... making things more complicated than they probably are.

psych0pomp

the Best Intentions & the Worst Outcomes
Original poster
FOLKLORE MEMBER
Invitation Status
  1. Look for groups
Posting Speed
  1. Multiple posts per week
  2. 1-3 posts per week
  3. One post per week
Online Availability
Wed-Sat, you're going to not hear from me or hear from me really late. Sun-Tues, I'm VERY available. But I also like sleep. WOMP-womp.
Writing Levels
  1. Adaptable
Preferred Character Gender
  1. Male
  2. Female
  3. Nonbinary
  4. Transgender
  5. Agender
Genres
Fantasy (all but High,) Scifi (Futuristic to Space Fantasy,) Scifi (Cyberpunk and Beyond,) Modern Fantasy (Supernatural Investiagtion to Obvious Fantasy World,) Steampunk, Mythological, Weird Western, and Horror.
... oh boy.

I messed this one up.
 
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DARK FANTASY / STEAMPUNK / ELRIDTCH / ADULT
Two-hundred years ago the Twelve Titans descended upon Hexamore. They felt the plane’s magic and sought to devour it and its inhabitants. They crossed the continent. They destroyed the country of Aariyon, where the Grand Emperor sat. All semblance of leadership dissolved shortly thereafter. The cities and surrounding towns were forced to create city-states to keep some sense of law. They threw their armies at the titans. Everyone, everywhere, put every resource they could into defeating the monsters that ravaged their land. Yet, their efforts were in vain. Lands, homes, cities, and artifacts were all destroyed in the titan’s march across Hexamore.

Twenty years passed as they ravaged the lands. In those twenty years, seven heroes from across Hexamore came together with a plan to stop the titans. They pulled all the magic from the world and into themselves. Without magic, the titans turned to stone. The seven beings then transcended the mortal plane and became walking gods—shaping their magic into a conduit that the titans could not access. They achieved this at the Spine of the Earth, cracking and malforming the ground. While the world had been stripped of its wonder and splendor, the titans were stopped. Their stone forms littering Hexamore, a towering reminder of the horrors of the past. So, in honor of the heroes, seven statues were built for the seven heroes to rival the size of the titans at the Spine of the Earth. Yet, the Seven Walking Gods do not stay there. Instead, they traverse Hexamore and dole out wisdom and favors. People do not fear them, because their magic is not what the titan’s desire.

With the sealing of the titans came a warning. If a resurgence in magic happened, the titans would awaken and begin their conquest anew. So, no longer capable of relying on that power, Hexamore had to find new ways to do what had been so easily done before. An Industrial Revolution, of sorts, started. Steam-powered engines began to manifest. Dirigibles took to the sky and mule engines helped guide carts. The invention and study of guns became as prominent as arcane schools used to be. The world changed, and yet so much of it stayed the same.

No longer interested in a dead emperor in a ruined land, the cities stayed with their city-states. Competitions, rivalries, and border skirmishes became common. Corruption marred the world, and the economy was sent into a dark spiral. The reach of technology recoiled back into urban areas, many places only knowing the old ways. But most of all, fear ruled—and still does.

Lady Greytide, one of the seven new gods and one of the two instruments, started the Inquisition of Arcane. She became known as the Queen Inquisitor, using her godly powers to look through thousands of eyes at a time—some her own inquisitors and others unsuspecting pawns. She roots out all magic. The strong and wild are culled or sent to the Cold Iron to have their magic “removed.” Or she sends the obedient and meek to the Magi Arcae, a powerful but small group of magic-users looked over by She of Scarlet. In more rural towns, magic users are burned at the stake. There is no rule condemning this.

The world is in disrepair. Not broken, but the gears do slip over chips and places worn away. So, it is good that the yearly pilgrimage is upon us. It is a time of worship and remembrance that two-hundred years ago the world was about to end. Our story begins outside of Faelkroft. Merriment floods the streets, but like always in Hexamore, darkness comes with it. The pilgrimage has started, and you are a part of it for whatever reason is your own.

It's the third night into the Middlelands that stretches with plains all around you. A scream enters the starry night, followed by the scent of blood.

