Deep in the frostbitten highlands stands the village of Greyharrow, a place long abandoned by the world’s trade routes and forgotten by those who once claimed it. Only the Waystone Inn remains alive, the former trading station turned into a reluctant beacon for those with nowhere else to go. Runaways, drifters, petty criminals, and people fleeing pasts they’d rather keep buried all find their way here eventually. In Greyharrow, no one asks questions, no one judges, and no one looks too closely. For many, this ramshackle settlement has become the closest thing to a second home. A place where the world finally stops chasing them, and they get a second chance, whether they deserve one or not. The town itself is surrounded by an old, yet incredibly sturdy mountain wall that forms a nearly perfect circle, and has a large, arcane tower that sits abandoned on the mountains at the bottom of the circle. This observatory has always had an aura of mystery, as no one has ever managed to break in, or loot it. Thus, hundreds of adventures and dozens of groups fall victim to the magical defenses this ancient fortress still boasts. Yet beneath the worn wooden floors of the houses and ice-cracked stone on the street, something far older hums through a ley line that the village unknowingly sleeps atop.
One winter night, that ancient power ruptures. An arcane engine within the old observatory seemingly detonates. At first, it only felt like the ground itself shook underneath their feet. Yet, within a moment, an impossible storm of color and sound preceded reality breaking around the town, tearing Greyharrow from its moorings. When reality returned, the Waystone Inn, its residents, and the entirety of the town find themselves now drifting through the Astral Seas, dancing among the very stars themselves, where time and distance lose their meaning. They are unmoored, frightened, and utterly alone in a place that offers no maps, no mercy, and no promise of return.
Now the village of Greyharrow, clinging to its floating shard of earth, serves as an unwilling vessel carrying its mismatched crew across astral storms and dying worlds. Their mission is simple at first glance. Figure out how the magic of The Observatory works, figure out where they are, and figure out how to get home. Yet as this motley crew advances, they will quickly learn that something vast and alien is stirring beyond the horizon. Is it an intelligence waiting, watching, and preparing to break through? Or do the stars themselves hide horrors that are best left unspoken?
For the setting, this will be a homebrew world. I am going to make this a fantasy story with almost every DnD fantasy race available. As long as it's in the Player's Handbook, I am good to go. The time period will be undisclosed in a sense. At most, there is a very active and alive steampunk world somewhere in the world we hail from. Things like trains, airships, and even some steam-powered carlike contraptions do exist. However, they do not exist in our corner of the frontier. Thus, your character can have experienced devices, or be able to make devices, like that but we will be without them at the start of the story. You will have agency to try and create devices that fit that setting as we advance; however, so if your character is someone who likes to create you will have that ability. Fashion is also flexible, owing to the diverse and evolving timelines our characters will come from.
The basic premise of this RP is that you will play as one of the many rabblerousers who either call Greyharrow home or as an unlucky traveler caught in the chaos. Regardless of how or when you arrived, you were present in the Tavern when the observatory seemingly exploded. While the building still stands, there is no doubt that your current predicament is caused by something that happened on it's grounds. It will be up to you to discover the cause of the explosion and see if there is any way to turn this city around and head home. Whether or not that is possible needs to be discovered.
This story could be one that takes many years in the story itself, and as such, your characters are liable to age. Keep that in mind when creating characters. As well, keep in mind that I will not pull any punches. As such, your character very well might die. I am going to be open to a variety of different character concepts. If you don't know if your idea will work, you can always message me here or join (discord), and we can either talk publicly or privately! The one area I will be strict on will be face claims. The more realistic the better, but for this story, I will NOT allow for anime-themed face claims.
This will be an ever-evolving story that can change depending on where you the players take it. If you make the right choices at the right moment, you may find that the story is more optimistic. However, the inverse is also true.
RULES & NOTES
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1. First and foremost, I reserve the right to reject anyone from the RP and boot them out at any time. I hate to do this, and I will try to avoid it, but sometimes, some people are too disruptive to the RP or aren't a good fit and must be removed.
2. Please try to be respectful towards all other players.
3. This will be a homebrew creation. Thus, there will be some flexibility with the setting.
4. The tone of the RP will be relatively dark and brooding, but not edgy. It'll have plenty of dark moments and probably some pretty graphic moments - with occasional nudity. However, I like to balance this with enough humor and heartwarming moments.
5. no "wip" sheets on the OOC. Post a complete sheet, or don't post anything at all. If you need something looked over, feel free to private message me. Speaking of which, the character tab is for accepted characters only.
6. Keep in mind that your character can die. If they make the wrong move, it can result in their death, and I will not jeopardize the story to save them.
7. You're allowed to have as many characters as you can handle... don't go too crazy. I want to keep it to about two characters max per person, but if you have a good idea, I'll allow more.
8. I only describe the essential lore for character-making. That is because I like doing stuff from top-to-bottom, meaning I like to explore the crazy world in character. Please let me know if you want any details about the lore for making a character.
9. This RP will strictly be "first come, first serve." I will not reserve any /characters/roles/etc, and they will go to whoever finishes their character sheet first. If there's a conflict over it, I will decide the outcome.
10. All I ask for is one post a week. Your character will be deemed inactive if it's been a week since your last post. Please be aware that once your character has been deemed inactive, I have free reign to control them, or they can be killed off.
12. Some rules are so beaten into your head that it should be obvious. Do not break them and feign ignorance.
12. Normally I would say no to any FC that is too anime in theme. However, given that this is a fantasy RP and detailed FC's are hard to come by, I will be more lax PROVIDED it is not an actual anime image. Anime style art is potentially okay. My first character will have such a FC, and all I ask is that you try and keep it to that standard....................................................................
RESOURCES & LINKS
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RESOURCES
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............................................................ "So what be yer fancy? You like a sword, magic, or somethin' else."
All across the world, there are thousands of different professions, schools of magic, and fighting styles. For this RP, these will be simplified down to two key elements: your class and your subclass. A class is a broad spectrum descriptor for what your character can do. Your subclass is what tells us in detail what your character will do. For example, a cleric is a holy champion of a god or goddess who channels their power from a divine or cosmic force. A Death-Domain Cleric tells us their power comes from some form of god or goddess of the dead, and may have a focus on necrotic magic or other death-related skills.
While a subclass can offer insight into who a character is, it is by no means an absolute description. A Death Domain Cleric may conjure images of an evil individual who seeks to bring death to the world, yet this is not often the case. Instead, they could be someone who honors their divine patron by visiting ancient battlefields and providing final rites to the restless dead who haunt it, providing them the ability to finally cross over. Classes, and their subclasses, are useful to tell us what your character can do, but you will always have the ability to make it your own
In a traditional DnD story, we would have character sheets with stats such as strength, intelligence, wisdom, and so forth. In this story, we will not. Instead, we will work with a simplified format for spell casting and skill gain. Every magic-based class will start with two abilities, every cleric will start with one divine spell, and every martial class will start with their weapons and fighting styles. These will be up to you, though they will need to make sense for your character. Thus, we will NOT be using dice rolls, and instead work through the flow of the story.
Each class, and its subclasses, has various strengths and weaknesses that help balance them in combat encounters. This will often have a rock, paper, scissor vibe in that a knight, or paladin, could be weak when they face a true magic user like a wizard, sorcerer, or warlock. Those same magic users are weak when faced with a ranger, rogue, or other ranged sources. And those ranged classes would be weak against the armor and might of a fighter, paladin, or cleric. There’s going to be a lot of common sense when it comes to it. A heavily armored knight is likely to be hard to kill if you come at him with a pair of daggers, and a mage might be hard to pin down if you don’t have something ranged to hit them with. Again, there is no set rule for what will happen outside of common sense will prevail.
Please reference this website when you are looking for information on each class, subclass, and so on. This is not a definitive list, and it is not something I am going to hold everyone to. However, it does contain a trove of information that should be helpful when creating a character.
............................................................ ""Which kind of elf do you be?""
This link is going to be a useful tool for creating your character. In terms of what is and isn't allowed, I want to stick to races in the Player's Handbook for player characters. This is not a firm rule; however, it will need to be a fantastic character for me to move on with this. This is to simplify and keep a consistent theme for the characters.
I will want you to maintain the aesthetic or rules that they have. Like you can be tall for a dwarf, but tall for a dwarf is still going to fall within their height range, or just a hair above. Elves will have their usual characteristic and so on, so forth
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LINKS
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Spell Examples Warlock Patrons(use this as a reference! Again, we are borrowing a lot from DnD but you can be as creative as you want with the patron) Use this for your frontline characters. Again, feel free to be creative. For Paladin style players. I will have you either borrow from this list or create your own, but you must create your own oath regardless. If you are looking for information on Bards. Wizard fans rejoice! Sorcerer and their origins! Cleric's have this spot here. I will have you create the god that your cleric follows. Remember, like the Warlock, a cleric may have their patron's voice in their head. A Druid can have whatever wild shape you like, and I will give you the flexibility to create the creatures they can turn into. If you prefer the sneakier classes, this is a good resource to use.
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The Waystone Inn is a building that has lasted longer than the areas recorded history. As the story goes, the Waystone Inn was founded as a trading post along the grand trade route that ran through the new town, up into the red wastes, and across to the Spine Mountain range. It's position on the edge of the cold desert meant that they were the last stop before the long, dangerous track across unforgiving landscapes. Thus, the trading post was a popular spot for these merchants, caravans, and travelers to prepare for their journey ahead. The station expanded it's size, began to provide alcohol and good, and offered lodging. With one half dedicated to trading, and the other to providing entertainment, the Waystone became both a local and world renowned location to visit.
Fortunes change. At the peak of the Waystones popularity, there was a large and global war that forever altered the landscape. With the fallout from that cataclysm new, and safer, trading routes were opened and fewer, and fewer, caravans crossed the Red Wastes. As the caravans began to dry up, so too did the traveling merchants. And as the traveling merchants began to seek greener pastures, the adventures who would be told tales of wonder were instead sold a story about another location. Within a hundred years, the Waystone Inn found itself with only a local crowd and a size far too big to accommodate.
Fifty years ago, the local gangs made a truce and established the Waystone as a neutral middle ground where conversations could be had without threat of violence, and this led to the tavern adopting a more criminal clientele. A traveling bard witnessed this transaction and misconstrued the terms of the deal, embellishing it to suggest that both the town and this tavern was a place where those who were down on their luck or needing a fresh start could find refuge. This has led to a resurgence, as the tavern is often packed with locals and adventurers alike, and has become known as a hub for those seeking treasures in the Waste.
WILDENBLOOM.REMEDIES
............................................................ "Ain't much left right now. We need to find a way to replenish our stocks."
As adventures began to travel out into the wastes, they often came back battered and broken. A dangerous raid into a challenging area was only worth it so long as you had ways to prepare ahead of time. As such, one adventure, a Sir Arthur Brierwood, created the Wildenbloom Remedies apothecary. Focusing strongly on healing potions, cures, and other remedies, the apothecary became a must visit location for any traveling crew. While the quality has been known to be suspect at times, they are truly the only option one has when it comes to most potions. They are trained in-house as opposed to recruiting a trained alchemist. This has allowed the potion masters flexibility in their process, leading to unique and more niche potions made with whatever ingredients grew locally.
ARCANE.TOWER
............................................................ "You would have thought someone would have gotten in by now. It's right there, near the middle of the town."
Arcane towers dot the landscape of the world, yet none have quite the mystery behind them as the Arcane Tower at Greyharrow. The tower predates the town around it. Before the trading route was established, various Mage Circles made camp at the base of the structure in an attempt to gain access to what is stored inside. Despite the countless attempts over the years, none have managed to break through the protective barriers that encase the exterior of the building. There have been many Mages of legend who have dedicated their craft to breaking this impossible building, and many more will surely come in time. While not proven, it is suggested that the interior of the Arcane Tower is filled with automated defenses, such as suits of armor, turrets, and more. This legend was started by locals who swear that if you look at the various windows at the exact right time you will spot a shadow that moves.
In the educated magic circles, it is known that there is something different about this Arcane Tower. There is no record of the mage who built it, no god has laid claim to it, and it has been stuck, jutted into the landscape, for far longer than life existed there. What's more, it is also understood that the exterior of this tower subtly changes with the world around it. As Greyharrow adopted stone buildings and walls, it was recorded over the next century that the Arcane Tower adopted a similar style. In fact, early depictions of the tower do not contain the two "guard towers" that flank the North and South side. Thus, not only is the tower impervious to all weapons and magic, but it is aware of the world around it.
After the explosion, the top of the tower appears to have opened. From this opening, a bright ball of energy raises up and hangs in the sky above as if replacing the absent sun in the sky above. This ball of energy provides warmth, plants respond to it as if it was the sun, and energy appears to be pulled from it and used in the creation and maintenance of a barrier that protects the town. This ball of energy will rise, and then fall later in the day, casting darkness on all. In this darkness, the barrier begins to show signs of weakness. This suggests that the ball of energy is the source of the barrier, and it needs to be recharged daily.
GULDA.WARES
............................................................ "You ain't gonna find a finer weapon in the area."
There has been a Gulda Orc in Greyharrow for the past two hundred years, and they have always worked their weapon shop. Their weapons tend to focus on simplicity over flashy ones, and thus you will find swords, axes, and spears over more ornate and complicated forms. Their quality is decent, as the ore quality tends to be on the suspect side. Still, if you require a weapon, you will not find a better weapon in the surrounding area because there are no other vendors to be found.
............................................................ "This place is somewhere I feel I can belong. It's hard to find something like that everywhere else."
In the modern world, Greyharrow is a place unlike any other. A collection of ne'er-do-wells, rabblerousers, and other nefarious individuals, mixed in with lost, displaced, and downtrodden folks, make this town a place where second chances are realized. If you have nowhere else to go, Greyharrow will open her doors for you. As such, this is a town where terrible ideas like 'redemption' and 'fresh starts' are spoken of often, even if some ignore the call for it. Bandits and other gangs call this place their base of operations, though they often focus their attention elsewhere instead of bothering the people who reside within their sphere of influence. Those who come towards the town run the gauntlet of breaching through the raiding parties, bandit gangs, and other nefarious groups, yet once they get within the walls, they are generally safe from these factions. The people of Greyharrow will often take justice into their own hands instead of waiting for assistance.
