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Old Aug 9th, 2021, 06:18 PM
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Oh, an Out of the Abyss game, I'm interested. This post is claimed as my App.
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Name: Toronto Alonzo
Race: Variant Human (Magic Initiate)
Class: Fighter (Eldritch Knight)
Alignment: CN
Background: Entertainer (Storyteller)
Personality Traits: I know a story relevant to almost every situation
I love a good insult, even one directed at me.
Ideal: People. I like seeing the smiles on people's faces when I perform. That's all that matters.
Bond: I idolize a hero of the old tales and measure my deeds against that person's.
Flaw: I once satirized a noble who still wants my head. It was a mistake that I will likely repeat.
Appearance: Toronto stands at 5'11" tall and weighs 110 pounds. He looks like any other human, fair skin tone, well trimmed mustache, blue eye color and raven colored hair. He usually wears red clothing's along with a white sleeve, also leather armor on top. Whatever clothes he wears, their will always be a red cape, no matter what. Even if he has no clothes to wear, he'll always have a red cape handy. When people asks why, he responds by saying it makes him look dashing. He also carries a lute with him and a rapier at his belt.
Personality: Toronto is a very enthusiastic young man that exudes confidence. Not because he thinks of himself as high and mighty, but because he likes to take a more optimistic and confident persona. He'd rather make someone happy than feel insignificant. However, Toronto doesn't like people thinking themselves as high and mighty when they don't have the evidence to prove it. So he'd sometimes make some mockery to the offender, however the offender is usually a noble but that never stopped him from mocking others he thinks deserve it. He also has a love for fantastical stories of adventure, magic and strange creatures. But what he loves most of all is performing those stories to an audience, to show his love for his hobby to the world and in exchange the world would give him their adoration, even a simple smile is enough to move his heart.
Backstory: Toronto Alonzo lived a glamorous life of luxury. His parents were just unseemly rich, mostly cause they were a family of merchant wizards that made a profit on mundane magic items like boots of warmth, pants that'll stay clean forever, a shovel that could dig better than an ordinary one, etc. Basically Toronto could have anything he wanted with his family's wealth. But what he loved most of his home was the library, it all manner of lore and journal entries telling the ventures of the writer. His favorite one was an adventurer that traveled the lands with his party, wielding both magic and swordplay with finesse and might. This inspired Toronto, and also made him decide that he wanted to adventure too.

So he grabbed one of the Alonzo's family spell training books, rapier, a bunch of gold pieces, and leather armor and set's up to his adventure in all a manner of a day. The day in question was an unfortunate event after another, all in order he got mugged, lost all the money and jewelry he had, broke a kneecap when starting a fight at a bar, then broke another kneecap by stealing the stables horses, he was then dropped down to the nearby river and went upstream where he was attack by a swarm of ravenous dogs. All in one day, their he was, beaten, battered and all his kneecaps broken. He was in despair, his dreams of adventuring have come to an end as soon as it started. That's when at that moment he met a travelling troupe of entertainers, they nursed him back to help when they saw the state he was in.

For days he was being taken care of the troupe, and he regaled them with the unfortunate tale of his adventure. And they all laugh as he acted out the parts of his misfortune, seeing their smiles didn't make him feel angry but he felt relieved and laugh at his own expense. The troupe then asked if he would join them, seeing as their traveling around the continent, and Toronto agreed, his thirst for adventure now rekindled. Throughout his time with the troupe, he learned how to play the lute and has bettered his performance in storytelling. He made some troubles with the troupe at one point when some nobles bad-mouthed a members performance, but everything went smoothly after that, everything was fine. However all good days must come to an end, as one night the drow raided the traveling troupes camp and killed everyone but Toronto.
RP Sample: It was just a usual day, the troupe was performing splendidly at a village and Toronto did a grand job with his storytelling performance. And as the troupe decided to leave and camp out on the woods tonight, shadows from the dark move through the surface and await their prey.

Toronto was busy thinking about a new story for his performance, but can't seem to get it down that he couldn't sleep. So he decided to write down his material, that's when he noticed something strange. Their was no sound coming from the troupe, sure it's nighttime, but usually at this hour the musicians usually practice their ballad yet it's eerily quite. Something was not right, so Toronto quitely took a peek out of his tent, then noticed the blood and arrows on the other tents.

