[D&D-5e] Tomb of Annihilation

[SnakeOilCharmer]

App Concept: Toril's least edgy Fiendlock Name: Myrick (of Baldur's Gate) Race: Halfling (Lightfoot) Background: Guild Artisan (Cartographer) Class: Warlock (the Fiend) Alignment: LN Appearance: Relatively tall for a Halfling at 3'3", Myrick has a full head of thick brown hair, which is only just beginning to turn ever-so-slightly gray at the temples. His dress sense is understated, but still manages to convey the impression of significant wealth. He has a wiry build - in defiance of the hungry Halfling stereotype - and significant scarring to his hands, chest and back from his previous brush with death in the jungles of Chult. Personality: A polite and softly-spoken man, Myrick is good at putting others at ease. None of his acquaintances can recall having seen him lose his temper. He has a dry sense of humor with a profound sense of irony. Despite his training in Cartography, Myrick is very much a city-dweller, seeing the wilderness as something to be endured while travelling between places that actually matter rather than an environment to be appreciated or cherished for itself. He is truly brave, in the sense that he is constantly terrified by the things he has to do, but does them anyway. Backstory:   Myrick had been to Chult once before. Once, he had thought, was enough for a lifetime. A native of Baldur's Gate, the young cartographer had been offered the kind of money that one simply couldn't turn down, however bad an idea it turned out to be in retrospect. He'd known the jungles were dangerous. He'd been equally sure he could tolerate it for a few months for the kind of reward that would change his life. As it was, the experience had changed him, but not in the manner he'd anticipated. Tasked with accompanying a Flaming Fist expedition to map out a little-known corner of the jungle, within the first tenday their group were set upon by a group of cannibalistic tribespeople. Myrick was gravely wounded in the skirmish, and found himself surrounded. He would surely have died, but for the brave and ferocious actions of another Hin, the Gauntlet Pendella. The Halfling woman tore into the cannibals looming over Myrick, slaying several and sending others fleeing in sheer terror. Myrick's wounds were too severe to continue, but he made an adequate recovery and soon returned to Baldur's Gate. When Pendella returned from her tour of duty, he was stood on the docks, a large basket of baked goods in hand, ready to thank the woman for saving his life. For some reason, Pendella was not only appreciative of the gift, but truly moved. It was a gesture which formed the foundation of a strong friendship, which then developed into a happy marriage. Pendella left the Fist, and gained a significant degree of fame as an adventurer. Meanwhile, Myrick rose through the ranks of the Cartographer's Guild. It turned out that, while he was an adequate mapmaker at best, the Halfling man excelled at navigating the internal politics of the Guild. Each time Pendella returned from an expedition, she would find her husband stood at the dockside with that same basket of muffins. It was during one of these adventures that Pendella was slain in combat with a pair of Ogres. Not that Myrick realized at the time, due to the presence of a warrior-Priest of Ilmater within her group. He learned of his wife's brief demise only after she'd hung up her sword for good. Myrick, too, was preparing for retirement, and looking forward to many years of relaxed happiness together. Then his paramour began weakening, for no discernable reason. Rumors circulating around the city spoke of a curse afflicting those who had previously been restored to life, and Pendella, during one of the short periods when she felt well enough to speak, confirmed that she had previously, if briefly, been killed. As the illness progressed, Myrick became increasingly desperate. He spent night and day in prayer to Ilmater and Yondalla, donated every copper that he could afford to spare to one temple or another, and desperately searched out anyone who could shed some light on Pendella's condition. No dice. At last, having exhausted every other option, Myrick called upon the name of Asmodeus, willing to offer literally anything he had. To the Halfling's mild surprise, the Lord of the Nine Hells answered his entreaty. Less surprisingly, there was a catch. Even the Archfiend could not simply reverse Pendella's decline. The best he could offer was a shred of his own devilish power, and directions to a meeting. Trusting the Lord of Lies seemed unwise, but what other option did Myrick have? What, even, was the purpose of having a soul if you were torn apart from your soulmate?

