[D&D-5e] From the Shadows

[Carmac]

If you stick to the sources in the OP then yes, you can use any land you wish.

[Nyx89]

Application complete

[Carmac]

All the apps are looking great so far

[Elanir]

Vasili the Thrice-Born Name: Vasili, known as the “Thrice-Born” Race: Human, variant (Barovian, adopted by the Vistani) Background: Entertainer (Violinist) Class: Rogue (Phantom) Alignment: (True) Neutral Appearance: Vasili is a man in his mid-thirties, at first look resembling one of the Vistani, though he is in fact Barovian. His skin is tanned, from having lived most of his life on the road, and his raven black hair and beard are unkempt and wild, as if no brush or comb could ever hope to tame them. Fine wrinkles can be seen on his forehead and next to his haunted eyes, while his irises resemble two dark pits of unfathomable depth. As some of the people who had adopted him do, he used to paint his eyes with kohl, but he currently feels no need for such vanity. It is dark circles one can now see underneath them, a proof of the fact that even sleep does not grant him true rest. The one point where he pointedly diverses from Vistani customs are the clothes that he wears. He can no longer tolerate the flamboyant garments of his chosen people, dressing himself in dark colors, mostly black, and choosing practicality over fashion. Personality: Vasili is a man who has been brought back to life a shadow of his former self. In typical Vistani fashion he used to be loud, emotional and gregarious, now he remains silent for the most part, looking around him for danger that he knows is always lurking nearby. Once optimistic, almost foolishly so, after the tragedy he has experienced, he no longer hopes for a better future, his single wish being to atone for the sins he inadvertently committed and the deaths he caused. Always reserved and suspicious of others, the only time he allows himself to open up is when playing his viol, though the only music birthed from his “Soul” is a sorrowful, melancholy one. Though the idea of death no longer weighs heavily upon his mind, knowing that it is a certainty, he is sorely concerned with time, fearing that he will not be getting the chance at making amends before it eventually runs out.   "Thank you for seeing me, Madam Magda." The light of the single sputtering candle inside the Vistani wagonvardo was so poor that Vasili wondered how the old woman before him would be able to see the cards of the tarokka deck she was holding in her wrinkled hands. Still, all the Vistani he had encountered after the… incident had spoken very highly of her. She was famous for having a Sight that could penetrate any obstacle, including the mists of the past and the future, and she had been leading this particular Vistani tribe as the leader of a Vistani tribeRauni for over half a century now. If anyone had any answers for him, it would be this old woman. "You smell of blood." The woman’s voice reminded Vasili of the creaking of old wood. "Some of it yours, most of it belonging to others. Is that not so?" The man nodded silently. The Raunie spoke truly. He was covered in blood, the blood of innocents. Madam Magda, I… The woman raised her almost skeletal hand and Vasili immediately fell silent. "You have not come here to speak, a friend of the VistaniGiogoto. You have come to listen. So, listen." Even the most famous Vistani male leader, second to the Raunicaptains would have been reluctant to question the words of a Raunie. For Vasili, a man without Vistani blood in his veins, such a thing was inconceivable. Besides, Madam Magda was right. He had come to her for answers, not to offer excuses. Without even looking at the deck of cards, her fingers, still incredibly nimble despite their age, chose a card and placed it upon the wooden table between herself and Vasili. The Philanthropist "Your real life begins with this one, a man with a kind heart. A father to you, though you do not share his