Rapid Reader

The Sunday Group - The Flicker Cases

Anna Kerensky

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"You don't fool with magic because you are very boring, Clive," Anna said with a smirk, before another wave of nausea threatened the stability of her stomach, and left her side eyeing the desecrated bucket of organs.

"Don't you know that Jesus himself was a wizard?" She added when she finally managed to stave off the urge to vomit. Teasing the Gunslinger had rapidly become a cherished hobby for the trash alchemist. Clive was the serious sort. He was serious about guns. He was serious about killing monsters. And he was serious about his beliefs, less frequently uttered as they were. Anna, frequently lost in her own arcane fueled adventures, felt his seriousness had to be challenged, lest Eleanor and Clive somehow turn the Sunday Group into the Very Serious Sunday Group.

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

I've been pretty slow to post, but I plan to keep my collab running with @Bork Lazer as Blade/Ragwoman NOLA combo still amuses me.

I should probably get some solo Ragwoman posts in as well! :p

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Naivara Gray Wood Elf, Druid (Circle of the Moon), Level 3 HP: 24 / 24 Armor Class: 16 Conditions: N/A Location: The Infamous Pear Action: N/A Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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Greatly amused by the display of magic that the newly arrived gnome had performed, Naivara cheerfully clutched her second tankard of ale and eagerly awaited the toasted rye slices with spicy smashed beans and green-marble cheese that she had excitedly requested from the illustrious Miss May. Spices were one of the things Naivara loved most about civilization, second perhaps only to her love for cinnamon buns. Uncertain of how long she would stay in civilization, Naivara was a firm believer in always expanding her pallet when given the chance.

The young druid had clapped honestly and with a broad smile when the bard, Victoria, had clapped for the gnome wizard and his display of magic. Naivara perceived there to be much hope for amusement given the composition of the party. A good show was unfortunately rare in the deep forest. Traveling bards seemed oddly reluctant to share their talents with the wild animals of the forest. A missed opportunity in Naivara's opinion. Bears were not traditionally known for their love of music, but Naivara knew from experience that with a small amount of honey and a gentle tone, even the crankiest of ursine creatures could be coxed to partake in all manner of humorous festivities. Perhaps she would discuss the matter with Victoria at some later, Naivara mused. It was a shame to deprive the forest animals of wonderful things like music.

The conversations of the party moved much too fast for her comfort and Naivara was content to simply listen, offering polite nods when she suspected it was appropriate, and soft smiles when it seemed reasonable. The party was touched by magic she concluded thoughtfully as she learned more about her new companions. She did not mind this. Magic flowed through all things. Some of it was divine, some of it was arcane, and other parts of it, the often forgotten parts, were touched by nature itself. Magic was natural, magic was good, even if magic was occasionally turned towards vile, unnatural pursuits, true magic was not tainted by such evil and base motivations.

The Sheriff, the grizzled human man that finally appeared in front of the party, looked to be the capable sort. There were signs of age in his features and composure, but Naivara did not note the slowing that she had come to expect of old humans. She watched him carefully, shifting lightly in place as she noted the grim sword and chainmail armor he wore. It was her habit to treat all strangers, especially strangers with weapons cautiously. The smell of of oiled metal and worked leather accompanied the serious looking constable. Familiar scents for those inclined to martial pursuits. However, there was another smell, something faint, something half-remembered that Naivara could not quite manage to identify.

Once more withdrawing the letter that she had mysteriously received, Naivara handed the neatly folded piece of paper to the Sheriff with a cautious smile, "Here is your letter, I am Naivara, Naivara Gray."

Content with her second exceedingly brief introduction of the day, Naivara returned to quietly studying the interesting people surrounding her.

An Antique Land

Let's go!

Pretty much sticking to my idea from the Interest Check:

I think I shall endeavor to write a spore person, because mushrooms are cool.

A character concept I once thought about writing, but never wrote, was a collective of fungi operating as a parliamentary body in one body, so that might just be my ticket to this RP world.

@Rapid Reader

Either way definitely some form of mushroom.

An Antique Land (Science Fantasy RP)

I think I shall endeavor to write a spore person, because mushrooms are cool.

A character concept I once thought about writing, but never wrote, was a collective of fungi operating as a parliamentary body in one body, so that might just be my ticket to this RP world.

An Antique Land (Science Fantasy RP)

These are all things I like, so one ticket to Urth, please.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Naivara Gray Race, Class (Subclass Optional), Level 3 HP: 24 / 24 Armor Class: 16 Conditions: N/A Location: Straight out of the Forest --> Darenby -> The Infamous Pear --> Meeting Table Action: N/A Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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"Greetings, fellow travelers! Perhaps, there still remains room for another in your party? Yes? For I have come here from afar to offer my aid, as requested," Naivara interrupted, having silently approached the adventurers seated at the table. As the many eyes of the party settled on her, Naivara nervously readjusted a stray acorn that she had woven into her hair and smiled. She offered a gentle bow as she rested her right hand above her heart, "The Moon shines brightly on the hour of our meeting. Given the seriousness of our task, I am glad to see our numbers, and such promise in my new companions."

