[D&D-5e] The Shadow of the Devourer

[Drachenspirit]

Jyseari Name: Jyseari Race: Reborn - Elven Drow Class: Rogue - Inquisitor Gender: Female Age: 124 (Assumed) Background: Investigator Personality Traits: 1) I am always calm, no matter the situation. I never raise my voice or let my emotions control me. 2) I can stare down a Hellhound without flinching. Bond: Someone I loved died because of a mistake I made. That will never happen again. Ideal: I will do whatever it takes to bring the criminal or evil doer of the case I am working to justice. Flaw: I can't resist someone who is humorous and can tell a good joke. Appearance: Jyseari is thin and short, but her overall look is proportional, so her rapier looks more like a longsword in her hand when she draws it out. Standing just over five feet tall, weighing just over eighty pounds, and wearing light armor, her long white hair and steel grey eyes add to her brooding look mysterious look. Closer inspection reveals a dagger openly sheathed on her boot, another on her belt beside a sheathed shortsword, and a Handcrossbow at the ready; hinting there's more to her than a dark and brooding pretty face. Personality: Jyseari seems to always be paying attention to what is going on around her. It has been said of her that she doesn't miss much. One can always tell if she's interested in something because she'll ask a lot of questions about the topic or issue at hand. Usually having a serious look, and rarely flinching, her face lights up when someone is openly telling a joke or intentionally trying to be humorous. Backstory: Jyseari's current life path started not more than a few years back when she woke up in an abandoned laboratory next to some other tables with numerous desiccated body parts atop them. Some shelves had several clockwork designed organs covered in dust. The lab was in an overgrown complex next to a small village. Leaving the place, she befriended a half-elf herbalist in the village, sharing her situation and the odd memories she had of a past life that didn't make sense. One of her memories is of standing in the sun on the edge of a small bluff about to dive into the water below. Given she doesn't like being in the sun, or direct sunlight that is an inherit feature of being a Drow, and she doesn't like water over her head, she hates this memory. Yeari, the half-elf herbalist shared that the villagers think she is a witch after she cured a group of children that had come down with a life-threatening illness. They though she used dark magic, but she just used her knowledge of local floral and herbs to know the children ate something out in the wild and combatted that with other herbs or plants. Soon after, her friend was murdered, someone ransacking her home and writing 'Witch' on the walls in her blood. Driven to find her killer, she assumed it was someone who feared and hated her. Solving the crime, she found it to be a local expelled member of the closest city's thieves guild who thought Yeari used a magic device or spell to cure the children's illness and wanted to steal it to get back in good graces with his guild. After catching the murderer in the city and bringing him to justice, the leader of the local guild pressed her to join - to which she declined. To this day, the leader of the guild presses her to join and voices concern she learned things about the guild she should not know. Gaining a reputation for solving crimes and mysteries, she enjoys being her own boss and tends to follow the tales of recent mysteries or misdeeds spoken about openly to solve them. She recently learned that the one who killed her friend the herbalist escaped prison, killing a guard in the process. Though she has no leads, she's patient and always looking, hoping that her next murderer she's looking for is one in the same. She can be a Bard's biggest fan or worst groupie as she just won't leave them alone - always wanting to hear the next joke. Whenever she comes across them, she enjoys a good show, especially one with comedy involved. One of her favorite joke's is one she heard by a bystander when someone asked if Drow were all as short as she was. The quip said something about "nothing grows good in the shade", and she found it incredibly funny - whether it was or not. It probably helps that she has no memory of growing up or even being underground like a typical Drow would. 1) Tell me what your characters greatest achievement is. She is well known in a certain area of farming in a large Vale for leading a team to investigate the cause of a drought which seemed unnatural since it was still raining off and on. End result was a Cult to a Deity of Drought had taken hold and was intent on spreading in an underground aquafer they had damned up. Returning things to normal, a feast was held in her honor as well as the others in her adventuring group. 2) Tell me what your character’s greatest fear is. She can't recall a memory as to why, but she has a fear of being buried alive or drowning - the latter of which is why she doesn't like bodies of water over her head. 3) Tell me something in your characters past that they are particularly proud of. She helped clear a lighthouse of recent residents that included a Hag and a tribe of Goblins along with their Barghest leader who were tricking ships at night into crashing into the reef by moving the fire atop it down the cliff a bit and then killing the crews that survived and selling the loot and treasure. Though she didn't save anyone directly in the adventure, she knows she saved countless lives of sailors and passersby that would have been slain by those in the lighthouse has they not been discovered and stopped. 4) Tell me something in your characters past that they are ashamed of. She's ashamed she didn't see her friend's murderer all the way to jail from the court and local lockup due to him escaping on the way to Prison. It's the least she could have done. She is so ashamed of this that she has an almost OCD mentality at making sure things are fully completed and seen through to their completion now. RP Sample RP Sample: It was dark when she approached the camp, the way she preferred it. Lowered hand crossbow in her right hand grip, she seemed a little taken aback when the woman addressed her. How'd she know I was moving close?, she wondered as she moved into the light from the campfire and smiled, disarming the crossbow and tucking it away beside her pack. She paused and her smile disappeared as she looked at the others sitting at the fire, her slow head turn giving away she was either sizing them all up or looking for someone. The looks she was getting in return told her that she needed to clear up what her intense gaze was all about, so she smiled and moved to the fire. Before she could get there and greet everyone the old woman spoke again, her words somehow both comforting and ominous at the same time. As she moved off to her wagon, Jyseari dropped her pack next to another who sat around the fire and gave an informal greeting. "Well that was interesting. Smoke and mirrors, huh? All that stuff about dreams means I won't sleep tonight. She wondered what any of these other travelers would think if they knew that she actually never slept, so there was a little deception mixed with truth in her words. There was a pause as she settled in, removing some gear and checking her boots for dust and rocks before she spoke again. I'm Jyseari. Detective or troubleshooter of sorts, not to be confused with a Bounty Hunter or Assassin. Don't suppose anyone has seen a pair of Goblins passing through here within the last day? Twins? Male and Female? One has an eye patch, the other a sprig of red dyed hair over both ears? No? They're wanted for questioning under suspicion of murder if you must know. No one? Just as well. So, where's everyone hail from?"