blood. A mentor. A kindred spirit. You have the same soul, yes? It used to laugh all night long, but now it knows only to weep." Vasili bit his lips to keep back the tears that threatened to overwhelm him. She was right of course. Mariusz had been more than a father to him. He had been everything, his entire world. It was this kind-hearted Vistana who had first become aware of a neglected five-year-old in Barovia and offered to buy him from his mother, a barmaid who had seen greater value in the pouch full of jingling coins she received than the hungry mouth she was forced to feed. It was Mariusz who had brought the child back to his traveling band, naming him Vasili and calling him his son. He had taught him how to live like a Vistana and the proper way to play the viol. He called it his “soul” and Vasili still had it in his possession, his father’s final gift to him… The fortune teller did not wait for confirmation. She needed none. Another card was drawn and placed before the grieving man. The Despot "This is the one you perceived as your enemy. A cruel man, but he had his reasons, reasons you were unaware of. You tricked this man, but in doing so you tricked yourself." This time Vasili nodded. This time it was anger that moved his heart, not sorrow. Burgomaster Andreji was a man of absolutes, a man feared by all who lived under his “protection”. He was a man who had been keeping his young daughter locked inside his cellar for most of her life, a tiny window protected by thick iron bars, the only thing that allowed her a glimpse of the world outside. At first it was only curiosity that led him to her. Vasili was intrigued by the story of the Burgomaster and his captive daughter and wanted to learn more so that he could write a song about them. His father had warned him not to dig too deeply in the affairs of others for one never knew what they would uncover, but he hadn’t paid any attention. He had waited for her to appear before her tiny window to see the sun rise and had not been able to believe his eyes. Irena was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. And soon he realized that she was also the kindest. She did not even blame her father for keeping her away from the world like that. "He must have his reasons", she claimed and Vasili felt the blood boil in his veins. This was an injustice that could not stand. But he couldn’t right such a great wrong by himself. He needed help from the people who had taken him in, people who did not refuse him even though they knew that to do so was to cause them trouble. As the whole village danced to the music of the Vistani, celebrating the marriage of a local farmer to his chosen bride, Vasili sneaked inside the Burgomaster’s house and freed his own sweetheart, taking her away from her dark prison. By the time Andreji and the villagers realized what had happened, too drunk by flowing beer and strong wine, the Vistani and the girl had been long gone. Madam Magda looked at the man before her, her rheumy eyes piercing his soul. She knows. She sees everything, everything! Without a word a third card was placed next to the other two, concluding Vasili’s story. The Beast All color left the man’s face and he let out a gasp of surprise. He had been around fortune-telling Vistani his whole life, but Madam Magda’s skill seemed to be without equal. "Ah…", she said, understanding lighting her entire visage. "Not all beasts are horrible, yes? Some are pretty. Some are as gentle as doves. But their true nature cannot be denied. They have claws and fangs and they use them to deal death to all around them, even their friends, even their lovers." Had Irena been a beast? No! - and yes. At first the girl had been so thankful to be freed, so happy that she was allowed to sit next to the bonfire and listen to the jokes and songs of the Vistani. She was not part of the tribe of course, she could never be that. Vasili understood this. But he was prepared to leave