The town has been built up over the years inside the caldera of an impact crater. At the center of town, a large Arcane Tower juts upwards into the sky, far above the town below. There are three rings within this town, each one representing a different era of building. The first ring is known locally as the Oldspire Ring. This was the part of the town that was built when Greyharrow was a commercial trading zone. The buildings tend to be larger, more spacious, and luxurious. While they, like the rest of the town, spot various levels of disrepair, the buildings tend to see more care, maintenance, and attention. The second ring was built after the town became a haven for criminal elements. There tend to be hangouts, shanty districts, clubs, and hideouts hidden within the confines of this area. Locally, the people call this area Outrider Warrens. It is ill-advised to travel alone at night unless you know where you are going or know who might be prowling the streets, or how to fight. The final ring is simply named Harvest, as farmers have crammed fields between the cramped housing of Outrider and the ridges of the caldera. The food is not great, and plagues have been common, but when you are as isolated as Greyharrow you need to ensure you have options for food generation. The landscape is spotted with farmhouses and granaries that store the food for the town.
"The justice I serve isn’t accepted by everyone. That’s fine. I’ve never needed their acceptance."
_______________________________________________ Calamity ‘Cali’ Harbinger (Born Ivy Lyrre)
She/Her | 29 | Tiefling | Fierna Bloodline | 5’3” | 125lbs | _______________________________________________ Retribution _______________________________________________ Skills & Talents "The forest is my true home. It’s a shame I like company too much to escape to it." ___________________________________
Hunter-Assassin ⫻ Growing up, Cali learned how to track and hunt animals in the thick forests around her home to help bring back food for her family and to sell. She can track, stalk, and easily kill beasts of a variety of sizes… And after she left her village she learned to use these skills to hunt and kill humans too. She’s an expert tracker, and will trail her ‘prey’ for days on end until she finds the right moment to strike and kill, before slipping back into the shadows.
Climber ⫻ From climbing trees as a child to scaling buildings as an adult, Cali has always had a talent for getting to high places. She knows how to find good hand and footholds, and can scale most walls that it’s possible to without magic. This aids her in her assassinations.
Woman of the Woods ⫻ Cali grew up learning how to live off the forest, something that continued in her ranger training and long periods travelling from city to city. Beyond hunting she can also recognise edible berries, mushrooms and plants, and very simple herbs (though her knowledge here isn’t great). She knows where to find fresh water, how to navigate through thick trees, how to make shelter and how to generally survive out in the great wilderness. Along with this she learned wood carving, and made her own bow as a young adult.
Bloodline of Fierna ⫻ Cali has an almost unnatural charm to her, granted to her by her devilish bloodline. She’s learned how to manipulate people to get what she wants from them. Often, she turns this charm on her targets- manipulating them so they suffer emotional and personal humiliation before she kills them.
Appearance ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Keep looking at me like that and you’ll lose your eyes."
Although she’s a bit shorter than average, Cali isn’t easily overlooked as a tiefling. Her skin is a dark carmine red, with two twisted horns going from a shade darker to near black at the tips. The base of her horns, where they grow from her skin, is always covered by curly bangs that go to her eyebrows. Her hair is white with a lavender sheen in places, falling just past her shoulders in curls. She ties it back in a simple ponytail when she needs it out of the way. Her sclera are almost black, and her pupilless purple eyes only enhance her demonic look. Her pointed ears are slightly droopy, and she has one lobe piercing and two helixes in each. Her long tail has an almost heart shaped point at the end.
Cali is lithe, with lean muscles in her arms and legs. She has nice curves, which she likes to show off when she’s in the mood for it- primarily when flirting with women. She has a variety of scars, primarily on her torso and legs. She has a particularly obvious one down her right side. She’s confident in her body now, but there was a time when her appearance brought her nothing but grief.
Cali’s clothing falls into three categories: her standard affair, stealth outfits, and fancier clothing. For her standard affair, she wears her dark leather armour, with the top laces often left undone, over a tunic of whatever colour she fancies on the day- primarily opting for shades of purple, red and burgundy or simpler light brown or cream. This goes with neutral trousers and lace up boots. For cold weather she has a thick animal hide cloak lined with animal fur she got made from the pelts of creatures she’s hunted. When she wants to hide in the shadows, she ditches her coloured tunic and goes all black, with a darker hooded cloak. Fancier is anything she deems less practical- mainly a few dresses she keeps just in case they’d be useful. Nothing too expensive, as she’ll have to leave anything that doesn’t fit in her travelling pack behind when she next moves.
Psychology ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "You been to the local tavern? No? Lemme take you there, it’ll be my treat… And don’t worry, nothing’ll happen on my watch."
MAIN GOAL ⫻ Cali’s goal in life is great: for all women to live life without having to fear violence at the hand of men who view themselves as superior, and for all abusive men to be killed. Preferably by her hand. Beyond that, she would love to find someone for herself. Deep down she yearns to put down her protector assassin mantle and leave civilization entirely: but it isn’t something she can allow herself to do yet.
PHILOSOPHY ⫻ There is no repentance in this world. They strong prey on the weak, and they only bow to those that are stronger- but this bowing doesn’t mean they regret their previous crimes. The only repentance is in death.
SECRETS ⫻ Being a vigilante who kills men who deserve it- rapists, predators, abusers and the like- is something she tends to keep secret. Unfortunately, most people view it as murder. She views it as justice. She also doesn’t tend to share the traumas that led her to where she is now.
SEXUALITY ⫻ Lesbian. Cali loves women, and any man that tries to make a move on her will get shot.
FEARS ⫻ Cali fears being powerless again. She fears the sexual violence that was enacted on her in her youth, even though she’s strong enough to kill anyone who tries now.
WHAT BROUGHT THEM TO GREYHARROW ⫻ Cali is on the run with a bounty on her head, technically. She’s hoping to lay low in Greyharrow until they forget who she is. And she may as well clean up this town while she’s at it.
WHAT DO OTHERS IN TOWN THINK OF THEM ⫻ There are incredibly mixed opinions of Cali. Some like Cali herself for her honesty, her friendliness and how fun she is to drink with. She’s a good person, and great company (to women). Others find her abrasive and forceful- and most men find her mean spirited.
As for ‘The Bringer of Calamity’- her murderous callsign that doesn’t hide her identity anymore- she is feared, hated and loved. There are women who she’s saved from abuse or gotten revenge on behalf of who are thankful for her, but there are even more men (especially those with power) who fear and abhor her.
EQUIPMENT ⫻ Cali carries a longbow with her, and at least twenty arrows in her quiver with many more wherever she’s staying. She has a shortsword she keeps at her belt, though rarely uses. She wears dark leather armour most of the time. Often she’ll have a dark cloak with her. She doesn’t always have her backpack with her, but when she does it's filled with things to help her get high places: a grappling hook, some pitons, and 50 ft of rope attached to the outside along with the standard rations and waterskin. She also has woodcarver’s tools she sometimes brings with her. She also carries a hunting knife, which is never used in combat, only to skin, gut and prepare any animals she hunts.
FLAWS ⫻ While Cali can be charming, she can also be quite forceful. She won’t hold back her opinions, and can be very abrasive. Along with this she often clashes with other big personalities, and will snap at people who try to force their opinions on others while doing the same (especially men). She’s driven by vengeance more than anything, making her often unforgiving and harsh. The harsh life she’s experienced has led her to be jaded and untrusting, rarely fully trusting anyone. At the end of the day, she’s also a misandrist. Her view has been proved correct enough times that she confidently paints all men with the same brush: awful unless proven otherwise. This makes her harsh and meanspirited towards them, unless she’s purposefully turning on the charm. Its a sharp contrast to how friendly she is with other women.
Backstory ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "The world isn’t kind to people like me. So I learned to be unkind to it too."
CW: Grooming, Sexual Assault Ivy Lyrre was the first child of two humans in a small town hidden in the High Forest. What was supposed to be a blessing turned into a curse, the Lyrre couple’s first child born as some form of demonic spawn. One of their ancestors had either laid with or made a deal with a devil, and that resulted in their first child being born a tiefling.
Ivy was ostracised from a young age, in an isolated village which was already suspicious of outsiders beyond their trade connections. This ostracisation only worsened when her brother was born just a year after, a healthy human. Then her sister, also human. They were showered by the love Ivy was never shown by her parents. It was as if she didn’t exist. Multiple times they said they wished she hadn’t been bored. Everyone else in the village shunned the ‘devil child’ too.
But there was one person who didn’t. Harold, one of the best hunters in town and a retired ranger who travelled the continent. He took Ivy under his wing as an apprentice. He brought her into the forest with him, and taught her its ways. First, he taught her how to navigate the forest. How to climb a tree to see where she was, and how to use the stars to tell which direction to go. Scavenging, shelter building, everything she’d need to survive in it. At the same time, he taught her about the ecosystem, and how to track down animals, along with how to skin and prepare them to use every part of them. When she was old enough, he taught her how to use a bow. This fostered a deep connection to nature, and she began to train to be a ranger just like he had been.
Harold gave Ivy the attention and affection she lacked everywhere else in life, without seeming to discriminate against her heritage. She thought it was because he’d travelled beyond the village and seen a variety of people. Harold saw Ivy’s isolation as an opportunity to groom a young girl under the guise of training.
What started as an innocent mentor-mentee relationship, or even a replacement Father for Ivy, changed as she began to grow through puberty. Inappropriate touches that Ivy didn’t understand were wrong, though they made her uncomfortable, and stronger affection that went beyond what she’d seen between her parents and siblings. It culminated in him violating her just after she turned sixteen.
Feeling horrified and disgusted by herself and him, Ivy. She packed what little she had and left the town that had been a reluctant home. The betrayal ran deep. Even though she didn’t entirely understand how wrong what she experienced was, she knew how awful it made her feel.
On that night, Ivy Lyrre died. She chose her own name, a tradition she ironically learned from Harold. She decided to call herself Calamity Harbinger- because it was what she’d bring to Harold when she was strong enough. Or, more simply, Cali.
Cali spent days travelling and living in the forest until she reached Yartar. But it turned out that the world wasn’t all that different from her village. Sure, people were more educated, but Tieflings were still viewed with suspicion by the majority. And many men looked at her with lecherous eyes, some following it with sexual violence towards her. She endured and survived, growing jaded as she realised that someone like Harold wasn’t an exception. She saw the way other women were treated in the poor area of the city, most too weak to fight back. Men were the problem.
She thought about living in isolation in a forest somewhere among nature. But she still yearned for connection with other people that she wouldn’t find in the trees and animals.
When she was eighteen, Cali finally snapped. The man that had forced himself into her bed never woke up, after she shot him through the head. There was no regret or guilt over it. Instead she felt elation. She could fight back.
From there, her life shaped up into what it is now. She’d honed her skills enough as a ranger to get hired for jobs, making money by day while being a vigilante assassin by night. She’d spend weeks or months in a city, forging connections with other women while killing men to protect them. Rapists, predators, abusers, any men committing those acts died to her arrows. She would stalk her targets, ruining their lives until she finally assassinated them. And she discovered her own love for women, dating where she could- though they often didn’t last long. Eventually, she’d move to a new city, spending a long period travelling between wild areas and keeping in touch with nature.
Nobody knew who it was behind the string of murders in each city she went to. She was careful to keep her identity hidden, only killing from the shadows at a distance. Her calling card was ‘the Bringer of Calamity’, but no one knew her full name.
Until a year ago, when she finally returned to the village that she came from. She wanted Harold to see her face when she killed him and finally got her revenge. But he wasn’t the only one. Others saw her, and recognised her. While nobody could connect her to all of the crimes she’d committed, she was connected to enough to have a bounty put on her head.
So she fled to Greyharrow. It would only be a temporary stay until the heat died down… But she’d make the most of her time here anyway.
BARDS & RANGERS ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Rangers aren’t just masters of nature."
TYPE ⫻ Ranger (Gloomstalker)
FIGHTING STYLE ⫻ Cali wields a longbow, and is skilled in archery. She excels in sniping from a distance and picking off her foes. If given enough time, she can pinpoint and hit an exact spot with ease- for example, through the eye. Though this kind of precision archery isn’t as viable in a combat situation, it’s her signature for assassinations.
MAGIC ⫻
Hunter’s Mark ⫻ Cali magically marks a specific target that they can see, within ninety feet, as their quarry. The target is unaware of this, and the mark is visible to only Cali as a subtle purple glow around them. This allows them to easily pick them out from the crowd, and magically track them. By concentrating, Cali can sense where their target is- with the precision being based on distance. The closer she is to the target, the more precise she can pinpoint them. She can only have one marked target, and has to recast it after a day.
COMPANION ⫻ Cali has a fox companion called Dev (short for Devastation). Cali found her as a cub abandoned on the streets, and raised her into adulthood. The two share a close bond, though Dev often wanders the street separately to Cali. Dev doesn’t tend to fight humans with Cali, but when she does she’ll often leap up for the softest bit she can get, or tear at legs to try and pull someone to the ground.
CURRENT WEAPONS ⫻ Cali’s primary weapon is a recurve longbow, which she is proficient with. She always ensures her brow, which she carved and strung herself, is kept in perfect condition. She also carries a shortsword, which she isn’t particularly proficient with. She’s learning, and unlikely to be useful with them in combat.
TRAINING ⫻ Cali was trained from a young age by a retired ranger in her village. She continued this training solo after she left, taking long stints alone in thick forests as she travelled.
LIMITS ⫻ As an archer, Cali is limited by range. Her bow is practically useless at any distance shorter than 30 feet, and is strongest from a range of 100 feet to 150 feet.
Cali can only cast Hunter’s Mark once a day unless the current target dies, in which case she can recast it in the same day. She can only have one mark active. At a certain distance (say a target leaves their current city), it’s useless. She has to see the target to mark them.
WEAKNESSES ⫻ The Hunters Mark is a strong ability that will allow Cali to be the feared hunter that they are known to be. However, if Cali has their concentration broken during the spells active duration they will suffer two consequences. The first, a sharp headache will slam into their mind as if the connection snapped like a rubber band. This headache will impact every sense for one minute and put them at a disadvantage in combat, speech, and movement.
Other ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Revenge never tasted so sweet."
Now that she's an adult, Cali is kind of embarrassed by the name she chose for herself. Not enough to change it, though.
