[D&D-5e] Legend of Legaia

[Togot]

They are allowed but rare so you have to explain how you got them.

[Tiger Basilisk]

Name: Aphelion
Race: Eladrin
Class: Life Cleric
Background: Hermit

Personality Traits: Aphelion tends to compare the situation at hand to events that occurred long ago.
He can often be seen tinkering with the charms and seals on his staff.
Ideal: Preservation. Humanity and its culture must live on, and the losses of the past must not repeat.
Bond: Memories. The way of the past, their traditions and interests, must never be forgotten.
Aphelion holds these memories dear and will gladly share them if asked.
Flaw: Self-centered. Aphelion associates only with those races that the Eladrin regarded positively.
He cannot hold much sympathy to monstrous races or those who were not a part of nature.

Backstory:

 

In ages past, the eladrin had a vast kingdom, of prosperity and providence. Its subjects lived peaceful lives, where they were free to pursue their inner desires. The eladrin has children with one another, and raised individuals that constantly rediscovered themselves. However, these are things of the immeasurably distant past, and modern history books hold no love for the former glory of the eladrin.

Centuries ago, Aphelion was an inexperienced, passionate youth who lived in a close-knit, grounded society. He was one of the last of the eladrin ever be born. He stayed in a central area of their aged land, where every single eladrin left knew the other personally. Theirs was no more than a pastoral village, and yet it was the entirety of their kingdom. They still had their histories and traditions well preserved. Many in the community were making significant attempts to reclaim the land and bring back even the slightest fraction of their lost prestige. Aphelion was learning of the eladrin religion, and of the many blessings that the gods once bestowed upon them. He could produce small effects that paled in comparison to what was once possible, but those small miracles told him that the gods were still out there somewhere, and this strengthened his faith.

And then the great cataclysm destroyed the world.

Aphelion was displaced. He was lost among the scattered, ruined lands, and he never saw any of his eladrin compatriots again. To his knowledge, he was now the last trace of that once great empire.

Goal: Aphelion travels the world, uncertain of how to accomplish his dream of recovering the eladrin one day. He holds great sympathy for the people around him who have similarly lost their homes and histories, and hopes that he may allay their fears or protect their precious little peace with his magic of life. To this end, in the present day he is an adventurer that provides his support to those who ask for it.

RP Sample: Write your character’s response to this scene

 

You quickly turn down the alleyway in an attempt to escape the indescribable monstrosity that pursues you. You stumble over garbage making your way forward as you try to decide on your next course of action. Then you hear the sound of a girl crying. You look in the direction of the sound to see a child down on her knees before several bodies. There are four of them, all torn open with their innards spilled out. Fresh blood soaks the ground the girl sits in, staining her white dress. She takes no notice of you. Before you can speak, you hear the crashing sound of the creature that chases you. Whatever you do, you must do it quickly for there isn’t much time.

 

Aphelion made his way through the constricted pathways as precisely as he could. He was feeling rigid all over from the stress of running, and he had to actively push his body to keep moving. When he thought he finally had a clear lead, his attention was taken by the wails of a young girl, helpless and surrounded by death. If the monster were to turn its sights towards her, she would certainly meet her demise. A precious life was at risk, and Aphelion could not bring himself to run away for the life of him.
Sounds exploded forth, announcing that the monster was closing in. The chase had to be resumed. Even so, Aphelion began chanting.

"My gods, please grant my desperate wish. I have realized that one miracle was prepared today not for me, but for another being of this world. Deliver unto this child the blessing of sanctuary."
He carefully uttered the ancient names of his gods, and also included Akeron, the new dragon god of abjuration.

He turned around, and locked eyes with the monster that was pursuing him. He knew this to be a terrible idea, but it weighed fairly to him given the circumstances. And then Aphelion ran as fast and as far as his legs could take him. That was the extent of his concern for himself. His thoughts were still with the little girl in that alleyway. He truly hoped he had done enough.

