[D&D-5e] Mercy is Strength

[bdap]

[Eldrewden]

Theran Gemblossom Name: Theran Gemblossom Race: High Elf Class: Rogue Background: Criminal (Smuggler) Personality: I am always calm, no matter what the situation. I never raise my voice or let my emotions control me. Ideals: There is a spark of good in everyone. Bond: Someone I loved died because of a mistake I made. That will never happen again. Flaw: I have a "tell" that reveals when I am lying. Appearance: Theran Gemblossom is young elf of high standards. Standing six feet tall the slender elf is usually seen wearing tan breeches with a light green tunic. His pant legs are tucked neatly into his dark tanned, leather high boots. His face always giving the appearance of a calm serenity. The blue of his eyes contrast with the stark red of his hair. And if looking closely at his left ear, one would find the tip of it cut off. Listening to him tell a tale, one feels as if a calming breeze flowed through them. Personality: Theran is always calm. There hasn’t been a circumstance that has yet to unnerve him. But that may not have always been the case. He will greet you warmly and look after you in times of need. He is not a good liar. Or at least he hasn’t been caught. One has to look closely for the obvious sign. History: Theran grew up in Kalaskya. His parents came to the area when the gold had been discovered. They like many others felt their high borne status would bring them untold wealth. One aspect of the mine was the generation of precious gems. And as Gemblossoms they knew quite a bit about the valuable stones. Theran often ran errands for his parents to various locations around the city. It wasn’t until one night, when he found himself distracted with one of the town’s young women forgetting to deliver a package to a visiting merchant. Upon arriving home he found strangers ransacking the house. His parents had been tied up and severely beaten. Being caught and tied up himself, the intruders searched his pack. Finding the package, they taught the young elf a valuable lesson. Theran watched as both his parents throats were cut. The horror in their eyes pierced his soul. As the murderers came to him, the one who appeared to be the leader took his knife and sliced off the tip of Theran’s ear. Throwing it to the floor, the man said words that continue to haunt the elf to this day. “When you have a job to do, do it on time.” The next morning the family was found and Theran was moved to the guild hall. It was his understanding that it was for his safety and protection. That was two years ago. Role Playing Sample: (Current Adventures - See Signature) Uzzah Uzzah took the seat happily. Resting his giant greataxe against his side, he motioned to the barkeep. "Uzzah need beer." Seeing the barkeep acknowledge, he settled in at the table and waited for his drink. As others began to join him, much of what was said the half-orc could only barely comprehend. It did sound like his axe was needed to fell many things. He understood that there were bad things that needed to be dealt with. He could accommodate that. "Uzzah no understand all you say. Uzzah like you. Uzzah help you." A big grin shone on the greenish face of the half-orc. At the same time his drink arrived. Taking it in his big hand, he raised the tankard, "Friend." Ethir Beside the wagon an older looking human male methodically checked the ropes used to strap down the cargo. He had sensed the others of the caravan crew arriving. The excited gnome, who he somehow didn’t realize was already here, was making conversation with the dwarf about dwarven beards. A feminine voice interrupts his thoughts. Looking over in her direction, he comments, "Yes that is fine. Double check the harnesses. Don’t want one coming loose. Stubborn beasts may decide freedom is better than being yoked." The years had been sort of kind to the hairless human. Although having just turned forty, he was in surprising great shape. His tanned body showed years of being in the sun. Sweat glistened on the muscles of his biceps as he pulled on a rope. Character Sheet

[Ysolde]

Name: Astrid Steelhelm
Race: Half-Orc
Class: Cleric (Forge)
Alignment: NG
Age: 23
Background: Guild Artisan
Ideal: My talents were given to me so that I could use them to benefit the world.
Bond: I will do anything to find information about my tribe
Flaw: I am suspicious of strangers and expect the worst of them.

Appearance: Astrid has grey skin, brown eyes, and dark black hair which is usually untamed. She stands above six foot and has wiry muscles and short fangs that stick up from her lower lip.

Personality: Astrid tends to be shy and cautious. Her mind is full of the words she wants to say, but few ever make their way to her lips and what does can tend to be short and simple despite her intellectual acumen.