In her excitement, Naivara's speech took on an overly formal air and her words rose in the gentle way of the wood elves of the Great Eastern Forests. Naivara could feel a nervous energy within her chest. People were complicated. Conversations were difficult. She was rusty. She was so rusty. Badgers were poor conversational partners she thought with a deep pang of regret. She hoped there would be no jokes. She wasn't ready. She wasn't ready for humor. She felt out of practice. The barkeeper had not helped. He had talked much too fast. He had been far too happy. He had made many confusing jokes that Naivara had struggled to follow. She did not understand what bears had to do with hats of honey and boats of oak. Truly, she did not want to know.

The kindly proprietor of the Infamous Pear had rambled at her for the better part of a half an hour. She had tried to politely thank him for the tankard of dark ale she held between her slender hands. He had offered it to her freely, loudly shouting something about distinguished travelers and late arrivals. She had tried to escape with quick mutterings of her thanks. She had tried even harder to escape when he happily noted her elven features and launched into a long, deeply flawed retelling of the ballad Peren's Lament in Unarith, an ancient elven song telling the story of the knight-errant Ser Peren Meliamne, known as Oakenheel in the common tongue. It was an an unhappy tale, a great tragedy, concerning one of the legendary servants of the god Silvanus, the Oak Father, and his doomed quest to restore the equally ancient Forest of Imen Asari. Many elves would have thought it improper and unlucky to speak such a tragic story so readily and openly to a stranger. Naivara did not share such beliefs. She saw little to fear from innocent stories and instead much to learn. She took offense only at the many errors that littered the barkeeper's recitation and the savage butchery of every elven word or name that passed between his jovial lips.

Unwilling to wait for a reply and uncomfortable standing alone at the edge of the gathered table, Naivara moved quickly to sit down. Uncertain of the full number of the party and reluctant to deprive another of a seat, she grabbed an empty chair from a neighboring table and joined the other adventurers. She sat oddly, reposing comfortably as she draped across the chair, but clearly unused to or uninterested in the proper manner of sitting on a chair.

"I am Naivara, Naivara Gray," Naivara said with a sudden thoughtful pause, uncertain of what else to say. She preferred to say little about herself in the best of times and faced with seven fresh strangers, the young wood elf found a newfound reluctance to speak any further. Focusing on her tankard of ale, Naivara fought briefly against her natural inclinations for privacy. The people of the towns and cities were fond of conversation. They did not like silence. They did not understand slowly measured words. She did not want to appear rude, she did not want to seem uninterested, and she did not want to seem unkind. She had to say more. she had to share something. Something fitting. Something useful. Something short and simple.

"I received a letter," Naivara finally exclaimed with another soft smile, having arrived at a reasonably safe revelation. She pulled the carefully folded letter out from beneath her shirt. "A letter, a letter from Gregory Arbalest, Sheriff of Avonshire, asking for my aid in resolving matters related to... a marauding tribe of goblins."

"Although I must confess, I am not quite sure how the Sheriff's letter reached me," Naivara mused, gently waving the letter in her hand. "I am druid of the deep forest. A hermit? Yes! A hermit, as you people say. A wonderful word, it brings me much joy. Peace is a great gift when speaking to the forest. I must beg your pardon, for I have no other titles. I am a watcher of the wilderness."

Naivara took a deep breath, almost overwhelmed by the number of her own words,"Inked words on parchment. Letters. Letters generally do not travel very far beyond the roads. I do not receive many letters However, when words do reach me, by ink or raven, I do my best to help, and so here I am."

Satisfied with the extent of her conversational accomplishments, Naivara returned her chief attentions to her ale, sipping politely at the bitter liquid as she studied the other adventurers. Her features shifted with sudden dismay as she remembered the twilight that had welcomed her to the town, the number of her new companions, and the barkeeper's offhand comments about her lateness.

"Forgive me for the late hour of my arrival," she began apologetically, once more slipping into a formal rendition of the common tongue. "The unmarked paths are ever uncertain in this changing season."

