[D&D-5e] A Raven Recalls: Falkovnia, Where the Dead Never Rest

[Chylopan]

Game Name A Raven Recalls: Falkovnia, Where the Dead Never Rest

Game System DnD 5e

Theme Horror, Survival, Action / Adventure

Flavour Mid to Low Fantasy Horror in Pseudo-Germany / Russia

Plot Summary Game Overview Game System Dungeons and Dragons, 5th Edition Musical Theme Zombie – Originally Performed by The Cranberries – Cover by Leo and Stine Moracchioli Story Theme Adventurers Stranded in a Realm Besieged by Unending Hordes of Zombies. A Kingdom Tormented by Horrors both Living and Dead. Inspirations The Walking Dead, Resident Evil, Kingdom, Jacob's Ladder, Cabin in the Woods Play Style Horror, Difficult Decisions, and Extreme Violence. Survival, Social Management, and a Constant Race Against the Clock. A broad-in-scope, collaborative story that takes place entirely in the dreadful, zombie-ridden land of Falkovnia. Your characters will arrive in this horrid domain through a veil of supernatural Mist that will trap them there until a mysterious criterion for release is satisfied. While in Falkovnia, it’s up to you to decide whether or not this motley group will rise above the overwhelming hordes or sink beneath their vengeful waves; whether or not they cave beneath the pressure of an authoritarian boot or lash out in defiance; whether or not they placate the paranoid and oppressed or bring them to heel. Regardless, one thing is for certain: difficult moral and ethical decisions will be a constant occurrence. How the party chooses to navigate them will win them favor and ire alike! Think carefully. Choose wisely. And always have a backup plan for when things go sour! Afterall, you must keep in mind: Falkovnia sits on the razor’s edge; a bump too strong in one direction could spell disaster for everyone. CRITICAL INFORMATION In Falkovnia, on the last day of every month, a dark moon hangs high over blood red skies, and all the realm is shrouded in an otherworldly darkness. It is then that a never-ending horde of undead wander from the terrifying Mists in what can only be described as a unanimous invasion, whereupon they waylay the countryside and any small hamlets caught in between their beeline to the capital, Lekar. The party will need to remain conscious of the date and time — monstrous activity seems to increase exponentially as the sun wanes — while also making certain they don’t draw the attention of any lingering packs of shamblers… or worse. Danger lurks around every corner! Game Hook Survivors, Servants, or Saviors The days of the living are numbered in Falkovnia. The people would flee if they could, taking their chances in the Mists, but they aren’t allowed that choice. The military has turned against the people, making them prisoners within their own country. With cudgel and pike, the soldiers of Falkovnia force every commoner into grueling labor, rushing them to raise fortifications and scrape scrawny roots from the dirt. Every lash strike, every day of meager rations is necessary—or so the soldiers claim—because time is short and the dead are coming. Falkovnia is a land besieged. Empty countryside surrounds ruined or crumbling cities. A few desperate pockets of civilization survive, carrying on not out of hope, but out of fear of the land’s merciless soldiers. Led by General Vladeska Drakov, Falkovnia’s military organizes a desperate and occasionally effective defense against an implacable foe: the ever-growing armies of the dead. Every month a new zombie legion issues from the Mists. Never emerging from the same place twice, the horde sweeps across the land, drawn to the densest populations of the living. That’s currently the Falkovnian capital of Lekar, where unfit and underfed conscripts defend crumbling walls alongside General Drakov and her crimson-armored elite soldiers, the Talons. Causalities stack up during the zombie sieges, but miracles and moments of valor have not abandoned Falkovnia. The people’s numbers dwindle, but they soldier on. In the aftermath of an attack, the Falkovnians burn their dead, repair what they can, and whisper that now might be the time to flee. Invariably, though, someone speaks too loudly and a so-called traitor is impaled upon Lekar’s walls. The people might want to abandon their homes, but Vladeska Drakov will not know defeat. Posting Details Rate: As DM I try to post at least twice a week for the group, though there are times when that is unachievable due to real-life obligations. Regardless, depending on the circumstances or group consensus, I may increase this rate for things like combat or intense dialogue. Conversely, as I have learned from MY previous games, it may slow significantly as I have a fairly demanding career and our crunch time can sometimes get overwhelming. Just a heads-up that things may fluctuate drastically but I will try to keep in contact to the best of my ability. Quality and Style: I am a writer at heart, just like most of you. Also, I have tendency to prattle on at length about certain facets of a scene to add atmosphere or a certain aesthetic. MOOD and FEEL are very important to me. My writing has been known to carry with it a lot of purple prose. However, I try to keep this reeled in based on the situation. Sometimes it escapes me. You can expect an average of 3 – 7 paragraphs with any given post, maybe more or less depending on the circumstances (such as combat, intense dialogue, etc.), and I will try to conform to the group’s preferences as I get to know them. Application Details Number of Players: 4 — 6 Application Deadline: September 30th Character Creation Details Starting Level: 3rd Ability Scores: 27 Point Buy Races: Any race from the officially sanctioned materials will be acceptable. No UA/Non-Official races. Feats: Bonus Feat at first level, no longer exclusive to human variant. Choose wisely. Alignment: No evil characters will be permitted. Any turn towards the Dark Side will be handled through the progression of naturally occurring RP and character development, not meta-game masterminding for the luls. Shades of gray, people. Shades of gray. Most folks in Falkovnia are morally ambiguous. Class: Any officially sanctioned class is acceptable unless otherwise stated. Blood Hunter is the only UA/Non-Official class that I will consider. No Moon Druid. No Multi-Classing after 5th level. Wealth: Starting wealth for a first-level character. Public Application Section Character Basics Basic Character Details: Things like your character’s name, race, age, sex, etc. The quick and simple stuff. Character Class: All classes are viable in Falkovnia. Heck, you’ll want a diverse adventuring party for a greater shot at survival. This dread realm is exceptionally violent and deadly on the best of days. A general declaration is all I need here. Character Appearance: Rather self-explanatory. Detail what you think necessary and leave out what isn’t. If you’re looking to score bonus points: I’m fond of cool or interesting pictures that help bring a description to