[D&D-5e] Adventurers of Dreakgarth

[MoldyNolds]

Originally Posted by Zamdall

That's correct. Most backgrounds come with some spending money that should tide the party over until you find some treasure.

Copy, sounds good to me. To that end I know you had mentioned to Lazer that you were not fond of the Slave background on dndwiki, but I found a slightly different one on dndbeyond:

https://www.dndbeyond.com/characters/backgrounds/321-slave

I switched out the language with a second tool proficiency since that makes more sense for Inno's particular background but otherwise I like the Feature.

[bookworm]

Name: Silva

Race: Firbolg

Class: Ranger

Appearance:
Silva is tall even by the standards of her own people at nearly 8 feet tall. Her grey-green skin and grey hair act as a natural camouflage. Her clothes are well worn and tend to be covered in dirt and leaves, she carries a dark, wooden staff with her. Her movements are slow and considered as she is in an unfamiliar environment and is well aware that her size can be off putting to others.

Personality:
Silva is calm and quiet, preferring to observe events around her rather than join in. While this was a tendency well regarded by her tribe, it has often left her frustrated and exhausted by the world outside her home forest. She generally only shares her thoughts when she has made up her own mind.

Personality Traits - I have a lesson for every situation, drawn from observing nature. - I have a particular dislike for people that harm those smaller than themselves
Ideal - Beauty. What is beautiful points us beyond itself toward what is true. (Good)
Bond - An injury to the unspoiled wilderness of my home is an injury to me.
Flaw - I am slow to trust members of other races.

Backstory:
Silva's tribe have been caretakers of their forest to the north of Eridel for generations. They originally came from a forest referred to as the First Home, but after terrible floods the tribe split, with some remaining in the First Home to protect what remained and the others leaving in search of a new home. Once settled in this new forest few ever left and the location of the First Home and what became of the tribe that remained there was forgotten.

Silva's talents and character led her to be apprenticed as a Watcher to Cordatus. Each Watcher is assigned a territory which they live in the majority of time becoming so familiar with it that they notice any small changes in the normal cycle of the area that may indicate danger. Cordatus is Watcher for the north end of the forest where the ground begins to rise towards the hills. He taught Silva much of what she knows of the natural world and how to move through it without disturbing it. After Silva completed her apprenticeship she took up watch in her territory in the south-east where creek runs. Silva took on her own apprentice a few years ago, Filia and found herself seeking the counsel of Cordatus frequently as she navigated the challenges of mentoring a student. Teaching Filia seemed especially difficult to Silva as she wanted to try everything immediately rather than taking her time as Silva did.

Recently growing dangers in the area have left the tribe unable to protect as much of their home as they used to. Much of Silva's territory has been abandoned and she has come to believe that the only way to continue to protect Home is to seek aid from outside the forest. Leaving Filia to watch what remains of her territory she has left the forest for the first time and traveled to Eridel.

Goals/Ambitions:
Find the First Home
Determine if others in the area can be trusted as allies
Destroy or hinder any threats to Home she finds


If possible I'd like to use the UA ranger, but was unsure of that counted as outdated as the subclasses have been published for the PHB ranger.

[Zamdall]

@Bookworm

I'd prefer to use the PHB's ranger.

[bookworm]

No problem Zamdall

[delpinator]

smoke Name: smoke Race: fire genasi Class: paladin Background: sage Backstory:

[Etherbeast]

