The Hanged Man [A Darkest Dungeon Inspired RP]

[Lauder]

“In this estate, you will find no solace as that corpse hangs there in the trees. Cursed, he stares and affronts us with the singular, damned eye. There shan’t be remorse in the day, as adventurers and brigands alike take forth the perilous quest to remove the Hanged Man and, by extension, the curse. There shan’t be forgiveness in the night as the ruined hills conceal those who wish to bring down the decrepit majesty that afforded us such a curse. You must end this blight, for it all else succumbs to this darkness, there will be no light left for us. As our friend, we implore you. End this reign of terror and advance into the perilous hills that plague us.”
Hedlef Lochborne, Lord of Malcast

In the Kingdom of Baldock, a curse has swept over the Estate of the Lochborne family as the Hanged Man appeared on the cold rolling hills of the countryside. Once fertile lands have turned to death and decay as the Hanged Man watches over the Estate, dark clouds blocking the sunlight and casting a maddening spell upon those who tend to the estate and the farms that surround it. Cattle give birth to abhorrent abominations, masses of grotesque skin and heads that do not survive their first seconds in the world. Children to the farm hands grow sick, dying in the night as the curse creeps into their stead and cradles them in their beds. None is spared from the curse that has overtaken this estate.

The Lochborne family has allowed the curse to spread into their stead, not out of their own negligence of duty, but to the curse being far too difficult to dispel with their own mundane grasp of magic. Though, while they are too stubborn to relocate their estate to more fertile soil, the curse is seeping into the city of Malcast as the children too have begun to grow sick and the soil begins to decay. Thusly so, Hedlef Lochborne has reached out to those who he would call ‘friend’ as those who had previously been hired have proved too ill-equipped as cultists and monsters rampage in those cursed hills that continue to mock the noble family.

Yet, it is those before who have been summoned to the task that have met there most tragic end, driven to despair and madness in those hills of plague. They tell tale of fiends and blights unlike ever have been encountered, that those who fight would meet their end and that those who escape wish only for their own miserable lives to end. Heed the warnings of the raving madmen who have retreated for it is they that had stared into the eyes of the endless horror of the Hanged Man’s curse and survive, but it is they that would sooner seek the endless embrace of death rather than recount their memories of the Hanged Man.

Those pagans must be driven out before all hope is lost.

Those beasts must be slain before death is wrought through the hills.

The Hanged Man must be cut down before life itself loses its will to live.

May the gods show mercy to those who face his maddening gaze.

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Welcome to The Hanged Man, a dark fantasy roleplay deeply inspired by the game known as Darkest Dungeon in that characters who go to face this Hanged Man run the risk of going mad against the forces they combat. It is in this roleplay that I seek to tell the tale of the Hanged Man, a corpse that has appeared on a hill overlooking an estate owned by the Lochborne family, a family of nobles that rule over the nearby city of Malcast. The mystery here as to who this Hanged Man is and why he is plaguing the land with such a powerful curse and thus finding out how to dispose of it.

The characters, coming from all different walks of life from various corners of the country, the Kingdom of Baldock, have been summoned by their friend, the Lord of Malcast, to dispose of the curse as all other attempts, even by professionals, have failed. Warriors and monks, doctors and assassins, no matter who the character is, they have a friendship with Hedlef Lochborne and have answered his call to go to the now solemn and despair ridden town of Malcast. With such despair, Hedlef has become desperate to rid the estate of the curse before it spreads further.

If you haven’t guessed by now, I plan for this RP to be heavy and while I do not generally like to run amok with controlling PC creation, players are expected to create characters that would fit the story and theme of the RP. Now, that does not mean edge-lords or anything like that, but this setting is darker and runs along with the notion that madness and despair await those who seek to fight the Hanged Man. That said, I suppose I should say that I am looking for roughly six characters to embark on this tragic story and if this gets more attention than the slots I am willing to run with I will have to make various choices between PCs on which would be best for the RP. However, if a character is not chosen, that player will be put on a waiting list and if the time comes, they may join if their interest holds.

Now, onto the story itself. I want to say that there are times in which sand-box will be a thing, namely in terms of exploration or downtime while the ‘Story’ missions are set in how they are playing out, barring player choices and how that would influence the story. In this fashion, it allows plays to do some solid character development outside the expeditions into the hills where the Hanged Man watches the Estate while still staying along with the setting of the story. This is a detailed, collaborative story where the characters are the focus after all.

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Do note that all the knowledge that I present here is not all the world has to offer, but rather all the necessary information needed to play within this story. Any ideas that a player may have should PM, or openly discuss with me. Whether it be races, notable people, or countries, I will listen and give my opinion, though if I feel it does not belong in the game, I do reserve the power to deny the idea.

Races

Races of this world include some of the typical fantasy races one would find; humans, orcs, elves, dwarves, demons, goblins, etc. etc. However, it should be noted that each of these races are seperate with Orcs occupying the deserts to far south of the continent, elves inhabiting the vasts forests even further south than that, and dwarves generally scattered in their keeps all around the various mountains of the continent. With that said, here is a list of races that are available for players to choose from.

Humans
Humans are, perhaps, one of the most adaptable races found throughout the continent and by far more numerous than the dwarves and elves, only rivalled by the orcs. They are primary species of Baldock and have adapted to the harsh cold that persists in that north, showing their determination to survive in nearly any climate that they set their minds to. Yet, they do not boast the strength of the orcs, the perception and dexterity of the elves, or the hardy and long-lived nature of the dwarf.

