Character Creation

Starting level: We are all starting at level one for simplicity. Your characters will gain in levels and power as the game progresses.

Attributes: Your character is measured by six attribute scores: Strength, Dexterity, Constitution, Wisdom, Intelligence, and Charisma. To determine your scores, you may either roll for them or take the standard array.

To roll for your stats, we will use the "4d6, drop the lowest" technique. To do this, roll 4d6 (4 six sided dice) in this forum and add the three highest dice together. Do this six times, and assign the resulting sums to your attributes as you choose. This is the way I make my characters.

If you prefer, you can take the "Standard Array" instead of rolling, which gives you the numbers 15, 14, 13, 12, 10, and 8 to assign to your attributes as you please. This is less risky, but some people find it less exciting.

Allowed Character Races and Classes: Anything published in official D&D 5e books is okay. If you are new to D&D, you might want to stick to a class that does not cast spells at first level such as Barbarian, Fighter, and Rogue.

Barendd Dankill. This name is the only lasting legacy I have of my family that I was born from. I have no memory of them. Not their name, not what they looked like, or what separated us. My first memory was fighting. To be honest most of my memories are of fighting. In this case it was over my meal for the week. I won that fight. So I kept fighting. As I grew older I learned a thing or two about gambling, I found I enjoyed words and made every effort to speak in a way that wouldn’t betray my lack of proper education, I became proficient at brewing, plus some less than savory skills. When you’re growing up and school isn’t an option, and manual labor isn’t appealing you find yourself unsavory taverns learning from unsavory folk, and I found early on it’s much easier to make a friend than an enemy (personality trait). Once I trust someone enough to call them a friend they have my undying loyalty, until then they can sod right off (ideal). When you spend almost every waking moment keeping company with criminals and other desirables, or fighting, you start to build a reputation for yourself. I’m taller than a lot of people I know, also pretty stout so many of my peers in the seedier taverns saw this coupled with my fighting prowess as benefits to their type of work. I became the go to enforcer for our little slice of heaven, and I did quite while if I say so myself. Well enough to fund my gambling hobby, feed myself, keep warm at night, and continue to allow ink to adorn my body.

My first job started a bit of a tradition that I continued through my whole life. The thief that hired me insisted that he and I get partial tattoos, just the outline of a completed piece. Once the job was done we could fill them in and complete the job. I don’t know what his reasoning was, but in any event the job went off without a hitch. I got my first tattoo filled in and I decided to keep doing so before and after every job I ever took. I’m proud to show that my arms,except for my hands, and legs, except for my feet, are completely filled. It’s began to spill onto my back and torso. All completely filled in. except for the outline of a heart on my chest. The one job I didn’t complete. The one that still haunts me.

Tymus the barkeep, was the closest friend I had. He was family. He took me in when I was young, wild, thing. He helped me find who I was. He never forced ideology on me, he never lectured, but he tried to show me what the right path would be. He was the most honorable man I know, never giving into the seedy underbelly that this world can offer. Though he never judged me when I wasn’t necessarily on the right side of things. He knew who I am and that my heart never allowed me to do something that I felt was wrong. Then one night in a hushed tone he asked me for a favor. I had just finishing the filling in of my newest piece (the bear face on my right ankle) and he said he had need of my services as an enforcer. This is a man I had on more than one occasion trusted with my life so I said yes, no questions asked, and began tattooing the outline of a heart on my chest. Tymus had to confront a local man whom he had helped in the past. He offered his help freely on many occasions. The only thing he asked in return is that whomever he helped would not use their position to harm those in a lower station than they are in. I don’t know what this person did, I don’t know their name, I don’t even know what they look like, all I know is Tymus needed my help. So I stood behind him as we entered a tavern in the next town over. I stood in front of the door he entered into a private room, and I heeded his words to not allow anyone enter the room until he called my name. Many tried to enter, many tried to rush past me. No one tried twice. But I never heard my name. I stayed outside the door all night. Through the silence. The staff never even approached me when they wanted to close up. Once the sun began to rise I decided that I decided that the silence had lasted long enough. As I entered Tymus was alone, sitting in a chair. His eyes were blank and his chest was a charred hole. The one person truly close to me died and it was my fault. I will not let this happen again(bond). My heart continues to be empty as I search for a way to atone. For ages I continued his legacy by keeping his tavern open. I offered help to various people for various things. I stopped taking work as an enforcer, though sometimes people would come to the tavern looking for trouble with old Barendd, they never came back. I kept my less than legal contacts, I kept my body strong, I tried to do what good I could, but a body grows restless. What could a Dwarf do with my particular set of skills, love of fighting, and yearning to do right by the only Dwarf that had done right by him? How could I fill my heart?

It came to me in a dream I could go adventuring. I could try to set the world right. Fight what is truly evil. I am by no means someone who is "good" most of my friends aren’t either. None of us are evil. There are those who will take from those who have nothing. Those who will hurt the harmless. Those set the world on fire to watch it burn. Those are the ones who I can look to ridding the world of.