Application Name:Traijen Flamemantle Race: Hill Dwarf Class: Monk Appearance: Burly and tough, Traijen Flamemantle is just under half as wide across the shoulders as he is tall. His time in the monastery did little to remove down his dwarven paunch, but his typical dwarf physique belies the agility and grace gained from rigorous training regimes. His skin has never fully recovered a healthy glow and seems the color of an ancient bone baked in the sun. His pale coloration is made all the more apparent when contrasted next to his flaming red hair and beard. Soon after joining the monastery, Traijen took to greasing his hair into a straight mohawk, and interlacing his braided beard with thin leather cords. Cleanliness and structure were basic training techniques, so Traijen tries to maintain a meticulous appearance, albeit one that can be attained quickly. To that point, his beard has only two braids, the rest tied off and tucked neatly into his belt or trousers. Aside from modest outerwear, Traijen is also covered in tattoos of images that represent strength and power. The head of a wolf and a dragon stare at each other across his chest while a boar and and a bear each leap down his upper arm from his round shoulders. An oak tree to the right of his abdomen is balanced by a fiery phoenix rising up his back. Personality: As with many 'normal' people, Traijen finds that his alignment is more of a spectrum than a point. His time in the monastery has shown him the value of a lawful mindset, which he tries hard to follow. However, during periods of stress, frustration, or bloody melee he is prone to falling back into the chaotic nature of the gladiator arena. Despite his mental confusion, he maintains a solidly neutral set of moral principles. Traijen has seen the best and worst of what the world and people in it have to offer. He is relatively quiet around strangers and standoffish even among those he has know a while. Slow to trust, Traijen prefers to air on the side of caution and views everyone through a lens of gentle suspicion. That said, he is fair in his relationships and is willing to let anyone prove themselves. Many find him unnerving at first, the inner serenity taught in the monastery makes Traijen hard to unsettle. Yet, his struggle to find inner peace means he has never been able to form romantic bonds, and even those he considers his greatest friends would say he if emotionally distant. Background: The tale of Traijen Flamemantle begins, as far as he can recall, in a small, dank cell in the dungeons beneath the Crimson Crucible, a gladiator coliseum in a dark part of the world. It was here that he awoke in the baking heat of a midsummer day with no memory of who he was, where he had come from, or how he had arrived. The rules of his new home were soon made abundantly clear: perform and live, fail and die. At first, the other fighters avoided him. While most new “recruits” were always treated with some form of disdain or repugnance, for Traijen it seemed more like an aversion driven by fear. His questions about himself or the world in general went unanswered. Only the pit boss gave him any real information. First, his name: Traijen Flamemantle. And second, his path: when the crowd stopped cheering, the next fight was his last. How does one judge morality in a world of kill or be killed? Moreover, does morality even exist there? That Traijen performed unthinkable acts in that blood soaked arena cannot be questioned. That he gained neither pleasure nor resolution from those acts is more than most of the arena’s inhabitants could attest to. Eventually, some of the other gladiators became amenable to speaking with Traijen, albeit in brief conversations. Of his past the only words ever spoken about the who, why and how of his arrival in the arena was the phrase “the Black Orchid”. And so Traijen lingered in the dungeons of the Crimson Crucible for nearly four long years until, one night, the unthinkable happened.... A gladiator match had gone horribly wrong. Riots erupted in the streets about the arena, in the spectator galleries, and eventually spilled over into gladiator pits as well. Truth be told, the flames of the riots were fanned by members of the church of Heironeous who sought to bring an end to the perverse gladiator competitions and free the slaves who were forced to participate in them. As the fighting spread throughout the city, Traijen and many other gladiators found themselves free of their lightless cells and running through a maze of city streets in desperate hopes of escape. Most were killed or captured. Traijen found himself pursued and eventually surrounded atop a sheer cliff face that overlooked a raging river far below. Caught between certain death and a life of hellish bondage, he breathed deep of the free air and cast himself into the churning abyss. The tale may well have ended were it not for the wanderings of a young acolyte who was returning from a local village to his monastery after gathering supplies. Not entirely thrilled to return to