[Characters] Those that Wander the Dark

[Jeffkevlar]

Please put your character here as well as the statblock is like you to include in all your posts.

[MrCeeJ]

Qalo Qalo Name: Qalo Nadroj Race: Human (Variant) Class: Wizard Alignment: NG Background: Inheritor Appearance: From his head grows a thick mane, the color of burnt amber. On his face lays an impressively full beard to match. "Some would say I was kissed by fire." Though, he would be the only one to tell you that. Qalo was large for a man of his talents. His frame consisted of broad, sturdy shoulders and he stood over most men. Some would mistake him to be a warrior, though, his abilities were that of a more intellectual nature. If it weren't for his previously mentioned features, Qalo would blend in fairly well. His robes were nothing regal, built of a durable cloth and dyed an inconspicuous charcoal grey. In fact, the only other peculiar detail that might stand out from Qalo's otherwise common attire, is the gold ring worn on his right index finger. If inspected closely, one would see several small runes engraved into the band. He is often seen spinning it on his finger with an ink-stained thumb. Backstory: The driving force in Qalo's life is his passion for discovery. He never quite fit in among the laborers of his home town, despite being built for that line of work. He has always possessed a curious mind and an eagerness to prove what he was truly capable of. Ever since his father's engraved ring was passed down to him, Qalo has been fascinated with exotic metals, gems, and the innate powers they possess. He spent his youth researching these materials and their relationship with magic. After study came the application, as Qalo pursued work under the tutelage of a master gemcutter, Darius Stonecarver, from within the dwarven kingdom. Role play example: As the crew of miners trudged their way through the dark cavern, hauling an overflowing steel cart and their seemingly bursting packs of equipment, the foreman's booming voice echoed off the jagged walls of the cave. "Let's get a move on lads! Lots o' work to do and only one more day to do it!" Adrik Steeljaw was an impressive, yet impatient, dwarf who's only love in life was work. Barking orders at the crew appeared to be a favored pastime of his. With a grin, he looked up at the large human that towered over him and squinted. "I dunno why they send yeh scholarly types along on these trips. Yeh may look like you could hold yer own in these mines, but those robes o' yers say otherwise." Qalo chuckled and stroked a beard that would rival even a dwarf. "Well-" The man's gruff voice was quickly interrupted by the sounds of screams further down the cavern. He spun the ring on his finger until a specific rune faced upward and emitted a faint purple glow. A shell of violet light briefly enveloped Qalo before he and the dwarf charged forward into the chaos. It wasn't long before they discovered the source of disruption. Drow! That thought was the last Qalo could remember before waking up in a crude cage beside several bodies, though it was too dark to make out who the other captives were.

 

Movements and Actions Initiative: Movement: Action: Bonus Action: Reaction: Rolls:

 

Stats and Features Qalo (Level 1 Wizard) HP: 8/8, Hit Die: 1/1d6 AC: 15 (W/ Mage Armor, 12 without) Speed: 30', Passive Perception: 11 Saving Throws: Str 0, Dex +2, Con +4, Int +5, Wis +3, Cha -1 Equipment: Fire Bolt (+5 to hit, 1d10 fire damage, 120 ft.), Chromatic Orb (+5 to hit, 3d8, 90 ft.), Magic Missile (3d4+3, 120 ft.) Spellcasting: Spell Slots - Level 1 Slots (2/2), Spell DC 13, Spell Attack +5, Spells - Fire Bolt, Mage Hand, Light, Chromatic Orb, Magic Missile, Feather Fall, Mage Armor, Comprehend Languages (Ritual), Alarm (Ritual) Special Abilities / Feats: Arcane Recovery (1/day), Resilient (CON)

[Landsknechts]

 

Name: Flynn Race: Ghostwise Hafling Class: Monk Alignment: LN(G) Background: Outlander Personality:   Flynn refuses to talk- it is not that he is unable, but rather if asked, he has vowed not to until he has atoned for a great sin. Like many thing, Flynn refuses to talk about what the sin might be. Even in the hellhole he has found himself, the teaching he has absorbed before captivity provide him comfort. He believes there is a light to be found in every circumstance- one must just wait for it to reveal itself. Of course, one can sometimes help it along too. No matter his own personal failings, he will endeavor to be a beacon that shine brightly. Appearance:   Flynn is of average height and build for a Hin- that is to say he's small. Though it is easy to tell that he won't be winning any lifting contests, his lithe frame gives those who see him a sense of adroitness. It's almost as he is is constantly moving even while standing still. Flynn is always wearing the skull of some feline creature upon his head as if a cap. Unless the weather does not permit, he wears just enough clothing to not be indecent. Backstory:   Flynn was banished by the clan shaman for a transgression that, much like the tattoos inscribed on his body, he refuses to discuss. The first person he encountered outside his clan was an itinerant monk who began teaching him self-discipline. They traveled together for a couple of years, Flynn always allowing the elderly monk to speak for the both of them. It came to pass that while going through a remote hamlet, the farmers complained of creatures coming out from a cave at night and stealing their livestock. While investigating the cave, they were set upon by Drow. Flynn was knocked unconscious but Gradivus the Monk paid the ultimate price and moved on into the afterlife. Flynn has been toiling patiently, waiting for the chance to escape and return to the surface world. Character Sheet

[Begon Ugo]

