Name: Dinich Felldrake
Race: Human
Class: Duskblade 4
Alignment: Neutral Good
Expected Posting Rate: I am on-site several hours most days; daily posting should not be an issue

Application status: Complete!

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Name: Robyn Synger

Race: Human

Class: Rogue (3) / Wizard (1)

Robyn dresses in nondescript, grey explorer's garb, most of the time. She has dark brown hair, a light but freckled complexion, and startling, light-brown eyes that almost look amber or orange in the correct lighting.

Background: Andolin Synger was a bard and a well-respected member of the Guild of Musicians. One of many excellent performers in Lodis, he was well-loved by his regular listeners. Andolin also boasted a powerful patron, a wealthy merchant standing high in among the power-elite of the city. As a result, when Andolin was free with verse or song that criticized the powerful, he drew less displeasure than most would, for he was protected. Protected, that was, until his love of women focused on one in particular, the daughter of his own patron. It is an old story, long retold: boy meets girl, boy marries girl, boy and girl flee angry father and live in poverty and love. So it was that Andolin continued his songs and stories, loved by the people, just poorer people than he used to play for. In particular, they favored the tales of Robyn Overlook. In the tales and songs, Robyn – a cunning rogue and master of disguise, made the rich look like fools, took the wealth they stole from the people, and redistributed it to where it was most needed. Perhaps the whim of this character was strong with Andolin, for he named his first child – a daughter – Robyn.

Robyn was raised in poverty and love: her father a somewhat broken-down bard (more and more broken-down over time, as he angered more people with his music); her mother working as a barmaid in a low tavern where the family lived in the attic. The lack of wealth mattered not at all, for the love between them was epic, and it was shared with their daughter whom they both doted upon. In Robyn's eyes, nothing could be better in life than to find someone to love the way she saw that her parents loved each other. The only thing she loved as much as watching her parents together was watching her father perform and listening to his songs and stories. Her mother and her father educated Robyn in everything they knew, engendering a strong love of learning in the young girl and a desire to collect stories the way other people collect commemorative plates. So their life and love continued, until Andolin disappeared.

It is hard to know exactly what happened to Robyn's father, there were many tales: some said that Andolin was waylaid by assassins, others that he was thrown in prison, others that he had merely run off when threats of the first two arose, but what did happen is that one day he was simply gone. Without Andolin's regular, though poor income, things became harder for Robyn and her mother. To make ends meet, she had to take on some of the characteristics of her father's character… taking money from those who had an excess and redistributing it to her and her mother. It is hard to say how this might have ended, had she not found a patron of her own… but a patron in the shadowy arts.

The roles came faster the next year, there were more than ten in as many months, and when Grey next appeared, Robyn sighed. "Can't I just be myself for a while?"

Grey paused, for such a long time that Robyn thought he was paralyzed... then he simply nodded. "Very well, Robyn Singer for a bit... but there is something I want you to look into. I want Robyn to pay proper homage to the church... here's a donation that will get you in good with the right people." He tossed her a heavy purse, "And I want you to express interest in the mission to Ostorea. Choose your words well, and you will be chosen for it."

Robyn nodded, "And you will..."

Grey smiled, "Look after your mother... of course."

Alignment: Neutral

Expected Posting Rate: I'm on every day, so I will post every day that my character has something to add to the scene, multiple times a day if the flow of the story allows.


Name: Cairrad Orlezea

Race: Elf

Class: Psychic Warrior

Alignment: Neutral Good

Expected Posting Rate: Daily, usually between 5:00 pm and 12:00 am EST. If I'm not too busy at work, then I pretty much have the whole day.

This is my first post/attempt to join a game. Please let me know if I've done something incorrectly.

Name: Benedict of Bluestone Abbey

Race: Human

Class: Paladin


Benedict of Bluestone Abbey is short and quiet. He would seem thin at first glance but his unremarkable frame hides the sort of strength developed through hard labor and lean years. He keeps curly brown hair trimmed very short and shaves every morning. His armor and clothes are unadorned and perhaps even plain, but everything Benedict owns is kept clean and shiny.