[Still_Pond]

(image credit: Matt Hilker)
Name: Gar Bit'eesh (sheet in progress)
Race: Human (variant)
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Class: Cleric (death domain)
Personality: Emo cleric of a semi-taboo death goddess.
Backstory:
For the silent ash-skinned boy who never failed to placed juniper berries in the Headsman's basket, there was no question that he would one day don the executioner's hood himself. For each execution, he would, in private, draw a blade in a slow and deliberate cut somewhere on his face; a record of the death and an offering to Wee Jas that acknowledged his own mortality. Always fascinated by death, as a boy he was drawn to the morbid artwork adorning the temple to the Lady of Book and Bone. The magistrate allows him his personal worship, so long as any symbols to the Lady are not displayed openly during the public executions. He still places juniper berries in the head-baskets, however; a small defiance of the law. He has always been gentle and contemplative, living a humble life in service to both the temple and the city law enforcement. Now, however, it seemed the river of his life was beginning to change course.

News of the 'Death Curse' had spread throughout the temple. He had been there, for the raising of Syndra Silvane. Now the lady called on him personally, as well as others. Why, he did not know. He only knew she was, once again, facing the cold embrace of death. Was this curse the will of Dark-Eyed lady, or heresy? It was time to hang up the headsman's hood, and take up the grey cloak of a Karuth, a steward of Death's Guardian herself.

Player R.P. notes
I want to play this guy as comically obsessed with death and mortality, a real buzz kill - but he doesn't know he is. To him, death is beautiful. Oblivion is poetic. Mortality is harmonious. To avoid playing an evil character, I see him as leaning more toward the profound nature of death - finding comfort the balance and inevitability of it rather than some perverse joy in causing it, (though that is there too, again, it's beautiful to him). Also, evil gods still need living mortals to carry out their work on the mortal plane, so he can be completely justified in casting healing magic and the like. He uses the laws to help justify when it is okay for a life to be taken. He looks to his goddess when it comes to broader questions of mortality and death. He both fears death and is comforted in knowing it awaits us all. He has faith that even undeath is only a temporary extension of existence - that even the undead will, eventually, give up their magically bound souls. He does not believe in an afterlife or that souls live on in some other dimension - his 'heaven' is oblivion, nothingness, annihilation.

[Vaynol]

Basic Info Name: Whisper Class: Sorceress (Shadow Magic) Race: Human Alignment: Chaotic Neutral Personality Trait 1: There is a kernel of concern for others deep inside that surprises even myself Personality Trait 2: I am slow to trust and often keep people at arms length Ideal: I do not care for any lofty ideals, my only responsibility is for my own survival Bond: I desire a cure for my condition, and nothing will stand in the way of me achieving it Flaw: I am slowly dying, and there are no depths I will not stoop to in pursuit of a cure

Appearance "Do not look upon me. My face, obscured by the cowl I hide under. I would not have you cast your eyes on me. You cannot see, you cannot understand." Whisper is a shadow. Cloaked from head to toe in long, swirling dark robes, she conceals all of her from the sight of another. Her features are concealed beneath a dark cowl. Underneath the cowl, eyes of witchwood hazel burn from a youthful face. Whisper is not ugly, far from it. But for a different twist of fate, under different circumstances, she could have been considered beautiful. Yet, beauty is only temporary, particularly in her case. Soon her beauty will fade, her skin wither and die. Long red hair falls shoulder high, framing an almost cherubic face. Her hands are hidden under long, black silken gloves. So far, Whisper's condition only afflicts her right arm. Under the folds of black cloth, the skin on her right arm has become pale and blotchy. In some places, the skin has already begun to rot. Soon the rot will spread, from her right arm through the rest of her body. She will age beyond her years, and then, finally, she will die.

