I have had in a time!" The men cheered and clapped the giff on the shoulder as Reginauld smoothly hands off a handful of gold to the bartender and, with a gesture towards the men by him, gets them another round of drinks. Puffing on his cigar, he mulls briefly and then announces "You know, still not as treacherous as last summer. Now there was a beast of some renown...!"

Actions and Statistics Move: Action: Bonus/Other Action: Current Effects: None.   The Honourable Reginauld Weatherby The Honourable Reginald Weatherby | Giff | Ranger 5 (Hunter) | Feats: +3 DEX modifier to AC with medium armor, no disadvantage on Stealth checks.Medium Armor Master AC: Scale Mail Armor +3 DEX17 | HP: 44/44 | Move: 30 feet (swim 30 feet) Initiative: +3 | Passive Perception: 15 | [b]Hit Dice: 0/5 (1D10). (STR +3 / DEX +6 / CON +2 / INT 0 / WIS +2 / CHA +1) Melee: +3 | Ranged: +6 Musket | +8 attack, 1D12+3 piercing damage, range 40/120. 10/10 rounds. Ammunition. Loading. Two-Handed. Reskinned short swordsHunting Knives x2 | +6 attack, 1D6+3 piercing damage. [/i]Light.[/i]   Acrobatics +3. Athletics +0. History +3. Insight +2. Perception +5. Persuasion +4. Stealth +6. Survival +8. Spell-Casting Abilities: | Spell DC: - 13 | Spell Attack Bonus: +5 | *(denotes Primal Awareness spell) (Spells Known - 4. Spell Slots - (1) 4/4. (2) 2/2.) (1): Cure Wounds. Hunter's Mark. Snare. Speak with Animals*. (2): Beast Sense*. Spike Growth. Racial and Background Abilities: When he hits a creature with a simple/martial weapon, can add +3 force damage once per turn.Astral Spark - 3/3. | Thanks to your noble birth, people are inclined to think the best of you. You are welcome in high society, and people assume you have the right to be wherever you are. The common folk make every effort to accommodate you and avoid your displeasure, and other people of high birth treat you as a member of the same social sphere. You can secure an audience with a local noble if you need to.Background Feature: Position of Privilege. | Proficient with all firearms. Ignores loading property. Attacking at long range does not impose disadvantage.Firearms Mastery | Advantage on STR checks and savings throws. Considered size L for carrying capacity and push/drag/lift.Hippo Build | Trade Tongue. Celestial. Elvish (Imperial Navy). Giff. Gnomish.Languages | Equal to walking speed.Swim Speed | Gaming set (dragon chess).Tools Class Abilities: Proficient with light armor, medium armor, shields.Armor Proficiency | When he hits a creature with a weapon attack, creature takes +1D8 damage if below max HP. Damage can be added once per turn.Colossus Slayer | Double proficiency bonus on Survival checks. Gains two additional languages.Deft Explorer | Can make TWO attacks per round.Extra Attacks | Advantage on Survival checks to track them. Advantage on INT checks to recall info about them.Favored Enemies: Beasts and Monstrosities. | +2 ranged attack rolls.Fighting Style: Archery | Includes druidic focus. See above.Spell Casting | Can cast Speak with Animals and Beast Sense each once per long rest.Primal Awareness | Proficient with simple and martial weapons.Weapon Proficiency

[JustSomeGuy]

Oskur Verit If we are but Grains of Sand on a Vast Beach, and the Gods are the Crabs that Walk Across Us... What then is the Sea? The Bones Character Name: "Old Oskur" Verit Class: Twilight Cleric Race: Aasimar Alignment: Chaotic Good Background: Silverpoint Hermit (custom based on Baldur’s Gate Hermit) Personality Trait 1: Money or Social Graces won’t save you from the crushing force of Entropy, so Oskur gave those up long ago. Food in his stomach and a warm dry blanket is all that he needs now. Personality Trait 2: The old Warlock often gets lost in his own thoughts and contemplations, becoming oblivious to his surroundings. He has learned much and forgotten more over the years, and he struggles to piece together fragments of memories into cohesive thoughts. Ideal: Freedom. Oskur would rather suffer in freedom than thrive in a cage. No chains will hold him and no oaths will bind him. He will live or die on his own terms. (Chaotic) Bond: He’s still seeking the peace that he pursued in his seclusion, and it still eludes him. Flaw: Constantly looking for a bigger picture to perceive and understand, the old Warlock is a seeker of secrets. Uncovering lost knowledge has already led to disaster once, and may well lead to it again. The Flesh Appearance He stands tall, or he used to. People tend to shrink with age, and Oskur hasn't been an exception. Almost six feet tall with broad but stooped shoulders, he sometimes remembers being a giant of a man. Light eyes are framed with wrinkled skin the color of sunbaked mud. It has been a