a never-ending chore list within the monastery walls, he decided to delay his return and take a brief rest by the banks of the river. Here, he happened upon the nearly drowned body of a male dwarf washed onto the rocky banks. Curtailing his brief vacation, the acolyte quickly loaded the dwarf into his wagon (crushing a basket of eggs in the process) and continued home. It took several months for Traijen to physically recover from his ordeal, but the clerics who ran the Monastery of the Iron Fist realized that it would take far longer for Traijen to heal mentally. To aid in this, Traijen was given over to Master Hemdal, master of the monks of Kord to whom the monastery was dedicated. While Traijen’s time in the Crimson Crucible made him the physical equal of monks many years his senior, it took far longer to calm his mind and focus his inner spirit. Many young initiates were brought in and fully trained during the decade and a half it took for Traijen to learn to control of his own thoughts. Even then, Traijen was known for periodical lapses into bouts of rage, especially when frustration ran high. During this time too, Traijen’s dreams became fragmented, interrupted by flashes of light and glimpses of scenes that he felt were images from his past. So it was that one night, Master Hemdal visited Traijen with news. The time, he said, of Traijen’s training was nearing its end. Tomorrow, he would need to decide his path. For some, they chose to journey to greater and more isolated monasteries, that they might glean the greatest truths and secrets of the universe from deep focus and more intense training. Others, sought their truth out in the world, amongst the towns and villages, learning what it meant to bring the strength and honor of Kord’s faith to others. In the morning, Traijen would need to decide. But before departing, Master Hemdal gave Traijen one piece of information. After many years of searching, Hemdal had located someone who recognized the words “Black Orchid”. Traijen departed the monastery the following morning, keen on sharing the strength of Kord and hunting the “Black Orchid”. Now, he has come to Eridel to find work and also to lay low after the incident at the Laughing Stag. Perhaps here he can find a way to back to his memories, but also forward into a life of freedom and inner peace.... Background mechanic: Entertainer variant: SPARTICUS OF THE DANCE Traijen's time fighting in the gladiator pits of the Crimson Crucible represented a tragic and harrow time is his life. So much so, that he would never willingly entertain a crowd by blood sport again. However, despite this, Traijen has become innately familiar with the subtle art and skills of performance...traits that were pivotal to his survival in the pits. Ironically, his training in the ways of the monk has given Traijen an agility and fleetness of foot rarely seen in elves let alone a bulky dwarf. Therefore, I submit that Traijen has the Entertainer background, but instead of proficiency with a musical instrument, his proficiency is in dance. After, who wouldn't pay good money to see a dwarf breakdance? Goals: Moving forward, Traijen seeks the following: 1)to rediscover his forgotten past, 2) to find the Black Orchid, 3) to attain inner peace and complete his journey on the path of the Monks of the Iron Fist, and 4) to avoid capture and enslavement in the Crimson Crucible. The Events at the Laughing Stag. NB: Contains a Lengthy Story   The Laughing Stag was as crowded and rowdy as any tavern could get these days. Dwarves, elves, and humans shouted and laughed in a cacophony of sound that even drowned out the pattering of the rain against the filthy window panes. In a corner next to the bar, a minstrel plucked the strings of his lute and sang ‘The Ballad of May Ives’ with concern for neither melody nor timing. The smell of pipe smoke, stale ale, and unwashed bodies assaulted the nose as much as it stung the eyes, a bluish haze obscured the high rafters and made the poorly lit corners even more ominous. It was in one of these corners that a cloaked stranger had settled himself. Even beneath the coarse wool of his cloak the damp and chill of an autumn evening. Traijen Flamemantle shifted uncomfortably on the rough wooden chair and tried to lean on the small table without disturbing his cloak too much. Even in the dim light, the red of his beard was sure to draw unwanted attention if someone noticed it. A girlish barmaid through him a curious glance as she asked about his order. If it was that plainly obvious that Traijen wasn’t here to drink and relax, he would need to do something to calm her suspicions. His true quarry would be far more alert than some surly waitress. “Mead.” Traijen replied with a gruff bark. “And something simple from the kitchen.” The barmaid gave a stark laugh that was surprisingly silvery considering her raspy speaking voice. “No mead, luv. Just ale from up providence.” Traijen nodded, and she slipped away, weaving between drunk patrons and puddles of miscellaneous liquid like