RolePlay onLine RPoL Logo

Welcome to DnD 5e: The West Marches

14:49, 29th March 2024 (GMT+0)

Valdimar

Background

I enter into the winter of my life, cursing my existence. The cold, decrepit hand of fate has been twisted and cruel as my body breaks down, preparing me for the abyss. The latent powers, once I believed to be my jubilation have been nothing but a comical farce to which fate has mocked since the day I discovered my mother's fiery blood. Rather than fuel the overwhelming power of innate arcane magic, it has only provided me with a fostering resentment for its lack of potency. I fear I have tried everything to trigger the raging red dragon that lays within my heart, but with no avail save for the harrowing deformity of my skin flaking off, exposing patches of once hidden scales - a display that has forced me now to hide behind yet more robing, as if my appearance already did not strike a sense of dread within this ignorant border town.

I did not escape the Underdark for this. I grow yet weaker in physical strength as my age increases in years. Yet, I grow never closer to understanding how I can become triumphant in my goal of self-empowerment. Raw magic has become fleeting; I used to sit and mock foolish wizards for spending years simply to assert control of a basic arcane flame, yet now I stand no better off than they. Even with arcane energy boiling in my veins, I show little ability beyond the scholars who I mocked for wasting time.

My life now wanes, but I've only become yet more desperate to find a way to trigger the power of the arcane secrets within me. I must continue to search these marches in order to discover what I've been seeking for over a generation.

Physical Description

Before you stands a figure in black and gray robing. At first it is difficult to tell if this person is man, or woman, due to his cloak and gloves, but when he speaks, it deep warming voice leaves nothing to doubt. You can tell that he is not a native of the Marches, but he seems welcome enough as he hangs his weight on the quarterstaff he uses for walking. Your curiosity beckons, however, to why such a jovial man would go to great lengths to conceal his appearance.

When you get too close, he acts quickly reclusive, in an almost uncomfortable way. When he does, you think you may have seen a patch of reddish scales breaking through what looks to be grayish skin. His response only adds to your confusion - is this man ill with some type of disease? Perhaps cursed? Only he could tell you and it doesn't seem like a conversation to which he is likely to engage.