[D&D-5e] Into the Heart of Decay

[Jumil]

Work In Progress - History is being done in sections just because it's easier but I can reformat things if you prefer.
Just posting as prove of concept while I work on the finer details
If you have any suggestions or thoughts about me playing a hexblood let me know.

Application Name: Katrinah Race: Hexblood Class: Warlock (Archfey - Talisman) Alignment: Chaotic Good Age: 30 Background: Hermit Personality Traits: I feel tremendous empathy for all who suffer. I am working on a grand philosophical theory and love sharing my ideas. Ideal: Free Thinking. Inquiry and curiosity are the pillars of progress. (Chaotic) Bond: I’m still seeking the enlightenment I pursued in my seclusion, and it still eludes me. Flaw: I’d risk too much to uncover a lost bit of knowledge. Appearance: A short woman, Katrinah stands at about 5'1”. Her black hair reaches down well past her waist but is usually furled into two buns or another ornate hairstyle. Despite the lady's diminutive stature it would be difficult to miss her due to possessing a strange and mystical appearance. Katrinah is a sight to behold. Her first and most prominent feature is the peculiar mask crown that adorns her head. Black and white patterns spiral around her features in shapes that vaguely resemble butterfly figures. The spindly forms move ever so slightly at times, almost as if they are alive. Underneath the mask Katrinah's black eyes are accentuated by dark makeup and pale skin. Her clothing is usually equally eccentric, homage to the fey influence of her mentor. She is often seen wearing all white, adorned in a dress with rigid frills that rise above her shoulders. It has a tutu-like skirt that reaches just to the knees and extends outward like a chrysanthemum with lace draped around it. She wears white leggings and has long white sleeves that cover most of her skin. Her shoes are strangely more practical. Unlike the rest of her outfit they are black, short heeled, and reach about halfway to the knee. They do have white laces however. Personality: Backstory:   Katrinah Josephine was born into a world of comfort. Wealth, status and respect were given to her unconditionally even before these things were earned. Everything she could ever need was provided for Katrinah so long as she behaved herself and lived up to the expectations of her family. Unfortunately, the life the Josephine's had laid out for their daughter was not one she was keen on following. Their desire for Katrinah was to have her be a reserved, obedient lady who would be married off to secure relations with another powerful house. Instead she blossomed into a free spirited woman who challenge convention at every opportunity. Katrinah Quixotica: it was a term coined by members of the aristocracy who considered themselves unfortunate enough to experience her in the flesh. At court and during formal events she would dawn bizarre, extravagant outfits that could not be ignored. She would spark conversation among the nobility, forcing them to question the norms their families had adhered to for generations. There were times where she orchestrated strange works of performance art where those beguiled by her odd mannerisms would perform absurd acts in public spaces. Such acts included maypole dancing around a heritage statue in the courtyard, having all the servants dawn bird masks, and having a large group of young nobles sing from the rooftops in the early hours just before sunrise. Her mischievous exploits made her the bane of the older upper class but most thought the woman harmless. That is, until she began preaching equality between the serfs and the nobility. In her efforts to unfurl the status quo of court, Katrinah became closer with the servants of her manor. Since many of her interactions among the wealthy were in ostentatious garments few recognized her in common clothes. She would sneak out to hire serfs in their territory to pull off performances that required more bodies. In that time Katrinah observed the plight of the people who toiled her families lands. While the Josephine's and other nobility lived is sublime extravagance, the people who worked their land, the people who put forth the most gruelling of efforts, lived in squalor. She felt tremendously for them, and guilty for all the wonder she was allowed to experience while they were not. It was then she decided to bring forth the ideals of sharing the wealth of the nobility with all, regardless of class. But in court she was swiftly struck down. The final straw that led to Katrinah's family forbidding her presence in court and locking her away. There was no more tolerance for her antics. Katrinah was to be wed off to whomever would take her and that would be the end of all the mischief she had created over the years. For four months she was not to leave her room without supervision until the day of the wedding. On that day she was to be taken to the chapel by her father then walked down the aisle. As Katrinah was led to her undesired fate she was overwhelmed by despair. It seemed as if her future was locked into place and all dreams of anything else were to vanish. But, as it happened her destiny was to take her elsewhere. Some magical force, stranger or stranger than herself, called out to her. It offered Katrinah her heart's desire: to punish those who would trap her and have her freedom.   From her thoughts a benevolent voice called out to Katrinah. Though completely foreign she felt its presence soothing in the midst of an unwanted wedding. It offered her heart's desire: to punish those who would trap her and have her freedom. All she needed to do was concoct a potion and spike the beverages at the reception. And so, after she was wed, Katrinah set out to do as she was instructed. Slowly, over an hour after completing her task, the entire guest list began acting like loons. Nobles danced in all states of undress and acted like absolute animals. Katrinah delighted. Though she was not inebriated herself, for a short while the woman joined them before sneaking out to the forest. She had been instructed by the voice to go toward the forest and follow a long winding path. It led to a clearing in the woods where there was a large pond with a small island in the centre. On that island was a small cottage surrounded by flowers. WIP   WIP RP Sample:

[Ysolde]

Name: Artiya Rederni
Race: Aasimar
Class: Warlock (Celestial Pact)
Alignment: LG
Age: 20
Background: Folk Hero
Personality Traits: Always ready to lend a hand
Ideal: Redemption is possible for anyone
Bond: Protect those who need protection
Flaw: Trusts far too easily.

Appearance: Artiya looks every bit the Aasimar she is. This makes her look far younger than her age her face is vibrant and full of life, her blue eyes blaze with the light of heaven, her blonde hair sparkles and shines in the light. She wears bright clothes and is almost always adorned with a smile.

Personality: Artiya is humble about her own achievements always ensuring that others are included in any telling of deeds and shrinking away from personal glory. She trusts people at what they say without a second thought and believes that anyone can repent. She is a blazing light of good in a world of darkness.

Backstory: Artiya was born in the only brothel of a small town. There was no doubt that she was an aasimar and her mother refused to give her up. She was raised by the collective women of the place and never wanted for nice things. She was not allowed to wander around where the customers could see her though because her presence tended to make any customers re-think what they were doing and head home or to the nearest church.

A small outlaw gang took over the town and tried to take over the brothel as well, but Artiya was instrumental in stopping them. The mayor presented her with an award and the local Lord wanted to discuss having her help out with his issues. It was on her trip to see the local Lord that she was spirited away.

RP Sample: She stood before the leader of the bandits who had taken over her town. Most of the forces she'd had to bring here with her were exhausted and she was too. She looked at the leader of the gang with sad blue eyes as she said, "I don't think you want to hurt anyone. You just want to get money the easy way instead of the hard back breaking labor that a lot of other people do. I understand that, but hurting others is only hurting you as well. You need to give up and do something better."

The man shook his head, "So naive girly, but me and the boys will take care of that won't we?" Some of the men grinned back at him more than ready to tear apart the innocent woman in front of them.

She shook her head and called to her companion. A beautiful golden dog appeared seemingly from no-where as the men attacked biting and barking as it did. She in turn pointed at one of the men and the next shooting blasts of power at them. It was over moments later and most of the men hadn't been killed. As she tied up the leader she said, "I'm sorry it came to this really I am. I hope some day you can forgive me for trying to help you."

[Chylopan]

Posting interest. Tentative application.

Originally Posted by Chaucer

@JohnStone - custom races are a no. As long as the race / class combination are from the sources I have quoted then its a go.

So, question: I have an idea for a character; however, I need some clarification on whether or not it would be acceptable.

I'd like to run a Dhampir. Thematically, for what I'd like to do, Blood Hunter fits best. I know it's not technically official but would you be willing to make an exception?

[Chaucer]

Originally Posted by Chylopan

I'd like to run a Dhampir. Thematically, for what I'd like to do, Blood Hunter fits best. I know it's not technically official but would you be willing to make an exception?

I will in this case, yes.

[Seekr34]

Should be interesting if two dhampirs gets picked!

[Grouchy]

Definitely interested. I have a PC that would fit perfectly here but he is a Monster Hunter archetype which isn't in your approved source list. Would you be opposed to that? If so I will probably just make him an Eldritch Knight. In secret I have the Cliffs Notes of his background as to why he is a Monster Hunter.

[Chaucer]

The concept and archetype fit the setting so its good with me.

[The Dark Star]

Character Application is ready for review, if you think that it's too dark, please let me know and I will make changes!

[Jasontheswift]

My app is also ready for review. Feedback would be appreciated.

[Chaucer]

Its unlikely I will provide reviews for each and every app, however if there is something fundamentally wrong I don't like I will let you know individually.

[O2CXt3]

Okie dokie, my character is complete too.