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

Naivara Gray

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Naivara Gray

Full Size Image

Wood Elf, Druid (Circle of the Moon), Level 3

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STR: 10 (+0) DEX: 16 (+3) CON: 14 (+2) INT: 12 (+1) WIS: 19 (+4) CHA: 10 (+0)

HP MAX: 24 Armor Class: 16 Movement: 35 ft Spell DC: 14

Alignment: NG Defenses: (A) Charmed, (I) Sleep

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Full Character Sheet

Description

Although tall for a wood elf, Naivara is merely middling in height when compared to the average member of the other humanoid races. She has the lithe, graceful build that the elves are famed for, and in general a casual observer would say that she puts the wood elf in wood elf. Oddly for a druid, Naivara moves comfortably in the bustling city as she does in the heart of the deep wilderness. There is an easiness to all of her movements, a softness to her walk, and something wild in the way she strides. Perhaps as a result of her time away from other humanoids, Naivara has some odd habits. She sees little purpose in personal space and often stands far too close to people when talking. Most unfortunately if one cares about good manners, she has a habit of touching others without warning or smelling the air around a person, in the manner of a beast, as if she is trying to suss out some hidden information about a stranger.

A woodland creature, Naivara has hazel eyes, sharp eyes like those of a predatory animal that shine with an uneasy wildness. Her brown hair reaches just past her shoulders and Naivara keeps it perpetually tied into a tight pony tail. Naivara makes a habit of decorating her hair with small branches, leaves, and brambles she finds in her travels. She has copperish skin with faint tones of green in the right light. A lifetime spent in the wilderness is no easy task, even for a druid, and Naivara bears the marks of a life spent adventuring far from civilization. Her skin is a tapestry of small to moderately sized scars, all faded with time, and the warm colors of her skin make it clear that she spends most of her time outside.

She dresses as one would expect a druid of the forest, pragmatically and with the chief concern being an ability to quickly vanish into the forest. She wears a well-worn pair of leather boots, that she has resoled more times than she would be willing to count. She has a pair of thick wool breeches, dotted with patches and stitches where she has had to repair them. Over her waist she has a sturdy leather belt capable of holding all that she needs to be on hand. Her shirt is a muted gray, once several measures to long, time has worn it down, and the cut down sleeves now perfectly suit the druid. Often, but not always, Naivara will wear a simple suit of leather armor over her clothes, particularly when she is traveling in dangerous territory. To provide protection from the weather, Naivara tosses an ample cloak with a hood onto her shoulders, once a beautiful shade of midnight, the cloak now appears to be dyed a quietly dying and tattered gray.

Slung onto Naivara's belt with a strip of leather is a sturdy club, wrought in gnarled oak that looks to have seen quite some usage and far better days. A close inspection of the club will reveal a surprisingly intricate collection of wood carvings. Strapped to the small of her back, Naivara also carries a handcrafted stone knife, her druidic focus, with an oaken handle, that is adorned with ritual carvings depicting a sacred full moon hunt. An insightful observer might note that the carving on her weapon and druidic focus were clearly the work of the same artist.

Personality

Naivara is a strange creature, a constant traveler, a wandering hermit, and steadfast druid, driven by a curiosity to see the world, but shaped by the wilderness that has enveloped her soul.

A young elf and developing druid, she struggles with a desire to change the world for the better, while also protecting the natural world and maintaining the balance. Naivara earnestly believes that change is necessary, that those in danger should always be aided, and that passivity is never the answer to the troubles of the world. However, as a druid she feels bound to protect nature, to defend the forests, and to ensure that the animals thrive. Her goals are thus often conflicted and she struggles against dark thoughts and the words of some of her fellow druids that argue for more drastic actions to protect the balance that is necessary for nature to thrive. At her core, Naivara is a problem solver, she is no passive druid willing to watch from the sidelines, she acts, she acts with vigorously, and then she contemplates the matter. Like a beast of the wilderness, she has come to rely on her instincts, and she trusts them impeccably.

Driven to seek out her own isolation from others, Naivara bears all the hallmarks of a life spent in solitude. She is friendly enough, kind, and even interested in other people, but there is something unpracticed in the way she talks, the way she smiles, and the way she acts. Her manners are strange, her habits are odd, and sometimes she seems to be acting more like talking animal than an elf. Sarcasm remains a constant difficulty for her and even jokes can sometimes leave the young elf confused, which is not to say she doesn't try, but her attempts at sarcasm can generously be described as interesting. Buried beneath long years are the vestiges of urban life, a patchy accent, and faint recollections of a different life.

Backstory

Naivara is no regal elven princess born to royal parents, she is no sophisticated urban dwelling elf raised to be the scion of house of wealthy merchants, and she is no happy faced elven beauty brought into a pleasurable life of artistic pursuits. Her parents were not nice. Her parents were not wise. Her parents were not remarkable, interesting people. In truth, Naivara remembers nothing of her parents. No faces, no amusing habits, no kind gestures, and not even their names. Her name was the gift of passing merchant, an aged elf unwilling to let another elf wander the world unnamed. She has no elven surname, no ties to an ancient, storied house, and instead she calls herself Gray after the cloak she is fond of wearing.

