[D&D-5e] Really fun game by Drachenspirit

[Mythrandil]

Originally Posted by Drachenspirit

@ Mythrandil - Probably. Have you RP'd an Artificier before? If so, are you comfortable enough with the subclass and it's "mechanics?"

No, this would be my first time. I've already become enamored of a lore bard, so I think I'll probably leave an artificer for a lower level campaign where I can get my feet wet. I'll make another post when my app is finalized, thanks!

[Superstrength79]

[Drachenspirit]

[Silk]

Application Nim Name: Nimfoodle mom wanted a girl<sigh> to bad his sister wasn't born first!Lilli Zook Eldon Nackle; Nickname: Nim; character sheet Class: Rogue(Arcane Trickster) Race: Gnome(Male) Background: Urban Bounty Hunter Personality Traits(2): 1) I always have a plan for what to do when things go wrong, especially if what goes wrong involves those who higher me. 2) I would rather make a new friend than a new enemy. Ideal: People: I’m loyal to my friends, not to any ideals, and everyone else can take a trip down the Styx for all I care. (Neutral) Bond: I will become the greatest Bounty Hunter that ever lived. Flaw: I have a a curl of the lip“tell” that reveals when I'm lying. Backstory: Nimfoodle Lilli Zook Eldon Nackle, aka Nimfoodle Zook Nackle, aka Nimfoodle Nackle, aka Nim Nackle, aka Nim the Bountyhunter, aka just Nim to his friends was born in Proskur, on the western edge of Cormyr. Nim always thought that while thieves were cunning and shrewd in general, they were rarely that creative and naming your town after a turnip prooves that point. Though how one could get Proskur out of a name for the local red turnip, roouddan, is anyone guesses, and even though Nim was as curious as the next Gnome, he wasn't "that" curious. The Proskur council, another uncreative name, was good at sniffing out crime in the city, but since they used to be thieves guild members, that didn't come as a surprise. Nim's parents were part of the thieves guild but also worked for the Proskur council as eyes and ears on the side. And they taught their son and daughter how to observe first before they taught them how to steal so as not to get caught by either the Thieves guild or the Proskur city watch. While Nim didn't have the patience at a young age for his parent's way of thieving, later in life, he came to respect them, for it led him down the path to becoming a respected bounty hunter. Nim didn't have the skills for tracking marks through the wilderness, but in any town where his quarry went to ground, his skullduggery and investigation skills saw him sniffing them out in no time. Nim's first bounty was more the chase of a passioned youth than any actual bounty. As the town of Proskur was full of thieves, it was no wonder that his sister's medallion was stolen one day. If it had been a simple trinket, nothing would have come of it. But their mother had entrusted her Great-great-great-grandmothers silver medallion to her daughter's care, and in the standard form of all older brothers the world over, Nim vowed to see the perpetrator of this heinous crime brought to justice. Within a week, Nim found the medallion for sale and repurchased it for five silver and one more silver piece for a description of the man who stole it. The culprit took longer to run to ground than it took to find the medallion but run him to ground he did, and right out of town. So Nim followed the braggart east where he found him in Suzail and ran him to ground again only for the culprit to escape justice once more. Through three more towns, Nim chaced the man. In Saerloon, the chase was ended, the culprit tired of running Nim caught up with the man when he sat down for dinner with a woman and a couple of children. What happened next is best glossed over, or Nimfoodle Lilli Zook Eldon Nackle would die of embarrassment. The culprit turned out to be a thief as Nim thought, but he was just passing through Proskur, on his way home. The woman and children were his family, and Nim didn't chase him, but merely followed him home. The entire family found it quite humorous, and after discussing it, the man agreed to write a letter of apology to Nim's sister. Nim accepted it and left as the family laughed about the Gnome that chased a thief to demand he apologize to his sister for the theft of a five silver piece medallion. The story traveled far and wide over the years, and Nim always cringed when he heard his tale repeated. Though Nim felt embarrassed at not 'hounding' his pray as he wanted he found that he liked traveling and after sending the apology letter home along with one of his own explaining where he was going, Nim continued to head east, making a life of hunting down people in cities along the way before moving on once again. Those early years of travel were a blur to Nim. His Gnomish curiosity plus his youthful exuberance had him going from one town to another, from one adventure to another, in an endless line of explorations. The first five years were a complete blur to Nim, and while he had decided to head towards the far east, he somehow ended up heading west. For several more years, Nim worked his way up the