Players: 4-5 Level: 1 Writing Level: Casual+ Pace: Mixed Tempo, short-to-medium posts as needed. Deadline: September 25th, 2021
The Kingdom of Pallaviel has stood in the southern reaches of the continent of Iedda for centuries, fighting off threats of the merciless and greedy. It has suffered great tragedy and great triumph.
You know it well. It has been your home for your entire life. Several years ago the village you lived in, Ardenfeld, was attacked by a coalition of bandits with particular iconography. You were a child then and survived by the skin of your teeth, hiding with your friends. When the smoke cleared you were all orphaned. You parted ways, though you kept in touch as each of you found yourselves part of a new life and creed but none of you forgot the bandits who robbed you of your childhood and your families.
On the anniversary of the massacre, as adults, you reunite in a tavern on the road named The Lying Wolverine. As you will soon learn, your shared bond will start you on a path of great adventure. This is not a single story reflecting that but many.
I haven’t played Dungeons & Dragons proper for about a year or two. I ended up talking to a few friends in multiple servers about missing the hobby and trying to find a game to play in but that didn’t turn out with any significant results. In conclusion, I decided to dust off my own interest in being the DM again, something I haven’t done for longer than a few sessions in a very long time.
Itiner is the result. I’m looking forward to seeing what happens as we throw concepts against the wall as we test out the prompt detailed above. The world in itself will be a sandbox campaign setting. What this means is there is no grandiose story arc about defeating an evil sorcerer who is bent on conquering the world or a great demon invasion that will bring the end of the world. There will be villains and foes, but this is all done in a reactive way toward player decisions in a low magic fantasy setting.
The RP will not be a “railroad”. The world is what the players make of it whether it is to mock, destroy, maintain, or rebuild it. If players want to play faction builder and create a hamlet of their own, that’s a choice. If they want to go into terrible dungeons, that’s one too. If they want to do busywork in villages, that too. I want to have this be the most immersive escapist option possible as I relearn the fundamentals of DMing in 5th Edition D&D.
Your character will be drawn up as a level one adventurer. They have not done much, if not all. This is the first real journey since becoming an adult. Characters will have a shared backstory as survivors of the town called Ardenfeld which was destroyed ten years ago. You were a child between the age of seven and eleven. The town itself was a human settlement but it was not exclusively one or particularly hateful of other races. There were elven families, mixed race families, tabaxi families, human families, halfling families, and so on. For the sake of the design there were no giant or monstrous race-based families living in Ardenfeld. If you have an idea how to make something work ask in the thread before you app and ensure there’s a sufficient explanation, if we can make it fit we will.
The bandit coalition that robbed you of your family and normal life remains in your mind often. After the attack, you were placed into an orphanage until you were either adopted or released at the age of fourteen. Some of your characters may have been adopted by a famous wizard, religious order, a family of note. They could have studied at a wizard’s circle, a bardic college, or clerical temple. Others may have been left in the streets of Pallaviel and taken up with street urchins, cartels, or some other unsavory lifestyle from not getting adopted. You have many options despite the prompt seeming relatively restrictive.
Before your characters were separated from the other survivors, people they called friends, they each made a sworn vow to one another to reunite on the tenth anniversary of the attack in the tavern overlooking the ruins of Ardenfeld. That is where the story begins.
In this campaign setting we will be using the standard array for the Point Buy system. That’s 27 points with no customization.
I will be accepting all non-core books on a case-by-case basis. So what this means is if you use something from Volo’s or Xanathar’s you will have to ask if it’s okay to use that. Yes, this includes Unearthed Arcana which I distinctly abhor for personal reasons.
I will be using a milestone experience system, so we will not be tracking XP in the traditional fashion. Progression will happen, you will not be stuck at level one for eternity but it may take one or two arcs before level two is unlocked. If this is not your kind of thing I’d advise you to find a different campaign that you are more compatible with.
Your background is your education, your skills and affinities, and unique flavor. You may all be orphans of Ardenfeld but you ended up in lives of your own for ten years whether good or bad. You had life experiences that were different. Choose a background for mechanics, your RPG sheet (non-tabletop sheet) should detail your actual background in the context of the actual story. Additionally, I will not be accepting evil alignment characters as this is a heroic-hearted campaign. And no, chaotic neutral is not an excuse to be a sociopath.
Pallaviel is the largest city and capital of the Kingdom that bears its name.
The Landeil Family Orphanage is located in the city of Sarinan, within a day’s travel of the ruins of Ardenfeld. It was your home until you were adopted or released from the orphanage’s guardianship following the massacre of Ardenfeld.
Sarinan is not a particularly large or iconic city in the Kingdom of Pallaviel as it is situated near a large stretch of uncharted and unclaimed territory that is equally dangerous as it is curious.
Surrounded by a dense mesh of forest and dense riverlands, the expanse southbound from Sarinan has seen better days. Some homes and villages dot the landscape, but ever since the destruction of Ardenfeld the area has never really recovered.
The Lying Wolverine, a quintessential tavern and innhouse of the past has since seen less-and-less customers and more-and-more adventurers. Few ever stay long. The old tavern keeper, Lucas Tindow has seen better days and his daughter tends to the tavern. In the past, Lucas had a strong relationship with the important folk in Ardenfeld and losing his friends has certainly take its toll.
Itiner: Heroes of Ardenfeld will have a dual sheet system—one from mythweavers or dicecloud that will be linked to the sheet and a conventional RPG character sheet to show where your writing and conceptualization is at.
As this is a tabletop-pbp merger thingamajig, the writing level will not be consistently advanced. Short posts will be the name of the game. Rolls too. The below template should get you started:
[center][img]fontmeme-character-header[/img]
[url=link]D&D Character Sheet[/url][/center] [INDENT][INDENT][INDENT][center][h1]Who I Am[/h1][/center] [color=gray][i]This section details your personality based on where you are now and where you once were. A paragraph is all that’s needed and you do have personality traits to help you figure this out.[/i][/color] [center][h1]My Story[/h1][/center] [color=gray][i]Who were your parents in the town of Ardenfeld? Describe your life before the attack.