a festival dancer. There were only a few empty tables left. All in the middle of the tavern under dim torch light. To his left, a pair of elves sang joyously along with the floundering minstrel, clinking glasses of red wine together. Traijen gave a snort. Red wine? Here? Across the room the door flew open admitting a blast of cool air that caused the hearth fire nearby to dance and leap. A large dragonborn fellow followed, slamming the door shut before giving a wave and a hearty shout to his mates, a pair of halflings and burly human drinking in a corner at the front. They responded with equally boisterous shouts. The barmaid returned setting a flagon and a plate of bread and cheese in front of him. Traijen tossed her a few coppers and took a long draught of the dark liquid. The flavor hit his nostrils before his taste buds. The overpowering hoppy flavor mixed with rancid earth tones was enough to clear out his sinuses. He grabbed a hunk of bread to help clear his palate, but the texture of the crust was enough to stay his hand. A quick inspection revealed that the loaf was so stale as to dent a dragon’s hide if he threw it hard enough. Even the cheese had veins of blue mold permeating it like cracks in sun baked mud. He felt a wave of nausea pass over him. He had always hated the foul food served in the arena pits. Once he was free, he had sworn he’d never again eat food a pig would pass up. His nausea was quick to pass however, as the tavern door opened again, this time admitting a small, lean character dressed in drab colored clothes and a green hooded cloak. Traijen studied him carefully as the middle aged gnome searched in vain for a less conspicuous seat than the few tables left. With a final huff, he hurriedly chose a table no more than ten feet from where Traijen sat and plunked down with his back to the red haired dwarf. Traijen slid his own chair around, so that he no longer faced the room and was looking instead out of one of the tavern’s grimy, mullioned windows. The rain had stopped now, but the encrusted filth on the pane made it clear that water from the outside would never clean the glass. As Traijen settled, he pulled a small shard of glass from his pocket. The triangular fragment was sharp enough to pierce most flesh, but Traijen had a far more subtle purpose for the small piece of a silvered mirror. He leaned it against the flagon on the table, giving him a clear, but limited, view of the gnome’s nearby table. There could be no doubt that this was the one he had come to find. Male gnome in his late 70s wearing earth colored garb, that could be anyone. But the yellow hat with a red feather that the gnome now swept off his head and sat on the table in front of him, that was pay dirt. Traijen smiled as he watched the gnome fidget, unaware that he had absently taken a bite out of a hunk of bread until his first jaw rendering crunch. Traijen quickly spit out the foul tasting stuff and took a reluctant swig of ale. By the time he set his flagon back down and second figure was seated across from the noticeably nervous gnome in Traijen mirror. Traijen could discern little of the man at the table. The man kept his cloak folded about him and the cowl up. He placed a pair of hairy knuckled hands on the table. Palms down, silent code for bad news. Traijen noticed his right hand was missing his ring finger and the dim torch light danced playfully off of a green gem set into the pommel of a blade tucked into his doublet. The gnome seemed more nervous, leaned closer and spoke, his words lost in the cornucopia of sounds echoing throughout the tavern. The cloaked man simply turned his left hand palm up, no news either way. The gnome nodded his head resolutely as he leaned back from the table. A trembling hand produced a small coin which he placed on the table and slid across. The man put a hairy knuckled hand into his cloak and withdrew a small piece of parchment sealed with crimson wax. Even with the tiny image in the mirror shard, Traijen could see the imprint of a black flower in the middle of that seal. The gnome’s quick snatch of the letter was suddenly blocked by the crosshatched pattern of a swaying skirt. The barmaid had returned to Traijen’s table with questions about more drink. Traijen roughly shook his head no and handed her two silver pieces. What should have been a delighted smile was instead a deeply furrowed brow. “I just bring the food and drink here,” she said with a scowl. “I don’t provide any other services, luv.” “Not fer that,” said Traijen as he stood up and shook out his cloak. “Then what?” Inquired the barmaid. “Fer the damages, lass.” With that he grabbed the back of his chair with one hand and leapt towards the gnome’s table. It was a tribute to his skills in subtlety that both men were taken completely by surprise. Traijen swung the chair over his head in a deadly arch, releasing it at the last moment to let the rough hewn piece of furniture slam into the cloaked man on the far side. The man was caught so completely flat-footed, he didn’t