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Old 05-12-2019, 07:41 PM
Impaleddearan's Avatar
Impaleddearan Impaleddearan is offline
The Dread Lord
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yes, however i strongly advise against grung

Last edited by Impaleddearan; 05-12-2019 at 07:42 PM.
Old 05-12-2019, 07:55 PM
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Nikolas Nikolas is offline
Sapphire Dragon
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So my plate mailed Cleric of Order Grung is a bad idea after all? Lol

I was thinking more in line a dragon marked gnome paladin or a shifter fighter.
Old 05-12-2019, 08:19 PM
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Impaleddearan Impaleddearan is offline
The Dread Lord
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on second thought. no grung because it is not on dndbeyond so
Old 05-13-2019, 07:57 AM
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versemicroverse versemicroverse is offline
Adult Dragon
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versemicroverse versemicroverse
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Looks like you have plenty of applicants, please disregard my interest.
Old 05-14-2019, 11:45 AM
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Ysolde Ysolde is offline
Pony Princess
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Name: Tenebria Occidra
Race: Human
Alignment: NE
Class: Cleric of Shar (Death)
Background: Aristocrat
Appearance: Short cropped dyed black hair and brown eyes. She stands 5' 9" and is lithe and limber from years of training and practice. She had a noble grace to her movements. Her voice has a lyrical quality that makes what she says sound so very tempting.
Personality: Tenebria is darkness personified. A perfect acolyte of the lady of loss and darkness. She has few friends, but makes a pretense of it so that people will listen and follow her.
Backstory: Born into a noble family Tenebria knew only wealth, excess, and joy as a young child. Though she could have been spoiled her parents taught her about helping others, being a good citizen, and more. She learned those lessons well and she would give alms to the poor, help charities, and more. Perhaps the world would be a better place had things stayed that way, but it was not to be. There was an attack on the kingdom. Tenebria watched as the people in the city she loved were ravaged and killed. She watched as her parents armies fell, her parents fled with her through secret tunnels with her friends, but she watched one by one as her friends and family died or were taken prisoner.

She was taken as a prisoner and endured all forms of torment and suffering. She had lost everything in her life and was in a lowly prison cell. She nearly took her life then, and perhaps the world would have been better for it. However, instead of taking her life she heard the call of the Goddess. Shar, lady of darkness and loss called to Tenebria and she listened. With the power of the dark goddess Tenebria escaped her prison and has ever since been devoted to the Lady of Loss.

She has recently received an invitation. Clearly this is a chance to ensure that her lady is served.

Yes, I know she's NE, but she will work with others to serve her cause. She isn't about to simply cut everyone's throat in the middle of the night or anything. Besides, she can and will turn undead. She is dedicated to their destruction as well.

Last edited by Ysolde; 05-14-2019 at 11:48 AM.
Old 05-16-2019, 02:25 PM
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RadarD RadarD is offline
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Name: Tark
right-aligned image

Race: Lizardfolk
Alignment: Neutral
Class: Druid
Background: Outlander

Appearance: Tark's scales appear dark, almost black, and upon close inspection are slightly reflective. The fin that runs down his back is grayish and translucent. He is smaller than the average lizardfolk emphasized by his tendency to move on all fours rather than standing tall. What little apparel he wears appears to be crafted by his own hands with middling talent.

Personality: Tark is borderline feral but generally pulls himself together in the company of strangers, enough to not create a full scene but still perhaps some awkward situations. Loyal to those he calls his friends he will defend them ferociously. When fortunate enough to be in the wilderness Tark embraces his deep connection with the wild, emulating the creatures he sees.

Backstory: Tark has always been curious, especially for a lizardfolk. While the others of his clutch learned the ways of his people Tark was busy learning the secrets of the wild. Fascinated by all the various forms of life he often emulated them trying to fit in with their packs or herds.

This tendency continued when he encountered more civilized life and over the years he joined groups of travelers for varying stretches of time until his curiosity pulled him in another direction. Travelers often enjoyed having him around for his strange antics and his ability to help them on dangerous treks through the wilds. Despite the fascination of the civilized races Tark always returned to the wild animals of the forests and swamps.

