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  #16  
Old 03-03-2019, 03:21 PM
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Confused why some are still WIP. I left only blank what you told us to.
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  #17  
Old 03-03-2019, 04:54 PM
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Originally Posted by Chaos Havik View Post
Confused why some are still WIP. I left only blank what you told us to.
I was waiting on some folks to estimate high, medium, low ability scores. I marked Loki complete.
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  #18  
Old 03-03-2019, 06:15 PM
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Character name: Dobro Blackstock
Character sheet: if selected
Ability scores: STR and CON high, DEX and WIS med, INT and CHA low

Race and class: Dual Wielding Totem Barbarian Halfling (cleavers/hand axes)
Level: 3 Bear Totem

Gender: Male
Alignment: CH/G

Appearance: Dobro is a stout, ruddy faced, somewhat choleric halfling. His forearms are massive, Popeye style, from all the cutting and chopping. When not cooking or fighting, he looks fat and has developed a bit of a double chin but when he gets wound up, his face tightens up and turns bright red and he frantically lashes away with both hands (either when cooking or fighting).

Background: Dobro is a chef. It's all he's ever wanted to be, it's all he cares about. Food is his mission, his passion, his religion. Unfortunately, he also doesn't listen or take orders very well, and he's been known to get into the odd fight . . . or the even one . . . or the one that isn't his business but happened to disturb him when he was thinking about cooking . . . which he does all the time when he's not fighting. Born to sharecropping farmworkers, he was never able to afford the guild certification that would get him his own kitchen. With his temper, he had a bit of trouble in the army, where he was unceremoniously but thoroughly discharged after dumping a scalding pot of cheese gruel over his sergeant, who deserved it but didn't have any discernible taste or sense of humor about it. Now he is looking for a chance to cook again and his parsnip, rutabaga, and beet "Great Root Pie" is, well, BRILLIANT. And the Womford Pie Contest is going to recognize it and put him back on the track to success.

Custom Cook Proficiencies: Nature, Perception, Herbalist Kit, Chef's tools. Feature: By Popular Demand because everyone loves someone who feeds them.

In character sample writing: Taking my cue from Chaos Havik, I borrowed a couple of other character and did my talking through them. Happy to listen to edits and critiques if I mischaracterized your character but you were the most fun ones I saw.

THE ALCHEMIST'S TALE

It was a dull, rainy day and I was just trying to stay under wraps and nap in my wagon when I saw this halfling with an herbalist kit headed out of camp. I always need more components for my alchemy so I hailed the little man, "Hey, short stuff, grab me a case full of herbs while you are out there." He asked me why?

"Why? Really? Alchemy is always needed, potions can do almost anything. I do a public service." The least he could do is get ingredients for me. And yet he refused, said he was just looking for some thyme to flavor that night's dinner and he would cut me a bundle of that if I wished. But I need lots of herbs, all types, you never know what might work in a potion. And he was going anyway . . .

Eventually I talked him into going with me by telling him I had seen Betony growing along our back path. It wasn't actually Betony, as it turned out, just common mudwort, but that works in many recipes too and I don't know why he got bent out of shape about it. I actually had to pick some of my own before I got tired and fell asleep against a nearby tree.

I can't say he was useless though. There was this bear that had apparently smelled my kit and thought I might make a good meal. I woke to it's foul snuffling at my belt and I'm not ashamed to say I screamed aloud. The crazy little man actually pulled out a meat cleaver and a butcher knife and drove off the great shambling creature with screams of rage and waving of his knives. Got quite redfaced about the whole thing. Afterwards, he even gave me a few bundles of herbs he had found as an apology for not being there for me earlier. So, the day wasn't a complete waste.


THE BARD'S TALE


"It was a lovely day, grey and cloudy without the bright eye of the sky's great yellow flower glaring down. The dripping of drizzle from the trees provided a light counterpoint to the occasional flareups of rain. By my beard, it was just like being back in the riverside caverns back home.

