[D&D-5e] Tomb of Annihilation

[Stonk]

I am interested, will take a few days to put a good app together. When are you looking to start up again? I am leaning towards a caster.

[Izathel]

Posting as a placeholder, very interested in playing a bladelock in this game.

[Zwingli]

Wow, I'm just on Page 3 of the Game Thread and am deeply impressed by the DM and Oliver especially! It would be a privilege to join (and will back that up with an application soon), but just reading the game is already quite satisfying. Just finishing a bit of work, then I'll get back to this before it's too late, hopefully!

[jbear]

I would like to pick things up again next week, if I'm honest. I feel that the game needs a shot of momentum to avoid the RPGCrossing Death Curse that seems to afflict most campaigns. So, I'd appreciate those interested in joining the game to have apps in by Monday or Tuesday of next week at the latest.

[Begon Ugo]

Putting together an application for this: You said the magic words and you seem to mean them...LONG TERM. I have never dropped out of game and I wouldn't do so here.

[Drachenspirit]

Nice to see some familiar faces.

My character app is complete. Arsaloe reporting for Harper duty and Harper revenge!

[Phil]

I'd be interested in playing a Moon Druid with a focus on durability and ally protection (ie "tanking"). I'll see if I can have an application up sometime today.

[Begon Ugo]

Trixy Green Name: Trixy Green Race: Goblin Class: Bard Appearance: Trixy is a small bright green goblin of cheerful personality and witty conversation. She dresses fashionably as if that would somehow distract others from the fact that she is in fact a little goblin. She keeps her bone white hair neatly coifed and perfumed. Trixy goes out of her way to present a civilized, put together appearance but in reality it is all for show. She is a goblin and revels in the chaos of life. Alignment: Chaotic Good. Background: Spy Personality Traits: - I take great pains to always look my best and follow the latest fashions. - I stretch the truth for the sake of a good story. - I don't pay attention to the risks in a situation. Never tell me the odds. Ideal: Destiny. Nothing and no one can steer me away from my higher calling. Bond: A proud noble once gave me a horrible beating, and I will take my revenge on any bully I encounter. Flaw: I'm convinced of the significance of my destiny, and blind to my shortcomings and the risk of failure.   Personality: Trixy has sharp claws, sharper teeth, but it is her wicked tongue that is the sharpest of all. Underneath the thin veneer of polish and civilization, roils a chaotic nature barely kept under wraps. Trixy can always be counted on to say those things that wiser folk leave unspoken. She is not one for nuance, preferring to be blunt, outspoken, and straight to the point. With this being the case you could be forgiven for wondering how she has stayed alive as long as she has. The fact is that her tongue may be very sharp but it is also golden. Her superior wit and instincts have made it so that many times folks thank her for the privilege of being the target of her slings and arrows.   Trixy grumbles as she feels the long wooden pole sink into the soft silt at the bottom of the murky swamp. She carefully steers the shallow bottomed boat around the petrified tree trunks that jut from the fetid water while desperately trying to stop any of the foul water from splashing up onto her form fitting outfit. “This is bullshat! Owlbear shat!! Dragon shat!” she hisses again and again, a mantra she repeats as she works. The tiny goblin was not made for this menial labor...a trained monkey could accomplish this task. Trixy Green was destined for greater things...but for now she concentrates on pushing her long wooden stick into the mud. “I should have kept my mouth shut!” Five days ago Trixy was holding court, on orders from the Harpers, in a tavern within Waterdeep. She sat on the edge of the raised platform that stood for a stage and strummed on her lyre while insulting as many people as she could in the shortest amount of time. She had been freely accepting tips in the form of coin and drinks and the night was proceeding exactly as planned. Then the door to the tavern flashed open and in walked a woman, short, brunette, nothing to write home about at all. The sour faced lady sat at the end of the bar and glared at the well attired goblin. That was all the invitation that Trixy needed and the sharp tongued goblin went to town on the woman. “Jeez...look who seems all green with envy...staring at me with resting witch face. I thought I was the goblin here.” Trixy got a smattering of laughter with that soft opening and so of course she continued. “Looks to me that you’re a bit jelly of the attention I’m receiving...don’t be jelly...you obviously can’t afford to fit any more in that... jelly belly.” Trixy then proceeded to regale the tavern with the wondrous tale of the Jelly Bellied Witch Face and her incredibly empty and wasteful existence. Needless to say, the goblin’s tale was not well received by the woman, who it turns out was the sister-in law of one of the local nobles. Trixy was subsequently quickly demoted to navigating a smuggler’s boat around the bogs and removed from her position of information gatherer. Then the dying began...and Trixy and her particular skill set was needed once again.

