A Sparkling Zombie
Meep
Odyssey of the Lost One
You* sailed for lost treasures. The Dragonlords, famed warriors who rode on the backs of mighty dragons, were told in legends to have traveled over these waters before vanishing. The misfortune has befallen many adventurers said to have braved these seas, but it didn't stop you from joining, or forming, the crew.
The storm seemingly came out of nowhere. It capsized the ship and you blacked out in the cold waters, only to awaken on dry land, in a world different from your own, where gods exist among the mortals and titans scheme. Little do you know that the Oracle foretold of your arrival, and that you will also rescue the land of Thylea from turmoil. It's your only way home.
This is a Greek-inspired game where your character(s) will adventure across a foreign land and become an epic hero. It's based off the module Odyssey of the Dragonlords, created by the lead designer of early BioWare games.
You may play up to two characters, both being from the ship. The character(s) will start at level 3, maybe higher. The rest of the party will be NPCs. Most decisions, including those pertaining to who will be a part of the group, will be left to your character(s), but individuals within the party may disagree, be insistent, or act against those decisions, based on their personalities and, in some cases, dice rolls. If it's fitting for your character to do so, they may also encourage the NPCs to take certain actions during combat, so that you can have greater influence.
The game will involve D&D 5e mechanics. We'll default to passive perception, insight, and investigation except where you specifically request to make a check. Spells and combat will always involve dice rolls. Social interactions will only use dice rolls when there's actual merit.
Characters will be created using the point-buy system. At least one attribute must be no higher than a 10.
Roll20 will be required if only for the encounter maps. It or D&D Beyond may be used for character sheets and performing dice rolls. I have the Player's Handbook, Xanathar's, and Tasha's on both platforms.
I am looking for up to three games for this.
(* = you and your character aren't the same entity, of course - "you" just reads better.)
Introduction & Chemistry Stuff
Hi! I'm Sparkles, or Zombie, depending on your perspective. Although I have virtually no history on this site, I have had fun with play-by-post roleplaying for over a decade. Sometimes I game. Mainly I listen to music like a junkie.
Below is an account of my philosophy and style, and what I'm seeking in a player.
What I give:
- Patience. I may check in if there's been silence for a couple of weeks, but I won't pester, nor will I expect a post simply because we're chatting.
- Humor. I like wit, puns, and keeping OOC chatter lighthearted.
- Adaptability. We're two people trying to roleplay together for the first time. If it turns out something isn't working, I'm happy to see if there are ways to remedy that. Worst case, we decide we're not compatible and move on our merry ways. Similarly, I'm content to make edits if I make a mistake or something.
- Communication. If a post will be delayed, I'll provide notice. If I've lost interest, I'll say something. I'm not the greatest with small talk, but building a friendship can be nice, so I'm happy to indulge in chatter.
- Responses that range anywhere from one paragraph to maybe 600 or so words, based on what a reply requires. A hostage situation or combat, something with a lot of tension, might be better served by shorter posts with incremental actions, for example, compared to a scene where the party is discussing the state of the world or is walking the city streets on their way to their destination. There are samples below if you would like a feel for my writing style.
- 1-3 responses per week, barring real-life issues. Naturally, the more thought and detail a response needs, the longer it will take.
What I'm seeking:
- OOC maturity & decency.
- A player of any identity.
- A player who is at least 18. As a 30-year-old, I prefer not writing with minors in a 1x1, especially if there will be romantic content.
- A player with the ability to respond at least once every week, notwithstanding life's shenanigans.
- A player who can spell and use grammar well, and also be descriptive. They put thought into their words and care about quality more than quantity.
- IC self-agency. The player character can grow into their leadership role, but the player themselves must be willing to make decisions, and not rely on the NPCs to do so.
- Prior experience with D&D 5e might make the gameplay easier when starting at level 3 or so, but I'm happy to play with newbies.
- Roleplaying in a thread or PMs. Once we've started posting, I'm open to using Discord for OOC.
- A platonic game or a game with (possible) romance. If romance is a priority, I would prefer M/M or M/F, but if we're running with a chemistry-first philosophy, I'm open to any pairing.
