Dice SKT's character sheets

[kevintheradioguy]

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[div class=text][div class=txtheader]character creation rules[/div]
Use basic DnD 5ed rules. If you have any questions about it, please, address the DM - I am always happy to help.
Use only published books for any classes and backgrounds. The list can be found here. The reason for it being that homebrew and playtest content can break the intended story. Bonus point for people who stick with vanilla (a.k.a., PhB), since many additions were published after the module, and they might just bring slight disbalance.
The world is Faerun, thus, although Ebberon's Guide and Ravnica's Guide were published, it is heavily discouraged to use them for source materials, since these worlds are in many ways different from Faerun, and might break immersions somewhat.

[div class=txtheader]general character rules[/div]
Please, create adventurers. It's tempting to create a brooding loner antihero, however, the characters need motivations. Characters without motivations to stick in the party and to the plot might find some difficulties in gameplay. This is your choice, however. Loners won't be banned, but they are discouraged.
Godmodding is heavily discouraged.

[div class=txtheader]filling the CS[/div]
It is heavily recommended to use DnDBeyond's character builder or Myth Weavers character builder. The reason for this is a great layout, ease of looking through it, and editing for any levelups. However, if you want, you can use any other character builder for your character sheets, or even use fillable forms to reupload them on here!
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Spoiler: CS code

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[div class=headermain]{NAME}
[heightrestrict=400]{IMAGE}[/heightrestrict][/div]
[div class=text][div class=txtheader]background[/div]
{Fill in a brief, public background for your character here; any guild associations, such as the Lord's Alliance, the Order of the Gauntlet, the Emerald Enclave, Zhentarim, the Harpers, or none at all. If you cannot make up your mind, you can discuss these things with your fellow adventurers, and maybe create your own adventuring guild new to Sword's Coast. Try to add their origin: city, town, village, or even just general area here.}

[div class=txtheader]appearance[/div]
{any physical description you deem necessary, be it a detailed outlook on your character, the description of clothes, or an animal companion (for rangers).}

[div class=txtheader]personality and attitudes[/div]
{brief description of the attitude and mannerisms; and if you want, you can list specific attitudes towards the rest of the group: who are you friends or rivals with.}


[div class=txtheader]character sheet[/div]
{Full name} | {Class, Level} | {Race} | {Alignment} | {Background} | Passive Perception: {##}
{link to your DnDBeyond's character sheet (use it, as it's easy to edit it on your own), or any easy to read or edit alternative}
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[/div][div class=fyuricredit]code by [USER=39545]@Fyuri[/USER][/div][comment]do not alter/remove credit. code by [USER=39545]@Fyuri[/USER][/comment]
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[kevintheradioguy]

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[div class=text][div class=txtheader]character statuses, effects, curses, etc.[/div]
Dakyte: ~
Deidre: ~
Iris: 1d6 inspiration
Jo: ~
Kyria: ~
Naivara: ~
Rain: ~
Rina: 1d6 inspiration
Orok: 1d6 inspiration
Samson: 1d6 inspiration
Sturdy: ~
Yenric: 1d6 inspiration
Zi'on: 1d6 inspiration
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[Xio]

[div class=fyurimain]
[div class=headermain]Lady Iris Madeleine Lucien

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[div class=text][div class=txtheader]background[/div]
Of the many noble houses that called Waterdeep their home, the Lucien family was one of the smaller houses. However, there name became well known when a servant discovered altars in a hidden room of their cellar dedicated to Bane and Loviatar, the gods of tyranny and pain. Although no plot of treason was found, the Lucien name was tarnished and its title removed. Although powerless, Iris would not resign herself to her fate. She went into the city's underbelly and made a deal with the Zhentarim. The rogues put a some gold in the right hands and daggers to the right necks, and soon the Lucien family was dropped of all charges. The witness had mysteriously vanished with his lover, the altar was discovered to predate the home, and any enemies of the Luciens inexplicably changed their tune. In fact, with the whole city now knowing their names the Luciens were propelled into further fame.

However, with that fame came infamy. Few people still trusted the Lucien name, and without enough income they were indebted to the Zhentarim. Rather than watch her family become slaves to the very rogues she hired, Iris left Waterdeep in search of fortunes to placate the Zhentarim. However, after seeing what the bottom might have looked like and getting a taste of what the top might be like, Iris found a second goal as she traveled. She would free her family, extend their power, and potentially become rulers in their own right.

[div class=txtheader]appearance[/div]
The door opens, and a tall woman steps in from the darkness beyond. Flowery perfume fills the air around her as she walks in, mixing with the strangely metallic smell of iron. A black gown trimmed with fur hugs her figure, cut to hang low on her shoulders and go down to just past her ankles. Her dark clothes make her smooth, pale skin seem even more ethereal. A leather choker wraps around the base of her neck with a dark red gemstone hanging off a chain from it like a bead of blood. Beautiful blonde hair flows down her back, now frayed slightly from her travels. Red-brown eyes shine like dark rubies beneath her locks. She glanced about the room with a combination of disdain and curiosity, as if she were testing your will against her gaze. A glistening black snake settles around her shoulders, watching the room with glassy eyes.

[div class=txtheader]personality and attitudes[/div]
Iris puts everyone in one of two groups; either you are beneath her, or you are an obstacle to be overcome. And to her, most people are already beneath her. She tends to be private and tries to keep a respectable distance between herself and her comrades, both physically and socially. Since losing and regaining her title she has become paranoid of losing her power, and is constantly working to make herself stronger even in the smallest situations. She keeps her desires hidden under fake smiles and polite gestures, all the while working her plans. She is patient enough to treat anyone who can forward her goals with empty respect. Although she seems helpful, this should never be confused for generosity. She bides her time, undoing her enemies and throwing aside the weak and useless. No boulder is too large and no crevice is too dark to keep her from her goals. If anything she derives some twisted joy out of causing hardship for others, but she keeps that to herself. A certain part of her does miss being able to afford the luxuries of trust and true comradery, but such is the price of power.