After the attack you were assigned to the Landeil Family Orphanage in the City of Sarinan. How long were you there, if you were adopted who adopted you—what was your newfound life like? If you never got adopted how did you handle that? How has the world treated you? What have you learned? Who taught you what you know?[/i][/color] [center][h1]Going Forward[/h1][/center] [color=gray][i]What is your motivations based on the present. With the previous two sections written I should know your childhood and teenaged life experiences well enough and how you engage with people in the world. What are your fears, goals, wishes as a person? Obviously you want to find the bandits who attacked your village, but what about beyond that? How do you see the friends you haven’t seen in ten years? Have you kept in contact with any of them?[/i][/color] [/INDENT][/INDENT][/INDENT]
Once both sheets are finished, post them here in the OOC in a hider so I can review them and delegate who will be our 4-5 characters.
I’m asking everyone to follow a certain rhetoric when applying for this role-play. I’m a little more touch-and-go than other GMs, but I’ve learned a process that works for me that might not work for others.
- I will be checking up on people once a week, if you do not inform me of your status in three weeks I’m going to have to let you go. Myself and other players in your team should hold you accountable just as much you hold me accountable as a GM.
- Real Life takes precedence over this hobby we share, but a short post shouldn’t take all that much time here and there. If something is coming up for me IRL I will tell you and I expect the same from you.
- I expect everyone to be courteous and polite to each other. Banter is fine, but being derisive and hostile is a net negative and if I see attitude problems I will not tolerate them.
Is there anything we need to know specifically about the deities of the setting? Just wondering for those who may consider playing a Cleric, Paladin, Warlock, Divine Soul Sorcerer or anyone of the acolyte background.
Is there anything we need to know specifically about the deities of the setting? Just wondering for those who may consider playing a Cleric, Paladin, Warlock, Divine Soul Sorcerer or anyone of the acolyte background.
I'm kind of making it up as we go, so I might just use default Forgotten Realms deities until I think of something more flavorful. Each city will probably have churches/temples/shrines devoted to whatever the population there worships, etc.
Nathaniel is the quintessential bard: charming, eloquent, and always just a little dramatic. He believes in living life to its fullest and without regret, his formative experiences teaching him a painful lesson in its fragility and transience. Such a belief has led him to a life of hedonism, something he is rather unapologetic about, though he never allows himself to devolve into uncouth debauchery, if only out of pride. For all the stories and songs he espouses of great heroes and mighty triumphs, Nathan is something of a cynic. He understands how the world works in actuality, and that there are never enough heroes to rescue every backwater from every owlbear. Perhaps that is why he's dedicated his life to singing their graces—to uphold the illusion that help is always just a horizon away.
My Story
Nathaniel's birth was something of a scandal in Ardenfeld at the time—while most children in the town were born of couples from the town, only one of his counted themselves among the populace. His mother, Sabitha Brightwood, served as the local tailor, and his father had been a passing adventurer of some sort. To hear it told, his father had been a brave man, who had left his lover and son to continue on his heroic journeys, saving damsels and battling evil witches and all the other tales that were spun to keep curious children from ruminating too much on the circumstances of their birth, or why gossipy hens seemed to whisper whenever he wandered the village markets. In the hindsight of adulthood, Nathan realized the truth of the matter, that he was the product of a simple fling, but as a boy, the stories had inspired him. He loved them, loved telling them, and when he was big enough, he wanted to travel the world like his father did, and come back home with first hand accounts.
Unfortunately, fate had conspired to crush that dream, in a way. Ardenfeld fell, and with it, Nathaniel was left without a home. He was shuffled off, like so many other surviving children, to the orphanage at Sarinan. Like most, he did not adapt well. To have his world view so thoroughly shattered left him melancholy and despondent—what happened at Ardenfeld wasn't how the songs went. The bad guys were never meant to win. The heroes always came and put them down and the townsfolk would cheer. He spent most of his days moping about the premises, taking what little comfort he could in practicing with the lute he had received for his eighth birthday, something to occupy his mind.
That proved to be his salvation. During a paltry show of charity, the seneschal of the local lord noticed the boy plucking at his strings. The lord, as it was explained to him, had always been a patron of the arts, and kept his court well-staffed with musicians and storytellers. The tune Nathan had been diligently plucking away at since arriving at the orphanage was a favorite of the court, and perhaps out of pity or an eye for potential, the seneschal offered to let Nathaniel return to the court with him, that he may practice his skills in a more productive environment and make something of himself. While most joy had left his heart since, the opportunity to leave the oppressive atmosphere of the orphanage was more than enough for the young half-elf to agree.
From then forward, he lived as a courtier at the lord's pleasure, serenading knights and ladies-in-waiting alike, honing his craft over the years. He traveled from castle to castle with his lord, seeing the world and indulging in all its beauty. Until the tenth anniversary of the sacking.
Going Forward
As far as Nathaniel is concerned, he has already gone forward. He's filled the void left by the loss of his home with song and stories and women and the world. His desires remain rather ethereal, shifting to-and-fro with his whims, a never-ending string of distractions to keep himself from plunging back into the melancholy that permeated most of his early youth. The return to Ardenfeld is an event he had tried long and hard to push out of his mind, kicked further and further down the road until he could no longer avoid it. In truth, he almost decided not to return, to simply allow the others to imagine he had disappeared entirely. Ultimately, though, honor won out over reason. He had made a promise to return, so return he would, to prove to them all (and in actuality, himself) that the shadow of the tragedy no longer hung over him.
Nathaniel is the quintessential bard: charming, eloquent, and always just a little dramatic. He believes in living life to its fullest and without regret, his formative experiences teaching him a painful lesson in its fragility and transience. Such a belief has led him to a life of hedonism, something he is rather unapologetic about, though he never allows himself to devolve into uncouth debauchery, if only out of pride. For all the stories and songs he espouses of great heroes and mighty triumphs, Nathan is something of a cynic. He understands how the world works in actuality, and that there are never enough heroes to rescue every backwater from every owlbear. Perhaps that is why he's dedicated his life to singing their graces—to uphold the illusion that help is always just a horizon away.