He/him | 28 | Goliath | Hill Giant | 95Inches | 264pounds | _______________________________________________ Straightforward _______________________________________________ Skills & Talents "When there is a will there is a way." ___________________________________
Hill Giant's strength Courtesy of Latrom's Hill giant ancestry he can knock over any creature with supernatural strength, however he has not mastered this ability lacking the ability to use it consecutively.[Applies Prone]
Ancestral Knowledge of the Land Latrom was taught ancestral knowledge pertaining to geology, ecology and weatherology. He knows how to identify and prepare for any environmental and ecological danger that he or his ancestors have encountered. Examples include dangerous animal markings, landslides, blizzards, thunderstorms and toxic ecology. He can locate food, water and shelter with ease through his mastery of geology.
Latrom's can only identify environmental and ecological dangers that have existed on Faerrun's land, therefore he cannot apply this knowledge to the ocean and can only make educated guesses on dangers not known to Faerrun.
[Hardy] Thanks to his upbringing Latrom has an uncanny ability to heal himself from most minor injuries and wounds without the use of magic. A scratch will heal twice as quick, a sore muscle will soothe itself, and bigger cuts will seemingly clot faster than they should. A life spent on the road has conditioned his body to be ever ready to respond to damage, and this carries forward to this day. [Can evolve further as Latrom experiences hardship.]
Appearance ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Intimidating in stature."
Latrom is a Goliath a head taller than others, bearing wavy short brown hair with a straightforward stature looking down at you with black pupils.
He carries on him a traditional suit made of high-quality leather worn and frayed along the edges with an interlocking knot pendant. The pendant was lovingly carved from an ox's bone and strung with its tendons, the suit was impeccably sown from the hide of that very same ox.
Under all the thick leather clothing is a pristine earthy brown skin covering a stout body with muscular yet flexible limbs. Wearing the traditional suit combined with his imposing stature caused many to mistake him for a bugbear at first sight in the dark.
Psychology ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ""I patron myself for who else is worthy of my belief.""
MAIN GOAL ⫻ (To explore all there is to see of Faerrun on his grand pilgrimage.)
PHILOSOPHY ⫻ (To truly live you must stand I rather die standing than kneel and wait for piss to flow.)
SECRETS ⫻ (Nothing)
SEXUALITY ⫻ (Straight)
FEARS ⫻ (Losing the people he cares about)
WHAT BROUGHT THEM TO GREYHARROW ⫻ (To continue his goal of exploring all of Faerrun.)
WHAT DO OTHERS IN TOWN THINK OF THEM ⫻ (The people consider Latrom honorable and benevolent for his oath and the fact that he goes around healing those in need.)
EQUIPMENT ⫻ Latrom has in his possession thick leather armour (traditional suit suit), a holy symbol (interlocked knot pendant), a waraxe and a shield.
FLAWS ⫻ (Latrom lacks creativity and flexibility, he will fail to see other ways of solving problems other than the most obvious and will not bend on his morals even if it kills him.)
Backstory ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "I look back at the past and smile at the memories."
Latrom Lyve was born in a family of goliath aboriginals of the main continent, holding ancestral knowledge of the land His father mastered the ancestral knowledge of botany often prepared medicine to prevent or cure any illnesses that he may catch, his mother experienced in geology and ecology navigated the land with confidence predicting water, shelter and animal migratory locations. In his early years he was taught the ancestral knowledge about how to find and identify if a plant was poisonous or edible, if the animal tracks were carnivorous or herbivorous and how to find water and shelter based of geographical landmarks and features.
In his early teenage years his parents increased the distance they traveled while lowering the rest frequency to temper Latrom's body and mind with vigorous travel, his father sympathetic of his plights slowed the traveling pace every so often to teach ancestral knowledge. A few years later he completely adapted, however with his mind no longer struggling with the tempering he spent the rest of his teenage years lost in thought about his morals and listening to his parents tell stories about their pilgrimage.
At the age of 20 he proclaimed his intent to go on a pilgrimage as well, his parents expressed their approval as long as he could hunt a magic beast. He spent many months tracking down a beast to prove his readiness with his parents guidance and at the beginning of spring he went to hunt an earth ox, leader of a herd. Having succeeded in this hunt at the age of 20 he set out on his pilgrimage to explore the continent he calls home, with the parting gifts of a traditional suit and Interlocked knot pendant lovingly made from the mighty ox he hunted.
Latrom on his pilgrimage carrying a war-axe and shield on his back and wearing his parent's parting gifts. He contently explored the land of Moonshine Isles for a full year seldomly stopping at towns to sell the hides and medicinal herbs he gathered on his travels, contract equipment repairs and travel overseas to places like the "Lantan" in the "Trachless Sea" through merchant vessels.
Latrom nearing the end of his pilgrimage seven years later in the capital city "Sambar" of "Lantan", having exploring the majority of Faerrun's land he affectionately swears the oath of ancients, dreaming of all the wondrous sights around the world he has and will see.
After returning from "Lantan" through a merchant vessel he arrived at a fishing town called Actara and found an inn called the "Warming Hearth". The inn-keeper, a dwarven monk bartered with him saying "I can give you three silver pieces for the deer hide, five copper for the two rabbit hides and two silver for the two pound pouch of herbs." Latrom accepted and asks."Any noteworthy towns or locations to see on my pilgrimage? "
The inn-keeper enthusiastically said "The city of Grayharrow where an arcane tower resides, it is protected by a magical defenses no one has been able to get past for decades!"Latrom, although not interested in breaking through the barrier was curious about what it looked like asking. "Where is Grayharrow?"
The inn-keeper told him that one hour travel eastward lies a river leading north to Grayharrow. He arrived at Greyharrow town eight years after he set out, planning to see the arcane tower with his own eyes.
Other ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Killing should only be done when necessary, whether for food or to protect your own or another's life."
WARLOCK, CLERIC, & PALADIN: ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
"They adorn their armor and clothing with images of growing things-leaves, antlers, or flowers-to reflect their commitment to preserving life and light in the world."
TYPE ⫻ Paladin
PATRON ⫻ Following the Oath of Ancients
TERMS ⫻ The tenets of the Oath of the Ancients have been preserved for uncounted centuries. This oath emphasizes the principles of good above any concerns of law or chaos. Its four central principles are simple.
Kindle the Light. Through your acts of mercy, kindness, and forgiveness, kindle the light of hope in the world, beating back despair.
Shelter the Light. Where there is good, beauty, love, and laughter in the world, stand against the wickedness that would swallow it. Where life flourishes, stand against the forces that would render it barren.
Preserve Your Own Light. Delight in song and laughter, in beauty and art. If you allow the light to die in your own heart, you can't preserve it in the world.
Be the Light. Be a glorious beacon for all who live in despair. Let the light of your joy and courage shine forth in all your deeds.
MAGIC ⫻
Will of Healing
Latrom communes with his targets mind using his intent to rapidly accelerate the healing of the wounded or ill body. He must use his willpower to channel his intent to the targets mind, and he can channel it in one of two ways. First, he can directly channel his intent through physical contact to achieve the strongest healing possible. When he heals a target this way, he can heal most physical wounds provided he has time, and his willpower doesn't falter.
The second method is to channel it through his holy symbol and project the healing effect outward towards a specific target. While it may be only half as effective at healing when compared to the touch, it does give him a fifteen-foot range to heal his target.
This feature has no effect on undead and constructs lacking the ability to naturally heal and/or a mind of their own .
[Vision of Will] ⫻
Latrom can determine the intent of a presence within a fifteen to sixty foot radius, Latrom will be struck with an instantaneous vision from the perspective of the perpetrator with effectiveness depending on three conditions. One if the presence is strong or weak, two if the presence is in a 15ft radius and three if latrom is looking into the presences' eyes. If all three conditions are fulfilled Latrom will be given and overwhelming amount of information that he may or may not be able to understand, if the vision fulfills 2 conditions Latrom can ascertain their intent with half-clarity, and if only one condition is fulfilled he can only ascertain if it is made with ill or good will. The way he can tell whether a perspective belongs to an evil or good person is by how the vision appears to him. If the vision is bright, with clear surroundings, the intent of the presence is good. If the vision is dark and foggy, the perspective belongs to an evil presence. Clarity varies depending on the conditions fulfilled, he may hear the presences intent through the vision or see their planned actions and to varying degrees their emotions. Latrom calls the visions fulfilling the conditions of one, two and three the visions of fog, clarity and omen.
CURRENT WANDS/TOMES/STAFFS ⫻ Latrom carries the holy symbol of the interlocking knot, a simple gift his parents gave him in the hope that his good deeds will come around.
LIMITS ⫻ Latrom can perceive good and evil presence within a 60ft radius, however past 15ft he must make eye contact to view their presence. His ability to heal only affects those with the ability to naturally heal on their own and/or an independent mind.
WEAKNESSES ⫻ While Latrom can heal, he must leave himself completely exposed to do so. The healing process can vary depending on the type of wound it is healing, and to heal, he must constantly channel this magic. Thus, if a target were to send a strike his way, he would find himself at a disadvantage when defending against it. He will be exposed, and this can be exploited. Latrom must find the right time to heal, as the strength of his ability is only limited by how long it might take.
While Latrom can determine the presence of both good and evil, he will often struggle when confronted with incredibly strong good and evil. The visual and audio indications he receives will be sent to overdrive if he activates this spell in the presence of a devil or an Archon. An overwhelming assault of the senses will beset him. It will be debilitating, at least at the start, and as Latrom grows stronger, he will grow more able in this ability.
He/Him | 40 | Aasimar | Human Heritage | 6’1” | 180lbs | _______________________________________________ Dazzle _______________________________________________ Skills & Talents "Alas, I’m cursed to be more than just a pretty face." ___________________________________
[Highborn Ruffian] ⫻ Prim, proper, posh. These are things Ransom can pretend to be when needed. He’s well-educated, has a decent understanding of history and tactics, and knows whether he should be using the big fork or the small one. Thanks to his lessons, Ransom can flirt fluently in Elvish and try to make a pass at someone in broken Dwarvish. His pedigree is also the only reason he’s any good at fighting and somehow miraculously alive.
[Lowbrow Dandy] ⫻ He’s slummed it long enough to fit in with the scoundrels and the ruffians. Lies are his second language and he can usually detect when others are speaking it. Also, while he might look like he’s clowning around while drunk on sherry, he’s always got his eyes peeled for the bastard wanting to pickpocket the pretty boy.
[From the Fall] ⫻ As an Aasimar, Ransom has a few supernatural gifts from his celestial heritage. He can create a temporary magical light, allowing him to do such neat things like not carry a lantern or play a game of “hide the candle”. He can also kiss a boo-boo and make the pain go away or, if they’re not into that, just use his hands instead. The healing isn’t much and he can’t do it often, but it could potentially stabilize someone. Some Aasimar can even manifest wings. Ransom just ended up spraining his ankle when he tried.
[Bonus to Consitution] ⫻ For a man who is determined to avoid effort at all costs, Ransom is a shockingly tenacious son of a bitch. He’s barely breaking a sweat after a long fight, he feels reinvigorated after a good forced march or a “tactical” retreat, and he can walk straight after enjoying so many libations that it’d make a dwarf go, “Whoa, buddy.”
Appearance ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Heaven sent."
Ransom was already on the path of becoming a Neverwinter 10, which is a Waterdeep 8, before his revelation as an Aasimar. Now it would simply be impossible for Ransom to be anything but this pretty after his blueblood was given a divine infusion. The man appears largely human, fortunately lacking the more “alien” features certain celestials manifest, but certain characteristics give away his angelic inheritance. His blonde hair has a faint glow to it when it's exposed to sunlight, creating a halo like effect that lingers for a brief moment when he steps out of its glorious incandescence. Less obvious are the changes to Ransom’s blue eyes, which gradually lighten to a sky blue before darkening to a navy as the day passes. Also, no matter what he says to try and cover up a little bit of infidelity when he comes crawling home after being out all night, it is just glitter and his pale skin does not sparkle in the morning sun.
He is built like a dancer, with surprising strength for someone who groans when he has to lift his own backpack. He looks young for his age, although that is just something from the guys above as Aasimar age slower and live longer than humans once they’ve reached maturity. Ransom is oddly unscarred for someone who claims and appears to be as seasoned of a combatant as he is, so it must be thanks to some magical healing or stretched stories.
Ransom carries himself with a cool confidence, yet if one took a sniff they would catch the air of arrogance that only manifests around someone who comes from money. However, looking at the sorry state of the well-worn gear the Aasimar carries with him and it’s clear that he belongs with the crowd who also came out for copper drink night. His half-plate armor is well-polished but clearly battered, his blue cloak is fraying at the bottom and the dye there has become a brownish-gray after being choked by dirt for years, and his boots just seem a tad loose as if they were made to fit someone else. The way Ransom tends to elongate his words while speaking with his melodic voice clearly betrays him as coming from the upper crust, yet the things he says makes him sound like an absolute bitch.
Psychology ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Some people say I’m shallow. Is that a bad thing? Nobody ever accidentally drowns in a puddle unless they’re drunk."
MAIN GOAL ⫻ Ransom hopes for a life of leisure. The sellsword route could one day make it a possibility but it’s just so much damn work. He much rather just wed and bed a princess. Preferably a beautiful elf so that there’ll be no threat of icky grays or wrinkles in his lifetime, but hell he’d settle for a barbaric chieftain if the bed’s cushy enough, the wine keeps flowing, and he doesn’t have to join in on any raids.
PHILOSOPHY ⫻ He’ll say anything to get his way. Dogmas, morals, and beliefs exist to be exploited and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with doing so if it gets him ahead. People love hearing that they’re right, and Ransom loves people to believe that he’s on their side. Makes them so much more agreeable. It’s a win-win.
SECRETS ⫻ It doesn’t require that high of an insight check to realize that Ransom is largely superficial. The biggest surprise might be that while it’s undeniable that he’s a slippery, slimy scumbag, the man does have some basic decency. Very. Basic. Just because he’s selfish doesn’t make him heartless. He just doesn’t want a bunch of peasants pestering him when he’s trying to have a good time at the local tavern. Go get some stupid paladin and pray that they don’t smite the whole town because someone botches the sacrament.
Also, he’s not in Greyharrow for the work that he claims to be seeking. More on that later.
SEXUALITY ⫻ He’s no wizard, but Ransom’s been known to cast Knock on boots before. He ain’t a sorcerer, but he can make that Sorcerous Burst with his Thunderclap. He might not have a Wand of Magic Missiles in his pocket, but the mistake is understandable because if he can hit it, he’ll hit it.