Personality "For all that we wish, deep inside of ourselves. We wish, we wish for a way out of the darkness." The sweet, innocent girl that Whisper once was is long gone now. Death has changed her, taking the girl that once was and twisting it into what she has become on her restoration to life. But then, that is what death does. The touch of the negative plane, tainting a kind heart with the embrace of shadow. The girl, the true identity of Whisper died, replaced by this hardened, emotionless woman. Her humanity was sundered, replaced by this cold and emotionless maiden sculpted as if from ice. Yet, far from rejecting the power of the magic burning within her veins as something to be feared, Whisper embraced it. The feel of the magic burning inside of her made her feel alive in a way that life could not. Whisper became cold, hard practicality. If someone needed to die for Whisper to live, or indeed if they crossed her, then so be it. Whisper would not shed any tears over the loss of life, convinced as she was that there was no place for love or affection in this dark world of decaying imagery. The illusion of a perfect happy life shattered by a death that took her far far before her time. Cold, hardened, embittered, Whisper has come to look upon warmer, more humane emotions as a weakness, though she is not beyond helping and allying herself with others if it helps her achieve her own goals. Deep down inside, a small shard of the innocent and kind-hearted girl that Whisper once was in remains, sometimes screaming to come forth. And at certain moments, that side of Whisper will surface and manifest itself in the strangest of ways. A coin given to a starving beggar, her intervention on behalf of a youth being set upon by bullies. Strangely enough, Whisper feels a certain kinship and protectiveness to the meek and the lost - those souls who are weak and defenceless. Perhaps in them she sees shadows of a certain desperate girl being set upon by her own parents..... Whisper's one burning drive inside of herself, the one thing she believes in is the hope that deep within the dark, dangerous jungles of Chult, that she will find a cure for her affliction. That even as her life slowly trickles away from her one more time that even despite it all there is a chance that she can reverse this. She believes in it not because she is of such a mind to blindly believe in such things, it is purely because she has nothing else to hope for and believe in. And should the cure truly exist, then woe betide anyone who stands in the way of it and her.

Backstory "You ask me why I take this task upon myself, and why I heed your call Syndra? It is because in doing so I will not just find a cure, I will find the piece of myself that I lost." There are very few who know the story of Whisper. Who she is, where she comes from, her origins. One thing is for certain -- Whisper is not her real name. Her true identity is hidden deep within the depths of her diseased mind. In fact, it can be surmised that those who know the history of the girl are limited to one, herself. Whisper is very guarded about her background, and what she hides are secrets that she would have no hesitation in killing to preserve. What can be gleaned by talking to the mysterious girl is that Whisper was born in the remote and inhospitable region of Damara. And although Whisper does not speak of her parents much, what can be gleaned is that they were hardy frontiersfolk, making a life for themselves in the harsh and untamed region that was once notorious for spawning the Witch King and his legions of chaos. And there her story would have ended, unremarkable as it was, had it not been for some truly unfortunate twists of fate. It began with the manifestation and discovery of her latent magical talents as a teenage girl. Fascinated by her magic, she indulged in it at any opportunity that she possibly could, little realising that in doing so she was condemning herself to die. A magic-fearing recluse from the Vaasan wilderness saw Whisper practicing her magics one day, alone in the wilderness. This recluse stalked the girl silently, and unknowing of his presence, he came behind her and buried a dagger up to its hilt in her ribs. Whisper died that day, yet this was not destined to be the end of her. A local woodsman came upon her body, and recognising the girl, bore her back to her parents. Grieving, they gathered their life-savings, all the money they had, and they paid a local temple to return their beloved girl back to life. Yet the girl who returned was....different. The touch of death had changed her irrevocably. It was a dark shattered girl that came back to life that day, and soon after she left her parents home in the middle of the night. By her own choice, she had nowhere to go to and nowhere to call home. No drive and no burning ambition inside herself beyond that of survival. And survive she did. Burning the ashes of her given name from her identity, the girl assumed the identity of Whisper, a mysterious, enigmatic softly spoken girl who hid her face under a dark cowl. Whisper lived. Slowly and painfully, she learned to control and harness her abilities. Whisper used her magic it as a means to ensure her survival, yet in the grand scheme of things, her life didn't amount to much. Wandering alone, she ensured that she did enough to see the end of each day. Yet it was a life, of sorts. Her motivations soon changed though, and the purpose and goal she was so desperately lacking soon became clear to her with a terrible crystalline-like clarity. During her travels, Whisper noticed a strange ailment on herself. It began to manifest itself as a pale, white circle of flesh on her right hand. As the days passed, the flesh became cold to the touch, eventually starting to wither and flake. As pieces of skin began to fall from her hand, Whisper was horrified to see the condition start to spread upwards on her arm. Desperate, she sought the counsel of a local healer, yet her search was futile. What was happening to her was a malady that could not be explained, let alone treated. Hers was to be a terrible fate indeed. Whisper turned to other sources to seek a cure. She consulted local seers and scholars, burning through the little coin she had in doing so. Eventually, her efforts brought her into contact with one Syndra Silvane, who offered through the provision of a quest something that Whisper had been looking for. Hope. A potential answer to a question that she had started to believe could not be. Yet the doing so would entail a dangerous journey indeed, straight into the heart of the dangerous jungle of Chult and whatever horrors lay within. And so Whisper began to make preparations to journey to Chult, and whatever lay in wait for her there. A way out, a cure for her terminal illness even as her life slowly trickled away from her like golden grains of sand through an hourglass. Yet even then there was more to this than simply her own precious need for survival. The lost girl had formed an unlikely friendship with Syndra Silvane. Perhaps Syndra saw something in the girl that Whisper herself did not -- or perhaps a kindred spirit. And for Whisper, the strangest thing of all happened. She came to the adventurer seeking a cure, but found instead a friend -- something that she had not known for a long, long time. Irrespective of how it happened, happen it did, and Whisper found that the time she spent with the retired adventurer the happiest she had known for a long time. Finally, her friendship secured and forged, Whisper revealed something to Syndra she had never told another living soul before -- her real name.