his family in order to start a new life with her. His father was sad, but he too understood. Though he loved his adopted son with all his heart, there was no bond of blood between them. Vasili had been born a non-VistaniGiorgio and that was the life he would choose. It was inevitable. That did not mean that he would do so without the tribe’s blessing or a parting gift from him, the most precious gift Mariusz could offer. Was it the excitement Irena felt for starting a new life with her beloved? Was it the moon that was full in the sky, looking down uncaringly on the people of the land of mists, tiny and insignificant like ants? As the two came together as man and wife something woke inside her, something terrible, hungry for flesh and blood. Vasili was the first to fall, his throat and chest torn open by monstrous claws. Then Mariusz, who ran to see what was wrong with the young couple. Then the entire tribe. Not one soul remained alive, all falling before the werebeast’s insane fury. But this was not the end. For some reason Vasili was spared. He was given a second chance. As he came out of the vardo, his clothes still torn to shreds, he saw his Irena naked and covered in the blood of others, surrounded by a multitude of bodies that had once been people, weeping silently next to the smoking bonfire, her throat too raw from cursing herself for what she had done. He tried to comfort her as best as he could. He promised her that together they would find a way to end her curse. Irena was not listening, however. Though still alive, her eyes were completely empty, her innocence having died along with her victims. When Vasili finally finished digging enough graves for all of his loved ones and returned to Irena, he found her hanging from a tree, her slender body resembling a pale, rotten fruit of death. She had found a way to end her curse on her own. Vasili’s tears flowed uncontrollably now and he was sobbing like a child before the old woman in the dark vardo that smelled of incense and old leather. "Much blood, yes, many, many souls." If Vasili’s sad tale had shocked Madam Magda, she didn’t show it. Few things could still surprise her in her old age. She had seen almost all and had shed tears enough to fill a lake. It was the curse and privilege of her long years. "I still sense them around you, inside you. They are still there, no? They talk to you, like they did. They are a part of you. Do you seek to silence them?" Vasili looked at her through tears that clouded his eyes. "Yes! No... I seek atonement." The woman made a grimace that was difficult to interpret. Was it sympathy? Disgust? Something else? It did not matter. She would speak the truth as she always did. "Death will silence them soon enough. Not theirs, yours. You feel it too, no? Each breath you take is numbered. When you draw your last one they will be at peace. But not you, Vasili Thrice-Born. Your first life was given to you by chance. Your second by kindness. Your third to serve a purpose. Serve and wash yourself clean of your sins. A life lost is only repaid with a life saved. There is no other way." Vasili wiped his tears. They would not serve him now. He had to be strong to walk the path that was destined for him. It was Vistani karmaRema - no one could escape it. But before he embarked on his long journey, he had a final question for Madam Magda. "What about Irena? I do not hear her voice. Is she at peace?" The old woman shook her head. How could she have been granted peace after what she had done? "Her soul flutters around you like a wounded bird. Call her and she will come." Vasili bowed his head in gratitude and tried to take hold of one of the old woman’s hands to kiss it, but she pulled it away as if afraid to have it sullied. "Do not thank me, for I have not given you good news. You are dead, outcast VistaniMortu, you realize that? You will not live again, Thrice-Born. This will be your final life. Make the most of it."