Toronto was stunned at the sight, he took his rapier and lute to check the scene out for survivors of this unseen attack. Their were none, all he found were the assailants that did the deed. Dark skinned elves, Toronto knows of these type of elves as drow, their were three in total and looked at Toronto with surprised. "Looks like we've missed one.", says a drow wearing armor and wielding a whip, she looks to be the leader of this squad. They aim their bow at Toronto, but he didn't flinch. He was mad at what they done but he knows he couldn't beat them, not with his meager strength and spells. Downcast, he looked at his blade, then at his lute. He smiled and looked toward the drow, he then gives bow, "Milady, if you would stay your aim for a bit, I would like to serenade such beauty before I die. I promise you won't regret it.", he says, strumming his lute with a nice tune. The leader ponders that request before and then signals the others to hold fire. The leader toward Toronto and ask,"Proceed, and make it amusing.", so Toronto gives her a nod and begins strumming his lute. He looks toward one drow as he plays his instruments and sings,"My, oh my, I thought I'd never thought I'd ever see this day. Or maybe the proper word is smell, cause my God, that's the foulest and it's emanating from you. You smell as foul as Balor would, no , even worse than that. Might I suggest something called a perfume.", he says while pinching his nose at the drow he looked at. Said drow was furious, proceeded to punch him, breaking his nose and forming a black eye. But this didn't deterred him, as he looked toward the other drow,"Ah, now look at you, a drow. Tell me, tell me, you praise Lolth, the spider queen, so tell me. Was your mother a drider, or was your arse always that big." he says, which he receive a response that involved a swift and sharp kick to the groin. However he doesn't broke down yet, he continues strumming his lute as the drow grew irritated at the minstrels antics, he puts his toward their leader, "Don't be mad, don't be so vain. I mean, you accepted a Hill Giant as your leader, so beauty to you has no meaning. Oh wait, what's that, your a drow, oh I apologise. It's just your so fat and your face doesn't help with your complexion at all, it even looks likes the butt of a hill giant, too." as he said that, the leader lost all patients at that last line. So using her whip, she lacerated Toronto's legs, not enough to cut it off but enough cause excruciating amounts of pain. Toronto knelt down, a look of pain appears on his face but he didn't scream. He only continued playing his instrument and looked toward the drow leader,"You may cut me down, you may break every bone in my body, and you may break my mind itself, but you will never hear me beg or scream. Cause I am Toronto Alonzo the Adventurer, come at me." he says, spitting at the leaders face. The other drow prepare to kill him, but their leader stops,"Hold! Bring him along with the rest of the villagers, he will be an amusing toy to break." she says, then Toronto felt his conscious fading as the leader punch him to knock him out. He fades to darkness.

Last edited by Onward; Aug 9th, 2021 at 08:35 PM.
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Old Aug 9th, 2021, 08:04 PM
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App is done.
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Old Aug 9th, 2021, 08:35 PM
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Mine too, App is finished.
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Old Aug 10th, 2021, 02:44 AM
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I think my application is complete...
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Old Aug 10th, 2021, 08:15 AM
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I am away on holiday for the next few days from Wednesday to Sunday so won't be around to answer queries. However, closing date for this will be tentatively around the end of August for anyone else still wishing to apply.
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Old Aug 10th, 2021, 04:52 PM
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Hi there! I'd very much like to apply for this game- I've actually applied for an Out of the Abyss game twice before, since the setting really appeals to me. Sadly I didn't get into either of those games, but I'm hoping the third time's the charm!

I've mostly finished my character, although I may sleep on it and check my grammar and spelling (and maybe tweak my spells a little) in a day or two. Other than that, though, the application is complete. Please let me know what you think- any feedback is welcome, and if you're missing anything, I'd be happy to add or edit parts as needed!

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  • Name: Kethra Vaath
  • Race: Protector Aasimar
  • Class: Sorcerer (Aberrant Mind)
  • Background:
    • Personality Trait: I have a personal ritual I use to deal with stress: My mask, while entirely nonmagical, helps keeps the nightmares away.
    • Personality Trait: I must know the answer to every secret. No door remains unopened in my presence.
    • Ideal: Truth. I care about the truth above all else, even if it doesn't benefit anyone.
    • Bond: A great evil dwells with in me. I will fight against it and the world's other evils for as long as I can.
    • Flaw: I'm convinced something is after me, appearing in mirrors, dreams, and places where no one could.
    Haunted One
  • Alignment: Chaotic Good

Born twenty-six years ago, Kethra is the sixth child of baron Vaath, a minor noble who governs a small stretch of land in Tethyr. Despite their relatively weak position, the Vaath house is notable among the nobility of Tethyr for its Celestial lineage. Many generations ago, the fate of the bloodline's progenitor was touched by the deva Vasharun- and its descendants have been Aasimar ever since. Thus it was that many of the baron's subjects looked forward expectantly to the birth of yet another scion of such a noble line.

However, malign influences tragically disrupted what was supposed to be a happy event. On the night of Kethra's birth, a comet, burning with baleful yellow flames, crashed into the nearby farmlands. Some malignant entity from beyond touched the world that night, and a sliver of that eldritch corruption marred Kethra as she first drew breath. The comet's strange influence became apparent as Kethra grew up; the girl suffered horrific nightmares, and her continuous lack of sleep rendered her a sickly, frail and unhappy child. The Vaath family was accustomed to those of its lineage receiving visions and guidance from Vasharun in their dreams, but the corruption which had touched Kethra made each of the young girl's dreams a nightmare. She, too, saw the angelic being in her dreams, as did her siblings and ancestors before her. But the deva's words were twisted, his kind smile turned predatory, and every shadow in her vision danced and writhed, turning each peaceful vista to a nightmarish hellscape.

The Vaath family worried greatly about Kethra's affliction. One one hand, they feared how the other noble families of Tethyr- the Land of Intrigue- would use knowledge of their daughters curse against them. On the other, they feared that Kethra herself might become a threat, overtaken by the corruption and made to fall. They searched for a means to lift the curse, ensuring none of their rivals would learn of these endeavours. Eventually, house Vaath was visited by a wizened old soothsayer, who presented a blank, white mask to the family's patron. If the girl would wear the mask during her sleep, or so the soothsayer claimed, the dreams would not come. Kethra's parents were sceptical at first but, in their desperation, tried the solution regardless. Miraculously, it worked- Kethra did not dream whenever she wore the mask. Yet the mysterious soothsayer was gone- without payment, or any clue as to his identity. This was considered strange but, relieved at finally having a way of preventing Kethra's nightmares, the family paid no further mind to the stranger's sudden arrival and departure.