even manage to get his hands up in time to shield his face. The chair may have been roughly wrought and solid, but Traijen threw it with enough force that it broken into several clattering pieces even as the cloaked man was knocked over in his own chair and slid into the table behind, sending it to the ground in a crash, poorly brewed ale splashing everywhere. The entire tavern seemed to hang frozen for a heartbeat. The minstrel ceased strumming, his voice stopped as did his elven chorus, all open mouthed and starring. Even the mice quit their faint gnawing upon the floorboards and day-old crumbs to take in what had just happened. Then, as quickly as it had come, the noise resumed. Not with the cheerful hubbub and joyous shouting of a festive pub, but with angry barks, snide jeers, and a flurry of fists. In an instant the entire crowd erupted into a chaotic brawl. It was as though the first drops had fallen from the heavens and now the torrential storm would vent its fury. Traijen didn’t waste time assessing the situation. He moved fast, grabbing the gnome by the face with one hand and dashed towards the far wall. He skidded around a table flipping into the air, flagons of stale ale and plates of rotting food scattered across the floor. He slid underneath outstretched arms as a burly human grappled with the dragonborn fellow from earlier, and rolled under a halfling who soared overhead like a hurled stone. In his haste Traijen failed to even note whether the halfling had been sent airborne as the result of a lost fight, or if he was leaping triumphantly into a new one. Traijen hopped onto a chair leaning against the wall and then leapt out the window above it, turn back towards the shattering glass to protect both him and his struggling cargo. Traijen was honestly surprised when he felt his body thud onto the wet grass outside. He hadn’t been sure that the filth encrusted windows of the Laughing Stag were even made of glass anymore. His cloak was instantly drenched from the soaked lawn outside the tavern. Several sharp pricks told him that his cloak had not protected him fully and some of the damp was bound to be his own blood. He hastily jumped to his feet, hoisted the still struggling gnome under one arm and sprinted towards the tree line of the nearby forest. He didn’t go far into the trees, his task was almost complete and he would need to be far from here before the local sheriff arrived. Traijen tossed the gnome unceremoniously into the sprawling roots of a nearby tree. The trembling man scurried back, pressing against the wet trunk, breathing in ragged gasps. Traijen followed quickly, pinned the gnome there. One hand held the man down by the chest while the other reached into the gnome’s cloak and withdrew the letter with the red seal. Traijen quickly broke the wax and let the letter fall open. Upon the parchment were long lists of scribbled instructions, but the night was too deep and the forest too dark for Traijen to read any of it. Instead, he leaned in, so close to the gnome that their noses nearly touched. The gnome smelled of pipesmoke, exotic incense, and fear. “Tell me what ye know of the Black Orchid.” Traijen tried to put as much menace into his voice as possible. The gnome merely shook is head vigorously and stammered out, “I don’t know anything about a Black Orchid, sir. Please, I am but a simple merchan...” His words were cut short as Traijen slammed his heel down, crunching the gnome’s splayed fingers into a root of the tree. Simultaneously, his hand slipped from the man’s chest to his neck, pinching so hard that gnome could only muster a soft whistle from his open mouth. Time was short and Traijen needed information now. “The Black Orchid?” He repeated. The gnome shook his head again, but this time the motion was more defiant. His face scrunched up and tear streamed down his cheeks. “Please. I cannot. They’ll kill me if I tell you anything.” Traijen leaned onto his right leg, applying a little more weight onto the heel of his foot that still pinned the gnome’s broken fingers to the tree root. “That doesn’t really matter now, does it?” He replied. “They’ll kill ya anyway, whether you talk or no. Tying up loose ends and all tha.” The tears stopped flowing and Traijen caught the gnome’s eyes. True fear looked back at him. “What does matter now is how long your death takes....you see, ‘they’ will kill ya quick like, no fuss no muss you know. A quick blade across yer throat to stop the air coming out yer mouth. But me, I need what’s in here,” Traijen paused for emphasis as he tapped the gnome’s forehead with a stubby finger. “And I don’t care how long it takes for me ta get it. So its up to you, ya see.” Traijen leaned back, letting the words sink in. He lifted his foot from the gnome’s hand, but the man was clearly so stunned by the truth of Traijen’s words that he didn’t even move it. Traijen had hoped his ultimatum would loosen the gnome’s tongue. He really had no conviction for torture or murder, so he was relieved when the gnome bought his bluff. “I