Begon Ugo Name: Begon Ugo Appearance: Begon Ugo is a beast of a Half/Orc. He stands around 6'8 and weighs approximately 270lbs. Even while supporting such a massive frame, Begon is surprisingly light of foot and graceful. He truly looks the part of the savage orc, wearing his hair in a long, tangled, mohawk fashion. His exposed skin is covered by tribal scars and tattoos. He carries across his back a massive great axe. The axe's handle is well worn with strips of leather flying free and dangling down his back. His clothes carry the dust of many roads. Race: Half-Orc Class: Barbarian Alignment: Chaotic Good Backstory: Begon Ugo was not your typical Half-Orc. The Bloodclaw Orcs were known for their savagery and hatred of the soft races. Begon tried to break away from this vicious existence. He attempted to change the ways of his tribe and it ended with tragic results. Vengance Denied Begon Ugo stood watch over the rocky vale. The chill wind seeped into his bones and he continually flexed his fingers as they wrapped around the haft of his great axe. The Bloodclaw Orcs had heard rumor of Dark Elf activity in the area and they had sent the massive Half-Orc and two younger and smaller companions, Greng and Slaeg to ferret out the truth. Begon looked back over his shoulder as Greng and Slaeg returned from their patrol. "Look to the East...beyond the ridge," Greng growled pointing past Begon. "The Elf's are there and they are few...lets be done with this!" Begon nodded thoughtfully as he sensed Greng's clear agitation. "We cannot allow them to continue to encroach on our territory. We were ordered to bloody them!" Slaeg hissed. Begon slowly rose from his crouched position and ran his clawed hand through his hair. "It would be simple enough. A quick ambush on these foolish Drow, woefully out of their element." Begon thought to himself. But no, this was exactly the type of lesson that Begon was trying to teach his people. "We will let them pass. No good would come from such needless violence. We will maintain our position and see if an actual threat appears." The two smaller Orcs snarled and glared at the Half-Orc and Begon wondered if they would actually attack. He knew there was nothing these two would like more than ripping through the Drow but he would not allow it. Begon gave the pair a slight smile, "There will be killing in the future, do not doubt, but not today." Greg and Slaeg lowered their gazes and the moment passed. Two days later the patrol returned to the caves the Bloodclaw clan called home. As soon as the three orcs neared the cave complex's entrance they knew. Tossed about the rock strewn cave floor were the remains of countless Orcs, many with telltale crossbow bolts protruding from their bodies. Begon ran foward knowing already what he would find. He tore down a side tunnel, turned a corner and fell down on his knees next to three broken bodies, those of his wife and sons. Greng and Slaeg quickly abandoned the caves and Begon was glad to see them go. They were young, with little attachments. They could rebuild their lives, Begon would not. The Drow trail was easy to find as they were making no attempt to disguise their passing. As Begon neared the Drow encampment his mind returned to the horror of looking upon his family's ravaged corpses and his anger grew into an uncontrollable rage. With a bloodcurdling roar Begon rushed to the nearest tent and tore through the opening. To his surpise, he was met by a beautiful Drow female, seated on a pillowed lounge chair, laughing at him as he raised his axe to destroy her. Begon hestitated for but a moment, but in that moment he realized he could not move. Begon roared in disbelief as the Dark Elf slowly stalked near him and with her gloved hand slowly caressed his face. "I WILL CARVE OUT YOUR HEART AND DRINK YOUR BLOOD!" Begon screamed as he strained against the magical chains keeping him from his vengeance. The Drow continued to laugh, "You came here...seeking revenge? How downright stupid of you." she said as she returned to her seat. "What did you hope to accomplish here? Did you think you would earn an honorable warrior's death... avenge the murder of a loved one...perhaps both?" Her eyes flashed as she saw her words strike home. Begon slumped forward and his rage seemed to drain from his body. His failure was complete. The beautiful Dark Elf came forward once more, grabbed Begon by his hair and glared menacingly into his eyes. "Silly Orc," she purred "We destroyed your people because we needed their souls. Those souls we harvested will not return to the Underdark with us," she continued openly, "No, they have been purchased by a detestable human wizard. They will remain under the infernal sun, you however are doomed." Begon's eyes widened in sudden fear and desperation as the Drow brought forth a black adamantine scourge with slithering snake lashes. The last thing that Begon saw before the blackness fell was the look of ecstasy upon the Drow's face.   Move Action: Action: Bonus Action: Reaction: Interaction: Contingencies: Notes:   Begon Ugo, LVL1 Half-Orc, Barbarian Features:Thanks to your orc blood, you have superior vision in dark and dim Conditions. You can see in dim light within 60 feet of you as if it were bright light, and in Darkness as if it were dim light. You can’t discern color in Darkness, only shades of gray. Darkvision, When you are reduced to 0 hit points but not killed outright, you can drop to 1 hit point instead. You cant use this feature again until you finish a Long Rest.Relentless Endurance, When you score a critical hit with a melee weapon Attack, you can roll one of the weapons damage dice one additional time and add it to the extra damage of the critical hit.Savage Attacks, In battle, you fight with primal ferocity. On Your Turn, you can enter a rage as a Bonus Action. While raging, you gain the following benefits if you aren't wearing heavy armor: You have advantage on Strength Checks and Strength saving throws. When you make a melee weapon Attack using Strength, you gain a +2 bonus to the damage roll. This bonus increases as you level. You have Resistance to bludgeoning, piercing, and slashing damage. If you are able to cast Spells, you can't cast them or concentrate on them while raging. Your rage lasts for 1 minute. It ends early if you are knocked Unconscious or if Your Turn ends and you haven't attacked a hostile creature since your last turn or taken damage since then. You can also end your rage on Your Turn as a Bonus Action. Once you have raged the maximum number of times for your barbarian level, you must finish a Long Rest before you can rage again. You may rage 2 times at 1st level, 3 at 3rd, 4 at 6th, 5 at 12th, and 6 at 17th. Rage, While you are not wearing any armor, your Armor Class equals 10 + your Dexterity modifier + your Constitution modifier. You can use a Shield and still gain this benefit.Unarmored Defense HP: 15/15, AC: 14 , Vision: Darkvision Init: +1 Speed: 30, Passive Perception: 12, Saves: STR +5, DEX +1, CON +5, INT -1, WIS +1, CHA -1 Equipped: +5, 1d12+3 slashingGreatAxe Carried/Unequipped: +5, 1d6+3 slashing, 20/60Handaxe x2 +3, 1d6+1 piercingJavelin

[LinguaManiac]

Zar Dundragon

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Mechanics Race: Human, Variant Class: Rogue Background: Charlatan (Impersonator) Alignment: CN (Tending, I hope, toward NG) Personality Trait: I feel as if the world has treated me unfairly and so shall I treat it. People are only as trustworthy as you are of value to them. Ideal: The powers of the world – Gods, Governments, Institutions of all sorts – are corrupt and deserve to crumble. (Chaotic). Bond: My child died and my wife was sold into slavery because my ‘benefactor’ feared discovery more than me. No one will ever make that mistake again. Flaw: If killing his family in front of him is torture, I tortured and killed a man. I have no regrets. I deserve to be the most powerful person in the room and am envious of anyone who has more power than I.