[Oghain]

[krossingkhory]

@Vaynol
I'm creating a character using VRGtR, and on page 22 I see Dark Gifts. The book indicates that characters may select a Dark Gift, but I want to make sure this is applicable/appropriate prior to just taking one. So can you weigh in here as to whether we can take one? Or should we just throw that section of the book out and pretend it doesn't exist?

[Vaynol]

Originally Posted by krossingkhory

@Vaynol
I'm creating a character using VRGtR, and on page 22 I see Dark Gifts. The book indicates that characters may select a Dark Gift, but I want to make sure this is applicable/appropriate prior to just taking one. So can you weigh in here as to whether we can take one? Or should we just throw that section of the book out and pretend it doesn't exist?

Good question. As far as the application period goes I would rather we keep Dark Gifts out of play for now. However, once I make final picks I will open it up to the chosen group whether or not we bring Dark Gifts in as a character option. Should the majority be in favour of it then yes I will allow them to be selected then.

[Kshnik]

Will be posting an application

[Ghrimm]

Name: Kharos Il’Tharyn
Race: High Elf
Class: Artificer (Armorer) 4
Background: Noble
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Personality Traits: 1. No one could doubt by looking at my regal bearing that I am a cut above the unwashed masses. 2. If you do me an injury, I will crush you, ruin your name, and salt your fields.
Ideal: Family - Blood runs thicker than water. (Any)
Bond: Nothing is more important than the other members of my family.
Flaw: I too often hear veiled insults and threats in every word addressed to me, and I'm quick to anger.
Age: 102
Appearance: Kharos has the light hair and fair complexion of his race, but his looks are slightly diminished by the anger apparent in his every gesture. His green eyes practically spark with suppressed rage. He does not mean to subject the world to his anger, for it is mostly directed at himself, but he cannot always help it. He is almost never without his armor, a suit of scale that he has enhanced to aid in his search.
Personality: Recent events have turned Kharos somewhat suspicious and cynical. He trusted once, failed to see the signs of growing madness, and suffered a great loss as a result. He is determined not to do so again. Anger is never far below the surface. He is quiet and reserved, carefully analyzing every word he hears for any double meanings. Answers when dragged out of him are clipped and very blunt. He is generally lost to his own issues and has trouble appreciating that others might be suffering or in need as well. However, when made to notice them, his better nature will shine through. One thing he shares with many of his kind is a deep love for children – though the sight of twins may cause him to sink into a bout of self-recrimination and melancholy.

History: Kharos was born just seconds before his sister, Kharis, in something of a miracle twin birth. Elven longevity meant that elvish children were few and generally far between, with only a handful of twin births recorded each century. The pregnancy was difficult, and their mother never fully recovered passing on before their thirtieth year. Their father, scion of a noble house, tried to do his best by them but was too heartsick. The twins were a painful reminder of what he had lost. He provided all the instructors, nursemaids, and servants they could want for, but he found it too hard to see them so spent much of his time away on diplomatic missions.

Kharos and Kharis did not lack for love, however, as the twins were the delight of their community. They were bright, beautiful and extremely gifted. Their minds were analytical, leading them towards blending their elven magic with the arts. Kharos took to metallurgy and smithing, learning to make wonderous weapons and armor while his sister followed her heart into the healing sciences blending them with a study of alchemy.

About the time Kharos and his sister were coming into their own, their father took on a half-elven ward as a favor to a childhood friend. This ward, Tovar Stormborne, had a fiery temperament that the long-lived elves found disconcerting at first though they came to care for him despite it for while given to wild mood swings and fits of anger when frustrated, he also cared deeply and gave of himself freely. He too was a gifted smith and was fascinated by the twins’ respective arcane studies.