I was traveling with a group of bedraggled looking wanderers, looking for this Pie Tasting Contest I'd been paid to check out. I had a nice selection of piemaking tools and pans to sell there along with my normal pipes and goods, can't let an opportunity for profit go to waste, can we? A gloomier bunch of wee mannikins you'd never see, complaining all the way about the ground, the sky, the water. I tried a few stories to pass the time but it was like fertilizing a stalagmite, nothing was going to grow from this crowd.

As we broke for camp, someone broke started a fire and broke out a kettle and we all started dumping contributions of provinder to be put into a camp stew. There was a bit of perfunctory chopping and the like when suddenly this little man popped out of the underbrush, screaming at us. "That's no a stew, that's simmering garbage," was one of my favorites. He brandished a brae handax in one hand and a wide chopping blade in the other and soon routed the cook pretenders. Then he went after the various coneys and roots that had been dumped near the pot with both blades, whacking away two handed like a wee dervish. He threw a few fresh herbs and leaves into the water, ground some saltrock, and in no time flat, had a fine smelling dinner set up for the whole camp, mutter imprecations and threatening anyone trying to lend a hand all the while. He reminded me so much of my dear mother, I had to check and make sure he had not a trace of beard for fear she had come to join us.

The meal soon finished, I could see the camp need some music. I got out my chanter and inflated my bags and soon had a rollicking march rising from the pipes. Normally the mannikins were not so fond of the song of the pipes but despite the weather, everyone stayed seated and kept their mouths shut. I was wonderful, if I do say so myself, had the whole camp bedded down happy, sated and content. I turned to the wee chef, ""So, Dobro frien'. We haf deal? My Woksmith pie tin with you pie baking talent, we can win thi' plestigious Womfold Pie Contes'!" He seemed a bit non-plussed or maybe confused but with a bit of bardic persuasion, I managed to sell him a nice pie tin and server, just the thing for the contest. My work was done, the camp happy and settled and a new friend made. A guid day's work.

THE TABBY'S TALE

Horrors! This land grew worse and worse. Water everywhere, falling from the skies, dripping from the trees and no tent thanks to that damned little sprite. If it didn't involve getting wetter, I'd kill Bruce; he as usual reveled in my misery, going on about his nonsense and somehow making the day even worse. This caravan I'd come up with was no better. I'm sure they all had well oiled cloaks and warm boots keeping their feet dry while the road's mud crept up into my pads fur. I was going to be hours cleaning it all. Finally, the caravan came to a halt, spreading out like a festering sore around a cut in the trees. I found an empty wagon full of foul smelling herbs that seemed unattended and crawled in, curling upon my misery like a cub in the womb.

Too early to sleep but at least it was dry, until I was disturbed by shouting and threats. I leapt forth, ready to protect myself and those around me, only to find that all the noise and bluster was this wide halfling who had half the camp turning tail and fleeing like a flock of geese. Apparently he hadn't found the cooking to his liking. To be fair, he seemed to know what he was doing, cutting and chopping with both forepaws and quickly the smells of a rich meat stew filled the camp. We all filled our kits with the stew, which seemed much meatier than a mess of boiled rabbit should be. I ate almost too much, feeling the kinks and cramps of the wet and damp uncurling within me and slipped back into the smelly wagon to sleep when there was another foul caterwauling, like a sheep being squeezed by an ogre. I leapt forth a second time, only to see a hairy fellow making a racket blowing into a set of plaid bags. I assume it was music or whatever passed for such amongst the khordaldrum. Sighing I resumed my spot, covering my poor ears with my tail and finally drifting off. Bloody Bruce had a wonderful time though, singing and telling tales out of school I'm sure, but I didn't care. I was fed and I was dry. IT was enough.

