Name: Aurora "Rory" Malister Age: 97 Race:High elf Class: Rogue Level: 1 Background: Noble Personality: Friendly and willing to help, cares much for her family and others close to her. Backstory: sent to GM
Name:Brutrumukk Age: 17 Race: Forest Gnome Class: Barbarian Level: 3 Background: Folk Hero Personality: See persona section of the linked character sheet.
Backstory: In the middle of a grassy field stands a large rock. This rock is known to the locals as the Snoring Stone, a name it gained after people began to hear loud snoring with no discernible source when passing the rock sometimes. People were unsure of what to make of this weird phenomenon until someone made too much noise near the rock and the snoring turned to angry yelling. After that, people became convinced that a spirit had made its home in the rock and began leaving it offerings of food, drink, gold, and other kinds of gifts, hoping that this appeasement would calm the spirit and dissuade it from following through on the threats it had made to those who disturbed its slumber. These offerings pleased the spirit enough that it forgave the disturbance, on the condition that the offerings continued.
With the arrangement made, things returned to normal for a time. The Spirit Of The Snoring Stone rested peacefully in its rocky home and the locals regularly brought it offerings to keep it that way. Eventually, a brave and desperate carpenter decided to wake the Spirit again. Before the Spirit could begin angrily making threats though, the carpenter begged the Spirit's help with a problem no one else could help him with. Upon learning that the carpenter had brought a much grander offering that usual to convince it to help, the Spirit eagerly agreed. The very next morning, the carpenter awoke to find the solution to his problems awaiting him on his dining table. Overjoyed by the end of his woes, the carpenter told others of what had happened.
After that, many other locals came to petition the Spirit Of The Snoring Stone for its aid. A shepherd who had lost some of his sheep would find them tied to a post the morning after visiting the Stone. A fisherman whose usual spot had dried up found a map to a pond full of much tastier fish nailed to his door after asking the Spirit for help. And when an angry mob asked for help in tracking down a murderer, they found the murderer's corpse an hour later, clubbed to death and beheaded.
One day, a farmer arrived at the Snoring Stone out of breath and in a state of panic. His house had caught fire, no one could put it out, and his family was trapped inside. He offered everything he had in exchange for his family's safety. "Go 'ome an' wait." The Spirit said. "I'll do the rest." And so the farmer hurried home to where his wife, children, and elderly parents were still trapped and prayed to the Gods as he waited for the Spirit to come. Suddenly, the door burst open and the farmer's parents rushed from the house just before the fire blocked the way. Then, each window in the house smashed open, allowing one of the farmer's children to climb out of each one before the flames blocked those exits too. With no way out left, the farmer, his family, and the assembled crowd watched the burning house as they wondered how the spirit would rescue the farmer's wife. Their answer came when one of the house's walls gave way and the farmer's wife emerged from the hole... cradled in the arms of an enormous bugbear.
The bugbear, who went by the name of Brutrumukk, revealed himself to be the so called Spirit Of The Snoring Stone, having played along with their beliefs to sponge off the offerings the locals had brought to the Snoring Stone, which he explained had a hollow interior and a secret entrance. Remembering all that the 'Spirit' had done for them, the locals refrained from driving the hulking goblinoid away and decided to let their current arrangement stand due to how helpful Brutrumukk had proven himself, even if the black-hearted bugbear had only helped for personal gain.
A year after settling in the Snoring Stone, Brutrumukk was rudely awoken one day by the sound of a certain multiversal carnival being set up right next to his home.
Stat Generation: Point Buy
Day Count: 3 (349) KDA: 3/1/0 Most Kills in a Dungeon: 2 Most Kills in an Encounter: 2 Most Kills in a Round: 1
Name Gabriel, of Waterdeep Age 29 Race Half-elf Class/Level Bard 3 (College of Swords) Background Duelist Personality See CS For Details History See CS For Details Stat Generation Point Buy
Personality Zavakri is an eccentric woman. She is occupied by obsessive compulsions and nervous tics that render her a difficult person to directly engage with in a meaningful manner. She desires cleanliness and hygienic well-being, as well as order and logic to the structure and organization of things. Things being crooked really bother her, to put it succinctly, and she can't quite stop herself from trying to straighten things up.