Kethra, finally free of the comet's malign influence, slowly recovered from the nightmares of her childhood, growing into a friendly, noble young woman. A bit of her strangeness remained as she grew up, the trauma of her childhood never entirely forgotten- spells of staring into the distance, speaking to spectres only she could perceive. Fortunately most who witnessed such moods accepted this eccentric behaviour as simply an endearing quirk, and did not think ill of the girl for it. Yet Kethra was also curious, bookish and eager to study- and few things held her interest like her own affliction did. She was obsessed with the origin of the curse which had plagued her so- expending large sums of money to acquire texts speaking of similar subjects. In the end, Kethra's curiosity overcame her fears, and she decided to sleep without the mask.

For the first time in many years, she was visited again by Vasharun in her dreams. Again, the deva's words and visage were horrifically distorted by the darkness swirling around him. The years had not lessened the impact of the corrupted visions- the dream was agony, and when Kethra awoke, she was screaming, crying and scratching at her own arms. Yet for all the horror, she had learned one thing. One message, repeated over and over. In the darkness below, the answers waited- a means of learning about the curse, and perhaps, undo it.

Kethra did not wait for dawn- she snatched up some belongings and, without leaving word to her family, disappeared into the night. Eventually, guided by the visions in her dreams, the young woman- now granted sorcerous powers by the corruption guiding her into the darkness- made her way into the Underdark. Yet she had travelled for less than a week into the shadows of that fell place, before stumbling upon a group of Drow slavers. The malicious elves gladly took her prisoner and led her ever deeper down into the Underdark, where they intended to put her to work as a slave. But the young Aasimar woman did not despair, for she trusted that Vasharun would keep her safe- and knew the unknowable entity would not let her die before its goals were accomplished...

Kethra is a tall, fair-skinned woman, with long locks of flowing, golden hair, and amber, almond-shaped eyes which seem perpetually fixed on something distant. With high cheekbones, sharp features and a powerful, confident expression, Kethra's Celestial heritage is clearly visible. White lines spreading out from her eyes and reaching across her brow and cheeks also speak of an otherworldly influence. This is further accentuated by the young Aasimar's upbringing as an aristocrat; the way she moves and speaks reveal Kethra is accustomed to mingling with high society, lending her an air of authority.

At the Vaath residence, Kethra was accustomed to wearing long, flowing gowns and whatever jewelry she desired. She preferred white dresses and silver ornaments, but was equally representable in whatever attire the events she attented called for. On walks through the forests and farmlands surrounding her ancestral home, Kethra preferred more practical clothing- a supple leather vest, a greyish blue hooded cloak lined with silver thread, and simple tunics and pantaloons in browns, greens and greys. Despite the apparent simplicity of her clothing, an observer could see the expert quality of these garments- for a daughter of baron Vaath was never to wander without presenting herself as a cut above the common man.

Kethra's current attire in many ways resemble the more practical clothes of her outdoor adventures, yet they are simpler by far- made for the common folk, and lacking any silver thread or other embellishments. Kethra chose to wear these clothes to better blend in on her travels; yet even without her aristocratic accoutrements, the tall, slender Aasimar strikes a memorable figure.

Despite her regal bearing, Kethra is a compassionate person, who cares for the fate of the common people. She is pleasant company, well aware of proper etiquette and used to handling herself in the intrigues of her homeland. However, she can also be distant- a childhood of isolation has taught the young Aasimar to be content with her own company. At times, she can be lost in thought- staring into the shadows, whispering to spectres only she can see.

Having grown up with more books than people at hand, Kethra is quite studious. She is especially interested in matters pertaining to her own condition- some would say she is obsessed, or perhaps desperate, with finding out the truth about the corruption in her veins.

RP Sample
It was a beautiful day. The sun was warm, the sky blue and cloudless, and only the gentle sound of crickets chirping amongst the fields of wheat disturbed the quiet peace. A perfect day for lounging lazily in the gardens of Vaath manor, attended by a host of servants, quietly reading in the shadows or playing dragonchess with one's sisters or brothers. A cool glass of sparkling water, perhaps a musician at hand to play the harp, and the day would have been perfect.

Kethra, unfortunately, had none of these things. She wasn't enjoying the comfort provided by Vaath manor's gardens, for last night, she had decided to depart from her ancestral home in secret. There were no servants here, no books but those she had hastily stuffed into her backpack, and none of her family to keep her company. She was alone, walking along the dusty roads betwixt golden fields of dry wheat. The sun, which would have been pleasant in the comfort of her garden, only made Kethra's travels that much less comfortable. The sweltering heat of its unrelenting rays only aggravated the dry, dust-filled air, leaving no moisture save beads of sweat running down the Aasimar's forehead and back. Again, Kethra wondered whether she should have simply stayed at home.

Eventually, she came upon a tree planted beside the road- a thick oak, with long wide branches providing merciful shelter from the sun. Kethra sighed with relief as she neared the oak, then stopped- others sat there, too, underneath the tree's boughs. Farmers, by the look of it, enjoying a picknick among friends. Three men and two women sat in a circle, upon a rough chequered blanket splayed out across the ground. For a moment Kethra considered just moving on, unwilling to intrude on what she supposed was these good people's lunch break. But just as she was about to turn reluctantly back to the sun-drenched road, one of the men noticed her, waving her over.

Kethra approached cautiously, but smiling, holding her head high as she stepped into the shadow. No longer blinded by the sun's glare, she could see the farmers were unfamiliar to her- but she supposed such was to be suspected. Her family's lands were extensive, and she rarely left the manor even now that her health allowed for such outings.

'G'day, your ladyship!' the man who had waved called out to her. 'Beautiful day, innit? Would you care to join us for a spell in the shade?'