[div class=txtheader]character sheet[/div]
Iris Madeleine Lucien | Wizard 1 | Human | Lawful Evil | Noble | Passive Perception: 12
The lady's sheet
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[/div][div class=fyuricredit]code by @Fyuri[/div]

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[Seraph Darkfire]

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[div class=headermain]Zi'on

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[div class=text][div class=txtheader]background[/div]
When he was designed, he was designed to be an assassin. He was very good at his job. But over the years as he grew stronger and stealthier, he began to feel a strange void inside of himself. The ones who had created him had long since passed. He was lacking something, some drive. So he made a choice. He'd start over, try making a life for himself instead of the one he'd been built for.

Through delicate procedure he deleted the memories of his skills, slowly removing the strength he'd gathered over three hundred years. When he was done, he found solace in that feeling, a cleanliness he hadn't felt before. It led him to a monastery where he learned more about seeking his own inner peace instead of others.

When the giants began causing trouble, he felt it only right to head out and adventure, to grow strong once more.

[div class=txtheader]appearance[/div]
Zi'on is around six feet and a half inches tall and weighs surprisingly more than his slim figure would imply. While he possesses no face as one would imagine regular organics to have, he simply has a smooth surface. On his "face" and across his entire body are lines that glow blue with his internal energy. He doesnt wear much and in fact doesn't need to, however he does wear a simple monk's robes for little more than he enjoys it.

His "skin" is hard ironwood, tough enough to withstand great damage.

[div class=txtheader]personality and attitudes[/div]
Despite his imposing figure, he's quite the trickster, especially to new people. He has been known to stand absolutely still and scare the occasional passerby by moving when they aren't looking.

He is also fiercely loyal to those he's sworn to protect. He is a bit reckless in combat, a byproduct of his stronger days.


[div class=txtheader]character sheet[/div]
{Zi'on} | {Monk, 1} | {Warforged} | {Chaotic-Good} | {Outlander} | Passive Perception: {15}
{Zi'on 2.0}
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[/div][div class=fyuricredit]code by @Fyuri[/div]

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[Yokai]

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[div class=headermain] STURDY

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[div class=text][div class=txtheader]background[/div]
Sturdy does not talk much about his life before Waterdeep; he refuses to speak about what he did or whom he was before he became a bard, ashamed of himself and afraid of the judgement of others. It is, however, common knowledge that the half-orc arrived in the City of Splendors almost five years ago with a haunted look in his eye and a penchant for checking over his shoulder. He appears to carry a deep, soul-encompassing guilt that he hopes to overcome through the assistance and giving back of others.

Early on he’d aligned himself with the Harpers, specialising in monster hunting and attempting to bring some form of fairness and equality back to the people. With the threat of the giants looming over everyone’s heads, Sturdy figured that this was a good enough chance to prove himself and to preserve what little good he had left inside.

[div class=txtheader]appearance[/div]
Despite being a bard -- just look at those bagpipes! -- Sturdy is still an extremely formidable looking opponent and an obvious half-orc. Standing at around 6’3” with a lean muscular build, Sturdy definitely lives up to his name and often gets mistaken for a fighter or a barbarian. Armour-wise he keeps his appearance as unobtrusive as possible with the most run-of-the-mill leather armour that one could find -- with one exception, of course. A checkered, red, black and green kilt hangs scandalously low over his hips, despite the fact that he is clearly wearing armour underneath. Essentially; the combination of the towering physique, the kilt, the haunted look that he seems to possess, and the threatening bagpipes makes Sturdy an enemy that you do not want to meet.

[div class=txtheader]personality and attitudes[/div]
Upon first impressions Sturdy is not really what one would expect. Sure, he’s a little rough around the edges and he possesses that blatant recklessness associated with his kind, but he’s also surprisingly well-spoken and emotionally intelligent. Bizarre, right? He tries not to take things too seriously as his past is dark enough and serious enough as it is; therefore, he might as well enjoy what time he has left and leave a good impression on those around him.

As such, there is little that actually bothers the half-orc. Maybe this comes from his own belief that he deserves all the bad that comes his way, or maybe he genuinely just doesn’t care anymore. Who knows? Either way, Sturdy is doing his best and that’s all that really matters.

Just don’t get too attached because he isn’t in the habit of letting people in.

[div class=txtheader]character sheet[/div]
Not Too Sturdy | Bard, 1 | Half-Orc | Neutral Good | Haunted One | Passive Perception: 11
Sturdy's Sheet
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[/div][div class=fyuricredit]code by @Fyuri[/div]

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[D. Rex]

[div class=fyurimain]
[div class=headermain]Deidre Darude

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[div class=text][div class=txtheader]background[/div]
A gift to an ambitious to a sect of draconic cultists. Courtesy of the late Darude family. Deidre was to be groomed into a sacrificial Arcane focus. A ritual to reach for Tiamat herself.

As the eyes of the sect focused more on their prize, misfortune quickly came. Those who learned of this foul cult had little qualms in labeling them heretics and villains, and killed the ones they could find. Even as the cult went underground, things did not get safer. They closer the sect came to reaching into for Tiamat, the more something else began to take notice. A sign! Yet one that brought both death and madness. One by one the sect members grew more obsessed, and one by one, they perished to strange behaviors and stranger magics. Something was beginning to go wrong.

The leader was not one to be swayed, his goal was in sight, and he would go through the ritual with or without his followers. Chained to him, and casting through her, his final attempts to gain a boon from the eldritch beings, he succumbed to death. Mysteriously, leaving only her.

Though chained to a dead man, she was now free, albeit half crazed. And she fled, dragging the corpse behind. Walking through a dead landscape with only dark whispers keeping her company.These whispers enticed her with power. With magic. She KNEW magic, but had only ever had it cast through her. But these whispers promised to fix that. Promised to break the chains that bound her. That those powers would be hers like they were to the members of the cult. And all it required was for her to take part in a ritual of her own… to take a piece of the dead mage and cast through him.


It commanded her which part to take. She broke open the man's skull, splitting it in half. She stripped off the meat and skin and innards like a woman possesed. It was hard to explain what happened, as blackness from the skull reached out to grab her. She was shown visions that she can not explain or remember. Words were spoken to her, words in a language she couldn't understand yet just hearing them was like getting lost in an unfathomable abyss.