[IrishKatt]

hmmm Idea for a Hexblood, not sure what class yet though

[DemonSlayer]

Hi there! This looks like it is going to be an interesting game- I love the darker tone of the Ravenloft setting, so I'd very much like to apply! My application is pretty much finished (though I will re-read it in case there are typos that need to be fixed). If you feel like I should change or add anything, please let me know!

Application Name: Falrinor Yinven Race: High Elf Class: Arcane TricksterRogue Background: Sage Alignment: NG Appearance Since returning from death, Falrinor's nature as something less than alive is easily recognizable by his sallow, greyish skin. Dark veins snake visibly in his neck and near his blue eyes, which despite retaining their sparkling brightness have grown sunken. As a result of his transformation, the elf lets his long, dark hair frame his face, rather than wear it in the long braid he wore in life. Its sheen has disappeared, replaced by strands of dull grey. Falrinor wears a long blue cape, its round bronze clasp keeping the garment in place around his shoulders and neck, obscuring more of his skin. Apart from this colourful cloak he wears simple, practical brown leathers, covered with small, dull metal plates, painted black to prevent them from reflecting light. His current attire is a far cry from the elegant, white and green robes Felrinor wore in life- a source of self-deprecating humour from the elf, even though he understands the need for such protection. Falrinor wears no visible jewelry of any sort, having long since pawned such things to provide for his colleagues and students. However, dangling underneath his leather armour he keeps a necklace. It is a simple, rounded stone thing, hanging from a leather string, coloured red and sporting a stylized setting sun displayed in orange. The trinket doesn't seem to have any monetary value, but seems quite important no Falrinor nonetheless. He has a tattoo of a similar symbol on the back of both hands. Personality Remembering his profession as a teacher and mentor, Falrinor often wears a warm, kind smile. He enjoys seeing others work on a problem, and will often stand by and watch, providing just enough clues to help them figure it out for themselves. Such moments fill him with pride, stirring memories of his past life guiding his students. However, Falrinor lacks the pride of many of his colleagues- he does not think of himself as being above his students, doling out wisdom like a benevolent master. Rather, he thinks of himself as a fellow seeker of knowledge, who happens to have come across answers others might seek- and he, in turn, appreciates the lessons his students might have for him. Falrinor possesses a quick wit, and an easy-going nature. He likes to crack jokes and has a generally positive attitude. Even now, in the morose lands of Darknor, the elf recognizes a few kind words and a laugh can be like a candle in the dark, lifting spirits and healing minds. Despite his reserved disposition, Falrinor is easily bored. As a student, long before finding himself in Darknor, the elf would often sneak out of the temple where he lived to go celebrate in town. While age has tempered his rebellious streak somewhat, the teacher is still prone to growing annoyed with the overly tedious. Since returning from death, Falrinor has acquired an obsession for revenge. Azalin's forces murdered his colleagues, friends and students- and Falrinor himself. While normally able to maintain his composure, the elf is consumed by a cold hate for these murderers and masters, and has vowed to deliver justice to as many of them as he can, in what little time he has left... Backstory Early in his childhood, Falrinor's parents, a pair of wealthy courtiers who felt their son should enjoy a proper education, sent him to study at a temple of Labelas Enoreth situated just a few miles out of town. The young elf proved himself an eager student, yet threathened to push his teachers to the brink of despair with his rebellious streak. As a child he would often act up, and during his teenage years he would often disappear from the temple grounds, sneaking off into the city to celebrate and blow off steam, or into the forests to hunt. Several times he was reprimanded for this behaviour- but far more often, he wasn't even caught. Eventually, as the years passed, Falrinor matured and lost some, though not all, of his wild streak. As he reached adulthood, Falrinor grew to admire the passing of knowledge to younger generations- even if he disagreed with the rather stuffy methods employed by his teachers. Eventually he himself decided to become a teacher, following the necessary courses until eventually, he graduated and joined the ranks of those he once rolled his eyes at. He quickly made a name for himself among the students as a kind, inspiring teacher, who taught his students through the use of compelling stories and thought experiments, rather than bore them with overly long lectures. And over the years, his colleagues grew to respect him and his methods, even if they themselves kept to the old ways. Then one moonless night, as the students slept and but a handful of teachers still pored over stacks of homework and lesson plans, the temple of Labelas was enveloped in a thick, choking mist. Unnerved by this unnatural phenomenon, the temple guards fetched some of the teachers to come and see what was happening. For a long time the teachers who followed the guards to the roof discussed the fog, but none of them could explain why it unnerved each of them so. That was, until one of them looked up, and to his horror saw that the stars had changed. When a pale sun announced the dawn, the elves of the temple found they were no longer in