Kethra smiled, despite being taken aback by the man's forwardness. Few commoners would so openly invite one of noble blood- it would be considered highly inappropriate, for one. But in this instance, Kethra was happy the man decided not to stand on protocol. 'Yes,' she said softly in her sing-song voice. 'A bit of respite from the sun would be welcome. As long as I am not intruding?' she asked, just to be sure, but to her relief the man simply shook his head. 'Not at all! Please, sit. Can I offer you something to eat, or drink?'

As she sat, the Aasimar looked down on the food spread out on the blanket. Rough, dark bread, carrots, apples, and a large jug which she supposed contained water. A healthy, hearty meal, and Kethra was especially tempted by the water- but in the end she shook her head. 'Just a place in the shadow,' she replied, 'and your company.' The highborn Aasimar had to remind herself that the meal, which would hardly be considered a meal back at the manor, was probably more than these peasants could afford. She was not about to take from them what they no doubt considered a veritable feast- not when she had so selfishly ran away from the comforts of home.

'Tha, we can do,' the man laughed jovially, tearing a mouthful from a piece of bread with his teeth. 'Though I must say, I am suprised to see you out here, alone and without yer servants. Out for a stroll, are we?'

'I suppose I am,' Kethra smiled, 'Or rather, on a journey.' A journey to the darkness below, she thought bitterly.

The man simply nodded. 'Aye, to the darkness below.' Kethra looked up, baffled. Had she said those words out loud? 'Pardon me?' she asked, trying in vain to recover from her surprise.

'The darkness below, just like you said, yer ladyship,' the farmer repeated, as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world for him to speak her unspoken thoughts aloud. Undisturbed, he pointed off into the distance, the loaf of bread still in his hand. 'About five miles that way, 'afore you find the next milestone, I reckon'. On your way to the darkness below.'

Suddenly, Kethra was acutely aware of the fact that the others had fallen silent, and were watching her, intently. Her eyes followed the man's hand- and she saw another hand, at the end of a severed arm which had taken the bread's place. Before she could gasp in shock, the man brought the limb to his mouth again, sinking his teeth into the greyish skin, black blood spilling forth from the wound and running down his chin. She looked down, and finally she gasped in horror. No carrots or apples lay on the blanket, but fingers, hearts and eyes- which the peasants greedily picked up and stuffed into the mouths, hungrily devouring the flesh while staring directly at her, grinning and cackling.

'We are all waiting for you,' the first man said, his skin sloughing off to reveal eyes and pincers amid the raw meat beneath, 'in the darkness below.'

And then they were gone.

Kethra looked about herself, thoroughly shaken by what she had seen- but it was no longer there. Not even the tree was there anymore- she sat in the blistering sun, in the mud rather than on a comfortable blanket, but at least the horrific peasants were gone. She had been talking to spectres again; spectres only she could see. Stifling a curse at her affliction, Kethra bit her tears, then got back up. West, the apparition had pointed. If the corruption tried to scare her, tried to keep her away, then she had all the more reason to continue towards her destination. Whatever the corruption did not want her to see, she would study, in hopes of finally banishing the affliction from her blood. And so, unsteady but resolute, she took a step towards the west.

And, ultimately, towards the darkness below.

Characters: Anchor, Selanet, Aramil, Mhurren, Hazel
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Old Aug 10th, 2021, 10:42 PM
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Promise (Rahime Amakas)
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Name: Rahime AmakasPromise
Race: Tiefling
Class: Monk
Alignment: CN
Background: Far Traveler
-I don’t put much stock in money. I would rather have things that are useful or beautiful than valuable.
-I express affection or contempt in ways that are unfamiliar to others.
Ideals: Suspicious. I must be careful, for I have no way of telling friend from foe here. (Any)
Bond: Though I had no choice, I lament having to leave my loved one(s) behind. I hope to see them again one day.
Flaw: My rage is slow to rise, but when it's flames are fanned the firestorm within is unyielding.

Appearance and Personality
Rahime is a striking woman. Not in any traditional sense of beauty. She doesn’t think of herself in such terms and neither do those who knew her. The focused woman inherited her father’s height, deep red hair and light blue eyes. A crown of six curved horns frames her face and sets her apart from her kin. Tall, graceful, loyal and devoted, she is known for both her patience and passionate defense of those in need. Dark lashes rim pale blue eyes that look upon the world with a heavy gaze that sees both into and through you. No judgement, nor deception, to be found in them as she tends both those in need of healing or a merciful end. She prefers to dress in the traditional manner of her order and will be happy when she can wrap her fists in the protective strips of cotton and leather once more.

"Well-behaved women seldom make history." -Laurel Thatcher Ulrich ;
Taken the Oath of Sangus

Last edited by lydklein; Aug 15th, 2021 at 12:10 AM.
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Old Aug 11th, 2021, 03:13 AM
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Grimdark survival horror? Here we go again


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Name: Valyria Knox
Race: Elf
Class: Paladin (Oath of Vengeance)/ Depending on party dynamics, after lvl 6Warlock Hexblade
Diety: Vandria Gilmadrith (AKA: Lady Steelheart, daughter of Lolth)
Alignment: NG

Background: Soldier
Personality Traits:
--Memories of war haunt me my every-waking thought, fueling my desire to live, to fight, and to avenge blood for blood.
--I face problems head-on. If the problem is survival, for everyone's sake, it's better to live to fight another day.
--Greater Good. Our lot is to lay down our lives in defense of others. If we don't take a stand, who will?
--A comrade saved my life on the battlefield. To this day, I will never leave a friend behind. Those who fight beside me are worth dying for.
--My hatred for the Lolth--and anything else that thinks to get in my way--is blind and unreasoning.