[FraterChad]

Posting this to show my interest! Will edit in the application after working through the analysis paralysis of having to choose just one character. Current status: 100% complete!

Application Name: Ingulf Race: Half-Orc Class: Fighter (working toward being a Battle Master) Background: Guild Artisan (Brewer): note: given that this is a post-apocalyptic setting, I envision Ingulf as more of a traveling artisan rather than working in an established guild, assuming there are even any left after the cataclysm. I'm open to adjusting to the setting as needed! Personality Traits (2): Ingulf likes to talk at length about brewing, distilling, and any other way to add carbonation, medicinal benefits, or (most importantly) alcohol to a beverage. He's also a bit of a snob who looks down on those who can't appreciate fine art--"art," in this case, being anything that'll get a healthy buzz going. Ideal: Generosity. Ingulf feels that his talents were given to him so that he could use them to bring even a sliver of happiness back into the world. Bond: Ingulf has vowed to get revenge on the evil forces that destroyed his old brewery and ruined his livelihood, even if that means confronting the source of the cataclysm itself! Flaw: Ingulf is horribly jealous of anyone who can outshine his brewing prowess. Everywhere he goes, he feels surrounded by rivals (and is mortified by the thought). Backstory: (Edited!) The cataclysm robbed the world of its status quo. When the earth yawned open like a waking cyclopean fiend, it swallowed city-states whole. Down went the monarchs, screaming and pleading and desperately proclaiming their divine right to exist all the way into those blackened depths. Down went the holy folk, their prayers harmonizing with the curses of their criminal kin. Down went the crafters, the workers, and the invalids, their masterpieces crashing down against the tooth-like crags along with them. And with them went their tribes and traditions. Centuries later, dead philosophies can be heard clawing up from their graves eagerly waiting for their cycles to start once again. With safe havens being few and far between, the esprit de corps whispered to the survivors to stick to their own kind: those who look different will think differently, and those that think different will act differently; they are a threat. Ingulf's parents were possessed by the same spirit, at least at first. Contrary to popular belief, marriages between humans and orcs can be sparked by nothing more than pure, romantic love. Such was the case for Ingulf's parents: a young woman with dirty-blond hair from a fishing village met an orc warrior from the nearby tribe, passions were stoked like flames with boundless kindling, but their respective clans forbid the exchange--tales have a way of being recycled through the ages. Yet, the unlikely pair carved a niche for themselves despite their circumstances, and along came baby Ingulf. Unfortunately for the child, he took after both his parents in equal measure: he was adorned with his mother's dirty-blond hair and sported shorter, stubbier tusks and the A shade of greenish-greyxanadu skin almost exclusively reserved for mixed kin like himself. Ingulf was a fusion of two worlds but not welcome in either. In his adolescent years, he sought solace with his fellow green-kin. He found his father's nomadic tribe and ingrained himself within them, learning their ways and, in turn, learning the ways of war. He joined them on their hunts, their raids on nearby villages, and shared in their plundering and pillaging and all the hollow glory that came with it. Yet, despite his prowess, he was still a "pale one," an unwanted mutt. One by one, his full-blooded brethren challenged him to combat to prove himself worthy of their lineage and, one by one, he prevailed. But, it only takes one loss to "prove" someone unworthy when your mind has already been made up. He was bested by the war-chief, then exiled for his weakness. Soon after, he returned to his mother's fishing village and attempted to ingrain himself in the community, offering to work as an apprentice of helping where he could. Most ignored him, thinking him more likely to strike them down at the slightest provocation (given his orcish ancestry), but the innkeeper took pity on him and allowed him to work odd jobs around the property. Skulking through the property at the off-hours, he would clean and tidy the inn and tavern, making a bit of coin but earning more in the way of experience. He appreciated the opportunity, even if he had to keep his presence hidden, and his patron began to show him the proverbial ropes of cooking and brewing for guests. While he had an impressive talent for utterly annihilating anything he attempted to cook, Ingulf was immediately taken with the brewing process. His new talent would lead to his exile. Ingulf spent practically every waking hour he could muster working on his next brew. By then, the tavern-keep had allowed him to experiment with his own liquid creations, as his past few brews had been well received by the unknowing guests. Ingulf gathered pure water, an assortment of grains, and hunted down a secret recipe of flavoring agents that he would add throughout the process. A week later, the tavern was full to the brim of guests demanding more of the stuff. More and more, they demanded, until Ingulf had to start brewing around the clock. Yet, so deep was the town's prejudice that, when a solitary hostess found him hard at work, she let her fear of his ancestry overshadow the work he had done for the town. Tavern-goers roared with outrage forcing Ingulf's