FEARS ⫻ Oozes. Responsibility. Mages. Oozes is obvious, what if they got in his nose? Responsibility’s pretty clear, too. Life’s easier when the blame can be pointed somewhere else. Mages, now? That could be considered a bit irrational. Ransom knows that most mages are total little bitches who just wave their hands around, mutter some mumbojumbo, and catch a crossbow bolt to the chest before they can unleash their devastating “make the floor sticky” spell. But then some of them can turn invisible. Control minds. Scry on him when he’s in the john. A strong enough mage could even turn into an ooze. Then what?
Then he’s got a mage in his nose.
WHAT BROUGHT THEM TO GREYHARROW ⫻ Unless there’s a bodacious princess hiding amongst the slackjawed and poxmarked locals then Ransom must only be in this shithole for work. Bodyguard duty, basement rat killing, caravan escorting, dungeon spelunking, whatever gig that comes with some coin up front he’s down to do. Allegedly, anyway. The truth is that Ransom came to town with his work already lined up for him: bounty work.
WHAT DO OTHERS IN TOWN THINK OF THEM ⫻ Beloved, surely, and anyone who says otherwise is just jealous! Okay, not quite. Ransom might be a recent arrival, but this isn’t his first time in Greyharrow. Most people fairly assume that he’s a foppish, playboy loudmouth who’s a bit of a dick but really not worth the price of the rug they’d use to stash his body in. Still, he’s a welcome sight at the Waystone Inn, celebrated for his carousing, his entertaining if largely fabricated stories, and his love for prop bets and gambling despite his nigh legendary bad luck with cards and dice. Outside of that he’s known to have a good swordhand and won’t let someone walk into the obvious pit trap just to get a bigger slice of the treasure.
EQUIPMENT ⫻ Ransom has a once elegant rapier that has long lost its luster, a dagger on his belt, and another in his boot. He also has a hand crossbow and will always claim to have at least twenty bolts despite what empirical evidence might say otherwise. He protects himself with some polished but battered half-plate armor, which is like plate armor but instead of getting full coverage he instead has some severe vulnerabilities that aren’t protected because he can’t afford to pay for it–just like in real life! He has a visored helm as well to protect the moneymaker or to serve as an uncomfortable but portable footrest. Ransom has a noticeable lack of practical equipment such as torches, flint, rope, emergency rations, backpacks, bedrolls, and so on because that’s for the help to carry.
FLAWS ⫻ No. He’s perfect*
*Wisdom is his dump stat. To say that Ransom is merely overconfident and prideful would be an insult. The man is hubris incarnate. He would’ve gotten himself killed in a duel years ago if he wasn’t so annoyingly good with a sword. He also has a mild case of a major gambling addiction and will lose all of his gold in a sure fire win if someone does not babysit him.
Backstory ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Ladies, if your jealous husband ever asks why his son is starting to glow, never answer him by saying that an angel put its spark in you. Ruins the marriage."
Originally the heir apparent to the noble Labelle family, Ransom was groomed for excellence. He was educated by the most brilliant tutors, trained by the finest of swordsmen, and taught etiquette by just an utterly–ugh–just the most annoying and snooty old halfling he’s ever met named Mrs. Marmsdale. Then at some point in his teens he started sparkling in places he hadn’t shined before and his dad got all mad at his mom. The court mage (who was an absolute prick) did some magic malarky and, well, one beheading, a second marriage, and a successful pregnancy later and suddenly Ransom was no longer the heir.
And it was such a relief!
Sure, at first Ransom was considering the absolute classic “blanket-in-the-crib” tech for reclaiming his birthright, but then he reconsidered. From what Ransom had been shown, running a fiefdom was actually totally awful. His dad’s entire day was just spent listening to dirty, stinky peasants complain about the dumbest of things–”ohhhh, it didn’t rain and now I can’t eat”, “ooooh, oooh, my money was stolen by this guy dressed all in black and now I can’t pay my taxes”, “oooh, oooh, ooooh, goblins murdered my whole family”–like, what a bunch of losers! Now Ransom could just be rich. Plus, he didn’t have to suffocate a baby and that little asshole could deal with all those annoying poors instead. What a sucker.
Then his uncle on his mother's side had to get involved, making some big hubbub about justice and holy vengeance and how his nephew was the rightful heir and for some reason a bunch of these stupid peasants also got all mad about it. Suddenly oops, there’s a succession crisis. Now, there are two ways to go about such a problem. The first is to go back to that blanket tech, but when the target’s not a baby but a manbaby that gets a bit tough. The second is a civil war, which typically aren’t very fun and/or chill. However, Ransom found the super secret third option that nobody told him about: just leave. Run away. Beat feet. Turns out with no other interested heir present there can’t be a succession crisis.
Problem solved.
He later heard whilst he was traipsing around as a sellsword that his uncle was also beheaded. After a few years of proper “adventuring” (which was mostly just drinking, gambling, and bedroom delving), a nearly broke Ransom made his grand return home. He was certain that everything had calmed down and if he couldn’t move back into his old room he could at the very least get some allowance. As it turns out, those goblins ended up actually being a much bigger problem than they had seemed, and the whole “family murder” thing was still very much their bag.
Ransom no longer had an allowance he could collect and the goblins had turned his old room into a shrine for some Nomog-Gewhatever, so it was back to adventuring. The only problem was that without having a pocket full of platinum to go along with his silverspoon it turned out that he had to actually give it a proper go this time. Any success Ransom had over the years was almost always immediately met with a setback–definitely none of them ever by his own fault ever, it was a surefire bet, he just got unlucky. Either way, he never quite made it.
When times got tough, and they got tough often, Ransom always found himself slunking back to Greyharrow. It’s hard to say what drew him to the place. Perhaps it’s because it’s one of the first towns he visited when he’d initially set out and he just liked the vibe. Perhaps it’s because he’s madly in love with Liliana Scratch despite (or because of) how much she freaks him out. Or maybe it’s because it’s a town full of big, beautiful bounties and once he’s established himself he can trick a group of them to go score some phony treasure just over in them ruins yonder and then have the crew of hirelings he’d posted up there beforehand make some rocks fall. Score all of those bounties in one easy, flawlessly planned go.
But then, boom, bang, space. Maybe he just isn’t unlucky; maybe he’s cursed. Either way the plan’s scrapped. And what about poor little hirelings outside of town. Did they get unmade in the reality warping whateverthefuck? Are they still in those ruins, freezing with their thumbs up their asses, thinking that they’ve been played? Does he care? Should he?
Eh.
At least he didn’t pay them up front.
Other ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "What are the odds that there’s a bounty office in Greyharrow?"
The estate Ransom grew up on was named Labelle Gardens. The goblins are still there. They’ve renamed it to Gobelle Gardens. It has become a goblin paradise. Mrs. Marmsdale still resides there and has taught them all how to be proper, real fancylike goblins.
FIGHTER ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "You can tell a lot about a man by his weapon of choice. Longbow? Coward. Polearm? Plebian. Greatsword? Overcompensating."
TYPE ⫻ Fighter (Battle Master)
FIGHTING STYLE ⫻ Ransom is a dexterious duelist, overwhelming his opponents with a flurry of quick thrusts, fancy footwork, and the occasional poor sportsmanship. He views a fight as much of a mental war as it is a physical one, trying to make his foes fumble while punishing their blunders with precision. Ransom would rather score a dozen wounds than gamble on a deathblow that would overextend himself; an infection or a slow bleed out kills a man just as well as a blade. Ransom is a southpaw, preferring to wield a rapier over other swords, and tends to fight with one hand open to allow for improvisation. He might pull out the occasional parrying dagger if he needs to fight defensively, but when steel is dancing Ransom prefers being the one who leads.
CURRENT WEAPONS ⫻ Ransom’s go to weapon is a silvered rapier that has begun to tarnish around the guard. For someone so full of himself, he’s frustratingly able to back up any boasts he might make about his skill with a blade. Ransom has picked up various feints and flourishes, allowing him to use his finesse to disarm an opponent or distract their attention to allow him to hit them where they don’t expect it.
His daggers are fairly run-of-the-mill and often disposable, used primarily in his offhand to parry blades and give himself an opportunity to riposte with his rapier. They have been balanced to be thrown, and coupled with a standard handcrossbow he hides beneath his cloak they can be used to take a sudden cheapshot at a short range.
However, the most dangerous weapon that Ransom wields beside his rapier is the improvised one. A barstool makes for a great sword catcher and a slightly worse club. An oil lantern is a mundane man’s firebolt. A cape might seem impractical in a fight, but through it at some chaps’ head and Ransom has suddenly cast the Darkness spell without having to sign his soul away to burn in the Nine Hells.
TRAINING ⫻ Ransom was trained by the finest of swordmasters that a lesser noble family could afford. Ransom learned to fight drunkenly just outside of the tavern or at dawn with nobody present but his foe and their seconds.
LIMITS ⫻ Ransom lacks any real long range options. His hand crossbow travels the furthest, but its accuracy and potency falls off beyond ten paces. Ransom does not have a good answer when it comes to dealing with a large group of enemies. Often, his best option is either to run or find a way to force the mob to funnel themselves into a chokepoint so he can engage them one at a time.
WEAKNESSES ⫻ (DO NOT FILL THIS OUT, I WILL PROVIDE IT FOR YOU)
323 | Cedric Titanbellows | Mountain Dwarf | He/Him "It's a meal! A la carte is for paying customers!"
Description:
Long past his prime, stories of the heroic acts of the Banderbarius Party and their exploits across the land plundering tombs and fighting monsters are the only things Cedric has left of his old life. At one time, he was one of the most famous Dwarf Fighters in all of Faerun. He'd been there to reclaim Gauntlgrym, his ancestral home, from the horrors found beneath the mountain.
Or that's what he tells people... It's unclear at this point if any of those stories are actually true, since now he works for the Lady of the House in a very close, almost secretive fashion. While not the arm of the Patroness, Cedric is responsible for keeping the Inn in top condition, directing the cleaning and cooking staff, and keeping them stocked with whatever provisions are necessary to keep everyone fed.
Now that it's a big problem, considering everyone's floating in the relative nothingness, Cedric's become something of a banker and vault-keeper. Trading supplies for meals and favors for booze, the elderly and roughly scarred Mountain Dwarf stands two heads taller than his hill-bound kin, and wears simple if not comfortable clothing underneath a leather apron that he always seems to have on. His quarters are in the basement of the inn, beneath the Larder, where he can insure that pests aren't sneaking into their dwindling supplies.
Class and Magic:
While claiming to be a Fighter, and a seasoned master of martial combat, very few people have seen the way Cedric lights his pipe with the tip of his finger, or commands the stove to roar to life with flame. In truth, he is an Infernal Warlock, whose experience and skill with flames is second only to his fondness for amphibians.
Tavern Chef NPC, as I'd like to hang out with you all but lord committing to huge posts fucks with me on a mental and emotional level.
Magitech Support ⫻ Like a pit fighter conditioning their body to react to the unknown a certain way, Grask has taught himself to intuit all manners of machinery. From flintlocks and cannons to airships and automatons, even if it's something he's never seen before, there is always a process someone followed. There is always a way to reverse engineer a device, and if anyone can find it, it's Grask.
Diplomatic Approach ⫻ Being a runt among his own kind, Grask learned quickly when it came to talking things through with others. He's had to interface with a lot of people from differing backgrounds since he was a kid. Grask, therefore, has an easy time talking his way into making someone look past aggression or misunderstandings.
Gunslinger ⫻ Grask knows his way around firearms, for obvious reasons. They're his seminal work as an Artificer, and he spends about as much time around them as wizards spend around their wands. If you need a hole placed in something just right, from a considerable distance, he's your guy.
Medic Multiclass ⫻ Sometimes, a gun explodes. Sometimes, a metamagic array goes the wrong way. Sometimes, the impudent son of a duke thinks he's an Artificer and nearly blows his leg off. Grask has learned plenty of first aid over the years, studying it not only to better understand how weapons hurt different people uniquely, but also to patch up accidents.
Appearance ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "No, I don’t breathe acid."
Grask is bigger than most humans, yet uncharacteristically short for a Dragonborn. His scales are a bloody red, sporting various patches that seem to be tarnished and brown from damage. Compared to most people who don't share his heritage, he's a big guy. It shows in his muscle, but other Dragonborn would consider him a lightweight. One would assume by his style of dress that he was a shopkeeper or a baker, given how plain his attire tends to be. Simple wool shirts, simple boots, nothing extravagant. His horns sweep backwards behind his head in a curve, going to dull points that show the occasional crack from years ago.
Psychology ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "This may be complicated, but that doesn’t make it difficult."
MAIN GOAL ⫻ Grask wants to further his skills as an artificer. He's accomplished much so far, but the next step in his career is to pursuit an expertise in the field of Battle Smithing, the creating of autonomous beings that perform tasks on behalf of a master. He hopes to merge the principles of one field with his own, and make breakthroughs to build what others before him could not.
PHILOSOPHY ⫻ Success must be earned. It must be taken from the jaws of defeat, and one must be smart in how they do so. Grask earned his place in life through blood, sweat, and tears. There was no luck in it, he worked for what he has.
SECRETS ⫻ The methods which he uses to develop his unique bullets is something Grask guards jealously. There are many people out there who would love the ability to create unique enchantments for their armies that don't require a whole new cannon, from royalty to mercenary companies near and far. It put him on the map, and he's not about to let someone else figure it out to snub him. Also, Grask lacks the ability to breathe fire like other red Dragonborn. It’s embarrassing, so he doesn’t talk about it.
SEXUALITY ⫻ Pansexual
FEARS ⫻ Failure. Indignant, shameful, ruinous failure. Grask has something to prove, and gods help him, he will.
WHAT BROUGHT THEM TO GREYHARROW ⫻ Grask was working on new research to advance his craft when the tower erupted. He had stopped in Greyharrow to rest and was planning to be on his way afterwards. But now, he's stranded alongside everyone else.
WHAT DO OTHERS IN TOWN THINK OF THEM ⫻ Grask just got here hours ago, he doesn't know any of you.
EQUIPMENT ⫻ Grask always carries his artifice gear with him wherever he goes, as well as some basic essentials for travel; A flask, his toolkit, some lightweight leather armor, and note-taking implements. He also carries a variety of raw materials with him wherever he goes, such as small slivers of the astral monsters that wash up on Greyharrow or any precious rocks that someone finds.
