[D&D-5e] Wanted! Crooks of Any Class! Must Be Discrete!

[Oakie]

A long absence from the site isn't necessarily an impediment, nor even being a new user on the the site. I'm going to take a holistic view of everyone's applications

Originally Posted by DustyParadox

Not sure if I'll be accepted given my long hiatus, but playing a corrupt and shady bureaucrat who was once an aspiring wizard and now mostly embezzles money or a former captain of the guard who got promoted to some upper echelon (also a bureaucrat) and kind of succumbed to the vice and corruption around him despite coming in with good intentions sounds rad as hell.

[Ramble]

Hope it's alright that I post a work in progress, it looks like a cool game and I'd be happy to join in:

• Character name: Randall "Church" McKinley

• Race: Human

• Class: Cleric (Trickery)

• Background: Accolyte

• Personality traits (2):

• Ideal:

• Bond:

• Flaw:

• Backstory:

He's big.

Hairy knuckles on large calloused hands. Tall. Forearms like treetrunks, the barrel-like chest to support them, and a gut to match.

He's got a long red beard, wild and unkempt. A glorious mustache under his round nose. Two blue eyes that seem to find everything they regard amusing. Bushy eyebrows.

The sides of his head are shaven, and the rest of his red hair is tied in a long thick braid from front to back.

All in all, a pretty imposing figure. Although.. to look at him, intimidating wouldn't come to mind directly. Sure, if you imagined him angry you'd easily assume he could be labelled intimidating. But if met on the road, or in a store, the striking thing about him was the air and aura of calm friendliness. He seemed heartfelt and honest. A face well acquainted with a most genuine smile.

He dresses in simple, humble clothes. A carpenters apron most of the time, a toolbelt around his waist. During the week he's always busy in his little workshop, right by the slums. He's not an especially gifted tradesman, but he takes his time to do the job right, with the material he has at hand. He's the option for those folks that don't have much to spend. Randall just likes to keep busy, and be amongst the people.

Sundays his carpenters clothes get changed for a simple brown robe. His massive wooden block of a workbench gets cleared from tools and sawdust. Then the table becomes a shrine, the little workshop becomes a makeshift temple. People come to socialise more than anything. The destitute and homeless are welcome there, where they wouldn't be welcome elsewhere. Randalls neighbour cooks a large stew, and they feed what folk they can.

He's popular amongst the riffraff of Kintilla. The children roaming the streets, urchins and criminals know Randall to be a safe haven.

There have been nights where the workbench got unceremoniously cleared of its content and someone on the unlucky end of a knife fight, or the recipient of a serious beatdown was laid upon it. Randall is a bit of a healer, and can be trusted to do what he can.. and keep his mouth shut afterwards.

He's walked a fine line in his life, dealing with unsavory folk as he has. He's treated everyone he has met as peers, and sometimes it's gotten him into a tight spot. Not everyone takes kindly to his view of things and he's gotten into trouble with both the city guard and rival gangs for helping out some-one or another. Even other clergy view him with suspicion. Randall doesn't mind. "What will come, will come." He'd say.

He follows the footsteps of his father. A ships physician for many years, until he was hung for piracy. He wasn't one, not that Randall knew anyway, but he sure did help the wrong crew once, and got punished severely for it. It had left Randall to fend for himself in Kintilla, without family, or direction.

Maybe that's why he was so keen on society. It was definitely why he was suspicious of authority. Law and order made no sense to him, if it went about hanging the likes of his father for the crime of helping others.

A special mention in his attire goes to the thick oak stick he carries around. As long as he is, its heavy. A simple but well executed engraving of a crescent moon at the top, where the stick widens. Its rounded at the top. It has beauty in its simplicity. One of the few things that adds a bit of reverence to his appearance.

Randall walks with a bit of a limp, and he'll claim the stick is support for long walks. Those that know him better know enough to know that it holds something special to Randall, some connection to the past, or the divine. Private, and deeply personal.

He's capable of speaking gently, and he can make people feel like he's really listening. He's also capable of using his deep voice for a roaring belly laugh. And sometimes, if the situation calls for it, it can sound stern and intimidating. Randall himself is calm, and thoughtful. Not afraid of the moral grey areas, and not judgemental of the people that traverse it. A follower of Selune, to the core.