Orcs
Orcs are a scattered people, strong and unwilling to cooperate with most other races unless it advances their own honor throughout the world. This has led to a particular rivalry between the imperialistic humans who seek to oppress them and use them as strong labor in their fields. Orcs are proud and live by the traditions of the desert where one must be strong and have the endurance to survive the brutal heat. This has led to a general consensus that the orcs are less learned than the other species, but they hold the same ability to learn as the humans and dwarves. They are the second most common species in Baldock, though still operate as a significantly lesser minority, a majority having been brought in to be used a small workforce.

Dwarves
Dwarves, perhaps, are some of the most long-lived and least common species to be found in Baldock as they remain as independent nations states within the two mountains that occupy the countryside, Narhoul and Dogrear. They hold and technological edge over the humans, though as of late they have entered into a stagnancy in their development with their plates of armor and weapons, while still better than most of what humans can make, are merely maintained from generation to generation at this time. They are a rare sight outside of their mountain-forts, only coming out to trade or in dire cases, to raid.

Elves
Elves, like humans, are perhaps a moderately adaptable race, but they find it much harder to get around from their forested south as they are much more frail than even humans. To make up for their frail and sickly nature, they have evolved higher reflexes and have an increased perception, namely in the form of sight and hearing. They are not seen as trustworthy by humans and dwarves as many of them tend to cause trouble, or rather they tend to get blamed for trouble, whenever they are around.

Half-Bloods
While Half-Bloods are not unheard of between the races, whenever one comes about, it is very prejudiced as they are seen as lesser from both sides of their lineage, being “unclean” and more abomination than person. Whether it be Orc and Elf, Human and Dwarf, they are generally neutered, or what is more common, put to death despite taking on aspects from both of their parents, though in a lesser and more moderate degree. Additionally, Half-Bloods do not have the ability to reproduce, whether or not this is because the gods look down on such creations is up for debate.

The Kingdom of Baldock

Notable Locations

Dalton
Dalton is the capital of the Kingdom of Baldock, having a population of nearly 745,000 souls, it is one of the largest cities on the continent and home to the family of Bright, the ruling family of the nation. Being one of the only cities in Baldock with a proper dock, it has grown into a prominent trading hub in the Northern Sea and is lucrative in supporting the massive population that lives there. This city has massive, stone walls said to be built by ancient dwarves hired to construct such a monument, though the slums of the city have spilled out of the protection of these walls long ago. Additionally, the city is home to the only professional magician school, designed to teach students about the dangers of magic rather than having the students practice their powers.

Malcast
Long has this city been on such peculiar grounds that the curse that now haunts it was not originally perceived as great a threat as one may think. The city is the home of the Lochborne family, who rules the city with debauchery and sin as their power, reinforced by the King, is abused to increase their own power and not provide for its people. Such autocracy and ruthlessness is assumed to be why the curse came to be, but given the curse affects all, it is still unknown, though it has rallied the peasants and freemen to protest the rule of the Lochborne. Malcast, having no port of its own and only relying on the yearly harvest of the Lochborne Estate, is now suffering a food shortage, adding to the suffering of the people.

The Lochborne Estate
Nearly 60 miles away from the city of Malcast, the Estate consists of sprawling farms and a large fortified mansion in a hilly countryside. The weather there now is abhorrent as dark clouds block the sunlight and the curse kills the land of the estate. In the generations of the Lochborne family living there, why now has the curse just came up?

Brief History

The history of Baldock is a long a tenuous one founded in the blood and rebellion from the Great Empire of Tara nearly a thousand years ago. The Dukes and Lords that lived within the region had been prosecuted for their growing power and eventually, when the now declining power of the Great Empire of Tara had begun to suffer a string of large rebellions that began to pick away at its insides, the nation of Baldock managed to rip free the chains of oppression that held them down, allying with Dwarven Lords, Elven Matriarchs, and Orc Chieftain alike as they toppled the great power. Under such duress, the Empire of Tara collapsed, it’s forces stretched thin and troops being routed on all fronts. Thus was the birth of the proud nation that is still dwarfed in size by the Empire of Tara.

In the peace that ensued, Baldock expanded south and established a vassal to act as a border against the Empire of Tara, the vassalage of Fenlia. Such a vassal has proved used in deterring the armies of Tara from future wars as it attempted to reclaim what power it could, as the Wars of Deterrence raged after a poultry thirty years after what was supposed to be a great peace. This war, however, did not play out as easily for Baldock as it had in the past as the nation had become the primary focus the Imperial Army. Pitched battles and ambushes raged throughout the countryside of Fenlia and no winner was determined from the war as Empire of Tara was forced to retreat and winter at home, allowing for the new lords of Baldock to lick their own wounds.

Summer after summer, and winter after winter, the Empire of Tara attempted to break through Fenlia but never have they been able to get the decisive battle that they needed. As such, Bardock was able to reinforce it’s armies and adopted military traditions that improved its own logistical capabilities and tactics to better suit the northern hills that it would commonly fight in. Though, such wars are hardly talked about anymore, as the Empire of Tara eventually consolidated its power and signed a white peace with lords that make up Bardock. However, with the Empire finding a defeat once more, it was decided that holding onto the northern territories was more of a hassle than it was worth and allowed those nations to be free after its forces were brought back to proper imperial lands.

The raving orc bands of the deserts declared their own independence from Tara, offering a further buffer between Baldock and the Empire, but making the frontier territories a dangerous land to be. Many expeditions were sent into those orcish warbands to claim more land, but they suffered a defeat that sent the Kingdom reeling. Unknowing true defeat, the King of Baldock has since made such a large invasion into those lands, instead focusing to fight to its east and west with the newly formed nations of Yolotco to its east and Kunizu to its west.