He was even more fascinated by Kharis’s beauty. He soon became quite obsessed with her. On the day of their maturity, the marking of their 100th year, Tovar sought out Kharis in her laboratory to proclaim his love. She attempted to turn him down gently – for while fond of the half-elf she did not see him that way, but rather as a little brother. She also knew that as the child of the Il’Tharyn line she was destined for a noble match of her father’s choosing.

Tavor did not take the rejection well, storming around the lab and dashing random vials against the walls. As a healer, normally there would have been little danger in such wanton destruction of her lab, however she had been working with some volatile chemicals of late in an attempt to help her brother refine a new alloy. The result was an explosion that scarred Tavor severely, and left Kharis barely clinging to life.

The incident would bring out Tavor’s darker nature. He insisted it had been a tragic accident – that the alloy she had been working on for Kharos had simply been too dangerous leaving Kharos to blame himself. At the time Kharos could only think of saving his sister and could not spare the time to investigate any further – nor did he have any reason to distrust his father’s ward.

The damage to Kharis was beyond even elven healing, and she was slipping away before his eyes. The damage to her body was simply too great. Multiple organs were ruptured, and her limbs were badly burned. Knowing he could do little in the time he had remaining, Kharos chose to preserve his sister’s essence in a crystal matrix and place her body in a magically induced stasis. It would be dead and yet not dead, frozen at the point of death and protected from decay.

Working with other healers and artisans, they completed the matrix and transferred Kharis’s essence. Kharos then began the work of rebuilding her body organ by organ, limb by limb, utilizing his artificer arts. Her new body was nearing completion when a recovering Tavor killed a healer, stole the matrix and fled – thinking to build her a body of his own making and restore her, keeping her to himself for he had passed well beyond mere obsession. He would own her, body and soul, or no one would.

Learning of the murder and theft, Kharos quickly deduced what must have truly happened. He still blamed himself, though, only now for not seeing how dangerous Tavor had become – for not noticing his obsession earlier. Creating a temporary bag of holding, Kharos stored he sister’s nearly repaired body along with his tools and gathering his armor immediately set out after Tavor. He would pursue the crazed man halfway across the continent only to lose him in a sudden mist.

Greatest Achievement: Kharos once believed that his armor would be his master work, and he never stopped trying to improve it. However, now he sees his sister’s new form as his life’s work. It is his unfinished masterpiece, for only the purest metals and most delicate carvings could ever do her form justice.
Greatest Fear: Strangely his greatest fear is that Tavor will die before he catches him, because while he can’t stand the thought of her in Tavor’s hands he knows that the half-elf won’t break up the crystal matrix. Should it fall into another’s hands it is bound to be broken up and sold due to the value of its respective parts.
Most Proud Of: Kharos was once extremely proud of obtaining his artificer rank and title, a singular achievement for one yet so young by elven standards. But this matters little to him now, his focus is purely on restoring his sister – all his former glories just serve to highlight the mistakes that landed her in harm’s way.
Most Ashamed Of: Failing to see Tavor’s madness, and allowing his sister to come to harm because of it. This is something that Kharos will always be blaming himself for, even should he manage to restore her for as well and lovingly crafted as her new limbs and organs might be – they will never replace that which she will have lost.

RP Sample: Kharos came upon the cemetery late in the day, the light already failing. It was not an auspicious time to be searching for disturbed graves but there was little he could do about it. If the innkeeper had been right then he was no more than a day behind Tavor, possibly less if he stopped here to explore his newfound fascination with the recently deceased. Kharos suspect the half elf was attempting to create his sister a new body in much the same way he had, only working in flesh rather than gold and mithril. So far Tavor’s efforts had seemed comical at best, the attempts of a frenzied amateur or child, but he was clearly learning. Should the fiend succeed, he might well trap Kharis in a form of his choosing.

Reigning in, Kharos scanned the graveyard for evidence of recent digging. Faintly, the breeze carried to him the sound of shoveling. It seemed to be coming from deep within, hidden among the shadows of the stone markers and mausoleums. His heart skipped a beat. After all this time, could he really be this close? Putting spurs to his horse’s flanks, he sped between the grave rows. Perhaps stealth would have served him better, but with success so close at hand he could not bear to wait.

Rounding a particularly ornate mausoleum, Kharos came upon the digger – only to find a bent old man reburying remains. He was too late, again. At the sound of his hooves, the man stopped digging and looked up at Kharos. He seemed to give him a once over before dismissing the elven lord and going back to his digging.

Rage flared in Kharos but he fought it down. He recognized that his frustration was leading him to conclusions that were perhaps unwarranted. This caretaker’s attitude spoke more of apathy then arrogance, and it would not do to take his anger out on him.

”Your pardon, but might you tell me how recently that grave was disturbed and might I examine the corpse before you cover it completely? I seek a fiend bent on resuscitating the dead and might learn much by what was done here.”

The caretaker paused, rubbing his chin. ”Reckon it happened last night, near as I can tell. Can’t rightly let you be messing with her, though, not without the family’s say so. Just wouldn’t be right.”