Benedict of Bluestone Abbey, born Adric Mason, was a withdrawn child. His father and older brother were respected masons. Adric was trained in the family trade, but lacked the talent and strength to do well. Adric preferred reading stories with his mother or playing by himself at the edge of the woods.

It truly was his own fault when a worksite accident crushed young Adric’s left arm, effectively ending any possibility of self-sufficiency. The local healer did her best setting the bones, but in her own words, “I’s not broken ‘s much ‘s shattered.” The arm never healed straight and the hand was too weak to hold tools. Adric’s father grew to pity his invalid son and Adric’s older brother, Belford, saw Adric as a future burden.

Adric worked odd jobs in the town in an attempt to carry his own weight. At eighteen he convinced the local tavern to hire him on as a stable boy. One night while washing off sweat and dung outside the tavern, he overheard a storyteller. The man claimed that there was an abbey at the edges of the Lodis Empire. This abbey protected a sacred fountain. Any who bathed in the fountain would be cured of any injury.

Adric was too old to believe in such stories, or at least he should have been. But he knew there was no future living off Belford and this way he could pretend he wasn’t running away. Adric packed a few things and left early in the morning.

The journey took a full year. When Adric finally reached Bluestone Abbey, he was a husk of his former self. Gaunt and thirsty, Adric peeled off the bloody scraps of leather that were once shoes. He knocked at the abbey door for three hours before someone came. Father Felis led him in, offering food and a bath. It was then that Adric learned the fountain was simply a legend. There were no healing waters to wash away old wounds. The trip had been in vain.

Adric despaired, and likely would have ended his life that day, but Father Felis offered a new hope. The monks of Bluestone Abbey had no magic fountain, but they were still great healers, much better than the woman who had set his arm a decade ago. If Adric was willing, the monks could rebreak the arm and perhaps set it correctly. They even had limited access to true healing prayers and could help speed Adric’s recovery.

The operations, for six smaller breaks were needed, was the most painful thing Adric had ever experienced. Worse still, Father Felis refused to let him rest the arm, insisting that rigorous manual labor would help the bone and muscle fuse properly. It took two months for the arm to heal, though the dull ache has never faded. In that time Adric plowed fields, thatched roofs and even repaired damaged brickwork, an act which would have amused his father. He also read every book in the Abbey’s meager library.

As his arm healed and he grew strong, Adric began to turn to [I do not know which god or goddess would be appropriate here]. Father Felis naturally encouraged this change and fostered a faith that continues to grow today. Ultimately, however, Felis pushed Adric to leave the abbey and continue exploring the world. Before he left, Adric swore eternal loyalty to [god or goddess] and was baptized. Rechristened Benedict, he left Bluestone Abbey and joined the Lodis army. Benedict intends to spend the next few years fighting at the frontier of the Empire before returning to the Abbey and retiring with the monks.


Assuming it is required, lawful good. I can’t really expand on this more until I know more about the pantheon in this campaign. I imagine Benedict would try his best to follow the tenants of his religion first, nation second. He also probably does believe in the inherent good of people and the Empire. Obviously he could just be very naïve.

Expected Posting Rate:

I have never done play by post before. However, I have played and GMed several games online through facebook with friends. During the day I am always at a computer and could post at least once an hour, often more. At night and during the weekend, I would be less prolific, but could schedule time for more regular posting if given a heads up.

Writing Sample:

The soldiers spilled through the open door. All four had just finished a shift on watch and were letting off steam. It was late and sleep was probably a better idea, but for some reason a “quick pint” had been decided on. Three of the men were already a nuisance to the bartender’s suspicious eye. Shouting coarse insults at each other and making indiscrete remarks about the brothel down the street. The forth man was smiling along with the others, but was clearly the mother hen of the group. He kept moving them out of the walkway and towards a table in the corner, where their behavior might be less distracting.

After getting his friends settled, the man wandered over to the bar.

“Good day, sir. I trust you and your men are having a pleasant evening.” There was just the slightest emphasis on the word “pleasant”.

The man, whose lapels labeled him as both Benedict and a new recruit, blushed at the implication. “Of course, sir. They don’t mean anything by it. Just restlessness.”

Benedict put a silver piece on the bar. “Two pitchers for the table, and if you’ve got any stew left, we’ll take that too.” He then put a second silver piece down. “And if you could, kick us out in a half hour. If Terek has his way, we’ll be here all night.”