[Shaede]

APPLICATION - Submitted for Consideration

Toben Toben Name: Toben Race: Forest Gnome Alignment: Lawful Neutral Class: Wizard - School of Illusion Background: Far Traveler Personality Traits: Toben is a gnome that has traveled far and wide exploring new places and things. He is on the hunt for knowledge and adventure as he feels that experience is what drives wisdom and that wisdom is what makes each individual unique or perhaps...greater. He is mischeiveious and likes to be jovial and happy. He uses his illusionary skills to entertain those who he likes or frighten and drive off those who he doesn't. Appearance: Toben is not your typical forest gnome, though he seems to always have a smirk on his face like he is the only one getting the joke. He looks like a middle aged man on a short stature body which some feel that his a very ugly, overly large pixie. But, his facial features reveal his gnome heritage, including his overly large feet. His hair is dark brown and he sports a goatee on his chin. He has tattoos on many places of his body as wards of protection against those whom might harm him. His skin is an earthy brown and wrinkled from the sun. Toben wears his dark brown hair short, which is atypical of the forest gnomes of his homeland. Backstory: Toben hails from the Feywild, the forest gnome's ancestral homeland. He studied for nearly 30 years as a wizard in training. There, he learned how to speak with the animals and hone his abilities as an illusionist. When it was time for him to leave the comfort and convenience of being a student, Toben was shell shocked. He felt that he had so much more to learn than what his masters had taught him so far. He decided to set off in search of more knowledge and wisdom at the Candlekeep library. His travels, however, were not direct. He spent time amongst the civilized folk in various hamlets and villages along the way. He studied people of all races and learned that he had a knack for entertaining. He had a smile on his face and always made the women and children laugh at his silly illusions. However, Toben's mischievous side always seemed to emerge. This had brought him a bit of trouble, however. Some of the local ruffians in the thieves' guild were rumored to be kidnapping the innocent daughter of the local mayor for blackmail and extortion. Toben happened to be walking by the alley where the thugs were laying in wait for the barmaid, and he overheard their plan. With a flick of his wrist, Toben summoned the image of a beholder to frighten the men away, but as they ran out of the alley, they bumped the gnome, and the illusion fell. His tricks were instantly discovered, and he was chased by the men. He managed to hide in a small barrel in an adjacent alley, but it was too late. The men reported back to their leader and a price was put on Toben's head. He had no choice except to leave the town for his own well being, though, he still feared for the girl While trying to slip out of town, a shadowy figure approached him and offered him safe passage. What Toben did not realize, however, was that this man was a Harper's agent. While Toben was being smuggled out of town, the man told him of the organization and the need for similar talents to those that Toben possessed. Apparently, there were bigger problems brewing across Faerun, and the Harpers were amassing new recruits. Toben was intrigued and felt that 'on the job' training would do him just fine. Together, they made their way to Baldur's Gate where Toben joined others like him. Little did the poor gnome realize that he was destined to fight forces well beyond anything he had ever imagined. Roleplay Example: The Job   The night was hot and humid outside the Smiling Boar tavern. Sounds of laughter and general drunkness can be heard emanating from within. A bard must be playing a lively tune as many inside can be singing along with it. A shape, as black as the moonless night, approaches the tavern from the back alley. He nimbly jumps up on a barrel and peers into the window. Shaede, accustomed to the odd job here and there, decided the pull of the bounty for this one was too good. It is his first job killing someone, but he has come to terms with what must be done. His prey is not deer, nor hog. It is a half-orc named Ghorbash who appears to be very inebriated from what Shaede can determine. He is sitting at the table, surrounded by the rest of his crew. Ghorbash is the leader of the Seven Daggers guild which has bullied, raped, and pillaged all of Daggerfell for near on twenty years. Apparently, many people want him dead and the guild disbanded. Shaede cares little of who is paying, as long as they are paying. Also, he has a strong distaste for those who unskillfully take from others. He walks around to the back door of the Smiling Boar and sees a human open it and throw out the leavings from the trash of the kitchen. The smell is sickening, but Shaede bides his time. As the human walks back into the tavern, he walks over to the door and sticks an iron spike into the handle and door jamb. His goal is to prevent any way other way out than through the front door. Satisfied with his work, he goes back to the window to spy on his bounty. He sees that Ghorbash, a goblin, and a half elf are getting up from the table appearing to leave the building. Shaede quickly and quietly runs up the alley, across the road and sets up behind a barrel next the Merchant Tradestore. All is quiet on the road and the wind is subdued. It is a perfect night for a killing. Shaede puts his quiver against the barrel, and selects the killing arrow. He pulls his bow back and arms himself. One shot, that's all he has, so he knows it must strike true. Ghorbash and his companions stumble out of the doors, ready to continue the night. They are loud and boisterous, completely unaware of the fate that is about to befall them. Through the eerie silence of the night, a light <twang> can be heard. The goblin, laughing at Ghorbash's latest joke, looks up at his leader. His face immediately turns to shock as he sees an arrow buried deep in his skull between his eyes. Ghorbash says nothing as he falls to the ground. The half elf moves quickly and draws his scimitar at the unseen threat. He was too late, as another arrow catches him in the throat, as he collapses in a heap. The frightened goblin attempts to run down the road, but a third <twang> hits him in his hamstring, and he falls to the ground from the force of the arrow. Writhing in pain, the goblin struggles to move down the road, as a black shape approaches. Shaede has his rapier drawn, and ready to finish its' life. He walks over, slowly with an air of pure defiance and hatred. He says, "The Seven Daggers are finished. Now, never set foot here again." As he does, he takes the rapier and pierces the goblin's eye that leaves its skull with a light <pop>. The goblin screeches in horror and crawls as fast as he can away from Shaede. It looks back to see how close his attacker is and realizes the road is empty again, and the night still. Shaede is nowhere to be found. Posting Rate: Maximum: Many times per workday (M-F CST). Only once or twice on weekends; Minimum: once per day during workday, none on weekends. Oh, and I am definitely here for the long run!

