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  #31  
Old 11-16-2018, 12:59 AM
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Oooh! I've always wanted to take part in a sailing adventure.

Quick question, how do you feel about Minotaurs? The Waterborne Adventures UA details them a bit, and in their described setting they treat them as competent pirates and sailors. If they don't fit in your setting though, I totally understand.
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  #32  
Old 11-16-2018, 04:14 AM
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Quote:
Originally Posted by gravitywolf View Post
Oooh! I've always wanted to take part in a sailing adventure.

Quick question, how do you feel about Minotaurs? The Waterborne Adventures UA details them a bit, and in their described setting they treat them as competent pirates and sailors. If they don't fit in your setting though, I totally understand.
Minotaurs werenít originally part of my idea for the setting, but Iím totally down with you guys making contribution to the worldbuilding, and I want you to be able to play the character you want, so feel free to make a minotaur, itís a big world, thereís room for other small island nations in the sea. Could also be from the Endwater out East, or in the Bluevale to the west of the elvish continent. Other than those two, and the Frostlands to the North, the world of Nymera is pretty fractured. A few larger islands, but not any other major continents. The oceans cover the majority of the planetÖ perfect for a high seas adventure.

That said, Iíd prefer you to use either the most recent UA version, rather than the one from waterborn adventures. Even better would be the official race in the Ravnica book, but I donít even own that, so. Alternatively, thereís a 3rd party minotaur from Kobold Press that Iím fond of. If youíd like to look at that, PM me and Iíll send you the details.

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  #33  
Old 11-16-2018, 04:24 AM
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I'll be throwing an application here sooneventually!! Meaning, when I have access to a computer. Typing anything more than a few sentences on my phone drives me up a wall. Clumsy thumbs. I'm currently thinking of a dwarf swamp druid, though the race is not at all set in stone as opposed to the swamp druid concept I'm thinking on!! Cool stuff overall, looking forward to see what happens!!

(edit: I should have computer access in a few days. Not TOO too long, but if you wanna close applications sooner rather than later I totally get it!!)

Last edited by NICODELRICO; 11-16-2018 at 04:25 AM.
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  #34  
Old 11-16-2018, 11:13 AM
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I think I will throw my hat in. I have been wanting to play a Bladesinger for a while and this seemed like the perfect opportunity.

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Name: Olivaria Dawnthistle
Race: Eladrin
Class: Wizard (Bladesinger)
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Background: Noble
-Trait: Despite my noble birth, I do not place myself above other folk. We all have the same blood.
- If you do me an injury, I will crush you, ruin your name, and salt your fields.
-Ideal: Noble Obligation. It is my duty to protect and care for the people beneath me.
-Bond: My loyalty to my sovereign is unwavering.
-Flaw: In fact, the world does revolve around me.

Personality:Olivaria is a motherly figure; kind-hearted, generous and sympathetic. In fact, some find her exuberance to border on annoyance. On the surface, she appears happy and cheerful, but there is a sense of sadness underneath. The turmoil in the world rests heavily on her. Also, deep personal issues have caused her profound grief. As both a noble and an elf, her attitude sometimes comes off as haughty. She also has a tendency to hold a grudge.

Appearance: Occasionally, the pure blood of the Eladrin resurfaces in a generation, and so it was for Olivaria. Her eyes were bluer, her hair more golden, her ears more elongated than the average elf. There is always a smile on her lips, but her eyes betray great sadness. Black gloves and bronze bracers mark her as a member of the elite cadre of bladesingers. A golden locket around her neck contains a lock of hair of her beloved. Her family crest is engraved on the hilt of her saber.

History:
Born to the noble house of Shiradi in Valyria, Olivaria had always been different from other elves. Her appearance was closer to the Fey creatures of yore that were the descendants of the present day elves. Magic came easy to her, as did swordplay. This allowed her to easily master the rigorous training required to become one of the elite bladesingers. Her beauty and prowess brought her to the attention of Lord Neldor Dawnthistle, who controlled a lucrative shipping industry. The Lord was looking for a suitable mate for his son, Jhaeros. Arrangements were made made between the families and Olivaria and Jhaeros were betrothed.

Jhaeros headed the operation of the family business in the Andrian empire. Olivaria sadly left Valyria to join her husband in the human territories. Things were difficult at first, but she slowly learned to love the people of the Andrian Empire. As her husband was often away on business, Oliveria began teaching at the university of arcana in Dawnport. This was before anyone heard of Magnus the White or his god Theros.

Once the unrest started, life became difficult for Olivaria. Therists rioted at the university, forcing the teachers to defend themselves. Students of the arcane were being persecuted. Olivaria feared for her own life, but cared for her students as well. She began to secretly smuggling her students and colleagues out of the country utilizing her husband's shipping fleet. Students who did not want to leave, Oliveria covertly offered training in the arcane. To disguise her clandestine operations, she opened her own school, known as "Lady Dawnthisle's School for Dance and Etiquette."

The elves called the aristocracy back to Valyria, but the Dawnthistles refused to return, since their business was still profitable. That all changed when tragedy struck. Jhaeros was killed when corsairs sunk his sailing ship. Olivaria was heartbroken. She vowed bloody vengeance on the man who killed her husband. But first, she needed to discover who the pirate was. She knew a ship's captain by the name of Garon and paid him a hefty sum to discover her husband's murderer. Captain Garon discovered the person responsible for Olivaria's husband's demise, but barely survived the encounter. Now Lady Dawnthistle had joined up with some rebels, vagabonds and lowlifes to find and destroy Slayde Redhand and his crew.

RP Sample“This better be worth it, Zanbar,” Olivaria complained. The eladrin followed her gnome retainer through the dirty back alleyway deep in the warehouse section of the docks. Lady Dawnthistle strode confidently down the lane, as if she had no care in the world. Deep inside, she was terrified. Who knew what kind of cutthroats were lurking nearby in the darkness.. But, she refused to let here feelings flow to the surface. Appearances must be maintained.