FLAWS ⫻ Pride drives Grask's ambitions. The easiest way to make him do something big and daunting is to say that he can't. It's what led him to become an Artillerist, it's what drove him to make a journey for new materials in the dead of winter, and it's what keeps him going. But it has also led him to some reckless decisions, either out of desperation or pure spite against the odds.
Backstory ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "They called me a madman."
Grask was born near the kingdom of Fellwyn, among a clan of Dragonborn who lived in the wilderness. They hunted their food and lived off of what nature provided, and so every day was a day filled with work and hard labor. They lived in mountains rife with monstrous beasts of all shapes and sizes, it was dangerous to stray far from home. His father was a blacksmith, his mother was a hunter, and each of his three older siblings were more useful than him in their own ways. Grask was the fourth child, and as if fate had a sense of humor, he was shorter and weaker than them. Not as tall, not as stout, not as capable of stoking flame as his red Dragonborn father. It was a miracle he even survived his first winter, his brothers used to joke his heart wouldn't beat of its own accord until he was a day old.
He eventually got healthy enough, as he grew older, that he could keep up with everyone. But he was always the underachiever. Grask was never the best bowman, never the best healer or gardener. The older generations of his community were often more disappointed in him than proud. There were arguments over dinner, lectures every day about how he had to pull his own weight. One of his brothers once told him he wasn't ever wanted.
One day, he got tired of it. So he grabbed his things and left in the dead of night. He set out for Tulerros, the capital city of Fellwyn, when he was barely a teenager by human standards. With some gold that he'd scraped together, Grask found a place to stay and decided he'd learn to make things. Kingdoms all over the world were making breakthroughs in technology, and there just happened to be an enclave of Artificers in the city. So he offered himself up to them as an apprentice. It wasn't glamorous, or even very informative. For a whole year, the most he did was read books in a library and handle logistical work. It kept him fed, though. And eventually, his master concluded Grask was competent enough at intellectual endeavors that he'd be able to grasp the craft.
And grasp it he did.
Within two years of study, he cultivated an incredible understanding of weapons, the classical schools of magic and machinery. The young Dragonborn threw himself at it relentlessly, going days without sleep and burning himself more than a few times to master a given subject. He even built a few devices without the oversight of his seniors. In time, he was whipped into the shape of a competent Artificer, no longer an apprentice but an equal among the older members of the enclave. But time wasn't kind to all of them, for as Grask grew up, they grew old.
Veltavi the Alchemist retired at the age of 142. Rozaru Brightwind of Grimhall was called home by an old friend. And Grask's teacher, Brathzeon, passed from the world to meet his creator. The surviving masters had, before their departure, made the decision to put Grask in charge of the workshop. Each of them had their own apprentices, but of them, only Grask intended to stay in Tulerros. They had other dreams, their own adventures and prospects. One by one, they eventually struck out on their own under Grask's temporary guidance. Until eventually, at an age when most human would almost be considered young adults, he had the place to himself.
Other ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "They were wrong."
Anyyyything else?
Class ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "That’s a nice fireball you have, there. Here’s mine..."
TYPE ⫻ Artificer / Artilierist
MAGIC ⫻ Grask doesn’t cast spells with a wand or a tome. Rather, he channels magical principles into machinery to create tools that can consistently perform the same “spell” over and over again. His inventions can, with some training, be used by anyone regardless of magical skill. And with the right materials and tools, Grask can build something to match just about any spell a traditional caster can perform. Every time, with mechanical precision.
CURRENT TOOLS ⫻
ARCANE AMMUNITION Grask’s iconic work is the ammunition he creates. Using special components, metals and small-scale spellwork, he can create ammunition that delivers an effect from a distance. The process is flexible enough to encompass various effects, which only need to be learned by Grask before he can copy them.
FLAME ⫻ Produces a 5ft explosion of heat on contact with a surface. Most effective against undead and unarmored targets.
PSIONIC ⫻ Shot carries psychic energy that sends targets flying backwards as if hit by a charging bull. Great for making space.
SHATTER ⫻ Emits a focused shockwave that fractures the surface it strikes. Ideal for breaking through armor or fortified barriers.
MANABLASTER ⫻ A large, hefty pistol with a break-action loading mechanism. The gun is designed to accept a wide variety of ammunition, and due to the size of the ammo, it only holds one shot at a time.
SOTERIAN GAUNTLET ⫻ A metal brace lined with mechanical components. The gauntlet produces a barrier of magical energy, in the shape of a five foot square, that can reflect a few attacks before crumbling. These barriers are stationary, and fixed in place when created.
LIMITS ⫻ Grask requires specific materials for his work, and the materials currently found in Greyharrow are of an impure quality. What he can find in the city isn't worthless, and can be used, but they aren't perfect. As such, until better quality components can be found, his power is limited.
WEAKNESSES ⫻WEAKNESSES ⫻ Grask’s devices will work profusely normal in normal situations, however, they will experience a complete disruption to their ability in certain situations. When magic behaves unpredictably, such as wild magic zones, if there is planar interference, or if he honestly expletives a strong emotional surge his inventions will suffer a partial or total failure.
This will manifest in one of two ways. A spell could either downgrade, or misfire. A downgraded spell will be less powerful, impactful, and could potentially do no damage if the round was fired during these scenarios. As well, if Grask has a higher level spell bullet, if the downgrade is strong enough his spell will fail to fire.
He/Him | 27 | Tabaxi | Grey Tabby | 73 Inches | 130 lbs | _______________________________________________ Ashamed _______________________________________________ Skills & Talents "Don't worry yer pretty little head off, I'm no stranger to roughin' it " ___________________________________
[Feline Agility] ⫻ As a Tabaxi, Lucky is incredibly quick and nimble by nature. He's a born master at running, jumping, and climbing. This pairs well with The Focus to make him quite talented at evasive maneuvering. [Gunsmith] ⫻ All gunfighters in the Winch Clan were taught how to construct, repair, and maintain firearms and ammunition, so Lucky has plenty of hands-on experience with Tinker's Tools [Frontiersman] ⫻ Lucky's no ranger, but a life of living in a harsh desert has given him the skills and know-how to generally live off the land and survive in the wilderness (Provided he has access to all his tools, that is).
Appearance ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Well, shave my tail & call it a sausage!"
Lucky is a man who exudes a certain intensity to him. His bright yellow eyes stare daggers at everyone he encounters in a way that intimidates some and compels others to threaten him. His face seems to have a permanent frown etched on it, as if he's carrying some great pain. His dark grey fur is lined with a black tabby pattern, and it's often wildly unkempt. At 6'1 and 130 lbs, Lucky is a slim, gangly fellow, but you'd never tell that from looking at him. He typically wears a large poncho or long coat over a set of leather armor. This makes him look far bulkier than he actually is, which makes his agility surprising to opponents. He is never seen without his signature wide-brimmed hat and strange leather boots, remnants of his life in the Old Frontier. A red bandage is wrapped around his tail, covering up a hairless patch of scar tissue that's an unpleasant reminder of his past.
Rude, brash and outspoken, he speaks in a booming voice in a dialect that many residents of Greyharrow find unintelligible. Using seemingly nonsensical slang, similes and metaphors from his homeland.
Psychology ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "I don't cotton to ya. None of y'all. But we're all folks here, so I reckon we outta stick together."
MAIN GOAL ⫻ Lucky's main goal in life is to live by the Winch family motto: Help folks wherever danger or oppression can be found. He feels tremendous guilt for welding a power he believes has no right to possess, and using it for the betterment of others brings him some inner peace
PHILOSOPHY ⫻ We live in a cruel, uncaring, and unforgiving world. Suffering is rampant and even the most powerful and well meaning Gods are unable to stop even a fraction of it. The only way for things to ever get better is for us to band together and help each other to the best of our ability. In a cruel world, you can't do it alone.
SECRETS ⫻ Lucky is very secretive about his past as a bandit, as he's still rather ashamed of himself for it. The only one who knows that he once was one is Gulda, and even she doesn't know any details
SEXUALITY ⫻ Bisexual. He gave up on love a long time ago (although the right person might change his mind), but when trying to get laid, he seeks both men and women.
FEARS ⫻ Lucky fears himself more than anything else. He no longer trusts himself & believes that every good deed he does is in spite of his nature as a horrible person. He is incredibly distant, crass, and impolite to everybody because he's scared of letting people get to close to him. However, he always sticks up for someone who's being picked on, because he also fears complicity by being a bystander.
WHAT BROUGHT THEM TO GREYHARROW ⫻ Lucky came to help as many people survive the harsh conditions of Greyharrow, as he knew it's an area with a lot of people in need. The absence of many firearms certainly helped the decision.
WHAT DO OTHERS IN TOWN THINK OF THEM ⫻ Most people generally try to avoid Lucky and only know him as "That crazy drunk mercenary who talks weird and always fights with Gulda", and Their late night drunken brawls always draw a crowd and some residents have made a small fortune taking bets on the outcome. Despite these brawls, they're always drinking together the following night. Usually Gulda is in fact the only person who drinks with Lucky at the tavern. However, the few who have hired his services, or seen him stomping out a would-be mugger or rapist on one of his drunken stumbles back to his hut know that underneath his rude exterior is a core of genuine warmth and compassion.
EQUIPMENT ⫻ Lucky typically wears a set of leather armor underneath a coat or poncho, and fights with a cheap shortsword. He travels with an explorer's pack, a set of Tinker's tools, his hat, his boots, a 6-shot revolver and a repeating rifle, both with the barrels removed. These guns act as reminders of his past, and he refuses to repair them, as he no longer sees himself worthy of using a gun again.
FLAWS ⫻ Lucky is a heavy drinker and an even heavier smoker. His vices have a powerful grip on him, and every moment not spent drinking is usually spent smoking, rolling cigarettes, or craving a cigarette. He is also incredibly quick to anger at any situation he deems to be cruel, unfair, or not right, and if not physically held back, he will always try to intervene, even when doing so would be unwise. He also has incredibly low self-esteem from his inner guilt, and will lash out aggressively at even the slightest insult or rude remark.
Backstory ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "How did I end up here? Trust me, ya don't wanna know."
Lucky hails from a far away land that he refuses to speak the name of, only referring to it as "The Old Frontier". It was a harsh, desert environment of small, interconnected towns. Born Bartholomew Winch, he belonged to the venerated Winch Clan, a large nomadic family of Tabaxi gunfighters known for helping whoever they came across, living by the motto of "Helpin' folks wherever danger or oppression can be found. Lucky was a natural born sharpshooter and many thought he was destined to be the next head of the clan. However, he constantly butted heads with Clan elders, wanting them to be more confrontational in resisting the bankers and businessmen who made life hell for the average farmers and ranchers.
Then, in his teenage years, he met a bandit named Rain, and it was love at first sight. They ran away together and started a gang, pulling of small-scale jobs against caravans owned by the rich and powerful. Life was perfect. He got to use his skills more freely than he was when he had to take orders from the Winch elders, he was still taking on the oppressors of the poor, and he got to do it all with the love of his life. Then one day, he made the mistake of robbing the caravan of a banker with a previous grudge against the Winches. Furious, he gathered the largest posse the Frontier had ever seen to hunt down Bartholomew's gang, and when they did, it was a massacre. Lucky was the only survivor, and the last thing he saw before capture was his beloved dying from a gunshot in his arms, unable to do anything to save them. In jail, Lucky was devastated. He realized how selfish he was being. How little he actually cared about resisting those rich bastards. He was in it for the thrill, the fun. It spit in the face of everything the Winch Clan stood for, and he couldn't me more ashamed. The life he threw everything away for was gone in violent fashion, what was he going to do now? Eventually, he decided on an answer: Atone. With a newfound vigor for life, he took a new name, escaped and headed west, eventually finding himself in Faerun.
Other ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ (slurred) "BRING IT THE FUCK ON! I'LL CLAW YA FUCKIN' EYES OUT, YA BIG GREEN VARMINT!"
Anyyyything else?
Fighter ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Ma always told me The Focus is a power for killin', and that killin' ain't some'n done lightly"
TYPE ⫻ Fighter (Gunslinger)
FIGHTING STYLE ⫻ Lucky relies on a power known as "The Focus". Nobody knows what it is or where it came from. But the Winch Clan has been using it to forge their legacy as formidable gunslingers for generations. When The Focus is activated, a Winch's eyes appear "glazed over like a dead fish" and their breathing is slow and methodical. The Focus can be applied passively or one can center their concentration on something specific to pull off trick shots.
Passive Application: Evasive Technique is the easiest and simplest application. When The Focus is active, and Lucky is not centering his concentration, he is slightly more attune to his surroundings, making it easier to predict enemy movements and take proper evasive maneuvers, which pairs incredibly well with his natural agility.
Active Application: Deadeye Shot Technique is the Winch Clan's signature ability. When The Focus is active and lucky is centering his concentration on a target, he can use The Focus to boost his accuracy and make seemingly impossible shots.
Active Application: Forceful Shot Technique requires Lucky to center his concentration on his hand's grip on the gun handle while The Focus is active, this increases the concussive force of the bullet, blowing a medium sized creature 15 feet away with a single shot.
CURRENT WEAPONS ⫻ Lucky has a 6-shot revolver and a repeating rifle from his life as a Winch gunfighter, but he was removed the barrels out of shame. Without it, he typically fights with a cheap swortsword and an even cheaper buckler.
TRAINING ⫻ Lucky has been shooting guns ever since he was old enough to hold one, so he's an expert sharpshooter. These skills don't translate as well to bows or crossbows, so he chooses not to use them. Winch fighters are also given rudimentary sword & buckler training, but it pales in comparison to a melee specialist.
LIMITS ⫻ As an ability primarily designed for gunfights, The Focus provides no offensive benefit in melee combat, and using it to dodge melee attacks is far more tiring than using it to dodge projectiles. The Focus also takes an incredible amount of energy to use, and long term passive application will leave Lucky exhausted. Lucky is also not very durable, and a small buckler is obviously not the best defensive weapon. Even when armed with a gun, Lucky is very much a glass cannon.
WEAKNESSES ⫻ (DO NOT FILL THIS OUT, I WILL PROVIDE IT FOR YOU)
She/Her | 238 | High Elf | High Elf | 174 cm | Weight 110lbs | _______________________________________________ Subversive Elf _______________________________________________ Skills & Talents "You’ll see what I’m about soon enough." ___________________________________
Classically Trained Elven Performer Calaríssë, or Lairëcúma, as she’s better known has an exceptional, classically trained performer. Gifted with an exceptional singing voice and has over her life has accumulated a collection and talent with an eccentric array of instruments, as well as being an excellent dancer, with an expansive knowledge of musical theory. The elven music masters don’t half-ass anything.