• Goal:*Why is your character into crime? What do they want from life? Why did they accept the offer to join Ebonclad?

• RP Sample:*Type in or include a link.

[Murdoch]

Name: Sheridan Wentworth
Race: Half Elf
Class: Rogue
Background: Charlatan
Personality traits: Flattery is my preferred trick for getting what I want. I pocket anything I see that might have some value.
Ideal: I am a free spirit – no one tells me what to do.
Bond: I fleeced the wrong person and must work to ensure that this individual never crosses paths with me or those I care about.
Flaw: I'm too greedy for my own good. I can't resist taking a risk if there's money involved.

Background: Sheridan is, in the literal sense of the word, a bastard. His father, Derek, is a wealthy merchant and Sheridan came about from an affair he had during his travels. The scandal of the affair was too much for the family of the elf woman. They vowed to disown her if she kept the child, and she wasn’t strong enough to face that, so she told Derek he had to take the child, or it would be abandoned. Derek isn’t a bad man so, even knowing that scandal his family would ace, he took Sheridan in. Needless to say, Grave, Derek’s wife, was not pleased. She never accepted Sheridan, ignoring him on good days and verbally abusing him on the bad. Grace never raised a hand to Sheridan, she didn’t have to. For that she had Alison. Alison is Derek and Grace’s daughter and she is five years older than Sheridan. Seeing her mother actively dislike Sheridan, she took every chance to torment him as they grew up. As it turned out, Alison was a very creative child when it came to devising ways to abuse her younger half brother. When he was six, Sheridan made the mistake of hitting Alison after she shoved him out of a chair. The thrashing he received from Grace taught him to never do that again.
Sheridan’s father wasn’t blind to this, but he was not strong enough to stand up for his illegitimate son. In an attempt to make up for this, he would occasionally take Sheridan on his business trips. Sheridan flourished on these trips away from his home and he was able to get a feel for how his father ran the business. He saw how his father would heap praise on those he hoped to do business with, which taught Sheridan the value of flattery. His father could charm the pants off almost anyone, which is probably how Sheridan was born. It’s a lesson he took to heart. He began using it on his mother and sister, but since they were used to it from his father, it had little effect on them.
When he was old enough to do so, Sheridan began spending time in the city itself as a way to get away from home. He was able to hone his skill at flattery on strangers and he found he could often talk himself into a free drink at any tavern in town. He started hanging out with the sort of people that his family would not approve of. They taught him how to run some cons with cards and dice, and he enjoyed the thrill. Soon, that wasn’t thrilling enough. They graduated to burglary, stealing from some businesses and a few well to do homes, and Sheridan found he had a knack for it. Even more, he loved the excitement. After a while, they started hiring out their skills which, as it turned out, had them working for the Ebonclad. Sheridan couldn’t have been happier to join up.

Goal: Sheridan got into a life of crime at first as a way to escape from his home life. After a while, however, he discovered he loved the thrill. Maybe he needs to prove he’s good at something, or he just likes the thrill of trying not to get caught. Whatever it is, Sheridan is addicted to it. Maybe he can use his knowledge of his father’s business to benefit the Ebonclad someday, but for now, the simple thrill of getting away with it his crimes is enough.

RP Sample: https://www.rpgcrossing.com/showthre...215154&page=28
I am running Ulric

[cappucina]

I want that cane that has a grappling hook that launches out the top.
There is some seriously entertaining gear in the link on the first post.

[97mg]