Credo (Personality Synthesis)   Short and sorrowful is our life. People say there is salvation through the gods, but they are fools. The gods think us mere playthings. They need power now before the second Binding of the Tablets and they use the carcasses of mortals and our very environment as tools to gain that power. They do not care for us and we should not care for them. Live not for the afterlife but for the moment and do what is expedient: lie, cheat, steal – there’s nothing wrong in it. In an ultimately meaningless universe, what in the world is the point? Our name will be forgotten in time and no one will remember our works. Our life will pass away like a cloud or dispersed like early morning fog by the sun. Let no flower of spring pass us by, let us take our wine, and let us share in revelry. Let us oppression the righteous idiot. Let us not spare the widow, the orphan, or regard age as wisdom. If age is weak, it proves itself uselessness.

Appearance   Zar stands a slightly stooped 5’8”. He weighs barely nine stone, although it’s all tightly-packed muscle. His leather vest looks like a worn wooden floor, its metal support studs greased and scuffed. His cloak is naked wool, crumbled from the number of nights he’s used it in place of a bedroll. His black hair, just starting to gray, is tied back into tight-bound tail. And though washed, a close inspection of its ends shows them to have been sawn off by a particularly careless barber (him – he was that barber). These are the most noticeable, but a careful observer sees three other things, far more telling. His fists are almost always clenched. His jaw is as well. And his eyes, which once might have been as brown as a new made and freshly varnished chair, now looks like a night empty of stars. They examine the world, these eyes, and will not flinch nor barely blink from an enraged giant. They do, though, shy from the happy virgin.