don’t know who, or what, the Black Orchid is. I only receive orders from Antosh....the cloaked man back in the tavern, the Black Orchid are his masters.” The gnomes pulled his knees to his chest and rocked slowly. “I work through him.” “What do you do fer him?” “Find things...people...supply him with things he wants...young girls mainly.” He stammered. Traijen ground his teeth and snorted angrily through his nose. “What happens to the girls?” Again, the gnome shook his head vigorously. “I, I don’t know. I don’t want to think about it.” “How did you meet him, how do ya know he works for the Black Orchid?” “Word gets around, in my line of work, that I can get you anything, for a price. Antosh approached me and said he required my services. Also told me the Black Orchid would reimburse me for anything I got him. That’s the only time I heard him mention the name. But the seal on all the orders I get from him is the Black Orchid’s sign.” Traijen inspected the letter and the broken seal. “Who are you supposed ta give this letter to?” The gnome rocked back and forth faster. “I don’t know. Antosh said he’d contact me in a few days with more instructions. It’s the first time he’s ever done that, usually he tells me when I get the orders. Please, let me go. That’s all I know I swear. I’m just a...” “A human trafficker and a filth peddlar,” Traijen interrupted with a bark. The noise from the tavern had died down entirely now, the riot at its end. The front door banged open and bodies began flying out. Some stumbling and others thrown into the sucking mud outside. Traijen watched for a moment. He believed the gnome, the man knew more than anyone else Traijen had ever talked to and now he had the name of someone under the direct employ of the Black Orchid. The gnome too had turned to watch the crowd exiting the tavern. In his momentary lapse of attention, he didn’t even notice Traijen silently slip away into the trees. “Where the bloody hell is he?” Cudloch, the local sheriff, muttered to himself. Bad enough he had a murder on his hands, the persistent rain had soaked through his cloak and was making his moustache begin to droop. From under the eave of the trees, he could see the nearby Laughing Stag tavern. Had the killer studied it from this very locale? The body of a dead gnome laying at his feet seemed to attest to this. If not for the jewels and coins still on the body, Cudloch would have deemed it a robbery. But the killer wasn’t in need of money, he pondered silently. He inspected the murder weapon, a dagger still coated in the victim’s blood. The green gemstone on the pommel glowed faintly with an eerie inner light. No, definitely not money. From the tavern his deputy came trotting up, leather armor squeaking and creaking with every move. “Barmaid at the Stag says she saw the gnome there after dark last night sir,” he gave a clumsy salute and scratch feverishly at the red boils on his neck. “Disappeared during that big brawl though. Said she served another man who might be our killer. Not much of a description though. Dwarf male, from the height and voice, but he kept his cloak on and cowl up the whole night, so not much more there.” “Great,” the sheriff spit at his feet with disgust, careful not desecrate the body. “So we’re looking for a dwarf....a dwarf man. Shouldn’t take more than a few hundred years to round up that lot.” The deputy’s face twitched back and forth between a sardonic smile and a scowl as though unsure if the comment was sarcastic. “I got a better idea though...” Cudloch cut off his speech as the deputy’s face drained of color. He was looking over the sheriff’s shoulder and as Cudloch turned he saw a cloaked man approaching. He had the air of a trained killer, this one, moving with a fluid grace common in the battle hardened. He definitely projected an aura of menace about him, and on any other day, Cudloch would have already drawn his shortsword. On this day however, this man had been expected. “‘Bout time,” he shouted at the approaching stranger. “You must Kervich. One of the town merchants said you’re the best bounty hunter south of the mountains.” The man simply nodded and swept past Cudloch. He crouched down next to the body, seemingly unfazed at seeing a dead gnome. “What am I after?” His voice was soft yet his tone was razor sharp, as though trying to draw you near enough to cut your ears. “Not much to tell, I’m afraid. Male dwarf, no other description.” “A local thief? Anything missing?” Cudloch shook his head. “Not that we can tell. Still had all his valuables and coin purse on him.” “That the murder weapon?” Kervich pointed to the dagger in Cudloch’s hand. The sheriff nodded. “Fancy for a common thief. Intricate blade, ornate handle. An assassin’s tool, not a thief’s. May I take it with me? A weapon like that doesn’t pass unnoticed.” Cudloch hesitated, unsure about letting his only piece of evidence out of his sight, but the bounty hunter was right. With grave reluctance, he placed the weapon in Kervich’s four fingered, hairy knuckled hand.