She has a queer sense of humor. Amusement is seemingly found in all things, especially things that work out Just Right or Just So.
Above all else the woman is a curious bundle of nerves; She is simultaneously willing to open Schrodinger's Box whilst being terrified of what might be inside of it.
There had been an argument. Zavakri could remember having it. She could remember seeing her sister's face; eyes full of tears and that lip twitching with youthful petulance. The worst part is, Zavakri could remember her own cruelty...
"I don't care what you want, Tara! I only brought you along because mum said I had to look out for you!"
These words had a profound affect upon the young girl known as Detara. Her face scrunched up. The tears fell. Her small hands curled into grubby fists. A deep breath filled her cheeks, before she yelled back into Zavakri's own stubborn indignance;
"If you don't care what I want, I don't care about you!"
A classic child's tantrum tactic, well executed and expertly crafted. Detara was good at this 'being a younger sister' thing; it came to her naturally from birth. This had meant that for nearly eight years she had plagued Zavakri's own social efforts and parental needs- but it had all come to a head today, with a split vote on what to do at the Carnival. Detara had a wondrous solution to their seeming incapability to resolve their differences; she turned, shut her eyes, and sprinted into the crowd.
Leaving Zavakri stunned and gazing after her. In a few more seconds the world came crashing down and she realized that her Older Sister Duty was to chase after her, and so logical pathing set in.
Hours passed. The day passed. The sun began to set. She found herself alone at the entrance to the Carnival. She was hopeless, looking around in a manner best described as 'frantic' for any sign of her wayward sister. The carnival only came once every eight years- so far that was once in her lifetime!- and Detara had thoroughly secreted herself away in the crowd.
Zavakri needed help. She turned and accidentally bumped into two important-seeming Elves who had come to wave away the last of the guests. She lifted her face to them, enthralled in wonder by their visages. She asked if they knew where her sister was.
"Silly little screeching cricket," said Witch. "You forgot to buy a ticket."
"The carnival goes round and round," said Light. "The multiverse is our playground. Nothing's free and nothing's lost. Every visit has its cost." Order. The world needed Order. The world needed Logic. The world needed a Foundation. Zavakri was a sinking girl with nowhere to plant her feet. No ropes to grab hold of. No ladders to climb. The weight of a lost sister forever on her shoulders. Depression claimed her. Absconded with the rest of her childhood and and waged a strong war against her lesser teenage years.
Nothing made any sense. The world was a hopeless spiral of guilt and shame. Nothing held her interest- certainly not the family farmstead, of which she was now the sole daughter of the lot and therefor the one tasked with assisting the mother with cleaning and cooking. Days blurred into weeks which blended into months which faded into forgotten years.
Until one day something clicked. It all started with a bump on the head. More precisely, a thrown apple. An apple thrown by a boy. A cute boy. A boy who was feeling brave today.
Zavakri had been sitting at the riverside, contemplating absolutely nothing and dreading absolutely everything, as she idled beside a laundry basket that desperately needed her attention. Three brothers and an uncle sharing the farmstead meant there was always plenty of cleaning to do, and never enough energy to contemplate the best order to do it all in. Which meant she had to trudge through inefficient cleaning methods and tasks, which only further spiraled her into her depressive state.
She sighed. Dramatically, mind you. A proper dejection. Then she leaned forward onto her knees and braced her elbows upon them, servicing her head with a platform of her hands as she rocked forward to stare down into the waters. It was a good, deep, existential crisis. Until the apple hit her upon the head.
It collided with her squarely. A proper throw, from an athletically inclined arm. She yelped, eyes wide, and watched the reflection of the apple as it arced through the air-
Let Apple equal X. Parabolic function presented, X moving at V of...Account for air resistance, coefficient Fd...Let Hand, right, move to position coordinate X,Y,Z...
And swiftly snatched it out of the air with her right hand as her left rose slowly to rub at the soreness of the back of her head. It was a boyish method, to be sure, but it had accomplished its task. Zavakri lifted her eyes in what felt like the first time in her life.
And to top it all off, there was the spark of magic in the air.
"Do you see that, Rirvudd?" She whispered it quietly to the young man beside her. He was maybe a year older than her, and by now she herself was a woman of eighteen- and both yearned for more than the simple village they called home.