Backstory   Zar grew up the third son of a blacksmith and the daughter of a wheelwright. His two elder brothers had taken their father’s build, tall and broad. He took his mothers, small and slight. Never destined to the work of blacksmith nor the wheelwright, his parents tried to find him work that suited his temperament and skills. “Remember son,” his father would say, “An honest man is a successful man. Work hard at your position, do your work honestly and strive forward manly and you will succeed.” Because his father had taken his own advice, the man had done well enough to give his son a proper education, to which the boy’s mind was by nature inclined. With a pat, a wave, and several rounds of hugs, the large family (which included two over-indulgent elder sisters who ought not to be forgot) sent the little boy off to grammar school. Then off to a school of logic. They were all ready to send him off to a school of rhetoric to make of their son and brother a proper scholar, but he said no. He wanted to work. Like his father and his brothers and his second sister. They found him work in a merchant house, keeping books and learning the trade of trade. “I don’t like it,” said his eldest brother, who had apprenticed to their father, “Merchants care for money more than honor.” “All professions can be noble,” said their father, “Or do you think our food and our candles and our Lord Torm’s Good Book comes on its own legs from the farmers and the candlestick makers and the scribes?” Mother said, “Please, Zar, read another passage. You have the best voice among us.” He was a good worker, diligent and always wanting to complete that last little extra. Better yet, though he did work hard and he did work manly, he wasn’t a hard-nose to the grind-stone. He enjoyed a drink and jokes and good company. The merchant house to which he apprenticed quickly gave him more responsibility, and then some more. They moved him from Athkatla to a new House in Baldur’s Gate. “I don’t think he should move so far from the family,” said his Mother. His father said, “Let him go off on his own and be a man, Shira.” So he went off on his own. And he tried to be a man. It was more difficult in Baldur’s Gate. The Merchant House there was small, cramped, and poorly lit. The drapes were thick and unwieldy wool instead of pleasant silk. There were no golden candlestickholders and no cushioned chairs. In fact, there were no chairs. Workers got a stool if they got there early. If they weren’t there early, they got nothing at all. Zar always managed to get a stool. This lack of creature comforts bothered him less than his boss, though. Cairn Freehand was a small, sharp man who demanded perfection that his workers could never give. Before the first year was up, he’d already driven many apprentices (almost an even dozen) from the House in tears. That first years had other compensations, however. One in particular; her name was Shannon. She was a clear spring day: light, soft, and her touch the spurn to growing things. She made him work harder and better and with a smile on his face. This perplexed his coworkers, as they careened from the Merchant House in tears. It enraged Cairn. “Do you even know what they sent us here expecting to do? Of course not, though you might fit right in. Dishonest, thieving, rotten voids of space!” The nature of his insults would not strike Zar as important until much to late. One day, a week after the most recent apprentice had fled and about one year after he himself had arrived, Zar opened the door to find a troop of merchant princes from the Athkatla House standing in solemn array. They nodded at him but passed as if they’d never met. Shutting themselves up in Cairn’s office in undisturbed conversation for several hours, the rest of the House only heard an occasional raised voice. They left more cheerful. To Zar’s cheer, they also left behind someone new, a tall and stately Calishites man named Aesir Rein. Over the next five years, the whole place transformed. The curtains became silk, there were candelabres and chandelier, a whole new wing was put onto the merchant house, and their too few stools became copious comfy chairs. Apprentices no longer fled in tears and everyone was happier. Everyone except Cairn who, who’s descent into his own personal hell was noticeable, even though it seemed to Zar that hell wasn’t far for him to travel. Cairn would snap at everyone for any infraction, however minor. He drank heavily, and in the office. He’d sent his family home and slept instead not in his own catered household or even a flophouse, but as permanent guest of a half-collapsed brothel. Only Aesir kept him at bay, gliding into the room like a fresh breeze over a midden. Professional serenity dovetailed with personal felicity. Two years into this five year rise, Zar and Shannon married. Setting up a house close to the market district, they stayed happy and even had the funds to host his family who at least once a year managed the trip. At the fifth year, an ultimate capstone: Zar and Shannon had a child, a daughter named Fiona. At the fifth year, another almost capstone: Cairn left, shouting at Aesir and the whole house for being “as crooked as a witch’s nose.” Again, the nature of the accusation did not register till later. A week before month’s end, Aesir asked Zar to step into his office. “We have a problem, Zar.” “What’s that?” “Well, with Cairn gone, we missed filing some paperwork.” “Well, let’s file it then. What is it, I’ll get right on it.” “That’s what I like about you, Zar. Always so ready to work.” So he explained. Because Cairn had left, as he had said, they’d missed a deadline. Normally, this would not be a difficulty. In a world of business and government, missing paperwork was like missing a verse in your poem’s recitation. You might get chided; you would not be punished. They, however, were going to be punished. Cairn told Zar, quite emphatically, that the Government of Baldur’s Gate had clamped down hard on paperwork delays. Zar had not seen this, but Aesir knew more than he, surely.. What was more, the Calishite man said, the other merchants guilds were so corrupt that they wanted use the Althkatla House’s recent upheaval as a dagger to the throat. That was, unless Zar could mimic this official document which Aesir just happened to have there in the House. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, sir,” he said, trying to be as circumspect as possible. “I understand,” he said, with a fatherly smile. “I’m glad you don’t want to do anything unpleasant. But it does make things difficult, yes?” “Well, if we just explain…” “No, no, no...” Aesir said. “I’m afraid that’s not how it works. Now, I’ll just write to the people back home and tell them that you wouldn’t do it. Although they will be angry…” “Eh… well… we’ll just file it next time, right?” “Now, now Zar. That isn’t how one treats his employers. We’ve been good employers to you, yes?” “Yes sir.” “And you’ve been happy here?” “Yes sir.” “And you want to keep working here, right?” “Yes sir.” “Well then you think you could fill this out before we have any problems we have to tell the office back in Athkatla about, yes?” With a sigh, he answered, “Yes sir.” “Good man. There’ll be a bonus in it for you at month-end, I’m sure.” There was a bonus, but if anything it made Zar feel worse, dirty. It certainly made next month no easier. Aesir called him into the office again with another document that just needed to be filled out, the deadline of which they just missed, because their evil and corrupt competitors changed the deadline on it, and they had to do this or he, Aesir, was going to have to tell the Home Office on him, Zar. And, after all, Zar had liked the bonus he’d gotten, right? He would normally have said no, but, perhaps with foresight, perhaps on instinct, or perhaps because for yet another reason Zar only understood later, Aesir seemed to know that Zar needed the money. The brewery belonging to Shannon’s brother had burned down just the week before, and the poor man with his eight children was trying to scrounge the funds from his mostly cash-strapped family. Next month it was the same, except this time Aesir bullied and threatened. “You did it the last two months without complaint, but you’re going to back out now?” Zar wanted to say that he hadn’t, in fact, forged the documents the last two months without complain, but he never got there. Aesir had more threats to tell Athkatla and even some threats to expose him to the Flaming Fists. After two years, Zar did more than just forge documents. He sneaked around town, he impersonated officials, he smuggled contraband, and now weekly, daily. Though the Merchant House was opulent and though Zar took home a bag of silver almost every night to hand into the hands of his ever more distant wife, he barely remembered his old life. He lived in a world alone from his coworkers, the special confidant and secret-keeper of Aesir. The long shadow of duplicity spread into the rest of his life; Shannon and he fought, raging over slights the source of which she did not understand and he could not face. Even from his family he’d cut all ties, severing his dark world from the light and forthright vigor of his childhood. He started arriving to the Merchant House late and leaving early, to dissipate hours in the window-covered shame of decaying pubs. By the year 1489, Baldur’s Gate had undergone almost a century of constant, churning growth. This growth had been sustained by putting refugees to work, an exceptionally trained guard in The Flaming Fist, and one last but perhaps most important thing: a series of competing merchants guilds who demanded absolute honesty throughout trade in their region. This all came to a head later that year. In part, because of the flu. Not much worse than any year, but enough, just enough. The Churches were overburdened and had to prioritize somehow. They prioritized their faithful. Zar and his family had stopped showing their faces at the door of Torm’s Temple every week. When they did now, when their daughter was sick, the door was (politely) shut in their faces. Fiona his daughter got worse. Then even worse and he tried bribing a temple. The Flaming Fist took him in, kept him for a night, then kicked him out the next day. Zar had never seen Aesir so angry. “You could have brought the whole damn city down on top of us!” “Fiona needs a cure. Get me a potion!” “You need to forge these.” Aesir had long since abandoned euphemism. “And if they’re done by the end of the day, I might try to get her a potion.” For his daughter’s life, Zar was able to do what he’d never managed for his honor. He stood tall and said, “Get me the potion now or I will tell The Flaming Fist. I’ve collected evidence for six months.” They parted in anger but with a promise. Aesir would get the potion. Zar would do the forging, all of it, even if it took him late in the night to finish as his wife lay suspicious in bed. Well, he took that work home. And The Flaming Fist found that evidence, him hunched over and working on it, when they burst through his door that night. They carried him away, this time for a longer stay. For one week The Flaming Fist held Zar in the dungeon. He then saw the judge and pleaded his case. In a rush, he told the man all he knew. Full honesty, it was good for the soul. In a glorious moment, he thought confession would bring him peace. “Liar,” the judge said, “I have all the information right here. It was found in your desk by the very boss you try to accuse now.” And Aesir was there, just there, smiling like the devil. He must have been there the whole time, smiling. He said, “I knew you must have been a brilliant actor, Zar, to fool us this whole time, but today’s performance really was one for the ages.” The judge was in favor of the execution the next day, after a quick visit from whichever clergy Zar might so wish to profane. But Aesir disagreed. “Let him go home for one night,” the man said with that smile. “We have walls around this city.” He arrived home to a too quiet house. A neighbor sat rocking in the only chair. The rest had been smashed and the whole house uined, looking as if it had been sacked by five armies in progression. “Fiona? Shannon?” Fiona had died of her fever two days after Zar had been arrested. The next day, The Flaming Fist ransacked the place, and that night another group of men came and carried off Shannon. His neighbor motioned to Fiona’s bedroom. “I dressed her for a funeral. I’d hoped you’d get back, to see her one last time.” Rage was not the word. Nor was loathing. No pitch of passion felt by either Bane or Gruumsh compared. Zar did not return to The Flaming Fist the next day. Having traveled the dark line of criminality for more than two years, he knew or could bluff himself into a sanctuary. If his stench hadn’t scared even the muggers off, his eyes would have. He found a small thieves guild, a bath, and traded his last possessions for more, sharper, prettier possessions. There were two fires that night. The Merchant House that recently had moved from Athkatla burned down and so did a small working house held by a quiet family, just off from the market square. The second house still had the body of Zar’s daughter. It was the best burial he could afford. The news of these fires were overshadowed, though, by news more gruesome. Five people had been murdered that night, a whole family. Worse, because of the way the kids had been tied into their chairs and how their faces were bruised, it looked like the murderer claimed them first. Then the wife, who bled to death on her bed from a gut-wound. Finally the husband, a foreign merchant named Aesir. He had been hanged. But from the marks on his skin, it looked as if he had been strangled almost to the point of suffocation several times before the murderer finished his job. What monster could this be? Zar traveled widely after that. From a hint of Aesir’s when the man still hoped to save his family, Zar thought he might find Shannon in Mulhorand. Before the sun had set on his second day outside the walls of Baldur's Gate, Zar knew he couldn't stay like this. With no money, no food, and no more water than what he could slurp from the stream as he past, Zar discovered (a bit to his shock) that he couldn't walk to Mulhorand on dedicaiton. He needed a job. But what kind of job could this this living poltergeist get? He got that first job back in Athkatla, barely a twenty minute walk from his family whom he would not visit. He got it from the open hands and grinning mouths of The Shadow Thieves. He had no idea but he had ever right to expect that this job would lead him right where it did.