Naivara's first memories are of the cold, merciless streets of a bustling city. She recalls only hunger and cold. She remembers few kindnesses. Her friends were other children. Other beggars. Other lost souls. The unwanted. The outcasts. The abused and the forgotten. She watched her friends steal. She watched her friends get hurt. She watched her friends get thrown into dark jails cells. She shared their struggles. She did what she had to in order to survive. She tries not to remember. She tries to forget the friends that died, the friends that died alone in a gutter, still young, and still lost.

Certain that her own doom was upon her, Naivara eventually escaped the city. Pursued by a contingent of the city guard, she ran thoughtlessly into the wilderness. Away, far away, from the city she hated, and way from the people she despised. Reaching the deepest parts of the wilderness, Naivara found herself lost, truly lost, hopelessly lost in the way that only a the uninitiated and unprepared can lose themselves in an endless forest. Starving she grew weaker, dying slowly with each passing day. Collapsing from exhaustion, she found herself staring up at a strange fur covered man adorned with leaves and a diminutive pixy. Saving her, offering her food, water, and shelter, the strange fur covered man spoke little, but offered only a simple name, Brown Fur. The pixy spoke tirelessly, calling itself only the Storyteller, filling in any silence with long stories about the Seelie and Unseelie courts and their ceaseless conflicts over the millennia.

When Naivara had recovered, the strange man, Brown Fur, brought her to a stranger meeting, full of stranger people still. Surrounded by the ancient trees, she found herself in the very heart of the forest attending a meeting of druids belonging to the Circle of the Moon. With a soft smile, Brown Fur offered her a place, if she wanted it, a chance to learn, a chance to grow as part of a nature, and a chance to live, truly live. It was the first time in her life that she had a teacher, a mentor, and a parent even.

Seasons passed as Naivara learned from the druids of the Circle of the Moon. Brown Fur taught her how to survive in the wilderness. Brown Fur taught her the ways of the animals of the forest. Brown Fur taught her to understand the plants that grew across the lands. She learned from the other druids, when their paths crossed. She learned the rituals of the Circle of the Moon. She learned the hidden language the druids used to communicate. She found solace in the forest. She found purpose in the wilderness. And slowly, slowly the scars of her past began to fade, began to sink deeper within her, where they no longer cut at the strings of her heart.

When Brown Fur said she was ready, Naivara was initiated into the many mysteries of the wild order as a druid of the Circle of the Moon. Her task was as obvious as it was necessary, to guard the wilds, to protect the creatures of the wilderness, to defend the plants, and to maintain the balance. Parting ways with Brown Fur, Naivara ventured out on her own. She found her own forest. She found her own piece of the wilderness to protect.

In time, she felt a growing wanderlust, a desire to see more, to do more, and to become more. Driven by her own instincts and whispers of her heart, she began to travel, never content to stay in one place for too long. Stories of a strange hermit, a wood elf shrouded in gray, sometimes followed in her wake. A charitable entity, if a strange one, the gray cloaked figure was said to aid those in need, particularly those lost in the wilderness.

In her travels, Naivara encountered many strangers. Some kind, some not so kind, and some full of malice. She made friends, slowly at first, but then with some regularity. Time spent with others rekindled her enjoyment in some aspects of civilization. Months spent in the wilderness were sweetened by a friendly conversation with a forester. Weeks spend trudging in the cold were warmed by watching a master painter at work. And food was much improved by addition of the exotic spices that could be found in the cities.

Naivara had simply been passing through another unremarkable village, following the compulsions of her own being, as she was handed a letter from by an old friend. A grizzled ranger, now retired, she had saved the man from a band of marauding trolls some winter before. He said it was important. He asked her to read the letter. To think about it.

A man she had never heard of, much less met, Gregory Arbalest, purported Sheriff of Avonshire, requested her help. He knew her name, he knew who she was, strange the druid thought, but not uncommon. She was no guttersnipe hiding in the darkness. The mention of goblins filled her heart with a heavy weight. She had encountered goblins before, they were evil, unnatural creatures, prone to despoiling nature. She did not like them. She would act. She would help. She had to. She could not ignore an earnest call for help.

Bestiary

N/A

Extras

Likes

• Nature
• Animals
• Exploring
• Stories
• Art

Dislikes

• Long Dresses and overly fancy clothing
• Needless formalities and pained ceremony
• Having to stay still or in one place for too long
• Greed

Hobbies

• Traveling
• Studying plants and fauna
• Drawing (often plants and fauna)
• Carving (wood and stone)
• Drinking tea

Quotes

"The city is a wilderness in it's own way."

"The forest speaks, you just have to listen."

"I like this...cinnamon, it is good, very good, perhaps we can buy more of these buns? For the long journey ahead of us."

"Change is necessary, change is inevitable, and change is as much of a part of the natural world as stagnation."

"Of course I will help."

"You are loud, much too loud for the forest, I could hear each step you took."