My Story
Nathaniel's birth was something of a scandal in Ardenfeld at the time—while most children in the town were born of couples from the town, only one of his counted themselves among the populace. His mother, Sabitha Brightwood, served as the local tailor, and his father had been a passing adventurer of some sort. To hear it told, his father had been a brave man, who had left his lover and son to continue on his heroic journeys, saving damsels and battling evil witches and all the other tales that were spun to keep curious children from ruminating too much on the circumstances of their birth, or why gossipy hens seemed to whisper whenever he wandered the village markets. In the hindsight of adulthood, Nathan realized the truth of the matter, that he was the product of a simple fling, but as a boy, the stories had inspired him. He loved them, loved telling them, and when he was big enough, he wanted to travel the world like his father did, and come back home with first hand accounts.
Unfortunately, fate had conspired to crush that dream, in a way. Ardenfel fell, and with it, Nathaniel was left without a home. He was shuffled off, like so many other surviving children, to the orphanage at Pallaviel. Like most, he did not adapt well. To have his world view so thoroughly shattered left him melancholy and despondent—what happened at Ardenfell wasn't how the songs went. The bad guys were never meant to win. The heroes always came and put them down and the townsfolk would cheer. He spent most of his days moping about the premises, taking what little comfort he could in practicing with the lute he had received for his eighth birthday, something to occupy his mind.
That proved to be his salvation. During a paltry show of charity, the seneschal of the local lord noticed the boy plucking at his strings. The lord, as it was explained to him, had always been a patron of the arts, and kept his court well-staffed with musicians and storytellers. The tune Nathan had been diligently plucking away at since arriving at the orphanage was a favorite of the court, and perhaps out of pity or an eye for potential, the senschal offered to let Nathaniel return to the court with him, that he may practice his skills in a more productive environment and make something of himself. While most joy had left his heart since, the opportunity to leave the oppressive atmosphere of the orphanage was more than enough for the young half-elf to agree.
From then forward, he lived as a courtier at the lord's pleasure, serenading knights and ladies-in-waiting alike, honing his craft over the years. He traveled from castle to castle with his lord, seeing the world and indulging in all its beauty. Until the tenth anniversary of the sacking.
Going Forward
As far as Nathaniel is concerned, he has already gone forward. He's filled the void left by the loss of his home with song and stories and women and the world. His desires remain rather ethereal, shifting to-and-fro with his whims, a never-ending string of distractions to keep himself from plunging back into the melancholy that permeated most of his early youth. The return to Ardenfeld is an event he had tried long and hard to push out of his mind, kicked further and further down the road until he could no longer avoid it. In truth, he almost decided not to return, to simply allow the others to imagine he had disappeared entirely. Ultimately, though, honor won out over reason. He had made a promise to return, so return he would, to prove to them all (and in actuality, himself) that the shadow of the tragedy no longer hung over him.
I also am making a cat named after a tree...Blackbranch vs. Brightwood showdown?? 😏
Outside of Ardenfeld sometimes being spelled Ardenfel that sheet looks pretty solid, as expected from an Asura CS. Could be interesting if we get along and there's no roadbumps. Quick question: I noticed you use "half-elf" as a race but your picture is more of a, well, catboy. Are you intending to use the half-elf stats for flavor while you write the character as a half-catperson IC? or am I dumb and its as simple as a tabaxi made a go at an elf tailor?
Outside of Ardenfeld sometimes being spelled Ardenfel that sheet looks pretty solid, as expected from an Asura CS. Could be interesting if we get along and there's no roadbumps. Quick question: I noticed you use "half-elf" as a race but your picture is more of a, well, catboy. Are you intending to use the half-elf stats for flavor while you write the character as a half-catperson IC? or am I dumb and its as simple as a tabaxi made a go at an elf tailor?
WITHDRAWN I'm afraid I think I'm gonna have to withdraw my potentially participation in this for the time being. Still seems like a fun time so I hope y'all do have fun uwu
River is a mellow person, most who'd met him would say. His face usually holds a neutral if not slightly soft expression, and he carries himself with respect, but not even the slightest hint of haughtiness. He is very responsive to those around him, regularly willing to offer a helping hand or word of advice - or just listen, when needed. This neighborly bearing grew from him throughout the years he spent travelling with his mentor -- the two of whom trekked through many countrysides and towns alike, greeting all inhabitants with friendly hands and faces. River adopted many of his mentor's beliefs, having been with him from a young age, but there was always a difference between them that sometimes worried the older individual. River was perhaps a bit too eager to assault the crimes of those who harmed the innocent. His mentor saw in his eyes a twisted spark whenever the young Tabaxi witnessed violent misjustice. There'd been more than one occasion where River had shocked bystanders with the viciousness with which he dealt with those who attacked the innocent. The anger embedded within him was no mystery to his mentor - the young man was clearly vengeful towards the bandit type - he remembered his beginnings - how much damage and pain those types of people could cause. And although it brought concern, it was some measure of consolation that the anger was directed towards the right people, at least.
My Story
River's origins are humble. The singular son of a cobbler and a housewife, growing up was an unexciting venture in Ardenfeld. In many towns, raising children amongst humans would be a difficult task for a family of Tabaxi - but for those who resided in Ardenfeld, it was a normal existence, the town being a melting pot as it were. Most of River's young days consisted of his mother providing him a crude education from home, and his father mentoring him in his family craft of cobbling. It was a contenting life. Until that fateful day.
After the destruction of Ardenfeld, life in the city of Sarinan was a much less comfortable existence. Despite the number of people around him increasing by quite a bit after being shoved into an orphanage, River felt more lonely than he ever had. He was confused and stricken with grief for quite a time - but eventually that grief slowly melded into a slow-burning anger. Not that he could do much about it, but it was still there. The pent-up anger settled in his stomach over the next couple years as he lived in the orphanage, feeling like a rat in a cage the entire time.
Eventually though, it had come his time to get kicked out. He turned fourteen, and the orphanage wasted no time in getting rid of him. He only had a couple days left to enjoy the relative comfort of the shelter before he'd be kicked out onto the cold stones of the street. But.. fate had different plans.