Backstory: Hovelcrest was a small Village with about 250 people living there. It doesn’t lie near a border of the kingdom and in many ways was almost boring. Many years ago though a human smith named Feddig moved into the town with his three year old half-orc daughter. Everyone was pretty happy with his arrival since before that Hovelcrest didn’t even have a farrier and Feddig Steelhelm was both a Smith and a Farrier. Few people dare to ask the man about his daughter not wanting to lose his services and for the ones who were brave enough to ask the only response they would ever get was "She's mah daughter nothing else matters." or something with a bit more cursing that basically amounted to the fact that he didn't want to tell anyone about it. Though it was always abidingly and clearly true that Feddig loved his daughter. The smith may have been ornery and a difficult personality, but his love shone bright and clear for the young half-orc woman.

As Astrid grew older she learned the ways of the forge, indeed her keen mind and strong arms had her making items nearly as well as her father did even a a young age and as she grew older her items only became more intricate and much more in demand. The only thing that was not in demand was Astrid herself. The villagers may have accepted her father, but she was always an outcast. She wa stronger than most boys and considered to be uglier than most of the girls. Teasing was never done to her face or in front of her father, but it was there.

As a child she knew she was different from everyone else, but as she grew into a teen Astrid learned even more how different she was from most other people. It was not simply her keen mind, but also her affections. She felt for women the way that most men did and the one and only time she admitted these affections it turned out horribly for her.

When she was old enough Astrid joined the Blacksmith’s guild and would have been able to found her own smithy in any town she wished, except that she only wanted to live with her father, but her father was old and ill. Even so, she spent the rest of his life at the shop taking care of him and making amazing crafts that were far beyond the small village she lived in until finally Feddig passed away leaving Astrid one final gift written in his own hand:

Far away grey skinned orcs took me captive and I learned all I know about forgery as a thrall to a beautiful lady in those lands. I learned about love and happiness as well. Her name was Sabeegah and I was freed and then we were married. Years later I came into contact with humans again. They raided our village and your mother asked me to hide and keep you safe. That’s what I did, there isn’t a day that goes by since that time that I don’t miss her. But, she lives on in you, my brave and wonderful daughter.

She left her small village and joined the Shieldstone Order. There she crafts weapons and armor for the guild and goes out on adventures when required.

RP Sample: The group had a simple task, protect the caravan while it travelled. Astrid had no problems with this task, perhaps in their travels they might find out information about her mother’s tribe. Perhaps they might not, which was usually the case, but Astrid always held out hope that this time this mission would lead her to some scrap of information.
Her reverie was broken by an alarm, the caravan was being attacked. She moved quickly to see who might be attacking and her brown eyes spied green skinned barbarians. Oh they had similar shapes to hers, but she knew that her people could not be so foolish, even so she shouted in their common tongue, ”Cease, do not attack this Caravan or you will be destroyed!”

Her commands were of little use and the warriors continued their attack. Perhaps this was why humans had slain the people of her tribe. Perhaps there were other reasons, but it didn’t matter because today she would also be spilling the blood of her orc kin. She raised her weapon and waded into the battle.

[Ysolde]

Before I make the character sheet let me know if I can make her an Artificer or if I should just go with Cleric?

Thanks!

[bdap]

[Ysolde]

Finished the sheet let me know if you need anything else...

[Arthilian01]

I look forward to getting to play with Astrid again. Hey-o Ysolde.

[bdap]

Originally Posted by Ysolde

Finished the sheet let me know if you need anything else...

I made a note of it in the OP.

[pkeiter]

Name: Lander Galanodel
Race: Half-Elf
Class: Sorcerer
Background: Sage (Researcher)
Personality Traits: There's nothing I like more than a good mystery.
Ideal: What is beautiful points us beyond itself toward what is true.
Bond:I've been searching my whole life for the answer to a certain question.
Flaws: I am easily distracted by the promise of information.
Appearance: Lander stands 5'6" tall with a lean, though not muscular build. He has short blonde hair, which he keeps neatly combed. His green eyes often gaze out at the distance as he ponders whichever question is at the forefront of his mind. He typically wears comfortable travel clothes, usually with some symbol related to his elvish heritage.
Personality:Lander is driven, some would almost say obsessed with trying to understand magic. He is often quiet as he is constantly pondering this question, unless he has been distracted by another puzzle or mystery. Due to the strained relationship with his father, Lander sometimes looks for approval in older males. There are times he still misses his mother and can become withdrawn when this happens.
History:

 