[Shula]

Application Name: Bael Turath Race: Human Variant Class: Cleric (Death Domain) Alignment: LN Age: 25 Background: Soldier Personality Traits: Reckless. Bael enjoys the road so much that sometimes your wanderlust carries you into dangerous situations unprepared. Personality Traits:Forthright. Bael no longer has time for niceties. He means what he says and says what he means. Ideal: Bond: Bael's friends know that his bond with them is stronger than any personal quest. Flaw: Bael believes we can never fully destroy Evil; we can only hold it at bay for a bit before the inevitable. Appearance:   The first thing everyone notices is the skull mask face paint that Bael wears every day. It is a physical reminder that he's an ardent devotee of a death god. The raven on his shoulder just adds to the effect. He is tall but rail thin. Bael's eyes are brown and his complexion is a light olive. Bael ritually shaves off all his hair. If it were ever to grow out, its natural color is auburn. He has a scar that runs from his hand halfway up to his elbow- a wound suffered in a skirmish. Bael wears black clothing and goes so far as to lacquer his armor black. Personality:   Bael's primary motivator is discovery- to explore, uncover mysteries, and pioneer. He can't perceive living the life of domesticity, seeing himself dying on the road somewhere he's never been. His moodiness is labile: changing form apathetic one moment to angry the next. Bael's basic worldview is cynical. When it comes to his friends he let's up a bit as he accept them, faults and all. He can be rash to the point of recklessness. He's tolerant of other's beliefs as long as it doesn't involve evil. Depending on Bael's state of mind, he could be talkative or he could be like the person that always answers with one syllable. Backstory:   Bael Turath is a human cleric, a mercenary who has sold his sword arm to every baronet, duke, and princeling from the mountains to the coast. His armor is practical, lacking any decoration, and his sword is intended only for battle, not as a mark of prestige. He prays daily to the Raven Queen—not just out of devotion but because he knows that death is inevitable and he hopes to postpone it as long as possible. He began adventuring after a mission ended in disaster. His soldier companions were all dead, and he was captured by hobgoblins and held for a ransom that no one cared enough to pay. He joined the band of adventurers that slew the hobgoblins. He has since found adventuring both more lucrative and more satisfying than his previous life. One moonless evening, Bael and his party where sneaking up on a band of bandits who were using a large mausoleum in an abandoned graveyard as a base of operations. In the darkness, he became separated from his companions. As he crept along to find them, Bael was engulfed by a thick fog. The cleric continued to find the others so that they could make a coordinated attack. It seemed like hours of walking with not a single grave marker or tree to bump into. Finally, the fog parted but instead of terrain what he expected to see, he seemed to be in a whole different area. Bael thought he was simply lost but then he noticed the moon was full. Either two weeks had passed while he was in the fog or... but wait, the moon was different. Bael wasn't in Nentir Vale anymore. RP Sample:   The good doctor stood back to back with the priest of the Raven Queen, fighting off a squad of zombies that had risen from the grave. The necromancer that had summoned them was the first to fall as Dr. Mortimer used stealth and his knowledge of human anatomy to precisely pierce the heart of the corrupt wizard from behind. The horde of undead were now no longer under anyone’s control and swarming the pair. As sword and necrotic battered battered away the creatures, Dr. Mortimer pinned one zombie to the ground with his swords and took a moment to watch the thing struggle and analyzed its reaction to pain and if there was any kind of sentience behind its eyes or that of a mindless beast. The beast’s pierced palms pushed up the blade to its prey. Saying, “You are imperfect. I pity you. Such shoddy work indeed,” he decapitated it with one smooth strike of his arming sword. ”Are you done sightseeing yet!?”, uttered Bael as he just shook his head in amazement at how cool and collected the doctor was in the face of such abomination. How is he not horrified at all this? The Raven Queen’s servant knocked one of the zombies on its back with his shield then smashed its skull with his mace. Rotten brains and pieces of skull splattered all over his face. He looked back over his shoulder to see Dr. Mortimer had kicked the stopping blocks out from under a cart to pin the last of the monstrosities against a well. The priest ran over to it with mace held high only to be stopped by the doctor grabbing his hand. ”It is confined. There is no need to dispatch it so quickly when it is utterly at our mercy.” The priest pulled his hand away and pointed at the zombie. ”THAT is an abomination of life and you want to spare it? Whose side are you on?” The doctor moved nonchalantly over to get a closer look at his specimen. It snapped it teeth within inches of the man’s face. He looked at its body and face for the cause of its initial death. A slit that traced around the front of its throat seemed to be the culprit. It was too jagged to be a professional which meant it was self inflicted. ”I have no intention of sparing it. I despise this creature as well, for different reasons but still. How does the saying go? Knowledge is power. How do you yourself know how to best combat these things if those before you had not researched how to do so? I am simply collecting every scrap of information I can while I have the opportunity to do so. You are more than welcome to have a copy of my research for your order if you want." Bael huffed and began pulling the horde into a pile, pouring holy water on them, and setting a controlled blaze. He sat down and stared into the fire. He didn’t look over his shoulder as he relayed his thoughts to the man who had come to his aid. ”No thank you. Knowledge this dark does not come without a price. I have no authority over you, but I will encourage you to stop this delve into the dark unknown before it swallows you up. Somethings are just not worth it.” Dr. Mortimer turned away and gently pulled back part of his lab coat away from his chest to look at the dark purple outline of his heart pulsating with an eerie glow just beneath the skin. A sad whisper escaped his lips. ”Its too late to stop now...”