The day before River would be ejected from the orphanage a man passed by him as he sat on the lonely steps in front of what was soon to be his estranged home. The older human - perhaps in his late thirties - paused, studying the boy for a time and looking him up and down. Eventually the man stepped past the boy and entered the orphanage, closing the door behind him. He was gone for a minute...two minutes...five minutes.. and then finally the door opened again. The man stooped to River's level and asked him one simple question.
"What is your name, little one?"
There was a hesitance in the young Tabaxi's face, and he remained silent for a time before answering.
"River."
It was then that the man told him he'd been adopted. The man, named Raulin, took care of him, buying him clothes and food and whatever else he needed. He wasn't a rich man, but he had enough to care for the both of them. From that point the two of them began to travel together, leading a nomadic lifestyle. It was a bit dangerous at times, but Raulin took care of him. River learned almost everything physical he knows from Raulin. But physical skills are not everything one can learn in this world. Raulin was a follower of The Moonmaiden, Selûne. When the young Tabaxi grew curious, it was with great reverence that Raulin relayed the tales of Selûne's blessings and benevolence. And it was with great happiness that he discovered the boy's interest in learning the ways of Selûne's graciousness. This curiosity led him onto his own path of benevolence, and in part made him who he is to this day.
Going Foward
Even though he has lived a largely nomadic lifestyle since the age of 14, River isn't entirely familiar with what moving "forward" really is to him. He has traveled for a long time, gathering stories and trading them with the villages he met next, helping people along the way as well as he could, and managing to keep himself going as his final concern. The bandits who ruined his childhood have always sat somewhere in the back of his mind, but he has yet to form any sort of physical vendetta to bring justice to them - mostly because he wouldn't know quite where to start.
Beyond that, River truly wishes to make a difference in this world. He feels his ongoing good deeds are but a miniscule effect in a world that could be helped in much greater ways, and doesn't truly value himself as a helpful person. However, he is unsure as to how he can make a bigger difference. He has thrown around ideas in the past, one being military service, or perhaps clergy-ship, but ultimately figured that he isn't up to par for militant work, and not worthy enough to become a clergyman. He has however, more recently, thought over the idea of forming some sort of benefactor company/guild, but isn't exactly in the position to do so with his current resources and way of life.
What he is capable of doing, however, is keeping the promise he made all those years ago. Returning to where his life had taken a sharp turn as a child would be hard. But he had faith that Selûne would grant him the strength to do it. He was an intermediate yet devote follower of Selûne, and since his mentor's passing, she has been his only conduit in which he could entrust his innermost thoughts and feelings. Perhaps this congregation would be a chance to see himself grow stronger.
I will be accepting all non-core books on a case-by-case basis. So what this means is if you use something from Volo’s or Xanathar’s you will have to ask if it’s okay to use that. Yes, this includes Unearthed Arcana which I distinctly abhor for personal reasons.
Though she is known as something of a cryptid to the locals still inhabiting the area around the ruins of Ardenfeld, the so-called "Witch of the Argent Vale" really... doesn't live up to the hype. Spoken of in hushed tones, she is reputed to be a horned demoness who preys upon those who go too close to the old village, searing them to the bone with hellfire. In some tellings, she is a vengeful spirit -- a village maiden who gave herself over to the dark powers to survive the disaster, now driven mad with agony by the very flame she bears within her. In others, she is simply a fiend called forth by death and destruction that needs to be cut down. Still others claim she's nothing but an old wives' tale, while others claim to have caught glimpses of her with their own eyes; a fleeting horned shadow in a black cloak seen watching from afar, her eyes burning like embers amidst the shadows of the forest.
Despite these fanciful stories and poetic descriptions, however, the truth of the matter is significantly more mundane. Aethra is simply a sheltered, reclusive individual who, seeing how feared she is, withdraws from any and all human contact. And, sure, perhaps she might have used her powers to create eerie, flickering fires to scare off people who got too close to her camp, but she never actually attacked anyone!
In any case, she is painfully shy, and though she hides it well, dislikes being looked at and doesn't really know how to talk to anyone with two legs. She doesn't become a blushing, stammering mess when forced to interact with others, mind you -- but even if she keeps her composure, she seldom says more than a couple words unless they're practically forced out of her. This may give the impression that rather than being shy, she's simply without feeling, or actively hateful of others. But though she never forgets an insult -- a scornful glance, or a derisive remark about her horns -- she does not hate people for acting this way. Rather, interacting with them simply makes her sad, and so she'd just rather not bother. Needless to say, this also makes her somewhat neurotic about her appearance, to the point that she usually wraps her forked tail around one of her legs and hides it under her skirt, and keeps her head down in dark places to avoid having the fiery glow of her eyes seen. Only her horns are too large to adequately hide, but even then, she does the best she can, draping a hood over her head at all times to hide the point where they actually connect to her scalp. Maybe she hopes they'll be taken for some form of decoration or garish accessory, rather than an intrinsic part of her person?
She's much more comfortable with animals, however -- especially when she thinks she's alone -- and can often be seen conversing quite cheerfully with various creatures she encounters, using the magic taught her by the spirits to communicate with and befriend anything she thinks won't judge her too harshly for being different. While her unnatural heritage does sometimes thwart these attempts too, most animals don't think twice about her horns, tail, or gleaming eyes -- after all, in this sense, she's quite similar to them.
Despite her cold exterior, she's also quite childish, displaying no small measure of awe or even fear in the face of very simple things. Big cities are utterly foreign to her, having lived first as a country girl, then as a hermit. Fanciful baubles and trinkets catch her eye quite readily, and she has a tendency to fiddle with almost any unusual or interesting thing she encounters, displaying an almost magpie-like attraction to shiny objects. And, thanks to her deprived upbringing, her standoffish attitude can oftentimes be defeated with the help of tasty food, especially sweets. Wild berries, roasted fish, and the occasional morsel of meat are all well and good, but given her insatiable curiosity and voracious appetite, she just can't resist.