"Aye." He whispered back, smirking. "Though you'll have to explain it to me. I don't quite know what it is I'm seeing." It was easy bait, he knew she'd bite- he just liked listening to her ramble. And ramble she did;
It was a star- or perhaps a planet- maybe an asteroid?- It was impossible to tell with the naked eye, but from how Zavakri talked you wouldn't have known that. They were outside the village, high atop a nearby hill where they had an unobstructed view of the night sky. She waxed and waned about it all, clutching in her hands a quill and parchment- both well used by now. The quill's feather had practically withered away, whereas the parchment was meticulously filled with painstaking notes of astronomic geography. A detailed and thorough star map, gracefully and lovingly drawn by Zavakri herself.
After a polite amount of her torrential musings, Rirvudd cleared his throat and caught her eye.
"You can't avoid the festival every year, Kri." He said softly. Already the girl had tensed up and looked away, but he'd already tread upon the landmine. "Lliira's Night is a night of joy, dancing, fun-"
"I can't." She said quietly. "You know I can't, Riri, you know I can't." Despite her closed off physicality- her arms having dropped their possessions and fled to the safety of hugging her own torso- and visibly shaken nature, Rirvudd can be applauded for his boyish bravery for wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close. She accepted his offer of warmth and leaned her head upon his shoulder.
"...I would like to." she added, softly. "But I just can't. The music- the dancing- it reminds me of Tara. If I'd just-"
Rirvudd was ready for this. He wasn't about to let her do this to herself again.
"Baldur's Gate. It has an Astrolabe, right?"
"Well, a big city like that'd have a Planisphere, dioptra, an astrolabe-"
"You know what I mean. It'd have a proper facility for doing all this, right?"
"Well, yes. I suppose it would."
"Then come with me. To Baldur's Gate. Father said I was old enough to handle the Market trips. You and I both know that without you I'd be lost on the economics of it all, anyway, and end up costing the village some silver. Or, maybe, if you don't go with me I'd see a pretty skirt or two and lose my hea-"
Before he could conclude himself, Zavakri rolled her eyes and shoved him. He toppled over as if she'd pricked a balloon and tossed it aside. She crossed her legs and stared at him, leaning back against the rock they'd made their small camp against.
"You? Chasing skirts? Riri, you'd only be running because I'd be behind you about to tear that stupid beard off your face for even trying."
She stood up, her hands moving in the air-
Light is merely a visible interference on the electromagnetic spectrum...Light move in waves, waves have frequencies, frequencies have patterns, patterns are formulae...Let Light equal X, let wave length...
-And suddenly her hairband was glowing faintly, illuminating the area around them in a soft light.
"Of course I'll go with you. Now stand up and dance with me, you stupid boy, before I change my mind."
He would have been truly foolish not to take her outstretched hand. As it turns out, her rhythm was impeccable- though she did lack in style. Zavakri arrived in Baldur's Gate sopping wet and cradling her work fervently in her arms like a mother would a sick babe. A storm had rolled in, ruined a portion of the harvest they'd come to sell, and forced Zavakri and Rirvudd to take shelter in a traveler's inn for several days before Zavakri managed to pry herself away from her lover. A storm could no longer delay her. A storm could no longer risk her timing.
She'd made sure of it. After their first few trips to Baldur's Gate, Zavakri's guidance and studies of the Markets coupled with Rirvudd's ability to talk a bird out of its feathers had resulted in the purchase of a low quality telescope. A low quality telescope had afforded Zavakri an infinite amount of study and furthering of her notes.
Her notes were now something precious indeed, and unless she was wrong- The math was there, it added up, it could not be wrong! The math is never wrong!- there was something very special happening indeed. She ran through the streets, her hood heavy with the rain but of that rustic farm quality that expects such burdens and thus still serviceable and safe to be wearing.
To her own senses, her footfalls felt like lightning and the echo of her steps rolled like the thunder. Haste was of the essence. It was happening tonight, and if she could prove it there's no way they'd turn her away this time!
Every trip she'd approach the sages of Baldur's Gate with her studies and findings only to be refuted and turned away or otherwise doubted by those with more practical education and study than her- prejudice against the plain peasant girl as brazen as a bull within the higher tier educated society of the big city.
