[D&D-5e] Legend of Legaia

[Curzod]

Now things are starting to pick up and the characters are really solid. You can roll a d12 and end up with a great character regardless of what number it lands on.

[theclaytster]

I had a DM which did that. Organized list by classes then rolled a die.

[DustyParadox]

Togot would you mind it terribly if I tried DMing a second game with the apps that don't make it through to your game? I've never DM'd before, and my interest check isn't picking up any bites over at misc. gaming so I'm just curious if that would be okay. If it isn't, no worries, it was just a thought.

I don't know if I would have to contact admins or do some other fancy footwork to get the second game running, but I'd be willing to try it so long as the other applicants don't mind a newbie DM.

[Tiger Basilisk]

Which idea are you thinking of running? Your interest check has three proposals.
But, what happens if your entry does not get selected for this game? Umak vanishes from existence?

[DustyParadox]

Ah, I wasn't clear. I wanted to DM a second iteration of this game in this setting, maybe taking place in a different hamlet/town. Umak would become an NPC I guess? I'm about attached to him as any other character concept.

[Togot]

Interesting. i was considering running two groups, but if the players are interested i wouldn't mind making a second group thread and let you dm it. but again it would depend on the players being willing

[DustyParadox]

Well, if you have the time and energy to do both, I guess it'd be better to have you DM both because if we lose players to attrition it'd be much easier for you to weave the games together and consolidate the groups.

[Togot]

that is what i had planned

[DiceGoblin]

If you do want to give DMing a shot, I'm always down. I've just started DMing myself and I know I appreciate having experienced and patient players while I get my bearings.

[Togot]

I wouldn't even mindi f you use my concept for your game advertisement. i might even apply myself since this is the kind of game i would love to play in

[Kweheri]

Name: Mycil Shadebloom
Race: Firbolg
Class: Druid (Circle of Spores)
Background: Hermit
Personality traits: 1. I've been isolated for so long that I rarely speak, preferring gestures and the occasional grunt.
2. I'm oblivious to etiquette and social expectations.
Ideal: Greater Good. My gifts are meant to be shared with all, not used for my own benefit.
Bond: My isolation gave me great insight into a great evil that only I can destroy.

Flaw: 1. Now that I've returned to the world, I enjoy its delights a little too much.

Backstory: To some the cataclysm was history, to others it was just folklore.
But there were some who remember it, not clearly, but still images, sounds, smells, and the taste in the air as the fires ripped through and the ground shook. Of everything it's the feelings that were the most vivid.

The forest was drenched in fear, all the animals, and even the plants panicked.
Somehow he survived, and he continued to live in the same forest. It was the same, although not the same. Forever scarred.
He now lived in a world, that many pre-cataclysm had longed for. If only they'd known the cost.
It'd been decades without contact with the civilised races, decades alone in the woodland until he'd almost forgotten a world existed outside of it.

Goal: The simple but often elusive goal of connection, years isolated in a forest that will forever be associated with the cataclysm and the loss he'd suffered. It was time for a new life.

RP sample:

 

The sun had just begun to crest the horizon, shards of golden orange light occasionally piercing deep into the forest.
One of which shone straight into Mycils eye, he squirmed a little and rubbed his eyes. He was already awake but this was still unpleasant and more than he was ready for.

"morning all"
He softly offered with a gentle smile to the trees and woodland brings around him.
Pulling himself up, he stretched, he scratched and took a stroll to a nearby stream.
Taking a drink and splashing his face, he opened his eyes properly for the first time this morning.
There was comfort in the familiarity that surrounded him, however it was tainted. Still scars of the cataclysm remained. It'd been countless seasons, easily hundreds. There was still rock that had been turned to liquid before reforming, patches of earth where still nothing grew. Places where the land itself was hewn in two.
Indeed it was familiar and mostly comfortable, but there was no peace here.

[FatherDondo]

Name: Drogo Diener
Race: Disembodied
Class: Parasitic Warlock
Background: Acolyte
Personality:
Trait: I see omens in every event and action. The gods try to speak to us, we just need to listen.
Trait: I’ve spent so long in the temple that I have little practical experience dealing with people in the outside world.
Ideal: Faith. I trust that my deity will guide my actions. I have faith that if I work hard, things will go well. (Lawful)
Bond: I seek to preserve a sacred text that my enemies consider heretical and seek to destroy.
Flaw: I put too much trust in those who wield power within my temple’s hierarchy.

Backstory: In his research into the outer planes, already an iffy topic as if he questioned the teachings of the church, Drogo discovered what he believed to be another god in the pantheon, one that wasn't prayed to or discussed in their doctrine. The consensus was that this was some false god, or something that was cast out. It was hard to say if he was stubborn or if he felt pity for it, but Drogo interpreted the situation as a god who was forgotten, who had gone without a congregation to sustain him. In communing with it, he came upon his name: Mantorok. He'd determined that Mantorok was considered dead as gods consider things, but it could be said that he was starving slowly. Drogo stopped worshiping the other gods to focus on sustaining Mantorok. He even embarked on a quest on his new god's behalf to find a tome of rituals sacred to the dead god. This was the final straw, and he was hunted down by an inquisitorial squad for his heresy. The moment of his execution was a little fuzzy, but it brought him to his Lord. As his sole acolyte, he couldn't afford to let him die. Too weak to resurrect him, he offered a different arrangement instead. He would go forth in a half-dead state with what power Mantorok could spare, and in return he would worship by feeding him devotion, lives, and magic.