Last edited by penbeast0; 03-08-2019 at 04:44 PM.
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  #19  
Old 03-03-2019, 09:52 PM
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Zwingli Zwingli is offline
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Character application
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Character name: Wolfur Woksmith, of the Iron Lodge Caste
Character sheet: You do not need a character sheet unless chosen, but may include a link to one if you like.
Ability scores: HIGH: STR& WIS; MED: CON∫ LOW: DEX&CHA
Race and class: Mountain Dwarf, Forge Cleric
Level: 3
Gender: Male
Alignment: Lawful Good
Appearance: Standing on his full height of four feet and five inches, Wolfur looks quite different from the usual dwarven stock that most people encounter in the realms. With slightly slanted eyes, dark hair and long, shaggy beard, Wolfur would look more like a far-eastern monk than a master of mettalurgy if not for his well-muscled frame and self-smithed decorated armor, an indication his skill, dedication to the craft, and affiliation with the Iron Lodge.

Background: Guild Artisan: Smith & Metalwork, dabbling in Cooking & Baking

Wolfur comes from a long ancestry of dwarves that have passed down their secrets in making the finest pots, pans, and cooking instruments the whole of Faerun has ever seen. The Woksmiths have since been relegated into obscurity as weaponry and adventuring equipment began to rise as the primary commodity, but those who appreciate quality still know that to use the Woksmith or any Iron Lodge gear is to use the best. Wolfur was apprenticed to his father, as his father did under his father, and so forth. However, having an interest in consuming as well as producing, the dwarf had started to venture into cooking and baking just as he completed his masteral studies in woksmithing.

The novice baker had heard of the Womford Pie Contest last year, from an acquaintance who had been part of the judging panel. This artisan dwarf pattiserrie made it sound like a wonderful learning experience for Wolfur to improve his skill and knowledge in the art, and so when Wolfur got news of this year's contest fast approaching, he packed his bags and travelled the road to Womford. Armed with his expert knowledge of heat application and metalcraft, Wolfur hopes that the Woksmith™ iron pie tin will make the difference in the hands of an expert baker to make the winning recipe for this year's contest.

In character sample writing: Even from their brief conversation, Wolfur had been learning a lot from Dobro's expansive culinary knowledge and skill. Piqued by the fact that the halfling intends to enter the contest, Wolfur thinks that combined with his knowledge of smithing and Dobro's expertise in pie-smithery, they can actually win the Contest and provide with Foundation with Dobro's own homemade pie recipe.

"So, Dobro frien'. We haf deal? My Woksmith pie tin with you pie baking talent, we can win thi' plestigious Womfold Pie Contes'!"

"Oh, you put too much faith in me, Wolfur! Why, we've hardly met! Do you really think I can win this competition?"

"Of col'! Anyway, if somefing bad happens, we can always ask nicely. O' maybe give winna discount on our wo'ld renowned products!"

"Uh, sure, Wolfur! Sure..."


Hope you don't mind including your PC in my sample, @penbeast!
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Last edited by Zwingli; 03-04-2019 at 06:45 PM.
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  #20  
Old 03-04-2019, 01:14 AM
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Allu Allu is offline
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Hey fromthe: I was wondering if I could get a bit of feedback on my app to help make it a better fit for your game?
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  #21  
Old 03-04-2019, 04:01 AM
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My app should be complete as well. I sent my rolls via PM.
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  #22  
Old 03-04-2019, 12:59 PM
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Character name: Devyn Songwell
Character sheet: TBD
Ability scores: High STR, CHA, Med CON, INT, Low DEX, WIS
Race, Class, Level: Human Fighter 1/Bard 2
Gender: Male
Alignment: Neutral Good

Appearance: Devyn is a tall, well-built man, 19 years old. He wears his red hair cropped short in an attempt to hide its natural curl. He has deep green eyes and high cheekbones covered in light freckles. Upon first glance, Devyn’s clothing is threadbare; the dirty cloak and patched tunic look quite well-worn. However, underneath the nondescript outer garments, glints of fine plate armor can be seen. The polished pommel of his sword stands out from the scuffed scabbard. A tambourine hangs from Devyn’s plain leather belt, rattling lightly with his every step.