Finally, they reached their destination; a nondescript shack. Inside, they found a rather intimidating creature, a tall elderly dragonborn with one eye that was pure white. "Good evening, madam,” he said, his voice cold and emotionless.

“Madam?” Olivaria raised an eyebrow, “What do I look like, some kind of harlot?” Beneath her heavy cloak, she wore the latest in elven fashion, which was far from anything modest. “Don’t answer that! Why have you summoned me here, Fonnereaux?”

Fonnereaux ignored her comment as he cared little for her title or her wit. This annoyed Olivaria as she relied on her feminine charm to deal with social situations. Nevertheless, she trusted the dragon-man. Dragonborn, even more so that magic-users, were hunted by the Ascendancy. Olivaria had worked with Fonnereaux a number of times to hide unauthorized wizards from the clutches of the Therists. But this was the first time he had requested for her to come see him. She was naturally curious to find out what this was about.

“Because of this…,”
Fonnereaux said as he removed a blanket which was covering something on the floor. There, tied and gagged, was a young human male. He began to wriggle and moan as he recognized Olivaria. She knew him as well.

“Jimney? What? How?” Olivaria said in surprise. Jimney was a former student of hers. She had helped him escape the country by smuggling him onto one of her husband’s trading ships. In fact, it was the same ship her husband was aboard. Olivaria assumed Jimney was dead, lost at sea like her beloved Jhaeros.

“The safe house where I kept him for you was raided this morning,” Fonn explained, “I was able to slip away and observe from close by. Among the soldiers was our friend here. He had quite a bit to tell them about our operation. Later, I found him at a tavern, trying to spend a large bag of gold. The boy betrayed us.” The dragonborn’s tone never changed, dispassionate as always.

“You bastard!” Olivaria yelled as she quickly unsheathed her weapon. In a flash, the sword slashed across the body of the bound man. He screamed beneath his gag, his eyes bulging in fear. The wound was long and painful, but nonlethal. The eladrin tore the gag from his face. “WHY!”

Between sobs, Jimney uttered, “I heard about the bounty on the dragonborn. It was soooo much money. I never meant you or Lord Jhaeros no harm.”

Fonn interrupted, “I suspect that the attack on your husband’s ship was ordered by the Baron.” Direct hostilities between the Ascendancy and the elves would escalate the cold war between the countries. But, their involvement in the activities of lawless corsairs would be difficult to prove. “I am concerned about your safety as well, Lady Olivaria.”

A range of emotions clouded Olivaria’s thoughts. She pulled herself together quickly. She was a noblewoman after all; appearances were everything. “What do you suggest I do?” she spoke evenly, thought not as calmly as Fonn would.

“Garon has given us his ship as long as we promise to hunt down Redhand. Join us.” Fonn said casually.

Olivaria nodded. The Lady had lived in this country for over 125 years. It was her home and she dreaded the thought of leaving it. If she stayed, she would never be safe. And she did want to deal with Redhand personally. “What about him?” she asked, pointing to Jimney.

Fonn shrugged, “I have no use for him”

Jimney cried out for mercy as she raised her sword. Then, Olivaria reconsidered and sheathed her weapon. “You were like one of my children,” she told him. A tear crossed her cheek as she raised her hand and three darts of pure force tore into Jimney’s chest. It felt good to use magic again.



Crew member: Zanbar Frembaldfrith, gnome retainer. As a noble, Olivaria cannot travel without the aid of a retainer. Zanbar offered his services in exchange for magic lessons. Olivaria agreed to tutor him, though so far he has been incapable of learning even one basic cantrip. His fingers are blistered and his clothes often disheveled from failed spell casting. Otherwise, he is a quite capable attendant and a fair cook. Aboard ship, the gnome would swab the desk, repair damaged sails and other routine tasks. He is also a fair shot with a crossbow.

Last edited by Huhart; 11-25-2018 at 01:14 AM. Reason: APPLICATION COMPLETED!
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  #35  
Old 11-16-2018, 05:30 PM
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  #36  
Old 11-17-2018, 04:15 AM
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Okay, I think my application is mostly done. All I have to do is make a Character Sheet and she will be.

If you don't like the idea of a thumbnail sized part of Zargon the Old One walking around your world inside of Aja, then I can just say the whole experience that turned her into a Warlock was all Metaphysical and their is not an Old One loose on your planet. And the voiced of IT that Aja hears is just that, a voice in her head and Yes! that would mean she is actually crazy

As for why I chose Zargon when their is literally only a sentence or two about him? When I read about how he 'hungered to drown the world in its slime'. I got this funny idea that he was a tiny tiny ball of slime stuck up on a pillar raging at his plight. Obviously, he is probably bigger but there you go. That is why I chose Zargon.
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Last edited by Silk; 11-17-2018 at 04:17 AM.
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  #37  
Old 11-17-2018, 12:08 PM
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Name: Pod
Race: Tortle
Class: Druid (Circle of Spores)
Background: Urchin
Alignment: Good

Personality: Pod is a bit funny by the standards of his people: Most bilge turtles rarely leave their ship once they've established themselves, but Pod's time landbound during his adolescence left him with an abnormal willingness to explore, though he's quite a homebody by the norms of any other species. He will defend his ship fiercely. He's a good friend, quick to trust and slow to anger. He's often the voice of peace and calm amongst the crew.

Appearance: Pod's shell is home to a staggering array of life: barnacles and starfish, small crabs, and several large anemones. He wears no clothing: his people have no need for it. His head and shoulders are an unhealthy dark purplish color, the result of severe sunburn from too much time outside of a hull growing up. While he's capable of shapeshifting like most druids, he prefers to instead extend his consciousness to the microbiome on his shell, becoming a sort of living tidepool. (By default, the Circle of Spores is fungus-themed. This is a more nautical re-fluffing of those features. In fact most of his spells stem from this ecosystem that thrives on and inside him.)