While wars were fought, little land was gained, leaving Baldock to consolidate its power and make sure that its vassal to continue to stay under the rule of its northern lords. However, such wars were fought many, many times and Fenlia became known as the ‘Land of Rebellion’ as Fenlian lords who desired independence constantly rose and fell making the region all the more unstable.

Culture

The culture of Baldock is that of military and pride, much like the Taran culture to the south. The Baldock boy seeks to ready himself to be called to a life of war, lest he be called a coward and ousted from society. Until his honor be regained on the field of battle, or he prove himself worthy in the eyes of a noble, there is no salvation until he has died. The boy will go out to become a man or he will die and rid the nation of a burden that cannot serve to forward the King’s wishes.

The land rewards the hardworking Baldock, too, of course. They stalk game with bow and arrow; they forage their forests; they net the bogs for iron, and pull up minerals from the skin of the earth: nickel, jet, coal, amber-gold. But these are the realms of old, fearful men, men who have lost their luck and whose spirits have gone to ash. The sea belongs to those with spirits still ablaze. It makes fishermen of the smallest of them. Many again are traders in fat times and plunderers in lean, buying meat or stealing it from other lands when their own has yielded none, taking only enough slaves to see their chores done back home. A decent living is always easy to earn on the lakes and rivers, too: the demand never dries up for young, strong workers to portage ships, loaded with casks and weapons, from water to water. But the greatest of these men, the ones with infernos inside, they go hunting.

The Dangers of Magic

Magic, within the confines of this setting, is a double edged sword as whatever spells that may be cast by a magician who may be touched with the ability to harness such a power, will touch the caster as well. A healer who tends to a wounded party member may find that those wounds burn into the skin of the healer and cause immense pain until they would be normally healed. A magician who seeks to launch a ball of fire at their enemy would find that they have been set on fire by their own magic and may very well die. However, such drawbacks are often random in their intensity, but the mere fact that such drawbacks exist make many wary of even using the “gift”.

It is due to this fact alone that there is no centralized magical circle, save for the school in Dalton who only seeks to deter the use of magic rather than encourage it. With such, there are no commonly used spells or knowledge that is passed down from mage to mage as those would want to teach it have likely died from their own spells. Additionally, those who openly use magic in Baldock, are typically seen as fools and are commonly avoided lest they see a fool kill themselves wielding a power not reserved for the mortal being.

Heed not the fools, for the magician will always die in their youth.

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• Avoid power playing or god-modding. If you're unsure about taking a certain action ask the group/GM through the OOC or in PMs respectively.
• Please do not harass or insult your fellow players. If you are running into a problem please message the GMs in a private message.
• Consult fellow players before making sweeping decisions about the World State. Choices that change the world or impact multiple characters requires the agreement/consideration of the party.
• Secrets among characters are fine, but make sure to message the GM to ensure they can prepare properly.
• Try to avoid OOC chat in the IC
• When creating characters and posts please stick to the setting and theme as best you can. The World is an ever-updating tool for you to use, and I'm always a PM away!
• Please alert the GM if you are expecting to be away for an extended period of time. This is totally okay, but it's nice to know before you head off. Emergencies happen, and the GM reserves the right to use your character and your related NPCs to progress the story forward as to avoid the RP stalling.
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Character Sheet

[center][h2]C H A R A C T E R N A M E[/h2]
(potential picture here)
[/center]

[b]Gender[/b]
[b]Age:[/b]
[b]Race:[/b]
[b]Profession:[/b] Are you a mercenary? A jester perhaps? Maybe even a cultist...

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[center][h3]DETAILS[/h3][/center]

[b]Detailed Appearance:[/b] No need to go above 5 paragraphs unless you want to, just be detailed (especially if not using a reference picture)

[b]Detailed Backstory:[/b] Perhaps the most important aspect of this character sheet, make as in-depth and as detailed as possible and feel free to world build through the eyes of your character! Be prepared for me to thoroughly judge this.

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[center][h3]Equipment[/h3][/center]

[b]Weapons:[/b]
[b]Armor:[/b]
[b]General Provisions:[/b]
[b]Magical Items:[/b] (leave this blank at the start)

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[center][h3]Magic[/h3][/center]

[b]Magical Affinity:[/b] How strong you character has to the forces of magic, if any at all. Due note, I will be keeping an eye on the number of magic users. If there are too many, then I will ask that a character either reduce their affinity or remove it entirely, though I do want to avoid doing this.
[b]Spells:[/b] Limit the amount of spells your character has to three and balance them as best you can, remember that all spells have drawbacks and the stronger the spell, the stronger the drawback. You may create any type of spell you desire as magic is decentralized.

And finally, thank you for showing interest! If you have any questions, do not be afraid to ask me something!

Be afraid of the cursed lands that haunt us.

[Enzayne]

So, I figured I would throw my hat into this ring. I tried to do a thing with my backstory. You'll either like it or hate it.

Javiyah the Heretic

J A V I Y A H

Gender: Female
Age: 30’s
Race: Human
Profession: Scholar

DETAILS

Detailed Appearance:
A woman with features vaguely reminiscent of the Taran southerners, with tan skin from a heritage by the deserts, and voluminous, coal-black, hair that nevertheless has been shortened to end as her neck does. Her face is well-defined and dominated by a sharp nose and strong cheekbones. Furthermore, the right side of her face has been permanently marked with an archaic tattoo, the meaning of which is lost to those who do not burrow themselves in books. It skids around the bottom of her eye, drawing attention to her vigilant brown iris. Likewise, a solid line has been permanently inked over the middle of her lips, running down under her chin.