[In the Mix]

Name: Tajsa of Narubel

Race: Half-Elf

Alignment: Neutral Good

Class: Ranger

Personality: When someone first meets Tajsa they find her to be quiet and serious. But if they allow her to get to know them, and show themselves to be trustworthy, Tajsa will open up to them, as best she can. Life has taught her to be cautious of everything and everyone, but still can't keep herself from wanting more. She wants friends, she wants a family. She wants someone to care about her, and to care for them in return.

Backstory: Tajsa was born to a Human husband and a Wood Elf Wife in the city of Narubel. Her father {Sarrence} ran a merchant house, trading in everything from basic living essentials for residents living on the island, to weapons and armor for adventurers wishing to explore the jungles of Chult. Tajsa's mother {Taj'Ena} would lead expeditions into the jungle, eventually taking her young daughter with her and passing on her knowledge.

They didn't discriminate who they bought from, nor who they sold to. "Gold is gold." Her father explained to her. "It doesn't matter where it comes from, as long as it keeps us fed." And for most of Tajsa's life, her father was right. Their family was one of the richest, and most respected. They were on good relations with the Yuan-ti of house Sauringar, paying tributes to the government body, and keeping themselves in good standing.

But in her sixteenth year, something went wrong. Tajsa has thus far not been able to piece together exactly why, but after a successful tour through the jungle, Tajsa and Taj'Ena came home to find Sarrence kneeling before a Yuan-ti priest, surrounded by guards. His hands were bound behind his back, and he was talking animatedly, though Tajsa could not hear what he was saying.

Tajsa started to rush forward, but her mother grabbed onto her, and began pulling her back into the jungle. Tajsa could not stop watching what was happening though, not allowing herself to be easily pulled away. The priest asked her father something, and whatever father's answer was, it obviously displeased the Yuan-ti, for one of the guards immediately thrust his spear through his chest. Taj'Ena was not fast enough to cover Tajsa's mouth, as she screamed in terror at witnessing her father's death.

As one, the guards turned toward the sound, and with a nod from the priest's head, and a pointed finger, they pursued the merchant's family. It was a wasted effort, as the pair of rangers easily disappeared into the Chult jungle. The pair moved far from Narubel, nearer to Port Nyanzaru. Though, most of the time, they remain hidden in the jungles. Recently though, only Tajsa has been seen by locals. Whispers are that the Yuan-ti finally caught up with the pair, but her mother sacrificed herself so that Tajsa could continue to live. Others say that Taj'Ena succumbed to illness, or was killed by a predator. But the worse rumors are that Tajsa herself killed her mother.

Only Tajsa and her mother know the truth.

[DiceGoblin]

Application Name: Coal Tallerian Race: Fire Genasi Alignment: Neutral Good Class: Cleric (Twilight Domain) Personality: Like her namesake, Coal is a firestarter. A lighthearted personality with undeveloped social skills. She tends to say the wrong things and (mostly) accidentally pushes the wrong buttons. She does mean well, just doesn't understand social cues and body language. A naive and inquisitive mind that isn't afraid to ask questions and absorbs information at an astounding rate. Despite her lack of a filter, she is a rather good keeper of secrets, if you tell her something in confidence, she will never tell a soul. No matter how scandalous, important, or life threatening. Backstory: Coal is the youngest of six born into the minor noble house of Tallerian. Well, according to the public, the Tallerian's only have three children. Two boys and a girl. The family is a minor noble house that has their own small territory. A totally normal Elven family. Until the birth of their fourth child. Their second daughter was born on fire. So was their fifth and sixth children. Something awakened in their bloodline, but they weren't sure what it was. To keep their fire touched children safe, they were locked in the manor with only a handful of people who knew of their existence. Their existence would ruin the family. Each of the three fire touched children eventually made the choice to leave their family home. Cutting ties with their noble background, all seeking their own lives and most importantly answers. Originally, Coal was given the name Anna by her parents. But upon leaving her family home at sixteen, she changed it. Coal eventually found herself at the church of Selune for a time, where she became a Cleric, a healer gifted magic by the goddess she had sworn herself to. It was there that she met another Genasi, and learned a bit about her people and why she and her siblings were born as they were. One of her parents had a terrible secret in their bloodline, or perhaps just themselves had the secret. She set off to find out what that was. Even if it meant ruining the Tallerian name.