Charisma Call it presence, call it charm, poise, grace or a true joie de vive, but Calaríssë enjoys performing, entertaining and making others happy and her natural enthusiasm can be infectious. She’s great fun at parties.
Jack of All Trades Calaríssë is not only a bard who picks things up in her travels and experiences - but an exceptionally long-lived one. She’s not exceptional in most things, but has picked up an impressively broad, if inexpert, base of knowledge and skills over the years.
Appearance ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Don’t let her looks fool you, that’s no Lady."
Calaríssë cannot be mistaken for anything but a high elf, fair of skin, long hair like spun gold, possessed of an otherworldly grace like one that is not of this world but somewhere else, some higher plane of light and existence. Especially with unfamiliar audiences, Calaríssë often plays into perceptions of her being a graceful, delicate elven songstress. An illusion that quickly crashes upon any coherent interaction with the woman.
Psychology ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
"I. Am. An… Elf.
I am a High Elf! I know there’s so many questions, You might ask about myself! Why do my ears, Come up to here? Why does my bow cost more Than you earn in a year…?
(I don’t actually own a bow, So whoever asked that… huh?)
Why are elves so very serious? So aloof and so mysterious? What do I put in my hair, Why's my nose so up in the air? Why it’s a question for the masses, As to what’s crawled up our asses. And, by the way… Just how old am I?
(Too old for you… yeah, way too old)
So why are we so erudite? So unfailingly polite, So just ask, friend, do not fear, That is, after all, why I am here! I’ll spill the truth, our guarded lore, Our ancient wisdom, kept for… (Well, not actually kept. It’s just…) WE’RE JUST PRETTY SURE YOU’RE GOING TO DIE SOON ANYWAY! (Oops! Did I say that out loud? Ha! It doesn’t even rhyme, does it?) BUT WE’RE PRETTY SURE YOU’RE GOING TO DIE SOON ANYWAY! (Ha! That’s actually the chorus I guess…)
We don’t mean it cruelly, no no no It’s just mathematically so! A blink for us, a lifetime for you, Then - poof - you’re mulch: we move on through! YOU’RE GOING TO DIE SOON ANYWAY!
So please forgive the vacant stare, It’s hard to care when you’re just… eh…
But what else can we say? It’s just another game we play. I know it may be rather shocking, But we’d rather you just stop talking,
(Maybe… write your name somewhere, So maybe later… We’ll remember you were there…) [Awkward silence] YOU’RE GOING TO DIE SOON ANYWAY!
It’s nothing personal, you see… Entropy just favors… me! Your gods are born, your gods expire, Ours got bored and then retired. You call us cold (Oh, that’s unkind) It’s just…
YOU’RE GOING TO DIE SOON ANYWAY! So drink! Sing! Fall in love! Start fights! Invent a cheese! Fly some kites! CAUSE YOU’RE GONNA DIE SOON ANYWAY And when you’re gone, we’ll softly say: Oh, he was nice. I think his name was…
…
Aw shit…"
MAIN GOAL ⫻ Calaríssë’s goal in life is to learn, laugh, dance, sing and otherwise have a good time of it since she’s likely to be stuck her for another few centuries. She’s already well established in her craft and her only major ambition is not dying on some rock hurtling between the planes of reality.
PHILOSOPHY ⫻ Calaríssë is skeptical of ambition, seeing mostly the harm it does - people making one another miserable - where the common things in life: food, company, love, music, dance and beauty are everywhere around them. That ultimately the goal of any being in this world is to leave the world, and the people touched by them, better for their passing through it. That being said, her vengeance is a thing to behold.
SECRETS ⫻ Calaríssë has few ghosts in her past. Time, among largely mortal company, has covered over most of her most egregious youthful indiscretions. The closest thing to a secret she keeps is that her naturally upbeat outward positivity masks a deep cynicism in the world often only sees outlet in her music.
SEXUALITY ⫻ Calaríssë is quite flexible in her interests.
FEARS ⫻ Failing to live up to her expectations of herself. Failing to stand up for right or good. The nagging fear of whether this life she’s chosen for herself is truly all there is, or the best use of her life, her gifts and talents.
WHAT BROUGHT THEM TO GREYHARROW ⫻ It was supposed to be a six day gig before moving on. Entertain for a couple nights. Free drinks. Meet new people and share stories over hearth and fire. And now…
WHAT DO OTHERS IN TOWN THINK OF THEM ⫻ She’s The Bard
EQUIPMENT ⫻ Calaríssë travels with a fine white elven stallion named Addring, who despite being an excellent mount, is most often found harnessed to the small two-wheeled carriage that carries most of her belongings. This includes her prized collection of instruments. She travels with a trunk of clothing collected over the years that range from practical travel wear, to elaborate courtly fashion, to quite colourful and bizarre costuming. Calaríssë possesses no classic elven bow but while rarely seen, she does possess an exquisite ancient elven blade Isilfang forged by lost elven techniques, such that it glows faintly under the light of a full moon.
FLAWS ⫻
Backstory ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Ha! Not much to say, I’m pretty much just your typical bard - leave me a coin and a drink and I’m happy!"
Lairëcúma the Bard was born Calaríssë Thalanriel, youngest child of the great high elven lord, Thalanor. Her early life was spent much like many young elves, running through the secluded glades of the elven forest city, being trained in the arts befitting a young elven lady. Her musical talent was spotted early, and she was provided tutors and encouraged as such pursuits were considered fine and proper for a young woman of her station, eventually securing herself a placement at a young age - for an elf - in the very demanding Coa i Quingo musical Guild, under some of the most renowned elven court musicians. There were high hopes for the young woman at this time.
This was a difficult period in Calaríssë’s life. As she grew older it wasn’t merely the strictures of her station, but elven life in general that disagreed with her and grated upon others. Calaríssë loved to meet new people, spoke openly with others and in short, possessed none of the graceful reserve befitting a high elf. Elven life was cloistered, there was a certain warmth among close family and friends - but being open, approaching others, speaking with any sort of familiarity: it bore ill upon her family and frankly, the other elves she approached seemed just as put off that their lord’s daughter would approach them so brazenly.
Her life within the guild itself was worse. That same need she felt, like the need for breath or life itself made the rigid forms and styles of elven courtly music feel too constrained. For Calaríssë, musical was about expression, about joy, about improvising new and varied tones that pleased in the moment - yet this was not the crystalline perfection her teachers expected and demanded. It felt like a slow suffocation, and her breaks from endless practice into variations was sternly rebuked as a corruption of the art. In the end Calaríssë feuded openly with her teachers and was eventually tossed out of the guild, despite her admitted talent - it wasn’t her talent that had failed, she was told, but her lack of discipline.
Calaríssë return from the guild was warm enough, but yet she could sense her family’s subtle disappointment as they tried to integrate their failure of a daughter back into courtly life. Tried to arrange suitors. Find some other pursuit to occupy her time - but it was always her failed, unwanted, and broken music that called back to her. Despite being advised, in good faith, to set aside this failed experiment and apply herself to other matters - she had such a long life to live, perhaps she might return to it someday - none of it appealed to her.
Calaríssë took to the woods often, and there - despite warnings of danger - came to encounter outsiders. Contrary to her people’s warning that outsiders were unpredictable, potentially dangerous, and certainly not to be trusted: Calaríssë found the mortal races she encountered far more kin to her spirit than her own people. People who within a few minutes of meeting a person might share a fire, and laugh and sing and talk about themselves and one another - and didn’t mind if a song was not sung a certain way, every note perfectly arranged according to principles of music theory. They didn’t care if she told off-key jokes, or made faces when she played.
This all became some scandal at court. Of course it wasn’t approved. Several times she was banned from the woods. Several times she snuck away anyway. Out of the woods even, into the surrounding towns, only for one of her brothers to appear and demand her return.
Eventually she fell in love with some player with a travelling acting troupe and what transpired was not pretty and terribly embarrassing to think back upon. All the worse for her family’s worse fears and protestations coming to pass. It was a disaster of course. The fair young man that had been her fancy, was far too fond of his wine - and his women - it turned out. The breakup was even uglier than when she’d run away from home.
It turned out there was a market for her talents, and the road promised the sort of musical and performance freedom - and acceptance - she’d long sought. Years passed, along with many personal and professional partnerships that grew up, as familiar names and faces grew old and faded away. Calaríssë became a distant memory.
Lairëcúma The Bard, was far happier, far more at peace with herself than the girl, Calaríssë had ever been. As decades shifted into centuries she began to see the trajectory of her life passing forward into the Great Beyond that awaited all elves upon their calling. She even returned to her family, finding welcome as the prodigal daughter returned - even finding some measure of acceptance, as a musician, from her former teachers who seemed interested in the things she had heard, and learned upon her great sojourn. But the road had called.
And that would have been that had she not stopped in Greyharrow. Six days, free room and drinks, and a steady stream of audience. It was familiar. What could possibly go wrong? And then the tower had exploded and now nothing she’d assumed was any longer certain.
"And, that's pretty much me."
BARD! ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "We bring for thee the finest entertainments, And I am pleased to be your humble servant…"
TYPE ⫻ Bard
MAGIC OR FIGHTING STYLE ⫻
In terms of fighting style, Calaríssë prefers to avoid combat if possible, remaining nimble, out-of-reach, taking opportunities where they come. Using her sword, Isilfang to ward off attackers while bolstering her allies. Despite abhorring violence, if it comes to it, she does not greatly prize an honourable fight and is entirely willing to fight dirty.
Bardic Music Calaríssë’s primary training involves weaving subtle enchantments into her music. Masters can create a variety of effects, but in battle Calaríssë can imbue subtle effects to bolster her allies, or disrupt her enemies.
When Calaríssë performs inspiring songs, her allies may find themselves just a little bit better than they might otherwise be. An enemy might find themselves distracted by her cutting remarks, or goaded into trying to shut up that stupid bard.
Minor Illusion Calaríssë can create a sound or an image of an object within 30ft that lasts for up to 1 minute.
A sound can range in volume from a whisper to a scream. It can be your voice, someone else’s voice, a lion’s roar, a beating of drums, or any other sound you choose. The sound continues unabated throughout the duration, or you can make discrete sounds at different times before the spell ends.
An image can be no larger than a 5-foot cube. The image can’t create sound, light, smell, or any other sensory effect. Physical interaction with the image reveals it to be an illusion, because things can pass through it.
Prestidigitation Calaríssë can create a variety of magical effects within 5ft: An instantaneous, harmless sensory effect, such as a shower of sparks, a puff of wind, faint musical notes, or an odd odor. You instantaneously light or snuff out a candle, a torch, or a small campfire. You instantaneously clean or soil an object no larger than 1 cubic foot. You chill, warm, or flavor up to 1 cubic foot of nonliving material for 1 hour. You make a color, a small mark, or a symbol appear on an object or a surface for 1 hour. You create a nonmagical trinket or an illusory image that can fit in your hand and that lasts until the end of your next turn. If you cast this spell multiple times, you can have up to three of its non-instantaneous effects active at a time, and you can dismiss such an effect as an action.
COLLEGE ⫻ Calaríssë studied her craft primarily at the Coa i Quingo, the very prestigious musical guild of the Valarínë elves, studying directly under the venerated Master Curufinwë Feanor. The elven music guild focusses greatly on emphasizing a musician’s core skills of performance and imbuing them with subtle enchantment effects. Of course, before being ejected from the guild for, more or less, refusing to adhere to the strictures of elven musical tradition it was Curufinwë who commented that she seemed spiteful of her gifts, eschewing beauty for ugliness describing her style as Lairëcúma - ‘the song mocker’ performing intentionally in ways meant to undermine rather than uplift.
CURRENT WEAPONS/TOMES/STAFFS ⫻ Dagger. Rapier wit. Also a rapier.
TRAINING ⫻ Calaríssë was taught both under her Guild and by her family according to high elven traditions, emphasizing things like languages - needlework for highborn ladies - as well as certain martial skills. These were never a great priority for Calaríssë but she was forced to train to high elven ‘minimum standards’. As such she’s proficient in mounted riding along with use of both sword and bow.
LIMITS ⫻ To use her bardic music ability, Calaríssë has to actually be able to come up with a song, on the fly. If she (or I) can’t, then obviously there’s no music or effect. Obviously it doesn’t work if she can’t speak or those targeted can’t hear her either. She also has to maintain concentration on what she’s performing - not always easy while in battle.
WEAKNESSES ⫻ Bardic Music: Calaríssë must be consistent during her performance, otherwise she runs the risk of the opposite effect happening. If she misses a note, plays out of tune, or has an otherwise lackluster performance, her allies may feel sluggish, her enemies may be invigorated, and she may become the target of capture, as her enemies wish to keep her around for her continued performance.
He/They | 24 | Half-Elf | Human/Sea-Elf | 5’8” | 143lbs | _______________________________________________ Obsessive _______________________________________________ Skills & Talents "I don’t understand why people don’t like answering my questions. I just like knowing things!" ___________________________________
Imperfectly Amphibious ⫻ Thanks to his heritage, Eilrethiel can breathe both air and underwater. But with this dual breathing system, he’s essentially asthmatic. This is worse underwater due to his gills being slightly deformed. On land he can cover them, making the asthma more mild but still present. Dryer conditions are difficult for him. While he can survive in either, he can only truly thrive with a mixture of both.
Child of the Sea ⫻ His ability to breath underwater isn’t the only thing Eilrethiel got from his Sea Elf side. He is a good swimmer thanks to his slightly webbed hands and feet- nothing on his full Sea Elvish siblings, but much better than any landwalkers. His skin is thicker than normal to offer some cold resistance, allowing him to comfortably live under the sea’s shallows without freezing to death. He can see underwater and with minimal light- not quite full blown darkvision, but he’s more than used to lowlight situations. He’s also good at hunting fish and gathering underneath the sea, as everyone had to pull their weight in his village (though try to have him fish like a human, and he’ll flounder).
Trilingual ⫻ Eilrethiel speaks Sea Elvish (a dialect of Elvish with harsher sounds and squeals and clicks interspersed in it), Aquan and Common. With some effort, he can understand and speak normal Elvish- with the same going for Elves making some effort to understand his dialect. It’s thanks to his human side he can speak Common so fluently, where most sea elves struggle to make the sounds for surface languages.