She dresses primarily in traveler’s cloaks, thick articles to resist weather and sun, though the baggy sleeves of a considerably nicer undershirt can be observed. When she is not bogged down by cowls and cloaks, her clothes are strapped close to her body and fitted for mobility and breathability. She is by no means an imposing figure, barely a thumb taller than your average Baldock lady, but the robes belie the figure beneath all the same; certainly athletic for a purported scholar.

Bronze fittings embellish her arms and legs, clipping shut the baggy sleeves and pantaloons. She wears the shoes of a cobbler’s daughter; pragmatic, cheap, and without fanfare.

Detailed Backstory:

With a quiet rasp of flint, the paper sparks and catches a small flame. The woman lights the candle and blows the paper out, before stowing it back from whence it came. “So, you asked who I am? My story is a long and arduous one, my friend, but I can see in your eyes now that you are no man to back away from a tale to be heard.
Perhaps the honest truth is where we should begin? With a risk of boring you, friend, the simple truth is that I am no one special. My parents were simple people, living each day as the sun rose. For many years, we tended my father’s goats, my brother’s geese. That is the finest life, you see, to smile as it rains, laugh with your family, and wonder what lies beyond the horizon. Rarely will you see a man in the city full of glee for another day, a magistrate with time for his wife, or a scribe with wonder left in his eyes. But you need not ask the question, comrade, I know already what you wonder; why would I extol the virtues of a simple life far from this place, yet sit here before you?

Such is the fickleness of the simple life, it shall forever be unaware of what lurks beyond the dune, whether it be riches or war. With such a life, the ignorance of the simple man cannot be blamed when he becomes a victim of circumstance. Likewise can we no more blame the passion of the warrior, whose blood runs hot in his veins for glory, vengeance, or justice. Nor the commander, who sits in his tent, tired eyes focused on the pieces upon his map – a world where only the marked pawns matter. It must be a terrible life, to worry in that way. But the world does not care. Death, is death. Our blood looks the same as the goat’s blood, just as the geese. Under the sun, the simple man’s blood is no different from that of the soldier over the hill. Perhaps it is an easy mistake to make, with such in mind.

Do not give me that pity that now builds within you, my friend, decades have passed and the sun has seen much blood spilled since that fateful day. I am simply here because my mother hid me under all our linens as the men came down the hill. A random, panicked act, perhaps. Or perhaps the deal she made with the world, their lives for mine.

That is the second trouble of the simple life; it can be taken away, and like accidentally insulting the king to his face, the life you had can never be returned to. We are different from who we were yesterday. Indeed, you are different for simply listening to me now. You may deny it all you wish, but like all words, like all actions, this day will linger in the back of your mind. As that day did in mine, as I wandered the land. When you come from the simple life, you do what you can to cling to it. You know it is the best life that can be had. But as I said, life can not be returned to. I could no longer smile at the sun, reminded of a better time. I no longer had a family to laugh with. I could however, released from my bonds, find out what wonders lay beyond the horizon.

I see you looking at the insignia under my eye. Like my origins, it is not a riveting tale. At the sun’s first light at the end of the week, a restless soul found me defeated by heat and hunger. I had surrendered to the fickleness of nature even after my mother’s trade, such was my weakness. The traveler, perhaps understanding more of the world than I, denied me such a paltry surrender. Whisked me away to a land of musty tomes, star-maps and learned talk. I had no mind for it, I am after all from the simple life. To worry about the nature of water, the heat of fire or the span of a man’s life, these are not things that bring comfort. I had seen comfort, but it could never be returned.

So I worried about the nature of the stars. Pondered the significance of ancient texts. With my new family of worried scribes, I searched for the answers to all the wonders of the simple life. With each answer, as I knew, the life I longed for grew more and more distant. The simple life was unfulfilling. Tame. This is the curse of knowledge, my friend. To know is to worry. And I knew many things. I worried so much that this blemish on my face – yes, under my eye – was a necessity. Do not ask me why, even though I see you wish it. Knowing it will not help you.

Only the perils of the unnatural remained a true mystery. Like you, the curiosities of what I do not know catches my heart. That is our remnants from the simple life, the wonder from beyond the horizon. I came to this land, Baldock, for the prestigious school of the learned. The unnatural arts. You have heard of it? Good. Unfortunately, my disappointment was immeasurable.

Unlike my new family, there was no knowledge there. Only worrying. No debates, no true studies. Only the inevitable failure of arrogant men trying to stifle the curiosities of the simple life. But I had travelled too far. I had left a second family behind. Instead, I resolved I would learn the wonders of this new land. Perhaps find a third family to eventually leave for the answers on the far side of the hill. And that is what I have done, my friend. If you wished to know who I met along the way, it would be fair to say we would be here all the week. But there is a new mystery, for you, for me. That is why we are both here, is it not? I hope you understand a little better, now, that I am no one special.
What else can I hope to be, among the wonders of the world?”

Equipment

Weapons: Arming knife
Armor: Quilted cloth
General Provisions: Enough talismans and trinkets to fill a year’s worth of stories. Rations for a few days.
Magical Items:

Magic

Magical Affinity: Javiyah has an innate understanding of the world and magic (or so it would seem) and appears to have a deep affinity for the unnatural arts, whether through symbology or innate ability is anyone’s guess.