Appearance: Standing at 5'6, Valyria moves with an uncanny grace, possessing a slender, flexible frame. Her movements are purposeful and efficient, as maintaining one's stamina is essential to one's survival. Deep auburn hair falls to her shoulders, wind-tussled and riddled with playful braids, feathers, and beads. Around her neck dangles the Weeping Eye of Vandria, an heirloom she holds near and dear. Valyria's piercing grey gaze, hawkish in their clarity, is expressive and quick to survey the odds. In the face of peril, her expressions fly from dour to mockingly smug, especially if it will help give others a respite from the drow's whip. Her body is already a canvas of scars. What is another, or a myriad more? She is deft at wielding anything with a pointy end, be it with a blade, an axe, or a whittled down stick. Valyria naturally prefers weapons and armor of elven make; and, in the way of casual dress, certainly nothing as outlandishly garish as what the Drow think appropriate. As in all things, moderation is best.

Personality: from the Fels of Lolth's domain, playing the valiant, fearless Arbiter Valyria, Vanguard of Cormanthor, is but a sad charade. In all honesty, at times it's so frightening that she flutters on the brink, close to banishing all hope. In those moments, all that keeps her from fainting are the ghosts of memories, bidding her to cling to her frayed threads of sanity, lest she join them in obscurity. Hatred pushes her onward. She absolutely refuses to die without a fight. Should the Drow snap off her every limb, she would viciously bite their ankles. Of course, these grim thoughts are what give her comfort. Valyria is rough around the edges, not as clean-kept or refined as one would expect from one of the ageless. Her strength is a boon from Lady Steelheart, the austere Seldarine goddess of vigilance, grief. and war. Where there is Hope, there is Perseverance. At heart, Valyria hopes to redeem the weight of shame she feels over her own inadequacy and lack of faith. She is irrevocably flawed by the events that led her here, but sees no other course but to push forward through the horrors below. She is driven, down to the last grit of her resolve, to ensure every last captive makes it back to the surface alive! Though there is little warmth and humanity to be had in the Underdark, Valyria gives it freely and in abundance to all who are receptive, resigning herself to be the voice of reason where it counts, the dogged defender, and the indomitable Big Sis of this little doomsday escapade.

Background: Valyria never, in her wildest nightmares, imagined she would be in this grim predicament. Tethered in chains. Hauled off to the horrific bowels of the Underdark where few ever return. Blind and disoriented amid the dark, there she is humiliated and tormented by Drow, her most bitter nemesis—fated to die, if not by their hands…then upon the altar of Lolth. Verily, it would be better to die an inglorious death than suffer to the very last as that vile demon’s plaything. She’s heard more than enough stories to give one the chills. Haven’t they all?

The feud between the elves and their accursed cousins, the Drow, is practically as old as time. It is a battle between light and dark. Good and evil. Day and night. With each new generation, the cycle of violence churns anew, and the blood lost on both sides only fuels hatred that will last a lifetime or more. Valyria’s story began less than a century before, approximately eighty-seven years, born and raised in one of the most heavily contested lands on the continent. Cormanthyr. Daemonfey, Drow, dragons, filthy Zhentarim necromancers and Bane himself all staked their claim on this sacred realm, doing their utmost to cull the sylvan folk to extinction. Thankfully, with great sacrifice, the elves rallied their strength and were able to pry back their ancestral lands under the banner of Ilsevele Miritar. Alas, despite their triumphant victory, the threat to Cormanthyr remained ever-present. The unthinkable then occurred in the Year of Doom. In order to stave Bane's final conquest, an entire floating CITY was felled on Myth Drannor, effectively wiping it off the map forever. The incident killed many defenders along with the hordes of darkness, Valyria's parents among them. Those who survived took to Semberholme and the woods, leaving them more vulnerable than ever to Lolth's devices. The devastation was so great, Valyria wept as many did, scarred over the unimaginable loss of life. With their sacred city ravaged and destroyed, Cormanthyr and it's beleaguered inhabitants would never be the same. If things did not change, they too would fade into the annals history...and would anyone give them more than a passing thought?

Left orphaned, homeless, and bereft of purpose by that dreadful day, Valyria was taken in by a priestess of Vandria named Lady Soleil. The worship of Vandria had waxed cold among the elves long before Myth Drannor had been annihilated. Understandably, she was a solemn figure among the Seldarine, hardened by war and strife. It is said that Vandria feels every injury and every death that has ever befallen an elf in armed combat. She is weighted down by the grief others feel, and seeks to prevent war as a result. Somehow, hearing that inspired a sense of endearment toward the goddess--who was all but forgotten by her people. Vandria had shared her grief, had tasted the overwhelming tide of loneliness and helplessness within her too. With no one else to turn to, Valyria embraced Vandria and vowed to be her paladin...to completely devote herself to the sword, to thwart the wicked schemes of warmongers, and defy Lolth until her last breath. Truly, what could give her more satisfaction than that? As the years went by, eventually her martial skill and tenacious zeal caught the eye of recruiters, and she was thrust into the service of Ilsevele's personal guard.

Eventually, much of Valyria's life revolved around fending off the rampaging tide of bloodthirsty Drow. No better than opportunistic vermin, they often prowled the forest, raiding settlements and ambushing unsuspecting folk, ever-bent on filling their wretched slave quotas and knabbing the occasional prize. Captured elves fetch a high price, which is no surprise...but rumor has it that Lolth particularly loves feasting on surface elves, at least, when given a choice of menu. Fueled by anger, Valyria frequently patrolled the woodlands with her friends and fellow Arbiters, Quiren and Gwentyr. Arbiters are specialized warriors of the Vanguard, handpicked by Queen Ilseve from the Coronal Guard. They are feared executioners, deliverers of swift justice, and they live rather solitary lives as they prowl the forest's depths searching for trespassers. Quiren and Gwentyr were promoted alongside her, comrades in arms, they were akin to family. Together, the three of them became a thorn in the backside of the Drow scouts looking to wreak havoc on their communities.