RP Example   For almost a month, Zar recieved his instructions from a fishing stall by the docks. This was in several ways ironic. Not only could he see the Merchant House where he first apprenticed, but his contact, who saw him staring at it, had told him it used to be a Shadow Thieves' guildehouse. This was years ago, back during the Time of Troubles, He said. Zar's first several jobs were petty, easy affairs that trained him more to shadow and listen to his marks than to pocket anything from them or shiv anything into them. This was good. Zar had no idea what he would say if they demanded he assassinate someone. Would he balk? Would he consent? Did he have any spine left? Any moral authoirty? He continued his jobs wondering this same question and thrice a week met his contact down by the docks. Every time he did this, he always asked the same questions, Any job to take me out of the city? Any job East and South? Always the same response. No. After asking and being rebuffed for three months, two weeks, and five days, finally a different answer. Yes. Then, But it's dangerous. Danger was okay. Danger was better in fact. Danger distracted Zar from the helplessness and the screams that ate at his dreams. There were ten of them and they ran the gamut. Some were children or just out of it, without a man's height or his chest. Others were older, sagging creatures with hard faces and missing teeth. They all smelled, perhaps all of them did, Zar included. It wasn't exactly foul, not the rot or the decay of the unwashed. It was instead bitter, acidic, and it hung in the nostrils. There were fights often and ocassionally someone was insjured in a scrape. Zar sat away from them all, almost never speaking and letting them squabble. About the time the troope had reached The Dragon Coast and made it most the way to Westgate was about the time Zar started to think he might be able to disappear at night and cross the Sea of Fallen Stars directly to Mulhorand. While on watch and staring up into the moonless sky, he thought about this. Then there was chaos. They were everywhere, although exactly who 'they' were was unclear. Most of his sleeping co-travelers were awake in a moment, but most barely stood before they had an arrow through their chest or their legs knocked out from under them again. Zar found a creature in front of him suddenly and barely escaped a sword to the chest. He countered with his own sword, which was itself deflected. A slash that he could do no more to prepare for than close his eyes and he fell to the ground. The cut burned from his cheek to this temple. He blinked his eyes, and, with a sigh he almost didn't expect, felt releaved in remaining a two-eyed creature. Strong, spindley arms grabbed his body and hauled him upward. He was wrapped in chains and only then could he manage to make out the creatures. He'd never seen them before but he could guess their origin at a glance. Dark Elves, Drow, and he was their prisoner. He had a long walk into the Underdark to figure out how he felt about that.

My Hope for the Character   My hope with the background (long as it was) is to show that Zar is a good man broken by circumstance. But not only circumstance. He played some part in his own destruction, having given into Aesir’s demands even that first time. And again not just every time he continued to submit to Aesir but when he went to the Shadow Thieves instead of his family for help. No doubt he also feels like a failure for not reaching Mulhorand. Not one of these failures has he integrated into his character or his understanding of the world, except to the extent that he is growing steadily more furious at it all. My hope is that this campaign (besides providing him with a series of super butt-kicking action) gives him a chance at redemption, a way to recover the straight-and-narrow, and a reconciliation (likely only possible at the end) with his family. If not that, then I hope he comes to grip with his own part in the dissolution. I personally do not know nor do I directly care if his wife is alive or what his parents and siblings think or know about his life in Baldur’s Gate. Nor do I care if he ever sees them in-game. I find this character interested and wish to see what circumstances make of him. Cheers.

Stat Block   Zar Dundragon, Prisoner, Level One Rogue HP: 10/10; AC: 14 (unarmored) Initiative: +4; Passive Perception 18, Speed 30ft Weapons: Unarmed Currently Features and Abilities: Light ArmorArmor Proficiency, Simple Weapons, Hand Crossbows, Longswords, Rapiers, ShortswordsWeapon Profiency, "You have created a second Identity that includes documentation, established acquaintances, and disguises that allow you to assume that persona. Additionally, you can forge documents including official papers and personal letters, as long as you have seen an example of the kind of document or the handwriting you are trying to copy." PHB 128False Identity, "At 1st level, choose two of your skill proficiencies, or one of your skill proficiencies and your proficiency with thieves' tools. Your proficiency bonus is doubled for any ability check you make that uses either of the chosen proficiencies.//At 6th level, you can choose two more of your proficiencies (in skills or with thieves' tools) to gain this benefit." PHB 96 (Stealth and Perception) Expertise, +1d6 once per turn, finesse or ranged, with advantage or with another enemy w/in 5ft. Sneak Attack, "During your rogue training you learned thieves' cant, a secret mix of dialect, jargon, and codes that allows you to hide messages in seemingly normal conversation. Only another creature that knows thieves' cant understands such messages. It takes four times longer to convey such a message than it does to speak the same idea plainly. In addition, you understand a set of secret signs and symbols used to convey short, simple messages, such as whether an area is dangerous or the territory of a thieves' guild, whether loot is nearby or whether the people in an area are easy marks or will provide a safe house for thieves on the run." PHB 96.Thieves' Cant,

[Trinity]

Game over.