Most recently he has fallen in with a group traveling to the castle ravenloft. Tark has never been inside a true castle before and is excited about the opportunity.

Last edited by RadarD; 05-16-2019 at 02:26 PM.
Old 05-17-2019, 03:45 AM
Jim Faindel's Avatar
Jim Faindel Jim Faindel is offline
I encourage peace
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I've always wanted to try my hand at this module, having only heard the stories from other players and DMs
I have just the paladin in mind to come on this adventure, will post later today.
Hopefuly I wont be cutting it too short.
If I could be an expert in just one arcane
and madness inducing field of study,
it would be you.
Old 05-17-2019, 07:27 AM
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TheDragonQueen TheDragonQueen is offline
The Hoarder of Stories
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Posts: 2,956
Name: (Not yet given one)
Gender: Female
Alignment: Neutral Good
Race: Firbolg (+2 WIS and +1 STR)
Class: Druid or Cleric of Chauntea (Nature)
Background: Hermit
Personality: Friendly, naive, and a little shy. Easily overwhelmed by social settings, but wants to befriend as many people as possible and get to know their own experiences.
Appearance: Standing at 7'7" she towers above most others in the world that aren't part of her tribe. Her skin is covered in a light blue fur, and small darker blue swirls of pattern dance over open skin. Dressed for comfort more than protection, she wears a cape over her cotton clothes created by her mother years ago. Long brown hair reaches down to her knees, flowers and leaves are usually braided into the massive amounts of hair that weighs more than a few halflings combined.

Biography: Growing up in a Firbolg community, she was never given a name by an outsider. Her mother told her that sometimes the humanoids want to provide a name in order to ensure they can call them something, where in their own small community they didn't need names to talk to each other. She was raised surrounded by the woods, in a small villages miles from the nearest village. The only interaction she had ever had with others was when she travelled in the wagon with her family to get supplies. Humans, Orcs, Elves, Halflings, Gnomes, and all the other creatures she saw intrigued her. Loving to people watch, but finding herself more comfortable around animals, she wasn't quite sure she was ready to go out and meet new people, but now she wanted to experience life with others.

She is a little naive, easily trusts others, and always wants to wish the best in people. Now that she is traveling to the near by town for the first time by herself, she is hoping to meet some new friends, and be able to find a group to travel and explore the world with. This will hopefully lead to her experiencing how others experience life.

Last edited by TheDragonQueen; 05-17-2019 at 07:33 AM.
Old 05-17-2019, 07:47 AM
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MossStone MossStone is offline
Ancient Dragon
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Name: Solaria Pubnotea
Race: Half-Elf
Alignment: CG
Class: Bard
Background: Criminal
Appearance: Solaria’s natural hair color was once red but she has gone through so much shock that it turned white by the time she was seventeen. She always keeps bottles of temporary color on hand, artistically applying it to her hair when she performs, but she will wash it out soon after, before it stains, as that might make her easier to track. When she is smuggling people to safety, or merely hiding out she plays hair products that at times make her blend in with the forests, or hair and face grease to make look like she lives in a nearby slum. Indeed she looks like she should belong there, being sickly and tired in appearance. Her face and body are scared from blades, burns and all to often the lash, and she has had a notch cut out of her left ear (below the pointy part).

Her beauty or lack of it, however, does not keep her patrons away. True she doses not fit the image of a celestial born harpist holding the beauty of creation in her song. Solaria brings something else; self-debasing humor, a sort of grim comfort to the afflicted, a voice free to admit the tiredness of the pain of life, a bit of warmth to the thoughts whos hearts have withered, and a cold at times painful truth that cannot be silenced or censured no matter the risk, consequence or loss. (Yeah she’s basically an old folkie.)

As week as Solaria is; her countenance on stage gives her a present, and at times gravitas that a singer with better looks might not extrude.

Her eyes are a the color of sage with gold flecks.

Solaria dresses in brown breeches and linen shirts- some more yellowish in color some more grey. All her garments are comfortable and sturdy and purposefully plane, she doses however ware a bright copper belt buckle on a woven belt of lavender linen, with a continuous pattern of interlocking copper diamonds.
She has no stage clothing at the moment; as it is expensive, easy to stain and clashes with her “Musician of the people,” persona.