History: Syrenian Bilge Turtles are a race of creatures with an unusual life-cycle, tied intimately to ships and the microbiome inside the bilge. It's unknown where they came from; their own legends say the first ships in the world were simply hollowed logs of massive evergreens their ancestors would float about in, that the other races of the world began to climb aboard their floating homes, steering them about first with paddles, then sails and rudders. Whether the ship in question drifts along with the tide or is steered about by other people is largely irrelevant to a Bilge Turtle, as long as it stays safe and keeps moving in some direction or another.

Respect for Bilge Turtles had been an important part of Andrian naval culture: the turtles' latent magical abilities ensured that a ship with a Bilge Turtle would stay free of bilge rot, rats, and other maladies that can plague a ship after years on the sea. But this all changed after the Shattering; the Ascendancy could not abide these creatures and their inborn connection to primal magics infesting their navy, and so the turtles were expelled from their homes. Many found new homes in the Elven ships of Valyria or on private vessels, but many more simply died, unable to live for long outside the warm wooden safety of a ship's hull.

Pod's mother Brim had been a holdout of the purge, living aboard a ship in the Andrian Navy when the Ascendancy took power; the officers of her ship were good friends with her, and though they reluctantly bent the knee to the Acendancy, they had no interest in seeing Brim evicted from the bilge, and managed to conceal her presence there for many decades. But as the decades passed and those officers moved on or retired, fewer and fewer of their replacements were willing to stick their neck out for her, especially when Brim laid a clutch of eggs and began to raise Pod and his siblings. Eventually, someone must have said something to the authorities: naval security forces forcibly removed Brim and her children from the Bilge. Most of the security officers were cruel to the turtles, but one, a Lizardman called Yaxuk, had been kind.

Brim was old, too old to adjust to life on land and too old to find a new bilge. She died of a lung infection several weeks after her eviction. Her children proved more resilient, each of them eventually finding private vessels to take them in or managing to hide away in other ships. All except Pod. Adult bilge turtles won't share a bilge, it simply isn't their nature, and so as his siblings departed one by one he found himself alone.

Pod had been living under the docks of Dawnsport, getting by on scraps, when the lizardman Yaxuk found him again. Yaxuk and his friends were getting a ship, he told him, a ship that needed a Bilge Turtle.

Crew Member: Fargus Klepp, Cook
An aged Halfling, Fargus is one of the few crewmen from Brim's ship who knew her before the Shattering who was still with the ship when she was expelled. He did everything he could to stand up to the security forces as they evicted Brim and her children, and for his trouble he was discharged, left destitute in Dawnsport. Fargus stayed by Brim's side as she died, doing everything he could to help her, and when she had passed it was Fargus who helped many of Pod's siblings find ships. He himself found work at a local tavern, and bringing Pod scraps to eat played no small role in keeping him alive. Fargus isn't quite a Bilge Turtle, but he had never been happy anyplace but on the sea, and his "Seditious Discharge" made him all but unemployable in any nautical capacity. So when Pod saw an opportunity to repay Klepp's kindness by offering him work on his new ship, he knew he had to.

 

Last edited by Phil; 11-17-2018 at 06:29 PM.
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  #38  
Old 11-18-2018, 01:50 AM
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Added character sheet to Aja's application. Officially done...unless I screwed something up. This is the first Warlock I ever made
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Last edited by Silk; 11-18-2018 at 01:50 AM.
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  #39  
Old 11-18-2018, 09:26 PM
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Application
  • Name: Orla (just Orla)
  • Race: Hill Dwarf
  • Class: Swamp Druid (Circle of Dreams)
  • Background: Hermit
  • Alignment: Neutral/Chaotic Good
  • Personality: Naturally friendly and kind to a fault, Orla, despite her belief that the outside world is a cruel, scary place, truly believes the best in people. She treats everyone with as much warmth as she can, intending never to do any sort of harm unto another living being unless absolutely necessary. She is quick to smile and laugh, and can sing by heart a lullaby in a language she doesn't understand.

    On that note, Orla is both almost illiterate and almost unable to speak any language. Her abilities in both common and dwarven are rudimentary at best (especially dwarven,) but she is quite fluent in druidic. This presents quite a few difficulties in her daily life, usually remedied by insistence on her own inability to fully convey what she wants to in any language. She tends to keep her knowledge of druidic a secret when she can, along with her magic itself (though that hasn't been very successful,) and especially her past.

    Though tending to be a warm, sunny individual, she cannot help but feel a great sorrow within her due to her inability to appropriately communicate with her friends. This mostly manifests in an awkward middle ground of engaging them in conversation, but occasionally cutting it short simply due to the communication barrier. Though she's tried (and failed) to teach herself, she tries her hardest to listen attentively and connect sounds to concepts - the word “apple” with the actual fruit, for example. She's a hard worker through and through, and in learning is no exception.

    As an individual who tries to foster love in every living creature she sees, violence does not come naturally to her, and in the few instances others have seen her fight, so, too, have they seen her typically shedding tears and kneeling over the dead bodies of her adversaries. Orla is a spiritual person, and though not subscribing to any set religion, she always tries, in her own way, to pray for the dead. After fights, she cannot help but be a bit somber - she sees this somberness as an inescapable personal weakness. Orla believes she does her best to be a good person, but she tends to mask any feeling that isn't unfailingly positive.

    Orla loves music and dance, and by extension, all who engage in it. She sees these artforms as a sort of language within themselves, but rather than a learned set of rules and structures, a more free-flowing expression of creativity and storytelling. While not the best singer nor dancer, she enjoys doing both and is fairly good at both.