 
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NAME | Xan Vantra
ALIAS | Jor Vantra (the Hutt Clan never really changed Jor to Xan when he took over for his father)
FORCE-SENSITIVE | No
SPECIES | Mirialan
AGE | 32
EYE COLOR | Blue
HAIR COLOR | Light Brown
HEIGHT | 6’3”

APPEARANCE |
To say Xan is built like a brick-shithouse would be as obvious as pointing to space and saying it is a vacuum. A tall mirialan with broad shoulders and heavily muscular everything—well, almost everything—Xan tries his best to appear intimidating. His dusty green skin is littered with scars, ranging from obvious laser blasts, vibroblade slices, burn patches from his gun overheating, and the occasional bite mark. Most of the bites look like from an animal of some sort, but some of them seem far more humanoid. Yet, what might be most upsetting about the mirialan hired gun is that he’s missing a couple of fingers, the tips off of most of them, along with a notch off his ear, and a few front teeth—which have been replaced by black, metallic alloy that’s shiny and a little sharp.

In mirialan fashion, his face is decorated in black, geometric tattoos that allude to various tasks and goals he’s achieved. Asking what they mean will get a different answer from Xan every time. It’s hard to say if he applied them himself to blend in better with his fellow mirialan, or if he’s just shitting on every one that might consider asking.

He is usually wearing mismatched heavy armor that is in varying degrees of abuse. None of it is in disrepair, but the right pauldron might be shinier than its sister pauldron that’s been scratched to Unknown Space and back. He usually doesn’t have his helmet donned, preferring to show off his disdain and stylish haircut, but he does have one and the knowledge that getting shot in the face isn’t great.

EQUIPMENT |
VICES |
  • Gambling Addiction: The higher the stakes, the more excited he is. He’ll gamble credits, equipment, knowledge, and even pieces of himself for something he views as worth it. There’s a reason fingers and teeth are missing. But the thrill of winning is worth it. Even the thrill of losing has its own delicious taste, trying to scramble out of a situation before he loses too much.
  • Masochist: Now, this is not the implication that Xan loves pain, but he views it as making any job “worth it.” If he doesn’t have a couple of new scars, or broken bones, or bloody nose, how will anyone know what effort he went through to get it done? The pain means progress, and progress means payment. He’ll throw himself into the line of fire for a good win.
  • Crass and Blunt: Xan will tell you to fuck off in many ways. Maybe a different language, maybe in body language, or maybe he’ll just threaten to shoot you. While not a lone wolf, he isn’t in the galaxy to make best friends and braid each other’s hair. He’ll be as rude and condescending as he needs to be to get some peace. Remember those humanoid bite marks? Yeah. He doesn’t make friends easily.
  • A Bit of a Glutton: Xan is constantly moving, doing, and lifting his unnecessarily large gun around. He needs a lot of energy to do that and energy comes from consumption. In the beginning, it was about survival, but now that he has enough creds he can indulge. Food, alcohol, and some drugs, Xan enjoys new experiences. It’s beginning to crop up on his frame, though. Xan’s less svelte, but no less intimidating. He just takes up a little more room.

BRIEF HISTORY |
Not having grown up on Mirial, Xan doesn’t know much about the culture of his peoples other than what is obvious. He knows that they enjoy waxing poetic about the Force, and they receive very aesthetically pleasing tattoos when they achieve something of worth. Xan was more a fan of the latter than the former, the opinion of the Force being a near-religious experience not shared by him. Though, he’ll admit, on lonely jaunts through space, that his actions do reflect his destiny—a core mirialan belief. Then he’ll usually spit on the floor and challenge anyone with a glare to fight him about it.

Instead, he grew up on Tatooine, his father, Jor Vantra, in deep to one of the Hutt Lords. His mother had skipped out when Xan was very young, taking the only modicum of common sense and decency with her. With Xan’s father constantly busy trying to settle his debt, the young mirialan pretty much was the man of the house—which was unfortunate, because he wasn’t the only mouth to feed. Xan had a younger sister, Fextra Vantra, who was a handful to say the lease. You see, she was force sensitive, and her power grew as the days went on. With the Confederation thick in Tatooine, Xan had to go out of his way to hide her budding abilities. He was successful—until he wasn’t.

His father died in the middle of a job, and with the debt still having not been settled, it fell to Xan. No longer being able to watch Fextra, and keep her powers hidden from those that would kill or take her, he came home one day to it being upturned and Fexla missing. Xan could still feel his knees hitting the hard soil of the floor of their meager hut. It hurt, but it was negligible to the pain in his chest. That was it—he was alone.