My Story
Born as a peasant girl, the girl now christened with the fanciful appellation "Aethra" originally bore the much simpler name of "Mary." Her father was one of the village of Ardenfeld's foremost hunters, and was a gruff-but-gentle man who doted upon his daughter extensively. Her mother, on the other hand, was a wanderer from elsewhere -- a gypsy of sorts of unknown heritage who had ended up in Ardenfeld on her travels and cared for her father when he was, coincidentally, injured during a boar hunt. Ultimately, she decided to settle down there and marry him, and though her origins were originally regarded with some measure of suspicion at first, the other villagers quickly stopped caring. The family didn't have any outlandish customs, nor did the foreign lady have any particularly alarming physical traits. They got along well with the community and all did their part, and so quickly became just as ordinary a sight as anyone else.
Her parents loved her very much, and she would often help her mother around the house with chores or errands. She learned to cook, the basics of mending clothing, and other common household skills -- as well as a few small tricks her father taught her, such as how to carve and play a reed flute. They would wile away the hours sitting on their back step, with Mary clumsily tooting away on a small, shabby instrument of her own creation, and her mother singing along from inside. The memories are bright and warm, like a flame -- but they have since flickered and faded as the years drag on, until only embers of those warm, happy days remain. Aethra remembers little of that time now, for her peaceful childhood ended when she was only eight years old -- and after that, she tried her hardest to forget.
Her father's voice, telling them to run.
His hand, clutching an old sword.
His back as he rushed out of the house.
Her mother's grip on her hand.
A stifled cry as that grip went slack.
The fire, all around her.
The pain, the heat, the choking smoke -- and then suddenly, nothing at all.
Someone had pulled her from the flames and carried her to where the other children were hiding. Miraculously, she was mostly unharmed. Her skin was burned in places, leaving scars upon her back that persist to this day -- but she survived. Initially, this was seen as simple good fortune; but when a fire mysteriously broke out in her room at the orphanage, too -- from which she also emerged almost entirely unscathed -- people began to grow worried.
It was around this point when the dreams began. Nightmares, visions of fire and death and bloodshed -- landscapes left barren and lifeless by war. Whether it was the trauma of the attack or some kind of vision of things to come hardly mattered to her at the time, however -- because the more immediate concern was that the flames in her dreams persisted when she awoke. Opening her eyes to find fire in the palm of her hand would set her screaming, only for it to disappear when people came rushing in to check on her. She thought she was losing her mind... and others thought she was possessed. These fears only became more founded when one morning, after a particularly bad nightmare, she awoke to find that her hair had become white like an old woman's, her ears pointed, her teeth sharp, her eyes like blazing embers, and, worst of all -- horns and a forked tail had grown upon her during the night. She panicked, and this in turn once more drew people to come running to her room -- only this time, the evidence didn't just go away.
She was locked in her room, priests were called to conduct an exorcism, and Mary, not unfamiliar with what happened to monsters in fairy tales and already quite aware that she was feared by those around her, was certain that she was going to be killed. In her panic, she broke out of her room and made a run for her life. Though several people caught sight of a horned girl fleeing the city, the search parties that followed lost her trail in the deep woods, as she instinctively began to follow old hunting paths that led her back to her old home.
Arriving amidst the ruins of Ardenfeld, she found an unexpected sight. The fallen houses, the charred landscape, and the ravaged ruins that had haunted her dreams had long since given way to verdant greenery. Vines, flowers, trees, and shrubs had completely overtaken the former town, leaving nary a trace of the hell she remembered from her nightmares. There was a certain tragic beauty to it -- one that burned itself into her memories even more strongly than the trauma of that fateful night.
She wandered aimlessly through the ruins for longer than she can really remember. For a while, she occupied herself with searching for familiar places or items -- old, burnt dolls pulls from the wreckage of her house, a broken reed flute found trampled in the village lane, or a book of fairy tales she couldn't read that the headman's wife had once read aloud to the village children during the harvest festival. She gathered all these mementos in one place, and then, not knowing what else to do with them, with her tiny hands she set about burying them as a kind of memorial to what once had been.
The final trinket she found, however, she couldn't bring herself to bury. It was the broken-off handle of a shattered sword -- an heirloom that had never been meant to see combat. It must have failed its user in his hour of direst need, or surely -- surely, he would have been able to save them all. If only the blade hadn't broken, her father never would have lost his noble fight. Yet, even though he must surely have been defeated without a weapon, she couldn't find any signs of his body. Perhaps it had just burned to ash along with the others, but maybe... just maybe. Hope rekindled itself in her heart, not because she truly believed it to be possible, but quite simply because she needed something to believe in. So, she held on to this ruined keepsake, promising that she wouldn't bury it until she was certain her father was dead.
It was in this state, however, that someone -- or rather, something -- found her. On the first night, it came as a great wolf, from which the young girl hid in terror. Since it could not find her, it left -- but returned upon the second night in the guise of an owl, circling high overhead to search her out. When it found her hiding place, it left, and then returned upon the third night as a white deer -- a doe, but bearing horns like a stag. It came to her hiding place and asked of her...
"Why do you linger here, mortal? This land has already been lost to your kind, and none here yet live."
She, unsure of how to respond, answered only that she had nowhere else to go.
"Why do you not go among the living? Among your own people?"
She shook her head and said that she could not go back, for she was not welcome among them.
"And why is that?"
Because she was a monster. A bringer of fire and destruction -- and so, she only belonged in a place like this, where there was nothing left for her to destroy.
"Tell me, Little Flame, what do you see around you?"
A graveyard.
"Nay. I prithee look again, for you will find not a graveyard, but a garden. The end of your people need not be the end of this place. For the birds will build their nests among your fallen homes, and their songs shall be a lullaby to those who sleep beneath the soil. Look, Little Flame. Look and see. Even atop these graves you have dug, flowers will one day bloom."
It was beautiful, yes... but she wasn't any less lonely for knowing that. And, if that was truly the case, then she had no place here, either -- for she would only serve to destroy what nature hoped to build.
"Then, what if there were another like yourself here? Another with no place and no purpose, save to wait for and tend to what comes after the flames?"
If there was such a person, then she wouldn't want to hurt them. It would be better for her to stay alone.