    Finally, as a denizen of a secluded swamp for more or less her entire life, propriety eludes her. She has many a strange quirk, like tasting the dirt in a new land, or being able eat absolutely anything presented to her, no matter how ostensibly disgusting. She doesn't like baths and has little concept of personal space. While Orla understands that both of these things can annoy some people, she has formed many habits in her life, and happens to stick to them.
  • Appearance: Small by even dwarven standards, Orla stands just shy of four feet in height, with long, golden blonde hair and bright green eyes. Her skin is incredibly pale and she has a number of small, light scars across her body, though none very serious looking and most having faded a bit. Though short, she retains typical dwarven stoutness, even perhaps being a bit more muscular for her size than one would imagine. A life on her own, and all the labors of it, have developed her strength well, and embracing the bounty of the swamp has fed her well. She has typical dwarven facial features, but with small wrinkles around her eyes and the corners of her mouth when she smiles.

    She typically dresses quite poorly, never having the luxury of access to a clothier or anything like that. She wears an outfit made from furs, leathers, barks, and resins, and looks… Surprisingly warm and comfy, if not entirely primitive. It is quite apparent she's spent quite some time in the swamp, as her outfit is made entirely of materials gathered from it.
  • History: Orla's story began with her grandparents. They were successful, beloved members of their community, always leading the rest of their community from town to town with song and cheer. It was a small one, a group of 30 or so, but this group of nomads was tight knit as they come. They mostly dealt in trading in metals, surprisingly, and specifically gold jewelry. Orla's grandparents had managed to strike a deal with a group of mountain dwarves despite the history between the two dwarf subsets. This was quite a long time ago; as dwarves age slowly, so, too, does history. There were always minor skirmishes here and there, but under the leadership of Orla's grandparents, the dwarves of the Gold Ring Caravansary lived happy, prosperous lives.

    When it came time to pass on leadership responsibility, the natural successor was Orla's mother. She was kind and hospitable as a hill dwarf, yet stern and protective as a dwarf of the mountain. Tuvala Aurigan was, by all means, successful at first. She continued the legacy of her parents well and continued to help cultivate a fine life for the members of her caravan and began to establish the name and reputation of the caravan itself. The Shattering happened. Business got a bit tougher, but the caravan clung to each other for support and lived on, turning now to bring happiness to others as well as their business, allowing and actively promoting their celebrations of life to all who wanted to come. Drinks, song, laughter, and merriment were available for a pittance - just enough to cover a bit of the cost of their drinks. Soon, they were known equally for their gold as their parties.

    Soon, though, as the dwarves of the Iron Union embraced direct trade with outsiders, the middlemen of the Gold Ring Caravansary became less and less of a necessity; consequently, they held fewer celebrations and charged more to outsiders wanting to join in. Laughter became a commodity scarce as money. Members began leaving.

    During all of this, Tuvala was pregnant. She and her husband, Gunther, also a member of the caravan, did all they could to keep the community together. This was their history, their name. As Tuvala, Gunther, and soon their child tried more and more desperately to keep everyone together, even greater forces beyond their control tore them apart. Members began staying permanently in towns, settling down after a life on the road. Others, their weapons and armor worn down with age, maintenance neglected in favor of bread, fell victim to attacks by bandits who knew of the misfortunes of the Gold Ring Caravansary. Eventually, the only ones left were the Aurigan family. Tuvala, Gunther, and the baby trekked to the halls of the mountain dwarves, seeking refuge and mercy based on centuries of healthy relationships cultivated by the previous generation of Aurigans. The knowledge of their bad luck, though, caused the mountain dwarves to look upon the hill dwarves with hostility. The modern Aurigans were seen as opportunistic leeches who only continued the gold trade due to the profits, rather than the love and warmth Orla's grandparents possesses. Not only were Tuvala and Gunther cast out with their baby, but so, too, did the mountain dwarves strip them of their name. Aurigans no more, the family turned to anything to make money and feed their child.

    This life of struggle and sacrifice took its toll on her parents. Gunther died attempting to protect his wife during a robbery gone wrong when Orla wasn't even old enough to remember his voice. Tuvala fled - taking Orla, she ran into the wilderness, nameless, swearing an oath of solitude. No longer would she interact with this cruel world that had taken so much from her. It would have to take her first.

    Take her it did. The mother and daughter did not last long together, the mother quickly succumbing to ill-cared for wounds and sicknesses acquired from an unprepared life in the swamp, and young Orla, the nameless dwarf girl, who was just old enough to realize the trauma of losing both parents, could only cry as her mother passed, singing old caravan lullabies, gently cooing a name Orla never remembered - her own. She was too young, too traumatized. Too alone. With the loss of her mother, armed only with the knowledge that life outside the swamp was more horrific than life within, the young dwarf needed to survive... Somehow.

    The first stroke of fortune in two generations finally was bestowed upon the nameless dwarf in the form of an aging treant who introduced itself as Salix. Though many, many times larger than the young dwarf, she stood fast and befriended the being, embracing its care and protection, as well as its guidance. Though the dwarf knew little of any language and was almost entirely illiterate, the treant taught her druidic magic, as well as the language of the druids. That quickly became the only language they spoke to one another, and under its tutelage, the dwarf girl cultivated her powers and learned how best to live off the land, eventually growing to love her life and, perhaps more strongly, love the swamp in which she resided.

    After a while, as the girl began to mature, Salix realized that it wouldn't last much longer in this world. The treant was old; ancient, even, and the circle of life had come to reclaim its old, creaking limbs. But the treant wasn't dead yet. Having had fae connections long before retreating to the swamp and caring for the dwarven girl, she was thus entrusted to them, meeting with various members of the Seelie Court itself. It was during one of these visits she was given her name by Queen Titania herself: Orla, from her golden hair. As Salix aged and Orla became more able to take care of herself, the fae approached her gently with a proposition. As they and their treant friend gave her care and perhaps even saved her life, they only requested one thing in return (alongside, of course, returning to her swamp when possible and caring for it.) They wanted young Orla, now mature and able, to return to the world. None knew anything of her past, not even Orla herself, but what Orla did know was that the outside world was harsh, inhospitable, unfair, and terrifying. She began to cry as Titania comforted her. Orla, she said, would be a symbol of good - a bringer of happiness and light. There was much she did not know, but she would learn none of it staying in her swamp. The people of this plane needed her as it needed every person to do good for each other. With a gentle kiss on her forehead and a series of emotional, prolonged goodbyes (that were very explicitly actually "see you laters," as Orla was basically an adoptive child of the Seelie Court,") Orla spent a few of her remaining days in the swamp fixing her dwelling to last long-term until her eventual return, and caring for Salix as best she could before its passing. There was a few more secrets and lessons on being a druid that Salix had to impart, but by its passing, it was confident Orla had all she needed to become a success in the scary, evil outside world. Without the fae and without her teacher, Orla was faced with the inevitable. She had to leave. She knew in her heart she'd get the chance to meet and embrace the fae again, but they had given her a mission, and she was going to do her best to understand that mission and embody what they wanted her to embody. The dwarf girl, now with a name, began her trek to leave the only home she could remember.