- Illustrations or written descriptions for character appearances. No anime, please.
- Communication. If something ever bothers you or you aren't feeling something about the game, let's talk about it! I want the game to be fun for both of us.
Samples
Small note: I sometimes copy and paste dialogue from another player's response to make my own flow better. That'll appear in one of these samples.
Their goal was in reach. It loomed over the docks. An illithid ship wasn't the most ideal transportation, but with no others remaining after the bastards blasted them to pieces, it would have to do.
Kurth stepped out of the range of the githzerai's sword. Its wind was a haunting touch against his throat, a warning of what could have been if he had been but a second slower. He reclosed the distance, thrusting his own blade with ferocious precision. It sparked against the armor. He growled at the futility of his strike and followed with a kick at the knee. The moment the githzerai collapsed under his own weight, Kurth's sword finally fulfilled its purpose. Blood sprayed from the headless neck. That which got on Kurth hardly registered.
Only the other bodies, the living ones, did. He tried not to mind the illithid dragon any more than he had to, for the sake of his mettle. Their group agreed to focus on getting to the ship, and Kurth intended to stick to the plan. He wouldn't charge the fearsome dragon. He wasn't that foolish. But it was hard not to be aware of the way the dock trembled with every mighty step the dragon took. It was nearing them, attempting to join the fray. They couldn't risk it, not with so many other enemies among them.
A new squad of orcs charged towards them all. The one who took the lead closed in on Kurth. It raised its greataxe above its head. The powerful swing was too slow, and Kurth lopped off an arm just above the elbow. The cry of agony lasted but a second, right before Iado cleared the squad with a well-placed fireball.
"An opening is clear! Get to the ship!" Kurth shouted.
The group jumped on the opportunity. Skaaldor spearheaded the advance. Kurth decided to entrust it to him. Someone had to protect their rear and ensure that the others could slip through. He slashed at the back of a githzerai who tried to pursue the retreat. A kick thunked against his shield before he downed another.
They were almost through. Soon he could follow.
But they were too slow. An explosive pain swallowed Kurth's mind. He cried out. His arms fell limp at his sides. Barely did his fingers remain curled around his shield and sword. The damned dragon! It had gotten within range. His heart clenched with fear. He didn't yet notice whether any of the others had been hit by its psionic blast.
Kurth stepped out of the range of the githzerai's sword. Its wind was a haunting touch against his throat, a warning of what could have been if he had been but a second slower. He reclosed the distance, thrusting his own blade with ferocious precision. It sparked against the armor. He growled at the futility of his strike and followed with a kick at the knee. The moment the githzerai collapsed under his own weight, Kurth's sword finally fulfilled its purpose. Blood sprayed from the headless neck. That which got on Kurth hardly registered.
Only the other bodies, the living ones, did. He tried not to mind the illithid dragon any more than he had to, for the sake of his mettle. Their group agreed to focus on getting to the ship, and Kurth intended to stick to the plan. He wouldn't charge the fearsome dragon. He wasn't that foolish. But it was hard not to be aware of the way the dock trembled with every mighty step the dragon took. It was nearing them, attempting to join the fray. They couldn't risk it, not with so many other enemies among them.
A new squad of orcs charged towards them all. The one who took the lead closed in on Kurth. It raised its greataxe above its head. The powerful swing was too slow, and Kurth lopped off an arm just above the elbow. The cry of agony lasted but a second, right before Iado cleared the squad with a well-placed fireball.
"An opening is clear! Get to the ship!" Kurth shouted.
The group jumped on the opportunity. Skaaldor spearheaded the advance. Kurth decided to entrust it to him. Someone had to protect their rear and ensure that the others could slip through. He slashed at the back of a githzerai who tried to pursue the retreat. A kick thunked against his shield before he downed another.
They were almost through. Soon he could follow.
But they were too slow. An explosive pain swallowed Kurth's mind. He cried out. His arms fell limp at his sides. Barely did his fingers remain curled around his shield and sword. The damned dragon! It had gotten within range. His heart clenched with fear. He didn't yet notice whether any of the others had been hit by its psionic blast.