[Nyx89]

I've updated the main post to reflect the amazing 15 applications!

[Grouchy]

Character Concept Name: Krumm of Clan Battleforge Race: Mountain Dwarf Class: Barbarian 1 (likely Path of the Berserker as we progress) Background: Acolyte of Hanseath Traits: My personal life motto is "Fight hard, party hard, and die with the enemy's heart in your hand." I don't bother making elaborate plans - I make a quick decision and charge right in no matter what the situation is. Bond: I will face any challenge to win the approval of my family. Ideal: Glory. I must earn glory in battle, for myself and my clan. Flaw: I never plan for the long term, and gold burns a hole in my pocket. Description: Personality: Like any faithful follower of Hanseath, Krumm is all about excitement. Whether that excitement is carousing late into the night with the ale flowing (often sharing his own personally brewed drink, a strong and bitter tasting ale he calls "Skullcleaver Ale" due to how your head feels the next morning), or if it's slamming his mighty axe into the bodies of the foes of his clan, Krumm is sure to have a good time. Never one to sit still for long, Krumm is constantly searching for the next good fight that can bring glory to both the Bearded One and to Clan Battleforge. Although not an especially deep thinker or scholar (Krumm often makes mention that the smell of books nauseates him), he is cunning in his own right and can often throw together a hasty but somewhat sensible plan when faced with a problem. Once he sets his mind to it, Krumm simply charges headlong into the problem and sticks to the plan he has adopted - for good or for bad. He enjoys blowing off steam trading punches with others, only to share an ale and a pat on the back at the end of it. Krumm gets easily bored waiting around and never plans for the long term - you can die with your guts hanging out tomorrow, so why wait to have a good time when you can have one now? Character History: Krumm was always a rambunctious youth, and in such formal settings as Clan Battleforge such rowdiness was often looked down upon. His father Thelnik is a clan elder and his mother Myrleen a respected battle maiden, and being their only son Krumm has big shoes to fill. Unfortunately he did not inherit the stoic seriousness of either of his parents, but instead associated closely with his uncle Gulnir more than any other dwarf in the clan. Gulnir was part of the clan clergy who worshipped all of the dwarven pantheon, but Gulnir himself claimed he was devoted to Hanseath over all. Hanseath represents the wild side of the dwarven spirit - hard partying and charging headlong into battle with little regard for life or limb. Naturally for a young dwarf like Krumm, he immediately took a liking to his uncle's version of his faith. As he grew, Krumm worked at the clan breweries and was known for making his own ales, often quite stronger than most other ales. He also volunteered to assist in the weekly religious services which made his parents happy but also gave him some more time to spend with Gulnir and learn more of the Bearded One's stories and dogma. As he grew into a dwarven man, Krumm developed a reputation as a fearsome if somewhat reckless warrior and a talented brewmaster, and began publicly proclaiming his devotion to the faith of Hanseath. Hosting wild parties and being the first to rush into the fray when defending their borders, Krumm was respected for his abilities but considered excessively wild for the clan's current climate. Upon learning of the affliction of Syndra Silvane, the King of Clan Battleforge asked for volunteers to be sent to aid her. Seeing this as an opportunity to serve both his god and his clan, as well as earn approval from his parents, Krumm immediately volunteered and was selected to be sent to aid her. The King believes some real world experience may temper Krumm's wild side, and if anything they at least get a break from his last party. (The King's servants are still trying to get the smell of vomit out of their personal tapestries.)

[Drachenspirit]

The day of choosing has arrived.

[BestTeaMaker]

Good luck to all

[Drachenspirit]

[Nyx89]

Thank you everyone for applying! I am closing this to applications now, and I will send DMs to those chosen by tomorrow!