I might always stay on the straight and narrow. I admit that when I see something valuable, especially when it belongs to someone who doesn’t need nor deserve it I can’t think of anything else but how to steal it (flaw). I still love games of chance, and always carry my special dice for when conversations are going nowhere. Old habits die hard. But I’m ready for a change.

Should anyone ask a Kenku as to what the feathered wizard heading towards the ruins of Arkasia was named, they would respond by opening their beaks and emitting a noise that sounds exactly like the pages of a book flapping around as though one were rapidly turning between pages. For the convenience of the races that have their own voice, he has come to be known as Pageflap. A few years back, however, he was called by the sound of a dagger meekly hitting a piece of armor, back when he was so unremarkable that no one had even bothered to translate his name.

Hatched into a flock of Kenku serving a mad wizard, the young Pageflap was among the guards defending his tower. Not being too strong, he was one at the first line of defense, pushed to the front in the hopes that he would be able to tire any wayward heroes enough for the stronger minions in the back to mop up. Knowing what he knows today, Pageflap can only question why the spellcaster among the party of adventurers storming the tower deemed him a worthy enough threat to remove from the battlefield through the use of a high level spell such as Gate.

Wherever it was that the spell sent him, he is not sure he was actually supposed to be sent there. He remember very little of what it was that he saw, but amongst the visions he recalled being around the ruins of an empire that had fallen before he was even hatched. Whatever the destination of the spell, in the end he was spat out where he was taken from with feeling like his head was cracked open and, mysteriously, like a wound on his very soul had slightly healed.

It was only days later, while he and the survivors of his flock were packing up to move on after the death of their master, that he noticed it. Though still as cursed as the rest of his kind to be unable to take to the skies with his own wings or sing with his own voice, the spark of creativity had begun leaking into his thoughts! His exhilaration was somewhat dampened upon the realization that the curse still held to his soul, he was not truly free from the curse that stole creativity from the Kenku and what he had was but a morsel. But this was an opportunity! He had his foot in the door and he hungered for more.

With no one occupying it any longer, and no one else interested in the arcane arts, The young Kenku began devouring as much knowledge of the Mad Wizard that he could consume. His frantic reading earned him his new name, as not only did he read up on spells, but any book he could get his feathers on. What small bursts of creativity he got made him just clever enough to consider taking an interest in history so as to use the creativity of those who had come before.

Weeks passed after he earned his new name, and he bid his flock goodbye, choosing to remain in the tower while the rest of the flock finished packing to head off towards the city in hopes of finding someone new to serve under an umbrella of protection. Knowing there was a possible cure to at least one of the curses, Pageflap no longer wished to be a minion to morally questionable masters. Rather, he would devote his life to his studies in the hope of finding a way to restore the Kenku race from the curse's grasp. Saying goodbye and vowing to find them one day to share the gift of creativity, Pageflap returned to the large (surprisingly undisturbed considering the adventurers) library at the top of the tower and spent the next few years reading.

And through this reading he learned the name of the ruined empire of Arkasia, a land he remembers visiting in a vision.

21 years ago Aegar Gornhill was a much different person than the half-elf you see before you. On any given day Aegar could be found in the small town of Orogun (about 2 days by cart south of Veolia) working as a member of the town guard. On his off time, Aegar was a family man. His human wife Daresh and their young daughter Lily lived within the town of Orogun on the northern (and wealthier) side of town. When Aegar earned his knighthood, he only knew of the honor and possible glory that comes with such a position. As well as the super cool battle-axe forged in the capital city of the Arkasian Empire (He knew it was forged there because of the large and intricate "A" carved into the hilt of the axe). It wasn’t until he realized that as a knight he was expected to protect people, did he start to understand the responsibility he had been charged with. With his young wife at his side, Aegar worked hard to build them the life they dreamed of. One day, Aegar received word that fighting had erupted in the capital city and that cracks had begun to form in the Arkasian Emprie’s government. He rounded up his finest men and made haste to their neighbor town of Veolia to the north.

As the men galloped into town on their horses they saw a horror they could not comprehend. Men, women, and children were laying dead all around the town. Their bodies contorted into grotesque positions due to being slain while running for their lives. To the east, Aegar and his men heard the screams of children. Upon their arrival, they found 6 barbarians with weapons drawn towering over 3 terrified people they knew to be townsfolk. Aegar rode up from behind the barbarians swinging down with his battle-axe cleaving 3 of them nearly in half. The remaining three were felled by the other members of his guard, whom were mere steps behind Aegar. Aegar dismounted his horse and reached a hand down to the smallest of the townsfolk, a child just 10 years old. Its okay little one, you are safe now Aegar said in a deep and booming voice as he smiled and tried to quickly wipe some freshly spattered blood off of his face. For the next few days, Aegar and his men fought fiercely to get the few townsfolk they could to safety. The child they saved on the first day, Iman, had become fast friends with Aegar. Aegar saw the same spark in his eyes that he saw in Lily’s. It had been nearly a fortnight since Aegar saw her last, and he prayed every night that they would be safe while he was gone.