Why are some people more attuned to magic than others? This is the question that festers inside of Lander's soul. By all accounts, fighting is in his blood. His father, Tristan, was a member of the Shieldstone Order. His father would proudly recount the stories of their ancestors - all brave men who wielded sword and honor while serving in the Order. Lander had heard the stories countless times and when usually rolled his eyes when his father told them. Lander had no desire to wield a blade, not when magic flowed through his veins. He attributed his magic to his mother's family, though he had no proof. He never got to know his mother. His father's mood always turned sour when Lander asked about her. He was able to discern that she was an elf, named Felosial. Tristan rescued her from bandits during one of his missions. He was enamored with her beauty and they fell in love. Soon, she became pregnant with Lander. However, the joyful day of Lander's birth came with a great sadness, when Felosial died due to a breech birth and other complications. Although Tristan loves his son, part of him resents him for the loss of Felosial. As a youth, he felt a void in his life without his mother. On his tenth birthday, he was sitting upon the bank of a tranquil lake, lamenting his mother's absence. As tears filled his eyes, he wished he had a chance to see her. All of a sudden, an image of an elven woman appeared before him. His tears turned to amazement and he choked out, "Mom?". There was no response and after a minute the woman disappeared. He ran home to tell his father, who chalked it up to a child's imagination. It wasn't until years later than Lander learned that the image was an illusion he created. From that point on, Lander focused on his powers. He was consumed with learning where his powers came from and why he seemed to find magic easy while others found it difficult. He also tries to find information about his mother, to see if he may have inherited this from her.

Role-Playing Sample:The older man sat in the tavern. A cold, frothy beer washed the taste of the road out of his mouth. Lander sat across from his, waiting for him to finish his drink. As soon as the glass left his lips on its way to the table, Lander let his question fly. "You say you have information on my mothers family?" Lander tried not to let his excitement show, but his eyes tried to pull the answer out of the old man's mouth. "Aye, but before I share, I need to see coin." Landen stared at the man as his hand slowly made its way into his coin pouch. He fished around for some silvers and slid a handful of them on to the table. The man's eyes focused on the coin and a faint smile crossed his mouth. Those silver would help replace his tattered cloak and leave some coin to wet his whistle. "I heard a story about her from Qunitaras, an elf from the Whisper Woods" Landed had never heard of the Whisper Woods connected to his mother before and leaned in slightly. The old man motioned for another beer and continued. "It seems this elf knew yo' mom when they were youths. They had a few adventures together, he said." Lander blushed slightly at the comment. The old man laughed. "No lad, not like that. " Another frothy beer was set down on the table. The man gabbed the mug and raised it to his lips. "Now, where was I. Oh yeah, I remember." The rest of the world faded to Landed as he focused on every word that came out of the old man's mouth.

[ArcanistDragons]

Updated the application! Should be good to go, lemme know if it's missing anything~

[Jrod]

Going to retract my application

Good luck to everyone involved

[bdap]

Originally Posted by Jrod

Q: What level do you see this campaign hitting if all goes well with regular story progression?

Level 6.

[FamnDool]

Name: Hhur Tchalaht
Race: Silver Dragonborn
Class: Barbarian (Totem Warrior, Bear.)

 

Child of Adventurers
Personality Traits:
I idolize a parent and seek to be the next version of them.
My parents wrote the book on being an adventurer, and I’m writing the next chapter of it.
Ideal: My family always had wanderlust, and so do I.
Bond: My parents knew these people, so I’m keeping their relationship alive by working with them still.
Flaws: My parents told me about things like this before, so I KNOW what will happen next.

 

Whether you encounter Hhur in a bar, or on a battlefield, you can sense that this is a Dragonborn who is always ready for a fight. It's not his 6'4" frame, not the largest Dragonborn you've ever seen. It's not his Silver scales, which warn anyone familiar with Dragonkin that an Icy death awaits them should he become annoyed. It's not even the deep black and glittering eyes, that betray no thought that can be understood by anyone other than his kind. Nor is it the bulging muscles hidden beneath his hide from his head to the tip of his tail.

