Character Creation

Assertiveness, Generosity, Loyalty, Devotion, Kindness, Sincerity, Temperance, Patience, Peacefulness, Faithfulness, Determination, Persistence, Adventurousness, Fairness, Cooperation, Tolerance, Optimism, Honesty

Dishonesty, Disloyalty, Unkindness, Meanness, Rudeness, Disrespectfulness, Impatience, Greed, Abrasiveness, Cruelty, Merciless, Narcissism, Obnoxiousness, Malicious, Pettiness, Quarrelsome, Caustic, Selfishness, Unforgiving, Untrusting

Gryndorf, the tiefling peace-domain cleric of Boldrei, was an acolyte within the temple of the Sovereign Host in the nation of Aundair at the end of the Last War. While performing his religious duties during the Last War in Aundair, some warforged souls went AWOL and requested shelter and asylum. Though he knew what they were doing was illegal, he knew that they were sentient, and he took it upon himself to hide them and provide for them for a month while they devised a plan to escape safely. He also believes that there is a spark of good in all creatures, and he actively seeks this good in all, even though one of the deserting warforged stole some important silver holy relics from the temple, and he caught them in the act, but chose to not confront them about their theft.

Inspiration can be used to boost an "Inspired Action", which gives advantage on an ability check or saving throw related to one of your personality traits.

Whenever you use an "Inspired Action", check off the inspiration marker on your character sheet, and check one of your "stress markers".

You can always take a "penalty" related to your flaws, which applies disadvantage to an ability check or saving throw; when you willingly take a penalty, you can remove one of your "stress markers".

If your "stress markers" tracker is full, then you must indicate so to the DM. He then reserves the right to apply a "stress setback" to your character or the party at a moment of his choosing. When that event occurs, you can clear your "stress marker" tracker.

Gryndorf is optimistic, and I want advantage on convincing a NPC that nothing bad will happen with our plan, and they should go with it for X, Y, and Z reasons. My persuasion roll now gains advantage, and my "stress marker" gets checked off.

I cannot use my inspired action to help Gryndorf, unless I can justify how that behavior fits my personality trait in some way.

I can also apply a setback, saying that Gryndorf's naivety does not allow him to appropriately know the motivations of the merchant he is negotiating with, and willingly take disadvantage on the insight roll.

Now, if Gryndorf's "stress marker" tracker is full, I now have to notify the DM of said event. The DM puts that in his back pocket, and later on, while we are at a crucial chase in a maze, and the party is running from a pack of minotaurs, and Gryndorf arrives at a crossroads in the maze, the DM may pull out a "stress setback", where Gryndorf has a mental crisis and he doesn't trust his own judgment for a time, resulting in disadvantage on wisdom and intelligence saving throws for the rest of the session.

This is the last time you will see your mother.

This thought goes through Seraphina's mind as she sits across the kitchen table from her mother. No, she thinks, forcing her mind from that dark corner. It's just a month, maybe two. You've prepared just about everything, and everything is going to turn out great.

She smiles at her Mother and continues going over the plan with her. She pulls out a bottle of pills and gently slides it toward her across the table. "Mama, I got you some more medicine. You got to remember to take one every day, okay?"

"Where'd you get that?" Her mother asks.

"I've been saving up," she responds, but her mother sees through her.

"You're a terrible liar, Seraphina." Her tone is reproachful. She's right, of course. She stole the medicine. She's a terrible liar but very good at breaking into buildings. Her job at the library had taught her a lot of skills. Yet, her mother takes the bottle in her shaking hands and her smile blossoms. "But a you're good daughter. Thank you."

This is the last time -- no.

"Mama, if you need anything ..."

"What I need is for my daughter to stop making a fuss. We've gone over the plan, sweetie. You're too big for this little apartment. Go spread your wings, my little dove. And besides, you're going to be late for work."

This is the last time -- no. Stop it. We need this. This is our chance.

They were both fighting back tears as they hugged for a long time. "I love you, Mama."

"I love you, sweetheart."

She picked up her duffle bag and moved to the door. Playfully being stern, she wags her finger at her mother and nags her one last time: "Don't forget your medicine!"

Her mother chuckled and waved as she closed the door. Seraphina stood silently in the apartment hallway for a long moment, letting out a long breath to steady herself. She hadn't been away from her mother for more than a work shift ever since her father died in the war ten years ago. But they were in debt, and things weren't getting any better.

I'll see her again, and soon. But with a fist full of gold coins. I'll get in good with the Unbroken Spine and we'll move out of Oldkeep, something where we can see the sky again, like back when Dad was alive.

She was already feeling a little better, and she allowed that flame of excitement to burn a bit brighter. "Xen'drik, here I come! But first, the Public Library."

It was her last shift at the Library. This place was like a second home to Seraphina. She hadn't been able to afford to go to school, but she got a job here at a young age, amazing her bosses with her ability to get overdue books back from even the most stubborn patrons.

Little did they know she was using her magic and some good-old fashion smarts. Armed with her reading on locksmithing, stealth techniques, and a thousand pulp adventure stories she dived into the Lower Dura and took back volume after volume. The more mysterious the case, the more likely it was Seraphina who solved it. She was obsessed.

Eventually Corvina took notice, and her real training began.

She turned the closed sign to face out the window and turned the locks on the main doors. She turned and Corvina was waiting for her.

"Have made all your preparations then?"

"Yes, I have."

"Alright. Let's begin your last lesson."

That voice in her head returned at that phrasing. This is the last time you'll see Corvina.

She aggressively ignored the voice. "Bring it on, old man," she said, smirking.