So slimy. So hungry... "Here's your jar of wrigglies, Mister. They're all fat and hungry, I promise you! So... can I have my gold now, please?" Concept: I found the motherload! The best secret leech collecting spot in Kintalla. I sell them to apothecaries and dodgy backstreet healers too. You know, I've come to love the nasty little things, and honestly, they aren't that different to most people. Everyone wants what they want, and they want it now. Everyone is competing for their bit of flesh. I've come to quite admire all things slimy and greedy, and I'm not afraid of getting my frock all muddy, or my hands dirty... if you know what I mean. Character name: Seesa "Squirmy" Pollock Race: Custom Lineage Class: Druid Background: Guild Artisan (Taxidermy) Personality traits (2): I like to talk at length about my profession (collecting leeches and stuffing animals). I like to compare people's actions to things that animals do. I don't break promises. Ideal: Freedom! Everyone should be free to pursue his or her own livelihood. (Chaotic) Destiny. Nothing and no one can steer me away from my higher calling. (Any) Bond: The workshop where I learned my trade is the most important place in the world to me. I feel a deep connection to the world's lesser animals and creatures. I am thankful to all those who allow me to trade with them. Wooleye, a local dodgy doctor who lends me books and taught me taxidermy. Flaw: I have a 'tell' that reveals when I'm lying (I wiggle my index fingers). I am easily distracted by the promise of information. Backstory Backstory: Little old me? You want to know my story? Well, I'm not that old, and how will you tell if I'm lying? Anyway, as you might have guessed, my family are no-hopers. They live in a vermin infested little hovel in one of the rougher parts of the city. Most children would have probably become urchins, destined for a life of street-crime. But not me! You see, the insects, rats and other creatures that populate our shared patch of mud... aka courtyard, were always interesting and mysterious to me. I became quite enamored by them! Over the years I had many pets. Shonky the tapeworm. Gizzles the big fat moth. Licey the rat. Staring at creatures, imagining their lives, and even emulating them was a game I'd often play, and through it, I learned some pretty neat things... but that's another story. A polite girl doesn't show all her inner workings on a first date, right? One day, whilst wandering some of my local area's drainage pipes, I came across a really stinky place where the runoff seemed to linger. All it took was dipping a tentative hand in, for it to attract the attention of some new friends. Leeches! So many leeches! Big juicy ones, little skinny ones. I let a few feed on me and just stared at these new pets with a twisted sense of curiosity. Up the road from our home, there was a shady old healer who I knew had a lot of books about animal species. So... I just knocked on his door one day and asked about wormies that suck on your skin. It was the beginning of a really nice friendship. He was a total grump, and kind of mean at first, but over the years old Wooleye really softened up. Especially when I started supplying fresh jars of the little suckers for his healing and "experiments". He promised that no harm would come to them, and really, they'd just be getting a free meal whilst in his care. So I made some gold, which was nice. He started teaching me how to preserve animal remains too, such that my pets could still be with me long after their final breaths. In my room, I have all kinds of furred, scaled and winged little friends. Their faces perpetually smiling. Their beady eyes always watching out for me. Maybe, one day I can introduce you to them? I guess some people had teddy bears in their growing years, and others have real animals, living or otherwise! Yeah, I can feel it. You want to know how all this ends up with a young woman joining the likes of Ebonclad... Goal: In recent years, Wooleye had been talking a lot about my future. How I should do more than live in the grotty district and collect animals for a living. He's pushed for me to... not necessarily find a greater purpose... but a better paying one. One that might appreciate what he calls my "rare calling". He gave me a few weird jobs to do. Tend to the wounds of a well-lacerated mob boss. Help a midwife who'd caught a nasty skin disease mid-term. Steal a handkerchief from a noble's clothesline. Then the offer came. Ebonclad needed someone like me. Someone good with animals, anonymous, and easily forgotten. I accepted, hopeful that the coin would be good and maybe, just maybe, I could see my family's living situation and prospects improve. You know, I really like my home, but my parents are aging, and you don't need to be a genius to realize that living in filth isn't too hot for one's life expectancy. As they age and weaken, even I'm not foolish enough to believe that they don't deserve somewhere more organised, clean, and peaceful to reside.

[Oakie]

@cappucina, the syndicate finds bards very useful!

Originally Posted by cappucina

I want that cane that has a grappling hook that launches out the top.
There is some seriously entertaining gear in the link on the first post.

LOT of fun gear in the player's reference. I'd be open to new inventions during the game, too.

[Oakie]

@Murdoch, Sheridan is what Ebonclad would call a "Face." More about specialist titles for your and everyone's reading pleasure.

[cool hand luke]

Character Name: Antony Deschain

Race: Half Elf

Class: Warlock

Background: Courtier

Personality Traits: I immediately grow disinterested in any topic that wasn’t my choosing.

I cannot comprehend doing an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay.

Ideal: The Mystic Arts: any problem can be solved by the application of the right magic.

Bond: I’m terribly jealous of all my younger siblings and the power they naturally wield, but also harbor a deep and hidden even to me loyalty to them.