Goal: Drogo is seeking to find a tome that is precious to his patron, Mantorok the Dead God. He believes that by serving him and by finding his tome, he will be brought fully back to life.

 

RP sample: Half-dead Drogo sprinted through the alleyway. This... entity born of the Traitor followed him whether he was in the Material or the Ethereal, and his Lord was hungry, making his grasp on this life more tenuous. In that hunger, he was harder to see because there was less and less of him to see. Just like the day he "died." There wasn't much opportunity to be subtle as he fled, crashing through cans and bags of filth and refuse. If his Lord had deigned to give him a true name to the deity that killed him he might have had a chance to learn something helpful, but he would not speak of it. The entity was a sentient mass of the Blind Eternity and it screamed with many mouths and none. And it was stronger than him. But then, a miracle.

A girl sat soaked to the skin with blood amidst a circle of corpses. Eviscerated corpses. Years ago, he would be repulsed and afraid, but this meant something else for him these days. There wasn't much left of the men that he could use, but the girl would provide well enough; he'd seen her like before. Drogo howled as he flew into her, lifting her up off of the ground as he hurtled across the cobblestones and leaving the dead and useless men behind. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she chanted an infernal spell. There had been an epidemic of possession these days, if you knew how to look. Drogo planted a hand over her face and drew the demon out once it showed itself. The cursed thing, a dybbuk, struggled in his grip, but it had left itself open in its arrogance. It was shoved into his own mouth, and the girl's body went cold as he tore into it. She had been dead for some time, reduced to being the dybbuk's meat puppet. Strength coursed through him as he consumed the possessing spirit and the magic it had tried to use. Determining to say a prayer that night, now that he knew he'd live long enough to see it, he set the girl down amidst a pile of trash and ran.

[Maya Conti]

Belka - Human Barbarian Belka (generated by Novel AI) Name: Belka Race: Human (Variant) Class: Barbarian (going for Ancestral Guardian) Background: Outlander Personality Traits: -I'm driven by a wanderlust that led me away from home. -I watch over my friends as if they were a litter of newborn pups. Ideal: Greater Good. It is each person's responsibility to make the most happiness for the whole tribe. (Good) Bond: My tribe is the most important thing in my life, even when they are far from me. Flaw: There's no room for caution in a life lived to the fullest. Backstory: After the cataclysm, there were some parts of the world that became so isolated and unreachable to those who were trying to recover from the apocalypse, and these isolated people were forced to fend for themselves, falling under the mercy of the wilderness where deaths became the norms. Nonetheless, despite the isolation, these people adapted to their environment, even thriving despite them regressing back to primitiveness. Forming tribes, these people, who called themselves Throms, were cut off from the knowledge of the more civilized folks, and over time, they began turning their backs on the dragon gods as they started venerating their ancestors instead. At some point, these tribal people had established contact with the more civilized folks, though after such prolonged isolation, these people, whom the civilized folks called 'barbarians' had developed their own distinct culture. Life before the cataclysm was nothing but a distant memory for these barbarians, though the younger ones seemed to have developed interest in these civilized folks. One of them was Belka, a young and boisterous barbarian woman who wished to learn more about these people who seemed to have retained a little bit of knowledge before the cataclysm. Added with her own wanderlust, Belka had decided to leave her tribe, hoping to explore more about the outside world, perhaps reconnecting to her own root as well. A Throm like her was always seen as peculiar by these civilized people, and there were other Throms who had mingled with outsiders before. Belka was slowly getting used to life outside of her tribe, always learning many new things along the way. She had even learned the concept of currency, which was something new for someone who was used to bartering with her fellow tribespeople. Having learned that she needed money, she became a sellsword, selling her service for a price. It happened that she was employed by Balder Hall to guard a caravan traveling to Octam, and from there, Belka would decide her next course of actions. Goal: Always driven by wanderlust, Belka wished to explore the world and experience life outside of her tribe. She wished to make a name for herself in the outside world, knowing that she could do better than having to live a life truly isolated from civilization. She was fully aware that one day, she would return to her tribe, provided that she survived, but until then, she would live her life to the fullest. RP sample:   It was unfortunate for her to run like this, fleeing from such monstrosity, but Belka had no other choice. Being a Throm meant having to struggle to survive, but this was another matter entirely. Belka had seen many things that could easily kill a person, but that thing... it wasn't something that one could defeat with a swing of her great axe. Of course, as she fled her pursuer, Belka heard the sound of a girl crying. She looked at the direction of the sound and saw a child on her knees, surrounded by several bodies. Belka could see these bodies all torn open, with their innards spilling out. Belka paused before she rushed over to where the girl was, who didn't seem to notice her at all as she cried. Before she could speak, Belka heard the crashing sound of the creature chasing her. Unwilling to leave the girl be, Belka scooped her up, holding her in one arm while holding her great axe with another. She turned around and faced the creature, a confident smile masking her fear. Seeing that she was cornered, Belka knew that she needed to punch through in order to escape. "Hold on tight, girl..." Belka told the girl. "It's going to be a bumpy ride..." With a yell, Belka charged towards the creature, looking to move past it in order to escape it. Not the best plan, but it was certainly a daring one. She had to be daring, or else she wouldn't be Belka.