Solaria compleats the ensemble with soft leather shoes, a necklace, and a jaket.

The jaket is long and lose, with her famished frame Solaria looks like a tall scarecrow in it. It was made for the nobility but is about three generations out of style, and looks like the kind of cast off some lordling might have had his servants give to the poor just to avoid the embarrassment of having it in his wardrobe. It was her great grandfather’s and appears olive toned but with wide stripes of some color (maybe a purplish blue?) running up the center of the back and along the shoulders. There is no finery on it and the hems have been replaced several times, they are currently ribbons mix of grey, olive, and brown that is almost impossible to notice unless you are looking at them.

The jaket has severed many a night as Solaira’s only sorce of warmth and is the best way to recognize her.

The necklace is a small, round, silver pendant,about an inch in diameter and rather think and heavy for its size. She on one side there is nothing but the symbol of her own country, and this she wheres facing forward, it helps her sneak in and sneak out if she looks patriotic, but that's not why she has it. On the opposite side facing her heart is an engraving of her family's crest a bear devouring a crescent moon and her own sydgel a crow holding a flute in its mouth. Given that she was long ago stripped of her citizenship, family name, and noble title, and given also that the symbol on it could serve to identify her the pendant is a walking death sentence. Solaria says that it’s good to hold on to in case they need exra money, friends know its one of the last links she has to her childhood, if she got right of it she might as well cast off her own name- something her boon companions have been telling her she should do for decades now.

The shoes are actually quite attractive, black and around the mouth painted tooling depicting curling ivy on a dark blue background. They are well made and have lasted many years. (Solaria is careful with money but save for months to buy a well-made pair of shoes; She will strive for a week to buy the *right* kind of strings for her music. Only the best kinds of string touch her balalaika, which she has named “Lyubovnik” (Russain for Parmor/Lover.)

Solaria is *never* without her three stringed balalaika, wich seems as much a part of her as dose a Master swordsman with his blade. Indeed there are is not an old lover, childhood friend, boon companion, or family member she would mourn the loss of more.

It is two hundred years old, made wonderfully well and sings like a nightingale. It's painted a very ugly shade of bright green with vertiacl magenta stripes, and random orgne color stars - and effect so garish, that only another bard would go near the thing. Which is probably why Solaria has never had it stolen. The only hint at its value is the cord that keeps it slung around her shoulders. Ban woven silk with embroidered with the exhortations to the deity of music, the only telltale sign she has any faith in anything, god or man any more. Truth be told Solaira has not sung a hymn in more than thirty years and blames all the gods for the world's suffering. (But not her own suffering- that she blames on herself.)

On the outside, Solaira appears to be passive at least at first. She is of good and self - deprecating humor, and none of her jokes mock or ridicule her company. She listens to what others have to say and when in a group will follow along with their plans. She is always supportive and helpful.

However it does not take long to realize that that sad smile is plastered on her face. The truth is she is fighting depression with ever walking steep, and forcing down unbounding rage every waking minute.

When not with a group she can become unpridictable, a life lived under the shadow of a thousand hangmen's noses has taught her that the only way to survive is to think on her feet.

Despite an upbringing focused on complete loyalty to the state, Solaria mistrust authority almost entirely, even though quite often her immediate instinct is to obey or acquiesces to it. The definitive moments in her life were those where the vale complacency, propaganda and tired old slogans were forcibly ripped from her eyes, and as much as she would give anything to go back to being blind to the evil that she saw done in the name of the people, she cannot.

What she has seen makes her angry and depressed, the fact that so few of her fellow countryman did anything to stop it, believed that it was happening, or quite honestly knew what was going on and were ok with it, made her feel helpless and alone. The fact that doing something about it herself meant so often breaking the law has lowered her self esteem to almost nothing except when she is on stage. Raised to respect law and order she can’t help but consider herself a Criminal rather than a hero. Smuggling out slaves and starving children is a necessary evil, not a heroic one, and in Solaria’s mind she has earned every arrest, every beating, every mistreatment, and even the torture she has received as a just punishment. Worse still she has not submitted her self to the authorities after the jobs are done. And it’s not like her crimes are limited to her homeland either- at this point, she's not sure which country she should surrender herself to when and if her work ever ends. All this self-hatred is magnified by the psychological abuse she has endured in prison, where her dignity was broken time and time again. She has recovered greatly from that but the memories still haunt her and she sometimes has to struggle not to break down completely when she feels threatened.