patron to cast him out for fear that, if he didn't, the mob would have pulled the boy apart. Ingulf was thrown into the streets, but the mob's chants soon turned to fearful wails as the horde fell upon their gates. His father's tribe had finally come for his mother's village, but Ingulf pulled himself up and worked with the humans to defend their town. After a bloody battle, they pushed back the orcs, and Ingulf took the final blow against his former war-chief. Covered in blood and brains, Ingulf had proven himself for the town. Years later, he was given ownership of the tavern by the dying keeper, and the town blossomed into a bustling city within five years, all drawn by the immaculate taste of his beers, wines, and tinctures. Yet, each new traveler brought something with them. Imperceptible at first, the increasing traffic to the town also came with increased attention from things spawned by the cataclysm. It began with tales of monsters preying on travelers beyond the town's feeble walls. Week by week, gossip raged through the village, but the leadership was more fixated on clawing back more coin from the foreigners than it was on protecting the town. One fateful evening, Ingulf woke to find his tavern crashing in around him. Screams, cries, and wails tore through the village beyond his crumbling walls as a veritable wave of catacylsm-beasts painted the town red. Ingulf quickly grabbed his gear to confront the tavern-beast, a thing of seemingly endless tooth, beak, and claw. He batted it back as best as he could, but the whirlwind of terror only caused the tavern's walls to buckle in on themselves. Like those who came before him, Ingulf found himself plummeting into the dark below. He woke sometime the next day in his cellar with nothing more than giant rats for company. Above, his life's work lay in ruins, as with the town beyond. While the night spared Ingulf, he was left in a broken, haunted world with nothing more than the clothes on his back, his gear, and a traveling brewing kit. Goal: Following destruction of his tavern and his home town, Ingulf has salvaged what tools and supplies he could, strapped them to his armor, and now travels the ruined world to bring the joy of the bottle to the communities that remain. Beyond using his trade (adventuring and brewing in equal measure) to aid the struggling survivors, he hopes to save enough hard-earned gold to help rebuild the lost settlements and start another, permanent tavern once more.   You quickly turn down the alleyway in an attempt to escape the indescribable monstrosity that pursues you. You stumble over garbage making your way forward as you try to decide on your next course of action. Then you hear the sound of a girl crying. You look in the direction of the sound to see a child down on her knees before several bodies. There are four of them, all torn open with their innards spilled out. Fresh blood soaks the ground the girl sits in, staining her white dress. She takes no notice of you. Before you can speak, you hear the crashing sound of the creature that chases you. Whatever you do, you must do it quickly for there isn’t much time. RP Sample: The cracked cobblestone alley was slick with the thing's stinking breath, if one could even call it that. Decades old grime seemed to writhe and undulate blissfully in the acrid humidity, only to be ripped from their stone home by Ingulf's clamoring boots. With mace in hand, the half-orc flew across the decaying back alley as fast as his wary legs could take him. Each step he took was met with the ringing-jingle of his chainmail armor--or, it would if anything else could be heard beneath the monstrous bleating. The warrior darted around the alley's twisting junction and crashed head-first into piles of garbage stacked haphazardly nearby; he grunted as he found himself rolling over a bed of maggot-ridden detritus. Behind him, the thing grew closer, its yowling growing in intensity as it echoed off the sweating stone walls. Grabbing his weapon, Ingulf flung himself back to his feet and rushed forward, not bothering to swipe away the vermin lingering in his layered clothes. Another junction. He cursed but refused to slow his pace. A second later, he could hear garbage being dissolved. Ingulf dashed through the winding, maze-like corridors until something made him skid to a stop. There was a young girl there, in an adjacent niche. She was little more than a child, yet she was circled by shredded, disemboweled bodies. She merely knelt there, crying as their spilled blood soaked into her formerly immaculate dress. Behind him, the damned thing grew closer. Ingulf twitched. There was no time to process the scene, to stop and weigh the morality of the situation; the chaos was crawling closer and, soon, it would be on them like a wave of chittering teeth. Ingulf twitched, took a quick swig of barley-wine from his flask, and then dashed toward the child. In a sprint, the fighter grabbed hold of the child with his free hand, threw her over his shoulder like a sack of grain, and ran back to the path leading out of the cursed alley. Or, so he hoped. He couldn't see the child's face as he barreled forward, but beneath his black, tawny mask, he spoke: "you're safe now, little one." Final Notes: While the character's motivations may seem a bit too light-hearted for the grim, post-apocalyptic setting, I don't intend to play Ingulf as a silly or joke character. Ingulf has lost everything, but so has everyone else; with the cataclysm wiping the slate clean for everyone, he is choosing to do what he can to bring back a flicker of joy to those that will have it with him.