What was there to do? There was no way Xan would be able to get off this planet without alerting the Crime Syndicate of escaping. So, he threw himself entirely into his job. What else was there to do? It—oddly enough—paid off in dividends. He learned useful skills, how to fight, how to fight dirty, how to shoot, how to stab, and how to skirt the law with a wink and a nod. It also sent him all over the Outer Rim, seeing the underbelly of the galaxy for what it was… a very competent machine. The mirialan believed that the Force was what turned the cogs of the galaxy, and they were very wrong. It was credits.

A day came when Xan bought out his father’s debt, and a little of his own if we’re being honest, and was a free man. A free man armed with a lot of secrets and skills that were coveted by those that he’d once worked for and against. It painted a bounty on his head. So, he jettisoned off of Tatooine with what he had—which were a handful of credits and some swanky weapons. The Outer Rim was basically his backyard, and he knew how to find work and cover.

While no enemy to the Sith, having taken a few jobs from them as they paid well, he wasn’t a fan. But, his opinion changed drastically when handling a security detail for some smugglers selling old Republic tech, he saw Fextra. She was Sith. Panicked, he didn’t confront her. Instead, he found a way to contact her through backdoors and exchange of credits. All he could think of was how he wasn’t alone in the world. His sister had surely been taken and forced into the Sith against her own free will. She had to be. He could contact her and get her out of this life. Maybe Xan could clean up his own. They could finally be a family. That thought died the moment he heard back from her. The messenger’s hand was delivered to him a few days later with a note that said “if you try again, you’re next.”

Xan now had a mission. Maybe the romantic in him had bled out years ago between all the busted skulls and long nights of binging, but hope hadn’t quite been snuffed out. He knew he had to find a way to bring her back to him, but he also knew that he couldn’t do that alone.

OTHER |
  • Xan understands numerous languages. Huttese, Bocce, crude Binary, and Durese.
  • But does he speak them well? Eh.
 
NAME | Arthur "Art" McKennon
AGE | 34 on Both Accounts
MONSTER TYPE | Centaur

OCCUPATION | Postman & Local Farmer

APPEARANCE |
As a human, Art isn't very too eye-catching. Maybe he's a little taller than your average man, maybe a bit more broad-shouldered. He has wavy short hair that he usually keeps under a hat of some kind, and a beard that while not scraggly is not perfectly manicured. His eyes are a flat gray-green, and his nose is prominent on a tanned face. As a human, you'd guess he'd be about six-foot and two inches and weighing around two-hundred pounds, the muscle across his torso and his well-worked arms making him appear quite solid. He has a tendency to stand with his hands on his hips, and one of his legs cocked to the side. Oddly enough, he seems almost nervous about the room he takes up at any given moment in time.

As a centaur, Art's human torso is relatively the same. Maybe it seems longer or stronger, but there's nothing overtly changed with one exception. His ears are equine in nature and have a tendency to be bowed down by the hat he wears. As most people assume, a little below the navel turns into the body of a horse. It isn't a sleek breed made for running, but instead a powerful draft horse that's made more to tend to farms and haul heavy equipment. Now, that's not to say he couldn't outrun almost every single person on two legs--he can. He's just made more resilience and strength than speed. The hide is a tawny brown that gets darker to deep hooves. His back is speckled with white spots that lead to a dark tail that flaps in time with his thoughts--making him transparent.

Art isn't ashamed of his monster nature, but he knows that he takes up a lot of room, and the buildings and businesses of Shady Maple Creek aren't quite made for him. So, he relegates himself to human form usually, unless he's at his place in the outskirts of town.

BIO |
Unlike a lot of monsters, centaurs aren't quite the thing of nightmares and campfire stories, but that doesn't mean they aren't a thing that was once reviled. Predominantly in Greek mythology, they were the villains of many tales. There were only a few that were viewed as good by the humans that wrote that mythology. Yet, similar to history, mythology would always be written by the ones that controlled it.

Art was born and raised in Shady Maple Creek. Not a lof centaurs had made it over to the Americas, but those that had, came in the 1800s during the prominence of the Wild West. Back then, they didn't have the magic to camouflage themselves as well as they did now. So, it was easier to pretend to be a horsebound passerby than it would be nowadays. Unfortunately, as the times moved forward, fewer and fewer centaurs made their way to the Americas. It is currently unknown whether or not that is because the times have made it easier to integrate into the European countries... or they were dying out. Art doesn't try to think about the latter but has a digging feeling in his gut that they were a dying breed.