No, it is definitely what you first mistook for an odd style of leather armor. Strapped between the collar at his neck and the strange twistings about his complicated pelvic region, running down his flank, across his chest, and even about his back are many lengths of leather, studded at intervals with rings. Stealing yourself to look closer, you realize that this is not any kind of armor, it is an armory. From the strap across the chest hang three small and yet deadly looking axes, obviously meant for throwing, the stained leather about their handles attesting to much use. The next strap down holds two long, almost flat, pouches. From the pouches you see the ends of what you assume are assassin style darts. Those on the left painted a sickly green, on the right in void black. On his flanks dwell a pair of unusual devices you don't quite understand. A length of thin Elvan rope is coiled, each end of which is topped with a small metal ball. At the hips, set for a fast cross-draw, a pair of swords. To the left, a long, straight, scabbard hides the blade, but the hilt is bizarre, covered by a coiled basket of bronze, topped with a set of pillions that are angled forward, and dangling from the pommel a thin blue string that blossoms into a large tuft of blue about six inches down. (OOC : this is basically a Scottish Regimental Basket-Hilted Sabre.) At the right, a much simpler blade, contained in what looks like a carefully braided sheathe of black leather, the simple dark wood hilt end in a cross-piece of brass barely wider than the hilt itself. The straight spine of the blade extends a scant 18 inches before dropping in a dramatic and swift curve back towards the hilt. Four inches wide at the tip, the blade narrow to a mere 2 inches within it's fist 6, before blooming outwards again slightly, returning to the hilt at a width of about 3 inches. (OOC again: I picture this blade as basically a machete, but with a Kukuri style chopping blade at the front.)

 

Life can be easy, when you know how it's going to play out, even in as competitive a group as the Shieldstone Order.
Hey, it's not my fault that my father was Runn Tchalaht, Colonel of Lancers in the second Mage Division, though he himself was a Cleric. It's not even my fault that my mother was Khil Tchalaht, Sergeant Major of the Army, Commander of the Fast Response Division, a Fighter who, to this day, has never met her match in any aspect of combat from Tactics to Logistics. That's just the way the egg hatches.
My first memory is of mom and dad, standing over me, goading me into revealing what path I should take. With light slaps, and harmless spells they tried to guide my development.
My second memory is of slinking down the hall, late at night, and hearing them argue. As befits the strong willed each wanted their First Hatched to follow in their footsteps.
Little did they know it was the arguing that would shape me. It was many days later, with their minor torments as they tried to Evoke my style in the day, and the fighting at night, that my path became clear.
It was a day like any other, with father trying to scare me with little spells, and mother gently slapping me. I couldn't shake the visions of them fighting in the night, and for the first time I got angry. My vision clouded over red, and I left myself for a moment.
When my mind returned to me mother was several feet away, clutching her right hand. They later told me that as she swung in for a slap I reached out and grabbed her hand, and shoved her away with all the might in my five year old body, in just the right way that her wrist was broken. Father was backed up against the wall, trying to clutch his Holy Symbol, and I was walking towards him. And, for the first time, I didn't hurt.
Mother understood at once, though it took some convincing to get father to see the truth of it. My path was to follow the way of the Warrior, but a warrior who enhanced his abilities with a deep, innate, form of Magic.

 

Final Exam

As his opponent, the hulking Dwarf, raised his chin to shout, Hhur laughed to himself. Such an obvious feint, and yet the fool had fallen for it. Did Negrah Thundermug really think that a Scion of Tchalaht, one of the Founding Families, would fall that easily?

Still falling from the blow of the Maul that had barely glanced off of his chest, Hhur planted both of his arms, swords, though not his preferred style, still grasped firmly in hand, and using that momentum went into a swift spin. His Tail, the weapon he held in deepest reserve, quiet, almost hidden, moved in, and he let his anger surge for the second, and last, time. Putting all of his mass into the swing, the tail, previously unnoticed, swept out, slamming with the might of a dozen war hammers into the right ankle of his opponent.

As Negrah was knocked from his feet, Hhur finished the move, using the inertia of his tail to swing him back upright, and now into a full standing posture above the arrogant Dwarf.

Bringing both of his wooden blades down, he crossed them in an X just above his old friend's neck. Dropping his jaw in a familiar grin, he yelled, loud enough for the three judges to hear, Thundermug! Yield or be destroyed!

Even as he heard the Judges in the background muttering, we watched as Negrah smiled.

I Yield! he yelled. Hhur, of the Shield of Tchalaht, has defeate me.

[pkeiter]

Ok, I think I have everything. Let me know if you need more.

[bdap]

Originally Posted by pkeiter

Ok, I think I have everything. Let me know if you need more.

Everything should be good now. I will update the table in the OP.