Flaw: Insecurity: I’ve lived for years mortified at my lack of magic ability.

Backstory/Concept

Antony was the long awaited first born of Steven and Gabrielle a pair of half elf sorcerers that lived as courtiers in Kintalla. He grew up surrounded by the court, and its intrigue, and his parents waited hopefully for their innate magical gifts to manifest themselves in their first born. His youth was spent being trained to be a courtier, which could turn in to anything from a spy, to an ambassador, to a negotiator. Every three or so years after Antony’s birth, a younger sibling joined the household until Antony stood as the tallest of the 6 siblings. The first jarring day in Antony’s life came when the next oldest sibling, his sister Revekah suddenly began to wield magic like his parents. In the following months he heard hundreds of times how girls often blossom earlier than boys. As if puberty was somehow tied to manifesting magic. Over the years, each of the younger siblings joined his parents in magic use. Each time, it felt like Antony had been punched in the gut. Each time, he withdrew a little more, became a little darker, and a little more sullen. During this time, Antony began obsessively studying the magic of bloodlines that was the source of his families magic, and courtly standing. Each time one of his siblings came into power, he redoubled his efforts. Antony’s breaking point came when Chistain, his youngest sibling, full 20 years younger than him blossomed early and at only 8 began wielding spells. While his family gathered for the traditional grand party they threw as each child came into their power, Antony retrieved one of the many magical books he had read over the years. This one had the true names of various immortal and powerful beings, and instructions on how communicate with them. Flipping to a page he had marked several months ago as his plan was forming, he looked down at a name that he hadn’t found any other references too, Which made him feel like this could be one of the lesser known entities.



Howdy! This is the general concept I’m going for. I’m open to pretty much any of the warlock patrons as the one I reach out to, as long as it has at least a somewhat evil vibe that would make him flee his family (I don’t see him running away if he makes a pact with a celestial, but pretty much all other patrons I could make fit) also, I am jumping back into role playing after a 15 year absence, and trying to get a handle on 5e. I’ve a ton of experience with playing older editions, but also a ton of rust! Let me know if there is anything else you’d like to see in the application, I tried to leave it very vague to give us the most room to work a patron that makes sense with the setting and campaign. Need a new enforcer on the docks? I’ll go fathomless and be at home in the water. Want someone to infiltrate the upper-class that he just came from? I’ll go archfey for all the mind control stuff. Why does any particular patron want him in Ebonclad? They’ve seen who holds the true power and want their pawn in place for some future scheme. Need a more traditional blaster, play the cruel trickster DM and toy with my fate, after I sold my soul in the bargain for warlock powers, suddenly those long dormant sorcerous genes kick in and I go forward as a sorcerer.



Goal: To work his way up until he can be equal in power with his family, powerful sorcerers that sell their skills to the high society they mingle with.



RP Sample:

Ahriman. To know the true name of an entity such as this was to hold all the power of the multiverse against it. The book listed the being as one of ancient power, potentially a deceiver, but one who stuck to his word. It was a risk, but one that Antony was willing to take. One he had to take. He cut his palm for the blood needed, painting the runic circle he would need. It gave a diagram, which he found quite helpful. It was his desperation that had driven him here in the first place.


He lit the candles, and proceeded to read-- aloud-- the ancient words written in Infernal, on those very pages. When he finally spoke the entity’s true name- all the light in the room abruptly went out in a gust of wind. For a moment, he thought the spell had failed. Why wouldn’t it? He had no magical ability to speak of… His youngest sibling had magical abilities.. any of his brothers or sisters might have been able to do this. Sinking deeper into his despair… the runes written in his blood suddenly began to glow, emanating a fiendish red light. Flames rose up from the circle, and emerging from the flames, stood a surprisingly handsome man. Clearly fiendish for his red skin, split chin, and great horns curled on each side of his head.


Antony felt a dread that all creatures innately felt when a predator they had no chance of facing stood before them. At least the circle could protect him- the creature turned his head to look at the circle, lips curling in a bemused expression… the circle seeming to shatter beneath his gaze. Antony found himself sprawled on his back from the magical energy that was suddenly released. He tried calling out for the creature’s name to command him, but a clawed hand had covered his mouth.