Faceclaim: none other than the image included in my character sheet.

Miscellaneous, perhaps interesting tidbits:

Naivara has terrible table manners, being mostly used to eating alone in the woods. She doesn't quite understand personal space, thinks hugs are perfectly reasonable at all times, and doesn't find it weird to smell someone's person. Fortunately, she has learned that licking the faces of any traveling companions is generally frowned upon.

Naivara is currently engaged in a longstanding project to understand sarcasm and the finer points of modern humor. This is going badly, very badly, and Naivara sometimes misunderstands the most obvious jests or sarcastic comments as earnest statements.

Naivara greatly enjoys artistic things. She loves to paint and draw, can sing surprisingly well for one so shy about drawing attention, and is generally mollified by any great display of artistic or musical talent.

As a druid Naivara has quite a lot of utility in terms of supporting the party, however, particularly as a Circle of the Moon druid, she has the ability to function as a frontline fighter for the more squishy members of the party.

Forsaken

Valanthe Vanatar

"You drive a hard bargain Mr. Thunder," Val said as a smile formed on her lips. Few things brought the elven woman as much pleasure as money, but money was of no value to her if it didn't make her life more comfortable or exciting.

"Three hundred is no small sum of money, however, what price can one truly put on comforts, however small they might at first seem?" Val continuing, pausing to adjust the necklace that dangled off her neck and playing idly with the brilliant sapphire affixed to the chain as she appeared to think on the matter, "Let us sweeten the deal as they say, I will pay you 500 gold for thirty days of transportation and cooking. I assure you I am a light eater, but my talents lie in another directions than cooking and a warm meal at the end of a long day does wonders for my magic."

The response of the elf caught the tabaxi by surprise. Thunder had expected her to bargain for less or even downright walk away. However she offered more in exchange for them cooking. For a moment he just stood there flabbergasted. 200 gold extra was certainly a fair reward for something that had to be done anyway.

"Cooking? As in food, right? Not methylamphetamine, I mean potions of speed or potions in general, right? 200 gold sounds reasonable for food. Just don’t expect any fancy stuff to miss. We’re on the road afterall."

"Wonderful," Val said, positively purring. "Now if you will excuse me, Mr. Thunder, I have some final business to attend to before we depart."

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A Short Time Later

Val had been losing. She had been losing for the better part of two hours. Losing was inevitable, unavoidable really, at least when one gambled for long enough, but Val still hated losing all the same. Staring at the paltry number of coins arrayed in front of her, Val frowned, blowing a stray hair out of her face with an irritated puff. She was running out of time. And worse still she was running out money. The 5,000 gold coins that Garrick had given her were now a paltry 5,00 gold coins.

The Golden Crown tavern, was anything but a royal tavern, and Val knew that if she ran out of money she was in serious trouble. Unfortunately, she was certain, quite certain that this time, Cinder was far away. Tobacco smoke surrounded her as she tried to think her way out of her latest scrap of trouble. The sounds of drunken laughter distracted her. The clink of glasses. The occasional crash of a bottle. And loud angry shouting.

Val forced a sudden smile on her face, "My friends, I am convinced that it is time for us to make this a truly interesting game."

"Ha, this game isn't interesting enough for you, elf?" the rough looking human sitting across from her asked with a sneer. The shotgun idly resting in his lap was a reminder of the sort of company that Val had found herself in.

"What do you have in mind, Miss Valanthe?" the half-elf woman sitting next to her politely interjected. Val didn't remember her name, it wasn't important, but she liked the woman's suit. It was different, very modern.

"Why, we must raise the stakes of our gambling of course," Val chirped happily.

"Beg your pardon, Miss Valanthe," the well-dressed half-elf woman said, somewhat, but not completely apologetically. Val knew a real villain when she saw one. It was a poor luck of the draw for the others that she was a far superior villain when it came to gambling.

"5,000 gold coins."

"5,000 gold coins," the final player, a young gnome dressed in the manner of a traveling salesman repeated with a low whistle.

"Generously, you have perhaps, 500 gold coins remaining," the half-elf said with another half-hearted smile.

"In coin, perhaps," Val began, placing the gold and sapphire necklace onto the table. "However, this amulet is worth far more. I couldn't bear to put a price on a family heirloom like this, but I would expect you could get close to 10,000 gold coins for it, were you to find the right buyer, of course."

"There might be other ways for you to pay off any of your debts, elf," the rough human jeered, cruelty unhidden in his dark eyes.

"Mr. Thompson," Val said, anger apparent in all of her being. "This once, just this once, I will allow your brutish, disgusting statement to go unpunished. However, speak to me like that again, and I will bury you beneath such an unholy tornado of hellfire that there won't even be enough ashes left for them to bury."