[voodoozombie]

I noticed that the dragon gods seem specific for certain classes. How does this fit in with the grim hollow classes and material in general?

[Togot]

while the dragon gods favor certain classes, very few people are even aware they exist. mostly clerics, so you don't have to worship them if you don't want to. though that doesn't mean any character can't know about them or worship them. the monster hunter class from grim hollow is favored by Erosil. while i will be using some material from grim hollow, this is a homebrew world.

[voodoozombie]

Ah...o.k. I was looking at the Warlock: First Vampire and was wondering about possible patrons.

[Togot]

you can choose one of the dragons, or invent your own. the dragons may be the only gods, but there are plenty of other powerful beings. i want to give players as much creative freedom as i can. There is definitely a powerful vampire in the world who you could use.

[Curzod]

Arkano Name: Arkano Race: Half Elf Class: Bard Background: Guild Artisan: Scribe Personality traits: 1) I always want to know how things work and what makes people tick. 2) I do not hold a grudge. Even if you have wronged me, the only thing I care about is your tale. Ideal: The stories, legends, and songs of the past must never be forgotten, for they teach us who we are. Bond: I idolize a scholar of the old times and measure my deeds against that person. Flaw: My writing never lives up to my expectations and I fear that it will wind up a fruitless and forgot effort in the end. Backstory: Murkeliv was a monastery that had stood deep in the northern mountains for hundreds of years before the great fall. It was built strong and sturdy like the mountains surrounding. But even that did not preserve it from disaster. Much of the main cathedral was buried under its own rubble, but Murkeliv proved to be a secret shining star in the world after. Books. The monastery was home to a vast library before the fall, and while much was lost, still more survived there than possibly any other single location in the world. Few outside of Murkeliv knew of the vast store of books that survived there. Intentionally so. The brothers that lived and worked there feared for themselves and the knowledge contained within, that they now strove to preserve for all of humanity. Arkano was a young boy brought there to apprentice as a brother scribe. He spent years copying books of value so that no disaster could take the original and leave humanity with more lose. As time passed the store of books at Murkeliv left uncopied dwindled and the elders determined that Murkeliv should be the central archive of the new world. That brothers should wander the world and collect books and stories to bring back. Expanding the collections at Murkeliv and preserve our past. Goal: I was recently interviewing an older gentleman and he asked me, “Why are you doing this? What value will the story of my life, working on the farm that has been worked by father then son since the worlds’ end, have to you or anyone else?” It is a good question and it frustrates me that a farmer with no background in story telling or writing would think to ask, when I had not asked it of myself already. The first few years of my time at the monastery were spent learning to read and write. I will skip past all that for now as it’s not relevant to this specific story. But once I became proficient, I was tasked with copying books from the old library into new copies. They started out as appropriate as the elders could find for my skill level. Mostly books of fancy. Heroes in shining armor fighting dragons or overthrowing power hunger usurpers. As I progressed in years and skill the books changed and became more academic. Tax law, contracts, political arguments, royal family trees. It did not make a difference to me the subject matter, it all fascinated me. Being able to look back in time and tease out the thoughts, feelings, understanding of the people of that time. To get a glimpse into their