life, however this is by no means a requirement. Character Background: Where and how does your character fit into society? Have they always been there? More importantly, I need to know what they were doing prior to being captured and transported to Falkovnia by Ravenloft’s all-consuming Mists. Nothing in this section must be super detailed or fleshed out. Vague is fine. Secret Application Section Secret Application Section   Anything in this section should be considered an in-character secret. There may be a time where the information below is made publicly available to the group but that remains up to DM discretion. Keep these short and to the point. No more than a few paragraphs. There will be an opportunity to expand on them later. Character Secrets: Write one (1) character secret. If accepted into the game, there may come a time where you are asked to write more. A good secret is a short vignette or bit of expository information that explains a hidden feature or facet about your character. This added secret is your opportunity to give me insight into who your characters really are behind all the arms and armor: what motivates them, their origins, their past deeds or misdeeds, etc. Each secret should be based on a concrete detail, such as your character’s ideal, bond, flaw, etc. It should also be something that has some sort of storyline hook to it, or a thread to pull on — anything that I, as DM, can take advantage of while planning adventure arcs. You have five options for what your secret narrative should focus on: Secret 1: Your Character’s Ideal Secret 2: Your Character’s Bond Secret 3: Your Character’s Background Secret 4: One of your Character’s Flaws Secret 5: One of your Character’s Personality Traits Falkovnia, Home of Moral Ambiguity: Briefly explain something that solidifies your character as having an ambiguous moral edge. For instance, if your character is perceived by most to be a veritable saint or goody two-shoes, tell me about a trait or character flaw they have which contradicts this notion. Conversely, if your character falls under the broad umbrella of renegade or ne’er-do-well, tell me about something they have done or might do which puts their harsh exterior in question. Feel free to get creative with this and come up with your own example. Selection Criteria Selection Criteria   Setting Fit: I’m looking for players who are interested in taking advantage of Falkovnia’s strong, atmospheric setting and the moral ambiguity of its denizens. I want characters who feel as though they belong in the thick of it all — whether that’s waylaying through a horde of undead beasts, contending with overzealous laws and their enforcers, or just trying to survive! Still, make no mistake: Falkovnia is a very, very bleak domain. It often reflects the grim-and-gritty reality of a world where sometimes Man is more monstrous than the actual monsters. At the same time, hope is never truly lost (despite how bad things might look on the surface), and there is always a silver-lining somewhere out there — if you dig deep, if you fight tooth and nail, if you rake and claw! Anyway, the take-away is this: while there is certainly a place in Falkovnia for characters of a more stern or serious demeanor, I’m A-OK with those who exude an eccentric, altogether different aura… so long as they feel like they belong in the setting or compliment it in an organic way. Character Motivation/Goal: I am particularly interested in characters who have a well-established goal or motivation. However, I do not mean to insinuate that characters must be inflexibly stuck on a straight-forward, railroad-y path. Quite the contrary! A good candidate will have clear motivations that are inspired by their background, occupation, or place in the world. They will also be capable of believably evolving said motivations/goals as the story progresses. Quality over Quantity: We’re all here to read, play pretend, and roll (type?) some dice, that much is obvious. Personally, I don’t mind players posting at-length. In fact, I will encourage it from time to time. However, there will always be moments where brevity is best; not all interactions or encounters will require 7+ paragraphs of expository dialogue or scene-setting on behalf of every single character. Thus, I hope I am not disappointing anyone by making it known, here and now, that there will be a bias towards quality of writing over any quantity. Horror YES! Horror NO! Horror YES! Horror NO! Surprise! Surprise! This campaign is spooky-scary-horror themed. As such, it is very likely to feature and/or brush up against certain topics that may be controversial and/or make some folks feel uncomfortable — as all good horror is apt to do! However, in order to make sure that we’re all still having fun and enjoying the experience, instead of crawling in our skin when we don’t want to, I kindly ask that you make a quick list of any HORROR NO’s and HORROR YES’s that will give me an idea of what’s a shoo-in and what’s a no-go. Feel free to publish this part privately. Applications Player Character Name Race Class Secret Status Hal Hammerhand Crovall Dimun Half-Elf Ranger X Complete SnakeOilCharmer Ziema Tiefling Bard X Complete Runetide Confidentia Azuria Human Fighter X Complete Jasontheswift Orwyn Breet'th Deep Gnome Cleric X Complete DaniLore Roksana D'Corvus Half-Elf Cleric x Complete Daendil Arsentis High Elf Wizard X Complete Onward Fellto High Elf Bard X Complete DemonSlayer Grey Shifter Monk X Complete Drachenspirit Wisica Softbranch Halfling Druid X Complete Hiruma Kohaku Dr. Philippe Brighton Reborn Blood Hunter X Complete Chaucer Darryll Nachtschild Human Paladin X Complete Arkaon Krion Leonin Barbarian X Complete Chrystrom Kaiser Gunter Schönheit Human Blood Hunter X Complete O2CXt3 Leila Aliard Human Sorc/Rogue X Complete CoffeeRogue Jade Osco Halfling Rogue X Complete Lepidoptera Chatka Hollyhock Human Bard X Complete Vislands Gelepagros Udomorn Dragonborn Wizard X Complete Harkov Herja Aasimir Fighter X Complete Grouchy Orek Twinhammer Dwarf Fighter X Complete Wretched Rick Avaelyn Silverthrush Elf Warlock X Complete Shula Þráinn Dwarf Sorcerer X Complete F.A.Q. Starting Wealth - Yes, you will start with the wealth of a 1st level character despite beginning the campaign at level 3. This is more for mechanical purposes than anything else. Money in 5e gets a little crazy and I like to keep it simple. Bonus Feat - The bonus feat does not stack with Human Variant. The point of the bonus feat is to even the playing field and, hopefully, allow for a more diverse cast of characters. To clarify: you only get an extra feat if you pick something OTHER THAN Human Variant. Character Sheets - I will accept character sheets created on RPGX or through DNDBeyond. Personally, I prefer DNDBeyond. That said, I understand not having access to all the books/classes without a purchase can make your options super limited. I won't hold it against anyone if you decide to use a sheet here on site. Both are fine.