Spells:

Wisdom of the Diamond Eye – After reproducing archaic symbols and chanting in a strange language, Javiyah’s tattoo glows and her eye appears to harden and gleam as though it were a diamond. Those unlucky enough to stare at her markings or eye find themselves rooted in place, unable to command their body. Staring for too long at the diamond eye invites maddening visions of a mirrored version of the world, where grass is crystallized and bleak, and the world’s features has been replaced by crystalline structures. Those foolish enough to maintain their gaze might find the landscape permanently changed. Likewise, using her eye in this manner strikes Javiyah with blindness both during and after the fact. Perhaps permanently, if she uses it with enough abandon.

Curse of Knowledge – Quite literally a curse, Javiyah chants a seemingly endless string of words that follow no modern conventions or reason, which by their very nature appear to catch the attention of listeners around her, no matter their race, creed or even species. The results are random, and dangerous. Those hearing enough of the words might be driven temporarily or permanently mad, enraged, fall into despair, or simply drop to the ground screaming. They partake in some fundamental truth of the universe, driven by Javiyah’s own need to know everything. Javiyah herself is entirely immobile during this experience and is by no means immune to outside influence. Furthermore, she is not immune to it’s effects, although it’s effect on her soul might not be so immediately apparent.

The Simple Life – Perhaps the easiest spell to stomach in Javiyah’s repertoire, this simple incantation requires that the woman physically touch her target while chanting her inane soliloquies. When struck in this manner, the unfortunate target of her attentions is gripped by a sudden stupor, forgetting what they were doing and dropping all previous matters to stare vacantly ahead of them. Interacting with them will jostle most people from this temporary curse, though the longer they are left alone, the harder it becomes to pull them from the day-dream. Whatever price Javiyah pays for using this strange spell, it is not readily apparent from watching her.

[Lauder]

Eyyyyy. I’ll take a good, long look at the character sheet when I get home! Thanks for showing the interest.

damned knife ear, eldar, xeno. The inquisitarium will terminate you

[Rtron]

Interested!

[Lauder]

@Rtron

Huzzah!

[Lauder]

@Enzayne

Review for Javiyah the Heretic

Javiyah the Heretic

J A V I Y A H

Gender: Female
Age: 30’s
Race: Human
Profession: Scholar

DETAILS

Detailed Appearance:
A woman with features vaguely reminiscent of the Taran southerners, with tan skin from a heritage by the deserts, and voluminous, coal-black, hair that nevertheless has been shortened to end as her neck does. Her face is well-defined and dominated by a sharp nose and strong cheekbones. Furthermore, the right side of her face has been permanently marked with an archaic tattoo, the meaning of which is lost to those who do not burrow themselves in books. It skids around the bottom of her eye, drawing attention to her vigilant brown iris. Likewise, a solid line has been permanently inked over the middle of her lips, running down under her chin.

She dresses primarily in traveler’s cloaks, thick articles to resist weather and sun, though the baggy sleeves of a considerably nicer undershirt can be observed. When she is not bogged down by cowls and cloaks, her clothes are strapped close to her body and fitted for mobility and breathability. She is by no means an imposing figure, barely a thumb taller than your average Baldock lady, but the robes belie the figure beneath all the same; certainly athletic for a purported scholar.

Bronze fittings embellish her arms and legs, clipping shut the baggy sleeves and pantaloons. She wears the shoes of a cobbler’s daughter; pragmatic, cheap, and without fanfare.

Detailed Backstory:

With a quiet rasp of flint, the paper sparks and catches a small flame. The woman lights the candle and blows the paper out, before stowing it back from whence it came. “So, you asked who I am? My story is a long and arduous one, my friend, but I can see in your eyes now that you are no man to back away from a tale to be heard.
Perhaps the honest truth is where we should begin? With a risk of boring you, friend, the simple truth is that I am no one special. My parents were simple people, living each day as the sun rose. For many years, we tended my father’s goats, my brother’s geese. But what might be the name of these family members? Such details are rewarded! That is the finest life, you see, to smile as it rains, laugh with your family, and wonder what lies beyond the horizon. Rarely will you see a man in the city full of glee for another day, a magistrate with time for his wife, or a scribe with wonder left in his eyes. But you need not ask the question, comrade, I know already what you wonder; why would I extol the virtues of a simple life far from this place, yet sit here before you? I do like how this history is going, being told as a story helps to understand that it seems Javiyah seeks a nice and simple life. Marvelous!

Such is the fickleness of the simple life, it shall forever be unaware of what lurks beyond the dune, whether it be riches or war. With such a life, the ignorance of the simple man cannot be blamed when he becomes a victim of circumstance. Likewise can we no more blame the passion of the warrior, whose blood runs hot in his veins for glory, vengeance, or justice. Nor the commander, who sits in his tent, tired eyes focused on the pieces upon his map – a world where only the marked pawns matter. It must be a terrible life, to worry in that way. But the world does not care. Death, is death. Our blood looks the same as the goat’s blood, just as the geese. Under the sun, the simple man’s blood is no different from that of the soldier over the hill. Perhaps it is an easy mistake to make, with such in mind.

Do not give me that pity that now builds within you, my friend, decades have passed and the sun has seen much blood spilled since that fateful day. I am simply here because my mother hid me under all our linens as the men came down the hill. A random, panicked act, perhaps. Or perhaps the deal she made with the world, their lives for mine. Why did these men run down that hill and commit the travesty of the warrior? Did the family do something to anger a noble, mere raiders seeking plunder? Or is the reason merely unknown to the terrified girl?

That is the second trouble of the simple life; it can be taken away, and like accidentally insulting the king to his face, the life you had can never be returned to. We are different from who we were yesterday. Indeed, you are different for simply listening to me now. You may deny it all you wish, but like all words, like all actions, this day will linger in the back of your mind. As that day did in mine, as I wandered the land. When you come from the simple life, you do what you can to cling to it. You know it is the best life that can be had. But as I said, life can not be returned to. I could no longer smile at the sun, reminded of a better time. I no longer had a family to laugh with. I could however, released from my bonds, find out what wonders lay beyond the horizon.