"Ah, but that person needs you more than you know, Little Flame. There is a place not far from here where few tread -- a blighted, sorrowful land where the trees can no more grow, where the grass withers and fails, and from which all creatures shy away. That place was once her home, as this was once yours. And if you were to burn the rot away, then that place, too, might become a beautiful garden. I'm sure that she, and all those who once shared that home with her, would be happy."
It beggared belief that the strange power she had been granted might be used for such a purpose... but ultimately, she accepted. If that person showed herself, and could accept her as she was, then maybe she could do some good for someone who shared a similar sorrow to her own.
And so, on the fourth night, the one who came to visit her was not a wolf, or an owl, or a deer -- but rather, an old woman with a kindly smile, who introduced herself as Mithra. The girl said that she had been named Mary, but all those who knew her by that name probably hated her by now. And so, the woman gave her a new name: Aethra. A little flame, but one which could offer much to the world by burning brightly, be it in the seclusion of the wilderness or for all mankind to see. It was a name weighted with expectation, but made light by hope and joy -- for finally, there was someone who would walk with her and talk with her, and tell her that she wasn't mad and that neither the world nor her place in it had yet come to an end.
In the years that followed, she learned much under Mithra's tutelage. They lived together amidst the wild, with Aethra tending to the chores that were appointed her by her new mentor, and Mithra teaching the young Tiefling to control the flames within her, and to suppress them if need be. She learned that her powers could be used to heal and to create life in addition to simply destroying it... but also that there was a place for destruction, just as there was a place for new life to take the place of the old. Within an ever-snowy northern forest of rotted, whitened trees, hidden in a secluded valley unknown to mortal men, she worked tirelessly to perfect her craft, so that she could at last fulfill her promise to Mithra, and create for her a garden amidst this wasteland.
But there was another promise that weighed heavily upon her mind -- and as the time came to fulfill it, Mithra ordered her not to break her word, reluctant though she was to leave. And so, her two tasks became one. She would go back to the home she had left behind once more, and tend to the garden there. She would make good on her promise to speak once more with her old friends, even if they hated her or didn't recognize her after all the changes she had gone through. She would travel the world outside the Argent Vale once more, and once she had learned everything she could learn from seeing all the hopeful beginnings and fiery ends that life had to offer... she would return to Mithra, and share the fruits of her knowledge, creating a beautiful garden amidst that lifeless valley.
And yet, throughout all of this, still she is haunted by the dreams of all that she has seen -- and all that may wait for her in the world beyond. Something dark and terrible looms upon the edge of her awareness, and all that Mithra has taught her may not be enough to prepare her for it. If that day comes where her flame fails her as her father's sword failed him, or where the essence of life she strives to uphold slips from her grasp as her mother's hand slipped from hers... what will she do then?
Going Forward
At the moment, Aethra would say that she simply wants to make her mentor and surrogate grandmother Mithra proud of her, and to fulfill her promises. However, that's not entirely true. In part, her real goal upon this journey is to try to prove, both to herself and to those who once called her a monster, that her power really can be used to do great things, and that she's not the bringer of destruction she once feared she was. In seeking this, she'll also have to contend with the difficulty involved in changing people's perceptions of her, and her own wavering confidence in her own abilities as she wonders what, precisely, even is the right way for someone like her to live.
Secretly, she also perhaps holds out hope that her father might have survived the attack and still be alive somewhere... and that maybe, just maybe, some of her old friends who might still remember her from her childhood as Mary won't hate her when they see what she has become. Finally, she's also curious as to why she was cursed with the flame she bears to begin with, and from whence her daemonic heritage springs -- hoping that, perhaps, if she understands the roots of her own nature, that may bring her closer to triumphing over it, and over people's perceptions of her as a result of it.
But even leaving aside her plethora of emotional issues, the fact remains that Aethra is horribly sheltered and ignorant as to the workings of civilization and society as a whole, and she has a lot to learn before she is ready to truly save -- or destroy -- anything. Where her path and her reunion with the other survivors can take her, who can say? And what further trials fate has in store for her, only time will tell...
Sorry this ended up so long. I got carried away trying to tie a lot of the imagery and stuff in her background together and be all poetic and shit. I'm well aware that it's just overly elaborate high-concept bullshit, and that mechanically speaking, it doesn't entirely line up -- like, yes, she has Produce Flame as a Druid Cantrip, but I had her creating small fires in her backstory even before that and acted like it's a racial ability because it was more dramatic that way. Regardless, I can provide cliffnotes if needed, but I figured I'd leave it as is for initially submitting it since I was kind of proud of the result.
Also on a lighter note, I am officially the first non-cat in this party. Except not really because I'll probably turn into a cat once I get Wild Shape. All cat party anybody?
TL;DR, sorry for being so edgy, and looking forward to RPing with y'all. XD
I will be accepting all non-core books on a case-by-case basis. So what this means is if you use something from Volo’s or Xanathar’s you will have to ask if it’s okay to use that. Yes, this includes Unearthed Arcana which I distinctly abhor for personal reasons.
Though she is known as something of a cryptid to the locals still inhabiting the area around the ruins of Ardenfeld, the so-called "Witch of the Argent Vale" really... doesn't live up to the hype. Spoken of in hushed tones, she is reputed to be a horned demoness who preys upon those who go too close to the old village, searing them to the bone with hellfire. In some tellings, she is a vengeful spirit -- a village maiden who gave herself over to the dark powers to survive the disaster, now driven mad with agony by the very flame she bears within her. In others, she is simply a fiend called forth by death and destruction that needs to be called down. Still others claim she's nothing but an old wives' tale, while others claim to have caught glimpses of her with their own eyes; a fleeting horned shadow in a black cloak seen watching from afar, her eyes burning like embers amidst the shadows of the forest.
Despite these fanciful stories and poetic descriptions, however, the truth of the matter is significantly more mundane. Aethra is simply a sheltered, reclusive individual who, seeing how feared she is, withdraws from any and all human contact. And, sure, perhaps she might have used her powers to create eerie, flickering fires to scare off people who got too close to her camp, but she never actually attacked anyone!