That being said she has very great strength of will, as can be shown when you look at the experiences she has survived. She dose not yield on her belfes even for a moment (even though she desperately wants to) and has turn down many and offer gold silver, magic patronage and pardon if she would only quietly give up her work, or go off and write songs to further the fame of some noble or general who wishes to come to power.

Solaria never lies; likes distroyed her life and her faith she has not told a lie since she was 13 and she is not about to start now.

In the rare instances where she lets her anger out, she can be brutal; as she would not show anyone her anger and hurt whom she did not know well- every word she says in anger is meant to harm. Her remarks are cruel, calculated, and mean spirited and crafted well, each containing the most psychologically painful message she can think of. She learned sadism from the masters and it shows.

However she rarely shows this side of her self- Solaria is not afraid, however, to insult, lampoon, taught or mock a miscreant in song or story. Many a brutal lordling wants nothing more than to lock her up and force her into rewriting the lyrics.

Solaria loves twists of fate in a sort of fantastic way- she figures they are her most constant companion (other than her instrument) and has decided the best death that anyone can have is death by dramatic irony.

Backstory About to start it now
Old 05-17-2019, 11:31 AM
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Jim Faindel Jim Faindel is offline
I encourage peace
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Character Application
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Name: Baruch, the Blessed

Race: Scourge Aasimar

Alignment: Neutral Good

Class: Paladin - Oath of Redemption

Background: Haunted One

Appearance: Stoic at first glance, but exhausted underneath, he stands tall at 6'6'', with fading grey hair that used to be golden, a full beard that could use some trimming and a tattered mantle covering his stump of an arm, to which he's crudely attached a heavy iron shield: an ancient relic rusted with age, it's face bare as the emblem it once had engraved has long since faded away. His armor is dirty and in need of repair just as the weapon at his side, once a proud great sword, which appears to have shattered in half. Still, some say that whenever the old knight lets his passion rise to the surface, one can still see some light coming out of his white, pupil-less eyes.

Personality: Baruch is quiet and humble, and his mind often wanders back to his troubled past. He is quick to act, and quicker to forgive those who wrong him, but has a bad habit of avoiding eye-contact even among those who would call him a friend.

Backstory: He had a name once, a long time ago, which came with the history and emblem of the family that was his pride and joy. Now his only titles were those of a traitor and an exile, stricken down from any records and coats of arms. Before falling from grace, he had been a leader to his men and a fair ruler of his land, but he had failed, leaving behind only corpses to watch over the abandoned homesteads and burnt meadows he'd sworn to protect. Back in those blessed days, he had fathered a daughter as beautiful as the sun and as kind as the gods above, but what pained him above all else, what stirred his tired mind awake night after night, forbidding him from ever finding peace, was the memory of her eyes, blood-shot and swollen, staring at him in sheer disbelief and disappointment, before turning away without even a word. Those eyes followed him wherever he went, tormenting him as he both chased after them seeking closure, and ran away, desperate to escape their judgment.

Now he was but a broken knight, with a broken body and a broken sword, with no home to call his own. He'd heard that Neverwinter was as good a place as any to forge a new identity, yet he'd welcome a swift death within its dark streets all the same. But as the gods would have it, such a simple fate had never been in store for him. A young priest had found him wasting away in the back-alleys, and against his every wish and remaining strength, had dragged him to his temple, tended his weakened body and ailing soul, and given him a second lease on life. It was in that temple that the old man was granted a new name: Baruch, the blessed; and maybe for the first time since losing his home, he dared to believe such words could be true. So once he had recovered, both in spirit and flesh, he decided that a man should pay his debts and face his demons. And so he served as a paladin for the temple of Ilmater, acting as a guardian and shield for its faithful in an attempt to earn the redention he'd found among them.
If I could be an expert in just one arcane
and madness inducing field of study,
it would be you.
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