A spark of flame danced in her hand as she spoke, rising rapidly towards the ceiling as Val channeled more magic into her illusion.

Eyes wide in panic, the gnome punched the shoulder of the rough looking human, "Miss Valanthe! Please, I beg you remain calm! Earl was merely joking. In his crude fashion. He meant no harm! Did you, Earl?"

"Of course not," Earl replied, muttering a low curse, his hand resting on his shotgun. "A man can't even make a joke anymore without some upstart wizard threatening to burn him alive."

"All in," Val said, shoving her necklace and all of her gold coins into the middle of the table. The other players eyed her with a mixture of emotions. The brutish human seemed to be laughing at her. The half-elf woman had a nervous smile plastered on her features. The young gnome had a foolish, excited grin as he shuffled the cards and handed them out. All pushed the gold coins and trinkets they had left into the center of the table.

Waiting patiently, Val resisted the urge to tear her cards off the table. Her hand had already been dealt. Her fate was set. Destiny awaited and there was no way to escape it. She felt calm. She felt ready. She felt ready to win more money. She watched the other players eagerly, a smile on her face, almost seeming to suggest she knew something that they did not.

"Four of a kind!" The half-elf woman said gleefully, slapping her cards onto the table and revealing four Queens.

"U- Um...three of kind," the gnome said, choking as he showed three nines, a four, and a two. Val could tell he had never lost that much money before. Risk was unavoidable in gambling and she considered that perhaps he had learned a useful lesson.

"Straight," the brute of a human said angrily, practically throwing his hand onto the table. Val was pleased to see him lose. She hated him already.

All three pairs of eyes turned towards her as Val softly smiled. She nodded politely at each of the other players, before she placed her cards face up on the table.

Val gets lucky.

"Straight flush," Val said as the half-elf let out a loud gasp.

"The 5, 6, 7, 8, and 9 of Spades, Val said gesturing dramatically over her cards.

"Fuck," the half-elf muttered and Val could finally see cracks forming in her performance.

"Well, my friends, it has been a true pleasure, but I am afraid I have a dinner to attend," Val said, breaking the silence that had overcome her fellow gamblers.

Laughing cheerfully as she rose, Val shoved the 10,000 gold coins and some change into a thick coin purse. Walking with quick strides she stepped out of the tavern and hailed a nearby carriage before the other players could notice the illusions that she had woven over the card table.

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[i]Even Later[i]

Arriving back at the Garrick estate, Val greeted Garrick's butler with a fresh smile.

"Why Haldir, how wonderful to see you again."

"You as well, Miss Valanthe. I take it your business in the township went well?"

"Oh, exceedingly so, Haldir, I cannot express my satisfaction with how matters unfolded."

"I would expect no less for a wizard as talent and...beautiful as you Miss Valanthe."

"You are too kind, Haldir," Val said with an overly theatrical laughter, sweetened beyond all reproach. Taking hold of the half-elf's arm she pointed towards the mansion. "Now Haldir, if you please, escort me to the dinning room, I am positively famished, and I suspect this will be the last meal of note that I shall enjoy for quite some time."

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

I had fun writing this character sheet, so hopefully it's not bad.

I think the actual character sheet should be correct, but I'm happy to make any necessary changes.

Naivara Gray

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Naivara Gray

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Wood Elf, Druid (Circle of the Moon), Level 3

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STR: 10 (+0) DEX: 16 (+3) CON: 14 (+2) INT: 12 (+1) WIS: 19 (+4) CHA: 10 (+0)

HP MAX: 24 Armor Class: 16 Movement: 35 ft Spell DC: 14

Alignment: NG Defenses: (A) Charmed, (I) Sleep

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Full Character Sheet

Description

Although tall for a wood elf, Naivara is merely middling in height when compared to the average member of the other humanoid races. She has the lithe, graceful build that the elves are famed for, and in general a casual observer would say that she puts the wood elf in wood elf. Oddly for a druid, Naivara moves comfortably in the bustling city as she does in the heart of the deep wilderness. There is an easiness to all of her movements, a softness to her walk, and something wild in the way she strides. Perhaps as a result of her time away from other humanoids, Naivara has some odd habits. She sees little purpose in personal space and often stands far too close to people when talking. Most unfortunately if one cares about good manners, she has a habit of touching others without warning or smelling the air around a person, in the manner of a beast, as if she is trying to suss out some hidden information about a stranger.

A woodland creature, Naivara has hazel eyes, sharp eyes like those of a predatory animal that shine with an uneasy wildness. Her brown hair reaches just past her shoulders and Naivara keeps it perpetually tied into a tight pony tail. Naivara makes a habit of decorating her hair with small branches, leaves, and brambles she finds in her travels. She has copperish skin with faint tones of green in the right light. A lifetime spent in the wilderness is no easy task, even for a druid, and Naivara bears the marks of a life spent adventuring far from civilization. Her skin is a tapestry of small to moderately sized scars, all faded with time, and the warm colors of her skin make it clear that she spends most of her time outside.