Background: Devyn is the only son of the great bard, Vinton Songwell. Vinton was a well-known adventurer during his youth. If the songs are true (and they may not be, since Vinton wrote them himself), it was Vinton's own blade that felled the famed orc warlord Grognar. After a successful heroic career, Vinton retired and married his longtime companion, the fiery swordmistress Ismeena. The pair invested their wealth in the establishment of the Songwell Institute, a bard training school for youth interested in following in Vinton's footsteps.

Devyn was strong and fit from a young age, and loved hearing tales of his parents’ adventures. While his father was away at the Institute, Devyn learned the basics of swordplay from his mother. The lad took to her training quickly, and the two formed an exceptionally strong bond. Despite this early display of potential in the arts of war, Vinton insisted that Devyn would attend the Songwell Institute. Expectations for the boy were very high as he began his bard training.

There was only one problem: Devyn couldn't carry a tune in a bucket.

His strong fingers were too large to use a flute or pipe, and he never could get a handle on using both hands at once while strumming a lute or guitar. His teachers, sympathetic to the pressure placed on the lad, spent plenty of extra time with him. With their help, Devyn was able to “graduate” with a reliance on the only instrument he showed the slightest aptitude for: a tambourine.

In character sample writing:

“Hey there, lad,” Devyn said, riding atop a fine grey horse. “Where’s the stables?”
The dirty-faced boy playing in the mud pointed down the road. “See that red-roofed building down there? It’s just past it.” Devyn flipped a copper piece through the air. The boy caught it, and, incredulous at his good fortune, ran alongside the trotting horse. “Wow, thanks, mister! Now I can get some candy from that merchant. He came all the way from Waterdeep, can you believe it?”
Devyn sighed, then grinned. “Can I believe it? Sure I can.” His voice changes to a higher, mocking tone. “It’s a pie contest in a little village, Devyn, it’s not the court of an elven princess.” He rolls his eyes, muttering to himself. “I get it, Dad, I get it. It’s a minor event, but the responsibility of a bard, blah blah…”
The boy’s eyes lit up. “You’re a bard! Wow! Can you sing a song for me, mister?” Devyn pulled back on the reigns, stopping the horse. Craning his neck, he looked around. No one else was close by. He rustled in his saddlebags and produced a tambourine.
“Just for you, kid, but you’ve got to promise not to blab about it all over. Understand?” The boy nodded in excitement. Devyn cleared his throat and began tapping the tambourine. His touch was light, and when he opened his mouth to sing, the words were barely a whisper.
“A hungry boy sat in the dirt just outside Womford town
The lack of candy in his tum had caused his face to frown
He helped a stranger find his way and earned a shiny copper
He took the coin and spent it all on candy - what a shopper!”
The boy laughed. “That’s the strangest song I ever heard, mister! But it sure was funny. You weren’t really singing it, though, more like just sayin’ a poem. Different than any bard song I heard before.”
Devyn returned the boy’s grin. “Well, I’m a different sort of bard. Tell you what.” Devyn handed the boy another coin. “Get me some candy, too. Meet me at the stables, and I’ll have another copper for you there, all right?”
The boy squealed and took off like a bolt of lightning. Devyn laughed, put his tambourine back in his bag, and led the horse into Womford.
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  #23  
Old 03-04-2019, 03:26 PM
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Allu View Post
Hey fromthe: I was wondering if I could get a bit of feedback on my app to help make it a better fit for your game?
Looks good. Since the deadline is soon, I don't have time to provide detailed feedback.
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  #24  
Old 03-05-2019, 09:46 AM
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Last chance to apply, this game is about to get launch!