Art's personal history was less of a Grecian painting of sadness, but it wasn't without its beats. His family resided on the outskirts of Shady Maple Creek because quite frankly they needed the room. His mother, Lyla Angelopoulos, had found the community by accident in an escape from her family. Art never knew if she was from Greece, or if her family had held onto their ancestral surname. His father was Richard McKennon. They fell in love almost immediately. Art wonders now if it was preservation. Still, his home life as he grew up was warm. They worked a small farm to give the members of the community some locally sourced produce. Art was encouraged at a young age to get a job and ended up as the paperboy for a while. Unfortunately, unlike most of the community, centaurs aged at the same rate as humans. He grew into an adult faster than a lot of the residents blinked.

The old postman, a wind-based djinn, decided to retire. He gave his role over to Art, who was delighted to have the job. That made him more inclusive within the neighborhood, which led to a discovery that he had to have made eventually. Art couldn't interact with most of the community in his form. Doors were too low, spaces were too crowded, and he could easily cause irreparable damage to property. He was a burden on the community, or at least he thought that. His anxiety grew far larger than his own size. It led to him purchasing a magical ring to help him to become a human--basically. The thing that oppressed their kind in the beginning, he felt safe being.

Art's parents were old and died a few years ago from age and love-lost, leaving him in their family home--alone. It wasn't a tragic event, but something that happened in small communities. His father died first, the cold turn of the night taking him in his sleep. His mother died the same way, but Art knew it was from heartbreak. As the only one of his kind in this community, he knew that loss was soul-crushing. And whatever his mother had seen in her life before coming to live here, it haunted her. Currently, he spends his mornings delivering mail and his evenings tending to the fields.

STRENGTHS |
  • OPTOMISM | Art is a weirdly upbeat person. He always tries to find the bright side to anything. He's the sort that plays music loudly and dances wildly for a smile.
  • EMPATHETIC | He doesn't have a supernatural ability to do this, but he can read a facial expression and pull someone that is suffereing into a hug.
  • TASK-ORIENTED | Ask Art to do anything, and he'll do it. He loves a challenge and will handle it with the seriousness and efficiency of a professional.

WEAKNESSES |
  • ANXIETY | Ever feel like all eyes are on you, and you've crowded the room with your presence? That's Art's constant state of being. He didn't think that was possible until he tried to get medicine and destroyed an aisle in the pharmacy. The experience and the echoes from it live in his bain.
  • UNTAPPED TALENT | He knows he can do so much more than he currently does. Yet, he refuses to dip into anything that isn't practical.
  • NEEDS TO DO SOMETHING | Despite Art's moment of hesitation, he always feels like he needs to do something. If he doesn't do it, he dips down and feels useless.
  • PANIC | If too many triggering events happen, Art locks up and is unable to do anything.

IDEALS |
  • Art has always been about doing his duty and helping out in the community. His ideal is to be a fully functional cog, even he realizes that he uses are short-lived.

VICES |
  • Art drinks every night for the anxiety to go away. It's the only thing that seems to help. He knows it's bad, but he also wants a rest from his brain.

TRAITS |
  • RESOURCEFUL
  • INGENUTIVE
  • TEAM PLAYER
  • EMOTIONAL SHOULDER

MOTIVATIONS |
  • To do his job and help the community out.

QUALMS |
  • He doubts himself at every corner. He's so anxious that he succumbs to his own thoughts and words.

PERSONAL GOAL |
  • Art doesn't know how to continue his line. So, he's trying to continue his family's store.

DEFINING ACT |
  • Art took on the career of the postman because it seemed like an easy transition for him. Yet, he quickly learned that his true form isn't welcomed.

SKILLS |
  • SPEED | Art is crazy fast. Whe he's a centaur, he can move quickly.
  • STRENGTH | He is very strong.
  • LOGIC | His anxiety has led him to work through things quicker than most people.

ARC IDEAS |
  • Art getting over his own anxiety. That is his biggest thing. Also, there are always questions from his backstory.[/LIST[

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Hexamore was once a land of magical arts so powerful that reverberated through the planes. Its power, like a beacon, summoned the twelve titans. They descended onto the land in such a powerful blast that it scorched the ruling kingdom of Aariyon off the planet—taking the Grand Emperor with it.
All semblance of leadership dissolved shortly thereafter. The cities and surrounding towns were forced to create city-states to keep some sense of law. They threw their armies at the titans. Everyone, everywhere, put every resource they could into defeating the monsters that ravaged their land. Yet, their efforts were in vain. Lands, homes, cities, and artifacts were all destroyed in the titan’s march across Hexamore. Even worse yet, their presence warped the bodies and minds of every living presence they came across, creating eldritch abominations that hunted their once-kin.