She came to her senses days later. Wandering through the wilderness towards civilization, unaware of how long it had been or how she brought herself here. She was, however, covered in blood and wearing the skull like a mask. As promised, her chains were broken, yet the shackles remained. Locked in place by a potent spell. A permanent reminder of where she came from.


What it was that she was sworn to, she had no idea... was it her own weakness or the influence of the entity that seduced her. Whatever it was, whatever the reason, it was who she was now. But what to feel? Fear or ambition? What would it do to her in the end? What cost would it bring? To make use or get rid of it... Deidre leaned towards the latter... only leaned. Because despite its effects on her, there is macabre desire to know more.

[div class=txtheader]appearance[/div]
Deidre is a two toned tiefling, mostly peach with red on her face, back, tail, and legs. Dark brown hair grace her head and the tip of her tail, and hooves take the place of feet. She is short woman, with haunting black eyes.

Dresses in drab but functional clothing. Nothing that a commoner wouldn't wear. And a cloak to help keep her warm against the wind and rain.

Normally seen carrying a rather bland staff, typical of many magic users. And over her clothes is what leather armor could afford.

While she greatly prefers to be clean and tidy, her allowance of living doesn't leave room for luxury. So most of her belongings seem like they were bought secondhand. But at the very least, they do a more than practical job of covering up the large symbol of Tiamat tattooed on her back.
[div class=txtheader]personality and attitudes[/div]
A rather dour individual. That is a good way to describe her. Deidre goes about her day tempered gloom about her attitude. Pessimistic to a fault, even, she is not one to put faith much faith in the goodness or abilities of others. Yet despite being such a negative Nancy, she brushes off bad luck with surprising ease, and is loathe to wallow in any sort of pity. Self afflicted or otherwise. Likewise, praise does seem to make her a little uncomfortable, if not a wee bit skeptical.

Skeptical. As she is of many things. Skeptical, but not paranoid. While she does harbor a lot of doubt, she mainly dwells in the realms of realism. And as such, her gloomy monotone voice rarely minces words.

Yet despite this she is neither ungrateful or unkind. And whatever form of bluntness her words may take, she does remember her manners, for what it's worth.

While she isn't one for small talk, she isn't shy from talking either. And often times will share what wisdom she can offer when its relevant.

Being the Skeptical gal that she is, she has a distaste for jumping into things blindly. Greatly preferring to have a plan of action and even a backup plan. After all, she would hate to prove her pessimism right.

Speaking of things she has a distaste for, its being helpless. She was a "victim" once, and never wishes to be one again. And a good way to see that gloom be shook off for something more fiery, is to see someone who refuses to be anything but. Bad things happen. But that should never be an excuse to let it define you and keep you from moving forward. And taking her own words to heart, she is not one to stop moving forward because things get hard.

Lastly, for those who do hold her gaze, her eyes carry the weight of someone who has seen things that no mortal should see. Haunting things that will have forever left their mark on her. Things she would not be able to describe even if if she wanted to. Things that have opened the door in her mind to the risk of madness should she not hold on tight to who she is.


Also, Iris is a bitch. But it could be worse.
[div class=txtheader]character sheet[/div]
Deidre Darude| Warlock, 1 | Tiefling | Neutral Good | Haunted One | Passive Perception: {12}
Character Sheet of Deidre Darude
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[/div][div class=fyuricredit]code by @Fyuri[/div]

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[Damafaud]

[div class=fyurimain]
[div class=headermain] Rina Rubare

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[div class=text][div class=txtheader]background[/div]
Her father a human, her mother an elf. Rina grew with her father under the patronage of Levee family. The house was a small one in Silverymoon, but still wealthy enough to house a brilliant bard and his only daughter comfortably. What brought an end to their peaceful life was curiosity. By the time Rina passed the age of 20, the lord had bestowed Armani a country house and monthly stipend as a sign of their friendship. The lord wanted Rina to take her father's mantle, but she had another plan. Though she loved her father so, she yearned to travel and look into the land beyond. And to look for her mother.

Rina never met her mother outside of her father's tale and her vague memory of being taught the ciolinby her. Always described as a figure with otherworldly beauty, yet hiding a surprisingly artistic side behind her cold interior. The only clue to her mother was her time with the Harpers and her lute, with a name that says Nadhira on the case. The young half-elf went off to a journey to look for her mother.

[div class=txtheader]appearance[/div]
As she climbs a stage, the permanent slight smile on her mouth turns into a full fledged smile. Rina has deep grey eyes which shine with radiance whenever she is overcomes with excitement. She has an average build, a bit on the thinner side. Though her facial feature gives off a sharp impression, the shape of her ears leans more toward her father than mother.

When Rina climbs on stage, she is easily recognisable by her pristine white dress and her violin. She often uses Minor Illusion cantrip in her performance, making her show both pleasing to the ears and eyes.

[div class=txtheader]personality and attitudes[/div]
Upbeat and cheerful, Rina has an energetic vibe that tries its best to liven up the mood of people around her. She views the world at large with unceasing optimism and curiosity, much like that of a child brought to a foreign wonderland. It will be wrong to treat her optimism as ignorance. Her positivity is her way to enjoy life, and showing it serves as a faucet for the emotion swelling in her heart. She cares for those she considers friends greatly, though she will not neglect her own happiness over that of someone else's.

As a half-elf, Rina's view of the world is influenced by that of the elves and the fruits of her reflection. Balance needs to be upheld in life. Rina believes that everything she does will eventually comes back to her, if not countered by something of an equal yet opposite value. This view makes her privy to perform bad deeds, and to perform good deeds to cover evildoings she has committed.


[div class=txtheader]character sheet[/div]
Rina Rubare | Bard, 1 | Half-Elf | Neutral Good | Entertainer | Passive Perception: 11
Rina's CS
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[/div][div class=fyuricredit]code by @Fyuri[/div]

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[BriiAngelic]

[div class=fyurimain]
[div class=headermain] Naivara Naïlo

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[div class=text][div class=txtheader]background[/div]
Naivara grew up with her parents in the deep of the silver marshes. Though she herself has always been a member of the Red tigers tribe she’s clearly seen that the other members are a bit different from her. Being one of the few elves in the tribe she’s had a bit more of an adjustment than the typically predominantly human tribe. She was playing with her neighbors great grandfather at one point after all. Her and her family’s extended lifespans means that they were quite used to outliving their tribesmen. For her own childhood she grew up watching all her friends grow old and die much quicker than herself and didn’t want to miss a moment at first. But still she knew that the tribe was warning with others, the grey wolves had made a point when they started to branch out into “civilization” in order to strengthen themselves. The old ways were engraved into her heart but her own mind was set to expanding outward. Seeing as time seemed to move far less for herself she decided that if the tribe needed outside knowledge she’d go get it. A few decades outside the ways would be no more an effect on her life than a morning for the others. So she set off coming and going. Bringing back the fruits of her travels while also making sure that she never missed too many moments in her tribes lifespans.