    She soon met up with a group of adventurers. Unsure of who, or even what, she was, their initial hesitance gave way to acceptance after seeing Orla's true nature. Though secretly and explicitly tasked with bringing good and delight to the world, these qualities came naturally to Orla. A pure, kind, happy soul, what she lacked in communicative ability she made up for in spirit. The adventuring group eventually took her on, and she made her way around to many a new locale, eventually coming to a pause at a sea vessel. Was she expected to really get on that thing and truly sail the waters? A proposition never more frightened Orla, but she remained as resolute as she could. After all, she needed to be a beacon of light and warmth in any way she could. She needed to make people happy. Though there was perhaps no natural connection outside the water beneath them, she needed to embrace this difficulty and this change as the fae and Salix taught her: head on, with an indestructible smile and warm laughter.
  • RP Sample: Orla had spent too much time at the inn already, that much she had known for sure. Her eyes darted from corner to corner, nothing plenty of eyes staring back at her. She shifted uncomfortably, gently running her hands over her furs as she sat, staring intently at some of the scrawlings available for people to read. Her fingers traced the curves and the lines as she thought of her own name's spelling. Orla - o, r, l, a. Four different symbols representing four different sounds. The word she was staring at, unfortunately, only displayed one of thise four letters she knew.

    "Ready to order, miss?" the barkeep asked, friendly, if not looking at her strange visage with a hesitant curiosity. Orla paused a moment, gently taking a strand of hair in between her fingers and tugging lightly. Averting her gaze, she replied as she hopped off the stool she had been perched on.

    "No!"

    And she left quicker than she arrived.

    Catching her breath a bit from her hasty retreat, she made her way back to the ship she understood she was going to spend quite some time on. On the deck, though, she spotted a familiar, friendly face, reminiscent of the wildlife of the swamp.

    "Ah!" she attempted to wave in the direction of the larger being, but he didn't notice. Being as short as she was offered no perks in this regard. Boarding the ship, she bounded toward the Tortle, attempting to greet him.

    "Hell-o! Hello, ah..."

    She paused, a bit horrified at her inability to recall his name.

    "Pod," he replied, nodding gently toward her, "Greetings, Orla. What is it?"

    She paused.

    "Word? To know, ah... Hm."

    Removing a bit of paper from a small pouch, as well as a piece of charcoal, she carefully recreated the word she was struggling with, writing against his shell and presenting it to him when finished.

    "Bread?" he asked. Orla nodded vigorously.

    "Bread! Bread - it is, ah... Bread it is, the... Soft? Is... Erm, color, as me?" She pointed to her pale white skin.

    "And also, as... Ah, tree? From tree," she corrected, pointing at the deck itself, its worn wood not quite reminiscent of the color you would want your bread to come out, but brown, nonetheless. Pod once more nodded gently.

    "Yes, indeed. Those are the colors of bread."

    Orla beamed.

    "Many thank! Many, many!" She spun on a heel and took a few steps before coming to a stop. Furrowing her brow and frowning, she turned back toward Pod, who had once more begun his own duties.

    "Pod?" she once more called, meeting him face to face again. She rifled through her bag once more, pulling out a small, nondescript, leatherbound book.

    "Ah... Hard to, to... Yes, hard, so, you? Ah... You help to me?" she held out the book. After a brief pause, a look of wonder slowly washed over the tortle's face.

    "You want me to teach you how to read?"

    Orla once more nodded.

    "...You don't know how to read?"

    Orla paused.

    "No, no... Read. Me? No, no me, no read. Read is word... Know, ah, this?" She opened the book and pointed to a random page. Pod once more nodded.

    "Yes, Orla. Knowing words and what they mean." He paused.

    "Maybe I can help you a bit, let's -"

    "But, no small."

    Pod paused, a bit surprised.

    "Hm?"

    "Me. No, ah, small? No... No child. But... Ah, if - no, when? Ah... when, am child... No know. No know... Word. But I? No child. Know word... Hard. Easy for child. Hard... For me. You know? Ah... So, please, know this. Know with me, yes?"

    Nodding warmly, Pod gently pat Orla's back.

    "Of course. Patience is something I'm quite good at. I waited a long time for this boat, you know?"

    Orla nodded.

    "A home."

    Pod smiled.

    "A home."