The anger boiled below the surface, threatening to again rise to the fore. The man no doubt thought him some sort of voyeur or necrophyte himself. But he needed to see the corpse, needed to know how far along Tavor had come. He thought to examine it by force, if necessary, when it dawned on him that the old man probably didn’t give two coppers what he did – just so he got two coppers for himself out of the deal.

Swinging down from his horse, Kharos dug in his purse and extracted a gold. ”Perhaps you could see that some small portion of this makes its way to the family, along with my condolences?”

The man’s eyes widened just so slightly at the site of gold, and he nodded. ”That’s most kind of you, lord, and I be doing that this minute just so as I don’t forget.” Biting down on the coin, the man turned and shambled off – quickly disappearing into the growing shadows.

Opening his bag, Kharos pulled out a small metal puzzle box. He immediately started tapping and twisting, pushing and pulling on the sides of the box, slowly unfolding it into a tiny clockwork drake. ”I have need of your light, old friend.” With a final adjustment The drake started emitting a soft glow. With the drake on his shoulder, Kharos hopped down into the grave and brushed the soil back from the crudely repaired coffin. It would likely not be a pleasant site, but he had to see how close Tavor was to his goal. He had to know how much time he had left.

[1Skell]

So, the characters are necessarily from a plane of existence that is not Ravenlof, correct? Do the characters need to come from a same world/plane?

[Kshnik]

App Name: Alton Race: Reborn Class: Ranger (GloomStalker) 3 / Cleric (Death) 1 Gender: Male Age: Somewhere between 30 and 50 Background: Haunted One Description No one living knows his race as he constantly wears a mask or is in a disguise; today it is a wooden one with pointy ears. He is average height for a humanoid, wide shoulders, muscular frame, his saunter exudes an air of agility. Raven black hair falls past his shoulders in the back. Weapons hang from every part of his body. Full packs of various sizes and shapes adorned his torso. A shield rests off the back of his left shoulder. His voice is low and gnarled. His skin, the few places that can be seen, is pitted and rough. The scent of vinegar mixed with garlic radiates outward keeping most folks away. Personality He lives for the hunt. His favorite? Undead! Once on the trail he does not give up. First, if possible, he will study his prey’s capabilities and weaknesses. He will figure out a way to make his prey fear him. After which he will determine the best tactics and then attack. Once the battle with his targeted prey has started he will not flee. He has died once. He can die again. He is not afraid of it. He is more afraid of the evil that is within him. Something that should never get out. Alton, who he is going by today, changes his name often as many times as he changes his mask. He is constantly turning his head and talking to someone or multiple someones. The problem is… there is never anyone there. Backstory He wandered for a while when he first woke. He was found by a group of hunters. Taken in. Saved. The hunters worked the huge forest moving from one small hamlet to another all far from the larger civilizations. He trained with this group who were always hunting those things that threatened the tiny villages. Mainly the undead. He was taught all manner of weapons; for close combat and far. He learned the art of the ambush. He learned to hide even from those with the dark sight. He was taught how to disguise himself as his presence was disturbing. The disguise gave him freedom. A change of name. A change of the Individual. A new path in this life. A rebirth. During all this training as he searched for the reason for his death and the others, along with what causes the creation of the undead he hunted, a divine presence made itself known. An offer. A deal was accepted. New tools to help with while on the hunt. The one good thing about this life was there was always a new hunt. Roleplay He awoke amongst a multitude of bodies. Residue magical energy continues to pulse through his body and those around him. He clawed his way over the bodies and up the deep slope. He looked back down in the pit. Outside of the fading energy none of the others seemed to move. Who was he? He looked down at the dead. Who were they? I was dead? He stood up and realized he was naked. He saw a huge scar in his chest. His hand went to his chest. He felt something within wanting to get out. Need to keep it from getting out! He then began to make his way towards the falling sun. Where am I? He wakes up. Gasping. His body was sweaty. His scar is still there. In a growl That dang dream again. Almost every night he dreams of his birth. His first day. A reminder? He turns his head to the right What should we do today? He nods his head to the silence. Good Idea!. He checks around the empty room and with no better ideas from the others he gets up and begins to gather his things. The first thing he does is put on his new wooden mask. He holds it up and shows it to the room. Who should we become?. He looks around the room for multiple breaths and finally he nods his head. Alton. A good name. Greatest achievement: Always the last hunt. The last kill. Greatest Fear: Finding out who he was in his previous life. Proud of: His last hunt he saved the life of a child from a shadow. Ashamed of: He failed to save the life of the child's sibling from another shadow.

[silveroak]

It seems difficult to me to create a list of our top picks for whom to adventure with when the roster of available adventurers is still growing. Can we get some idea of when it will be closed?

[Drachenspirit]

I believe my Application is complete.

[EMIW]

Certainty of death. Low chance of success. What am I waiting for?

Space reserved for an application!

[Drifter One]

Name: Skarn Blackwater
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Age: 42
Alignment: ??

Appearance: 6'4 - tall and although muscular he is not ripped. He has the beginnings of middle age spread around his belly, although not too much. He has long, lank grey hair and a grisled, weather worn face which hides his once handsome features. He wears old and battered chain armour, rusting in places, and his tabard is frayed, torn and also dirty, the crest on his midriff is barely visible

Class: Fighter (back to basics!)