[Grouchy]

Originally Posted by Chaucer

The concept and archetype fit the setting so its good with me.

Awesome, thank you!

App complete!

Character Concept Name: Jhorn Sarkany Race: Variant Human (Observant feat - retained his keen senses from being a lycanthrophe) Class: Fighter 3 (Monster Hunter) Alignment: Chaotic Good Age: 24 Background: Haunted One (Cured of lycanthropy, haunted by those he slaughtered.) Personality Traits: I am heavily scarred and still show remnants of my curse, which can be unsettling to others. I aim to do good things to overcompensate for the evil I have done. Ideal: I kill monsters to make the world a safer place, and to exorcise my own demons. (Good) Bond: A terrible guilt consumes me. I hope that I can find redemption through my actions. Flaw: I am hunted by all who worship Malar, and they will never rest until I am dead. Appearance: Jhorn is a stocky, weathered man of average height with unkempt brown hair and a well groomed beard. His rugged features are heavily scarred, with a series of whitish scars all along the left side of his face, across his nose, and a long angry-looking one near his right eye that causes that eye to squint slightly due to how the wound healed. There is also a long whitish scar on the left side of his neck which juts out from underneath his well polished shirt of chain mail. His eyes are so dark they almost appear black, and when he turns his gaze upon you it reminds you of how a house cat stares at a mouse before it pounces. His ears have hair sprouting from the top of them, and when he speaks you can see his canine teeth are more pronounced than the average man. He is heavy of limb with large hands, and his disciplined posture reminds you of a soldier. The shield on his left arm is battered but well maintained, and in his right hand he carries a gruesome-looking battle axe with ease. Personality: Although a man known for brooding and few words at times, Jhorn is one who strives to be a good man and to help others even when others won't. He has little respect for authority and titles, and does the right thing even if it is frowned upon or even illegal. He is brave and stubborn, and once he sets his eyes on something and vows to do it is rarely persuaded from his goal. Calm and orderly even when the situation seems grim, Jhorn is steadfast and tries to always do his best. He is haunted by his past and struggles to sleep - in his dreams, he sees all the faces of those he has killed. His lack of sleep can make him a bit impatient, and he has little time for formalities and etiquette when the deed can be accomplished with much less words. In his mind he is a killer, and although he prays daily to Lathander he knows deep in his heart that when he passes on to the underworld he will be judged and found lacking for his past deeds. The least he can do is use his abilities to remove more monsters from the world. Monsters like him.   Backstory: A simple soldier and newly married to his beloved Laina, Jhorn was on summer maneuvers the night that his life ended as he knew it. Jhorn was standing guard on the perimeter on the night of a full moon when a nearby soldier, his friend Argnir, began screaming for help. Jhorn ran to his aid and discovered Argnir being torn to pieces in front of his eyes by a monstrous-looking man-wolf. Jhorn sprang to the attack but was easily overpowered, and he felt claws rip his face open before he collapsed on the ground and the world went black. The creature began to chew on Jhorn's chest in an attempt to rip open his chest and consume his heart when it was driven away by arrows when reinforcements arrived. Jhorn survived, but he was seriously wounded and was returned home to recuperate from his injuries. His loving wife Laina doted on him and fed him well, and soon Jhorn began to feel well enough that he was able to return to the drill fields in just a few short weeks. Sadly, that was not the end of his trauma. Returning home from the drill fields one night, Jhorn only recalls going to sleep next to Laina, his wife close to him, only to awaken the next morning in the middle of the woods as naked as the day he was born and covered in blood and gore. Rushing home, he discovered that he had slaughtered his own wife in their home and feasted upon her flesh before roaming the countryside and doing gods know what to others. His mind snapped, and Jhorn fled to abandon his old life. He roamed the countryside as a vagrant, surviving on what he could find or hunt, and trying his best to avoid others lest they fall victim to him. He learned he had become a werewolf, and that the moon was his curse. He began to grow bitter and angry, and felt that the gods had betrayed him. It was during this time when he fell in with a cult of Malar worshippers, who urged him to give in to his bestial side and enjoy the hunts. If it was not for the constant reminder of Laina, Jhorn felt he could have given himself over but he still