    They walked together inside the ship.
  • Crew Member: Galarash Iron-Willed - Half Orc Male
    An aging adventurer well past his prime, Galarash had made his living slaughtering wild beasts and collecting bounties. He was respected amongst the people of Dawnport for his strength, his ability, and his timeliness. Though never venturing very far, Galarash had made a name and reputation for himself as a fearsome ally to those who would pay for his services - limited as they be. His code of honor, followed to an incredibly strict level, dictated he never attack a humanoid who didn't attack first. In this port city, he thought himself at least a dim beacon of honor, only killing those that harmed others. He has his fair share of scars, tattoos, and long, silvery hair and well developed musculature, but he moves a bit more slowly these days than he had in the past. His days as an adventurer came to an end years ago in an injury that brushed against death itself, and since then Galarash has been a changed man. Much calmer, now, and more of a thinking man, he mostly works odd jobs doing forms of manual labor. However, on one of those jobs, he met a peculiar dwarven girl who insisted he cease chopping down a tree… Or something along those lines. She couldn't speak much common, but he knew from her wild gesturing she was trying to get him to stop, and… Help her up the tree? It was certainly a strange request, but one the half-orc obliged with humor. Upon her descent, though, the girl held a nest of baby birds, sleeping soundly. She left him hastily to his business, but he instead chose to follow her, witnessing firsthand her climbing another tree closeby and gingerly laying the nest on a cross-section of branches. After a brief attempt as discussion, he ascertained her situation - that she would be… Part of a ship's crew. And that they were looking for more individuals to help. Galarash, noting her own code of honor in saving the birds he hadn't even noticed, decided to offer his support, paid, of course. And though the girl had no idea what he was insinuating for quite some time, she eventually understood, and brought the grizzled half-orcish veteran onboard as another member of the crew.


(OK DONE! hopefully i had a good enough grasp on pod.)

Last edited by NICODELRICO; 11-18-2018 at 11:52 PM.
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Old 11-19-2018, 08:11 AM
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DraconigenaArma DraconigenaArma is offline
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The PreliminariesName: Lexand Mesont
Race: Human Freeman of Zara
Class: Cleric/Wizard
Background: Guild Merchant
Alignment: Neutral Good

“I always want to know how things work and what makes them tick.”
“I’m committed to the people I care about, not ideals.”
“One day I will return to my home and prove that I am the greatest merchant of them all.”
“I'm never satisfied with what I have — I always want more.”

PersonalityLexand is a product of the hard life in the highlands of Zara. Many think the grimmest and dour of them all would be the warriors, those constantly at war with their ring of perceived enemies and challengers. A strong competition for that title are the farmers who try to make anything grow in the rocky mess and chilly hills. But that’s just the assumption of outsiders. The real grouches of Zara are the poor, hapless traders who spend all day trying to be cordial to each bitter and insular village. It’s a wonder how Lexand managed to escape remembering how to smile. It is likely the fierce internal curiosity about people which keeps the depression at bay. He’s quick to laugh, and always ready for a conversation.

The second coming of Socrates, he’s been thrown out of more than one establishment for asking “But, why?” just one too many times. It’s the core and fundamental reasons behind people’s beliefs and motivations which fascinates Lexand, and causes him to wander in search of new people, and new truths, and new conversations. This curiosity about the exact nature of how people work extends to the natural world, as well as magic and theology. Reading is second only to asking questions as a great passion of his, and he practices (with great enthusiasm) magic as a pursuit of understanding the basic and foundational truths about reality.

Appearance Lexand isn’t pure-blooded Zaran. His mother was actually Norgan, who fled to avoid an arranged marriage with a Goliath (a politically motivated union.) Lexand inherited his father’s dark hair and surly countenance, contrasted with lighter skin and hazel eyes bordering on pure green. His skin has tanned somewhat in his travels, but unlike what will happen once at sea. Just enough of the towering northmen trickled through his mother into him, and he would be best described as tall without being impressively so. His hair is kept long, frequently pulled back over only his ears and left free below. Lexand wears his beard trimmed close, though he lets the ends of his mustache grow long enough they fall below his face. Sometimes he braids them. Lexand is rugged, and tough, and built stocky despite his height. Not a behemoth of rippling muscles, nor a v-shaped Adonis, Lexand has a thick waist, flat stomach, and well-proportioned appendages. Owing primarily to the use of magic in his daily ablutions, his teeth are perfectly white and he’s always clean.

When equipped for adventure he is partial to a shirt of chain, a round shield, and a spear. Whenever there's little to no chance of an altercation requiring such equipment, he dresses as comfortably as he can. In proper fashion, he's always wearing a knife. Sumptuous and comfortable fabric and design always trump ostentatious appearance or display of wealth. Solid colors and light embroidery are all the embellishments he needs and rejects vibrant colors, bold patterns, and fancy brocade. He has a cloak lined in miniver he's quite fond of.

History Lexand, son of a Zaran man and his controversial Norgan mother, was born into an advocate’s family. While his father didn’t necessarily campaign for peace, per se, he believed the men of the north and the men of Zara were better suited as allies than enemies in the fight against other, even more undesirable foes. It wasn’t until his teenage years when Lexand discovered his father was a (poorly) veiled racist who had an intense hatred and prejudice against anything not human: especially orcs, goliaths, and anything looking monstrous. Even dwarves and gnomes were a problem but were usually more tolerable. Lexand spent years of careful reflection purging himself of latent prejudices of his own, ones laid down by his father before he could understand what he was being inculcated with. Even still, as much as he would like to, he has a very difficult time trusting orcs; though to his credit, his ability to relate to and accept without reservation half-orcs is quite profound and superior to the average person’s… assuming their accent is human.

His mother, fiercely patriotic, was incredibly disillusioned by her tribe’s decision to use her as a bargaining chip to create allies with some of their raiding partners. Not intrinsically bigoted like her future husband, she was viscerally appalled at the physical logistics of such a union, and fled the north. The caravan Lexand’s father worked on as a trader was the first non-hostile group she met on her exodus. Her relationship with him was mostly spite at her family. His was a statement to his country. They were only marginally happy and only had one child. Neither was terribly surprised when he left Zara to travel the world.

His mother kept her northern gods and traditions, teaching him her shamanism. His father was indifferent, and used the divine abilities Lexand developed in his early teens as a talking point in his lobbying for a union between the countries. Lexand, though, found knowledge more compelling than Spiritism, and also learned quickly how unsafe it was to venerate the northern gods, or any pagan gods, openly the nearer you were to Ascendants. He grew up reading books, and scrolls and pamphlets on the long caravan rides between towns. While working with his family, both his mother and father rode the caravans they owned, he learned their trade out of necessity. He was taught to read, and do sums and all the sundry things the merchant leader of a caravan needed to know.