In any case, she is painfully shy, and though she hides it well, dislikes being looked at and doesn't really know how to talk to anyone with two legs. She doesn't become a blushing, stammering mess when forced to interact with others, mind you -- but even if she keeps her composure, she seldom says more than a couple words unless they're practically forced out of her. This may give the impression that rather than being shy, she's simply without feeling, or actively hateful of others. But though she never forgets an insult -- a scornful glance, or a derisive remark about her horns -- she does not hate people for acting this way. Rather, interacting with them simply makes her sad, and so she'd just rather not bother. Needless to say, this also makes her somewhat neurotic about her appearance, to the point that she usually wraps her forked tail around one of her legs and hides it under her skirt, and keeps her head down in dark places to avoid having the fiery glow of her eyes seen. Only her horns are too large to adequately hide, but even then, she does the best she can, draping a hood over her head at all times to hide the point where they actually connect to her scalp. Maybe she hopes they'll be taken for some form of decoration or garish accessory, rather than an intrinsic part of her person?
She's much more comfortable with animals, however -- especially when she thinks she's alone -- and can often be seen conversing quite cheerfully with various creatures she encounters, using the magic taught her by the spirits to communicate with and befriend anything she thinks won't judge her too harshly for being different. While her unnatural heritage does sometimes thwart these attempts too, most animals don't think twice about her horns, tail, or gleaming eyes -- after all, in this sense, she's quite similar to them.
Despite her cold exterior, she's also quite childish, displaying no small measure of awe or even fear in the face of very simple things. Big cities are utterly foreign to her, having lived first as a country girl, then as a hermit. Fanciful baubles and trinkets catch her eye quite readily, and she has a tendency to fiddle with almost any unusual or interesting thing she encounters, displaying an almost magpie-like attraction to shiny objects. And, thanks to her deprived upbringing, her standoffish attitude can oftentimes be defeated with the help of tasty food, especially sweets. Wild berries, roasted fish, and the occasional morsel of meat are all well and good, but given her insatiable curiosity and voracious appetite, she just can't resist.
My Story
Born as a peasant girl, the girl now christened with the fanciful appellation "Aethra" originally bore the much simpler name of "Mary." Her father was one of the village of Ardenfeld's foremost hunters, and was a gruff-but-gentle man who doted upon his daughter extensively. Her mother, on the other hand, was a wanderer from elsewhere -- a gypsy of sorts of unknown heritage who had ended up in Ardenfeld on her travels and cared for her father when he was, coincidentally, injured during a boar hunt. Ultimately, she decided to settle down there and marry him, and though her origins were originally regarded with some measure of suspicion at first, the other villagers quickly stopped caring. The family didn't have any outlandish customs, nor did the foreign lady have any particularly alarming physical traits. They got along well with the community and all did their part, and so quickly became just as ordinary a sight as anyone else.
Her parents loved her very much, and she would often help her mother around the house with chores or errands. She learned to cook, the basics of mending clothing, and other common household skills -- as well as a few small tricks her father taught her, such as how to carve and play a reed flute. They would wile away the hours sitting on their back step, with Mary clumsily tooting away on a small, shabby instrument of her own creation, and her mother singing along from inside. The memories are bright and warm, like a flame -- but they have since flickered and faded as the years drag on, until only embers of those warm, happy days remain. Aethra remembers little of that time now, for her peaceful childhood ended when she was only eight years old -- and after that, she tried her hardest to forget.
Her father's voice, telling them to run.
His hand, clutching an old sword.
His back as he rushed out of the house.
Her mother's grip on her hand.
A stifled cry as that grip went slack.
The fire, all around her.
The pain, the heat, the choking smoke -- and then suddenly, nothing at all.
Someone had pulled her from the flames and carried her to where the other children were hiding. Miraculously, she was mostly unharmed. Her skin was burned in places, leaving scars upon her back that persist to this day -- but she survived. Initially, this was seen as simple good fortune; but when a fire mysteriously broke out in her room at the orphanage, too -- from which she also emerged almost entirely unscathed -- people began to grow worried.
It was around this point when the dreams began. Nightmares, visions of fire and death and bloodshed -- landscapes left barren and lifeless by war. Whether it was the trauma of the attack or some kind of vision of things to come hardly mattered to her at the time, however -- because the more immediate concern was that the flames in her dreams persisted when she awoke. Opening her eyes to find fire in the palm of her hand would set her screaming, only for it to disappear when people came rushing in to check on her. She thought she was losing her mind... and others thought she was possessed. These fears only became more founded when one morning, after a particularly bad nightmare, she awoke to find that her hair had become white like an old woman's, her ears pointed, her teeth sharp, her eyes like blazing embers, and, worst of all -- horns and a forked tail had grown upon her during the night. She panicked, and this in turn once more drew people to come running to her room -- only this time, the evidence didn't just go away.
She was locked in her room, priests were called to conduct an exorcism, and Mary, not unfamiliar with what happened to monsters in fairy tales and already quite aware that she was feared by those around her, was certain that she was going to be killed. In her panic, she broke out of her room and made a run for her life. Though several people caught sight of a horned girl fleeing the city, the search parties that followed lost her trail in the deep woods, as she instinctively began to follow old hunting paths that led her back to her old home.
Arriving amidst the ruins of Ardenfeld, she found an unexpected sight. The fallen houses, the charred landscape, and the ravaged ruins that had haunted her dreams had long since given way to verdant greenery. Vines, flowers, trees, and shrubs had completely overtaken the former town, leaving nary a trace of the hell she remembered from her nightmares. There was a certain tragic beauty to it -- one that burned itself into her memories even more strongly than the trauma of that fateful night.
She wandered aimlessly through the ruins for longer than she can really remember. For a while, she occupied herself with searching for familiar places or items -- old, burnt dolls pulls from the wreckage of her house, a broken reed flute found trampled in the village lane, or a book of fairy tales she couldn't read that the headman's wife had once read aloud to the village children during the harvest festival. She gathered all these mementos in one place, and then, not knowing what else to do with them, with her tiny hands she set about burying them as a kind of memorial to what once had been.