She dresses as one would expect a druid of the forest, pragmatically and with the chief concern being an ability to quickly vanish into the forest. She wears a well-worn pair of leather boots, that she has resoled more times than she would be willing to count. She has a pair of thick wool breeches, dotted with patches and stitches where she has had to repair them. Over her waist she has a sturdy leather belt capable of holding all that she needs to be on hand. Her shirt is a muted gray, once several measures to long, time has worn it down, and the cut down sleeves now perfectly suit the druid. Often, but not always, Naivara will wear a simple suit of leather armor over her clothes, particularly when she is traveling in dangerous territory. To provide protection from the weather, Naivara tosses an ample cloak with a hood onto her shoulders, once a beautiful shade of midnight, the cloak now appears to be dyed a quietly dying and tattered gray.

Slung onto Naivara's belt with a strip of leather is a sturdy club, wrought in gnarled oak that looks to have seen quite some usage and far better days. A close inspection of the club will reveal a surprisingly intricate collection of wood carvings. Strapped to the small of her back, Naivara also carries a handcrafted stone knife, her druidic focus, with an oaken handle, that is adorned with ritual carvings depicting a sacred full moon hunt. An insightful observer might note that the carving on her weapon and druidic focus were clearly the work of the same artist.

Personality

Naivara is a strange creature, a constant traveler, a wandering hermit, and steadfast druid, driven by a curiosity to see the world, but shaped by the wilderness that has enveloped her soul.

A young elf and developing druid, she struggles with a desire to change the world for the better, while also protecting the natural world and maintaining the balance. Naivara earnestly believes that change is necessary, that those in danger should always be aided, and that passivity is never the answer to the troubles of the world. However, as a druid she feels bound to protect nature, to defend the forests, and to ensure that the animals thrive. Her goals are thus often conflicted and she struggles against dark thoughts and the words of some of her fellow druids that argue for more drastic actions to protect the balance that is necessary for nature to thrive. At her core, Naivara is a problem solver, she is no passive druid willing to watch from the sidelines, she acts, she acts with vigorously, and then she contemplates the matter. Like a beast of the wilderness, she has come to rely on her instincts, and she trusts them impeccably.

Driven to seek out her own isolation from others, Naivara bears all the hallmarks of a life spent in solitude. She is friendly enough, kind, and even interested in other people, but there is something unpracticed in the way she talks, the way she smiles, and the way she acts. Her manners are strange, her habits are odd, and sometimes she seems to be acting more like talking animal than an elf. Sarcasm remains a constant difficulty for her and even jokes can sometimes leave the young elf confused, which is not to say she doesn't try, but her attempts at sarcasm can generously be described as interesting. Buried beneath long years are the vestiges of urban life, a patchy accent, and faint recollections of a different life.

Backstory

Naivara is no regal elven princess born to royal parents, she is no sophisticated urban dwelling elf raised to be the scion of house of wealthy merchants, and she is no happy faced elven beauty brought into a pleasurable life of artistic pursuits. Her parents were not nice. Her parents were not wise. Her parents were not remarkable, interesting people. In truth, Naivara remembers nothing of her parents. No faces, no amusing habits, no kind gestures, and not even their names. Her name was the gift of passing merchant, an aged elf unwilling to let another elf wander the world unnamed. She has no elven surname, no ties to an ancient, storied house, and instead she calls herself Gray after the cloak she is fond of wearing.

Naivara's first memories are of the cold, merciless streets of a bustling city. She recalls only hunger and cold. She remembers few kindnesses. Her friends were other children. Other beggars. Other lost souls. The unwanted. The outcasts. The abused and the forgotten. She watched her friends steal. She watched her friends get
hurt. She watched her friends get thrown into dark jails cells. She shared their struggles. She did what she had to in order to survive. She tries not to remember. She tries to forget the friends that died, the friends that died alone in a gutter, still young, and still lost.

Certain that her own doom was upon her, Naivara eventually escaped the city. Pursued by a contingent of the city guard, she ran thoughtlessly into the wilderness. Away, far away, from the city she hated, and way from the people she despised. Reaching the deepest parts of the wilderness, Naivara found herself lost, truly lost, hopelessly lost in the way that only a the uninitiated and unprepared can lose themselves in an endless forest. Starving she grew weaker, dying slowly with each passing day. Collapsing from exhaustion, she found herself staring up at a strange fur covered man adorned with leaves and a diminutive pixy. Saving her, offering her food, water, and shelter, the strange fur covered man spoke little, but offered only a simple name, Brown Fur. The pixy spoke tirelessly, calling itself only the Storyteller, filling in any silence with long stories about the Seelie and Unseelie courts and their ceaseless conflicts.