I see you looking at the insignia under my eye. Like my origins, it is not a riveting tale. At the sun’s first light at the end of the week, a restless soul found me defeated by heat and hunger. I had surrendered to the fickleness of nature even after my mother’s trade, such was my weakness. The traveler, perhaps understanding more of the world than I, denied me such a paltry surrender. Whisked me away to a land of musty tomes, star-maps and learned talk. I had no mind for it, I am after all from the simple life. To worry about the nature of water, the heat of fire or the span of a man’s life, these are not things that bring comfort. I had seen comfort, but it could never be returned. Did this traveller have a name? Where exactly was she taken? Was she still in Tara or somewhere else?

So I worried about the nature of the stars. Pondered the significance of ancient texts. With my new family of worried scribes, I searched for the answers to all the wonders of the simple life. With each answer, as I knew, the life I longed for grew more and more distant. The simple life was unfulfilling. Tame. This is the curse of knowledge, my friend. To know is to worry. And I knew many things. I worried so much that this blemish on my face – yes, under my eye – was a necessity. Do not ask me why, even though I see you wish it. Knowing it will not help you. Was there any other tales she had with this new family? Did she make any friends? Did she even care for them?

Only the perils of the unnatural remained a true mystery. Like you, the curiosities of what I do not know catches my heart. That is our remnants from the simple life, the wonder from beyond the horizon. I came to this land, Baldock, for the prestigious school of the learned. The unnatural arts. You have heard of it? Good. Unfortunately, my disappointment was immeasurable. Did she travel to Baldock for any other reason, or was merely her own mortal curiosity that drove her to seek more knowledge?

Unlike my new family, there was no knowledge there. Only worrying. No debates, no true studies. Only the inevitable failure of arrogant men trying to stifle the curiosities of the simple life. But I had travelled too far. I had left a second family behind. Instead, I resolved I would learn the wonders of this new land. Perhaps find a third family to eventually leave for the answers on the far side of the hill. And that is what I have done, my friend. If you wished to know who I met along the way, it would be fair to say we would be here all the week. But there is a new mystery, for you, for me. That is why we are both here, is it not? I hope you understand a little better, now, that I am no one special.
What else can I hope to be, among the wonders of the world?”

One fact I would like to see is the connection to the Lochborne’s as they reached out to their friends? Was one of the scholars a member of such a family or did she meet a member at the school?

Equipment

Weapons: Arming knife
Armor: Quilted cloth
General Provisions: Enough talismans and trinkets to fill a year’s worth of stories. Rations for a few days.
Magical Items:

Magic

Magical Affinity: Javiyah has an innate understanding of the world and magic (or so it would seem) and appears to have a deep affinity for the unnatural arts, whether through symbology or innate ability is anyone’s guess.

Spells:

Wisdom of the Diamond Eye – After reproducing archaic symbols and chanting in a strange language, Javiyah’s tattoo glows and her eye appears to harden and gleam as though it were a diamond. Those unlucky enough to stare at her markings or eye find themselves rooted in place, unable to command their body. Staring for too long at the diamond eye invites maddening visions of a mirrored version of the world, where grass is crystallized and bleak, and the world’s features has been replaced by crystalline structures. Those foolish enough to maintain their gaze might find the landscape permanently changed. Likewise, using her eye in this manner strikes Javiyah with blindness both during and after the fact. Perhaps permanently, if she uses it with enough abandon.

Curse of Knowledge – Quite literally a curse, Javiyah chants a seemingly endless string of words that follow no modern conventions or reason, which by their very nature appear to catch the attention of listeners around her, no matter their race, creed or even species. The results are random, and dangerous. Those hearing enough of the words might be driven temporarily or permanently mad, enraged, fall into despair, or simply drop to the ground screaming. They partake in some fundamental truth of the universe, driven by Javiyah’s own need to know everything. Javiyah herself is entirely immobile during this experience and is by no means immune to outside influence. Furthermore, she is not immune to it’s effects, although it’s effect on her soul might not be so immediately apparent.

The Simple Life – Perhaps the easiest spell to stomach in Javiyah’s repertoire, this simple incantation requires that the woman physically touch her target while chanting her inane soliloquies. When struck in this manner, the unfortunate target of her attentions is gripped by a sudden stupor, forgetting what they were doing and dropping all previous matters to stare vacantly ahead of them. Interacting with them will jostle most people from this temporary curse, though the longer they are left alone, the harder it becomes to pull them from the day-dream. Whatever price Javiyah pays for using this strange spell, it is not readily apparent from watching her. But what is the price? I need to know such things, but overall I do find the spell quite good!

Overall, I find this to be a very good character sheet! Javiyah would make a good pick though, of course, there are some nitpicks that I have done, namely in the backstory of the character, which I do find rather intriguing as you told it in the first-person as a story. There are things I would like to see fleshed out there, such as the traveler, the scholars, and her connection to the Lochborne family. Additionally, I would like to see some clearer punishments from the spells, even if they are not apparent on the outside. Again, this is a very good sheet and do like the character and the direction that she is going!

EDIT: The copy paste decided to ignore my critiques becaused I threatened to report you to the Inquisitarium it seems. Ughhh, hah. Have fun reading it again xd

[Enzayne]

@Lauder Will get to work on some fixes to address your points later today. Just as planned, the infiltration has taken a gentle root. I'm pretty excited to see how this unfolds.