The final trinket she found, however, she couldn't bring herself to bury. It was the broken-off handle of a shattered sword -- an heirloom that had never been meant to see combat. It must have failed its user in his hour of direst need, or surely -- surely, he would have been able to save them all. If only the blade hadn't broken, her father never would have lost his noble fight. Yet, even though he must surely have been defeated without a weapon, she couldn't find any signs of his body. Perhaps it had just burned to ash along with the others, but maybe... just maybe. Hope rekindled itself in her heart, not because she truly believed it to be possible, but quite simply because she needed something to believe in. So, she held on to this ruined keepsake, promising that she wouldn't bury it until she was certain her father was dead.
It was in this state, however, that someone -- or rather, something -- found her. On the first night, it came as a great wolf, from which the young girl hid in terror. Since it could not find her, it left -- but returned upon the second night in the guise of an owl, circling high overhead to search her out. When it found her hiding place, it left, and then returned upon the third night as a white deer -- a doe, but bearing horns like a stag. It came to her hiding place and asked of her...
"Why do you linger here, mortal? This land has already been lost to your kind, and none here yet live."
She, unsure of how to respond, answered only that she had nowhere else to go.
"Why do you not go among the living? Among your own people?"
She shook her head and said that she could not go back, for she was not welcome among them.
"And why is that?"
Because she was a monster. A bringer of fire and destruction -- and so, she only belonged in a place like this, where there was nothing left for her to destroy.
"Tell me, Little Flame, what do you see around you?"
A graveyard.
"Nay. I prithee look again, for you will find not a graveyard, but a garden. The end of your people need not be the end of this place. For the birds will build their nests among your fallen homes, and their songs shall be a lullaby to those who sleep beneath the soil. Look, Little Flame. Look and see. Even atop these graves you have dug, flowers will one day bloom."
It was beautiful, yes... but she wasn't any less lonely for knowing that. And, if that was truly the case, then she had no place here, either -- for she would only serve to destroy what nature hoped to build.
"Then, what if there were another like yourself here? Another with no place and no purpose, save to wait for and tend to what comes after the flames?"
If there was such a person, then she wouldn't want to hurt them. It would be better for her to stay alone.
"Ah, but that person needs you more than you know, Little Flame. There is a place not far from here where few tread -- a blighted, sorrowful land where the trees can no more grow, where the grass withers and fails, and from which all creatures shy away. That place was once her home, as this was once yours. And if you were to burn the rot away, then that place, too, might become a beautiful garden. I'm sure that she, and all those who once shared that home with her, would be happy."
It beggared belief that the strange power she had been granted might be used for such a purpose... but ultimately, she accepted. If that person showed herself, and could accept her as she was, then maybe she could do some good for someone who shared a similar sorrow to her own.
And so, on the fourth night, the one who came to visit her was not a wolf, or an owl, or a deer -- but rather, an old woman with a kindly smile, who introduced herself as Mithra. The girl said that she had been named Mary, but all those who knew her by that name probably hated her by now. And so, the woman gave her a new name: Aethra. A little flame, but one which could offer much to the world by burning brightly, be it in the seclusion of the wilderness or for all mankind to see. It was a name weighted with expectation, but made light by hope and joy -- for finally, there was someone who would walk with her and talk with her, and tell her that she wasn't mad and that neither the world nor her place in it had yet come to an end.
In the years that followed, she learned much under Mithra's tutelage. They lived together amidst the wild, with Aethra tending to the chores that were appointed her by her new mentor, and Mithra teaching the young Tiefling to control the flames within her, and to suppress them if need be. She learned that her powers could be used to heal and to create life in addition to simply destroying it... but also that there was a place for destruction, just as there was a place for new life to take the place of the old. Within an ever-snowy northern forest of rotted, whitened trees, hidden in a secluded valley unknown to mortal men, she worked tirelessly to perfect her craft, so that she could at last fulfill her promise to Mithra, and create for her a garden amidst this wasteland.
But there was another promise that weighed heavily upon her mind -- and as the time came to fulfill it, Mithra ordered her not to break her word, reluctant though she was to leave. And so, her two tasks became one. She would go back to the home she had left behind once more, and tend to the garden there. She would make good on her promise to speak once more with her old friends, even if they hated her or didn't recognize her after all the changes she had gone through. She would travel the world outside the Argent Vale once more, and once she had learned everything she could learn from seeing all the hopeful beginnings and fiery ends that life had to offer... she would return to Mithra, and share the fruits of her knowledge, creating a beautiful garden amidst that lifeless valley.
And yet, throughout all of this, still she is haunted by the dreams of all that she has seen -- and all that may wait for her in the world beyond. Something dark and terrible looms upon the edge of her awareness, and all that Mithra has taught her may not be enough to prepare her for it. If that day comes where her flame fails her as her father's sword failed him, or where the essence of life she strives to uphold slips from her grasp as her mother's hand slipped from hers... what will she do then?
Going Forward
At the moment, Aethra would say that she simply wants to make her mentor and surrogate grandmother Mithra proud of her, and to fulfill her promises. However, that's not entirely true. In part, her real goal upon this journey is to try to prove, both to herself and to those who once called her a monster, that her power really can be used to do great things, and that she's not the bringer of destruction she once feared she was. In seeking this, she'll also have to contend with the difficulty involved in changing people's perceptions of her, and her own wavering confidence in her own abilities as she wonders what, precisely, even is the right way for someone like her to live.
Secretly, she also perhaps holds out hope that her father might have survived the attack and still be alive somewhere... and that maybe, just maybe, some of her old friends who might still remember her from her childhood as Mary won't hate her when they see what she has become. Finally, she's also curious as to why she was cursed with the flame she bears to begin with, and from whence her daemonic heritage springs -- hoping that, perhaps, if she understands the roots of her own nature, that may bring her closer to triumphing over it, and over people's perceptions of her as a result of it.
But even leaving aside her plethora of emotional issues, the fact remains that Aethra is horribly sheltered and ignorant as to the workings of civilization and society as a whole, and she has a lot to learn before she is ready to truly save -- or destroy -- anything. Where her path and her reunion with the other survivors can take her, who can say? And what further trials fate has in store for her, only time will tell...