[Phil]

Simon Steffanson
Class- Druid (Circle of the Moon)
Race- Human
Background- Faction Agent
Alignment- Chaotic Good
Role- Durable Frontline/Control, Backup Caster

Appearance- Simon is a human male with long black hair and a black beard. He's in his early thirties, though his hard years in the wilderness show in every wrinkle on his brow, every callus on his hands, in his lean but healthy physique.

Personality- Simon is slow to trust, but fiercely protective of his friends. Though he was born and raised in a city, he's become deeply uncomfortable with civilization. He's rejoined the Harpers, but he still hasn't entirely forgiven them for allowing themselves to be corrupted so deeply all those years ago, and will always make his own judgements about the right course of action, even if it differs from the Harpers' philosophy. He's brash and to the point, taking little time to consider the impact of his words; he doesn't have much of a filter, realizing only after the fact that he's hurt feelings or alienated someone. For this reason and others, he's often more comfortable in the form of a beast than a man.

History- Recruited by Harper ranger Christophe Loraine when he was a boy, Simon Steffanson began as an informant for the organization, feeding them information from within several of Waterdeep's more nefarious criminal organizations. When his cover was blown in 1474, Christophe helped Simon escape from the city, and by 1475, had begun training the young man to survive in the wilds. In 1478, when it came to light that the Harpers of Waterdeep had been subverted by the very organizations they had sworn to defeat, Chritophe left the order, and his protege Simon left with him, blaming the organization for his exile from the city he grew up in.

It became clear to Christophe that Simon wasn't cut out to be a ranger. A ranger needs balance, between order and chaos, nature and artifice, man and beast, but Simon seemed to have given up on humanity. Still determined to turn the young man into a force for good, the ranger made contact with a Druid Circle he'd had dealings with in the past, and they agreed to take in the young man, to make him one of them. As a druid, Simon found his calling, tapping deep into the primal roots within himself, he became one with the beasts of the woods, bringing their vengeance of nature upon those who would bring the evils of civilization into the wilds. Over the years, he grew more powerful, and had begun to make a name for himself, when Christophe found him again.