lives. It is exhilarating. And when the Elders determined that brothers should go out into the world and collect new works, either through finding new books or interviewing, I volunteered, happily. It has been two years now. I tend to travel from town to town with a merchant caravan if I can find one, then interview as many people in town as I can, look for any books that might still be in existence. I hope in a few years I will have enough collected that I can return to Murkeliv and bring something of value back. That farmer, the story of his farm, his family, and his village will reflect something of the common man’s life after the fall. It does have value and that is exactly why I do this. RP sample: It was a cooler day; I clearly recall being quite chilled earlier and had pulled out my jacket from my packs to warm up. But by the time I got away from that beast I had soaked through with sweat every piece of clothing I had on. I wish I could say it was all from my physical exertion and manly prowess, but it was as much a cold sweat of fear as the effort of prolonged running for my life. I had turned down an alleyway at random, and then another, blindly turning one way after the other just trying to gain some distance. Though my life was in immediate and grave peril, my mind could only think of one thing, my work. All my books and all my half-finished manuscripts were back on the mule. I had to get back there. I had to get all of the things I had accumulated over the last two years back to Murkeliv. Then I heard the sound of a girl crying. I looked in the direction of the sound to see a child down on her knees before several bodies. There were four of them, all torn open with their innards spilled out. Fresh blood soaked the ground the girl sat in, staining her white dress. My mind leapt to several possible scenarios before I could even process all the details of the scene. Were these victims of the beast? Were they, her victims? Was this all a trap to bring someone like me in to aid the helpless young girl? I heard the beast closing in and my body reacted, I took off running away from the girl and the beast. Not too far though. When I felt the beast was nearing the passage that would take it to the girl, I let out a shout. Nearby was a small pile of timber and refuse, I tossed it back down the alley the way I had come, making as much noise as I could. I could not stand before her and defend us against that thing. I could only hope that it would follow me and not go after her. Whatever had befallen her and those four others, it would have to wait or become the efforts of another.

[cool hand luke]

What was the world like pre cataclysm? How advanced? I’m thinking of a middle age elf that still remembers the good old days.

[DiceGoblin]

Not gonna lie, these first six apps look like they would be one heck of a party.

[Togot]

Originally Posted by cool hand luke

What was the world like pre cataclysm? How advanced? I’m thinking of a middle age elf that still remembers the good old days.

it was very similar to eberon. pretty advanced. warforged, advanced magic and fire arms.large cities. an elf would certainly remember the good old days and understand just how much the world lost

[DiceGoblin]

Apologies for the delay, it has been a long few days. Lenora is now complete and ready for review.

[Togot]

no need for apologies, there is plenty of time till the deadline. good application with lots to work with. i like the twist on her patron not being cliche evil. only criticism is some spelling and grammatical errors

[DiceGoblin]

Cool thanks, I will for sure reread everything and fix any mistakes I find. I wrote it in a bunch of a small chunks instead of all at once like I usually do.

[Tiger Basilisk]

Originally Posted by DiceGoblin

Not gonna lie, these first six apps look like they would be one heck of a party.

They really do! I think the characters mesh together very well. It will be quite rewarding to have them interact and contrast with each other.