[div class=txtheader]appearance[/div]
Naivara is a curious sight to behold. By all rights she’s clearly a wood elf and does no attempt to hide this. Still it’s quite rare that she’s found without her cowl raised. She changes clothes often, usually in corresponding to matching the clothes of the locals, and tends to wear more muted colors. Though even as her clothes change she keeps the woven jewelry presumably of her tribe. This includes the shell necklace, woven belt, a handful of bracelets in plain bronze, and her facial piercing. Hidden away is various bound books with scribbles of her notes within that one may occasionally find her pulling out of her bags. More obviously she has her rapier attached at the hip held by the woven belt, along with a set of knives.

[div class=txtheader]personality and attitudes[/div]
Nai is a woman that tends to find herself alone more than with a group. This is not really a reflection of her own desire as much as her own treatment to others. While she’s fairly happy to be around people she doesn’t tend to give that energy back. It doesn’t matter much to her if you stay or go, even if she liked you more than someone else she’s unlikely to show it. To everyone else she responds with either showing them up or sass. She’s seen a bit of the world by now and is reveling in it. She’s a wander from birth and despite her traveling away from her tribe in her heart she’s never truly left them, which leaves her a bit hesitant to grow close to just anyone . Her own self imposed separation is purely from her own differences and a childlike want to find the worlds mysteries and note how best to avoid them. After all what better way to keep the tribe safe than to know it’s enemies closely?

[div class=txtheader]character sheet[/div]
Naivara Naïlo | Rouge, 1 | Wild/Wood Elf | Chaotic Neutral | Sage | Passive Perception: 16
Naivara
[/div]
[/div][div class=fyuricredit]code by @Fyuri[/div]

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[useless]

[div class=fyurimain]
[div class=headermain] “Jo”

[/div]

[div class=text][div class=txtheader]background[/div]

Jo could vaguely remember life before she became a part of the tribe. She knew her family had been from Loudwater, but she couldn’t recall much about life there. Most of her memory after the attack was a blur, but the attack, oh, now that she remembered clearly. The slaughter of her parents as the ravenous bear feasted upon them, and the way it then attacked her when she tried to help. How weak she had been - her hands to small and arms to fragile to even properly hold the wood axe! She absolutely stood no chance, and the beast very nearly killed her, and all she could remember feeling at that time was rage at her own weakness. Her life was spared when, by chance or by fate, an orc who had been hunting the beast caught up to it and killed it before it could finish Jo off. The Orc spoke very broken common, but his words to her were clear: She either go with him and become strong, or she bleed out there beside her family’s trade wagon. The choice was obvious.

As she traveled with the tribe and become stronger, healing from her wounds and learning to hunt and kill, her passion for killing grew as well... but she was unsatisfied with killing helpless little rabbits or defenseless deer. Simply put, it bored her, and by the time she was a teenager, she decided that the lifestyle of the tribe was not the life she desired. She craved to kill bigger, stronger prey, predators in their own right! Her mentor understood her thirst for power, but did not wholly approve of her leaving the tribe. It was made very clear that should she leave, she would be unaccepted back. She would be on her own. But she knew what she wanted, and knew it wouldn’t be found with the orcs, so she left without any real hesitation.

From there, she hunted and killed all sorts of beasts, one day inadvertently saving the life of a wealthy merchant, who ended up paying her back by hooking her up with some group by the name of The Zhentarium - or the Black Network. She stayed with them for a few years, her service always cheap (nearly free) due to her disinterest in gold. She was in it for the hunt, only accepting contracts that involved finding an individual, stalking them, and extorting them… only, she had a pension for also killing the target. It was fun, but apparently, butchering each and every target was unacceptable, and after a few years of the faction’s patience growing thin on her, she left. She supposed they would have tried to kill her if she had stayed, which would have been great fun, of course! She refused to be the prey ever again, and welcomed the challenge of killing those who would hunt her! But the group had grown boring to her, and once she heard talk of giants, she knew that was where she wanted to be.

Perhaps the Black Network had a hit on her head still, perhaps not, but she’d kill whoever they sent at her if they got in the way of her new interest.

[div class=txtheader]appearance[/div]

You hear the crackling of leaves to the right, the shifting of bushes and the unmasked sound of a blade being drawn slowly from it’s hilt. The scent hits you before you have a chance to look - a sour smell; sweat, tinged in blood and dirt. Finally, you look to find the source of it all, and what you see first is the stark white mask with the red handprint dead-center, which you can only assume is painted in blood. Two long horns curl from the top of the mask, reaching backwards toward the greasy, choppy black hair, and the eyes… the black slits, glaring at her motionlessly. Looking closely, you can see that the mask is made from wood, painted white. For the most part, the being appears to be dressed in dark attire, with only their throat and the tips of their fingers visible. The outer cloak is worn and tattered, ripped and sewn poorly back together in places, covered in dark stains that are barely visible on the already dark fabric. Beneath the cloak is armor of some sort - scale armor by the look of it, covering the being’s torso in dark, jagged little plates that are far too filthy to shine in the poor lighting of the forest. The rest of the clothing is simple and unimpressionable, rags and old leather boots really, though you do notice that there is a rope dangling from their neck, with - wait, are those fingers hanging from the rope?!

Four mummified fingers hang freely from the rope, definitely on display, like the savage individual WANTS you to see it…

[div class=txtheader]personality and attitudes[/div]

Having been primarily raised among Orcs, Jo can seem very crude and borderline savage at times. If you’re not strong, you’re not worth respecting, and that’s all there is to it. Though, to be fair, it would be hard to say that she has any real respect at all for anyone or anything other than a good hunt. She lives to kill the biggest and baddest creatures alive, so really, small fry aren’t worth her time. She is blunt and tells everything as it is, having never been one to beat around the bush, never bothering to flower anything up for the sake of anyone else.