[Prometheus]

Tarrel the Zealous Name: Tarrel the Zealous Race: Half-Elf Class: Paladin Background: Acolyte Alignment: Lawful Good (...he tries.) Appearance: There is no magic on the mortal plane that could hide the way Tarrel carries his anger. Though he could be considered a handsome man, with rich skin, blond hair, and intense green eyes, it is all but lost in the aimless but vicious resentment that hangs over him. His life is a curse, terrible and infuriating, and it tests him at every turn. And yet, would his god let him suffer so much if he did not deserve it? Backstory: One of countless infants abandoned the doorstep of a temple of Torm, Tarrel is torn between resentment at a life forced onto him, and a desperate need to belong. Raised on the tenets of courage and self-sacrifice, his barely-restrained temper has stoked the twin lights into a roaring fire of almost suicidal fervor. Has Torm chosen him because he sees more in the boy? Is there a place for him in the world? Or is he merely a torch hurled into the darkness to crackle and burn for as long as he is able? These questions haunt him, and the only way to escape the specter of 'tomorrow' is to throw himself into 'today' with all his might. Role Play Example: Every twist of the tunnel, every ledge he jumped down further into the darkness, Tarrel became more and more aware of how lost he was. His torch, what was left of it, flickered and smoked in protest of burning too damp and too long. The air was still, stale, and tasted like gravel, leaving his mouth dry. Even the ground beneath his feet could not seem to decide whether it wanted to be damp and jagged, or smooth and treacherous. Tarrel did not care, he had come for a reason. Brother Garth, a man Tarrel barely knew, had gone missing in these tunnels weeks ago. No search had been successful, no divination showed any hints of his continued living, and one by one, the other members of the order had accepted the man as dead. Tarrel, the night before Garth's funeral was to be held, volunteered to make one last search. Or rather, he volunteered himself. His fellows had been afraid, put their own safety above that of a man they'd already given up for lost. It was selfishness, cowardice, and Tarrel only barely managed to bite his tongue, to hold in the heated words he wanted to spit in their faces. Instead, he left, in the dead of night. The order would not understand, but Torm would smile upon him for his dedication to the tenets, for his exceptional courage. He had to. Tarrel dared not think about what it would mean if he did not. When the cold black of the Underdark fell upon the young paladin, it was not because his torch had failed, nor his faith. It was simply a sap to the back of his neck, wielded by a drow Tarrel was too busy fuming to even think to notice. When next he awoke, he was already a slave.

Post Template Tarrel Angry angry grr grr rawr.   Movement: Action: Bonus Action: Reaction: Contingencies: Rolls: Notes:   Tarrel the Zealous Paladin 1 HP: 11/11 AC: 16 (10) Insight: +1 Perception: -1 Initiative: +0 Speed: 30 ft. STR DEX CON INT WIS CHA 16 (+3) 10 (+0) 12 (+1) 08 (-1) 08 (-1) 16 (+3) ST +3 ST +0 ST +1 ST -1 ST +1 ST +5 Features Dark as dim and dim as bright up to 60 ft.Darkvision, 4/day, detect demons, celestials, undead, etc. up to 60 feet.Divine Sense, Advantage on saves vs. charm, immune to sleeping spellsFey Ancestry As action, restore hit points with touch, up to 5/dayLay on Hands, Common, Elven, Dwarven, Celestial, SylvanLanguages, Simple Weapons, Martial Weapons, All Armor, ShieldsProficiencies Individuals who share my faith will assist me and my party as long as I remain in good standing and it does not cause them undue cost or risk.Shelter of the Faithful

 

[Disaster Master]

Character Name: Rugadh Faoi Chinniúint (Pronunciation) Appearance: As you enter the Pick and Lantern, your eyes are immediately drawn to the young dark elf that is performing elven music on the lyre at the front of the stage. She must have noticed you as she turns her head and bestows a glance on you through her vigilant eyes with a friendly light smile on her lips. You are immediately sure that you would recognize her girlish handsome face among hundreds. The natural beauty of her narrow face is nicely accentuated by the elven-made fine silver hair chain she wears around her forehead. As you move closer, you spot the color of her eyes. They seem to glow with a hue of red, and golden flecks are speckled through the iris. They do not radiate the hatred so common among the drow race. There is something different hidden behind her look, suppressed sadness and, at the same time, unshakable hope. From a closer distance, you realize that she is a very small person, even by drow standards and not much taller than the average mountain dwarf. Her slender, shapely body is framed by her full, silver-white hair, which she wears loose. Thick strands of hair fall down her back, sides, and chest to the floor. You estimate that her hair would be at least ankle-length if she were standing upright. Her graceful silken garments reveal much of her jet-black skin and her feminine curves. Only a few silver jewelry chains seem to hold together the different pieces of the shiny fabric. A warm shiver runs down your spine as she straightens herself up on her stool. Being absorbed in her dark elven beauty, you almost miss the end of the tune she has been playing. She places down her precious instrument. Casting expectant glances, she waves you nearer. With weak knees, you close the distance between yourself and the charming and inscrutable dark elf. "Well met, traveler!" she greets you in a musical voice. "What fate led you to Skullport?" Race Drow Class: Bard (College of Lore) Alignment: Chaotic Good (formerly evil) Background: Courtier