He was glad to see his old friend and mentor, but was more than a little apprehensive when Christophe told him he had rejoined the Harpers, that the corruption in the organization was gone. At first Simon refused to rejoin, but in the end the love and trust he felt for the man who had taught him so much won out, and he was sworn in once again as a Harper agent, using his nature magic and shapeshifting abilities to keep the world safe. When word got out that volunteers were needed to assault a Lich's lair, Christophe and Simon heard the call, and joined their fellow harpers in battle, Simon taking the form of a direwolf and tearing apart the undead minions of Zaldara with his jaws while Christophe expertly decorated them with arrows from the treeline. But both heroes fell in that battle, an undead ogre wrestling Simon to the ground and savaging him with a hammer the size of a man until he couldn't maintain the shape of a direwolf any longer, and then kept pummeling him until the world went dark. It wasn't until he came to, days later, that he learned Christophe was dead.

A decorated agent like Christophe would normally be resurrected by the Harpers so he could continue to serve the greater good, but despite their victory, the curse upon the world was not yet lifted, and resurrection magic was still failing. The Harpers swore they would stand vigil over the ranger's body, would use their magic to keep it from decaying, to ensure he could be resurrected when the balance was restored. Simon decided quickly it was a sign it would fall to him to help save his old mentor by joining the band of adventurers in their quest.

 

"You can't kill her Jass, she's just a kid."

"Shut it jackass, I'm thinking."

The two bandits stood over the prone from of a wailing girl, bleeding badly from a split lip. Fifty meters to the South an overturned carriage contained the bodies of her parents, a robbery gone wrong. She had run as fast as she could on her short legs, but they had easily closed the distance and shoved her into the dirt. Her howls carry far into the forest, a forest which has otherwise gone eerily silent.

"Hells, she's loud." the smaller man moans.

"I said shut it! I can hear her! Dammit! DAMMIT!" the taller bandit called Jass pulled absently at his hair with one hand, his other gripping his shortsword, still sheathed at his belt but perhaps not for much longer.

"Calm down Jass!" his companion pleads, but Jass is beyond reason.

"I'd listen to your friend." agrees a third voice. A man in a tattered green cloak steps out from behind an oak, hand resting ready on gnarled crooked staff. "Calm down."

But Jass doesn't calm down, snarling incoherently as he whips around to face the interloper, tearing his weapon from its scabbard. His accomplice turns and flees into the woods, leaving the larger thug to his fate. Blind with panic and rage, he charges the new arrival with his blade, but makes one terrible mistake: he blinks. He closes his eyes for a split second, and when he opens them, where a man had been standing waits a wolf the size of a horse, jaws open, teeth bared. Jass stops, his screams of rage turning to scrams of terror, but before he even can turn around to run the monster's teeth are wrapped around his neck, tearing out his throat.

"Well you won't get any answers that way, Simon."

The wolf's eyes dart around to his flanks, his turn to be surprised, as a familiar figure emerges from the underbrush.

"Christophe?" The wolf is a man again, if he was ever a wolf at all. The two men embrace each other. "It's been so long. How did you...?"

"...Find you? Well it wasn't easy old friend. I'll be happy to tell you all about it later, you've still got work to do."

"The other bandit. Which way did..."

"No, not him. He's swinging by his ankles in a snare a hundred meters upwind. We can question him about the rest of his gang later." the ranger takes a little bow "I'm talking about her." The older man point to where the little girl lies frozen in terror in the middle of the clearing, no longer wailing, but instead staring wide-eyed at Simon in abject horror.

"Damn. I'm sorry, I..."

"I don't need to hear that, she does. Go on, talk to her. Then you and I need have a talk about the Harpers."

Simon furrows his brow. He was done with the Harpers, thought Christophe was too, but that was a conversation that would have to wait. Right now, he may have scarred a little girl for life. He would hear his old mentor out, but first, he had to make this right.