[div class=txtheader]character sheet[/div]

Joan Rosebridge | Ranger, 1 | Human, Variant | Chaotic Neutral | Bounty Hunter | Passive Perception: 14

Joan Rosebridge
[/div]
[/div][div class=fyuricredit]code by @Fyuri[/div]

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[wowbobwow]

[div class=fyurimain]
[div class=headermain]Yenric Goodspoon

[/div]
[div class=text][div class=txtheader]background[/div]
Yenric grew up in a typical shire, but quickly realized that he was not the typical halfling ... not in every way, anyway. He was always looking for something more, something that he couldn't get in the small community he grew up in. When he was still fairly young, he left home and fell in with a small religious order that worshiped Tymora. He found something to devote himself to, and that is exactly what he did there, spending years training as a cleric. He has only recently left the enclave to rejoin society, learning that even though he found an incredible amount of inner peace and harmony in his studies, true enlightenment would only come through adventure and experience. He is still eager to see everything that he can and learn about all the delights of the world, believing that it is the only true path to finding the destiny that Tymora has for him.

[div class=txtheader]appearance[/div]
Yenric is a typical halfling male in appearance, standing three feet tall exactly, with a slender, but athletic build. He doesn't tend to worry overly about his appearance, letting his hair grow long and do as it likes. While looking at humans and dwarves, he is quite thankful that his chin and cheeks have refused to grow any hair. It makes things simple, even if it does make him appear a bit younger than he is. His eyes are brown, wide and eager to take in the sights around him, and there is almost always a smile on his face, whether it be a small smirk or a wide grin.

[div class=txtheader]personality and attitudes[/div]
Yenric is a happy-go-lucky type; having spent most of his life in a religious order, he is eager to see the world and what it has to offer. He has an almost odd inner peace about him, that keeps the smile on his face, and his attitude positive. It has been known to annoy the hell out of some less than cheery folks. His appetites are as big as he is small. Whether it be for games of chance (he is a cleric of Tymora, after all), drunken revelry, or a particularly tasty second breakfast, Yen is difficult to sate. Having been secluded from the world for so long, he wants to meet everyone, taste everything, see everything, and do all the things. He is always happy to make a friend, and incredibly loyal to the ones that he makes. He is easygoing and fun to have around ... as long as the constant smile doesn't drive one mad.

[div class=txtheader]character sheet[/div]
Yenric Goodspoon | Cleric, 1 | Lightfoot Halfling | Chaotic Good | Hermit | Passive Perception: 13
Character Sheet
[/div]
[/div][div class=fyuricredit]code by @Fyuri[/div]

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[Kitsumi]

[div class=fyurimain]
[div class=headermain]Rain

[/div]
[div class=text][div class=txtheader]background[/div]
Born to a nomadic tribe of humans who isolated themselves from the rest of the world, Rain was never taught the nuances of how to behave in a proper society. Her childhood was spent running half-naked through the wild with the other children of her tribe. She was trained with various weapons from the moment that she was big enough to hold them, and was taught how to properly hunt and survive alone in the wilderness. This training came in handy when a disease wiped out most of tribe, including her family, causing the living members to scatter for fear of catching the illness. Rain is still plagued by the memory of the younger brother she left behind, near death but still living, simply to save her own skin.

While her survival skills were enough to keep her alive, the isolation began to take a toll on Rain's mental state. Drifting into a deep depression, she began to wonder whether her life had even been worth saving. Luckily, her wandering soon brought her to a village. While she was not exactly welcomed with open arms - she was, after all, not exactly what one might call "civilized" - she was no longer alone.

For the past five years, Rain has been wandering from town to town, searching. She knows that she will never be able to have her tribe back, but she hopes to find a similar sense of camaraderie... someday.

[div class=txtheader]appearance[/div]
At nearly six feet tall, Rain is taller than most of the women she has met within the small towns she prefers to frequent. She is 185 pounds of muscle, which she likes to proudly display. Common clothing does not suit her, and while she can be persuaded to wear armor, she prefers donning herself in simple hide wraps. She also enjoys adorning herself in trophies from her previous kills: teeth, claws, even an entire skull! And of course, she is rarely seen without at least one or two weapons on her person.

[div class=txtheader]personality and attitudes[/div]
Rain has been described as difficult to get along with, but this isn't for lack of trying on her part. She craves a close companionship built on trust and loyalty, the sort of bond that would prompt her to even offer her life for her companions. But it is hard for her to connect with others when she doesn't understand how it is that they expect her to behave.

After years of hearing the hushed whispers spoken about her and seeing the mistrust in the eyes of others, Rain is no longer as open and friendly as she once was. The naive hope of her childhood and adolescence has been replaced by a pessimism and gloomy aura that constantly surrounds her. On the rare occasion that someone does actually treat her with kindness, she assumes that she is being tricked or mocked in some way and takes offense.

Because of all this, Rain now speaks as little as possible. She prefers communicating in grunts and gestures, using as few words as possible when interacting with others. The only exception is when she is angry enough to fly into a rage - she often has plenty to say under those circumstances, but it's questionable whether or not the subject of her insults will be conscious and able to hear her words at that point.