Every trip she swore she'd return with more knowledge and more passion until one day she'd truly amaze them.
Turns out this was the trip, she was right.
The Garden had shifted in its orbit a fraction of a degree! The implications of such a thing-
While to the rest of us this may seem absolutely inconsequential and ludicrously infinitesimal, to those who watch the sky for a living such a claim has centuries of interest baked into it. For it to have been noticed by Zavakri of all people?
Why, it earned her a job. Doing exactly what she spent all those years on a hilltop doing for free, she was now to be paid and lauded for. A year passed, her spirits higher than ever- but her mannerisms all the more eccentric. She and Rirvudd were engaged now, but their work kept them separate for much time. She was often required to keep an eye on some such thing in the stars, and his work had grown under her advisement from simple village merchant into that of a fledgling caravanner. Things were looking up for them.
It is perhaps unfortunate that the two had lost track of time in their joy. Rirvudd was away on a trip to Waterdeep when the news came and took Zavakri by storm; The Witchlight Carnival was returning. Her world shook, fractures appearing in the stable foundation of her life.
She'd never sought adventure before. Danger was something that happened to other people- her career was built on all the action happening an incomprehensible distance away!... but she had to go back. Curiosity had always been her greatest strength, and greatest weakness. She had to find out what had become of Detara.
She'd only been as certain of one other thing in her life.
Stat Generation Rolled That 4d6 And Lived With It.
Personality~ Like a nomad, I can't settle down in one place for very long.
Ideals~ Wanderlust~ I prefer to take the less traveled path.
Bonds~ The Witchlight Carnival feels like home to me.
Flaws~ I have many vices and tend to indulge them.
Origin: Tsak was born and raised into the circus. Her parents, a fairy minstrel and a drow illusionist who were performers for the Witchlight Circus. A wise gnome once said that "it takes a village to raise a child", well though there was no village, the circus was her family and just like any other, they all helped raise and take care of her.
As Tsak grew up, she loved to draw. She would take paint and help decorate the performers and even those visiting. It wasn't till her early teens, that a mysterious horned elf from the realm of the Feywild came to visit. This stranger was decorated from horn to toe in Arcane tattoos, some that glowed, some that moved, telling silent stories. Tsak thought it was the coolest thing and after little convincing between her parents, the Tattooist and Mr's Witch and Light, the Tattooist had stayed with the circus to be Tsak's mentor. This tutelage went on for several years, teaching her everything from basic tattooing, making her own inks and eventually, imbuing magic into the ink.
A few years back, Tsak awoken to her mentor missing with a wrapped present left beside her cot. It was he very first enchanted sketchbook. It was more surprising when she found her parents had too gone missing. Now, into her twenties, Tsak had been working as a helping hand for the circus for some time. She also has set up a side gig in her spare time offering her services as a Tattooist.
As time goes one, Tsak has grown bored and restless. Wanderlust has infected her and she has began to crave for adventure. She keeps telling herself that, some day she will pack up her tent and fly off into whatever plain of existence they happen to be in. But deep down, she's knows its not that simply to just fly away from the only family and home she's known.
Perfered Weapon:
daggers
Armor:
Leather Armor
Weapons:
Daggers~ +4 hit, 1d4+4 dmg
Gear:
Backpack
Tattoo Kit
Enchanted Sketchbook
Spell Casting~ As a mystical tattoo artist, Tsak has an enchanted sketchbook that she can use to create spellbangers. Spellbangers are the smallest type of magic tattoos, easily fitting upon her fingertips. They only require a few minutes of focus to sketch during a long rest. The application process for spellbangers is similar to the application process for magic tattoos, requiring spare needles and tattooist’s tools in hand.
Sketchy Imitation~ The Tattooist learned how to observe spells in the heat of battle and conceive spellbanger designs to recreate the effects of those spells. As a reaction when a creature (other than Tsak) that she can see within 60 feet of you casts a spell from the Bard, Sorcerer, Warlock, or Wizard spell list, she can make an ability check using her tattooist spellcasting ability. The DC equals 10 + the spell’s level. On a success, she can sketch a spellbanger representing that spell during a long rest within the next month. If she do not sketch the spellbanger within the allotted time, she must observe the spell being cast again. Once she have sketched a particular spellbanger, she may sketch it without needing to observe the spell again. The Tattooist table shows whether or not she can apply the spellbanger. She can use this feature a number of times equal to her Constitution modifier (minimum of once). She regain any expended uses when she finish a long rest.