Twenty years passed as the titans ravaged the lands. In those twenty years, seven heroes from across Hexamore came together with a plan to stop the titans. They found a way to funnel the magic into themselves and change the arcane conduit into something so foreign and alien to the titans, they couldn’t be fueled from it. Two things happened. First, the titans stopped their crusade across Hexamore and turned into stone. The second was that the heroes ascended into living gods. They achieved this at would be known as the Spine of the Earth. The ground fissured and cracked underneath them and a massive obelisk of stone, covered in ancient runes rose up from it. A shape that could be seen on the horizon at all times, a reminder of the destruction and sacrifice the titans brought upon the world. Their stone forms littering Hexamore, a towering reminder of the horrors of the past. The Spine would be revered as a holy place from then on. Yet, it was not one that the seven heroes, no gods, lingered at. Instead, they traverse Hexamore and dole out wisdom and favors. People do not fear them, because their magic is not what the titan’s desire.

With the sealing of the titans came a warning. If a resurgence in magic happened, the titans would awaken and begin their conquest anew. So, no longer capable of relying on that power, Hexamore had to find new ways to do what had been so easily done before. An Industrial Revolution, of sorts, started. Steam powered engines began to manifest. Dirigibles took to the sky and mule engines helped guide carts. The invention and study of guns became as prominent as arcane schools used to be. The world changed, and yet so much of it stayed the same.

No longer interested in a dead emperor in a ruined land, the cities stayed with their city states. Competitions, rivalries, and border skirmishes became common. Corruption marred the world, and the economy was sent into a dark spiral. The reach of technology recoiled back into urban areas, many places only knowing the old ways. But most of all, fear ruled—and still does.

Lady Greytide, one of the seven new gods and one of the two instruments, started the Inquisition of Arcane. She became known as the Queen Inquisitor, using her godly powers to look through thousands of eyes at a time—some her own inquisitors and others unsuspecting pawns. She roots out all magic. The strong and wild are culled or sent to the Cold Iron to have their magic “removed.” She sends the obedient and meek to the Magi Arcae, a powerful but small group of magic users looked over by She of Scarlet. In more rural towns, magic users are burned at the stake. There is no rule condemning this.

The world is in disrepair. Not broken, but the gears do slip over chips and places worn away. So, it is good that the yearly pilgrimage is upon us. It is a time of worship and remembrance that countless years ago the world was about to end. Our story begins outside of Faelkroft, a week after the pilgrimage had started. Word was sent back that the guide had fallen ill, and they needed a new one.

You’ve been tasked with escorting the guide to where the pilgrims are camped out in the Plains of Echo. Yet, this wouldn’t be a story of any renown if the task was truly that simple. It is Hexamore, after all, the cursed continent...
 
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  • Don’t worry, we won’t be using grids and battlemaps in this game. I may make a map for flavor, but don’t worry. This is entirely theater of the mind.

    Let’s talk about this, I run games that are heavy on roleplay--obviously. This is not a game where you need to min/max your character, make them the best there ever was, or intent on survival alone. Make the character you want to make with the skills and background that fit them. There will be dungeons in this campaign and moments of peril. But I’m not gunning for a TPK. I want to tell a story with characters you love. I’m not saying it won’t be harrowing, and your character may die. Still, I recommend investing in skills to help you in social situations.
    Side note, I will be using the DMG “Lingering Injuries” chart instead of outright killing characters in situations that may be deadly but recoverable. Of course, if you run face first into a kraken at level 2, I can’t really justify you now having a limp. You’re going to be murdered.

    Rolling the dice, is not going to happen for everything, but it will happen because it is DnD. We will agree on a consistent dice rolling apparatus. It may come in you asking for a roll “may I investigate a scene” or me asking you for a perception check. My forced asks will only come in an “Action Scene.” This will require Initiative and all that jazz. I’ll ask you for the roll. You’ll give it to me. I’ll then narrate the outcome. I’ll never make one that insta-destroys your character, but if it is bad, you may only have one more round to fix it. Keep that in mind.