sword coast intent on heading back east once he reached Luskan. But once he reached the massive city of Waterdeep, Nim failed to move on. For a decade, Nim worked as a bounty hunter in Waterdeep intent on becoming the best bounty hunter of men or cats that ever walked Faerun. But for years, Nim has chased that goal with Gnomish enthusiasm and was starting to feel the strain. One noble's runaway daughter looked like the last, one thief looked like every other, one tavern blurred into the next. It seemed like the life had gone out of his work, and Nim found himself wondering what was the point? In short, Nim had become burned out and decided to take a vacation. Now you got to understand, to some traveling the world over and seeing the sights is their idea of a vacation. But Nim did that for the first decade of his life and didn't find the prospect that appealing. No, doing nothing and lazing about was Nim's idea of a vacation. The problem was, he found it hard to laze about when people kept hounding him about bounties, and adventures. The final straw was when he was dragged from his inn room by the city guard and shoved into a carriage that took him the castle ward district to be presented to one of the elite/rich Waterdhavians that thought herself important. She was a pretty thing dressed in finery and jewels, and when she got done with her speel about some job, Nim said "No." When she pressed, he explained that he was on vacation. When the woman said she could have him thrown into prison, Nim thought about it before grinning, "Okay! I could use the time to catch up on my sleep." To say the woman was furious was an understatement. Nim was disappointed when it became apparent that she was not going to throw him into prison, so after he was escorted back to the carriage, he presented all the rings, bracelets, and one anklet that he had stolen from the lady of the house to the city guard. That same day he was sharing a cell with an oldtimer that smelt of his own crap. It only took him a little bit of work to see the old man released, and after airing the cell out, Nim found the relaxing 'nothing' that he was looking for. It wasn't that simple, of course, but after the fifth prisoner was found outside a locked door cell, the prison guards got the idea and left Nim in the cell by himself instead of shoving another prisoner in with him. After six months of relative peace and quiet, Nim had a dream of an imprisoned dragon and decided his vacation was over. "Time for me to stretch my leg's again!" The next morning, the guards found the cell locked but empty with a note hanging from the bars. Thanks for the accommodations warden. I have enjoyed your hospitality and look forward to serving another six months of my prison sentence the next time I need a vacation. It was signed, Your ever obedient prisoner. "How did I get myself into this" writing sample 1:   An Angry Half-Elf(the Deadpool way): Surprisingly, Nim was pulling away from the angry Half-Elf merchant, and one of the feathers on his wide-brimmed hat bounced into view with every step, a testimony to how close the Half-Elf's sword had come to slicing off something important. But perhaps it was not too surprising that Nim was pulling away as he had devoted much effort into learning how to outrun the larger species of Faerun out of necessity. It was not the speed more as maneuverability on his part. For example, as Nim ran into the dining room where the Half-Elf's guests still lingered, he easily spotted a Gnome sized road threw the mingling crowd of dressed-up fops. Shouting over his shoulder, Nim said with a cheery voice, or as cheery as he could manage while running full tilt, "I enjoyed your hospitality good sir, but I simply must go. Give my regards to your wife." And after whipping off his hat with one hand, the Gnome ducked his head, and with a flutter of table cloth, he disappeared under the grand dining table that could seat thirty. The growl of the owner of this fine mansion and the clomp of boots upon the tabletop let Nim know his pursuer was in hot...well...pursuit. But the sound of dishes scattering and stumbling footsteps heralded the Half-Elf's fall, and the entire table shook as he hit. With a second fluter of table cloth, Nim was out from under the table and through the door with his hat firmly atop his head. He smiled as his memory was correct, and a twenty-foot hallway yawned before him before turning to the right, and the third story balcony that was his ultimate destination should be thirty feet beyond the corner. The sound of grunts, yells, shouts of dismay, of plates and cutlery hitting the floor came from the room behind him and let Nim know that he had just enough time. Stopping in front of the ceiling to floor mirror, Nim pulled out a bit of fleece and quickly cast a minor illusion spell. As he was doing so, he looked at his sweating reflection and said, "Yes, I know this is not smart. But when did that stop us?" With a grin, Nim finished the incantation and nodded happily at his handiwork and reflection at the same time. Running down the hall and the balcony, Nim left behind the following illusion written