Backstory   Rugadh Faoi was born as the eldest daughter of the minor noble House Chinniúint in the large drow settlement of Menzoberranzan. She is now on the run from her people. She is sociable and charming and knows how to use her social and diplomatic talents to accomplish her goals, or rather to have them accomplished. In general, she has a cheerful disposition, and her dry humor and quick wits are quite entertaining, which makes her the ideal partner for a casual chat or even profound talk or for a sweeping dance on the floor. She likes to distract herself with singing, dancing, drinking and other carnal pleasures, trying to forget the dark memories of her past. Her childhood and youth were much like that of any other young noble drow and full of lesser and greater evils. But fate dictated that her soul was different. From early on, doubts about the sins she was committing were creeping into her subconscious. She tried to drown her sorrows by committing even more acts of cruelty. With her silver tongue, it was easy for her to denounce others and to get the most for herself. Becoming a priestess of Lolth would have been the most natural thing for a noble drow female, but this would have also meant less independence. Instead, the early acquisition of an ancient elven instrument attracted her to the ways of a bard. While she was rising in rank and reputation in her house, she could ignore her qualms less and less causing her bouts of raving insanity and unsurpassed cruelty even for a drow. During the nights, however, she could not find any sleep. It culminated when she had to kill her elven house slave Aravila to cover up that she had made love to him. As she was being driven to the borders of madness, she witnessed a fierce fight between surface elves and drow, which was taking place in the upper Underdark near Skullport. That event suddenly cleared her mind. Always being attracted to elven music and seeing the drow as part of the elven race, she observed sisters and brothers fighting sisters and brothers. From that moment on, she knew what she had to do and didn’t ignore her conscious anymore. Secretly, she is praying for an end to all the sins of the drow and for forgiveness, for her race and for herself. She is hoping for a day that all elven subraces will peacefully coexist. Rugadh Faoi has begun to procure forbidden books about the lore of the surface races. Although her alignment has been changing and the little good spot in her heart has been allowed to grow, she has been quite good at hiding her new feelings and has continued to play her former rôle. Nevertheless, one day her cover is blown, and she has to flee from her mother Faeryl and from Menzoberranzan with only what she can carry. She hopes she can somehow make it to the surface to learn more about its fabulous lands and to eventually make peaceful contact with surface elves. By acting accordingly, Rugadh Faoi hopes to earn credit in the Night Above, for herself, but also for her race. As she is currently completely on her own, one of the most pressing problems is to find allies. It would be nice if Rugadh Faoi would return to Menzoberranzan one day and face her mother and her former society. Unbeknown to others, she still possesses secrets that she could use to blackmail some members of Menzoberranzan’s nobility. Unbeknown to her, Aravila’s family has been making inquiries and is about to find out about the fate of their son. She still calls the dwarf Wilgold Gunderbradt, owner of the tavern Pick and Lantern in Skullport, a friend. Her public performances there were generating growing sales. Another friend of her, at least as far as this concept goes in drow society, is Calimar Melarn, a male soldier of House Melarn who has been addicted to her since he first met her. He would satisfy any of her wishes, hoping that she would return the favors. Rugadh Faoi often has visions, in which Aravila appears. She slowly recognizes that it was true love that she felt with him.