When Aegar was sure that Iman and the others were safe, he and his men rode back to Orogun. Only stopping to rest when the horses seemed as if they might die from exhaustion. Upon his return. Aegar had a strange feeling of deja vu. They rode into the town square only to find piles of bodies burning where children once played. The building where he and his men would commune before their daily duties had been burnt to the ground. Aegar understood what had happened immediately and rode in full gallop to his home. As he entered his street he dismounted his horse and walked stealthily up to his home. As he opened his front door he fell to his knees. On the floor in the entryway of his home, his wife and child lay dead, savagely beaten. Aegar held their bodies for a full day until he could not cry anymore, and slowly he made his way back his horse and rode off into the woods. Behind him lie a life he felt he would never know again.

Today, Aegar is nearly an entirely different man than the one who lived in the town of Orogun. The smooth face of the knight he once had been is now covered in a long and very thick (and dirty) beard. He no longer wears the full plate armor provided by the empire, settling for simple leather armor and garments he has fashioned over the past 2 decades. A large battle-axe is strapped to his back, well worn but clearly as sharp as the day it was forged. Aegar mainly keeps to himself, living off in a small hut deep within the woods. He is known to frequent a local tavern, tended by a mountain dwarf named Barendd. Aegar usually keeps to himself, drinking alone in a corner until Barendd has to cut him off and help him back on to his horse before sending him on his way. Barendd is one of the few people Aegar trusts and talks to. As a regular patron and an irregularly large drinker, Aegar has been known to go off on long tangents about the life he once lived. without Aegar even trying, he has developed somewhat of a friendship with the dwarf, especially since Barendd revealed to him that they have shared some very similar experiences. While mainly living only for himself, Aegar has not forgotten the responsibilities entrusted in him as knight all those years ago. Aegar has begun a new search for meaning, hoping that soon he will find something to give him the drive to continue on.

Personality Trait - My moods tend to run from boyish exuberance to deep melancholy. I can delight in the simple magnificence of life one moment, only to rage against the power of the gods the next.

Ideal - I live to present the truth of the human condition to anyone who can afford a ticket to the theater.

Bond - My only bond is to the power of words and bringing them to the masses.

Flaw - Because of my fame and the concessions and indulgences it has gained me, it has been many years since I've been held to account for anything. As a result, I rarely think of the consequences of my actions.

Background - I was raised in a wealthy family and educated in the finest of parochial and ecclesiastical traditions. It was thought that I would enter the clergy, and for a time, it seemed certain that my rising star would fast track me through the ranks of the bishopric. Then I chanced to stumble onto a neighborhood theater troupe in a less-than-savory section of town.

What it spoke to me was of the possibility of words on the human soul. I immediately saw the potential to bring my thoughts and ideas straight to the masses and not have to filter them through the lens of dogma. My studies suffered as I spent every moment possible behind the stage and finally, on it.

This brought great shame to my family, but I was undeterred. My father railed against me, cursing me as I have never heard him speak, and finally disowning me. His anger seemed so out of place that I believed him taken with madness. That is, until I discovered that I had an uncle of whom I was unaware. Like me, he had shamed his family with his relentless pursuit of so "base" a profession, and my father was beyond fury that I might follow in his brother's footsteps.

I refused to relent.

Sorcery has always run in my family, and I used my magicks to great effect on the stage. Eventually, my uncle brought me into his troupe. He had secured enough wealthy patrons for us to purchase a large theater. As our renown spread, we grew emboldened to broach subjects few others dared. Some of the best and brightest minds sought us out to stage their productions.

Even as my fame grew and I began to keep the company of wealthy merchants and nobles, my father refused to acknowledge me.

With the inspiration all around me, I began writing my own plays. That was our downfall. My production of "The King's Man" was not taken well by our liege. We were all imprisoned. Despite the fact that they were my words, it was my uncle's theater. His troupe, his responsibility. He confessed to authorship, was convicted of sedition, and was executed within a week. The rest of us receieved our lashes and were set free.

Though I am free, it is evident my movements are monitored. I think it prudent to leave town. Greener pastures and all that. Hmm, in fact, it appears that haste in my exile would be even more prudent. My uncle had been talking of a play wherein a wealthy man sells his soul for power. He had only begun to sketch the outline of the tale. The odd-looking grimoire he had lately been studying and making notations in appears to be all that I will have time to secure. With this and the clothes on my back, I take my leave of this ungrateful town, which has so quickly soured on me.

Now to find a suitable escort. I recall that fellow Dankill letting it slip that people sometimes come to him with such problems. Now where to find that deuced tavern he mentioned?