in hot pink lipstick, "Pokadoted panties are 'so' out of fashion." The fact that it was the same color the wife of the Half-Elf's had been wearing was just icing on the cake. A bellow let Nim know that the master of the house was in hot pursuit and turned with the long decorative cloth that they hang outside of buildings to make them look festive. Can't think of the nameoutside tapestry in hand that ran down the outside of the wall. Taking his hat off his head, Nim bowed to the enraged Half-Elf and said, "Don't mind me, good sir. I'll show myself out." Then with a grin and a wink, Nim was sliding down the tapestry. It was only then that he wondered, 'Did he still have that blasted sword?' The sound of steel slicing through tapestry let Nim know that the man was indeed still armed. Below him was the decorative pool with a myriad amount of stone nymphs, fish, merwoman, and various sea creatures, all with water pouring from various orifices. It was a gaudy extravagance, and one Nim had no plan falling upon. He'd more likely hit stone than water, so with a quick twist to right himself in midair and a verbal incantation, there was a puff of smoke and next thing Nim knew he was stumbling along the pavement next to the pool before catching his balance and looking up with a slight amount of annoyance, "I say. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you meant me harm. I'll say again...well its really for the first time as you didn't give me a chance to explain...but that's neither here nor there I suppose... Ahh, where was I? Oh! Right. As I was saying, I didn't know your wife was that sensitive in that area or that the mear brush of a feather would cause her to react that loudly! It was quite startling, I must say." Feeling confident with three stories between them and the open gate at his back, Nim was going to mention coming back at a later date to avail his wife of her...frustrations. But the sight of the Half-Elf climbing up on the balcony with the obvious intention to jump into the pool had Nim closing his trap and running out the gate. Seconds later, there was a splash followed by the Half-Elf limping out of the gate in pursuit of Nim running down the dusk shrouded street. Once they were out of sight, a shadow detached its self from the wall and stepped into the light, reveling itself to be Nim standing there looking after the man and the illusion of himself. Raising his left hand, Nim said, "On the one hand, anyone who consorts with slavers can't be that nice." Raising his right hand, he added, "On the other hand, said slaver is long gone by now and will take me several more days to track down." Nim weighed the two outcomes of the night before shrugging his shoulders and headed in the opposite direction the Half-Elf took, "Oh, well. The day was entertaining, at least. But the next party I crash, I absolutely must get the host's name." "How did I get myself into this" writing sample 2:   Jail Cell Blues(the Wash way): Finding peace and quiet in a jail cell was a mite harder to attain than Nim figured on. First, there was Mr. Stinky, his cellmate, an oldtimer that got perverse pleasure in wearing his own filth. Sneaking him out of prison was a challenge, but one Nim found much fun in. Well, once he aired out his cell, that is. Nim enjoyed the peace for almost a week before the warden assigned him a new cellmate. That resolved itself out quite nicely on its own when the thug of a Human started a fight with a guard and got himself thrown into solitary confinement. Sneaking out of his cell and finding the order for one Sniggle Backwater to be in solitary for one month in the warden's office, Nim found it was an easy task to change that sentence to one year. While puttering around the office, Nim noticed his name was on a list for prison labor to repave the roads around Waterdeep, and he promptly added 'ore' to the end of the name. "Nimore the Dwarf was looking a little pale last time I saw him. The hard labor should do him some good." With a smirk, Nim left for his comfy cell. The next five months were precisely what the doctor ordered. The food was marginal, the lice population was surprisingly under control, and while far from quite Nim managed to get a bit of peace for himself. He even held a shadow ilusionspuppet show every third day for those who wished to stand outside his cell and watch. Even the guards enjoyed the show. Any mention that shadows could not possibly dance across a hanging blanket without a light source of some sort on the opposite side was quietly quashed. His shows were creative, from dinosaurs who betrayed each other and eventually ate one another, to bumbling Dwarves that defied the gods for a handful of lilies. It was all in good fun, but the warden took umbrage with him and his fellow Dwarves being made fun of and put an end to it, citing the walkway in front of his cell was crumbling. Which was true but what wasn't in this prison. Nim thought that would be the end of it, but the next day a Half-Orc with muscles bulging upon muscles was put into his cell. It would have been no problem to get rid of the Orckin, and the usual tactics might