When Naivara had recovered, the strange fur covered man, brought her to a stranger meeting, full of stranger people still. Surrounded by the ancient trees, she found herself in the very heart of the forest attending a meeting of druids belonging to the Circle of the Moon. With a soft smile, Brown Fur offered her a place, if she wanted it, a chance to learn, a chance to grow as part of a nature, and a chance to live, truly live. It was the first time in her life that she had a teacher, a mentor, and a parent even.

Seasons passed as Naivara learned from the druids of the Circle of the Moon. Brown Fur taught her how to survive in the wilderness. Brown Fur taught her the ways of the animals of the forest. Brown Fur taught her to understand the plants that grew across the lands. She learned from the other druids, when their paths crossed. She learned the rituals of the Circle of the Moon. She learned the hidden language the druids used to communicate. She found solace in the forest. She found purpose in the wilderness. And slowly, slowly the scars of her past began to fade, began to sink deeper within her, where they no longer cut at the strings of her heart.

When Brown Fur said she was ready, Naivara was initiated into the many mysteries of the wild order as a druid of the Circle of the Moon. Her task was as obvious as it was necessary, to guard the wilds, to protect the creatures of the wilderness, to defend the plants, and to maintain the balance. Parting ways with Brown Fur, Naivara ventured out on her own. She found her own forest. She found her own piece of the wilderness to protect.

In time, she felt a growing wanderlust, a desire to see more, to do more, and to become more. Driven by her own instincts and whispers of her heart, she began to travel, never content to stay in one place for too long. Stories of a strange hermit, a wood elf shrouded in gray, sometimes followed in her wake. A charitable entity, if a strange one, the gray cloaked figure was said to aid those in need, particularly those lost in the wilderness.

In her travels, Naivara encountered many strangers. Some kind, some not so kind, and some full of malice. She made friends, slowly at first, but then with some regularity. Time spent with others rekindled her enjoyment in some aspects of civilization. Months spent in the wilderness were sweetened by a friendly conversation with a forester. Weeks spend trudging in the cold were warmed by watching a master painter at work. And food was much improved by addition of the exotic spices that could be found in the cities.

Naivara had simply been passing through another unremarkable village, following the compulsions of her own being, as she was handed a letter from by an old friend. A grizzled ranger, now retired, she had saved the man from a band of marauding trolls some winter before. He said it was important. He asked her to read the letter. To think about it.

A man she had never heard of, much less met, Gregory Arbalest, purported Sheriff of Avonshire, requested her help. He knew her name, he knew who she was, strange the druid thought, but not uncommon. She was no guttersnipe hiding in the darkness. The mention of goblins filled her heart with a heavy weight. She had encountered goblins before, they were evil, unnatural creatures, prone to despoiling nature. She did not like them. She would act. She would help. She had to. She could not ignore an earnest call for help.

Bestiary

N/A

Extras

Likes

• Nature
• Animals
• Exploring
• Stories
• Art

Dislikes

• Long Dresses and overly fancy clothing
• Needless formalities and pained ceremony
• Having to stay still or in one place for too long
• Greed

Hobbies

• Traveling
• Studying plants and fauna
• Drawing (often plants and fauna)
• Carving (wood and stone)
• Drinking tea

Quotes

"The city is a wilderness in it's own way."

"The forest speaks, you just have to listen."

"I like this...cinnamon, it is good, very good, perhaps we can buy more of these buns? For the long journey ahead of us."

"Change is necessary, change is inevitable, and change is as much of a part of the natural world as stagnation."

"Of course I will help."

"You are loud, much too loud for the forest, I could hear each step you took."

Faceclaim: none other than the image included in my character sheet.

Miscellaneous, perhaps interesting tidbits:
Naivara has terrible table manners, being mostly used to eating along in the woods. She doesn't quite understand personal space, thinks hugs are perfectly reasonable at all times, and doesn't find it weird to smell someone's hair. Fortunately, she has learned that licking the faces of any traveling companions is generally frowned upon.

Naivara is currently engaged in a longstanding project to understand sarcasm and the finer points of modern humor. This is going badly, very badly, and Naivara sometimes misunderstands the most obvious jests or sarcastic comments as earnest statements.

Naivara greatly enjoys artistic things. She loves to paint and draw, can sing surprisingly well for one so shy about drawing attention, and is generally mollified by any great display of artistic or musical talent.

As a druid Naivara has quite a lot of utility in terms of supporting the party, however, particularly as a Circle of the Moon druid, she has the ability to function as a frontline fighter for the more squishy members of the party.

Naivara Gray Header

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Naivara Gray Race, Class (Subclass Optional), Level 3 HP: 24 / 24 Armor Class: 16 Conditions: N/A Location: Character location in the RP Action: N/A Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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