    On arcane magic, please remember that this is a LOW MAGIC world. People who use magic are viewed with equal disdain as baby cannibals (people who cannibalize babies not babies with the… you know what… nevermind.) There is no “strike” system with magic. Once you’re caught, you’re caught. This can be made into a plot point, but only with some pre-planning and mediation. If we didn’t work out a dashing adventure of your character getting caught and the others swooping in to save you, you’re screwed.
    Things to keep in mind…
    Please be aware that spells have verbal, somatic, and components. If the book requires you to wave your arms in the air, then you’re going to be doing that. People will stare. People will know what you are doing. Now, you can always try to hide it. But also be aware that Inquisitors are SENSITIVE to magical use. Even if you successfully hide your spell, they’ll know someone casted magic. They will hunt you. Now, they aren’t as prevalent in the open world, but you have to worry about monsters being keen on magic as well. I know. It’s like the world is out to get you, but that’s the point.​

    On divine magic, it is viewed differently than arcane or otherwise. Divine magic is also rare, but it is also sourced through a conduit that is believed not to awaken the titans. You have five deities to choose from, they will be listed further down. While the Inquisitors do not hunt those that use divine magic, they aren’t nice to them either. But the problem that divine users will have is the sheer popularity of their abilities. There are no magical means of healing anymore, except through clerics and paladins, and as such they will be set upon by commoners and those incapable of tending to their wounds. You will either have to expend spell slots or refuse mobs of people. That might end poorly for you. So, keep that in mind while visiting towns and cities.

    On technology, the world has hit a technological boom since the outlawing of magic. As such, in larger cities you can see it a bit everywhere. A gear-work clock, steam mules, factories billowing out pillars of steam, trolleys ferrying people about, dirigibles, and general cleanliness that was not there before. People also dress differently in these denser areas, taking to a more Victorian or Edwardian form of garb. Still, this is medieval fantasy mixed in with steampunk. There will still be robes, tunics, armor, and the like. What I want to talk about most are guns. But keep in mind that it isn’t the end all to weapons as this technology is new, and just as likely to take down an opponent as blow up in your face. A talented bowman is comparable or better than a gunslinger. Still, I realize as I introduce this world that is fantasy with a splash of technology that guns would definitely be a part of it. But they are costly to buy and maintain.

    On the economy, due to the city states ruling themselves there has been quite a bit of corruption in how money is handled. Most people have a low income compared to the inflated prices of many things. This means that even if you are doing well, you’re not really doing well. Poverty is everywhere but work is common as well. And the rich… well… they are decadently wealthy.

    On races, given that the titans successfully managed to draw all the races together to attack them and then decimated part of the world, the boundaries that once separated them have fallen apart. There’s no definitive “elven city” or “dwarven fortress.” There are places that used to be elven or dwarven that took in refugees of humans or other races. They had families there. No longer was there one ruling race, but a group of survivors. Of course, there are still racial prejudices, nothing is going to change about that, but for better or worse the world is less divided.
    • I’m only accepting characters that use content published by WotC for DnD 5e. Don’t have any of that? No problem. After I accept the character concept, you’ll have access to to my DnD Beyond, which should have most of the character creation choices.
    • Races: Technically you’ll all be playing variant human from the Players Handbook. That means one feat of your choosing and 2 points to put into your Ability Stats.
    • Flavor-wise, all peoples of this land are mixed. You’ll be mostly human presenting but you have race-lineage. This means you sport some slight features from what your ancestors mixed with. This will be called race-descended. For instance, elf-descended may be a bit lither, smaller, and have slightly-pointed ears compared to an entirely pure human. I leave you to describe these features. Pure humans are rare. The culture of the races is mostly obliterated beyond the obvious things, like architecture, but you can always make up something your family has done.
    • Age: Everyone lives the same length of time, and that is in normal human years.
    • Ability Stats are either a) Point Buy or b) Stat Array, as they are the same.
    • Class Wise: You’re fine to pick most things. Please note that the divine classes will fall into my created pantheon. I need to talk to those that might pick a Warlock. As warlocks follow an eldritch path, and the titans are the equivalent of eldritch abominations. Also some classes may start as not ones that would be hunted by the Inquisitors, and then change depending on sub-class. Fighters are fine until they become Eldritch Knights, etc.
    • Background: choose a published background, then if you wish, we can tweak it.
    • History: I will need your character’s history. That being said, that history will be sent to me and only me after you’re accepted. It’s so I can weave it into the narrative.
      [*[]b]Goal:[/b] Something you want to happen in the game to your character. This can deal with something from their past, a chance in the future, or something to do with their class. I’ll make sure to weave it into the narrative.
    • I’ll be the only one looking at your CS. Please refrain from telling others your class, race, or background (though I figure ONE of those should be obvious.) It’s a world of secrecy and superstition, you might need a while to warm up to your new partner and tell them about yourself.
    • Special items will be situational. There will be no magical items given. That being said, we can work on plot items.
      I’m here to help you with your character sheet! Don’t be afraid to ask.[/i]
 