[Stonk]

Application Complete Name: Kreal Hust Class: Warlock - Fiend Race: Human Variant Alignment: Lawful Neutral Back Ground: Urchin   Kreal was born during a period of grave illness on a small farm about a days travel to Waterdeep. His parents, humble farmers, succumbed to the illness shortly after he was born, leaving him an orphan and alone. By some twist of fate he was found by a wandering man who was seeking shelter through the night on the eve of his parents death. The man, a Tiefling, named Baez Hust could not leave the infant on it's own. He took the crying child to near by monastery and left him there, as he was not equipped to care for an infant. He took the boy to Waterdeep, and brought the hungry infant to an orphanage, he wrote a note giving the boy the name Kreal Hust, and left him in a basket. Life was hard to Kreal, he was a sick and bitter child. He was constantly the victim of bullying and was never considered for adoption. Through it all, he was constantly Personality Trait: I ask a lot of questions.asking questions of those around him, where did he come from, why did he have to do this this or that? He wanted to know why it was him that was in the orphanage with no parents and not the rich folk around him, it wasn't fair to him. When he was ten and a little stronger, he left the orphanage and took to the streets. His nimble, slight frame served him well as he scavenged for food and struggled to survive. Life on the streets proved harder than life in the orphanage. Over the years Kreal began to find a few friends, other urchins like himself that Bond: I owe my survival to another urchin who taught me to live on the streets.bonded over their suffering. One in particular, a girl named Dressa, she balanced him out, ried to answer all of his questions and got him to trust her. He began to rely and recruit other outcasts to help Ideal: I help the people who help me—that's what keeps us alive.protect each other. When pushed it turned out that Kreal did have a few gifts, he was charming, he found that once he began to take social risks he could affect the outcome of many situations. His successes with his childhood urchins slowly became profitable, and this lead Kreal to seek out more. He remembered asking why he didn't have any money and so many around did. he began to believe that Flaw: Gold seems like a lot of money to me, and I'll do just about anything for more of it.if he could be rich, then he would be powerful and could then be someone who mattered. He began to do anything to possess gold and began to use his charm in less legal ways. His change in attitude cost him greatly, his friend Dressa told him to chose between gold or her. He chose wrong. Due to his new attitude had was approached many times by various rogues about learning the trade but what Kreal dreamed of was becoming a powerful wizard. He saw how rich and powerful the house mages of the Waterdeep nobles were and he craved that kind of power. He sought many wizards to see if he could be their apprentice, but most scoffed at the prospect, he did not possess the wealth or, as many were quick to point out, the mental acuity to be a wizard. This was a source of deep resentment for Kreal but he continued on. By living on the streets and began to learn more than just survival and gaining gold from petty crimes or scams, he began to understand the politics, the power structure of the city and he wanted to become involved. One evening he was snooping around where he shouldn't have been and a security patrol found him. The beat him and escorted him off the property, leaving him bloody, broken and in a refuse ditch. In his delirious state he heard a voice, What is it you most desire? The temperature seemed to raise considerably, though that could have been the result of the refuse ditch. He responded, "I want to be someone, someone who matters." The voice returns, That would require power, I can provide you with power, but I will need something in return. Kreal looked around and from the top of the ditch it seemed there was a great, terrible being that was reaching out to him, What is this power worth, would you trade your soul? Without even considering the consequences Kreal said, "Of course I would." Kreal reached his hand out and grabbed the hand of the figure, a sever burning sensation entered his palm. He screamed and pulled his hand away but could not do it. The voice returned, You can feel the power I have granted you, I will be here in your head, waiting for payment. Do not waste this gift, as the cost is mighty. The tone did not imply warning, but