[Famotill]

Just want to say sorry in advance for the lengthy backstory. My character is older though so I felt I should give at least some description of her past. Also her name is pronounced like "I'm-ma". If there are any questions/concerns lmk. I can fix up anything I need to.

Aemma the Atoner

Aemma

"All physicians, mage or otherwise, bear the scars of their patients. We carry them for the rest of our days. That is what it means to be a healer. That is our burden."

Gender: Female
Age: 53
Race: Elf
Profession: Medic

DETAILS

Detailed Appearance:

Aemma's appearance is far from foreboding. She stands much shorter than most of her kind. Her lithe shape, old age, and declining physical prowess have left her hunched over slightly most of the time. Even still, buried beneath mounds of ragged clothes, an overcoat and hood, there is a roguish streak about her. Her skin, the color of cinnamon spices, is tough and wrinkled. Calloused hands from years of service as a combat medic are still her best ally despite their slight shakiness. Aemma's weary eyes are a deep black, but made somehow more soft nestled between crows-feet and bags. Her smile is warm, but even at her happiest there is a melancholy she carries with her.

Typically her linen are without color, a dull grey. Her overcoat and hood are a mix of steel grey and black. She wears knee high boots leather boots. On her person at all time are a number of medicinal supplies and recipes stored in pouches and pockets that line her clothing. Torn gloves do little to hide the bandages that wrap around her hands and wrists beneath. Her tattered coat flows to her shins, and her hood obscures most of her white whittling hair save for parts of her bangs.

Aemma's body is scarred nearly everywhere because of her healing magic. Her face has finer scars, save for a healed gash on her cheek, as most people who have injuries to the head either don't survive them or don't have injuries that practical medicine can't fix. Lining most of her body are stab wounds, burns, gashes, and other manner of scars from injuries she never personally received. The clothing manages to hide most of them save for the occasional wrist or neck scar.

Detailed Backstory:

Elfroot, Swampseed, two cups of Blight Milk

Like most born in Baldock, I was a child forged by blood oaths and swords. An empire who accounted not for souls, for people, but for the shields they'd soon carry. I suppose that explains the naivete of my mother and father, Maker keep them. They were elves born to foreign lands poor and tired of rule under the Elven Matriarchs. They'd hoped Baldock would be different. Tis often I reflect on the failings of old wisdom, and how comfortable it is to simply exist. Consistency. That is what Myrran and Paeral sought in foreign lands. A sense of normalcy away from the realities of home. A neutral peace.

For a time that is what they had. I was born on the eve of the latest excursion into Orc territory. Myrran, my mother, had taken to working as a handmaiden to petty nobles. Paeral, my father, was a sheep herder. Our humble home stored one bed with a kitchen no larger than a merchant stand. I remember my father would read me stories of their homeland. Of the triumphs of our elven ancestors. He never had the courage to tell my mother that he regretted coming here. My mother was a stern women so, for that, I could not fault my father. She spent much time away from our cottage. Still, she always managed to return home with fresh bread and a new lecture.

Of all of the lessons she imparted there remained one constant. Keep your nose down, and stay out of trouble. I was never great at listening. I had little want for keeping to the shadows of the world that was. It was a different kind of naivete than my parents'. I would see the soldiers coming back from failed excursions. I watched as the physicians treated them with leeches and controlled magic. It was the same kind of power that I possessed. I could feel their life force humming in their hands.

In this world very few are blessed with the tools to change their circumstances. By the time I was old enough, I traveled into the city of Dalton. I'd heard of their academy, and I had already learned to use the magic I possessed in small ways. My father pleaded that I reconsider. My mother refused every time I begged. I'd trail behind her every morning on her way into the city. It took months of my pestering, but eventually she permitted me to go.

The things I learned in that school were not at all what I expected. Instead of a place to harness my power it was a place of fear-mongering. A place that taught me to fear my capabilities rather than teach me how to use them safely. Luckily there were those in the city who disagreed with such methods of teaching. I learned what I could from them, and from the academy. I trained closely with Dalton physicians.

All of my greatest lessons came from my work as a medic in combat. I served as doctor to soldiers in the field. Fear of bleeding out leaves little room for error or for nerves. It was here that I would meet my husband. Lambert the Toad Knight, they called him. The old fool was a novice in soldier's armor. I think back on those days with a bittersweet nostalgia. I watched the fire fall from his eyes when the injuries never stopped coming. It wasn't long before he was forced to retire his sword. After returning home to him I found little reason to endanger myself again in direct combat. I saw how the Orcs brutalized our forces. At the time I had hated their kind, for it. Seeing men ripped asunder time after time will break you in ways unimaginable to most. Even the most righteous men seem monsters when they cast large shadows.

Elfroot, Swampseed, two cups of Blight Milk

There was another reason I chose to stay home. I was with child. I moved from my parents' cottage into the city with Lambert. My mother was overjoyed to see me settled down. But she would never see her wishes for me fulfilled. She passed away a fortnight before I delivered my son, Orym. Named for one of the fabled elven mages in the stories his grandfather read to me as a child. My mother's death left my father touched. He locked himself away in their cottage. Lambert and I ensured that the livestock, and my father, kept from starving. Eventually my father refused to eat. He passed on when Orym was but four months old. With my parents gone I was left feeling empty. I buried myself in research, and in doing so was confronted with the vision of the world I once had. I'd settled for comfort. For the world the way it was. I enlisted as a medic when Orym was seven months old.