Honestly, before I format 11 pages of lore, I just wanted to make sure that the interest is here. Let me know, along with questions you might have. It's a Dark Fantasy, Low Magic campaign that is designed by you. I've been a DM for so long, that I know that I will give you the lore and the inciting incident and you will do with it what you like! So, the campaign can run from epic to espionage, to fighting the gods to fighting the lawmakers, or anything any between.

So, let me know if you're interested.
 
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HEXAMORE is an RP set a low magic, dark fantasy, eldritch horror-filled, and steampunk-leaning world. Hundreds of years after a catastrophe that led the arcane to be banned and the users hunted, society has finally begun to achieve some sense of normalcy. So much so, that there is a yearly festival and pilgrimage to the Spine of the World to remember all that has been lost and found again. Across treacherous wilderness filled with abominations and loomed over by the stone titans that once terrorized Hexamore, your story begins... But first, maybe we should find out why you're here, to begin with.

THIS ROLEPLAY will be run using DnD character sheets and the DnD Beyond website. Don't worry if you don't have access to it, I'll make a campaign in the builder for you to make a character. I find that DnD is a great system to keep things balanced, diverse, and occasionally let Lady Luck turn the tide. Things don't always go as planned, and I enjoy the dice rolls reflection in that. So, without further ado, let's get to applying.
  • Make to read at least the red section in the lore thread. I also recommend the orange section.
  • Any questions you have, please float my direction via either PM or within the interest check thread.
  • Since we are making characters in DnD Beyond, I don't want a hard-tac character sheet. Instead, this one will be set up as an interview made by Magister Jila Goldenwing on your qualifications for escorting the macguffin.
  • You don't have to be entirely set in stone on the class or exact character beats, but I at least want to see the broad strokes of your character.
  • This is basically to get to know if your writing style fits the tone of the RP.
  • Character portraits should be art, but more realistic looking. Look at the various graphics I used. Things along those lines. I'll also take photography but it has to be fantasy/medieval. If you need help, let me know.
  • There's no hard deadline for submissions, considering it's the holidays, but I will give some notice as to when we're ready to go.
  • If I get too many submissions, I may be choosey. So, if you're on the fence about a few things, make sure to annotate the various things you'd be willing to fill.
  • Yes, you can post WIPS here, just let me know when they're no longer WIPS.
  • You can format this any way you like, just make sure I can view it on mobile. And also make sure to keep my written text, but you can format it any way you want.
  • Answer where you're prompted in red as your character, and you totally can format the red out, (and I recommend it) I just wanted it to stand out. And if you want to say something in OOC, put it in a spoiler. For instance, your character is an arcane user, but they don't mention that at all. Slap that in a spoiler at the end of your IC character response.
  • I'm looking forward to seeing what you guys come up with!

INSERT CHARACTER PICTURE SOMEWHERE WITHIN THE TEXT

FAELKROFT was a bustling port city and only made more so by the Pilgrimage having left town a few days ago. Slowly the banners were being removed, and the streets were being swept. Still, an occasional drunkard idled on by, face painted with mismatched markings. The night the Pilgrimage left had been quite the celebration.

Write about what your character did. It can be anything. They were there. They just got into town. They barred themselves up in their house. Etc. It doesn't have to be long.

That was a sharp contrast to now, though. Magister Jila Goldenwing sat at the end of a long wooden table. It was covered in scrolls, ledgers, books, and numerous letters both opened and unopened. The woman was tall but slight. Short blonde hair pushed back by a circlet inlaid with numerous gems. She currently spoke in hushed whispers to a small mechanical songbird on her shoulder which beeped back at her with growing cadence. The magister had summoned many adventurers to her estate in Upper Faelkrot, and this one was just another face.