Background: soldier

Personality traits: Gruff, short with people and generally considered rude and without manners. Although he has a big heart, it is hidden deep within the regret and trauma he has suffered. Emotions have been worn down through being on the run and evading capture, as well as mercenary life. He is very matter of fact, and may be viewed by others as cruel and heartless, yet he really has a desire to do the right thing but struggles to express himself.

Ideal: Freedom. Tyrants must not be allowed to oppress the people.

Bond: To protect the weak and/innocent

Flaws: Due to what he did all those years ago, Skarn has a weakness where he has to prove he is not a coward, nor show cowardice no matter how fearful he really is. This makes him very Angry, almost like a coping mechanism. Skarn also has turned to drink in order to try and block out his memories.

Backstory: Skarn was born and raised in a happy family in a village called Ryeford, a family of farers; His father Jeffrey Blackwater, his mother Isobelle and sister Seraphina. He spent his childhood mainly learning the ways of agriculture, helping his mother and father grow crops and breed cattle. Tilling the fields made him grow into a strong and tough individual, yet as he became older, he realised that the farming life was not for him. He wanted to see the world and earn more coin than the field offered, mainly so that he aging parents could retire early and enjoy what life they had left. Ultimately, Skarn found his vocation was with the military, and a very competent infantryman at that. Good with a sword and shield, he often was a frontline fighter, or stood in front of an armies Archers to protect them both from incoming Cavalry charges and hand to hand combat. However, fifteen years ago, the army Skarn was rostered to, had been sent orders to liberate a mining town called Humboldt, over-run by orc hordes and goblins for it was resource rich in iron and gold. It was upon reaching Humboldt the true nature of the forces intentions became clear, for it was not about "liberation" at all, but rather the powers that be wanted the resource-rich town for there own control in order to finance other operations. There were no Orcs or Goblins, just townsfolk, and the order was given to slaughter them all and claim the town in the name of Lord Rauser-Karloff. Skarn, a man of moral duty, could not do such a thing and at the earliest opportunity, slipped away in the night, leaving the Army and forever being labelled as a "deserter". A bounty was placed on his head, as he knew it would, and he fled back to his family. He thought he would be safe back at Ryeford, but the bitter, megalomaniac Lord Rauser-Karloff wanted to make an example of Skarn, and also keep him from revealing his true intentions. The bounty was raised and many sought the opportunity to cash in with Skarns head on a pike.

His family, shocked at what had happened, decided it would be better to flee to a far away land and begin afresh, for there were always fields to farm and food was always needed. That was how they found themselves in G'Henna, and life seemed to have settled. That was before the madness had taken High Priest Yagno Petrovna and the land descended into chaos. When the land became cast into darkness, Skarns parents both passed away in the same year, leaving himself and Seraphina to tend to the farm against increasingly poorer odds as the lands became corrupt and died. The farm ended up producing little product and became of little value, so Skarn began to seek mercenary work, overing his sword arm to fight for money, just enough to keep rental payments and to buy food. Upon returning from an expedition, his heart was broken when he had discovered Seraphina had been taken as an "offering" t the Devourer...

 

RP Sample:

"Yeah? Why don't you try me? I've seen a lot of bull lately."

Skarn peered over the top of his cup and gazed into the eyes of Gabriella. He knew the look all to well, and the glint in those hazel jewels told him that she was going to get the story from him, one way or another. He gulped down the ale loudly and sighed heavily, placing the wooden tankard down upon the table with a thud.

"Well," he began. "It was sold to me as a simple escort job, easy coin y'know? By Thurin of all people."

"Longshanks? You make it sound as if he mis-sold you the contract. Did he?"

Skarn held up his hands and gestured, shaking his head.

"No...no. Longshanks was good for the job. It just was less than what i was hoping for. Work has dried up down south and we are all feelin' the pinch. Thurin is as skinny as a rake!" Skarn subconsciously rubbed his shoulder, trying in vain to massage the ache from his muscles. Gabriella raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Your are not looking particularly healthy yourself, Skarn. What happened to your beer belly?"

"I try to maintain it, but all i get to drink these days are generally watered down pints of horse piss. This stuff excluded." Skarn motioned to the frothy beverage set on the table before him. "Anyway, we were set to escort this caravan of stuff, d'no what was in it, couldn't care less, just some junk this portly old merchant was shiftin'. Was s'posed to to taking it to Skarbury."

"Skarbury?" Gabriella interjected. "How in the Divines name did you end up here?"

Skarn paused to quaff what was left of his second pint, his beard wet from guzzling the beer. He raised a hand in the direction of the bar.