their homeland. Whatever the mist was, it had transported them to an unfamiliar, eerie land. Through prayer and study, Labelas' faithful tried to find a way to return to their homeland- but found none. Eventually the temple's supplies ran dry, and they were forced to go out into this strange world. For many years, Falrinor and his peers learned how to survive the darkness, vanquishing beasts and forming mutually beneficial relations with nearby towns. Until finally, one dark day, the soldiers of Azalin came. Whether they had come to secure the temple's tomes for their master, or simply sought to destroy the knowledge their jealous master could not claim was never explained. Labelas' faithful were killed- every student, every child, every teacher was put to the sword. Falrinor himself died upon the altar of his deity, trying but failing to ensconce his students there and dying in a futile attempt to protect them. The fight was over in less than an hour- the guards were few, and none within the temple's walls were trained to fight an army. That was not the end of Falrinor's story. On the night after the bloodbath, his lifeless corpse suddenly gasped, his ragged lungs taking in air once more. Surrounded by the corpses of his students, Falrinor could do naught but cry at their ill fate. Only when the sun rose did he finally rise, wondering why he wasn't dead despite the ugly, deep wound in his abdomen. Looking towards the blood-stained symbol of Labelas upon the altar, Falrinor reached the only conclusion which made sense to him. He decided the deity of time and knowledge had granted him a little extra time, to avenge the deaths of His faithful and theft of so much lore. Bow in hand, the former teacher set forth, deciding to punish as many of Azalin's minions as possible before Labelas would finally grant him peace. Knowing he could not face the evil of Darknor alone, Falrinor set out to find allies in his fight against Azalin. RP Sample 'Careful, now.' Falrinor looked over Katya's shoulder, the young Darkonian woman intently staring at the barely visible thread and the spring mechanism on the ground it was attached to. Ever so cautiously, she walked backwards towards her trap, gently testing the thread. 'Remember, pull to hard and you'll set off the spring. Leave the thread slack, and it will not trigger even if a bear stumbled upon it.' 'Yes, skolotasj,' the woman breathed, frustration evident in her voice. Her ire was caused by her task, not by the elf- but Falrinor made a far easier target to lash out against. Falrinor simply smiled. It was a familiar sight- a student so engrossed in their studies that any distraction provoked vexation. It were these students, the elf had found, which were often the most elated when they finally passed their exam. For Katya, the subject was more practical than for most, but it was a lesson nonetheless. 'I told you before, Katya,' the elf's voice croaked. Once, his voice had been soothing. But that was before. Now his words were raspy, his lips and mouth perpetually dry. But still the elven teacher evoked that same sense of calm, instilling his students with a tranquil patience. 'Call me Falrinor. I've not been with your village long enough to have earned that title,' he assured her. Skoltasj. Teacher, mentor. Master. Back in the temple of Labelas Enoreth, where Falrinor had taught several classes to a multitude of students, such honorifics might've been prudent- though Falrinor would never insist on them. But here? 'And I doubt I shall linger much longer,' he murmured. Katya kept her eyes on the thread, now mere steps away from the trap. But she could not keep herself from pressing the elf. 'You will leave soon, then?' she asked. There was a hint of dejection in the woman's voice, though she tried to remain nonchalant. 'Too bad. Few strangers in Darkon are kind. Few visitors lend a helping hand. You were different.' 'I know,' Falrinor said. It wasn't a boast- he had seen Darkonian hostility firsthand. It was born of desperation, of a life of poverty and want. It was something he could never learn- for he had not been born to this place, nor was he truly alive enough to concern himself with matters of survival. Knowing death was near erased the need to think about long-term survival. It was a burden he was sad to be free of. 'But there are things I must do, things I must achieve.' Murders he had to commit. 'And I do not know how much longer I have to complete my tasks.' If the reminder of Falrinor's fast approaching end still shocked Katya, she hid it well. But she did not reply. Instead, she focused on her trap. Carefully, she pulled the thread taut, gently manipulating the hook at its end with one hand and the crossbow-like device with the other. With great precision, she attached the hook to the firing mechanism, and withdrew her hands. Letting out a sigh of relief, she turned to Falrinor, who beamed with pride even as his pupil grinned her contentment. 'Well done!' he brought out, clapping his hands thrice. 'You've crafted the components, measured the distance between the pressure plate and the crossbow, armed the device, and connected the two. Any woodland critter coming through here is going to have a very bad day,' he laughed. 'Now,' he bid her, 'all that remains is to hide the trap. You've shown excellent progress in previous sessions, but there are a few more tricks I'd like to show you to better cover the components.' After all, the elf thought bitterly, a hare or pheasant might be fooled by the trap... But it would take more than this to trick Azalin's soldiers. Looking to Katya, Falrinor renewed his pledge to leave the young woman and her people with the knowledge they would need to protect themselves from their oppressors...