With singular focus, and with their Queen orchestrating the assault, the arbiters of Cormanthyr thwarted their quarry without fail, dismantling many a camp, setting captives free, and hanging high the slaver's corpses as a warning. Victory never tasted so sweet. For a time, the trio felt utterly invincible, having done their small part...until the territory they patrolled slowly began to show troubling signs of an impending occupation. Slaughtered innocents. Scattered caravans. Altars to Lolth, just plainly left out in the open--tauntingly so. A quiet inkling began to surface. These drow seemed like fools with a deathwish, brazen as they were, yet somehow they managed to stay at least two steps ahead. Apart from engaging in a campaign of terror, what were they after? More importantly, Cormanthor's elite should have crossed them by now...yet, their trails seemed to circle around and lead only to dead ends.

While on the hunt for these fiends, a loud horn blared in the distance and a great tumult reverberated through the trees. Like moths drawn toward the flame, they followed the sound to its source. Amid the wylds surrounding Semberholme, there are many caves that interconnect, some delving as far as the Underdark. They should have known the Drow would find another route to the surface. It appeared these tunnels had been active for some time as well and they had unwittingly stumbled upon a large scale operation. Entering the cave would be...unwise. There could be hundreds of them in there. No, the best course of action would be to retreat, report, and regroup. Once they rallied the Vanguard, sweeping the area of this filth would be no problem.

Unfortunately, by the time they realized the truth, it was already too late. Gwentyr noticed strange marks on the trees; and, before Valyria could even react, Gwentyr had pushed her out of the way of an ominous whistling. Flecks of blood went flying as Gwentyr fell into her arms, an arrow plunged deep into her back. A dour chorus of laughter penetrated the silence, anticipatory and foul. Like the sneaky vermin they were, spidery scouts emerged from hiding, crawling from bushy ferns, from behind trees, some even dropping from the heights of the dark canopy. Valyria balked at the sheer number of them, inwardly addled by pangs of panic. So, this was a trap! They mustn't be taken alive! Quiren shouted for her to escape with Gwentyr, he would hold them off...gritting her teeth, that shouldn't be his call to make. Had she been more alert, they wouldn't have walked straight into Lolth's clutches! However, there was little choice. Semberholme and the Vanguard must be warned! Ripping herself away from the fight, Valyria fled with Gwentyr, buffeting blades and dodging arrows amid the labyrinth of trees.

The forest was deathly silent. Dusk was on the verge of falling, the sky alight with a blazing sunset. Together, she and Gwentyr stumbled along until they crossed the bank of a creek. Here, Gwentyr dropped to her knees and refused to continue forward. With her strength all but spent, Gwentyr could barely move, her breaths growing shallow and labored. Solemn, Valyria watched her dearest friend suffer under the debilitating effects of poison. Before she could tend to the wound, Drow fell upon them like owls swooping in for the kill. Valyria brandished her sword and defiantly fought with all her might, knowing it was futile...All that remained was to die. The Long Reverie awaited. Vandria would whisk her far from Cormanthyr, far from the overwhelming pain and unrest. Valyria welcomed that, serene, even as a dagger bit into her thigh. Drow swarmed as she lost her footing, buffeting her with fists and feet. Tasting blood from a busted lip, Valyria grinned. They had best kill her now. Let it be their worst. Numbly, she could dazedly feel their grubby hands and cold iron close around her wrists. Fading in and out, grass and ferns gently brushed against her skin as the ground dragged beneath her heels. Where were they taking her?

Indeed, there are fates far worse than Death. This marked the beginning of her dark descent, dragged down to the harrowing depths. Live or die, she prayed only for vengeance.

RP Sample:


OOCHello! This would be my first time playing If I'm luckyOut of the Abyss, one of the classics on my bucket list! My posting rate is 2-3x a week.
Posting Status: Normal

Last edited by DaniLore; Aug 23rd, 2021 at 12:28 PM.
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Old Aug 11th, 2021, 06:59 AM
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Grouchy Grouchy is offline
Great Wyrm
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I've been itching to play this PC again, he was in a very short-lived adventure on here earlier but he was a blast to RP. App complete.

Character Concept
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Character Name: Barwan "Badger" Thornfoot
Race: Stout Halfling
Class: Barbarian (Path of the Berserker)
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Background: Urchin

Personality Traits: I am incredibly fierce and never backs down from a challenge, even if the odds are stacked against me. I am incredibly loyal to those who earn my respect, but I am short tempered and can still be rude and venomous towards them when angry.
Ideal: Independence. I am a free spirit - no one tells me what to do. I am my own man and do whatever I feel like.
Bond: I am still searching for the leader of the bandits who killed my parents. I will make them pay.
Flaw: I have a volatile temper and tend to become destructive towards my surroundings when I'm particularly mad. I have a tendency to bite people when I'm angry with them.

Appearance: Barwan, or "Badger" as everyone calls him, is a short almost child-like man with weathered skin and shaggy short black hair. His sideburns in contrast are light gray, almost white, which combined with his pointed canines and general disposition makes it easy to see how he got his nickname. He has brown crow-footed eyes and a short, flat nose with a reddish looking burn adoring the left side of his face and partially melting his left ear, giving him a somewhat gruesome appearance. His right ear is cauliflowered, and he has a scruffy appearance though no hair grows on his burn marks. Despite his small stature, he stands as if he were ten feet tall and holds himself with a macho confidence. His voice is almost child-like if it was not for the rough tone to it and his frequently envenomed words. He wears a dirty loose dark green shirt with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows and around his waist is a thick leather belt that holds up a pair of brown breeches. His lower legs and hairy feet are bare, and are rather filthy due to their living conditions.