Charming Curiosity ⫻ Eilrethiel is bright and insatiably curious, but often with a lack of filter. He knows exactly what questions to ask to get information he needs, but also asks questions he really shouldn’t. However he has a way with words, and knows how to turn on the innocent look, so he often gets away with asking things he really shouldn’t. His quick wit and ability to follow along with complicated conversations also helps him when prodding intellectuals.
Astronomy ⫻ Eilrethiel has a good grasp on astronomy, both mundane and magical, thanks to over a year at a wizard college in Waterdeep. While he learned other things, the main thing he focused on was space- after all, he snuck in thanks to being a lunar sorcerer.
Appearance ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "No, no, I’m not a sick wood elf. I’m meant to look like this! Well, my gills should be bigger, but–"
To outsiders, Eilrethiel looks closer to a full sea elf than half, like his human father’s genes didn’t even try. While he takes after his mother much more, there are plenty of things that set him aside from his full blooded peers.
While he’s not all that short in the grand scheme of things, his growth was stunted by growing up in an environment his body wasn’t fully adapted to. He’s skinny, with lithe muscles on his arms and legs from most of a life spent underwater but not much other strength to show for it. His hands and feet are slightly webbed- with the web coming about a third of the way up his fingers and toes. He has gills at the sides of his neck and over his ribs, slightly covered by his skin. His dark ocean blue hair falls just above his shoulders, thick and stringy. His turquoise skin is all from his sea elf side, though a few tones lighter than his mother’s. His monolid emerald green eyes are often lit up with a mischievous twinkle. Though it’s not obvious, he has nictitating membranes as well as eyelids to allow him to see underwater.
His ears are pointed and slightly bumpy, like they were on their way to becoming fins. He has a lobe piercing in which he often wears earrings made of coral or shells, carrying a little bit of his home with him. Since coming to the surface permanently, Eilrethiel has learned that land dwellers are much more particular about covering up. While in his home town he’d often wear little more than trousers made out of underwater plants. Now he swapped to many light layers, wearing baggy tunics over tighter undershirts and accessorising with what little remains of what he brought with him onto the land. He prefers darker shades, with mixes of blue, purple and green along with silver highlights. In most places, the temperatures never got so low he felt uncomfortable. But now this far North he finds he needs to at least dress a bit for the weather, wearing a thick, fur lined jacket whenever he goes outside.
Psychology ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Oh, fancy seeing you here! Why are you giving me a strange look? I always go to the market at this time."
MAIN GOAL ⫻ Eilrethiel wants to find a new home. Though really he wants to return to his first one, to his mother and the people he grew up around, he knows that isn’t possible. So he needs to find a replacement, one that actually accepts him and his oddities. Secondary to this, he wants to get enough power to dismantle the system that forced him to leave in the first place.
PHILOSOPHY ⫻ While his somewhat selfish and obsessive personality often feels at odds with it, Eilrethiel was brought up with a strong sense of community. This has shaped his outlook: while it may be possible to survive alone, it isn’t possible to thrive. A group is needed, where everyone has their role.
SECRETS ⫻ Eilrethiel isn’t super forthcoming with the whole intensive obsession leading sometimes to stalking thing. Though he doesn’t entirely view it as wrong, he knows the reactions he’ll get. He also tends to keep his mummy issues under wraps, since he was teased for it plenty growing up.
SEXUALITY ⫻ Queer. While Eilrethiel definitely has a type (and bad taste), it isn’t bound by gender.
FEARS ⫻ The normal. Dying. The whole ocean being polluted and everything in it dying. Being alone forever. Rejection. He fears never finding somewhere that he belongs, since he didn’t even belong in the place that felt like home. He’s also scared that one day he won’t be able to breathe underwater, or on land. Or both. Drowning on land would be awful.
WHAT BROUGHT THEM TO GREYHARROW ⫻ Eilrethiel drifted to Greyharrow after hearing it was a mixed city filled with all sorts of people, hoping to maybe find somewhere he’d belong. It definitely has nothing to do with the multiple counts of theft, breaking and entering, and stalking he has against his name. It wasn’t like he knew the windows he was climbing through belonged to nobles! He didn’t do anything bad enough to have a bounty on him, and hasn’t even realised he’s only vaguely wanted in some local jurisdictions. He still doesn’t know how surface laws work, after all. Better to be safe than sorry.
WHAT DO OTHERS IN TOWN THINK OF THEM ⫻ Eilrethiel is relatively new to Greyharrow, and hasn’t really settled in. He’s viewed as odd but mostly friendly, with a proclivity to outrageous stories and mean jabs. Harmless and odd is probably the prevailing opinion. Thankfully for the townsfolk, he’s yet to latch onto anyone.
EQUIPMENT ⫻ Eilrethiel has a sleek bone knife that he always keeps on him. He wears no armour, as it gets in the way of his spellcasting. He has various pouches filled with spell components, always carrying a few on his person. He carries rations with him, but not many other essentials - he’s just too weak to carry around much.
FLAWS ⫻ Eilrethiel can be incredibly obsessive. After losing everything he knew, he now has a habit of latching onto anyone who shows him the least bit of interest. This manifests incredibly unhealthily, to the point where he’s even stalked people before. However, his obsession isn’t always limited to one person. It can be multiple at a time, leading to him also appearing fickle. He can manipulate people to get what he wants- though it’s rarely something malicious, it doesn’t change the action. Often he’ll get grumpy when things don’t go his way (even though he’ll just as often follow along with other’s bad decisions), and can come across as erratic because of sudden changes in mood. It’s more jarring when he has a habit of moulding himself based on the people around him, like a sponge for personality traits. He can often lack consideration for others that aren’t those he cares for (or is obsessed over), though he’s rarely mean to people’s faces (though gladly behind their backs).
Eilrethiel also comes from a completely different culture. While he’s lived on the land for almost six years, he still hasn’t gotten to grip with all the social norms.
Backstory ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Everything’s so strange up here. Where I grew up, people weren’t so violent. Well, I guess we weren’t too fond of outsiders, but we didn’t stab you just for picking up the wrong thing."
Sea elves are generally insular and reclusive, and Eilrethiel’s community was no different. Situated in a vast coral reef in the Firedrake Bay, their village was formed around the natural underwater landscape. They had formed a cautious bond with the local fishing village, with an agreement they only caught what they needed and treated the ocean’s inhabitants with respect. The sea elves and the humans of each town traded goods that couldn’t be found on either side, though most interaction beyond that was kept to a minimum.
Eilrethiel’s mother, Firiashe, was among the more curious and rebellious of the enclave. She’d just come of age, a few years over a hundred, when she met a fisherman during a brief trip on land. One thing led to another, and Eilrethiel was the result. It was a brief fling that ended as quickly as it started. While the pregnancy was unexpected, Firiashe was happy to have a child.
Half sea elves were incredibly rare- the human side often dominating and leaving them unable to live underwater. Elrethiel was lucky, born with a mostly working set of gills along with normal human lungs. He could be brought up by his mother, rather than her having to give him away. So Elrethiel was brought up in the coral reef underneath the ocean.
However, his gills were slightly deformed, and he didn’t have the same resistance to cold his full blooded peers have. He struggled to breath, with Firiashe taking him on land for short periods in an attempt to help. On land, his gills got in the way, making his breathing only a little better. He just had to get used to it. It was another thing that set him aside from the full blooded sea elves his age. While he had friends, and played happily with other children, he was never included in the same way.
This led to him forming unhealthily strong attachments to those who did give him more attention, leading to bouts of jealousy. He was incredibly clingy to his mother, who was the main reason he had such a happy childhood. While he would often get jealous of her lovers, they rarely lasted long. And he was her son- he was irreplaceable, unlike them.
Elrethiel’s magic started showing itself when he went through puberty, with minor magical tricks happening around him. It wasn’t until he was fourteen that he realised his connection with the moon and that he was a sorcerer. Arcane magic users were rare among sea elves, aside from bards, and he was the only one in his village. This made him special, but it was yet another thing that made him different from everyone else too. While for some it led to suspicion, Firiashe saw it as a blessing. The moon was important to their way of life, after all, with its effects on the tides, so his magic granted by it could only be a good thing.
As he neared adulthood, his somewhat isolated but happy life was disrupted. The once small town was growing, with greedy nobles looking at all the valuable underwater life in the firedrake bay as a way to make themselves richer. The fishermen the village had agreements with were pushed out of their jobs because of permits and new laws. More industrialised fishing was put in place, which meant more sea elves being accidentally caught and killed. The already small village felt every loss, and it only got worse as the water began to be more polluted. Sickness spread like it never had before.
So the village made the decision to move deeper into the Trackless Sea where surface dwellers couldn’t reach. But Eilrethiel wouldn’t be able to survive in the deeper ocean. Barely eighteen, not feeling like an adult at all having aged so much faster than his peers, he was left with an awful decision.
His mother couldn’t survive on the surface, but he couldn’t surface deeper into the ocean.
Either one of them sacrificed their life for a few more years together, or they separated. In the end, Firiashe made him leave. She gave him what advice she could, and the village let him take whatever he needed to survive. Before they parted, she told him not to trust the surface dwellers easily. They weren’t like their sea elf community, tight knit and working together for the good of everyone.
Eilrethiel had to start again on the surface. The social difference was incredibly jarring. From the first town he reached he realised this. He was almost thrown in jail for taking some clothes off a line to blend in, only just managed to smooth talk his way out of it. For sea elves, ownership wasn’t a thing. Anything lying around the village was for anyone to use! This was just the first of many things that almost tripped him up on the surface.
As he travelled up the sword coast, he slowly adapted. He didn’t need to worry much about food, able to dive into the sea to hunt down fish, but he earned money with his magic as he could. After a couple of years, he even attended school in waterdeep for a year. A school for astronomy focused wizards, he managed to lie his way in using his lunar sorcery and general ability to make shit up.
It was a good year and a half, and where he started to make connections. Then obsessions. Then perhaps some not so good behaviours such as following his obsessions around… But he really was learning there! As much as he could, barely knowing how to read at the time.
But good things don’t last. His lies got found out, and he was chased out. He moved to Neverwinter for another couple of years, before fleeing the local authorities after breaking and entering into multiple nobles' homes to visit people he’d befriended.
Now, just a month ago, he came to Greyharrow, hoping to finally find somewhere he belonged. And also avoid getting thrown in jail.
WIZARD, DRUID, & SORCEROR ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "As the moon changes, so do I."
TYPE ⫻ Sorcerer (Lunar)
MAGIC ⫻
As a lunar sorcerer, Eilrethiel’s magic is tied to the phases of the moon itself. The spells he has access to depend on the moon’s phases, with his connection to it unlocking a different kind of innate magic as it waxes and wanes. This means he has access to more spells than the normal sorcerer, but he’s limited by the current moon phase of his home world. His magic is split into three phases.
Gibous Phase, when more than half of the moon is visible. This includes the full moon. During this phase he can use specific Abjuration, Divination and Conjuration spells he knows. His pupils glow a silver-white when he uses magic during this phase.
Crescent Phase, when less than half of the moon is visible, including the new moon. During this phase he has access to certain Necromancy, Enchantment and Transmutation spells. His pupils turn black when he uses magic during this phase.
Half Moon Phase, when half of the moon is visible and half is not. This is the shortest phase, only lasting four days per lunar cycle. He has access to certain Illusion and Evocation spells during this phase. One pupil glows silver-white and the other turns black when he uses magic during this phase.
SPELLS ⫻
CANTRIPS ⫻
Moon Fire ⫻ Eilrethiel targets a creature that he can see within sixty feet, and calls down the moon’s radiance to cover them in a silver flame. This brief burst of flame hurts the target, but is incredibly fickle. Against an average sized human with average reflexes, it’ll only hit 50% of the time. Slower, bigger targets are hit more often, but a small and nimble target will likely be able to dodge the shining moon light that comes from the sky to cover them in flame.
Prestidigitation ⫻ The first spell Elrethiel learned, which is merely a magical trick. He can do various things with it. He can create an instantaneous, harmless sensory effect. He can light or snuff out a candle (or a flame of a similar size). He can make a colour, small mark or symbol appear on a surface, or he can create an illusory image that could fit in his hand. Most of these effects last for an hour at most, and are completely harmless.
Shield ⫻ Eilrethiel creates a brief barrier of magical force around him. This glows with a faint silver light like the moon, and lasts for about five minutes. It acts like chainmail armour, blocking or reducing the damage of certain attacks. If it’s hit with too many, it will break before the minute is done.
Ice Knife ⫻ Using a drop of water, Eilrethiel creates a shard of ice and magically flings it towards a target. This shard of ice pierces the target before exploding on impact, hitting anyone else right next to the target. If they miss the target, the shard of ice will keep going and explodes against the next solid object it hits.
Comprehend Languages ⫻ By ingesting a pinch of salt Eilrethiel infused with his magic, he can understand any spoken language he hears for an hour. By touching words written in a language he would otherwise not understand, he can also read it in a language he understands. Unfortunately Eilrethiel’s reading level is that of a child’s, so he’ll only understand the simplest texts.
Ray of Sickness ⫻ Empowered by the moon’s waning light, Eilrethiel shoots a ray of dark green energy toward a target within sixty feet of them. It damages the target if it successfully hits them, making them feel sick and off. Weaker creatures will be lightly poisoned by this- a poison that makes them have the overwhelming urge to throw up along with weakening them, but only lasts for a couple of minutes.
Sleep ⫻ Sprinkling a pinch of sand from his fingers into the air, Eilrethiel can send targets he chooses in a radius of twenty feet into a magical slumber. This circle of magical sleep has to be within ninety feet of him. The sturdier a person is, the more likely they can resist the magical sleep and stay awake. It lasts for a minute, or until the magically sleeping people are attacked or someone wakes them up (with a shake or a slap).
Feather Fall ⫻ With a snap of his fingers, Eilrethiel can slow down the falling speed of himself and four others in sight and within sixty feet of him. This allows them to fall like a feather, negating death or damage that would come from plummeting down and allowing them to land on their feet. He can only use it as a reaction to falling himself, rather than precasting or using it to save someone else from falling. If he wanted to do the latter, he’d have to jump off with them.