long time since he has known a barber, and his steel-grey hair is long and wild. His beard is just as unkempt. The warlock stares deeply into the distance of his own mind. His clothes are roughly stitched together from discarded ship's canvas and the scraps one might find behind the leather worker's shop. Lost in thought, he effortlessly steps around horse droppings and over debris. Struck by a valuable piece of memory, the unarmed old man opens the battered brown journal he carries and quickly scribbles an illegible note between fragments of arcane formulae and amateur star charts. Description The old man shows a sad sort of kindness. The citizens of Silverpoint that have sat and shared a bit of street food with Oskur remember him fondly. People who take the time to earn his trust find him to be a surprisingly insightful and dedicated friend. He never asks for anything unreasonable, and always shares more than he should with the hungry urchins and broken soldiers. He tells people that the Universe will provide again tomorrow with forlorn confidence and a haunted look. Oskur Verit is plagued by visions of the stars and the memories of a horrible night he walked among them with his friends. He watches young adventuring parties wistfully, wanting to help while he still can but afraid he will be their doom. The world speaks to him, always. The wind whispers caution and the seas sing resilience. The night sky tells him to wait for the right time to travel again. Soon, the stars will align. The Spirit Backstory A native of Silverpoint, Oskur Verit was born into a prestigious bloodline and raised in the nice parts of the city. Gifted with a brilliant mind and an aptitude for magic, his future as an adventurer was a certainty. The boy was sent to study with the scholars of a local mage’s college after he came of age. Between spending time studying the world and studying the arcane, the young apprentice helped them recover lost tomes and artifacts for study. Soon enough a regular selection of assistants and bodyguards grew into a 'party' and together they delved into deep crypts and lost labyrinths. The Scion of the Verit family and his team soon became known for their ability to find anything, no matter how obscure, and were a favorite until the day they didn't come back.   "Come on, Verit... the Amulet of the Stars should be in the next chamber!" Martien, the dark-skinned halfling, was as exuberant as ever. How someone who wore so much leather didn't squeak constantly was as mysterious as the cavern around them. The expedition had started like so many others: hot jungles, dripping caves, mindless antagonists, and secret passages. Things began to take a turn for the strange, though. Predictably, the cave system gave way to underground ruins but not from any civilization that Oskur had ever encountered. The inscriptions were in an incomprehensible alphabet and the crumbling statues bore a decidedly aquatic aesthetic. Everywhere were decrepit astrolabes and engraved star charts far advanced from anything found back home. Even Zander, their quiet but steadfast paladin, seemed unnerved by the ruins of a civilization that had been utterly lost to time. The door in front of them was clearly meant to guard against intruders, but the locking mechanism was no match Martien. When it slid open on effortless gears, they saw their prize. Hanging from the ceiling of the open chamber was a massive orrery that somehow still rotated after all those years. At its center was a swirling nebula of faceted Amethysts. Proudly displayed on a pedestal below the gemstone stars was an ornate necklace with a purple amulet. "The gods be praised," Zander said, "The seeking spells were right again. Whatever knowledge this thing holds, let us bring it back to the college with haste. This whole place feels like a trap, yet unsprung." The heavily armored human glanced around the room, eyeing the unreadable engravings that ran along the walls. Oskur, the tall dark-haired wizard who resembled an athlete more than a scholar, strode toward the amulet with a quick nod. "I think, perhaps, you are right. Martien... can you examine this pedestal for traps before we proceed?" After the lithe little rogue gave them the all-clear, Oskur took the necklace in hand. Quite suddenly everything was not at all clear. The room went dark and then darker than dark. Suddenly, they were surrounded by tiny pinpricks of light that seemed to streak by them faster and faster. It was cold, and Oskur couldn't draw a breath. They were floating in what looked like a swirling cloud of lights and glowing sands. At its center was one giant lilac star. It could see them. Oskur saw the forms of his friends