Deadline is March 8th!
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Last edited by MoonZar; 03-05-2019 at 09:47 AM.
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  #25  
Old 03-05-2019, 11:16 AM
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APPLICATION COMPLETE
Character application
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Character name: Derek the Awakened
Character sheet: Will make if chosen.
Ability scores: Highest to lowest: WIS/DEX, CHA, CON, INT, STR
Race and class: Variant Human with the Magic Initiate (Druid) feat
Level: 3; Trickster Cleric 1/Monk 2
Gender: Male
Alignment: Neutral Good

Appearance:

Derek is not a large man. He is not tall either. Standing about 5'9" with a lean frame, Derek is far from intimidating. The only thing separating him from another wanderer is the holy symbol of Lathander wrapped around his left wrist. The golden sun is a stark contrast from his travel worn clothes and cloak. As you meet the wanderers brown eyes, they light up and a large grin splits over his face as if you were an old friend. As he approaches, the staff with a lantern over his back jostles and you see Lathander's light glows in the paper lantern with no heat; just light. He shakes your hand and with a wink, asks "Hullo, ya know where someone can find a drink after the long road?" As he completes his sentence, he uncorks one end of the sun medallion and takes a short draft. "My sun needs some recharging, as you can see." As he says this he turns the amulet upside down and sadly there isn't even a drip.

Background:

Derek is quick to make a joke or to lighten up a mood. Never taking himself or his faith too seriously, Derek still manages to do what's right and deep down is a good soul. Derek never met his parents, but was raised in a monastery to Lathander. There were monks, clerics, and paladins in that order, but Derek took to the monks training. Derek learned to use his body as a weapon, making up for his lean frame and lack of overwhelming strength.

As he approached his coming of age ceremony, one of the clerics at the temple decided to take the young man under their wing. Derek never really had a father and while he appreciated the monk's teachings, this cleric filled a closer role. Teaching him of Lathander's mercy and love for life, Derek enthusiastically learned and trained to become a cleric. When the time came to become a man, Derek was made one of The Awakened, and sent out to be Lathander's light in the world.

Throughout his travels, Derek learned of the worlds most delightful treasure; wine. As he wandered the world, looking for where he would best help others, Derek found many a pub with strong drink. It went far enough that he recently had a custom hollow Lathander amulet made, with a screw-on top, to hold his last reserves for the road.

In character sample writing:

Where in the world are all these people going? There must be some kind of event going on. Maybe they need a cleric! Derek mused as he watched the numerous groups of travelers pull their carts and make their way up the cobbled road. Following, Derek soon saw a village in the distance. The distant smell of cooking fires wafted to him and Derek's interest was piqued. I mean, if I don't go to where the people are, what kind of cleric would I be, he justified to himself as he walked towards what was clearly some kind of festival.

Dawn peaked through the window in Derek's room at the inn. With a groan of pain from his headache, Derek shot a glare at the rising sun. "I get it, I get it. *Morninglord* and all that. You mind giving me just a few more minutes?" Seeing that the sun, in fact, did not plan to give him more rest Derek decided to rise. Opening the curtains, he fought through his pulsing headache to complete his morning sacraments.

Closing his well-worn prayer book, Derek rose slowly. Finding a bottle of wine on the nightstand, he took a deep drink. The headache didn't seem so bad now. Taking one more drink for good measure, Derek decided he should probably head down and get some food. Little did he know that this new dawn's light may change his life forever. Funny how the Morninglord works! Sitting at the bar, he saw some rough and tough fellows in armor who stood out like a sore thumb. Having an idea, he approached. "Hullo there. Name's Derek. Interested in a game of chance? Loser buys breakfast and a drink!" Derek pulled a worn deck of cards from a side pocket and flashed a toothy grin.
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Last edited by Tommyk382; 03-05-2019 at 11:26 AM.
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  #26  
Old 03-06-2019, 02:40 AM
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Ability score distribution updated in the app, stat roll sent via PM.
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  #27  
Old 03-06-2019, 06:05 AM
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What kind of equipment will we be starting with?
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  #28  
Old 03-06-2019, 07:09 AM
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fromthe1980s fromthe1980s is offline
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What kind of equipment will we be starting with?
Standard according to background and class. If you want to roll for gp, do that in a PM to me. I believe the PHB says sell equipment for half, but you may swap equipment gp for gp (full value) as desired.
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  #29  
Old 03-06-2019, 08:26 PM
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Application
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Character name: Calon Blackhand