Colour Spray ⫻ Using a pinch of brightly coloured powder made from ground up coral, Eilrethiel shoots a fifteen foot cone of brightly coloured lights from his hands. Anyone that can see and is hit by it is temporarily blinded, with the effect lessening the further away from him they are. Stronger people caught in it may be able to resist the effect. The blindness lasts for thirty seconds.
Tasha’s Caustic Brew ⫻ Eilrethiel shoots a stream of acid from his fingers tips in a thirty foot line in front of him. Any creature caught in it that doesn’t manage to dodge out of the way is covered in acid. This acid is relatively weak, but will burn and painfully damage any exposed skin it covers. It soaks into normal clothing, and will begin to melt or burn through anything else. After a minute, it dissipates.
Thunder Wave ⫻ A wave of thunderous force pushes out in a fifteen foot cone from Eilrethiel’s hands. Anyone caught in it that isn’t sturdy enough is hurt by the brute force of it slamming into them and pushed back ten feet. Any unsecured objects are pushed back. This spell is incredibly loud on land, making it bad for stealth. Underwater it’s much quieter, though the ripples of it can be felt from further away, and the waves it creates can push creatures not caught in it back a few metres.
CURRENT WANDS/TOMES/STAFFS ⫻ As a lunar sorcerer Eilrethiel doesn’t need any kind of tool or conduit for his magic, channeling it through himself.
LIMITS ⫻ Eilrethiel can only cast the spells matching the current lunar phase of his home world (aside from his cantrips, which he can always cast).
Some of Eilrethiel’s spells have material components, many of which he sourced from his home under the sea and may be more difficult to replace now that he’s on land. This means he has to be careful when casting those specific spells.
His magic is strong, but often chaotic and tiring on his body. While he has enough magical power to cast as many spells as he wants, his body can’t handle it, and eventually he’ll be fatigued or knocked out by his own spell casting. The more he pushes himself and casts beyond his limits, the more likely something will go wrong with one of the spells too.
Each individual spell has its limits as written in their descriptions (range, time it lasts, ect). The majority of his spells work underwater, but this means that sometimes they’re cast oddly or more likely to be affected by the current environment.
WEAKNESSES ⫻ (DO NOT FILL THIS OUT, I WILL PROVIDE IT FOR YOU)
Other ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "I never knew books weren’t meant to fall apart when you open them!"
Eilrethiel can’t read. Ok. He can read and write (in common) like a ten year old. It’s not because he has any difficulties, just that books don’t survive underwater! And ink they could use was a pain to make… Sea Elvish is barely a writable language anyway.
Eir is pronounce Ire. He tends to use it because most people can't pronounce his name properly (funky sea elvish pronounciation, don't ask).
"I wasn’t born perfect - just with more promise than my peers. I jest, of course!"
___________________________________
[Money where his mouth is] ⫻ Math was a prodigy from an early age, the prize of his family. Showered with praise and guidance from as early as he could remember, his ambition allowed no room for complacency. He studied under the greatest teachers available, subjects ranging from mathematics to literature, physics to archery. Tutors sung his praise. While he might seem cavalier at first, there is substance to his claims.
[Silver tongue] ⫻ Witty, charming, and clever, Math is a true conversationalist, and a formidable opponent in an argument. Having spent years mingling with the lower classes, he can talk his way in, and out, of nearly any setting, situation, or problem. One might describe him as a master manipulator, though that, of course, is surely hyperbole.
[Heredibus Suis] ⫻ Math benefits from his Shadar-kai heritage, inheriting the gifts bestowed upon his people by the Raven Queen. Cloaked in shadow, he can teleport at will, though still grapples with the frustrating parameters of distance and endurance. His innocuous appearance, which allows him to pass for an elf of ambiguous ancestry, can be a valuable element of surprise.
[Sorcerer’s ember] ⫻ Growing up, Math’s talents were attributed solely to a fortuitously brilliant mind. It was only later, when he set out on his journey, that the embers, nursed unseen for years, ignited his true power. He can wield arcane energy at will, drawing from channels within, through the true nature of this gift, if indeed it is something that can even be given, remains a mystery.
Appearance
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"Oh darling, your words can’t hurt me. Don’t you know it's the inside that counts?"
Math is no stranger to flattery. He inhabits ambiguity with grace, and attracts all sorts of attention from those he comes across. He’s of a slim build and average height for an elf, the balanced curves of his body easily moulded to whichever impression he wishes to give. He wields his body with the precision of someone who is well practiced in interoception, and has learned the nuances of movement.
His skin is exceedingly pale and, as a Shadar-kai, desaturated enough to leave an almost uncanny impression when interpreted as an elf of different lineage. In contrast, his hair is jet black, and cut severely to follow the line of his jaw. Freckles dust his nose and cheeks, and he is prone to burning if exposed to excessive sunlight.
His features are sharp, and at rest his expression can seem overly stern and dignified, but more often than not he is expressive, open, if a little self-conscious. His pupils are lost in the black of his eyes, making him hard to truly read, like an unsolved span of prose.
Math wears a turtleneck shirt and trousers, both black and tailored exquisitely, punctuated by a black leather corset belt, to which his rapier, holster, and an accessible leather pouch are attached. His boots are black and thigh high, laced from top to bottom. He wears a slim fitting black coat, much shorter in the front than the back, embroidered with delicate, silver sigils. To one lapel a silver brooch bearing his family sigil is attached, two chains connecting it to a button on the opposite side. Protecting his neck and chest he wears a black leather pauldron which extends to cover his shoulders. Over his right shoulder he wears a shoulder cape with thick silver fur at the point of attachment.
Psychology
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"When they see what I can do, what I am… Oh, I can feel the warmth of it already."
MAIN GOAL ⫻ Math has something to prove. Leaving home with wounded pride and a determination to prove his superiors wrong, he treads the line between challenging the boundaries of who he can be, and orienting himself to the path that had been set out before him long ago.
PHILOSOPHY ⫻ Math can’t help but feel a sense of superiority when comparing himself to others - even his kin. Despite yearning for their acceptance, he’s pulled by a dark sense of justice, like a prophet whose words have yet fallen on deaf ears.
SECRETS ⫻ Math often comes across as warm and authentic, but his true authenticity lies in how easily he plays each role… and plays the people who trust him. Carefully curated and packaged as natural, his need to be liked conceals deep insecurity, and a fractured sense of self.
SEXUALITY ⫻ Bisexual.
FEARS ⫻ That it was all for nothing. That his fervent momentum is leading him to a cliffedge he can’t avoid. That in being everything for everyone, he’s left with nothing at his core.
WHAT BROUGHT THEM TO GREYHARROW ⫻ Math is searching. For what, he can’t say. A spark of inspiration, perhaps, or enlightenment, or a setting he can plot the arc of his redemption. Having followed a trail of bounty posters to the periphery, wretched and eccentric, his eye is out for a familiar face. Perhaps an explanation might arrange his fractured understanding of his life. Perhaps revenge might give clarity to his muddled thoughts.
WHAT DO OTHERS IN TOWN THINK OF THEM ⫻ As a newcomer, his presence is a curiosity. He comes across as charming and selfless, a genuine ear that new acquaintances can share their story with. But Math’s perfection, an asset when garnering trust and friendship elsewhere, comes across to some as suspicious. In a sanctuary for the downtrodden and discarded, trust isn’t as easily given. Many came here to seek refuge from the monsters under the mask.
EQUIPMENT ⫻ Black leather light armour - pauldron and gauntlets. Pistol. In his pouch he keeps a set of lockpicks, makeup, mirror, and spare bullets. Aside from the clothes he presents in, he took little of his previous life with him when he left. He’s confident in his ability to acquire the things he needs through various means.
FLAWS ⫻ Having shaped his identity around what others think of him, he can struggle to make genuinely autonomous, logical decisions, often prioritising the appearance of an outcome over its alignment with his principles. He can be fickle, painfully shallow, yet quietly obsessive, driven by a need for approval - especially from the few people he sees as equal to him. Due to this, he is unable to forge meaningful relationships based on mutual trust. He is paranoid, often seeing condemnation where there is none, and this can lead to a sudden prickly defense in his worst moments.
His perfectionism often affects his ability to complete tasks, and he lacks the practicality that comes with growing up outside of nobility.
Backstory ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "It wasn’t lonely. I had everything."
Math was born into a noble family. His father was traditional but fair, though Math was closest with his mother. As he grew, they noticed early on that he learned remarkably quickly, and was advanced for his age. Before he started formal schooling, they invested in the finest tutors to teach him all sorts of things, and he absorbed the lessons with ease. When he wasn’t training, he spent much of his time with his mother, who doted on him endlessly, investing a great amount of hope and energy in her child. When he reached the age of formal education, instead of attending preparatory school he continued to be home schooled for a year, before convincing his parents to allow him to attend university early.
Living away from home for the first time, he was a divisive figure. Half of the professors loved him; the other half found his arrogance abrasive, and went out of their way to challenge him further. The other students, sometimes twice his age or more, often resented him, though with the cloying niceties of the nobility it was only behind his back that they spat their venom. Math himself had no time to consider their opinions. It was his goal to become the heir his parents were owed, and he was determined to show them that their faith was not misplaced. Any time he wasn’t in trance, he was studying, practicing, and learning how to use his growing arsenal of skills to secure his place on the top.
After denying plentiful requests for him to visit his family, and evading correspondence more over time, his parents formally summoned him back home for a month’s break. It was the first time he’d seen them since leaving, though his mother’s clinginess felt smothering, and his father spared little emotional warmth. They observed him critically, and then opened discussion of his future. Several suitors had been selected, they told him, men who would advance the family’s status. Math hadn’t considered partnership at that point, though he was nearing adulthood. The thought of courtship repelled him. In the traditional ways of the noble families, while women were just as esteemed and formidable as their husbands, they were also expected to submit to him only in matters of furthering the bloodline. The crux of the issue, though Math didn’t know this of himself yet, was that he wasn’t a woman.
The resulting argument left him and his parents on bad terms. Returning to university with a wounded ego and new doubts about his life’s trajectory, Math found solace in sneaking out to the surrounding towns and cities, and mingling for the first time with the lesser classes. His view of the world became richer, and he started to lean into the performance of relationships, both at school and with the new folk he encountered.
Perhaps the most impactful part of his rebellious years was his relationship with a woman. One night, as he was sneaking out of the residence of a human merchant, alleviating him of some of his bloated wealth, he stumbled across that very merchant being murdered. The murderer became a close friend, and something more, as they spent time aiding each other in their crimes, learning from each other and letting walls down that had never been crossed before. It was during that time that Math realised he desired women, and then later on realised that he was not a woman himself.
When they split, it was on bad terms. Spurred by betrayal and heartbreak, Math impulsively, destructively, informed his parents on no uncertain terms that he would not be marrying, and that he would be living as the man he was from then on. The fallout was predictably explosive, though emotion had clouded Math’s foresight and thus horrified him nonetheless. Withdrawing him from the university, his parents summoned him home, where they humiliated him with the scorn and disappointment that had gone unsaid for years. His mother, in particular, was inconsolable.
A marriage date was set, and within their opulent estate Math became a prisoner. After his fiancé’s envoy arrived, Math made a decision. His parents, whom he’d revered his whole life, trusting in their wisdom and fortitude, simply couldn’t match the intellect he’d grown into. No one could. They were misguided, and he’d teach them their errors with the same patient, but unrelenting hand they’d used when raising him. At night, he snuck into his fiancé’s chambers and killed him in his sleep. An example to be made. Then he left, on a quest to become just as great, if not greater, as he was within his own society. His parents couldn’t be proud of him when he followed the path they’d set for him, because they were blind to what their son was capable of.
Sorcerer | Rogue ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Some things require a delicate touch, but I’m not scared to get my hands dirty."
TYPE ⫻ Sorcerer, Aberrant | Rogue, Soulknife
FIGHTING STYLE⫻ Out of all the weapons Math has trained with, he prefers a versatile mix of ranged and close range weapons, focusing on skill and strategy rather than brute strength.
CANTRIPS ⫻
Friends⫻ When wearing makeup or perfume, Math is able to emanate a sense of friendship or attraction towards someone he can see nearby. The effect is difficult to resist, and most of the people he’s targeted are charmed, so long as they are humanoid and not currently fighting him. If distracted, Math can lose control of the spell. He uses it sparingly, because afterwards, those he uses it on can sense that their béguin was artificial.
1ST LEVEL⫻
Sleep⫻ By blowing a pinch of rose petals or sand, Math can cause any target unable to resist the spell, within a 5 ft radius of his choosing, to lose control of their muscles, causing them to call limp. If they are still able to break free of the spell’s effect, they are rendered unconscious. Math’s control can be broken if his targets are harmed. The spell loses power after a minute. Creatures which don’t require sleep, or are immune to exhaustion, are able to resist the spell.
Witch Bolt⫻ Math can summon lighting and form a sustained arc of electricity between himself and a chosen target, causing them injury. He can subsequently cause a surge of lighting to hit them at intervals at will for up to a minute.
CURRENT WEAPONS/TOMES/STAFFS ⫻ When Math left home, his haste caused him to overlook the need to bring weapons. Lacking his preferred rapier, he relied on magic for some time until a flashy pistol caught his eye. With an abundance of gold to sweeten the deal, he seduced the pistol’s owner into parting with the weapon, and it is now an invaluable companion wherever he goes.
TRAINING ⫻ Math recieved a mix of formal schooling and private tutorage in a wide range of weapons. While battle was not expected for someone of his station, it is customary for nobles to master at least one fighting technique, and sports like fencing and archery are seen as an art. Math enjoyed these lessons as a break from purely intellectual pursuits, practicing in his free time as a form of stress relief. He particularly enjoyed the elegance of fencing, winning tournaments often, and when he began sneaking into the nearby city, he learned apply theory to real fights. While lacking the interest in archery, when he later acquired a pistol on his travels he became obsessed with mastering it, and spent many a candlelit night pouring over its components when staying at inns. His previous schooling on crossbow and archery, and his knack for picking up new skills, allowed him to become quickly comfortable with the firearm.
LIMITS ⫻ The main limit to Math’s magical ability is that its source is interwoven with his very essence. Using it too liberally or recklessly causes a toll, physically and spiritually, and instead of learning to temper its flow he uses it in dramatic bursts. As he grows stronger, the repercussions become more severe.
WEAKNESSES ⫻ (DO NOT FILL THIS OUT, I WILL PROVIDE IT FOR YOU)