Bold, aggressive, prickly, and impulsive, Badger is a free spirit and doesn't like being told what to do. He is short tempered and has a tendency to act out his anger, breaking nearby objects or biting people he is upset with. His anger stems from his feelings of isolation and lack of place in this world, combined with the terrible abuse and trauma he has suffered through as a homeless youth living on the streets. Despite his hair trigger temper, Badger tries his best to be what he thinks is a good man and tends to focus on strong male leaders as a positive influence to learn from. He holds grudges easily and is overly cautious and apprehensive. He has to warn his friends on the proper way to wake him up - shake his foot, for if you shake anything else you're going to get a dagger towards the throat as he thinks you're a threat. And gods forbid the one who tries to take his food before he's done - he was kicked out of the orphanage for taking the first digit off of the cook for that same reason. Badger has an indomitable spirit and never backs down, even if it means serious injury or the threat of death. His fellow slaves are the closest thing he has to a family, and he will protect them with his life if he has to.



01/26/21 - Posting rate normal, although it slows a bit over the weekend until Monday night.

Last edited by Grouchy; Aug 11th, 2021 at 07:24 AM.
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Old Aug 11th, 2021, 06:09 PM
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GallupsMirror GallupsMirror is offline
A legend in my spare time
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Posting interest.

Is this a 'theater of the mind' game or will there be grid maps for combat?

-Update: Withdrawn. Thanks and have a fun game everyone.
Tutorial: 3D Combat
Tutorial: MapTool Battle Grids
Cover Artist: Explosive Runes #25

Last edited by GallupsMirror; Aug 12th, 2021 at 12:00 PM.
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Old Aug 11th, 2021, 06:36 PM
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Shula Shula is offline
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Name: Meepo

Race: Kobold

Class: Sorcerer (White Draconic Bloodline)

Alignment: LN

  • Personality Traits: The customer's always right- unless they're wrong.
    My heart wasn't in being a merchant, so I failed. I'm not all that keen on adventuring either, but I need the money.
  • Ideal: Where there's life, there's hope. If I remain alive and flexible, I can succeed.
  • Bond: If I take care of my possessions, they'll take care of me. People come and go, but a weapon or a wand is something you can always rely on.
  • Flaw: You haven't heard of me? I'm sure that's because of your ignorance and low breeding.

Appearance: At 3' and 32 pound soaking wet, Meepo isn't an imposing figure. His skin is white with some dark spots on his arms, leg and head. His horns and claws are a deep blue, so dark it's nearly black.

Personality: Meepo's primary motivator is recognition. No matter how much he professes to want money what he wants deep down in that part of himself that he hides even from himself is to gain approval, social status, or fame. His emotional status is excitable. Upbeat, a bit lazy and hyperactive can all be said of Meepo. When it comes to boldness, tentative is putting it mildly. He can be talkative and sometimes flighty.


RP Sample:

Last edited by Shula; Aug 11th, 2021 at 06:37 PM.
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Old Aug 12th, 2021, 10:50 AM
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Chaucer Chaucer is offline
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Originally Posted by GallupsMirror View Post
Posting interest.

Is this a 'theater of the mind' game or will there be grid maps for combat?
It depends on the circumstances. If itís a small scale combat with only a number of individuals then theater of the mind will suffice. For larger scale combats itís not suitable so Iíd use grid maps for them.
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Old Aug 12th, 2021, 12:12 PM
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yomanbest yomanbest is offline
Juvenile Dragon
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Been toying around with this character on a living world server, but I really wanted to try him in a proper campaign. Hope that won't be a problem.

Name: Oceiros
Race: Feral Winged Tiefling
Class: Fighter - Eldritch Knight
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Background: Soldier
Personality Traits: Iím haunted by memories of war. I canít get the images of violence out of my mind.
I can stare down a hell hound without flinching.
Ideal: Independence. When people follow orders blindly, they embrace a kind of tyranny.
Bond: Iíll never forget the crushing defeat my company suffered or the enemies who dealt it.
Flaw: My hatred of my enemies is blind and unreasoning.

Appearance: A 6 feet tall, crimson tiefling with almost shoulder-length slightly curly black hair, a short beard, and curled sheep-like horns. He is relatively muscly and well-built, but most of the time he is covered by a dark old cloak.

Personality: Due to his background as a soldier and the loss of his only true friend, Oceiros is mostly tired, constantly trying to find a reason to continue living, but trying not to be a burden to others. He will quickly state his business and try to leave before he could infect anyone with his depressive mood. In battle, he would die for his comrades, although he believes it's becoming harder and harder to forge such kind of bonds with people.
Backstory: Oceiros, the plane-touched tiefling, has been rejected and turned away from his own family from a very young age, forced into wars he would have not fought for otherwise. With the life of commodity refused, he was left to pick up the blade and slowly trudge his way through the ranks of a dangerous war campaign that spanned a little under 3 years. Since the love of family was unknown to him, Oceiros began to develop an almost illogical hatred for his enemies, but also an iron forged loyalty to his then brothers in arms, especially to one man Zeke, which he quickly came to respect and almost adore. Unfortunately, the conclusion of their long-fought battle was an utterly crushing defeat that left very few survivors. Three years after, in a heated pursuit of the only lead that could get him the mercenary group that slaughtered his friends, he suddenly came to find himself in the dark underworld of the drow overlords. With no recollection of the events that led him here and trapped in the dark world for the meantime, Oceiros swore to find an escape and revenge Zeke.
RP Sample:
RP "You want to talk about it?" the lass asked, her eyes searching for his.