[Zamdall]

I am setting the deadline for 24 hours from the time of this post at which point I will make my decision.

[kymrel]

Exciting! You have your work cut out for you, there are a lot of great applications.

[Berith]

Application - WIP Name: Piripi Race: Tortle, age 20 Class: Cleric (Arcana) Background: Sailor (Navigator) Appearance: Personality: Genial and good-humored by nature, years spent in the tight confines of a ship's wardroom have made Piripi extraordinarily affable and adept at the art of polite, meaningless conversation. On a voyage of months, alone at sea, one eats almost all of one's meals with the same few people and hears the same stories again and again. The good functioning of the ship depends on the ability of its crew to get along, and squeaky wheels get no grease; in fact, they sometimes fall overboard. Piri is thoughtful and considerate, slow to anger, but strong-willed and an implacable foe. History: Two blue eyes look out Onto the moonlit ocean. His heart beats there, too. Like most Tortles, Piripi spent his first year or so in the embrace of his family, and most of the rest of his life traveling and seeking new experiences. His mother had been the most unusual of Tortles - a wizard of some skill, and Piri's earliest memories are of his mother using her magic to teach and entertain her offspring with sounds, lights, and images. For as long as he could remember, Piri wanted to follow in her footsteps, but it was not to be. Neither was he well-suited to follow his father, a healer-monk of the Tranquility school. Magic was his love, a love grounded in a deep reverence for the Gods and their creations. Born on the coast and possessed of the wanderlust common to his kind, it is perhaps not surprising that Piri ended up aboard ship. In his fifth year, he plied the coastal trade, learning the basics of the sailor's craft. Strong and tireless, he quickly learned to hand, reef, and steer. Hearing the tales of faraway lands and great adventures spun by the older hands, some of which were even true, Piri found himself drawn to blue-water sailing. Now an ordinary seaman and no danger to himself or his ship, he signed on for an extended voyage and loved every minute of it. The hard work, the enforced camaraderie, the short commons, the storms - all inspired him. Goals/Ambitions:

[Krow Nest]

sorry but im dropping out...

[KarlCullinane]

Fingers crossed.

[BirdoBirdson]

This seems pretty cool, I hope I get approved to join.