"'Keep! Two More!" The Veteran warrior shuffled on his seat, adjusting the dagger in his belt which was now digging in his side. Clearing his throat, he continued, his voice low. "Well, the weather took a turn, didn't it? Bloody rained so hard it felt like oceans were being dumped on our 'eads. And the wind! By the fires of the Abyss, it blew right through, chilled me to the bones it did! So we ended up stayin' in this half fallen church. Wasn't the best but we had to get out of the rain. Bumped into a few extras, also shelterin'. Some pompous Priest and his boy lackey. Good with a tune though, to be fair to him. "

Gabriella smiled, the enchanting smile that always caused Skarn to blush a little. "Sounds like you have been making friends at last!"

Skarn shook his head, his sour expression returning. "Hardly. Most of them are mute. The priest never shuts up and Jahan here...well, he is good company in the ale house!" Skarn nodded across to Jahan and raised his tankard. "And her..." He gestured to Kinya. "...not said a word yet followed us here. Dunno why, but..."he leaned forward towards Gabriella, his voice barely a whisper. "Summink odd about her. Like, really odd. Dunno what it is though."

Gabriella leaned back in her pew and took a delicate sip of her wine, swishing the red liquid around the glass as she swallowed.

"So first watch was when it happened."

"When what happened."

Skarn shuffled uncomfortably and went to drink again but the tankard was empty. Where was that bartender.

"'KEEP!?" he bellowed. He looked intently at Gabriella. He found her easy to talk to, always had. And it had gotten him in trouble before.

"These bloody ....things! Like dead dogs, flesh hangin' off 'em like they've been flayed and left to rot. Stunk like an Owlbears shitbox too! Came outta nowhere, but they proved nothing special to handle, so we handled it."

A maid suddenly appeared and unceremoniously dumped two more pints on the table, spilling some of its contents.

"Cheers love." Skarn said and took a gulp and sat back in his booth. Gabriella looked intently at him, her eyes piercing through the barriers Skarn had mentally erected.

"And?" she queried.

"And what?" Skarn retorted. A pathetic look pf innocence trying to mask his feigned ignorance.

"What else? You are not telling me something."

The greying mercenary grunted. He could never conceal anything from this woman.

"Gabby, controlling the dogs was this creature, a faceless beast with the form of a person. It...it...it had me worried for a bit, and then... "Skarns hand subconsciously moved to his chest where the tendril had struck him and he traced the length of the scar with this finger. "I can only describe it as a ghostly tentacle...thing. Struck out at us all and some of us got hit."

Gabriella moved her hand to rest on his. "Are you ok?"

"Yeah, I think so," Skarn grunted. "A bit sore but no ill affects. not sure about the others." He glanced at Jahan and Kinya. "It was then the terms of the contract changed. 'cause of the ghostly thing and the helldogs, it was decided the caravan would divert to 'ere, Caer Karholt with the other mob. All this hassle and a scar for Ten 'gees."

"Who were the other, "mob"?" she asked.

Skarn shrugged. "Well, the Priest and his jester were travelling with some girl. Proper high society by the way the priest harked on about 'er. Never spoke to 'er, never really saw 'er. But she is 'ere. In Caer Karholt"

Gabriella smiled at Skarn, the kind of smile which could have a thousand meanings.

"Interesting," she said. "Very interesting."

1) Tell me what your characters greatest achievement is: Slaying the Hill Giant, Lamb'oola
2) Tell me what your character’s greatest fear is:The bounty placed upon him will eventually be realised. He is already too late to find Seraphina.
3) Tell me something in your characters past that they are particularly proud of: Moving to and helping his parents to set up a successful farm in G'Henna, before the darkness.
4) Tell me something in your characters past that they are ashamed of: On one expedition, Skarn and his group were forced to eat fallen members of their group in order to stay alive. He does not speak of this.

[Mitsubachi]

Sorry maybe not this time.

[Osellic]

Name: Emberlyn "Ashfinger" Kaeldra
Race: Fallen Aasimar
Class: Pyromancer

 

(Happy to be a Draconic Bloodline Sorcerer, Wizard focuzing on evocation, Warlock with a fire themed fiend patron, or a Druid from the Circle of Wildfire. Whatever makes the most sense for your world- so long as they're firey, I dont care what class it is.)

Gender: Female
Age: 33

Appearance:
Emberlyn stands as a figure marked by tragedy and flame. Her once-radiant Aasimar features are marred by the blackened scars of fire. While the burns cover her body, her left hand is completely charred and lifeless, giving rise to the name, "Ashfinger." Her skin is pale with ash-grey undertones, as though the very fire she wielded scorched her soul. Her hair, once white with a celestial glow, has become dark black, singed red at the ends. Her eyes still faintly shimmer with the remnants of her divine origin, flickering like still burning flames. Her light is cold, dimmed by the trauma of her past. She wears the scorched remnants of her priestess robes, their once-sacred symbols of healing now faded and blackened. Her staff, more a walking aid than a weapon, bears similar scorch marks—its wood burnt, twisted by the same fire that claimed her village.