have proven useful if for the fact that Grog the Half-Orc was more intelligent than he looked. It didn't help that Grog was a bully and mean as a rattlesnake to boot. So Nim could perhaps be forgiven for his blunder. Having both bedding and sheets taken and told to sleep on the cold rock floor was defiantly not nice, and so Nim devised a plan that would have the Half-Orc out of his cell before the night was out. Once Grog was snoring loud enough to wake the dead, Nim put his plan into action. Hiding in the deepest shadows of the cell, which just happened to right next to the Half-Orc, Nim used his magic to summon an invisible mage hand and picked the lock to his cell before using his most devastating magic. To the outside observer, nothing happened. But soon Grog woke up and glared at the cell door where 'nothing' stood, "What you yelling for small fry? You got a death wish?" There was a pause as the magical illusion of Nim that only Grog could see replied. He smiled as the Half-Orc stiffened as if slapped and shouted angrly, "You take that back!" There was another short pause before Grog the Half-Orc filled the cellblock with his roar of outrage and ran straight for the illusion of Nim with the intent to pin the little prick up against the cell door and squeeze the life out of him. Only Nim was not there, and the cell door opened when he collided with it. The third story catwalk was just two feet wide and the railing to short to prevent the stumbling Grog from flipping over it. Luckily, the Half-Orc managed to grab hold of the railing and stop himself from falling the three stories to the floor below. Walking out of the shadows, Nim smiled at Grog and said, "You should learn to be more courteous to those you do not know." Hooking a finger in the cell door, Nim closed it with a bang and a smirk. That smirk turned to surprise when the added vibration of the slamming door caused the crumbling walkway to give, and the railing Grog was hanging onto tore away. Nim winced as he heard the Half-Orc hit the second story railing and again when he hit the floor two levels down. When the guard that responded to the ruckus called for the prison doctor and a mop bucket, he winced once more and quietly scolded himself, "Nimfoodle you fool! What have you done?" Nim felt terrible, but those are the breaks. In this case, the breaks were a snapped ankle, both collarbones, a right femur, and a major concussion plus an assortment of cuts and bruises. Frankly, Nim was not looking forward to having a healed Grog back in his cell. Nim was a trickster at heart and that was largely why he followed the goddess Tymora. Fending off an enraged Half-Orc while unarmed was not something he was looking forward to, so Nim decided that his impromptu vacation was over. Besides, he had started finding the joy in life again weeks ago, but the question was, where to go? Going back to his stomping grounds around Waterdeep was an option, but Nim was feeling the need for something new. Maybe going back home to Proskur, and say "hi" to the folks? Continue up the sword coast and visit Luskan as he had initially planned? 'That hive of scum and villainy might be entertaining to watch.' But even that felt off to Nim. Shrugging, he decided to sleep on it and let his dreams guide his steps. And boy did it guide his steps as ruins, Dragons, Oni, and a Necromancer filled his dreams. Early in the morning, Nim had just finished writing out his letter to the warden and thought about adding a helpful P.S. detailing that stuffing the bedding with illusion spell components fleece was a bad idea but decided against it, "After all, as my note says, I might be back this way again." Shrugging, Nim finished tying the letter to the bars of his cell and walked out of prison, nodding whenever a guard saluted and said 'Warden' before going about their business. One thing Nim had observed was that no one bothered the Warden when he had a good scowl going, and that scowl saw him through his escape. Though, it was hard to keep that scowl in place when all he wanted to do was giggle. Once free and walking down the road into Waterdeep proper, Nim entered a shadow, allowed the spell to fall away, and a giggling Gnome stepped out the other side. He giggled even louder when a sudden thought about the dragon hit him, 'This will be the biggest damsel in distress that I've rescued by far!'   SHOPPING LIST GP SP CP Spyglass 1,000gp     x15 Potion of Healing 750gp     x3 Potion of Climbing 300gp     x2 Antitoxin Vial 100gp     Hand Crossbow (+20 Bolts) 76gp     Studded Leather Armor 45gp     Book (Journal) 25gp     Component Pouch 25gp     Mule (+tack & feed) 24gp 3sp   Musical Instrument (Pan Flute) 12gp     50 feet of Silk Rope 10gp     Lock 10gp     Ink 10gp     Bedroll 1gp     Block and Tackle 1gp     Crossbow Bolt Case 1gp     10 feet of Chain 5gp     Grappling Hook 2gp     x3 Manacles 6gp     Two-person Tent 2gp     Steel Mirror 5gp     Mess Kit   2sp   Gaming Set (Dice Set)   1sp   Ink Pen     2cp Soap     2cp Whetstone     1cp TOTAL SPENT: 2,410gp 6sp 5cp 5,520gp - 2,410gp 6sp 5cp = 3,109gp 3 sp 5cp END TOTAL: 6 - 500gp gems, 9pp 19gp 3sp 5cp