“I haven’t used that name in millenia, the being that went by that name died as the world was brand new… “ he told him, “I shant start using it again now… but bravo for uncovering it...” he mused, releasing him. “Let me guess, you want power, yadayadayada… fine, I shall do you this favor...” energy suddenly washed over Antony as he felt a new understanding of Eldritch power…. “But I there will be favors I ask of you in return one day...” he said. “I can see potential threads… I will reward you greatly… for now though, I must return, my Guest keeps trying to escape… if you ever need me, just call me by the name mortals know me by, and I will see what I can do...” he said, turning his back on the terrified young man, opening a rift in the wall where flames poured out…


“What… what name is that?” Antony asked. The devil paused, looking back over his shoulder, with a sinister smile…


“Asmodeus...” he said, before vanishing within the flames. When Antony sought to summon an entity, he did not think in a million years that it’d be the Lord of all of the Nine Hells himself… what had he done?



(Not saying I want to have him as my patron.)

[Oakie]

@cool_hand_luke, thanks for the submit! If you get on the team, we'll all talk about what kind of character tweaks we need, if any. You're good for now!

[cool hand luke]

Sounds great, I’ll keep my fingers crossed.

[Murdoch]

Originally Posted by Oakie

@Murdoch, Sheridan is what Ebonclad would call a "Face." More about specialist titles for your and everyone's reading pleasure.

Face sounds exactly like how I am envisioning Sheridan. I want him to be good as disguises so he can fit in anywhere and hopefully get lost in a crowd. He will definitely need a set of double sided clothing.

[GleefulNihilism]

Tweeked my apps to make it a bit easier to read.

[Oakie]

14 days till the application deadline!

[daikaiju]

Oooo, this seems very fun. I've been burnt out on 5e, but maybe this will be what gets me back into it. Posting for interest for now, so I can apply later!

[Grouchy]