Personality:
Emberlyn is haunted by the flames that both saved and damned her. Though she once embodied the nurturing warmth of a healer, she now carries the furious, uncontrollable energy of the fire that destroyed everything she loved. Guilt is her constant companion, and she hides her pain behind a mask of grim determination. Emberlyn has become pragmatic to a fault—she knows that some must suffer for the many to survive, and she no longer flinches at making those sacrifices. Her faith in the gods was burned away long ago, but she still clings to a flicker of hope that her final act will be one of redemption. Quiet and reserved, she often keeps others at a distance, fearing that the fire within her might consume them as it did her village.

Backstory:
Once a devout cleric of a god of healing, Emberlyn dedicated her life to aiding the sick and impoverished in a small, struggling village. For years, she was a beacon of hope, using her divine magic to heal and bless the crops, of her meager town, but when the famine struck, her powers began to falter. The sickness spread faster than she could cure it, and the land withered as if cursed.

In desperation, Emberlyn sought a way to save her people, venturing into forbidden rites and calling upon powers far beyond her control. She reached out to an ancient fire entity—a primordial being of destruction, one that promised to burn away the sickness. And it did. The flames consumed the illness, but they did not stop there. Her entire village was incinerated in the process, reduced to nothing but ash.

Now, Emberlyn carries the burden of that terrible mistake. Her soul is bound to the raging fire, and its power courses through her. She has learned to wield the flames, but they burn her as much as they burn her enemies. Despite the destruction she caused, Emberlyn hopes to harness the fire's destructive force to destroy the Devourer, believing that if she can annihilate this ancient evil, perhaps there is still some chance for her redemption.

Bond:
Emberlyn feels an unbreakable responsibility to atone for the destruction of her village. Her bond with fire is both a curse and a tool, and she believes it is her fate to use this power for one last purpose: to destroy the Devourer before it consumes the world.

Ideal:
Atonement through destruction. Emberlyn believes that the only way to cleanse the world of its suffering is through fire—an end to all things in order to begin anew. She hopes to become the weapon that finally brings peace, even if it means her own annihilation.

Flaw:
Emberlyn struggles to control the fire within her. It is a part of her, wild and furious, and sometimes she fears she might lose herself to it completely. She also carries immense guilt, and her need to atone makes her reckless, willing to sacrifice herself and others if it means achieving her goal.

Greatest Achievement:
In her youth, Emberlyn once healed an entire village struck by plague, channeling divine light that saved countless lives. It was the height of her faith, and it earned her the admiration of many. To this day, it is the one memory that still gives her hope, though it is tinged with bitterness.

Greatest Fear:
Losing control of the fire inside her and repeating the tragedy of her village on a much larger scale. Emberlyn fears that one day the flames will overtake her entirely, and she will become the very thing she fights against—an unchecked force of destruction. Additionally, she fears she is beyond redemption, that some part of her wanted and caused the devastation.

Pride:
She takes pride in her ability to wield the fire that destroyed her. While it is a constant reminder of her greatest failure, it is also her greatest weapon, and she knows that it might be the only thing capable of destroying the Devourer.

Shame:
Her greatest shame is the death of her village, an entire community she was sworn to protect. The charred remains of her hand are a constant reminder of the lives lost due to her desperate pact.

 

Please let me know if any of this needs to be changed. If the fire needs to have taken place before she arrived in ravenloft, or other details like locations or names need fixing, happy to do so.

Also, what do you think they could be seeking? Is redemption to vague?

 

Emberlyn staggered through the thick smoke, her breath coming in ragged gasps as the village burned around her. The sickness had taken everyone—her mother, her father, her friends. She had tried everything, but nothing had worked. Nothing could work.

Except this.

She clutched her chest, feeling the searing heat growing inside her, the fire that had ignited the moment she whispered the words, sealing the pact with the fiery entity. It had promised to burn out the sickness. It had promised salvation.

But now… it was spreading.

Her skin felt like it was splitting open, molten heat rushing beneath the surface. Flames leapt from her fingertips, uncontrolled and wild, catching everything they touched. Her gown had already been singed away, leaving patches of blackened skin exposed. Where her chest should be, molten cracks glowed, the searing light pulsing like a second, unnatural heart.

"I didn’t… mean for this," Emberlyn whispered, clutching her hand against her chest, only for the flames to leap from her charred fingers, catching on the wood of the nearby house. The structure groaned, embers drifting skyward as the roof collapsed, sending sparks into the night air.

Around her, people screamed—those who had survived the sickness now running from the fire that consumed their homes.

"No! Stop!" Emberlyn cried, falling to her knees, tears streaking through the ash on her face. Her hands clawed at the ground as if she could pull the fire back inside, contain it somehow. But the flames were too strong, bursting from her body with every heartbeat. Her skin blackened further, charred flakes of her hand falling away as the flames danced out of her control.

The fire laughed in her mind, a cruel and ancient sound, mocking her helplessness.

More, we demands more. Let it take everything, child. Let them burn.

Her whole body was aflame now, her chest an exposed mass of molten energy, and yet the voice inside her head wanted more. The fire wanted to consume it all.

"No… no, this isn’t what I asked for!" she screamed, staggering to her feet, her vision swimming as heat blurred the edges of her sight. "You said you'd end our plague! That you'd free my people!"