[MoonZar]

Free the dragon from the evil princess!

[Drachenspirit]

Originally Posted by MoonZar

Free the dragon from the evil princess!

You're not too far off actually.

[Niyaga]

The Malavian Name: The Malavian Class: Wizard Race: Chondathan Human Appearance: Tall and slender frame disguised by voluminous robes and the accoutrements of his practise. The Malavian is middle-aged, bearing deep rings under his eyes from sleepless nights of study and deeper frown lines from the disturbing trials of his past. Dark hair with a pronounced widow's peak, clipped dark beard and medium brown eyes. 5e background: Faction Agent (SCAG) Thayan Resurrection Two personality traits: Superior. I’ve been on missions alongside faction leaders. Being in the company of Initiates is exhausting. Grateful. Being on the good side during the collapse of the Red Wizards gave the Malavian a new start, relaxing his stern tendencies. Ideal: Disciplined. Study and the search for knowledge is the highest calling. Bond: I owe my life to Syranna who saved my life during the collapse of the Red Wizards. Flaw: I become obsessed with personal goals to the detriment of everything else in my life. Their hometown/origin here in Faerun: Hlath on the southern coast of the Sea of Fallen Stars. Apprenticed to Syranna of the Red Wizards of Thay, he separated from his family and lost contact with them in his youth. Why has your character decided to do this? Responding to the magical summons of Silver Dragon was not to be taken lightly. A goodly dragon might prove to be a better ally than those he hitherto selected. What is their over-arching goal? Amassing knowledge through study and travel, and finding new purpose in his life.   Backstory The Wizard was of a rare Chondathan bloodline; the Malavians, whose people had thinned and splintered over centuries, spreading out over Faerun. Withholding his true name as he was taught, he’d taken to introducing himself as "M". Once his fellows and particularly Syranna learnt of his heritage they took to calling him the Malavian. It stuck. The Collapse of the Red Wizards of Thay "It’s impossible to see the evil of a regime while you’re a part of it." That’s what M had come to realise. But after the coup led by Szass Tam, he’d chosen the side of his master, mentor and friend Syranna. She’d seen through the diabolical meddlings and decided to take a path towards magical enlightenment and altruism; for the betterment of all of Faerûn. The other side of the splintered faction kept on with dark magics, power grabbing and enslavery. But being part of such a powerful organisation had been a boon. As an apprentice the young M had access to wondrous arcane libraries and several skilled magic-users with which to ply with questions. A good wizard wants to know everything and, apart from a natural ability with the weave, the Malavian’s one true desire was to amass knowledge of spells, rites, planes and their portals and inhabitants. Lately he’d begun to wonder, "Knowledge but to what end..?" For he hadn’t had a guiding purpose since completing his study. The end of the Red Wizards had shaken his purpose. Syranna busied herself with the wizardly hierarchy, travelling and speaking, building alliances, and quelling threats that it was within the ability of the Thayan Resurrection to do. M had helped and would continue to help wherever he was required. He owed Syranna his life. But in peacetime she’d given him leave to pursue whatever he wanted. He found himself at a crossroads in his life. The Malavian was searching for something but did not know what that was. Writing sample 1 in the style of Eeyore The Malavian was despondent. He’d proceeded under the auspices and charter of his order. He’d ignored or glossed over the ill-treatment of Thayans, the drugs and necromancy. He was told, "It’s all for the greater good." by his many superiors and he’d bought it, not without reservations, but there was too much for him to lose personally to risk speaking up. He blocked the thoughts out and buried himself in study. The ever cheerful Syranna woke him with a start, head on a pile of parchments of last night’s study. "Good morning!" "Good morning? I doubt it." he returned deadpan with black-ringed eyes. "Your probation will be finished soon and you’ll be able to pursue your own passions." "It’s no good while all that is going on. The power they’re wielding might shatter the Weave. All my study will be for naught if that happens. A wizard without mana. A spellcaster without spells." He gave a sigh like a terminally bored teenager, signaling the end-of-the-world. "But there’s nothing any of us can do about it." He pushed away the scrolls and gave another end-of-the-world sigh. Writing sample 2 in the style of Deadpool Years later, the realms were in chaos. The Malavian had been an operative of one party partly responsible for the destruction of so much. "I suppose the death of the Goddess of Magic builds character among Wizards." He’d nearly lost his mind with the implications of the events of this tumultuous time. He questioned his faith in the order, their motivations; whether magic would indeed work afterwards; what his place would be! The result on the Malavian was a dry and wicked wit. "I mean, we still have Oghma right..?" -blank stares- "So… I had a dream that a Silver Dragon…" -feigning horror- "Not a wet dream! I’ll leave that for the Sorcerers!" -returning to the point- "…to rescue it the Dragon offered me all its horde… which I bet it didn’t offer the four of you…" -four other PCs bristle- "So we’re off to its dungeon to break our way in. Through the walls. Especially the fourth wall. You know the DM’s gonna give us each all the information we need so we can kind of write the story ourselves yeah? They’ll just sit back and watch. We’ll probably kill ourselves. No. Help. Needed."