held strong against it. These men and women were just like him, however - they were, in essence, the only friends he had. Jhorn lived with the Malarites as one of their own for several months, until it was the season of the High Hunt. The Malarites had captured a young halfling woman and planned to hunt her as a group, and initially Jhorn was considering doing so. When he saw the woman, however, her red hair was the exact same shade as Laina's. The memory stirred something inside, and when her crying pleas revealed she was a newlywed and missed her husband, Jhorn realized he had to do something to save her. That night, while the others were conducting the rites to begin the High Hunt, Jhorn snuck over to where the woman was and helped her escape. He was trying to return to the group when the high priest of the group, Volarik Kotrosko, caught him in the act and attacked him. During the fight, Jhorn managed to fight off Volarik and escape, ripping the amulet of the high priest off of Volarik and running away with it. For the next several weeks he was on the run from the Malarites until he finally lost them, but at this point he was so malnourished and fatigued that he fainted and would have died if not for a passing group of Lathander pilgrims who rescued him. They took him to the Church of Lathander where he recuperated and, with the help of their archbishop Rolanolde, he was cured of his lycanthropy. Rolanolde and Jhorn spoke for many hours while he healed, with Jhorn stating he should have just been left to die but Rolanolde teaching Jhorn about the faith of Lathander and that all deserve their chance at redemption. The two became friends of a sort, and soon Jhorn was being mentored by Rolanolde in how he could make things right. This was the beginning of Jhorn's new life - to kill monsters just like him. Rolanolde strove to remind Jhorn of the call of Lathander to seek to redeem those in need, and although Jhorn respects that wish he also realizes that sometimes evil can only be ended by steel. And from that point forward, Jhorn has vowed to become the steel to stop evil. He also knows he is still being hunted by the Malarites who want to recover the stolen amulet, but in a strange fashion Jhorn almost feels he wants to be found eventually - this way he can finally kill Volarik Kotrosko once and for all.   Roleplaying Sample: Pilgrimages to Unicorn Run were common, and it was easy to fall in with the small group of Lathanderian faithful he traveled with especially with his symbol worn prominently on Jhorn's chest. However, he wryly observed he was given quite the berth. He wasn't sure if it was the scars - usually those draw some whispers and a quick look away whenever he catches someone making eye contact. Perhaps it was the ears - slightly pointy and abnormally hairy, they stick out more than his slightly pointed teeth which once helped him be accused of being a half orc much to his amusement. Perhaps, Jhorn mulls, it's just his presence. Most of these men and women are soft and clothed well, with coin in their pocket and perfumes on their skins. The pilgrimage was more of a carnival than anything - along their travels there was singing, dancing, and music as the other worshipers were having a grand old time. Even the hired guards were more ceremonial than anything - their flimsy blades and elaborate mail would do little in a real battle. And then there's me, smirks Jhorn to himself. A large, ugly man wearing steel and carrying a gruesome axe stands out quite a bit. He also admittedly is not a fan of insincere small talk, and may have glared a bit harder than he meant to at some well meaning but vapid traveler. But no matter. They have arrived at the outpost now, and from what Jhorn sees they are far from the only pilgrimage that has arrived. He sees arms and banners from all over Faerun, no one he recognizes however. Which, Jhorn mulls, is probably a good thing considering anyone he does recognize will most likely be looking for him. And not to invite him to the local pub for a pint. His stomach growls slightly, but as he fingers his last silver piece Jhorn decides staying under a roof tonight with a hot meal wasn't in the cards. He begins to consider the surrounding terrain as to where would be a good place to pitch his bedroll - preferably near a tree in case it rains. Hearing what sounds like music from the square, Jhorn meanders his way over and discovers there seems to be some kind of free show starting up. Well, at least a bit of entertainment before some more jerky and a moss bed, the scarred man thinks to himself. He makes his way to the outer edge of the crowd, waving off a tinsmith attempting to sell him a customized tankard, and folds his arms across his broad chest as he watches the show and the crowd get ready.

[Chaucer]

Giving this a gentle nudge up the way.

[SnakeOilCharmer]

Still very much interested, torn between cleric and rogue concepts at the moment.