The bartender smiled and nodded, sweeping both coins into his apron. He looked up to say something, but Benedict was already sprinting back towards his friends, presumably to rescue the tavern wench who had made the mistake of getting to close.

“Terek! Put her down! For gods’ sake, this is the only place left you aren’t banned from!”

Name: Glitter
[edit: made some changes to the character sheet]
Race: Halfling


Appearance: Glitter is 2' 10" with wispy red hair that crops around her face. Her eyes are pools of gray that hold your attention for only a second. If you were to happen to stare into them you would find them to be completely devoid of fear and taunting you to try and threaten her. She is normally in a hooded shirt with a leathers overtop and a pack on her back.

Background: Glitter is one of the smaller people. She feels the the term "little ones" is derogatory and those that use it are stupid and deserve to not notice as she strategically relocates their possessions. She is fast and feisty.
She has been on her own since she was 14 but has used her time wisely, learning all she can from those willing to teach. She rewards those who work hard and has a soft spot for those of her stature.
She has grown tired of the cat/mouse game she seems to be currently playing with the guards of the town and is looking to be able to have a new and exciting adventure in the next chapter of her life.
Alignment: ng

Expected Posting Rate: once a day +

Writing Sample: How would your character enter an inn and order?
Glitter smelled the roasting ducks from the street. Her mouth watered. The food would be juicy, with the skin and fats barely charred giving that wonderful, crunch when bitten into. She imagined the boiled potatoes with gravy pouring over them. A full pint of cider on the side.
It was too much for her to contain herself. She knew that the guards were likely still looking for her but her tummy was rumbling with the scents wafting from the open back window.
She saw a rowdy bunch of teenage humans rounding the corner. This would be her chance. She quickly lifted her hood to conceal her face and snuck into the midst of them as they entered the tavern. At the door she heard a guard describing her to the bartender, who was outside shaking his rags.
Well shoot. Have to eat and run she thought.
She darted to the end of the bar and rounded into the kitchen where the portly dwarf woman was cooking.
"A quick plate please ma'am. A few gold for your trouble. ... oh and a route out the back perhaps, if you don't mind" she stated in perfect dwarven, with a smirk.

The Basics:
Name: Jessa Brell
Race: Human
Class: Warblade 4
Alignment: Lawful Neutral

Some history...

Expected Posting Rate: I'm on MW quite often. I can probably do as much as 2 or 3 long posts a day, though they probably won't be during peak times.

This application is complete now!

Completed pending minor housekeeping

Adult male NG
Height 4'7" +
Dice Roll: 2d8z
d8 Results: 5, 2 (Total = 7)
(7) = 5'2"
Dice Roll: 14d4+100z
d4 Results: 4, 3, 1, 1, 3, 3, 4, 3, 1, 4, 3, 1, 1, 3 (Total = 135)
(135) lbs
half moon elf Ranger

intended roles
A trained Ranger

Skills Hide +8, Track +7 , Move Silently +8, Spot +9, Listen +7
Feats Track, Alertness
Tracker |
Trained by elvish archers, can use elvish bow for ranged and melee combat.

Feats Point Blank Shot, Precise Shot, Rapid Shot, Battle Dancer (PH II)

  • an enchanted elvish composite Longbow that doubles as a Quarterstaff (RoW Weapon Modification)
  • Ehlonna's Quiver full of special purpose arrows
Archer |
Urban and Wilderness survival skills

Skills Diplomacy +12, Gather Info +7, Wild Empathy +6, Handle Animal +8, Survival +7, Knowledge (local) +6
Survivalist |
Trained at Bardic College in song to relay the heroic ballads of old.

Skills Perform (Sing) +9, Bardic Knowledge +3
Historian |
Bardic Music (song) 2x day
Inspire Courage +1 Atks, +1 dam, +1 saves vs enchantments and fear

Bardic Spells 5x 0 lvl, 1x 1st lvl per day

AppearanceThe sound of... singing !?!... heralds a volley of arrows *whizzing* through the air. Some way off a cloaked pointy eared half elf draws arrows from his quiver and *fires* in quick succession from his composite longbow...*whizzzz*... *boom*... an arrowhead explodes in a ball of fire as it reaches its target.