[Hal Hammerhand]

How could I see this thread when I am already pushing the limits on how many games I am in. I would love to toss in a character application...

Impending interest.

[SnakeOilCharmer]

So, would I be correct in thinking that the mists will be picking up the PCs from various scattered locations, rather than being taken from one single location? IE; it's entirely possible for one PC to be from the Forgotten realms, and another from Ravnica or Eberron?

PS you left references to the blind matron in the secret bit :P

[SnakeOilCharmer]

APPLICATION

Public Application Section

Character Basics Basic Character Details:Ziema, 32 year old Levistus Tiefling Character Class: College of Spirits Bard Character Appearance:A tall, slender woman with pale blue skin, auburn hair, and eyes which appear to be flecked with dancing flames. Two small horns which resemble curved icicles grow from her forehead, betraying her descent from the Frozen Prince. Ziema has a flamboyant dress sense, combining dark velvet overcoats with cravats and scarves made of primary-colored silks, more akin to the finery of Sword Coast nobility than the heavy furs preferred by her peers in Termalaine. Her voice is reedy and high-pitched, and she speaks in a quick, staccato manner that radiates nervous energy. Character Background: Ziema was raised, though not born, in the town of Termalaine, in Icewind Dale on the world of Toril. As a Tiefling, Ziema knew from infancy that she was an outsider here. Her mother, though, had died a hero of Termalaine, suffering mortal wounds in single combat with an Owlbear which had wandered into town, so she was spared the constant low-level hostility her kind faced in most of this world. Instead, it was Ziema's own mind which obsessed over her difference from her friends. Why do I look so different to my friends? Why do I not feel the cold as they do? Where did we come to this place from? Ziema's father Pugis, a taciturn miner, could not have been less forthcoming with her daughter. There were some questions, he said, that were more trouble than they were worth to answer. They'd travelled a few places before settling here. They looked different because their ancestors looked different. If it doesn't help you survive around here, it's a waste of your breath talking about it, was the elder Tiefling's attitude. These responses very much did not placate the young Ziema. Instead, the girl became obsessed with the occult, believing that there must be a way to speak to her lost mother, or failing that other ancestors, to find the answers she craved. She delved into the manner in which the Dwarves and Barbarians of the Dale revered their own ancestors. She interrogated local wizards about their practice of divination magic, and priests regarding their beliefs surrounding afterlives. She hung around the graveyards and barrows of the region, and studied the flute and viol. When a group of exotic-looking travellers passed through the town (itself something as a mystery, as there is very little in that part of the world to pass through to) she acquired a spirit board, and began to conduct her own seances. When she came of age, Ziema immediately sought out an apprenticeship with a local undertaker, learning the funeral rites of a number of different gods of the realm, helping to prepare bodies for their final journeys, and lending her musical talents to provide an eerie and yet somehow-comforting backdrop to burials and cremations. Ziema opened her mind to the spirits of the area, and before too long, the spirits began to speak to her. Not the spirits she had hoped for, at least not as far as she could tell. But what a variety! Soldiers, miners, fishermen, apothecaries, the long-dead of the Dale seemed only too eager to tell their tales of even longer-dead heroes, whine about long-gone leaders, and gossip about neighbors who had been buried centuries ago. Ziema put their stories to music, and found that these stories had an eager audience throughout the ten towns. Ziema found herself spending less time conducting funerals, and more time travelling the Dale, bringing the Spirits' musings to life set to eerie yet somehow enthralling music. Then, one night, sleeping deeply after a successful performance in Easthaven, a very specific dream filled Ziema's mind. An image of her digging into the floor of her family home. It was a dream that came to her over and over as she travelled between settlements, each night seeming more vivid than the night before, always ending just as she finished digging and pulled something out of the ground, but before the woman could get a glimpse of what it was. Upon her return, Ziema waited for her mother to leave for work, and dug in the spot the dream foretold. Perplexed, she pulled out a dagger, its blade still brilliant despite the years spent buried, and its pommel a single amethyst, held in the grip of a brass falcon's talon. Placing the dagger in her belt, Ziema hurried from the house, aiming to find her father, but before she reached the mines, she found herself lost in a thick, impenetrable fog. When her vision cleared, she found herself somewhere very different indeed to her homeland. And yet, on an unconscious level Ziema couldn't help feeling she'd been here before...

Horror YES! Horror NO! I'm pretty sure that anything that is a NO! for me is already covered by site rules.

[Runetide]

I'll toss a hat in the ring. Is Falknovia part of Ravenloft? Also we take level 1 starting cash for a level 3 character? just making sure that wasn't a typo or something. Oh, can we also take variant human to start with 2 feats instead of 1?