[Acathala]

Best of luck Drachenspirit.

[Niyaga]

Hey Drach I think the Malavian is complete but let me know if there's anything else.

Thanks for the opportunity to write in those styles I've really entertained myself! I hope others get a kick out of it too.

[Superstrength79]

Application Name: Bizendur Class: Fighter 2/Wizard 10 (War Magic) Race: Warforged Background: Sage Personality trait(s): Odd speech patterns, practices social distancing despite being immune to disease (afraid of being deactivated). Ideal: Emotions must not cloud our logical thinking. Bond: I've been searching my whole life for the answer to a certain question. Flaw: I am easily distracted by the promise of information. Backstory: The great wizard Bizendur lived in the city of Arabel in Cormyr. He was a master of the arcane tradition of transmutation and was known in the arcane community for creating many spectacular works of magic. His experiments were tolerated by the Purple Dragon Knights and Lords of Arabel since Bizendur kept to himself in his tower, and for his pride Bizendur never let his magic get out of his own control. Despite his best efforts, Bizendur was once tasked to join the War Wizards of Cormyr during a time of great unrest. The nobles had cornered him into reluctantly joining their cause. Not being much of a combatant, Bizendur created a specialized golem that would not only serve as his protector, but also be useful as a front-line combatant if the wizard should so choose to abandon it. The golem was designed to contain magic and function as a mobile spellbook for Bizendur as well. During his time of service, Bizendur encountered a wizard that specialized in the study of Necromancy. Intrigued by the idea of liches, Bizendur experimented with the golem in hopes of creating a phylactery. Unknown to Bizendur is that he had accidentally manipulated the weave into granting the golem sentience. After his service in the War Wizards, Bizendur finally was able to return to his private studies in Arabel. He left his golem to the War Wizards for their use and became a recluse. After three years time, Bizendur's tower started to cause chaos in the city. Constructs ranging from flesh golems to homonculi rampaged across the city, causing local adventurers to enter the tower to end the threat. Sadly, it was discovered that Bizendur fell mad to his newfound lust for immortality. Not proficient in the field of Necromancy, the transmutist instead was using alchemy to try and extend his lifespan. The adventurers that slayed him said the wizard had turned himself into a horribly mutated creature with his experiments, and that is why he lost control of his creations. With the threat dispatched, Bizendur and his tower were no more. The War Wizards caught wind of the fate of Bizendur and decided they would no longer use the construct that he had created, in case there were some kind of contingency cast on it to cause further havoc. Several wizards, however, petitioned the Lords of Arabel to not destroy the construct, as it could be used as a tool for learning by future wizards. The skill level of Transmutation and Necromancy used to create it were still unknown. Ordering the golem to disable itself and stand down, the wizards transported it back to Arabel and placed is in a warded facility until they would later come to study it. Languishing in its warded cell for two decades, the construct had nothing but time to think about its own existence. Glad it wasn't deactivated, but also no lacking a purpose, it decided it would need to find its creator in order to find answers. It just had to wait for the opportunity. That opportunity came when a young wizard apprentice found the construct while cleaning. So much time had passed, that the story of Bizendur and its creation were no longer common knowledge. The apprentice was fascinated by the construct and decided to experiment with it. The construct played along and fooled the young wizard into thinking it was complying with his commands. Sharing its capabilities freely, the young wizard liked that he could use the construct as a spellbook and began to inscribe many spells into it. The construct would patiently observe and commit to memory the apprentice practicing his magic, and would practice on its own while the apprentice was away. Finally, the construct felt prepared to make its move. When the apprentice came to activate "his" golem again, the construct had other ideas. Casting a simple sleep spell on the unwitting apprentice, the construct easily escaped. Leaving its prison, the construct wandered the city at night and used magic spells to evade the guards. The construct located the old tower that its creator owned and found that it was decrepit with neglect. It entered the tower anyways and studied the remains, trying to piece together what might have happened. Not satisfied with its search, the construct spent many days afterward, investigating in the city. It scanned the spellbook inside to locate appropriate methods to aid its search and found a spell that could disguise its appearance. Taking the form of a human male, the construct questioned the populace and only discovered what happened to its creator after asking some of the older