She opened her duffle bag and drew out her father's sword. It was lighter than most and well balanced, yet. The stacks became a training ground as the two sparred for the next hour. Corvina picked on her footwork and reminded her to keep her guard up, but he had to admit she was getting good. Her magical talents were starting to surpass his own, too.

After, they stood in silence in the center of the ring. As Corvina towelled the sweat from his brow, she sprung a question on him.

"Corvina? Will you check in on my --"

"You don't even have to ask, Seraphina. No harm will come to your mother while you are gone. I swear it on my life. Focus everything on your task."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you. For everything." Corvina had become like a father to her and the four words hardly seemed enough, but no more would come.

"Don't thank me yet. You still have to shelve all the returns, dust the lecterns, and sweep the floors." But there was a glint of light in the older man's eyes that revealed his affection for his surrogate daughter.

In these tender moments, that inner pessimistic voice was returned. This is the last time you will see --

But she stopped the voice. Hard in its tracks. Instead, she smiled. Everything was going to go according to plan.

You'll see.

A few months after his garden flourished, assassins came in the night to force the older man to reveal how he kept such rare and dangerous plants alive... but he refused. They gagged and dragged him to the garden where they poisoned him with his own plants before burying him in a compost heap. Poison coursing through his veins, worms and fungus moving over his body, Ghillie didn't die. Perhaps working so closely with the plants had given him a measure of immunity to their deadly sting. Perhaps the plants themselves couldn't bare to kill one who had so lovingly ensured their own survival. So he arose on the third day covered in and somehow primally connected to the compost which caked his skin and clothes. Several of the rare specimens had been taken but they wouldn't survive without his special touch.

Alin sits at a table in a dark the corner of the Chance Casio, staring into a half empty glass. The Dragoneyes district is a place where one can go to be seen or just as easily be hidden, Alin greatly favors the latter. They absentmindedly twirl a incorporeal dagger above their left hand. A garishly dressed elf with blue hair sits at the table across them. "Chance, How long have you known me?"
Chance draws on the long thin pipe that is part of their persona tonight. "Five years perhaps? You were still a teenager we think."
Alin's dagger stops spinning "I don't remember why I came here, why I started listening to you ramble on about the Traveler. I remember this had just made its first appearance." Alin flicks their wrist and the dagger flies off into the darkness and disappears. "I remember that some rich kid and his buddies chased me. I remember that I reached out to block his punch and I slit his throat instead and that the city watch was running around the district like someone had attacked the king himself... but I don't remember coming here."
Chance blows a cloud of smoke over Alin's shoulder and says "That was the first time you were the Traveler and you came to learn why from me. To learn that if we want to experience everything life has to offer, moments of despair, yes, but also the greatest joys one can imagine, that we have to learn to embrace the gifts of the Traveler."
Alin, looking skeptical, leans forward "Yes yes, as you say, I have had five years on and off of your teaching, but I don't feel as if I was or ever have been the Traveler, how are you so sure?"
"We are the Traveler." Chance states unquestionably.
"When you say 'we', do you mean all Children or do you mean 'you'?"
"Yes." the blue haired elf replies with a glint in their eye.
"Chance, very helpful as usual." Alin glares across the table.
"You are very welcome." they sit back and take another long drag on their pipe.

Capital: Stonespire
Primary Resources: Mercenaries, furs, meat
Enemies: Toldorath, Tordannon, the Jhorash’tar
Celebrated Virtues: Strength, confidence. Embrace the wild.

Doldarun is known for courage, while Droranath is fearless.
What’s the difference? A talespinner says that Doldarun is
afraid, but even knowing that fear, chooses to stand their
ground; in contrast, Droranath never sees any reason to be
afraid to begin with. Droranath dwarves value confidence and
optimism, and are certain that their strength can carry them
through any challenge.

The Droranath dwarves value tradition, and their culture is
the closest to the original Mror path before being conquered by
Galifar. The Droranath never became miners; they are hunters,
farmers, and above all, fierce warriors. Droranath youths have
always trained with axe and hammer, long before Dol Udar
made the practice common among the clans, and hide armor
is standard fashion among the clan. Some Droranath develop
the skills of the stealthy hunter, striking down enemies from
afar, but most Droranath warriors prefer to look their enemy
in the eye and to see their fear. Droranath warriors perfect a
technique called tra dolhass—the battle cry—a wild howl as the
warrior charges the enemy, summoning their adrenaline and
fury. The Droranath love battle, and for centuries they have
sold their services as mercenaries through House Deneith.
The "Mror Howlers" are valued as shock troops and vanguard
warriors. They are one of the smallest and poorest clans, in
part due to their violent lifestyle and refusal to embrace many
modern advances, but they continue to hold their lands.

Droranath has fought the Jhorash’tar orcs since the first
days of exile. They accuse the orcs of countless atrocities,
many of which may have indeed occurred—centuries in
the past. Droranath talespinners insist the Jhorash’tar
were responsible for the destruction of Noldrunhold, and
now claim the orcs are in league with the horrors of the
Realm Below. In addition to ongoing skirmishes between
Droranath dwarves and the Jhorash’tar, this has led to a
bitter feud between Droranath and the clans that support
the Jhorash’tar—Toldorath and Tordannon.

The Droranath dwarves aren’t miners, and they haven’t
opened paths to the Realm Below in their territory. However,
Droranath mercenaries have served other clans, and brought
back trophies from their battles. It’s Droranath tradition to
claim the arms and armor of fallen foes, and the Droranath
have no qualms about using symbiont weapons, though they
don’t celebrate them as Soldorak and Narathun do.
Droranath characters are often outlanders or folk heroes, as
they are always willing to take risks to help friends. Rangers
and barbarians are sound choices for Droranath; rangers are
usually hunters, while those who practice tra dolhass might
be berserkers or ancestral guardians.