I'm very unfamiliar with 5e settings. Or 5e in general.

Application Ser Confidentia Azuria Basic Character Details: Ser Confidentia Azuria, the Beastbreaker. Age 28. Female. Was 'misplaced' during a sortie against a rival family's forces. Neutral Good. Worships Lathander (pays lip service to, attends sermons, doesn't think much more about it). Character Class:Fighter (Battlemaster) 3 Character Appearance: A raven-haired woman with darker skin and dark green eyes, Confidentia has the bearing of a person of honor and discipline that's evident whether or not she's wearing her knightly armor and carrying her weapons and shield. Her armor is plate armor over a mail coat, sporting a red cloak with a thick fluffy fur collar that's purported to be from the very beast she killed to earn her sobriquet. If she can, she'll wear the cloak with normal clothes since it's excellent at repelling the cold, and looks highly fashionable. Her body is stocky, not a curvaceous hourglass shape, with strong arms to match strong legs and a very strong back. Her voice is a raspy, husky tenor. Character Background: 5th born in a lineage of noble knights, Confidentia was not a particularly intelligent or talented child (the best education was reserved for the 1st and second born), but she did have the effort and dedication to make up for her hindrances. Years of physical training, repetition, and exercise had honed her into a solid, dependable knight. She had made only a few true friends during her youth, but had managed to accrue a formidable list of people who trusted her. A few years prior to the current situation, her father had passed away, leaving the head of household spot open for her eldest brother. The short struggle that ensued from this succession left them having broken some diplomatic arrangements that their father had made, and the two houses fought skirmishes without ever outright declaring war. It was during one of those skirmishes that Ser Azuria was participating in when she was separated from her footsoldiers by a bank of fog that rolled in. Thinking nothing of it, she walked through the fog... and found herself somewhere GREATLY different.

[Chaucer]

Absolutely definitely interested. Application incoming.

[Jasontheswift]

Application - Ready for feedback Name: Orwyn Breet'th Race: Deep Gnome Age: 20 .... I think ... maybe 30 Alignment: NG Class: Cleric - Knowledge Domain Appearance: Orwyn may have the heart of a young inquisitve gnome but he looks as if he should be bouncing grandchildren on his knee. Despite that he is as nimble and light on his feet as any Deep gnome. His grey skin is offended by a red nose and white beard that falls too his belt. Due to reading more than eating Orwyn is noted as very thin, some may say lanky but any who say so will have their thoughts read. Background:   Being a child of the deep underdark Orwyn had never been above ground until now. After being sent on a mission by his clan and getting himself along with his party lost multiple times they finally believed to have found a way to Menzoberranzan until the fog rolled in. Before Orwyn could determine what had happened he was dropped into the middle of a conflict of guards repelling a zombie hoard. With little interest in being devoured Orwyn sprang into action and began chanting in deep speech, this resulted in an area around Orwyn forcing the undead to clear a path. Orwyn ran up some debris that was being fortified and leapt over into the crowd cowering from the wall. After the night of the undead attack Orwyn became a curiosity among the town the little being able to repel the undead even with limited effectiveness this was considered worth to keep around. However no one was sure what offering to give Orwyn, sometimes he would request components for his cleric spells other times it was a warm blanket and once it was a red toadstool which none were able to find. Horror YES! Horror NO! No limits for me.

[DaniLore]

Posting Intereeeest! [PLACEHOLDER]