Ability scores:
High: STR & CON
Med: DEX & WIS
Low: INT & CHA

Race and class: Half-Orc Blood Hunter (Profane Soul)

Gender: Male

Alignment: Neutral Good

Appearance: The most prominent of Calon's features is his skin. It is common for half-orcs to possess the sage or olive tint of their brutish ancestry, but Calon's human origins fought against that norm. Resulting in a hue more closely resembling that of his fair skinned heritage. He is not completely devoid of his mother's orc traits, however, as he was blessed with her sturdy tusks and amber colored eyes. The orc-kin's burly, yet softened build is the culmination of years spent hammering away at his mother's anvil and his love of food.

Background: Calon's mother lived a hard life, prior to settling as a blacksmith in Baldur's gate. She was part of an order who's unyielding purpose was to rid the world of perceived supernatural evils. Conceiving a child, however, impeded that mission and her abilities as a hunter. His mother was released from the order and sent away to raise her child, though his father did not follow.

Life as a smithy's son was hard work and oft mundane. What Calon looked forward to most, was his mother's stories of adventure prior to the anvil. She was not secretive of her past and wanted her son to know of the evils lurking throughout the world. She spoke of the order, the training involved, and the sacrifices made to one's body. Calon was enamored by her tales and intrigued by a concoction so-called "Hunter's Bane" that members of her order would imbibe, imbuing them with supernatural powers of their own. The chemical took its toll, however, as some would succumb to a darker path while others would deteriorate over time. The latter being the fate of Calon's mother, who's health began to rapidly diminish, as her son reached adulthood.

Continuing life as a blacksmith was never Calon's plan, and his mother foresaw that. She informed her son of the dangers in the world, knowing he was destined to seek them out. It was her intuition as a mother, but also, her path within the order that bestowed this knowledge upon her. Calon's mother was a blood hunter, but one of the Profane Soul; blessed by a being of the Upper Planes who whispered of her son's future and its desire for him to follow a similar path. Not long after his mother's passing, the young half-orc sought out the order of blood hunters in search of his new purpose.

In character sample writing:
"You've served the order well, these past several years. Your mother would be proud." Castor Al'Akket commented while staring beyond the polished stone balcony of their great hall. Calon, standing beside the commander, admired the purple hue cast by a setting sun over the forest below. The half-orc remained silent, but offered a gratuitous nod. "You're to visit the town of Womford next. Further details are on the table." The aged half-elf lingered for a moment longer, before pivoting and leaving the room.

Calon's heavy, leather-clad footsteps reverberated throughout the hall as he moved towards the table to retrieve the rolled parchment. "Travel to Womford...Pie contest...investigate potential danger...collect recipe for Nightwood if time permits?" The half-orc's whisper increased in volume while reading aloud, coinciding with the progressing confusion evoked by his new orders. With a heavy sigh, and simultaneous eye roll, Calon stowed the now-folded orders behind a worn-leather belt at his waist. So this is how I will be celebrating my 30th name day, he resigned while snuffing out the single sagging candle melting atop the table.
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Last edited by MrCeeJ; 03-07-2019 at 03:04 PM.
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  #30  
Old 03-06-2019, 08:40 PM
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Last Visit: 05-19-2019
RPXP: 2143
MeredithS MeredithS MeredithS MeredithS MeredithS MeredithS MeredithS MeredithS MeredithS MeredithS MeredithS
Posts: 1,425
Thank you for the opportunity, but I was just accepted to a long term game and now have 5 games , I am withdrawing my app, but thank you again, and good luck, happy gaming!
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