rather hopefulness that Kreal would waste the gift, or rather, as Kreal would find out a mighty curse. At first Kreal relished his new power and flaunted it. He had been teased and kicked around enough that revenge seemed like a great idea, and the voice in his head encouraged him, even baited him into picking fights he couldn't possibly win. If it wasn't for an old friend he surly would have bit off more than he could chew. His old friend Dressa had great skills in many things, especially music and was accepted into a special group called the Harpers. On a chance encounter, she immediately recognized what he was becoming and saved him. Together they learned to harness his abilities but it took him changing his entire lifestyle, to become disciplined in his thoughts, and proactive in his action. Over time she convinced him to join the Harpers and the two fell in love. But that love was not to last. She passed away but her involvement in the Harpers proved most valuable as they resurrected her. But a curse befel the land and she began to rot away. She was placed in a silvered casket and waited for an end to the curse. He vowed to try and find a Ideal Lawful: We have to take care of each other, because no one else is going to do it.way to save her, and maybe save himself.   Kreal is a changed man, as a child he was bitter and angry. He spitefully asked questions, accusing all those around him for his situation. He was picked on and could not figure out how to take control of his life. When he ran away things initially got worse. In the orphanage he had people that, reluctantly, took care of him but on the streets, he had to do everything to survive. Despite his changes and involvement with the Harpers he hold on to his early convictions. He works well with others and despite the efforts of his patron to goad him into dangerous situations he is moderately cautious. He still asks a lot of question, but now he is curious about things and needs to know the answer. This is a reason we was so quick to volunteer to help fight a lich to learn answers that could maybe bring his beloved Dressa back to life. In the Harpers, his personality fit in. While he isn't as zealously convicted to the cause as many of their agents he has proven loyal when working in groups. He is less reliable when he is by himself as it becomes harder to deny his patron the chaos it so richly craves, but has managed to not get kicked out of the faction.   When Dressa died, Kreal did not know what to do. The curse had robbed of his love. But he was able to procure a special silver casket to preserve her and keep body safe form the curse while he helped find solutions. He made his intention to remove the curse no secret among the Harpers. Through the channels he had set up within the Harper leadership knew that there would be a attempt to gain answers. Uninvited he marched into the hall of the local High Harper and began to make demands, "Forgive the intrusion, but if there is a ...." the herald of the High Harper put his hand up to stop him. "The one you seek is not here. He is away and will be for a while. I have a good idea that you are here about the curse. Kreal, your story is well known, and I understand why you want to do this. We have a place and a purpose for your unique gifts in this expedition but it is extremely dangerous a we go to face a powerful lich." "Yes, Yes, you must join! Lich's are not that powerful, compared to myself." the voice in head begged him to join. Usually Kreal would ignore his patrol but he was ready to risk it all for a chance to save Dressa. "Just tell me what you need me to do." "Perfect, your bravery will be rewarded!" his patrol said in a twisted tone. The lich was unimaginably powerful. The Harpers had been battling the creature with their finest warriors and spell caster but to no avail. The lich cast spell after spell, decimating the strong Harper force. Kreal summoned his eldritch power and sent bolt after bolt towards the lich. He cast a curse on the lich. The lich turned it's fiery, undead eyes on Kreal. In his head his patrol said, "Finally, come to me." The lich waved its fingers at Kreal a bolt of energy lashed put painfully at him and struck him in the chest. A lightning strike should have killed him, but his life on the streets, his skittish and dexterous movements saved him as he only slightly managed to move his heart out of the way of the bolt. While the bolt struck him down, it did not kill him outright. He lay on the field, chest smoldering, unconscious and his patrol just waiting with baited breath for him to die.