Complete

App Music Name: Roksana D'Corvus Race: Half Elf Age: 26 Alignment: Neutral Good Class: Life Cleric Deity: Raven Queen Background: You were born under a dark star. You can feel it watching you, coldly and distantly. Sometimes it beckons you in the dead of night.Haunted One Traits I don’t talk about the thing that torments me. I’d rather not burden others with my curse. I expect danger around every corner. Ideal Selflessness. I try to help those in need, no matter what the personal cost. Bond My legacy is a journal, where I keep my innermost thoughts. Should I fade away, at least a piece of me shall remain. Flaw Everyday I must follow a strict ritual, lest I succumb to my curse. Appearance: Standing adrift amid a dark mausoleum, a delicate young woman, waifish and small, regards a particular marker with stark distaste. The slab of stone before her bares a single name...though two souls should be sharing the same lonely crypt. Brushing silvery hair from her pale complexion, Roksana wipes a tear, freshly fallen, from her lilac-hued gaze. Her expression grows soft and melancholy, wishing she could forget the deluge of memories that fetter her to this wretched place with all its sorrows and superstition. Dressed in fine black regalia, there is an air of prim sophistication about her, muted by a cold taciturn veil that may as well be the wintry barrier of a fortress. Time ravages all. Even the stones that comprise this house for the dead. Background: House D’Corvus has long been pillars of the Grey Vale, their long and impressive lineage stretching as far back as the Barony of Steeping Falls. Infamously, their first ancestor, Avindor, dutifully served as Steward of the Realm for the notorious figure, Artor Morlin. Common belief is that he sold his soul to the vampire in return for power and prestige. Their most prized family heirloom is the Sanguine Heart, a medallion gifted by Morlin before his mysterious disappearance. Centuries later, their House is little more than a shambling ruin…their name, a stain on Daggerford’s history. Nestled in the dreary mountainside of the Grey Vale is the abandoned manse of House D’Corvus. Its twenty-three rooms are either empty or in a state of violent disarray. Some years before, angry villagers from Daggerford had stormed in and ransacked the abode, grabbing anything valuable they could find and smashing the rest. Tragically, once their home was stripped bare, avarice compelled the mob to torture the Lord for the whereabouts of the Sanguine Heart. When they failed to make him talk, the Lord was lynched in the courtyard and the manse set ablaze. The story frightened her as a child. Many things frightened her, in fact, though it rarely surfaced upon her porcelain face. Their vile actions were beyond her understanding. Regardless of whether he was innocent or guilty of some unforgivable offense, the only tangible truth was that she was bereft of a loving father—and now she was alone, save for Nan Imogen. The widowed woman raised little Roksana as her own, though she never dared to whisk the child from the scarred manor lest others became aware of her existence. Playing amid the eerie confines of the burned and dilapidated manse, Roksana found a strange solace in the pervading solitude. Deep down, Roksana felt at peace with herself, though she resembled nothing like father or Nan Imogen. Once, she dared to ask about her mother, but Nan quickly hushed her and bid she never speak of it again. Years passed by, living as a ghost in a place fit for haunts. Perusing through the charred remnants of the library, only there, amid those fanciful tales of glory and adventure, could she truly escape. However, her tastes quickly gravitated toward the black and macabre event of the past. Witch burnings. Black magics. Sacrifices to the old gods. The rapacious hoards of the undead. The more she delved, the more Roksana realized how terrifying the world was…so, plagued by fears, the child swore to herself that she would never, ever leave. Here, amid this inglorious bastion of solitude, she had a home. Here, wickedness had already had its due. Misfortune would now leave her be. Or, so she thought. One day, at the age of fourteen, Roksana stumbled across a black leather book, hidden behind the boards of a bookcase. Dutiful daughter that she was, Roksana had been trying to maintain some semblance of order and had endeavored to reorganize Father’s books. What she found was the Lord’s journal, covered in years of dust. Detailed inside were curious events. Since childhood, he had been plagued by nightmares. A strange, otherworldly woman appeared to him, offering to cure his condition in exchange for the Sanguine Heart. When pressed for answers, the Shadow Lady said the heirloom had been sought after for a long time. Naturally, the Lord refused, but gradually as months crept by, the descriptions of his encounters with the stranger became more and more intimate—until finally he professed his love on the page!   Alas, I am a man fated to misfortune. The woman I love desires only what I possess, nothing more. Irlantha is cold and heartless. Behind that sweet veneer is a soulless nymph consumed by her mission, loyal to none but her Queen. Gods save me from this heartrender! I would give all that I have, but the moment I do shall be the last I see of her…so, I must find a way to make her mine. If she cannot love me, then I must find a way to tie her to this place. Tonight, I shall profess my love, be it once or a thousand times! Damn the consequences. This time, I shall offer her a proposition… Only the merciful gods know how this will end; so, for now, I shall entrust my Heart in the arms of none but the angels. Heart leaping at this mysterious passage, Roksana swelled with confidence, knowing precisely where to search. Early the next morning, telling Nan that she was going out for a walk, Roksana smuggled out their precious lantern beneath her velvet cloak. Climbing up a narrow pathway, winding to a lonesome place forgotten in the woods, the family mausoleum gradually came into view. The old crypt had been erected many centuries before, now a place for sad spirits. The walk there had been strangely quiet, finding it hard to shake the feeling of being watched. Eerie whispers followed the young girl, beady eyes glaring at her from the darkness. Squaw! Swooping by her head, a black Raven landed on the fence before her path. Approaching the crooked gate, Roksana curiously peered up, wincing at the sight. The bird had an odd deformity, having a third eye that gleamed a luminous green. Following her with its creepy gaze, Roksana hurried by, determined to ignore the ill omen. I am here to see Father! She declared, as if she needed to justify being here. Lighting the lantern by the entrance, Roksana stepped inside the decrepit mausoleum. One by one, she passed by the markers, bearing the names of her forebears. Of all who rested here, Avindor was not one of them. No one could say what happened to him, though popular speculation insisted that he had been assassinated by Harpers, his cadaver quartered and dispersed to the four corners of the Vale. Placing a hand upon Father’s marker, his name had been roughly scrawled into the rock by an unknown hand. Thelian. She had gazed upon this marker countless times, pondering the time away. When she dies, will someone think to bring her here? Will they prepare her bones? Will they know what name to carve on the slab? Or…will she be alone to rot? Will anyone know or care when she leaves the world behind? Death is never far away. Gasping, certain she had heard a voice raspy