[FraterChad]

The application deadline is coming up soon! I do not envy you in having to choose between all of the awesome applications you've gotten so far, Togot. Best of luck to my fellow applicants!

[Batty]

Name: Kris 'Scarlet' Tracey
Race: Halfling Lightfoot
Class: Rogue (Swashbuckler)
Background: Sailor
Personality Traits:
I stretch the truth for the sake of a good story.
I never pass up a friendly wager.
Ideal:
The sea is freedom, the freedom to go anywhere and do anything.
Bond:
Ruthless pirates murdered my captain and crewmates, plundered our ship and left me to die. Vengeance will be mine.
Flaw:
My pride will probably lead to my destruction.
History:
Kris never knew his parents, he was born on the Crimson Ark carrying hundreds of refugees from the many settlements which had been washed away. That was history, many of the inhabitants of this great wooden vessel had never seen land, having also been born on board.
The Ark was barely sea worthy, being more of a floating collection of boats, rafts and drift which had become a small town carrying perhaps five hundred people. We had formed a new society, fishing and living on the sea. From time to time a sailing ship would come, stop and trade. It was these ships which captured Kris's imagination. He saw them as freedom, the Ark was like a prison to him. So one day, he jumped onboard, and stowed away on one of these ships. For six years he learned how to sail on board the White Horse, it was difficult, Captain Munro had been furious at Kris' stupidity when he found him. He believed a sailing ship was no place for a child, never mind a halfling child. Kris may have been 17, but Captain Munro still considered him a child until the end. The Captain made a good life for his crew, running between five of the small settlements up and down the west coast. He had a good reputation for keeping his word and defending his crew, and he wasn't like some captain's Kris had heard of. He got stuck in, got his hands dirty, if he couldn't do a job, he couldn't asked someone else to do it.
Then we met the Black Cutter, crewed by the pirate Harper "Skin'em Bones" Zaine. His reputation was ruthless, leaving no survivors. Worse was his disappointment that the cargo was only salted meat and cotton heading for the southern town of Quicksville. His crew took the meat and set light to the ship, they held off the bow for an hour, watching it burn until it sank. Kris was the only survivor, so small he was, they didn't see him hanging onto the floating jib. It took him five days before he washed up on land, weeks before he knew he was still alive. Kris thanked Akeron he had survived, it can only be that he was destined for a purpose.
Kris swore that one day he would repay Skin'em Bones. But until that day, he needed to learn the ways of men and pirates, the tricks to overcome those that prey on the weak.
It has been seven years since then, Kris has wondered the land, at first never leaving sight of the sea, but as he grew used to it, he started to go further inland. Always looking for people to learn from and people to help.

 

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.

"Finally" Kris thinks to himself, "There's the demon! How distateful it is to take the form of purity in its hunt."

The demon looks up at Kris, a quick glint of reddended teeth perverting the innocence of the child. "Vor'Razgaroth. Yes I know your name. Tonight you have picked upon the wrong prey. For tonight you are the prey!"

Kris reaches to grab the horn from his belt, ready to blow the agreed signal and announce he has found who they have been hunting. At that moment the walls of the alley come crashing down as the monstrosity that was Rheth, our barbarian bursts through intent on claiming its dinner. Without any time to think, Kris dives beneath the body of the indescribable monstrosity, using his runtish size to advantage as he rolls and jumps to his feet the other side.

He hears the deep laughter from Vor'Razgaroth; "You are no threat to me. I will watch as you are torn to pieces by your own friend."

Kris curses the agility of this creation, this abomination that the demon has change Rheth into. He must give the signal so that the others can come to deal with the demon, but to do that, he needs just enough space to breath without being ripped open. Looking for his next evasion and realising that in rolling under the beast he is now in a dead-end.

"Get up! Get up!" The calls come from somewhere around, Kris is unable to place where.

He looks up at the walls and agrees, up is the route to freedom, he runs, jumps and climbs from the debris and refuse left in the alley, reaching toward a roof to pull himself up.

"Get up! Get up!", the world starts to shake, getting more and more violent.

Kris opens his eyes, squinting at the bright light shining on him and the familiar face of his friend and companion Shaker. Shaker's level voice expressing; "Get up, you're snoring enough to wake Neshala's children. Now get up, we have work to do."

All done now