Sketchbook~ The Tattooist have an empty enchanted sketchbook. Her enchanted sketchbook acts as a repository for the spellbangers her sketch. Tattooists will only need to devote a single page of their sketchbook for sketching and accumulating spellbangers.
Sketch Tattoos~ Tsak has gained the ability to sketch magic tattoos. When she gain this feature, she are able to pick four magic tattoo designs with a rarity of common to learn. When she gain a level in this class, she can replace two of the magic tattoo designs she learned, with two new ones.
Bad Ink~ Tsak has learned how to apply defective magical ink onto weapons. To use this ability, she must have tattooist’s tools in hand. She can use a bonus action to unload and apply charges of Bad Ink onto the weapon of a willing creature within 5 feet of her. On the next hit using that weapon, it does an additional 1d6 acid damage per charge applied and the ink vanishes. If they don’t hit a target with the inked weapon within the next hour, the Bad Ink fades away. Tsak have a number of charges equal to your Constitution modifier (minimum of one). Tsak regain any expended uses when you finish a long rest.The additional damage die changes when you reach certain levels in this class. The die becomes a d8 at 5th level, a d10 at 10th level, and a d12 at 15th level.
1d6 acid dmg, 4/day
Tattooist Style~ Neo Traditional: Many tattooists who adopt the Neo Traditional style have admitted to feeling the same rush charging into the frontlines of battle as they do when designing exquisite and evocative tattoos in their parlor. For these artist-warriors, it is crucial to maintain the tattooist traditions while incorporating innovative new ways to polish their work and become more formidable on the battlefield.
BONUS PROFICIENCIES~ When Tsak adopt the Neo Traditional style, she gain proficiency with martial weapons and adopt a Fighting Style. (Dualing~ When she is wielding a melee weapon in one hand and no other weapons, she gain a +2 bonus to damage rolls with that weapon)
ART OF WAR~ Tsak has become deadlier with weapons in battle. Tsak can use a bonus action to apply Bad Ink onto weapons without holding tattooist’s tools. In addition, while she has Bad Ink applied, her weapon is considered magical for the purpose of overcoming resistance and immunity to nonmagical attacks and damage.
[ EQUIPMENT ] Rapier, spear, longbow, leather, thieves' tools, disguise kit, 20 arrows, backpack, bedroll, mess kit, tinderbox, torch (10), rations/1 day (10), waterskin, rope/hempen 50 feet, ink/1 ounce bottle, ink pen, clothes/common, small knife, letter from a dead colleague, belt pouch
Equipment weight 84 lb - Cost 197.52 gp 40 gp Coins weight 0.4 lb
[ CHARACTER ]
Height Small / 3.3 ft / 40 lb. ; Age 35 years (apparent age 35)
Eyes Blue ; Skin tanned white ; Hair Brown
Appearance Halander Wilkins is a 30-something man who is usually seen in Library clothes, as he volunteers there when not doing mercenary work. His festival clothes, which he wears on top of his leather armor, have a stitching of a wisp emblazoned on them.
Personality traits There's nothing I like more than a good mystery.
Ideals Logic. Emotions must not cloud our logical thinking. (Lawful)
Bonds I work to preserve a library, university, scriptorium, or monastery.
Flaws I overlook obvious solutions in favor of complicated ones.
Background Sage (Librarian)
Character/Item Backstory His lost item is a marble, one he calls the Dreammarble, that looks like the earth. It was given unto him by a small halfling boy that he tutored every Saturday, who told him that his mother had given it to him before she had died from a sickness, and the reason that she got it for him was that so that he could remember there was a big world out there. This was shortly before he was found dead in his bed, taken by the same disease that took his mother. At this news, he fell into a deep depression, sad and angry at himself that the boy had not trusted him enough to explain such an important thing. Days later, He attended the funeral and resolved to keep the marble with him until he died, and make sure the last remnant of his student did not go missing, thereby forgiving himself. From that day on, he occasionally traveled across the world when he had time off, all to respect the last message delivered to him.
Allies & Organizations His Workplace His fellow mercenaries