as gravel, Roksana nervously looked about. Holding the lantern aloft, the girl jumped at the looming figure. It was the crypt’s keeper...a sorrowful winged Valkyrie, draped in veils of silken webs. Investigating around the statue’s pedestal, she noticed that one of the stones were loose. Removing the stone and reaching inside, feeling around, Roksana’s small hand then met with something cold and smooth. Breath catching with awe, a large gold medallion emerged from the hole , a gilded sun set with a deep crimson ruby. One could get lost within its depths. Just by looking at its opulence, by holding the Sanguine Heart in her hands, it felt as though she could achieve her most grandiose dreams. Roksana couldn’t help but admire the radiant gemstone in the light, but no sooner had she retrieved it when ominous prickles tickled her neck. The promised relic…so it was here all along! How clever of you, child. Spinning toward the Voice, a familiar shadow stood in the crypt’s doorway. That of Nan Imogen, her arm reaching forth. Now, kindly give it to us for safekeeping...Jarred by the abruptness and excitement of it all, Father’s words resounded to the forefront of her mind. No. You are not my Nan…you were never…my Nan at all. Clenching the medallion tight, Roksana gazed at her warily. All this time you’ve been lying…Irlantha. Or, should I call you Mother? The word felt foreign on her lips. She had never felt more frightened and fascinated than at this moment of reckoning. Releasing a weighty sigh, the woman’s hand dropped to her side. Good…no more of this pathetic charade. Walking into the lantern light, there was no trace of the Nan she knew and loved. Changing before her eyes, the old Nan transformed into a pale, spindly elf with silvery hair. Her features were sharp and fox-like, devoid of warmth and softness. Eyes black as jett reflected in the light, otherworldly eyes that held nothing but contempt. Silly girl, I serve a cause greater than you could ever imagine. I serve Death and all her wiles. How could I possibly play a role I cannot fill? Give me the Heart, Roksana! Terrified by her ghostly, vengeful mien, Roksana screamed and ran from the mausoleum as Irlantha’s haunting cries chased after her. Fleeing from all that she knew, Roksana didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. What was so important about this ruby rock? This talisman soaked in blood? Could Irlantha have been behind Father’s death? Would she be next? As fatigue set in, Roksana crossed a huntsman on his way to Daggerford. Reluctantly, she accepted his invitation to let her ride on his cart, but she noticed right away how unsettled he was by her presence. Not just him, but every villager they met treated her as a stranger rife with bad luck. Terrified as she was, as these were the same folk that had murdered Father and ruined her life, the huntsman promised to take Roksana somewhere safe. By this, he meant dropping her in the care of the faithful clerics of Ilmater. Guided under the thumb of the Broken God's chapel house, Roksana was educated according to their strict standards. For the zealous Reverend Sisters, there was no greater calling than to suffer for their faith...and if they were going to suffer, the wards and orphans could expect no less. Hands were frequently beaten raw during lessons, should they fail their daily recital of the holy texts. Others had their wills broken locked in sweltering iron boxes. Everyday was miserable and hollow...but as the years passed by, Roksana adjusted to her new life and grew to embrace pain in all its forms. This sentiment pleased the sisters, as they endeavored to sculpt all their wardlings into future painbearers of Ilmater. In their eyes, Roksana had the potential to go very, very far. Then, as a young woman readying herself for complete devotion, nightmares began to torment day and night. Torrents of whispers would interrupt her thoughts and prayers. Visions would carry her away from midnight vigils. Roksana would find herself in the graveyard in nothing but her nightgown. It seemed as though an altogether different entity was tenaciously reaching out to her. After all this time, Roksana had not confided in a soul about her past, and had kept the Sanguine Heart hidden. Misfortune seemed to gravitate to it. Father had died for it also, knowing the sisters they would forcibly sell the jewel to feed the poor. Yet, the medallion was all that she had left of Father. One night, as she once again wandered into the graveyard, a piercing knell snapped her awake, only to meet the gaze of the three-eyed raven. My child, it is time for you to awaken from this lie. Is it memory you cling to, or the pain you feel? Is it worth sacrificing a life for? Disturbed by the talking bird, Roksana shook her head. Surely this must be another waking dream. What do you mean? The Raven cocked its head, snapping it's jagged beak as the raspy voice again caressed her mind. My servant, Irlantha, refuses to concede. If you wish to help her, return to the place where you were born. Irlantha must return under my wing or soon she will fade away...and cease to be. What does that mean? Mother is dying? A sense of fiery indignation surged, Roksana had been nothing but a pawn to that creature. Why so much fuss over this shiny trinket? Is this some kind of ruse? Who ARE you?! Uttering a shrill cry, the strange raven took flight. I am a collector of precious things. Be it trinkets. Be it memories...Be it souls. Who am I?....Who am I...Who am I...growing distant, suddenly, the voice blared from inside her, reverberating from the deepest crevices of her being. Who are YOU?! Stunned by that question, as hard as she searched and searched, Roksana couldn't grasp an answer. If she were honest, her fondest moments were as a child exploring the dilapidated manse, lulled to sleep at night by the eerie melodies of Mother's singing. She had no desire to feed the pain. In fact, pain had been holding her back from seeing clearly. Holding onto it only blinded her from the present. Looking around, she had never felt part of this world and it's high expectations. Merely, she had been trying to survive in it. This isn't who I am. Though I cannot change the past. I can learn the truth. I deserve that much. Without hesitation, Roksana packed her things and left the chapel house. The doors had always been open. She had just been too afraid to leave. In the end, after all was said and done, Roksana couldn't save her mother. She had been too late. Standing once more, for the last time, before Father's Marker, Roksana had finally gained the insight she had been searching for. it seemed their family had been doomed to tragedy from the start; for, the same curse that had taken Irlantha had now awakened inside of her. Thank you, Mother. May you find peace, wherever you are. You need not worry...I shall put my trust in our Queen. Kissing the Sanguine Heart, saying farewell to this accursed heirloom, Roksana placed the medallion in the open palm of the crypt's Valkyrie and watched as it dematerialized into wisps of shadows. Matron of Ravens, take me under your wing. I shall find more offerings. Send me where you will. Curling a smile as she saw the faintest hint of a porcelain mask from beneath the veils of webs, and then again from the periphery, Roksana turned and walked outside, passing a dozen or more fresh graves on her way to the gate. A strange mist waited for her beyond the crowded graveyard; and, as Roksana boldly continued one step after the next, the ominous depths swept her to a place as hopeless and dreary as the one she had left behind.