Application Name: Darahm Hyphefantis Race: Half-Elf Class: Monk (Tranquility) Background: Entertainer (Just entertainer, nothing special.) Appearance: Darahm is a rather small figure, standing at just about 5 feet tall, with a slender, somewhat athletic form. Bronze skin, dark brown hair, and striking hazel eyes stand out against the red and gold that he tends to favor wearing in any clothes he chooses. In fact, it's rather hard to tell that he's got any elf in him, just at a glance--he looks more like a particularly youthful human, if a rather androgynous human at that. Personality: Darahm's a pretty gentle soul, not a lotta will for slaughter in him. Rather quiet, actually, at least when he's not recitin' some poem or dancin' around on the tables with his instrument. For that matter, he seems to value his lute and his voice more than a sword. Kind of makes me wonder why he's always lookin' to go round travelin' and adventurin', rather than just settlin' down and becoming the town healer or somethin'. Doesn't seem to complain about a whole lot, neither. Drunken brawls, ruffians, not even half-orcs or tieflings. Little worrisome, if you ask me. Like he's tryin' too hard to be happy, or som'thin. History: Darahm was born amongst a village of human nomads, near the southern reaches, where the land becomes less fertile and skills such as hunting and foraging become more necessary. He never fully knew his father, outside of tales woven by his mother, describing a dashing elvish rogue, with a tongue of silver and eyes of gold. Darahm spent much of his early life being groomed to become a devotee of the tribe's most popular deity, a goddess of beauty and art. As his first act of devotion to the goddess, he attempted to weave a cloak for himself. With the help of his mother, and some high-quality cloths and strings that had been collected from trade with the occasional traveller, he eventually completed it; a beautiful red cloak, embroidered with golden strings. But, eventually the undead became more and more common. A plague struck the tribe, its inhabitants dying and rising again to attempt to join the horde. Darahm was spared, of course, and fled north. He never knew if any of his friends and family had survived, nor what had really caused that plague in the first place. He had suspicions, sure, but he had never had the chance to prove himself right or wrong. Either way, it seemed as if the goddess had plans for him, and had decided to spare him from death, this time. Eventually, he found himself among yet another tribe-- this time, a tribe of Thri-kreen monks, in the forests of the far north. The mantisfolk, after deciding that he didn't quite have enough meat on him to be worth the trouble of hunting, took him in. He entertained them with music and dance, and they taught him how to hunt as one of them. Unfortunately, he had no claws to climb the trees with, nor did he have particularly powerful legs to leap with. But, as humans so commonly do, he improvised, using a spear tied to some rope to traverse the treetops, eventually managing to become dextrous and skilled enough in the process to keep up with his peers in their hunting. But, despite all this, he felt at odds with their violent ways. He had learned very many things, but... Something about their aggression and savagery began to feel off-putting to him. So, once more, he set out, heading south once more, into the kingdoms of man, between the wastelands where he had grown up, and the forests where he had trained. Now, he finds himself in Eridel, earning money to sustain himself by performing in taverns and inns, as he keeps his ear to the ground for rumors and potential money to be made. After all, it would certainly be nice if he could stop having to worry about falling into poverty... Goals/Ambitions: Get rich, or at least get a nice safety net of money. Clear the undead out of the southern wastes. Try to heal people and generally make their lives better along the way. He'll, uh, get the hang of that whole healing part eventually... Playstyle: Generally try to keep everyone from taking major damage via the Inspiring Leader feat. After level 3, heal people like I'm a squishy, speedy Cleric. Otherwise, zip-zoom around the battlefield with a rope-spear and do a lot of hit-and-run, consecutive normal punches. Very much a support character, with an eventual focus on stuns and such.

[Zamdall]

I believe I have made my selection. I wish there was space for everyone and I was thinking of running two groups fit most people in until I decided to open up my other game.

In no particular order: You will find the game forum right here. Stonk playing Skrynn the human druid. Kymrel playing Sir Devon Northwall the Scourge Aasimar fighter. Moldynolds playing Innominate the goliath wizard. Etherbeast playing Traijen Flamemantle the Hill Dwarf monk. Zwingli playing Griffin Rake the human rogue. Mrceej playing Dyas Kincaid the human bloodhunter.

For those of you who want to satisfy your itch for some D&D please check out my other game The Everlasting Unknown: A West Marches Campaign

[kymrel]

Great selection, I'm really looking forward to this!

[BirdoBirdson]

Aw, man. That's fine. Hope you guys have fun! I'll just go lurk around the forums for something else. Something good's bound to show up if I'm patient enough.