But he wanted more. He had picked up a bit of arcane magic just from reading, spellbooks sometimes made inventory, and while he respected the intuitive magic the gods granted, he found no mystery in it. It was arcane magic which fascinated him, as it was a science of breaking down and reassembling the physical world. He saved up his money to buy his own spellbook, and once he was old enough, bartered to indenture to a wandering wizard for his education (in secret) and to see the world. In the wide world he didn't have to keep his true nature to himself, it was safer to be an arcanist, and a pagan. He’s yet to return to Zara, at least. After his apprenticeship was over, and he was on his own, Lexand found his natural curiosity and gentle demeanor made him a personable and welcome companion to the sellsword, mercenary, adventuring types he preferred to associate with.

RP Sample (regarding Orla, by NICODELRICO)Lex sits on the caprail of the quarterdeck, dressed in his comfortable civilian clothes, his armor and equipment secured in his cabin. He wasn’t barefooted, but wore the type of slippers one would see in a house, the deck having been dry and clean enough to pad around in comfortable footwear while at the dock. He is leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands in a steeple in front of his face. Orla has been a puzzle he still hasn’t been able to crack. His greatest joy in life is dissecting another person’s soul one scalpel-sharp question at a time, and Orla has been wholly immune to such ministrations for the entire time he’s known her. How do you question someone deeply who’s incapable of articulating themselves coherently? It has been the subject of many nights’ restless active-mind sleeplessness. Watching her negotiate with Pod reminds him of the time they met, and the memory floods through his conscious reverie despite his intent to focus.

The group had picked her up, despite her poor speech skills, it was obvious there was a genuine kindness and eagerness to do good in the little dwarf-girl’s eyes. By now Lexand had seen many dwarves, and they no longer seemed like squashed, misshapen people anymore. Most didn’t appreciate probing questions, much less the spirit of epistemology. But this one seemed so… different. He thought he had his opportunity. He could think of little else but what he was going to ask her, formulating questions, planning conversation, and when they finally sat by the fire he brought her a glass of wine as an offering. Remembering it know, he recalls with almost humiliation how much of a failure that first conversation was. There are nobles and those who wish they were who talk in flowery terms far above Lexand’s lexicon. Lex talks to people, and he knows how to bargain with people and haggle and tell stories over drinks. But Orla’s blank stares and broken responses were almost a completely different language to him (and being a polyglot is one of Lexand’s proudest qualities.) He was certain he had offended her, and was in the impotent spot of not even being sure how to tell her, or apologize to her. She must have sensed his distress, as she patted him on the leg and danced around the fire in a way one would expect only of storybook faeries luring hapless youths to the otherworld. Since that experience, of all the members of the fellowship, Lex and Orla have been able to express themselves without words better than anyone else. Orla started to write something on a bit of paper using Pod's shell as a hard surface, which tickles him enough to draw him out of his reverie with a chortle. He hops off the caprail and goes to find something more productive than dwelling on the well-worn cobblestones of memory lane.

Crew MemberBen Backstay. Being a trader near the White Coast, even before he went off on his own, Lexand spent his fair share of time at sea. It was on many of these voyages he chanced to continually re-meet Ben Backstay, a boastswain by trade. Ben was unique in being a supremely merry fellow, while also possession the ability to merrily handle the rope’s end when it came to shipboard discipline. It was not Lexand’s intention to be some tarry sailor as part of this enterprise. As a share owner of the ship, they were hiring a crew to do that kind of work, and Lex couldn’t think of anyone he trusted more to make sure whatever sailors did end up aboard were kept well in line by Ben.
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Who is truly a hero?
One who will lay down his life for his friend. Not for millions, not for glory, not for fame. For one person. In the dark, where no one will ever know or see.

Last edited by DraconigenaArma; 11-21-2018 at 02:38 AM.
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Old 11-20-2018, 12:59 AM
Rylus Rylus is offline
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Name: Mordrid of the shadows
Race: Shadar-Kai (Need DM Approval)
Class: MechanistArtificer
Alignment: Neutral (Over arcing good tendencies)
Background: Traded- Tool prof (Musical instrument) for Vehicle (Water)Outlander
Skills: Perception (WIS), Athletics (STR), Survival (WIS), Arcana (INT), Medicine (WIS), Sleight of Hand (DEX)

Personality: 1 -2 paragraphs on how your character thinks and acts, feel free to use the traits, ideals, etc, but theyíre not a requirement.
Appearance: 1-2 paragraphs on your characters appearance. I like written description over pictures.
History: 1-2 paragraph minimum, go into detail about your characterís life until this point. This is perhaps the most important part of the application, I love a compelling backstory.
RP Sample: Since youíve known your traveling companions for some time now, write a scene showing a defining moment in your relationship with the character in the application before yours. First applicant just make something up. This could be a touching talk or moment, a narrow victory, the first time you met, etc. Just so long as it establishes a prior history with another character.
Crew Member:
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Old 11-20-2018, 11:21 AM
Vicorin Vicorin is online now
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I’m really liking what I’m seeing so far, and I’m just dropping in for a couple updates.

First, shadar-kai, minotaurs, and tortles are all acceptable. Also, because there’s been at least a little confusion, half elves and half orcs do exist. I just left them out of the lore section as they don’t have any major presence, political faction, etc. the list of races isn’t exhaustive, other races have places in the world.

Second, I’m announcing the deadline for Friday, November 30 @11:59 pm CST. Selections will be announced that weekend, possibly Monday or Tuesday if it takes me a while. If this deadline doesn’t work for many of you, feel free to protest and I’ll work on a different date.

Finally, I’ll be adding a table of applicants to the main post soon, and will try to give feedback to everyone who’s finished their applications thus far. This week is Thanksgiving, so I likely won’t be very active, but I’ll try to get that to you guys near the end of the weekend, beginning of next week, so that you have time to make any changes you see fit.