[Chylopan]

Originally Posted by SnakeOilCharmer

So, would I be correct in thinking that the mists will be picking up the PCs from various scattered locations, rather than being taken from one single location? IE; it's entirely possible for one PC to be from the Forgotten realms, and another from Ravnica or Eberron?

PS you left references to the blind matron in the secret bit :P

Edited and fixed! How clumsy of me. I would ask that all applicants double check the SECRET section and disregard completely that which was taken out, thank you!

Also, yes, the Mists of Ravenloft take all kinds. So long as it abides by my Race/Class rules in the advertisement it's A-OK for consideration.

Originally Posted by Runetide

I'll toss a hat in the ring. Is Falknovia part of Ravenloft? Also we take level 1 starting cash for a level 3 character? just making sure that wasn't a typo or something. Oh, can we also take variant human to start with 2 feats instead of 1?

Yes, starting gold for a level 1 character despite being level 3. You are, in fact, interpreting that correctly.

I will add this to the F.A.Q soon.

EDIT: I realize I left out your second question: No, if you pick Human Variant you only get 1 feat. The "bonus" feat is only for other races, since a lot of people that play 5e will pick nothing other than HV with the belief that the feat is too good to pass up, at least mechanically speaking. This way, it levels the playing field a little and we get a more diverse cast!

[triedtherest]

Withdrwn.

[Daendil]

Arsentis Name: Arsentis Age: 122 Gender: Male Appearance: Small, even for an elf. His lithe build is in sharp contrast with his determined gaze, his dark eyes piercing directly into one's very soul. He likes to let his long brown hair loose. Despite being committed to the arcane arts, his preferred outfit is dark clothes with a cloak complete with a short sword at his hip. His demeanor is often considered cold and withdrawn, distrustful even. But every now and then he can be quite impulsive. Classes: Wizard (Illusion) Race: High Elf Background: Criminal Alignment: CN Backstory:   The one thing that ever truly fascinated Arsentis was magic. The very foundation of the world. Secrets with which reality itself may be altered! Sadly that relationship was one-sided. None of the tutors of his home country would accept him as their apprentice. "Not talented enough", "he'd become mediocre at best", "why waste your life on chasing an unreachable dream?", "I'm sorry, no" - were some of the answers he heard. He was devastated at first, but he decided he would not give up on his dream - even if he was bound to fail. And what if they were wrong? What if his arcane-sensitivity was more latent? What if his way of reaching into the mystic energies somehow worked differently? What he needed was an adventure. A journey of finding his own path - like in so many of the legends. He gathered what little wizardry related resources he was able to lay his hands on, and left his homeland to try his luck elsewhere. Reality kicked in sooner than he'd have expected. He ran out of coin, had no food, nowhere to rest and most depressingly learning magic on his own proved to be awfully hard. He had to survive though and for that he needed to steal. It was wrong, but it was necessary. He took what little magic he managed to muster and utilized it to provide for himself. It again wasn't as easy as he would've anticipated. He got caught numerous times but he always managed to escape somehow. He needed to be on the move but gradually he became better and better in thievery skills. He also learned the importance of being able to defend himself and his loot from competition. A white celestial raven became his sole companion: a familiar he was finally able to summon. Even though he considered that a big success, his progression in the arcane arts was falling behind. He concluded that he needed better resources, so he stepped up his game. He now targeted merchants and cargo where he hoped to obtain arcane scripts, scrolls or magic related trinkets. Of course better reward implied more danger, but he was willing to take the risk. After one such feat that hadn't played out as planned he was fleeing. He still heard the creak of the cart wheels from behind, as well as the loud cursing of the merchant. He glanced at the scroll and two vials he was still clenching in his fist. "It wasn't quite worth it" - he thought resignedly. It was evident that once the merchant manages to turn his cart around the horses would catch up sooner than later, so he sent Ironically his familiar is called MistMist, his familiar to scout for a hiding place quickly. Mist soon returned, it found a slope covered in thick fog behind a stripe of trees. Arsentis took that direction and ran a bit further before he stopped to listen. He no longer heard shouting nor creak nor horses. He found that a bit strange as he anticipated to hear the cart pass by, but he shrugged, the merchant must have given up the chase. "Well maybe it was worth it" - he changed his mind as he stowed his loot. - "Clever bird!" - he petted his raven. He turned around to get back onto the road. Time and time again he would stop to listen - who knows maybe the merchant saw him running into the fog and now he's just waiting for him to reemerge. But the more time passed he found that the less likely. Actually quite some time had passed since he decided to turn back. Was he lost? He sent Mist up again, but this time even the raven wasn't able to find a way out. He marched onward more and more desperately when finally he heard voices from ahead. He was so relieved to escape the fog that he walked straight into a patrol... - "Oi! The mist spat these three out. Rounded 'em up." - the soldier tossed Arsentis and two other frightened newcomers into what seemed like a war camp. All around people were digging trenches or building watch towers of logs. The clinking of a smithy could be heard from further away, the wailing of wounded from the other direction. - "Welcome, ladies, welcome!" - a large soldier stepped to the group. He wore torn chainmail and by the looks of it hadn't had a bath in several weeks. - "You're not in yo' sleepy village anymore." - he spat out and tossed a heavy shovel into Arsentis' hand. - "Now move and get diggin' or you taste my lash!" Arsentis couldn't believe his eyes. To his knowledge there was no ongoing war anywhere near. What soon he found out was somewhat intriguing, but much more terrifying... Background Mechanics Personality Trait 1: "I am incredibly slow to trust. Those who seem the fairest often have the most to hide." Personality Trait 2: "I don't pay attention to the risks in a situation. Never tell me the odds." Ideal: "Chains are meant to be broken, as are those who would forge them." Bond: "Not meaning a phisical object here, but the chance to become a powerful wizard.Something important was taken from me, and I aim to steal it back." Flaw: "When I see something valuable, I can't think about anything but how to steal it." Secret Section Familiar Name: Mist Native Form: Raven (Celestial, white in color) Bonding Experience:   Arsentis recited the words of the incantation one last time. His tongue slipped the day before and the spell fizzled without any effect, ruining all the expensive materials. He could not afford that again. Taking a deep breath he lit the candles one by one in the correct order. He uttered the words, made the gestures, prepared the cauldron, scattered the spices, ground the components and then began chanting. White steam emerged from the concoction and Arsentis was maintaining his tense concentration... Abruptly something slammed against the window. The noise startled the elf and he overturned the cauldron with his arm. The expensive potion poured onto the desk and down the floor sizzling at the dabbler wizard mockingly. What's worse some of the candles fell over too, setting the liquid on fire. Arsentis grabbed his head in desperation. It was ruined... again! Finally he took a piece of cloth and started hitting the fire to put it out quickly. Then he realized that something had been knocking at the window for some time. It was a strange white raven. He opened the window angrily to chase away the animal that ruined his spell, but it flew straight into the room. Otherworldly light loomed around its feathers that painted the smoke-filled room white, like dawn mist over the meadow. It was only then that Arsentis understood that his spell succeeded. He began laughing uncontrollably. He did it! He summoned his own familiar! When he finally came to, he looked at the bird who was sitting on the back of his chair, surrounded by swirling mist. - "You like a spectacular entry, don't you?" - he smiled. - "I will name you Mist." Character Mechanics   Feat: Lightly Armored Spells: 0: - Prestidigitation (high elf) - Minor Illusion (illusion) - Mage Hand - Shocking Grasp - Chill Touch 1: - Color Spray - Disguise Self - Find Familiar - Grease - Magic Missile - Protection from Evil and Good - Silent Image - Shield 2: - Invisibility - Shadow Blade