near him, their faces contorted in agonizing screams, but could hear nothing. The star could see them. The wizard who had spent his career facing any adversity head-on turned to face the massive celestial body. Its light burned at his mind, but he willed himself to face his end with dignity and pride. He would not turn away. He couldn't breathe. Everything went dark again. When Oskur woke up, he was laying on the cold stone of the Orrery's floor. His companions were piles of ash on the floor. He couldn't keep a thought together. He staggered to the surface. He needed to go home. Where was home? He saw his friends screaming in the silence of a thousand stars. One foot in front of the other. He needed time. Time to think. Without ever putting it on, he now wore the Lookie here, a Divine Focus!Amulet of the Stars. After returning to Silverpoint, Oskur stuck to himself in the alleys of the harbor and open tenements. More than a few years had passed since he left to join the college, and there were few who would recognize him in his disheveled state. Slowly he pulled himself together, but he was still a pale shadow of the being he once was. Oskur felt that it was for the best that everyone assume that all were lost in the expedition. He never returned to the college. A library worth of magic had been burned from his mind, and he couldn't focus long enough to try to memorize even a single apprentice-level spell. There were a few things that he retained a knack for, though. Daydreams and fragments of memory get jotted down in his leatherbound journal, collecting bits of odd ritual for him to piece together. Whatever he was, he wasn't a wizard anymore. Over the years, he became an almost beloved fixture of the city's waterfront. Sometimes, the children of the dockworkers traded copper pennies for light shows. The addled Aasimar was recognized and appreciated in the slums and the alley camps. He was known for looking out for lost orphans and the beggars that grew too sick to care for themselves. The isolation suited him. The Spark RP Sample A bashful tiefling girl hides, partially obscured by a barrel of rainwater. She’s heard the stories of Old Oskur and she’s hungry. Parents long gone, the red-skinned little thing has been surviving off of crime and chance. Neither have been kind to her today. The crusty old man chews on the good parts of a moldy loaf of bread he found outside the ruined bakery. He doesn't seem to notice the child. Oskur's long coarse hair blends seamlessly with his overgrown beard like the main of a grey lion. Knobby hands tear a large chunk off and toss it in her direction. Tucking a strand of black hair behind curling horns, the urchin reaches out and takes the bread hesitantly. "Eat child. No reward for hunger," the Warlock mutters while slowly turning his head to look at her. The freckles on her face resemble lost constellations. The stars provide. "Wanna see Magic?" He raises an eyebrow quizzically, "What child doesn't?" She nods cautiously and slowly inches towards the sun-baked street mage. The miniature image of a tavern flickers into existence with deft hand movements and Oskur's chanted words. It is one she has seen before but never entered. "Recognize it, Girl?" he asks. She nods again. "Good, then go there," he reaches into a belt pouch and takes out a scrap of paper and a pair of pitted copper coins. The grey-haired caster pulls a charcoal pencil from somewhere in his beard and scratches a note on the paper before holding it out to her. "Take these." After the girl takes the message and coins, the mage waves his fingers again. The image changes to a kind-faced halfling man with short dark hair. "Garret. He'll be there. He'll help." He nods firmly, like the matter is settled, and takes another bite from his moldy loaf of bread. Old Oskur doesn't look up when the girl leaves to meet the tavern keeper. If his memory serves, and it often doesn't, the halfling is still looking for a new dishwasher. Better that than some of the alternatives ahead of her. As usual, his mind is already elsewhere. He watches the skies at night and the stars have been misbehaving. Far too many are falling and Silverpoint isn't due for any kind of prolonged shower. It may be foolish to think that it's connected to the incident at the bakery, but Old Oskur isn’t feeling like a fool. He pops the last of the bread into his mouth and chews on it idly while walking in the direction of the destroyed bakery. His curiosity demands answers. rumblerumblerumblerumblerumblerumblerumblerumblerumblerumblerumblerumble CRACK! Distant screams of panic follow close behind. Something curious is happening. Something curious indeed. Oskur picks up the pace...