 

Falrinor Yinven, High Elf Arcane TricksterRogue (

• Personality Trait: I like to crack jokes to lighten the dark mood and ease other's suffering.
• Personality Trait: I am a teacher at heart, and love to see others discover new knowledge for themselves.
• Ideal: Knowledge. Passing on what we have learned to younger generations is the greatest goal we can aspire to.
• Bond: Azalin's forces slew everyone I knew- my colleagues and my students both. I cannot forgive them- what little time I have left I will spend hunting them.
• Flaw: If there's a plan, I'll forget it. If I don’t forget it, I'll ignore it.

Sage)

HP: 18 + 4d8
AC: 12
Speed: 30
Senses: Darkvision 60', passive perception 14

STR	10	+0
DEX	16	+6
CON	14	+2
INT	14	+5
WIS	12	+1
CHA	10	+0

Abilities & Saves |

Acrobatics	+6
Arcana	+5
History	+5
Investigation	+8
Perception	+4
Sleight of Hand	+6
Stealth	+9
Common
Elven
Draconic
Giant
Sylvan
Thieves' cant
Thieves' tools

Skills |

• : none yet!

Combat |

Save DC: 13, Spell attack modifier: +5
Cantrips	Mage Hand, Message, Minor Illusion, True Strike
Lvl 1	Disguise Self, Protection From Evil, Silent Image, Tasha's Hideous Laughter

Magic | none yet!Equipment |

• Researcher: Knows where to find information, within reason.
• Feat (Sharpshooter): Gain the following;
  * Attacking at long range does not impose disadvantage.
  * Ranged weapons ignore half and three-quarters cover.
  * Before rolling, you may take a -5 to hit penalty for +10 damage.
• Fey Ancestry: Advantage vs Charmed, can't be put to sleep magically.
• Trance: Trance for four hours instead of sleeping for eight hours.
• Elf Weapon Training: Proficient with longsword, shortsword, shortbow and longbow
• Cantrip: Knows one cantrip (Mind Sliver).
• Expertise: Double proficiency for two skills (Investigation, Stealth)
• Sneak Attack: When you have advantage, OR if you attack a target while an enemy of it is within 5' of it (provided you don't have disadvantage), you deal an additional 3d6 damage with finesse or ranged weapons (once per turn).
• Cunning action: May Dash, Disengage or Hide as a bonus action.
• Uncanny Dodge: When an attacker you can see hits you, you may halve the attacker's damage as a reaction.
• Magic Hand Legerdemain: Knows Mage Hand, which is invisible and controlled with a bonus action, and can perform the following additional tasks;
  * Stow (or retrieve) one object in a container worn or carried by another creature.
  * Use thieves' tools to pick locks or disarm traps.
  With a successful Sleight of Hand vs Perception check, you may perform these tasks without being noticed.

Special

Expendables
* Hit dice: 5/5 d8
* Lvl 1 slots: 3/3

[Snicker]