citizens in town what had happened. It learned that it had been several decades since the wizard Bizendur had been slain, and why. Without a master or purpose, the construct left Arabel to contemplate its future. In order to survive it used the only two things that were left to it; magic, and the name of its creator - Bizendur. Taking on its master's name, the construct joined adventuring groups in Cormyr and disguised itself as many different races in order to learn more about life and motivations. Goal: One day, Bizendur hopes to find a purpose for its existence, or at least a cause. Writing Sample #1   Eeyore It was midnight. The construct known as Bizendur was keeping guard over the camp. Its fellow adventurers were sleeping around a small campfire while it kept watch. Since it could keep watch while also powering down for a rest cycle, Bizendur was a high-value asset to have in these haunted woods. Bizendur started to see a strange vision though, a vision of a dragon in chains. It was surrounded by its captors and calling for help. This vision was very odd. Was it a dream? Bizendur was unable to dream... it must be magic. Reactivating from its sleep cycle, Bizendur stood upright and spoke. "Analyzing." It scanned the campfire and its sleeping allies. All was well in the camp. Leaving the camp area, Bizendur scouted around to ensure there were no lurking threats before returning to camp. Now that it had made sure there were no physical threats, the construct stood and pondered a course of action. It processed internally, "Of course I would be summoned for service again. What else use do I have? Can I never find my own purpose?" Looking down at its allies, the construct continued to process, "Am I to forever just be a useful tool to the mortal races?" It stared at the campfire for several hours before finally deciding. Rousing the fat halfling, affectionately called Piglet by his friends, Bizendur informed him that it was called to service and needed to leave. "Good halfling, I have been once more summoned to service. It is my sad duty to fulfill this call, as I am only a creation of my master. I bid thee farewell and wish for you to not lead a dreary existence such as mine." With that, Bizendur cast a spell and took off flying into the night sky, leaving Piglet confused, and slightly hungry. Writing Sample #2   Deadpool Standing before the groups of ogres, Bizendur readied itself against possible assault. It analyzed possible attack vectors and the possibility of invisible foes. The allies Bizendur had encountered all started to charge into battle and the construct flew ahead as well, throwing fireballs at the groups of ogres. As it had predicted, an Oni appeared in the air and tried to cast a bolt of lighting at Bizendur. Using the strategic moment to counter the Oni's spell, Bizendur flew close to the creature and cast a spell to freeze the creature in place and it plummeted to the ground where the construct's allies quickly gathered around it and dispatched it. All was going to plan, but the construct suddenly began to process how this all had started. Several weeks earlier, the construct had been sitting in a tavern, watching its allies eat and drink with merriment. Bored and not particularly interested in the drunken boasts of its allies, Bizendur powered down in order to inventory its internal spellbook and formulate battle strategies. It was then that a large, silver dragon contacted Bizendur. - It should be noted, that the dragon had a thick booty (according to records of dragon girth stored in Bizendur's memory files). - The dragon beseeched Bizendur for its aid and offered a mountain of treasure as recompense. What good was money to a creation of man? One that did not need to eat or drink? Bizendur sat and pondered that question after the dragon's message had faded. Reactivating, the construct chose to interact with his allies. "Large breasted one. What would you do with a mountain of treasure?" it asked the female elf. The woman was quite voluptuous and was very skilled with her bow. Bizendur wasn't sure why this was important, but knew that it was proper etiquette to point out a woman's features when interacting with them in a tavern. The elf was disgusted and confused, but replied that the money would be used to create outposts to protect the forests and farming communities from harm. When Bizendur asked the same question of their male dwarf ally, he replied that he would form his own city of dwarves and maybe one day become king. Cycling to the last remaining, and sober, ally, Bizendur rotated its head to ask the dark and mysterious human thief the same. The human replied that he would spend the money to track down the ones responsible for the death of his family and also fund a terrible campaign of vengeance against the families of the ones responsible. Returning from its memory banks, and to the battle at hand - Bizendur reaffirmed its reason for being here. The money would be used to fund research into all things pertaining to life and would hopefully answer the questions of meaning and purpose that the construct had for itself. It might also save some of the reward to learn why the voluptuous female elf did not appreciate its tavern discourse.