Character Concept Character name: Percy Koska Race: Variant Human Class: Fighter 1 (progressing to Scoundrel archetype, may pick up a Rogue level or 3 along the way) Background: Mercenary Veteran Alignment: Neutral Evil. Traits: For the right price, anyone can buy my loyalty and my sword for any job of their choosing. I favor myself a gentleman, although I have little regard for such things as honor and chivalry. Ideal: Greed. I'm only in it for the money. (Evil) Bond: I was cheated of my fair share of the profits, and I want to get my due. Flaw: I drink and I like to take risks when gambling. Appearance: Percy is a lean, handsome man of average height with olive skin and thick black hair combed over back. He has thick eyebrows and sharp brown eyes, with a thin nose and an easy smile underneath a well groomed horseshoe mustache. Each ear has a pair of gold hoops pierced in the bottom lobe, and on each finger he wears rings of different shapes and styles. He has somewhat of a subdued posture, and is slightly stoop shouldered. He favors bright colored clothing that is currently in fashion, often accented with necklaces and bracelets as he can afford them. His voice is cultured if a bit oily, and he likes to speak with a lot of hand inflections. He wears a well oiled suit of leather armor and carries a rapier at his side. Personality: Percy is an opportunist through and through, and has no shame whatsoever. He is a rather likeable scoundrel who is out for himself first and foremost, but for the right price anyone can buy his loyalty. Although he favors himself a gentleman, he has little regard for things such as honor and chivalry, and will just as soon stab a man in the back as fight him face to face if he could get away with it. No job is too dirty provided the price is right, and nothing is off limits provided he lives to fight another day and gets ahead in life. He tries not to draw attention to himself through blatant lawbreaking or boasting, and would rather use his quick tongue and wit to avoid any trouble if there's no purpose to it. He also recognizes the value of laws and tradition in which he can use it to manipulate others to get what he wants. He is cautious around those more powerful or connected than he, and prefers to have more allies than enemies as that is one less knife pointed at your back. For this reason he tends to be immensely polite most of the time - better to have others both see him in a favorable light and to lower their expectations of him. He favors drink and women, usually in some combination thereof, and is a bit of a risk taker when it comes to gambling.   Backstory: Born and raised in Kintilla, Percy Koska is the bastard son of a wealthy merchant and a serving wench. Abandoned by his father before his birth, Percy's mother tried the best she could to raise him but between her busy work schedule and her constant flings with local men, she was far too self absorbed to be an ideal mother for him. Learning early on that he was on his own, Percy became self sufficient and soon began stealing coin from his mother's lovers when they were otherwise occupied with her. He used this coin for his own purposes, buying food and other items he wished to have, and when he could not afford those things he simply waited for an opportunity to steal them. When he was about eleven summers old, he managed to get his hands on a set of fancy clothing so he began wearing it and trying to immerse himself into the circles of the upper elite. He would be vague about who his relatives were and simply throw enough coin around that the others took him at face value. He very much enjoyed his little game of pretending to be wealthy, but once he was recognized for what he was (a barmaid's son) the game was over and none of his "friends" wanted anything to do with him. Seeking other opportunities, Percy joined the army. He figured here he could at least get a uniform (the ladies love a man in uniform), gain some respect, and earn some coin at the same time. He quickly learned he had a natural talent for fighting, but Percy is inherently lazy and didn't like the constant hustle and bustle of army life. The only time he enjoyed his service was when they would engage in skirmishes with bandits or clashes with greenskins along the border. Combat was immensely fun - drill and ceremony was not, and that made up most of his military career. After a lackluster enlistment, Percy did not reenlist but instead joined a roving mercenary company by the name of Wilfried's Wolves. Working as sellswords, the Wolves were notorious as when work was slow they sometimes engaged in banditry. The Wolves were run by a man named Alastair (Wilfried died the summer before from a disease he picked up in a brothel) whose purse was the only thing looser than his morals. Percy and he hit it off immensely, and soon Percy was a full fledged Wolf. Unfortunately last month Alastair cheated at a card game and got a dagger in his guts for his trouble, and the Wolves fell apart. As luck would have it, Percy was recruited by a Seeker for Ebonclad, giving a flattering oral resume of himself which has earned his way into their employment. He is now eager to prove his worth to Ebonclad and is looking forward to the wealth and recognition it will bring him. Goal: Being a bastard, Percy has no title, no land, no bloodright. The number one thing Percy cares about is himself, and with the opportunity to earn lots of coin he is a natural to join Ebonclad. Amoral and opportunistic, Percy would stab his own mother to advance himself in the organization.   RP Sample: Stepping carefully over the corpse of the elderly man, Percy approaches the sobbing old woman with the blood of her husband still dripping from his blade. Behind them he could still hear the yelling of the Wolves as they quelled the strike at the salt mine. Although outnumbered, the Wolves had a massive advantage in both training and preparation, and from the sounds of it the strike against the foreman who hired the Wolves seems to be quickly being dispelled. "My sincerest apologies for you loss, madam," says Percy in an almost-empathetic tone. "I did advise him that heroics were off the table. Alas, his devotion to honor has cost both he and I today." With a snap of his wrist, he cleans his blade and sheathes his sword. In a softer tone, he continues "All he needed was to say he would return to work. He could have even told me to go to Hades, for all I cared. Drawing a dagger on an armed man is grounds for retribution, sad to say." The woman does not reply, her sobs now quiet as she sits on her knees next to her deceased husband, her face hard as the tears continue to stream down her face. Percy can tell he is getting nowhere with her, so he shrugs and turns to see if he can find Alastair. Hearing the grind of steel against a stone, he turns and raises his eyebrow at the woman. The gray haired woman in the plain dress now stands trembling before him, a dagger held in both of her hands, her eyes filled with hate. "Madam, I must warn you, this is not a rational act. Please put the dagger down." When she does not move, he slowly draws his rapier and points it vaguely in her direction. "Madam please, rethink your action." When she still refuses to drop the dagger or even move, still standing stiffly in place with the dagger pointed out in front of her, he sighs. "Madam, I will give you to the count of 3 to drop the dagger, yes?" Aiming his rapier at her, Percy takes a breath as if to count but he does not. Instead, the blade of his rapier plunges between her ribs, causing a mortal wound. The dagger clatters to the ground as the woman's knees buckle, falling onto the ground as her hands clutch at her side. With deep gasping breaths, she looks up at Percy in shock. Shrugging at her, he says "Oh! I forgot to count. My sincerest apologies. I can be a bit of a dunce at times." With a snap of his wrist to clean his blade once again, he sheathes his sword and sets off to find Alastair. Time to finish up so they could get paid.