Like my mother before me I spent most of my time away from home. I worked in the barracks, mostly. I treated soldiers returning home, but I also treated war prisoners when they got sick. It was in caring for these patients that I met some of my closest friends. Somehow it was easier forming bonds with people who never really got better. There is wisdom in a waning soul. Especially in one that had seen what they'd seen. One such Orc prisoner, Xalen, was a scholar before Baldock forces pushed into orc lands. He told me of the beautiful vistas to the south. Of his home, and of his family. The reasons he fought. Xalen was resilient. He was a brutish figure, but as the wrinkles thickened on our faces so too did our health decline. The conditions wore him down. It was a cough first, and then lesions next. I applied the treatments I'd given to every sick prisoner brought into the ward. What they ordered me to give them. It never changed much. They always lost their fight, in the end.

Elfroot, Swampseed, two cups of Blight Milk

Xalen soon lost his fight too. The assistant physicians carried him off like so many others. But he wasn't the others. He was one of the brightest men I'd ever met. I refused to let his body be burned without given him a prayer to our Maker. I went to the morgue at midnight. What I saw changed me forever. Xalen's body, among the other orcs, was bloated and the lesions where gangrenous. I studied his body for what felt like hours. I never studied orc physiology, but I knew what poison looked like. The reality was that I already had my answer. I wasn't studying them for some other explanation. I was trying to justify what I'd done. The orders I followed. We were't treating these people. We were killing them.

In my fumbling I was sloppy, careless. I was found by night patrol guards, and imprisoned. I knew the barracks and the cells better than any of them. By the time I escaped however, it was too late. I'd returned home to a house rummaged through. Lambert was nowhere to be seen. I found my Orym, just shy of twenty, ran through on the floor. His coughs were dry and hoarse. He was burning up. I knew I needed to stop the bleeding and bring down his fever. I used my magic to try to close his wounds. As the hole in his chest closed I felt a tearing and burning at my own chest. The pain was unbearable. Through that I managed to close most of the wound, but he still was choking up blood. He'd become ill. In that moment I thought of my Orym laying there for hours crying for his mother. Shaking the thought I searched for the ingredients to try and soothe him.

Elfroot, Swampseed, two cups of Blight Milk. Most of my equipment and supplies was smashed on the floor. No doubt Orym tried to fight back. A fool just as his father was. I'd managed to scrape some of the elfroot from the floor, and I had a spare bundle of swamp-seeds. In that moment I was panicked. I was careless.

Elfroot, Swampseed, two cups of Blight Milk, and Nightshade. Maker, I swear I could never forget it again.

I couldn't save my son. I certainly couldn't cut through armed guards and save my husband. I contemplated residing myself to the same fate as my father. That's what my mind commanded me to do. Unfortunately, I was never great at listening.

Now I wander the realm using my body and my magic to set things right. I will atone for my mistakes. I am a healer to the sick and the oppressed. Each scar that curses this withering body is a small redemption for the lives I took. Never did I think my newfound purpose would bring me back to the Kingdom of Baldock willingly, no less under the employ of a noble family. The Lochborne's offered me clemency to move freely through their hold in return for my services. A darkness is coming.

I will not fail these people. I cannot.

Equipment

Weapons:Daggers- Aemma was never a skilled swordsman, but daggers were quick and discreet.
Armor: Tattered Redeemer's Robes-Aemma's robes are worn, but offer protection from the elements. She wants for little, and needs only her tools.
General Provisions:Medical Supplies- Aemma's coat and clothes are adorned with a number of pockets and pouches that hold a number of medicinal herbs and supplies.
Magical Items:

Magic

Magical Affinity: Aemma has very little offensive capability. Her magic is mostly used to heal the party, but can be used defensively to warn off attackers.

Spells:

Healing Hands: Aemma's primary minor healing ability. A minor spell that can heal small ailments quickly. This is particularly useful in combat as it has a very short cast time.
Healer's Oath: The more potent of Aemma's healing capabilities. This is a sustained spell that can heal grave and potentially fatal wounds. There are a number of downsides to this spell. The spell has a longer cast time, and Aemma sustains damage when healing someone. Closing wounds on another may create the wound on her own body. She heals faster from these wounds than an actual injury, but still requires rest after using it.

Ward of Protection: A defensive spell that allows Aemma to temporarily shield magic attacks. It can do nothing against physical/blunt attacks, but can deflect magical ones. Lack of training makes it difficult for her to fend off more than one or two attacks per ward created, and her time is usually better spent healing her allies.

[Enzayne]

The narrated backstory is going to be a thing. I'm sorry, @Lauder. <3

[Famotill]

@Enzayne Lmao, yeah you definitely made it a thing. It was so good. It was between that and the fact that the characters appearance and voice is inspired by an medieval elf version of Ana from Overwatch. So I was thinking of like "origin story" kinda thing.

[Lauder]

Gods damn it, a fad was started xD

[Enzayne]

@Famotill I have always been fascinated with narrated tales within a story. It's such a vehicle for plot and character that it's a shame it gets generalized as exposition more often than not.

[Famotill]

@Enzayne Ooh I actually agree! It also happens to translate very well to character sheets. I think it is a tricky thing to do in writing though (maybe because of the stigma), but I find it works fairly easily in media with animation or video. Just throw a montage in there or some transitioning still images, and call it a day.

[Lauder]

@Famotill

To be fair that is essentially what the Darkest Dungeon intro is.

[Lauder]

If we can get one more person to show interest, is definitely get an OOC up soon!

[TrueHarmony]

Interested.

[Lauder]

@TrueHarmony@Famotill@Enzayne@Rtron

And like that, I shall begin work on the OOC! Should have it up by today!

[Lauder]

@TrueHarmony@Famotill@Enzayne@Rtron

OOC is up!