Application https://www.artstation.com/artwork/ELZ6yv Name: Nurufen Galanodel Alignment: Lawful Good Appearance: Nurufen is a moon elf of advanced age. Like most moon elves, her skin and hair are pale and her age is not obvious. While most clerics of her faith dressed in robes of grey or muted colours, Nurufen tends towards tastefully practical clothing of richer, bolder colours, trying to look pleasant and approachable while still maintaining an appropriate official dignity. Backstory: The Galanodels were a family of elves in a mostly human town. Though they were proud of their elven culture and heritage, Nurufen's parents had no choice but to allow their daughter to socialize with human children. In her earliest years, she adapted easily to humanity's faster pace of life, but as the years passed, she struggled with the ever-clearer reality that she and they were not the same. Her childhood friends, got married, had children of their own, and eventually died of old age before Nurufen was even considered an elven adult. Her parents told her it was the human way to die swiftly, and the elven way to not grow attached to such mayflies, but she thought so much more like her human peers than her elven parents. As she got older, against her parents' wishes and advice, she married a human man and had four children. In the years that followed, burying her husband was devastating. The only thing worse was burying her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Nurufen's struggle to cope with the death of her loved ones led her to the Church of Kelemvor, first as an adherent, then as a priestess. Kelemvor's teachings didn't just ease her pain, they caused everything to make sense - the necessity of death and, by extension, the purpose of life. Her many years of service focused primarily on the education and counseling of the dying and bereaved, but she did see combat - opposing monsters, despots, and others that would bring unnaturally early death to people, and in particular, laying the undead to rest. Somewhat soft-hearted for a cleric of Kelemvor, she held herself to these principles: Death is natural in every life. It is not to be feared, but understood, accepted, and in its time, welcomed. Natural death is at the end of a full life. Premature death should be avoided. Undeath should be rectified, not because it offends Kelemvor or any natural order, but because it prevents the undead from achieving their death. Death is not an end, but a point in the soul's journey. Death is the means by which we reach the reward of a well-lived life. Those that would bring death before its natural time, extend lives beyond their natural end, or violate the peace of the dead must be opposed. Nurufen's health took a turn for the worse around her 600th year - somewhat early for an elf. Perhaps it was all the necromantic magic she'd been opposed to in her career, or living so human a life had burned her out before her time, or maybe she was just not of long-lived stock. For years, Nurufen had wondered if she would face her end with the same dignity she tried to bring others, but as it approached, she found it not just easy to accept, but a relief. She looked back on her life with a human perspective, and the weight of those centuries seemed so burdensome to her. She had lived a kind, accomplished, and full life; she could not ask for more, and had no wish to. In her 626th year, in a comfortable bed with her affairs in order, she breathed her last, content with a life well lived and ready for what lay beyond. She is not happy to be back. Personality: Nurufen is quiet and reserved, rarely raising her voice above a soft conversational tone. She takes no pleasure in violence and avoids it when possible, and when she cannot, utilizes it surgically and decisively as to minimize bloodshed and suffering. As a priestess of Kelemvor, she felt her true calling was education and counseling, and she always seeks to lend the afraid and bereaved her utmost in empathy and support. Unlike most clerics of Kelemvor, she does not hate undead so much as she pities them. She sees them as having been robbed of the grace of death, victims either of others or their own fears. If possible, she will try to counsel them into accepting their death, though she knows from experience that this rarely is effective. She has a similar opinion of her own state; while she accepts the necessity of her current life (or undeath?), she does not appreciate her second lease on life, and hopes to return to death after her mission is complete. Roleplay sample:   It was barely past noon, but the day was already dark with heavy gray clouds. Wind blew across the nearby rows of crops and caught her cloak, pulling it and her to the right, and she gripped her saddlehorn to secure herself on her mount. Rain was imminent, but fortunately, she had reached her destination, her horse clopping up the dirt path to a modest but dignified farmhouse. Dismounting, she tied up her steed and knocked on the house's front door. It opened a few seconds later to reveal a human man. His hair was graying with age, but his eyes were warm and empathetic. He blinked at Nurufen's unfamiliar face for a moment before his eyes dropped to the symbol on her breastplate - a skeletal hand holding a pair of scales - and gave a soft "Oh," before opening the door wider and gesturing for her to enter. "I'm glad you beat the rain," he said as she stepped inside, closing the door after her. "How were your travels? Have you eaten?" "I'm fine, thank you," Nurufen said softly. "Where is - " "What in the hells is she doing here?" a woman's voice suddenly demanded. Nurufen whirled to see a human woman, faced