[Runetide]

Thanks for the clarification! I don't know 5e very well so I had to ask a buncha questions. I probably will have more as we go on, especially if I get selected to play the game.

If my character is too mechanically 'boring', please let me know! I can try making something else. I can do a cleric or something?

[Chylopan]

Originally Posted by Runetide

Thanks for the clarification! I don't know 5e very well so I had to ask a buncha questions. I probably will have more as we go on, especially if I get selected to play the game.

If my character is too mechanically 'boring', please let me know! I can try making something else. I can do a cleric or something?

Fret not, I'm here to answer all the questions I can! If they're particular enough I'll add them to the F.A.Q as they arrive.

Also, I wouldn't worry about how boring your character might be mechanically. I'm more interested in how efficient/effective they can be in-game through roleplay.

[Runetide]

Okay great! I tried battlemaster because it gives me some choices for combat that benefit more than me. I was thinking of taking a reach weapon so I can help provide some battlefield control. I'm not very confident in my abilities and would probably need some reminders what I can use my battlemaster abilities for. :/

[Lazer]

 

WIP

Rhee - swift of wing Name: Rhee Race: Aarakocra Age: 3 Class: Monk - Reskinned Way of the Drunken Master, subject to DM approvalWay of the Swift Alignment: Chaotic Good Appearance: With a strong conical beak, handsome blue plumage and a rakish crest which rises whenever he gets worked up, Rhee can really turn heads. In the air he moves with a precise and economical grace which makes his clumsiness on the ground seem all the more jarring. The main thing which could be described as lacking in his appearance is his clothing; he gets too attached to things and wears them until they actually fall apart. Personality: Amiable, cheerful and gregarious, Rhee just wants everyone to get along and he finds it difficult to fathom people who seem to take pleasure in spreading strife. Although he is methodical and diligent in his martial training, other aspects of his life tend to fall by the wayside and he can in fact seem incredibly scatterbrained, oblivious to much of what goes on around him. Mechanical Background Background: Far Traveller Traits I appear to have absolutely no sense of humour, perhaps it’s all just lost in translation. I remain calm and unflustered no matter how dire the situation. Ideal Justice. I simply cannot turn a blind eye towards the many evils which plague good folks. Bond I must know how my egg came to be in Khepri Khnum. Flaws I’m easily distracted, even in the middle of a fight. I take risks for no other reason than the thrill. Backstory: On a remote mountain peak there is a building, a monastery dedicated to Horus, god of the sun, in which a colony of harpies live out their lives singing in veneration of their god. These ladies tend their flocks but are hostile to outsiders, delighting in tormenting and killing anyone whom they deem a trespasser. How, then, the egg which Rhee hatched from came to be amongst one of their clutches is a mystery. No other being of his type had been seen within flight of their mountain ever! He was, in their eyes, an abomination; far more bird-like than was proper. And yet he hatched on the summer solstice, the most auspicious of days, and all of the signs showed Horus to be pleased with him. What could they do? They grudgingly allowed him to live, but took great pleasure in making him suffer. Despite the great strife of his upbringing and the cruel and capricious example of his 'flock', Rhee grew up with a strong moral core. He never ceased to question the harpies about just why they insisted upon luring intruders to the most treacherous mountain paths, or why they delighted in eating their entrails from the very rocks upon which they had been dashed. Their answers (generally along the lines of 'because it's fun, stupid!') never satisfied young Rhee. Surely, he thought, there must be more to life than this! Although the urge had been building for a while, when the moment came for him to take to the wing the impulse took him by surprise and he was wholly unprepared. He had only packed for a few days flight, and yet if he wished to reach any new settlement he must fly for weeks across the great desert! Not for a moment, however, did he consider turning back, and so when the clouds came down upon him mid-flight and transported him to another land it was actually a relief. Here, surely, he could escape the appalling cruelty and meet some good folks who would happily consider the needs of others. And there would be no more consumption of human flesh either, that was for sure!