[div class=txtheader]character sheet[/div]
Rain | Barbarian, 1 | Human | True Neutral | Outlander | Passive Perception: 11
Character Sheet
[/div]
[/div][div class=fyuricredit]code by @Fyuri[/div]

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[Equusheart]

[div class=fyurimain]
[div class=headermain]Kyria Brightwood

[/div]
[div class=text][div class=txtheader]background[/div]
Kyria was the result of a brief love affair between a common human maiden and an elven Lordling. Her father's family did not approve of the pair and quickly had him married off to a elf maiden from a respectable family. It wasn't long after that Kyria's mother discovered that she was with child. Kyria was born that following summer. At five years of age, Kyria was sent to live in the orphanage of the nearby town after her mother died of illness. It wasn't too bad at first. Constance, one of the caretakers was kind to Kyria and became like a big sister. But the other children wasted no time in making sure Kyria knew that she was different. They would make fun of her ears and called her 'elf girl' or 'half breed'. When the teasing would become too hurtful, Kyria would take to the nearby forest. There she could escape from the disapproving and sometimes cruel looks she got at the orphanage. The woods were her playground and her sanctuary. Eventually Kyria decided that she didn't really belong among people. And at sixteen, she packed what belongings she had, left the town she had grown up in and never looked back. After that, Kyria spent some time among the elves to learn more about her elf heritage. It was there that she earned her first sword and bow, and she learned how to use them well. She learned how to track and how to move without leaving signs of her passing. She joined in on hunts and trained with many of the warriors. But soon the name 'half-blood' seemed to come to her ears wherever she went. Once again, Kyria felt like she didn't belong. So she took to the roads, traveling from place to place. Never staying in one place for too long.

[div class=txtheader]appearance[/div] Standing at about 5'2", Kyria has the light and slender build of her father's kin. She has long dark brown hair that falls past her shoulders to the middle of her back and her mother's chocolate brown eyes. Her skin is slightly tanned from all her time spent outside and her clothes are worn from travel.

[div class=txtheader]personality and attitudes[/div] Kyria tolerates most people, though she generally likes to avoid them. Kyria tends to favor the forest and wilderness over the nosy bustling of a town and would often sleep outside where she can hear the sounds of the nature around her. For the few that are lucky enough to earn Kyria's trust, they will find that they have a loyal friend for life.

[div class=txtheader]character sheet[/div]
Kyria Brightwood | Ranger, Beast Master, 1 | Half Elf | Neutral Good | Outlander | Passive Perception: 14
Kyria Brightwood
[/div]
[/div][div class=fyuricredit]code by @Fyuri[/div]

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[Sizniche]

[div class=fyurimain]
[div class=headermain]Samson Grenwalden

[/div]
[div class=text][div class=txtheader]background[/div]
A humble peasant hailing from Secomber, Samson Grenwalden has never had much nor desired much in the way of material things; being the son of a farmer's daughter and a deceased soldier, Samson spent his formative years in poverty. He would do odd jobs around town and work with his grandfather in the fields wherever possible just to make ends meet, yet in spite of this, he went hungry many nights. In these dark times, he would find comfort both in the forests near his home and in faith. Originally giving prayer to Chauntea in hopes that it might improve the harvest, he would soon find himself becoming devoted to her and what she represented; the beauty of life itself. In time, his work focus would slowly shift from farm work to serving as a guardsman, so that he might serve to protect the people of his town, and gain experience in combat while he was at it. And in time, he would soon distinguish himself as more than just a warrior, both in the eyes of his home town and the eyes of his object of worship.

[div class=txtheader]appearance[/div]
Having suffered from a barely sufficient diet for a long time, past malnutrition causes Samson to stand at a decidedly unimposing 5' 6". In spite of this, he has a powerful, wiry build, with very little fat to speak of, and healthy, clear skin, having long since improved the state of his health. He prefers simple attire, wearing plain clothes under his cheap armor, and he doesn't remove his armor if he can help it. His holy symbol of Chauntea, a silver pendant of a blooming rose on a radiated wreath of golden grain, hangs from his neck, no matter where he goes.

[div class=txtheader]personality and attitudes[/div]
Samson can be described simply as a quintessential country boy; he loves a good tune, he loves to relax under the stars after a long day's work, he loves the outdoors and the fresh air, he loves to roughhouse, and, more than anything else, he loves nature and all the other beautiful things the world has to offer. Though not quite a bright enough bulb to grasp the symbolism or understand the technique and style, he greatly enjoys and appreciates poems, ballads, and other forms of art, especially when it hits close to home or doesn't take itself entirely seriously. While not being much of a thinker, however, he makes up for it being a talker; while he certainly won't rub elbows with nobles any time soon with the way he his, his simple dialect, love and vigor for life, and passion for nature have been known to be oddly endearing to some.

Among his friends, Samson is known to be a beacon of positivity, an attitude which is very rarely, if ever, brought down. He's known to also be a man of action, somewhat to the point where he almost has a reputation of being a "swing first, ask questions later" type, always fearing that if he doesn't act quick, he'll never get the chance. He also loves friendly rivalry and a good wager, and will always take up any challenge a friend gives him.

[div class=txtheader]character sheet[/div]
Samson Grenwalden | Paladin, 1 | Human | Neutral Good | Folk Hero | Passive Perception: 11
Samson Grenwalden
[/div]
[/div][div class=fyuricredit]code by @Fyuri[/div]

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[The Regal Rper]

[div class=fyurimain]
[div class=headermain]Dakyte The Wanderer

[/div]
[div class=text][div class=txtheader]background[/div]
Everything comes with a price but for Rudia Santilo the cost of her and her unborn child's safe journey from Calishman equaled one Genasi student.

Becoming the apprentice of Aldwin meant more than simply learning the druidic way, it was a life that brought one into the ranks of the Emerald Enclave. Having old ties to Aldwin whom had aided in his mother's escape from her native homeland, to fleeing a demanding father with a pension for control and a pure political marriage of one-sided love and possession, Dakyte's life would not have begun with a happy start and surely would not have had a good end had aid of the Enclave not come the day hired bandits chased a wizard and her infantile son down the streets of Calimport.

A chase that would continue off and on for years later in Balder's Gate, then in Daggerford until they made themselves disappear with the help of one druid and a group of friendlies.

Taught to snip away the unwanted branches in a plant in order to guide a better growth, Aldwin took up Dakyte under his wings and measured the boy's young experience with hardship and sharpened it into a tool worthy of use. Among other students of the druid, Dakyte became a student of the Enclave. A forming gem of emerald being molded. A weapon to cut away the weeds and cut down the parasites of the world that threatened all life in both nature and society. To flush out and remove pests, to cut away the weeds that interrupt growth and prosperity, to support those that fight the battles against the things that impede life and wilderness-- this was the way of the those that joined the Enclave. The most momentous and trying day he had awaited came the day he and his fellows had reached the final stage of their growth. Sadly that day was not a day of celebration.