[Admin Bhelogan]

Posting interest. Just had two games wrap up, so might be interested in throwing my hat into the ring. I'll get something together over the next few days.

[Phil]

Simon's application and character sheet are complete. He's a human with the sentinel feat: this, combined with a beast form's extra toughness and large size should make him a great protector for the party in battle. Out of combat he has a variety of utility spells, and can be the party "face" as far as animals are concerned.

[Vislands]

Harper to the Bone Name: Harpshadow Morrill Palethorn Class: Warlock (Hexblade) Race: Half-Elf Background: Faction Agent (Harper) Age: 28 Alignment: Lawful Neutral Ideal: Through my persistence and discipline, I advance. Flaw: Due to my surety of self, I have little patience for any indecision or lack of direction. Move, or you will be moved. Bond: I have inherited the legacy of Harpers going back generations. I shall serve and advance the interests of Those Who Harp. Personality: Morrill has gained a reputation among the Harpers for her passion and force of will. The woman is implacable when she sets her mind on something, and rarely shows vulnerability in front of her allies. Somewhat unusual for the individualistic Harpers, Morrill's approach to life is militaristic and sometimes rigid. While she is often guarded, she values her companions and serves those connections with a fierce loyalty, Harper or no. Background:   Born to Maria Palethorn, Morrill had an unusual, but exciting childhood. She was the sole daughter of an established Harper agent who’s skills of investigation and espionage were respected, even among the Harpers. The duo never lived in one spot for long, but moved from city to city, sometimes hiding out in some backwater village for months if Maria’s work as a spy became too dangerous. Maria, a fair-headed human woman of some striking beauty, looked little like her gloomy elven-eared and dark-haired daughter, but what the two lacked in physical similarity, they made up for with intimacy. Morrill was incredibly loved and respected by her mother. Maria was a woman of steel and it wasn’t long before her daughter was shown to be made of the same stuff. Sometimes on dark, windy nights when she was left alone to await her mother's return from some mission or other, Morrill wondered who her father was. But despite the open relationship the two shared she never dared asked. She'd look in the mirror, tracing her fingers over her dusky complexion and imagine her father was one of the Drow. But that was a story Maria Palethorn never told. Morrill’s childhood friends weren’t other children like her. In fact, they weren't children at all. Maria had made the choice early on to be honest with her daughter regarding her line of work, so the child knew why they had to move so frequently. Still, having no lasting friendships with kids her own age was lonely. Instead of youths, her companions were the stories that her mother told her of Harpers of old, the heroes who worked from the shadows to bring down tyranny. And stories of her bloodline, the Palethorns, a family of Harpers that could be traced back damned near to the Third Reformation. The only other people who were staples in young Morril’s life were her mother’s contacts and friends, fellow Harpers who’d known the half-elf since she was a babe and were fond of the pair, often bringing sweets for the younger Palethorn when they arrived with information or instructions for the elder. As Morrill reached adolescence, it was clear that she would not follow in her mother’s footsteps. The girl had a force of will that was undeniable, but in most other areas she was surprisingly untalented. Perhaps it was a bad mix of blood between the Drow and her mother, but her body was weak and she could barely lift a sword. No matter how hard she trained, Morrill could not improve. While she could carry herself well, a Harper needed to be able to defend themselves lest they fall to the forces of tyranny, or worse, a Zhentarim agent whose aim was to extract the precious information her faction so highly valued. Morrill was denied initiation into the Harper’s, and for the first time she felt lost. Her relationship with her mother began to fracture. The older woman would never say so, but she was disappointed in her daughter’s failure to continue the family legacy and now, with the knowledge that her daughter was no Harper-in-waiting, but instead a liability, she began to keep secrets. It was then that the inseparable Palethorns...separated. While her mother was off infiltrating a ball in Baldur's Gate, the young half-elf stole off into the night, leaving a note by the fireplace that simply read "Whatever it takes, a Harper will do. Pride never rules the deeds of a true Harper." Maria and Morrill never saw each other again, as the elder Palethorn was killed in a botched mission years later. Perhaps a Harper as valuable as her would have been revived, but we shall never know as this is when all resurrection magic began failing. When Morrill returned to the Harpers years later she was...changed. Her strength still seemed below average, but when she held a weapon in her hands it was as if she could bring it to bear with her very force of will. Her talent with magic, before non-existent, now rivaled some of the faction's more accomplished mages. She shied away from inquiries into where'd she'd gone in those missing years and how she'd managed to evolve, but in her sleep she can sometimes be heard whispering of a "blade made of bone white". Morrill's dedication to the Harpers (the only family she had left after her mother's passing) was ferocious. She took on the most dangerous missions and her discipline and newfound skill with the blade saved and severed many a neck. Morrill Palethorn became a go-to agent for missions requiring combat prowess and suicidal bravery which is why when Remallia Haventree (an old friend of Maria Palethorn) was gathering names for the assault on the lich Zaldara's tower, her name was near the top of the list.