We are! We are freeing them for the horror of their existance. They shall suffer no longer once we embrace them.

Her heart twisted as the squeeling of a child tore through the night. Stumbling toward the sound, she reached out instinctively, only to see flames explode from her palm, setting the porch alight.

“No!” she shrieked, yanking her hand back, but the damage was done. Fire roared up the wooden beams, spreading faster than her mind could comprehend.

Her eyes locked onto the window—two children huddled together inside. The flames were inching toward them.

Panic welled in her throat. She had to stop it. But how? Her every breath fanned the fire. Her every step left ash in its wake. She wasn’t saving anyone; she was destroying everything she touched.

"No, please," she whispered, her voice cracking. She didn’t know what to do. She could barely think past the pain and the burning rage inside her.

The fire spirit’s voice returned, echoing in her skull. You cannot control it. Set them free. Let us burn.

“No…” Emberlyn’s voice faltered. She reached toward the flames, tears streaming down her face, her body shaking with the effort to pull them back, to suppress their hunger. And to her shock, they responded. The fire flickered, hesitating, as if waiting for her command. With a shaky breath, she whispered, "Stop. You… you will not take them."

Her hands moved in unfamiliar motions, desperate, clumsy, but the flames obeyed—if only for a moment. A flicker of her will was enough to send a pulse of magic out from her body, encircling the children in a dome of light that curved inward, shielding them from the inferno surrounding the house.

They huddled closer, their tear-streaked faces peering up at her through the barrier of flames. Emberlyn felt her control slipping, her body trembling under the strain of holding the fire back. Every part of her burned, her skin flaking and cracking, but she refused to let go.

For a moment, there was silence—just the roar of fire and the crackling of wood. And then, the shield exploded outward, sending the house and flames with it. The force hit her like a wave. Her legs buckled, and her body crumpled as the fire exploded outward from her chest, consuming everything in its path. She could no longer feel the pain—her nerves were too charred, too broken to register anything but a dull, hollow ache. Her skin peeled and flaked away like brittle parchment, and still the flames burned on, relentless, eager for more.

She collapsed into the ash, her charred hands sinking into the scorched earth, fingers now nothing more than blackened bones. The heat was unbearable, but she could no longer fight it. The flame's cruel laughter echoed in her mind, growing louder as her vision dimmed, the world becoming a blur of red and orange.

"I... I didn't want this..." Her voice was barely a whisper, a cracked and broken thing, lost beneath the roar of the flames. She watched helplessly as the fire spread, devouring the village, leaving only death in its wake.

Through the haze, she saw the children, running, escaping. Their small forms vanished into the smoke, and Emberlyn let out a shaking breath. They were safe. She had saved them.

But no one else.

The fire raged on, and as the heat consumed her body, Emberlyn's thoughts grew distant. Her vision narrowed, darkening around the edges. And then, with a final exhale, her world went black.

But death was not the end.

Emberlyn awoke in a cold, suffocating darkness. The heat was gone, replaced by an unnatural chill that bit into her skin. She gasped, her lungs filling with frigid air as she sat up, her hands trembling.

Ash still clung to her body, and for a moment, she thought she was still burning—but the fire was gone.

Opening her eyes, she saw nothing but thick mist swirling around her, curling like cold, spectral fingers across a barren, desolate landscape. The scent of decay hung heavy in the air, and the sky above was a deep, oppressive gray, devoid of light or warmth.

She looked down at herself, her once-molten chest now sealed, though the cracks remained. Her skin, though charred and blackened, was whole. The pain had receded, leaving only a numbness in its place. She should have been dead. She was dead.

And yet here she was.

Emberlyn pushed herself to her feet, her body trembling as she scanned the mist-shrouded land around her. This place... it was wrong. The air was thick with despair, with an unspoken dread that clung to every shadow.

Where am I? she thought, her voice weak and distant.

From somewhere deep in the mist, a raven cawed, the sound echoing eerily across the empty land. Her eyes followed it, and as the mist began to part, she saw the outlines of a dark, twisted forest, looming ahead like an endless wall of blackened trees.

And beyond it, a shadow loomed—ancient and foreboding.

Ravenloft.

A shiver ran through her as she realized where she had been drawn. She had heard tales of this place, whispered in fear and hushed voices. A land of darkness, of despair, of eternal suffering.

Emberlyn’s chest tightened, a cold fear creeping into her bones. But beneath it, something darker stirred—an ember, small and smoldering, yet alive. The fire inside her, though diminished, still burned. For a moment, she closed her eyes, feeling the weight of her failure. She had destroyed everything. Everyone. Her hands would never be clean again.

But in this forsaken land, perhaps she could find something else. Power. Redemption. Or perhaps... an end.

The raven's call echoed once more, and Emberlyn took a slow, deliberate step forward, her charred hand resting against her molten chest. Whatever awaited her in this dark place, she knew one thing:

The fire would never stop burning.

 

[Hiruma Kohaku]

Are you using any of the 2024 Players Handbook or is it strictly 2014 version?

Edit: Will there be any additional gold or magic items since these are 4th level characters?