"About?" But Oceiros would not give himself away so easily. Not to her or anyone, as those times were long gone.

The lass scuttled closer to the tiefling, as if trying to catch a window of insight or at least a glimpse. "Your family?"

"What about them?" he sighed, "they made their choices as I made mine. Let the past be in the past."

"You know, it would help to open up sometime." she grew genuinely worried, "bottling up like that will do no good..."

"One day, I promise." Oceiros turned back to leave as he seemed to get colder. "But I'm afraid you won't see me again until then."
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Old Aug 13th, 2021, 11:48 AM
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Drachenspirit Drachenspirit is offline
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Name:Vosela "Voz" Iscuzu of Silverymoon

Race: Aasimar Protector

Alignment: CG

Class: Battleguard Cleric of Tempus, War Domain

Background: Inheritor

Personality Traits: 1) I am confident in my own abilities and do what I can to instill confidence in others. 2) Thinking is for other people. I prefer action.
Ideal: Tyrants must not be allowed to oppress the people.
Bond: I protect those who cannot protect themselves.
Flaw: I am convinced of the significance of my destiny, and blind to my shortcomings and the risk of failure.

Appearance: I rolled for random height and weight and this is what I got.Vosela is a six foot, one inch tall human looking your woman with an athletic build and an average weight of one hundred and sixty one pounds. She's got blonde hair and two different colored eyes, one blue and one white. Her hair and skin color are nothing like her parents, who are of Rashemi descent.

Personality: She's quite sure of herself, but quick to help those in need. She doesn't like bullies, and will be the first to take a stand. If there's no default leader in a group she is in, she'll quickly step up as she thinks she can fill the role most times.

Backstory: Vosela was born in Silverymoon to parents she favored in form and bone structure, but not at all in hair and skin color - not too mention her different colored eyes. She was taken to several Holy places in the city to see if this was a sign of good or evil. Most notably, her parents took her to
The House Invincible, and Rhyester's Matins. A 'seer' ascertained that she was a divine child, an Aasimar, and should be protected, and nurtured in the ways of good.
Over the next year, as she grew from infant to toddler, neither of these places could decide what to do with her.
They waited too long.
Some traveling members of the secretive Abbey of the Rose, were in the midst of an uneasy alliance with a small group of Tempus Crusaders trying to start both a Temple, and a local order of their own. The Abbey tried to secret her away for their own uses, tattooing her back with symbols of their order.
The Tempus priests, thwarted their plans, and had the tattoo altered, adding the wings once she reached the age of 14.
The adventuring Crusader priests of Tempus have long since passed away, save the one who kept her training and devotion to the God of War progressing.
It was during this time that he had her train as a scout to the Underdark, believing as she did that the next threat to the realms would come not from the territories to the north or east, but from down under their lands.
Vosela was set to become quite a decent scout both above land and below.
It was during her last - or so she thought - jaunt to the Underdark that she was caught, and tortured for information as to why she was with a party venturing below.
She was rescued within a day, but not before she received several scars across her back from lashings.

RP Sample: Captured again. She thought she was with a more seasoned group of under dark adventurers. She was wrong. They were fell upon above ground at one entrance to the Underdark. Her companions either fled, were killed, or were captured and kept separate by the Drow raiders who have sold/transferred her at least a half a dozen times until she arrived at the place she now finds herself in with others she doesn't know.
Narrative - The wind blows cold across the harsh rocky landscape down here, even in the slave pens. She tries to keep the web-thin hood of the garment she wears - the only garment she has, pulled over her hair and face.
The reason is simple - she stands out. As if her height isn't enough, and her blonde hair, her two different colored eyes and the large tattoo spread on her back drew too much attention.
She was dirty, and in places her skin was raw, especially on her toes and the bottom of her feet.
There was that wind again, feeling like it went right through her and tugged at her very soul.
How do you hide or take cover from that?, she asked herself.
Then her faith charmed, chastised and beguiled her all at once. What was that Master Damon once said? She licked her dry lips as she tried to remember. Ah, yes. Put the wind at our back and it will help set your feet on the road; the road of what is right and true. As vague as that encouragement was, it actually helped.
She put her back to the wind, and moved as close as she dare to the center of the slave pen. She looked down at her shackles, and saw that the bit of plant fiber she had stuffed under them to stop the chaffing had fallen out.
She looked around for it, as if it was gold. It wasn't on the ground. It must be lost.
She sighed and looked up to one of her new companions who was smiling at her. No, he wasn't smiling, he was chewing. Damn his eyes, she thought when she realized he wasn't smiling, he was chewing her stem of plant fiber that had been stopping the chaffing at her wrists.
She thought of demanding it back, but realized it might not be good for stopping the chaffing anymore, and if it was, she wondered if the bruises she'd surely get, would be worth it. IF... she even won the battle of the plant stem in slave pen number 6.
So, she did what she always did, and tried to make good out of bad. "Is that any good? Do you have anymore you could spare?"
Posting Status: Offline. "Surgery on 10/14, now recovering. Update on recovery here. "

Last edited by Drachenspirit; Aug 13th, 2021 at 11:49 AM.
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Old Aug 14th, 2021, 02:13 PM
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Chaucer Chaucer is offline
Ancient Dragon
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Very gentle nudge back up the list.
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