twisted in a snarl and red hair in a tangled, chaotic mess, emerging from the rear of the house. "You're not taking my father, you vulture! Get out! Get out of this house!" "Woah, wait, wait!" The man held up both hands, approaching the woman. "I asked for her! She's - " "I know what she is!" the woman spat. "She's one of those death priests! You're not taking my father from me, you hear me? I said get out!" The woman's eyes flared with anger before she turned and grabbed a cleaver from the kitchen counter. She turned back to point it at Nurufen, but the elf's shield was already in hand, with the other resting on the hilt of her sword. The woman hesitated, but held her ground, still pointing the cleaver towards Nurufen. "You won't kill my father," the woman whispered. "I'm not here to," Nurufen replied. Her hand slipped off the sword, though the shield stayed up just in case. "Your father is already dying. I'm not going to change that. I'm here to make it easier on him. And you." The woman's lips curled back from her teeth. It was hard to tell if it was a snarl or a pained grimace. "Why is everyone talking like he's already dead? He can still get better! With rest and hope..." "Death is inevitable," Nurufen whispered. "Your father, you, me. Even dragons die eventually. It's a natural thing. It's not as terrifying as it sounds, if one is prepared." She took a step forward. "I want your father to be prepared." The arm holding the cleaver quivered, then dropped to the woman's side. The man stepped over and pressed her face into his chest before the woman broke down into quiet, but wracking sobs. The man held her close, then looked up at Nurufen. "He's in the back room on the left." When Nurufen entered the bedroom, the first drops of rain began hitting the window. In the bed was an old man, tucked under blankets, his breaths coming in reedy wheezes. His eyes followed Nurufen as she pulled up a chair and sat beside the bed, hands folded in her lap. "Dugan Redwood?" she asked, her voice quiet. "My name is Nurufen Galanodel. I'm - " "A doomguide," the man interrupted. His voice was hoarse. "My son-in-law told me you were coming. To help me die." "You don't need my help to die." Nurufen smiled. "I'm here to help you do it comfortably. If you're concerned, or scared, or you want to know what will happen, I can help." "You mean, what will happen before I die, or after?" "Both." "After." Dugan's eyes were locked on Nurufen's. Outside, the rain intensified, rain drumming on the glass in a steady staccato. "What will the gods do with my soul?" "After you die, your soul will pass to the Fugue Plane, the realm of the dead. A divine servant of your god will come to collect you for judgment. If you've been true to your faith, you'll join your god in their kingdom. If not, you may remain in the realm of the dead. You may be tempted by emissaries from the Nine Hells, but don't go with them. There is no happiness there, whatever they promise you." "I..." Dugan swallowed. "I haven't always been faithful. I've been lazy. Angry. Drunk..." "Who hasn't?" Nurufen patted one of Dugan's hands reassuringly. "If the gods turned away everyone who sinned, they'd have no one in their kingdoms at all. You don't need to have been perfect. If you've led a decent life, that's good enough." "I've..." Dugan closed his eyes, guilt washing over his face. "My neighbours...their children. The boy...a young man, now. His hair is red, like my daughter...like mine was. He's my son, I think. I never told him. He doesn't know - his mother died having him." He opened his eyes. "I abandoned my son - out of fear. Would the gods...?" Nurufen squeezed his hand gently. "I cannot say that for sure. But the worst thing in life is to end it incomplete. I see the weight of this secret is heavy on you. This young man - do you want to tell him, while you still can?" "I..." The man's eyes blinked rapidly, wide with fear. "I don't know. I may not have the courage." Nurufen leaned in close. Her voice was barely a soft whisper. "What do you have to lose, besides your regrets? Whatever happens, will it be worse than dying with this secret untold?" Dugan was quiet for a long moment, then nodded. "Bring him here. Please." Nurufen started to stand, but the man held her hand. She stopped, looking down at him. "Wait. My daughter. I heard her, before you came in. Please forgive her. She's more afraid than I am. If you can talk to her..." Nurufen smiled, then took his hand in both of hers, giving it another gentle, reassuring squeeze. "I was already going to. Death is often harder on the living than the dead."

[Jrod]

I have bowed out. Good luck everyone.

[Zangul]

Today is the day. Good luck everyone!

[Treble83]

Good luck applicants! Hope you all have a great game!

[Zangul]

Looks like this one is dead.

[Elanir]

Originally Posted by Zangul

Looks like this one is dead.

Let’s give Carmac a few more days. It seems they visited the forums a few hours ago.

[Zangul]

Originally Posted by Elanir

Let’s give Carmac a few more days. It seems they visited the forums a few hours ago.

Sure thing. Good luck

[Elanir]

I suppose you were right, Zangul. This game appears to be dead. Oh well, it happens. Better now than two months after the game starts. Happy gaming, everyone! Plenty of good games out there, looking for interested players.

[Zangul]

Originally Posted by Elanir

I suppose you were right, Zangul. This game appears to be dead. Oh well, it happens. Better now than two months after the game starts. Happy gaming, everyone! Plenty of good games out there, looking for interested players.

Yes happy gaming. I am looking for players for a high Seas Adventure. Come and apply.