The day he had reached the end of his training to become a deputy member was the day his mother was killed. Died in battle when the first Giants struck Lurar but what was unknown was that her death came not from the giant she helped slay but an assassin.

A wanderer now performing odd jobs, Dakyte became a traveler on a mission. Following the Enclave code, hoping to put an end to the giants that had upset the balance, and killed his one and only mother.

All while the house of Azal and hired members of the Black Robins searched for the stolen jewel, and the lost son that had slipped from their grasps before.
[div class=txtheader]appearance[/div]
Whether trimmed and proper or dirty and messy, Dakyte can clean well when he desires and is no stranger to getting dirty. Dark brown skin, rust orange eyes, a rich gold yellow to replace the white of the eyes and a disturbing green glow that eminates from the marks of his Genasi heritage, the Earth Genasi male stands at 6ft tall- has curly ink black hair grown out and ties im dreads under his traditional headwear, and four piercings in his ears.

Sporting a lean figure muscular figure, his upper body dotted in crystalline growths that act almost like a second skin more around his back than his front, 'freckles' of stone work their way in broken fragments and stop shortly at his elbows and then pepper the back of his hands, legs, and feet.
[div class=txtheader]personality and attitudes[/div]
A distant yet staunchly dedicated fellow that takes measures to present himself properly when given the luxury and chance, Dakyte is a young man of two decades and then some that holds his appearance to a certain level when he is able and not bogged down by other matters.

Tough skinned literally but not so much figuratively, silence is key to negativity and he takes it upon himself to distance himself from things that are rather displeasing- even if his mind wanders back to such moments. While Dakyte carries a charming smile, a soothing rich voice, and a careful eye he takes criticism heavily when in good fortune and is dedicated to righting an error he makes or seeing to a mistake once made is never made again.

More of a skeptic than an optimist but capable of keeping an open mind, despite his heritage and his strength, Dakyte vehemently abhors arrogance and tends to keep those that exude such vibes at an arm's distance. And while somewhat leaning towards aloof the young man does not reject company or disapprove of meeting new faces.
[div class=txtheader]character sheet[/div]
Dakyte Talin Santilo| {Druid, 1} |Earth Genasi| Neutral | Soldier | Passive Perception: 13
Dakyte
[/div]
[/div][div class=fyuricredit]code by @Fyuri[/div]

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[class=fyurimain] position: relative; width:100%; background:#252535; box-sizing:border-box; padding:0px 50px 0px 50px; [/class] [class=headermain] position:relative; z-index:10; top:100px; font-family:'Bungee', Impact; text-align:center; font-size: 2.5rem; text-shadow: 2px 2px 5px #000000; color:#fff; [/class] [class=text] position:relative; z-index:10; width:100%; box-sizing:border-box; margin-top:100px; margin-bottom:100px; background:rgba(0,0,0, 0.5); color:#fff; box-shadow: 0 4px 8px 0 rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2), 0 6px 20px 0 rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.19); text-align:justify; padding:5px; [/class] [class=txtheader] width: calc(100% + 10px); margin:-5px; box-sizing:border-box; background:#000; font-size:20px; font-family:'Bungee', Impact; padding:5px; [/class] [class=fyuricredit] opacity:0.3; font-size:11px; [/class]

 

[Rage]

[div class=fyurimain]
[div class=headermain]Orok 'Fel-Hand'

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[div class=text][div class=txtheader]background[/div]
Born in a distant land to a human-mother and an unknown father whose origins could be seen upon his birth. Small tusks jutting out of his mouth whilst his skin had been bled with a plant-riddled swamp green-skin but his eyes. Burning with a violent fire which shouldn't be within an infant. Within the village that the half-orc was born, he grew larger and much more violent to the pure-blooded humans who lived around.

An freak-accident happened as the young half-breed was exiled from his village. The young half-breed came wondering upon the lands, unfamiliar and forced to survive by himself. Coming upon strange and disgusting monsters which he was forced to fight off to prevent himself from dying. Growing older, his body thicken and expanded by his savage lifestyle to compensate as he fought savagely towards the forces of his homeland, his quickly expanding diet grew as he got older and older. He became clothed from the remains of the cloth that he found whilst he acquired a hefty axe from a human mercenary who got alittle bit wild and attempted to kill him upon meeting the young child.

This lead to him meeting a massive Orge. The hefty and fat monster was wearing heavy cloth and armor as he stomped around on his way to his people. The half-orc followed the large humanoid which he knew that he was interesting. Days of tracking, the half-orc learned this Orge's name. Orok.... The Half-Orc left the Orge alone but he forge his previous name and took on the mantle of... Orok.

Exiting the land he was born on which he took a pilgrimage around the world. Fighting and becoming much stronger with every-day whilst his skill with the Great-Axe became much better with age. Fighting many of beings, smashing plenty of creatures under foot as he roared with passion. Learning the languages of Giants which he often came to blows with in the land, clashing against these beings. He became known as the 'Fel-Hand' as he could fel a beast that towered over trees whilst he carries a thick and sturdy branch like an Orge with the same grace and such power.

However.... He is fooking cursed. Assholish spirits keep bugging him through his life as he is never truly at ease.

[div class=txtheader]appearance[/div]
Dwarfing the common man and many large beings in the common stature. Standing around 6 feet and 6 inches and weighing around 325 lbs of pure, hard-worked and earned muscles. His skin is a near blacken-shade of grey, aged scars covering his skin in all-sorts of spots upon his body where his massive chest has bares various bite, slash and cut scars onto it. A ponytail of black hair tied in a somewhat crude band to wrap and keep the hair out of the Half-Orc's face. His tusks jut out widely and a somewhat sharpen. Covered in various clothing whilst a massive kilt of red and black is wrapped around his waist, a large fur-boots and wrist-bands. Carrying his favored Great-Axe and his unfavored Great-Club upon a special-sling on his back.

[div class=txtheader]personality and attitudes[/div]
It's unknown as how Orok is with the group but he is one of the most violent people that anyone could meet. He is known to speak in a strange form of speech whilst a roar with horrific curses and ill-words not meant for those of any race that can heard this man speak.

Respecting strength and honor, Orok loves battle or destruction but he hates the dead because of the simple fact that he sees... spirits.... Pissing him off alot for their constant rambling and annoyances.