Role-play example   The nightly campfire was spending its warmth under the dark star-lit sky in this cloudless night on the surface of Toril. She had found peace. She was sitting around the fireplace with probably a dozen of the fair folk, sun elves, moon elves and wood elves. They were chatting, singing and dancing together. Celebrating the beauty of the world and sharing tales about the even more beautiful Arvandor. Rugadh Faoi danced around the fire, her long white hair swirling around the blackness of her body. None of the other elves seemed to notice that her skin was not pale but as dark as it could get, that her eyes were not green, blue or golden but red, and that she wouldn’t be able to recite any of Corellon’s commandments, but more than a share of Lolth’s dark blessings. Suddenly, a ghostly elf appeared at the edge of the glade. The dance stopped and everyone was looking at him. Rugadh Faoi was scared stiff as she recognized the ghost of Aravila. He raised his arm and pointed at her. "How dare you! Mingling with my folk… drow! Have you forgotten what you did to me? You could have saved me, but your black heart told you to kill me. Go back where you came from. You have forfeited any rights to be among Corellon’s chosen folk." "I…", Rugadh Faoi began, but no more words came to her lips. The other elves around the campfire had weapons in their hands. They suddenly recognized her for what she was. "There is a drow among us!" they yelled. She turned around and began to run into the forest. She ran and ran, not daring look back. After a while, she was nearly dead from exhaustion. She had to stop and turned around. There was no campfire anymore. There were no faerie elves anymore. There was no Aravila anymore. In fact, even the forest and the sky was no more. She was standing in utter darkness as if in one of the countless Underdark caverns much larger than the reach of her darkvision. She was on her own. Alone, again. Rugadh Faoi woke up all of a sudden. She felt beads of sweat on her forehead. Since a few days, she had been having these nightmares, and it made everything worse than she thought it could get. Shivering, the stood up from the hard ground and stretched. She took the few belongings that remained her and continued her lonesome walk through the Underdark. Today was the twentieth day since she had to leave Menzoberranzan, the city of the drow. In the beginning, she had been quite confident about her plan to reach the surface eventually. Well, that was before she had stumbled upon that thrice-damned carrion crawler. She had survived that encounter and had praised the gods for that, but she had to pay dearly for it. During the fight and her subsequent escape, she had lost her map, which had been showing a promising route through the countless tunnels of the Underdark towards the Night Above. And from that day on, things hadn’t taken a turn for the better anymore. In order to avoid more, possible deadly encounters with further predators and worse Underdark horrors, she had been forced more often than not to just run and flee into whatever tunnel branch-off that had been near. Rugadh Faoi didn’t have the instinct of the dwarves that enables them to navigate every subterranean tunnel system with unmatched certainty. After a few days, she had completely lost her orientation. She increased her pace. She had enough to drink, but finding enough to eat was a problem. Although there was some fungus growing in the tunnels in this region, she only knew a fraction of the many different species and she feared to poison herself. Had I known this before, I would have paid more attention to these boring agriculture classes I had to take when I was young, she thought to herself. She sighed an glanced at her clothes. The fabric was torn in part, filth clung to her shirt and her pants. Not exactly suitable for Sorcere’s graduation ball… Cling. Cling. She raised her head, her long white hair fell backward. There was a faint sound of chainmail clanging. The dark elven bard looked out for a hiding spot. A few yards away there was a small ledge behind which she took cover. Her position granted her a good view into the tunnel from where the sounds emanated. Two drow warriors appeared in the range of her darkvision as they came around a corner. A family crest was not visible on their armor. Thoughts raced through her mind as she went through the few options she had. She could show up and use her diplomatic talent to get some help. Or she could stay in her hiding place and hope that she would remain unnoticed and that she would eventually get support from somewhere else. Rugadh Faoi went for the first option. After all, they were only two men and who knew whether she would ever be given a second chance to improve her dire situation. She made sure that her concealed dagger still was close at hand on her hip before she stood up from behind the rock with slightly upraised hands. Showing her most charming smile, she addressed the two drow as they came near: "Well met, soldiers! You come at the right time, although I haven't expected to see a drow patrol in this forlorn region." "Who are you and what do you want?" the taller one of the two drow asked suspiciously. "You don’t look very well equipped for a long journey. And we are not near to civilization." "That’s exactly my problem", Rugadh Faoi replied. "My mission was to convey some important information. Unfortunately, my entourage and me, we ran into a roaming band of filthy goblins", she lied. Rugadh Faoi gave a laugh. "Well, what shall I say to this? The mercenaries I had been given by my client to take with me were lousy mollycoddles. They managed to lose the fight against the goblins! Before it was too late, I began to leave the scene. By ill luck, without most of my possessions." She shrugged. The soldier sneered. "Goblins? They shall count themselves lucky that they hadn’t tried to mug us instead. We would have made short shrift of them." He eyed up Rugadh Faoi. She noticed that his gaze lingered a bit too long on her body for going unnoticed. "Anyway… important information, you say? Sounds like a highly prized piece of intelligence. What do you think of telling us more about it? I am sure we are then willing to re-equip you." She acted as if she almost had to burst out laughing. "I beg your pardon? Who are you, man, that you dare haggle with me about that? If you knew who my client is and who the recipient of the message, you would be much more cautious, my dear fellow." For a very brief moment, she could see his face showing fear. "However", she said, trying a shot in the dark, "I might want to discuss the matter with your superior. She would certainly be interested in what I have to offer, so you’d better behave nicely and lead me to her." "She may be right", the second drow, which had remained silent so far, said. Turning to Rugadh Faoi, he offered her a piece of rothe cheese. "You look hungry! Eat, and then you can come with us, mistress. Our main force stays just a few turnings behind us." Rugadh Faoi followed the two of them. It was quite a gamble. She still didn’t know to which faction these drow belonged and what their mission was. Maybe they were working for one of the houses that were specialized in the slave trade. Looking for replenishment in these tunnels. Goblins, orcs, dwarves that had gone lost. In any case, much more possibilities to acquire well-needed resources would open up at the camp of this drow unit. Of course, she would have to develop her made-up story further. But she had enough confidence in her persuasive skills. As they turned around the final tunnel bend, they were reaching the rest of the party of the two drow warriors. And what she saw made her lose her confidence immediately. It was not because of the three other fighters. It was because of the drow priestess that was their leader. Ilvara Mizzrym! Why on earth do I have to meet her in these goddess-forsaken tunnels? "Rugadh Faoi!" Ilvara said with a sarcastic smile on her lips. It took her only a second to overcome her astonishment about meeting the fugitive eldest daughter of an associated house. "What a nice surprise! I really appreciate it that you grace myself with your presence, sunshine. But don’t you think it is a bit risky for you to be here? From what I heard, your mother longs for you. The altar is readily prepared, but the sacrifice to Lolth went before saying goodbye… Heretic!" Ilvara nearly spat out the last word. "Seize her!" Ilvara commanded her subordinates. Rugadh Faoi knew that she had lost. Her own house, Chinniúint, was an associate to Mizzrym. In the past, she had been a guest of Mizzrym for several times when she had had to do business on behalf of her mother so she was no unknown to the Mizzryms. Ilvara would certainly love to deliver her personally to her mother. Just to rub the nose of the matron of House Chinniúint in the fact that her own eldest daughter, which had never succeeded in becoming a priestess and yet had been successful in the society of the drow, was a heretic. There was a slight chance, though, that it wasn’t yet too late for her. She had been careful enough to stay behind the two drow when they arrived at Ilvara’s group so she wasn’t yet surrounded. She thought about casting a spell but quickly abandoned that idea. She would never be able to neutralize all the warriors at once, let alone Ilvara. The only option left for her was to run, hoping that she would be able to outrun Ilvara’s drow. So the lithe dark elf spun around and began to sprint away, around the bend, away from Ilvara’s party. Her long hair was billowing behind her. She didn’t dare look back. She couldn’t have had a lead of more than thirty feet. Thump! In the next moment, she felt an acute pain as the bolt of a hand crossbow pierced into her rear. Suddenly, she felt dizzy. A second later, she collapsed on the hard cavern floor. Sleeping poison, was the last thing she thought before she lost her consciousness.

Stat Block Rugadh Faoi Chinniúint CG Female dark elf bard 1 Armor Class 13 Hit Points 10/10 Speed 30 ft Str 7 Dex 17 Con 14 Int 9 Wis 14 Cha 18 Saving throws Dex +5, Cha +6 Skills Acrobatics +5, Deception +6, Insight +4, Perception +4, Persuasion +6, Stealth +5 Senses darkvision 60 ft. passive Perception 13 Languages Undercommon, Elvish, Common, Goblin Spellcasting (DC 14, +6) Cantrips minor illusion, vicious mockery 1st level (2 slots) dissonant whispers, healing word, hideous laughter, thunderwave Rapier +5 (1d8+3 piercing) Dagger +5 (1d4+3 piercing) Crossbow, hand +5 (1d6+3 piercing)

Character Sheet

[girlplay]

Elsha's stat block Cleric: level 2 HP: 17 AC: 14 Str Dex Con Int Wis Cha 14(+2) 14(+2) 14(+2) 11(+0) 14(+2) 14(+2) Initiative: +2 Proficiency bonus: +2 Speed: 30 feet Passive perception: 12 Saving throws modifier Strength +2 Dexterity +2 Constitution +2 Intelligence +0 Wisdom +4 Charisma +4