Thanks again to everyone for applying so far, and for those of you in the US, have a safe and happy thanksgiving.
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Old 11-20-2018, 05:53 PM
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TheCatGodd3ss TheCatGodd3ss is offline
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Posting interest, I have a few ideas in my head. One I would like to ask about before theory crafting more into it. A drow paladin/rogue who is LE. (Even if she thinks she is doing good)
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Old 11-20-2018, 10:09 PM
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This looks pretty cool. I'll see what kinds of characters I can come up with.
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Old 11-20-2018, 11:04 PM
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Professor Pirate Professor Pirate Professor Pirate Professor Pirate
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stat blockName: Lione, Siren of the Waves
Race: Human (Variant)
Age: 19
Class: Warlock
Alignment: Chaotic (out for herself)
Background: Urchin
Skills: Sleight of Hand, Stealth, Investigation, Perception, Deception


Personality More of a talker than a fighter, Lione will always try and use seduction or humor or just quick thinking to avoid a confrontation before relying on steel and spell. That said if she has to fight there is no quarter given or expected, she comes from a life of harsh realities and death is one she came to terms with long ago. When not in life or death scenarios she's fond of fawning over shiny bits of jewelry or piles of coin...or both. All in all, profit is less her motivation than just the knowledge that she CAN get it when she likes.

AppearanceNot too much is permanent about Lione's appearance. She likes changing up her style of dress and appearance often, almost daily sometimes. She's human for sure and when not disguised by some kind of magic a lithe framed woman with the ruddy complexion of the poor that work outdoors often and a tangle of brown hair that looks more like a mop on the top of her head than anything else. That said she's almost always under some kind of disguise magic to make her look either more glamorous or appealing or innocuous than she really is. The only things permanent about her look are the circlet on her head, a golden and silver knotwork pattern meant to look like the roots of a tree, and her sword, a rapier with the guard embossed to look like a tangle of brambles with thorns and a single rose at its center.

History In a world of high-level political turmoil and the shaking and changing of civilizations there is only ever one constant and that is that the poor will always be hurt the most. For Lione that was very much the case, in many ways, her story is all too common. She grew up in a family of parents so busy trying to make ends meet that they never had time for their children and as the third of nine children she was often overlooked when there were too many mouths and not enough food or too many backs and not enough clothes. Lione wasn't going to be denied just because the world wasn't paying attention to her though. She learned early that if no one was looking at you or listening to you it meant you could very easily get in and out of places you weren't supposed to be. At first, she only stole from her neighbors, crimes that were easily accomplished and largely ignored, if she got caught it was usually a beating or a yelling and then nothing else.

As she grew more accustomed to the act of thievery, however, she began to set her sites higher and on one such occasion got caught by the kind of person that also reveled in the dark of societal ignorance. Lione wasn't the prettiest girl in the world but she was pretty enough to fetch a good price to a brothel who's owner excelled at keeping 'problem girls'. It was in this pit of a whore house that Lione learned what it really meant to be ignored by everyone. She wasn't a person there, barely even a commodity and it was in the deepest darkest parts of her mind that she began to wonder at the point of going on. From that same dark recess came her answer though, a kind voice began to keep her company. He was the voice of calm and reason and best of all he was funny. He never gave his name but he did promise to make her life better if she would keep him close to her heart. The pact was sealed with a crown as he made her his princess and leant her a sliver of his power. The next day Lione sent a blast of arcane energy lancing through her captor and slipped off into the night.

In a world that demonized magic, however, there wasn't much use in showing off your power so as before the girl leaned on her adeptness at being ignored. She learned to use magic to change her appearance and started taking on work as an adventurer where she met her compatriots. For a long, while she presented herself merely as a thief but as trust grew between them all she opened up about her powers as well...so far at least that trust has been well founded.


RP Sample with Lexand (sorry if I put words in your mouth)
It was on one of the calmer nights out at sea, the kind where the breeze is present but not overpowering and the waves rock more than roll the ship, that Lione found Lexand out on the deck. At the moment the girl was dressed in the most comfortable, ratty, lived in clothes one could imagine.

"Hey Lex, can I ask you a question?" she begins putting her self in between the man and wherever it was he'd been going. He stopped to regard her and the look in Lione's eyes told him very little besides something was weighing on her mind.

"What question did you want to ask?" was his response, it was often that the man responded with a question of his own. It was something she'd noticed early on as a tactic of pulling more information out of a conversation by keeping it rolling.

"What do you think of your family?" her question was perhaps a bit shocking if only because not once had Lione ever spoken about her own family.

"Do you think you're going to find answers about how you should feel about your family by asking how I feel about mine?" he responded after a moment's consideration.
Lione's face screwed up as she thought through the logic of his words before she shot him a look that spoke volumes about how much she didn't like that he was perceptive, "....maybe...."

"Well, then can I suggest that instead of me talking about my family you tell me about your own?"

Her eyes rolled as she flopped onto the deck of the ship and stopped looking at Lexand to stare at the sky and the stars that danced up there, "I came from a big family, I know people think that sounds like fun but when you have too many mouths and not enough money it just means you go hungry or you fight with your brothers. I wonder if I'd be here now if they'd paid more attention to where I went and what I did instead of just beating me when I got in enough trouble to make them pay attention...guess it doesn't matter now though, I haven't seen them in years and they probably think I'm dead."

"Sounds to me like it matters very much then." Lex says cutting straight to the heart of the matter

"....shuddup." she dismissed his insight with a wave of her hand but there wasn't really any scorn in her words, "but thanks."


Crew Torgan has served as everything from a Bosun to a Top Sail since he was old enough to walk. Rumor has it the half-orc was born on a ship in the middle of a storm and that if he ever actually set foot on solid ground he'd fall flat on his face. No one is going to get to make that bet though because Torgan hasn't ever taken a step off a boat in his entire life and likely never will, "The sea is my home, and the sea is my love...why would I ever leave it?" No one's given him an answer he's approved of yet.

Last edited by Professor Pirate; 11-20-2018 at 11:05 PM.
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