[div class=txtheader]character sheet[/div]
Orok 'Fel-Hand' | Barbarian, 1 | Half-Orc | Chaotic-Neutral | Haunted One | Passive Perception: 12

DOOMORC%27s Character

D&D Beyond Character Sheet

www.dndbeyond.com

[/div]
[/div][div class=fyuricredit]code by @Fyuri[/div]

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[class=fyurimain] position: relative; width:100%; background:#252535; box-sizing:border-box; padding:0px 50px 0px 50px; [/class] [class=headermain] position:relative; z-index:10; top:100px; font-family:'Bungee', Impact; text-align:center; font-size: 2.5rem; text-shadow: 2px 2px 5px #000000; color:#fff; [/class] [class=text] position:relative; z-index:10; width:100%; box-sizing:border-box; margin-top:100px; margin-bottom:100px; background:rgba(0,0,0, 0.5); color:#fff; box-shadow: 0 4px 8px 0 rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2), 0 6px 20px 0 rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.19); text-align:justify; padding:5px; [/class] [class=txtheader] width: calc(100% + 10px); margin:-5px; box-sizing:border-box; background:#000; font-size:20px; font-family:'Bungee', Impact; padding:5px; [/class] [class=fyuricredit] opacity:0.3; font-size:11px; [/class]

 

[LoneSniper87]

[div class=fyurimain]
[div class=headermain]Casandra Donogan

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[div class=text][div class=txtheader]background[/div]
Owes alliance to her local city watch, but besides that holds no ties to any other noble house or guild.

[div class=txtheader]appearance[/div]
Casandra stands at 5'7" with a rather lean disposition, but she is not by any means weak. She has a scar across their left jaw. She is mildly attractive as some say, but her near constant gaze that seems to be soul-piercing can be off-setting. She carries a rapier at her left hip, and her shortbow across her back, a small quiver at the opposite hip. She speaks I'm what would be considered a light Irish accent, noticable but not overpowering to the point of loss of comprehension.
[div class=txtheader]personality and attitudes[/div]
Casandra is generally very calm and kind to those she meets, although understands the need to be cautious and is almost always on guard around new faces, gauging them as almost second nature. She does understand the need to be forceful, however, and will exercise her authority whenever she feels it necessary.


[div class=txtheader]character sheet[/div]
{Casandra Donogan} | {Rogue, Level 1} | {Human Variant} | {Neutral Good} | {City Watch} | Passive Perception: {22}

Casandra Donogan

D&D Beyond Character Sheet

ddb.ac

[/div]
[/div][div class=fyuricredit]code by @Fyuri[/div]

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[class=fyurimain] position: relative; width:100%; background:#252535; box-sizing:border-box; padding:0px 50px 0px 50px; [/class] [class=headermain] position:relative; z-index:10; top:100px; font-family:'Bungee', Impact; text-align:center; font-size: 2.5rem; text-shadow: 2px 2px 5px #000000; color:#fff; [/class] [class=text] position:relative; z-index:10; width:100%; box-sizing:border-box; margin-top:100px; margin-bottom:100px; background:rgba(0,0,0, 0.5); color:#fff; box-shadow: 0 4px 8px 0 rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2), 0 6px 20px 0 rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.19); text-align:justify; padding:5px; [/class] [class=txtheader] width: calc(100% + 10px); margin:-5px; box-sizing:border-box; background:#000; font-size:20px; font-family:'Bungee', Impact; padding:5px; [/class] [class=fyuricredit] opacity:0.3; font-size:11px; [/class]

 

[Wester236]

[div class=fyurimain]
[div class=headermain]Balthazar Burdun

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[div class=text][div class=txtheader]background[/div]
Balthazar Burdun used to be a Gold Dragonborn that was born in the wild with nothing to his name. He managed to survive thanks to his ancestry, and as time went on his scales began to become green, leaving only a few specks of gold scales on him. At one point he met a elven witch who saved him from being branded into slavery by orcs. She taught him all she knew about the way of druids as she saw the wild in him. One day however, orcs had found her home. She gave Balthazar her menagerie book, telling him he will be ready to meet her again someday. This gave Balthazar a resentment to orcs, making him hunt them to the point he learned their tongue. So now he sets off to various groups, hoping to ready himself to meet the woman who made him who he is.

[div class=txtheader]appearance[/div]
Beyond the picture Balthazar does not really have a tail. He wears his leather armor over his green robe with the arms ripped off to his shoulders, holding it closer to his body to try to prevent snagging. His golden scales are not in splotches but more like in small specks, adding a slight shimmer in some parts of his body. He also has a brand of the Eye of Gruumsh on his chest.

[div class=txtheader]personality and attitudes[/div]
He speaks matter of factly and can at times be terse with people. He can be pragmatic to the point that he would be willing to eat another humanoid, unless they are someone he respects. He believes that no one should be restrained from doing what they do naturally and as such does not take too kindly to prejudice, unless its an orc.


[div class=txtheader]character sheet[/div]
Balthazar Burdun | Druid, 1 | Dragonborn | Chaotic Good | Sage | Passive Perception: 16

Balthazar Burdun

D&D Beyond Character Sheet

ddb.ac

[/div]
[/div][div class=fyuricredit]code by @Fyuri[/div]

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[class=fyurimain] position: relative; width:100%; background:#252535; box-sizing:border-box; padding:0px 50px 0px 50px; [/class] [class=headermain] position:relative; z-index:10; top:100px; font-family:'Bungee', Impact; text-align:center; font-size: 2.5rem; text-shadow: 2px 2px 5px #000000; color:#fff; [/class] [class=text] position:relative; z-index:10; width:100%; box-sizing:border-box; margin-top:100px; margin-bottom:100px; background:rgba(0,0,0, 0.5); color:#fff; box-shadow: 0 4px 8px 0 rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2), 0 6px 20px 0 rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.19); text-align:justify; padding:5px; [/class] [class=txtheader] width: calc(100% + 10px); margin:-5px; box-sizing:border-box; background:#000; font-size:20px; font-family:'Bungee', Impact; padding:5px; [/class] [class=fyuricredit] opacity:0.3; font-size:11px; [/class]