Singing an elvish epic the half elf archer moves with elegant grace co-ordinating his forward movement with drawing and firing another arrow...*whizzzz*... *boom*

Posting rate multiple daily

Writing SampleHow would your character enter an inn and order?

Thunder crashes and lighting flashes as the door to the tavern opens to reveal a heavily cloaked figure with a longbow and quiver across his back stepping in from the storm outside. Pushing back the hood on his honey leathered cloak, the strangers blue eyes stare forth beneath wet bedraggled short black hair scanning the tavern for a moment.

Striding to the bar, the young half elf orders a drink from the barman, "A warm ale..." His voice was weary and his movements slow as he undoes his cloak revealing old faded studded leather armor still dry beneath.

Producing a money pouch as the barman returns with a warm ale, the half elf asks... "You Trevor Lowe...?"

Looking at the half elf suspiciously, the barman wonders who could possibly brave the storm to come and seek him out and whats with the warm ale, as he replies... "Aye... I may be."

*clunk*...*clunk*...*clunk*, several coins of various realms fall from the unturned pouch onto the bar. Amongst the coins a round harpers token captures the barmans eye...


Name: Thenysil Disraeli
Race: Human
Class: Puppet Master
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral (Leaning to Good)

AppearanceThenysil does not necessarily look gaunt, but he is not as muscular as most active men. His years of imprisonment, wrongly and only recently discovered to be as such, have left him with a sallow looking appearance and a notably pale coloration to his skin. His eyes seem to always bear the markings of haunted sleep, bag-filled and never looking appropriately open to give testament to even a full night’s rest. If one can be bothered to look it is possible to see the markings left behind by wrought iron shackles rubbing constantly against the skin, these marks are present on both his wrist and ankles, but getting close to the man and remaining as such is a good way to get him stressed and quickly enraged.

BackgroundThenysil was naught more than an ordinary man with his family of a daughter he was most proud and protective of and a wife he coveted just as much. However, tales of such peaceful beginnings and midway points are not those that keep the children tucked in their beds in the eve to keep them from skulking in the night. No, this is no such tale, but rather the beginning of the dark tinged taint of madness that can attack even the purest of individuals.

Thenysil was a man of little renowned prior to his incident, merely an artisan to his trade that taught those willing to part with coin to seek his advice. An honorable means of life if he were ever asked as what could one ever wish for than to perform daily duties of activities they truly loved? Such was the profession Thenysil enjoyed, crafting his mannequins both for educational purpose and entertainment to those too young to learn what he had to offer. Tragedy had struck on no better a day than his daughter’s birthday, a day he would have embedded into his mind like a taunting brand of some sinful god. So clearly he remembers the evening when he had returned home from a day’s journey, his face haggard and fatigued from pushing his limits to return home to a deserving family that had surely missed him and a community that needed him as much for his smile as his expertise with cures. However, no matter how many the curative tinctures and remedies he might have learned over the years even he was no less susceptible to the worst fear any practitioner of medicine could ever be haunted by; death.

To a bloody home he returned. His precious daughter’s present all but forgotten the moment he spied the corpse of his beloved wife, maimed dreadfully but not beyond recognition and missing what would have been his second child. This blow had been low enough for him, but not as much as spying what remained of his daughter. His words were gone from him, stuck somewhere between the dry tears sheltered within his eyes as he catered and babied the remains before him and sullied his hands in what had been a most wonderful gift to the world.

His case had been a short one, branded the murderer of the genocide of his kin and likely the same man to have been causing likewise troubles around the countryside. Adamant as he might have been with his truth lined words, his innocence in this bloody scheme, the evidence far outweighed any words he could reach those condemning him. He had been sentenced, sent away to a dank and cold cell in which no light was meant to warm the loneliness. Years, countless to him in those unchanging times of unbreakable darkness had passed, his mind only allowing him to rot from the inside, blaming himself without pause for the loss as the cuts… the precise methods those wounds had caused were not unlike his own. It was a craftsman’s prize to see his effort, his teaching put to work, but this treacherous act was far from the opposite.

Madness would settle and revenge would brew, but in the end the man named Thenysil would be no more.


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