If you'd like to note your reaction to the house, being summoned, or even say how you were summoned, go ahead. The biggest thing to note is why you think you were summoned. A good time to talk about the possible renowned, affiliations, or maybe you just know someone.

The magister finally perked up and glanced over you. "Right, right. I was expecting you." She narrowed her eyes. "I was expecting you, right? Um... what's your name? And what do you like to be called?"

Feel free to respond in any way you want.

She tapped her brow in response to the reminder. "That's right, how silly of me." She scribbled on a parchment furiously. "What were your skill sets again? I want to make sure this group is well rounded. The new guide, Soren... um... what's his last name, sorely lacks what Liege Stormborn had. He's a good tracker and swordsman, but I worry with him being..." She trailed off. "Oh, and Liege Stormborm, if you could see them fight. You'd know why they were chosen." She paused. "Oh right, back to you."

This is where you might want to elude to what class(es) you want to play and where you might want to focus, skill-wise. If you straight-up lie, please put what you're thinking in a spoiler tag at the end. Also do so, if you're being vague.

"Oh. How very interesting. Right, Bubo?" she asked the mechanical sparrow which just squawked. Sighing, she turned back. "Occupation? Any squire-ing? Or tutelage? Or education you may have received?"

Whatever your character's background might be. Again, lying in a spoiler tag.

"That sounds far more interesting than my bureaucratic upbringing." The magister then leaned forward and grabbed a map of Hexamore. "Where are you from? Here in Faelkroft, or..."

Feel free to choose anywhere in Hexamore. You don't have to use the already named cities and towns. You can make your own. I just created a few to give people the idea of what commerce and citizenship is like.

"Bubo, could you mark that on the map?" She asked. The bird tapped a spot on it, and her eyes went wide. "Oh, how silly of me." The magister scribbled again in her notebook. "If this is too personal, you don't have to answer. What are you descended from? I, personally, am elf descended. I didn't get the pretty ears, but I did get a metabolism not to bat a lash at."

You can answer this any way. I'll take any classical fantasy race, elf, dwarf, orc, halfling, gnome, etc. If you want to get a little wild with this, you'll have to run it by me first. You can also be pure human. They are rare, but they do exist.

The magister nodded and grabbed a few more things off of the desk. She almost seemed to forget you were there before her dark blue eyes shot back up. "What else, what else," she trailed off. Bubo alighted with a trill. "Right, this may seem pedantic, but what are your strengths and weaknesses?"

Tell the truth or lie. But if you lie, again throw it in a spoiler box. Embellishing to sound better is fine. Who doesn't in an interview?

Bubo took that moment to fly off, the whirring of gears echoed through the vaulted, narrow room. The light from the outside came in through shuttered windows that were nearly eight-feet tall. "You know, the journey is treacherous. How do you protect yourself?"

Weapons, fighting style, etc. You can also mention any important equipment you have on you.

"I promise this is almost over. I just need one more thing. Our new guide, Soren Something, has been having a look at all the possible recruits. Bubo went to go get him. And..." she trailed off as the chittering of metal gears re-entered the room. Bubo landed on her shoulder and was followed by a fairly average man with the cut of a sell-sword and a few of said swords to boot. He pushed his brown hair fully out of his eye line to reveal copper orbs that were cradled by the Marks of Mourning. The man slouched, maybe not used to the decadence of the room or to look less intimidating. He looked Character Name up and down.

Give a brief description of your character and their mannerisms. Think about how they would feel in this moment. You're in a fancy government house, being interrogated by a flighty magister and now being scrupled by a curmudgeonly guide.

The man pulled out a hand-rolled cigarette, much to the cringe of the magister. "Why're you here? Money or...?" He didn't beat around the bush as the magister had.

Money is perfectly acceptable, but you can have any reason. Relative on the pilgrimage. Someone you're looking for. Maybe you didn't make it in time, and this is your chance to join.

Soren shrugged. "Works for me. I told you I only need warm bodies."

The magister frowned. "And it's my job to give you the warmest of bodies. Well... not too warm." She turned to you while Soren exited, puffling smoke. "That's actually the problem, Liege Stormborn has fallen ill and their group doesn't know what to do. So, you'll be escorting Soren to them, and then you're free to take your gold and leave. I worry that I might get duped, but..." She extended her arm. "You seem like good people. Welcome aboard." She bobbed her hand, inferring she wanted it shook.

Describe whatever you say or do next, and then you can end it.
 
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