Misc Why this game appeals to me: I gotta say when I saw that this game was open to applicants, I was pumped! I'd actually stumbled onto the game thread a week or two ago, and the DM style along with the roleplay therein really got me going. I enjoy challenging, crunchy combat and dungeon crawling as well as the systems you've built on top like the items and skill challenges that really help bring the roleplay to life. And I have not played this adventure before. Posting Rate: I'm on this site on a daily basis, so I can definitely manage two well-crafted posts per week. If I get into this game it'll be the last I take on though cause it's one that I can really sink my teeth into. And yes, I am very interested in a long-term, lasting PbP game! I've been a part of such before, just not on this site sadly.

[Zwingli]

Yurmyr the Ranger Name: Yurmyr Wrenbeard Race: Hill Dwarf Class: Ranger (possibly Horizon Walker) Role: possibly archer/ranged support + scout Alignment: Neutral Good Background: Faction Agent (Harpers) Personality: Slow to speak but quick in action (for a dwarf), Yurmyr earned the nickname 'Wrenbeard' as a tribute to his peaceful, calm nature (so calm that birds would nest in his beard). Though perceived as dull or too easy-going at times, the dwarf prefers violence to be a last resort. Instead, he strives to achieve a peaceful resolution to almost any conflict. This philosophy has served him well most of the time. Being a Harper, he has sometimes resorted to subterfuge and evasion to accomplish his goals, but lying (about anything) clawed at his conscience. He feels a certain kinship with druids and clerics, or individuals who also care much about the preservation of life. On the handful of occasions that he has had to fight, Yurmyr has held his own well enough. Personality Trait: I can find common ground between the fiercest enemies, empathizing wilh them and always working toward peace. However, there are certain lines that cannot be crossed. Evil, especially the kind that leads to the destruction of the weak or the innocent, cannot be tolerated. Ideal: Peace. I wage war on my enemies in order to equalize the battlefield and achieve peace. I look forward to a day when war is no longer necessary. Bond: A fellow Harper - Karylla - saved my life on multiple occasions. It is only my duty to return the favor as she lays dying back in a safehouse. Flaw: I put too much trust in those who wield power within my faction's hierarchy.   Previously: It had been many moons since Yurmyr began his quest to find a cure for his beloved Karylla, whose sickness has proved to be as devastating as it is mysterious. Even the adept healers of the Harper Order have failed to find a remedy to the half-elf's suffering. To make things worse, Yurmyr found out that other agents suffered the same predicament. Contemplating the implications of this outbreak was a depressing thought. If a blight this bad spreads throughout Faerun - an abominable affront to life itself - without signs of a cure, it would spell chaos. This was a matter that had to be dealt with swiftly and decisively, but how? Should the secrecy of the Order be temporarily set aside to find who was responsible and restore balance? Did the High Harpers even know how to cure this plague? Too many questions were unanswered. Yurmyr did not usually chafe against his yoke, but the gravity of the situation plagued him with doubts. When his cell was mobilized to assault the tower of the Lich Zaradal and finally cure this accursed taint to life, Zurmyr's calm returned. The Harpers were on the move! His Karylla - and countless others - were finally going to find healing and peace! The thought consoled him despite the harsh journey that he and his fellows had to endure to reach the Lich's lair. Finally, Yurmyr's cell had arrived on the bay. He looked around and his heart was greatly roused: the shore was filled with Harper agents, ready and willing to give their lives for the greater good. Noble warriors who have set aside secrecy and other differences to right this great wrong done to life, even death itself. When the ragtag army drew closer to the tower, however, Yurmyr's high hopes faltered. Amassed at the base of the ominous black tower was an innumerable force. Vast numbers of the undead filled the blackened clearing. Several tall, horned heads of what looked like demon-kind marched amidst their ranks, pointing at the new arrivals. Yurmyr never even got to see Zaradal herself before he heard her spine-tingling voice reverberate across the field: "My children, hear me. Dispose of these insects." What followed was a massacre. The Harper army failed to push through to the lich. Dead bodies littered the clearing; so many lives, wasted. Yurmyr found himself on his knees, blood streaming from some wound on his head. His vision was darkening. Suddenly there was a blinding flash of light; when it faded, a handful of warriors stood facing Zaradal. Were they here to stop this great evil, or were they summoned to completely decimate the remaining Harper forces? Was all hope lost? Only darkness answered Yurmyr's questions.