Additional comments I have attached the 250x250 picture to this post. Character sheet

[Begon Ugo]

Alrighty! Holding my spot for.... something....

[Drachenspirit]

UPDATE: Couple of things real quick. I will be offline sometime tonight until Monday for my roadtrip back home of over 1300 miles. Not a joy ride that I look forward to, but such is life.
As such, I haven't gotten to really diving into your apps yet. I will start that next week. I have glanced over a few and I'll throw out this disclaimer. First, let me preface it by saying that I am no English major, or writing ace, editor, or publisher by any stretch of the imagination. I tend to have the occasional long run on sentence. Still, if your application is hard to understand and punctuation and grammar are substandard at best, I won't be able to grasp what you are going for. I do know that there's quite a few of the members here who have english as their second language and even one I've spoken to is doing all this through a translator. All of those I am aware of have decent writing skills if not better than mine - probably all better actually. Anyway, read your apps back to yourself and you'll be able to tell if they're just hard to read.
Lastly, I will need a character sheet at some point, that's why I put those creation stat guidelines up there. I'm not looking for equipment or magic items, just the build that includes skills, feats, spells, and all that. Spells don't have to be exactly what you're starting with, but give me an idea of what your character's "go to's" are. For warrior types I'm looking for a sense of them, dual wielder, polearm, ranged fighter, Archetypes, etc, etc. I'm also a sucker for Rogues, so If you've got one, I'm more well versed with them than any other class - I don't care what you choose, just want to see that it all makes sense. If it does, I won't have to ask why you chose that at this level and this at another.
That's it for now.
Have a good weekend!
- D

[The Rat Queen]

Finished my writing samples, so my application should be ready!

[Kenjitsu]

Withdrawing application. Good luck and have fun.

[Drachenspirit]

@Begon Ugo & Kenjitsu - You have plenty of time, over 2 weeks to get compete.

@The Rat Queen - updated the list of applicants table with your changes.