Blanketed by night and crouched behind a bush, Clint believed himself safe in his spying. So he watched. There were the two men who appeared to be...lovers? Clint's brow furrowed in discernment. No, the dwarf appeared confused and injured; the other man, feathered and alarmed--the one he followed? Whom he heard shout for help? That made sense. A third man stared at them, appearing to be coming out of a stupor. Clint squinted and leaned closer. Did he...have horns? The moonlight could be playing tricks, but he wanted to say yes. And was that a bear among them?
He didn't think to look up.
Meanwhile, the earth spoke to him. He only had to listen. With his palms against the ground, vibrations alerted him to another being. Bipedal. A hawk burst through the trees and into the free space in front of the watchtower. Someone followed after it.
"Show yourself, stranger! Friend or foe?"
Clint tensed. He had half the mind to believe the voice targeted the new arrival. Until he located its source. With bow drawn and a stare as piercing as the arrow notched upon it, the man regarded no one else but him. Clint's flesh pricked and foretold of a cold sweat. His jaw clenched. He tried to gauge the distance between them. Earth didn't exactly favor being moved. Experience made throwing up a wall easy, but he'd probably fair better trying to dive out of the arrow's path, if it came down to it.
He didn't want it to. Gods, he didn't want it to.
Believing the man could see him, Clint relinquished his spear and raised his hands, fingers splayed. "Friend," he announced, his voice as sturdy as rock and as rough as an oak's bark. Strong legs lifted him from the shadows of the bushes. Calmly, despite his racing heart, he stepped into the clearing, and also the moonlight, deciding to reveal himself to the group as a whole. There at the fringes he stood, cheeks streaked with dirt and black tattoos decorating his thick neck, exposed above the leather armor he wore. The ink maybe could have denoted a tribal background to those astute in those matters. Some might say "barbarians". To Clint, they had been friends, almost family, lost to various misfortunes over time, until a band of mercenaries had wiped out the remaining numbers and left him alone. That had been a few years ago.
He stared squarely at the one with the bow drawn on him. "Clint Bentham. I saw the feathered one in the sky. I was curious and followed. I mean no harm." He felt naked without his spear. He had his own bow and arrows, both shouldered, but they wouldn't serve him well with these odds. Still, he hoped the group was as, well, non-threatening as half of them appeared.
He didn't think to look up.
Meanwhile, the earth spoke to him. He only had to listen. With his palms against the ground, vibrations alerted him to another being. Bipedal. A hawk burst through the trees and into the free space in front of the watchtower. Someone followed after it.
"Show yourself, stranger! Friend or foe?"
Clint tensed. He had half the mind to believe the voice targeted the new arrival. Until he located its source. With bow drawn and a stare as piercing as the arrow notched upon it, the man regarded no one else but him. Clint's flesh pricked and foretold of a cold sweat. His jaw clenched. He tried to gauge the distance between them. Earth didn't exactly favor being moved. Experience made throwing up a wall easy, but he'd probably fair better trying to dive out of the arrow's path, if it came down to it.
He didn't want it to. Gods, he didn't want it to.
Believing the man could see him, Clint relinquished his spear and raised his hands, fingers splayed. "Friend," he announced, his voice as sturdy as rock and as rough as an oak's bark. Strong legs lifted him from the shadows of the bushes. Calmly, despite his racing heart, he stepped into the clearing, and also the moonlight, deciding to reveal himself to the group as a whole. There at the fringes he stood, cheeks streaked with dirt and black tattoos decorating his thick neck, exposed above the leather armor he wore. The ink maybe could have denoted a tribal background to those astute in those matters. Some might say "barbarians". To Clint, they had been friends, almost family, lost to various misfortunes over time, until a band of mercenaries had wiped out the remaining numbers and left him alone. That had been a few years ago.
He stared squarely at the one with the bow drawn on him. "Clint Bentham. I saw the feathered one in the sky. I was curious and followed. I mean no harm." He felt naked without his spear. He had his own bow and arrows, both shouldered, but they wouldn't serve him well with these odds. Still, he hoped the group was as, well, non-threatening as half of them appeared.
If You're Interested...
Please PM me. We'll talk about your experience level with D&D and what you have in mind for your character!
