Greetings to anyone who is reading this. Myself and 2 other players are looking for a weekly campaign on Wednesdays that end at around 7 PM PST. To give you a bit of background about us, we have all been playing D&D for several years and have always wanted to play in a long term campaign all as players. Most of the time one of us has ended up becoming the GM since the player to GM ratio is so bad. That being said, we are prepared to wait for the right GM / group so we can get something long term going. As far as each of our play styles go, we always try to make characters that have unique quirks which make RP and combat both fun and unexpected from week to week. Example of our last characters together: Arlyn: Arlyn is a socially awkward Avariel Arcane Archer that spent most of his life in isolation deep within the Valtrath woods. Up until the party was brought together, his only friend had been a druid named Norak. As such, hygiene and social etiquette are thrown out the window. This, in turn, rubbed some party members the wrong way (Silaqui, the clean freak). Because of this, Arlyn and Silaqui would banter back and forth throwing insults about how clean / dirty each of them were which made for some interesting RP. Akarat: Akarat was what you could call a "Berserker/Raging Paladin", he belonged to a homebrew race known as the Warborne which are essentially a warrior race of Kord. In game he could be viewed as a type of character with leadership abilities while taking the frontlines in battle. He is well trained and highly experience from growing up in a military like soceity. Living his life in the Underdark and harsh terrains above ground forged him into a weapon of Kord just like his brothers and sisters in arms. He is harsh but has a sense of honor that many can get to know though at first people will find him highly intimidating and judge him as one who would be a villain. Silaqui: “I am from an Elven nation on the continent of Aiken. My mother, at the time the Captain of the Elite Wasaki Rangers, and her unit, were on a mission in Kent when they were overran and captured during a particularly large and vicious Drow raid. After days of brutal torture and rape at their hands, they were liberated and rescued by a fellow unit. But not before my mother was with child. Four years later, I was born. “Rather than abandon me for exposure or kill me herself as several others did after those unfortunate events, my mother poured all her love and affection into me, despite the sneers and stares of her contemporaries and peers. She refused to allow me to succumb to my darker tendencies. Her station in life allowed her to raise me in the highest echelons of Elven society, rubbing shoulders with nobles and aristocrats of all varieties. “I was a quick study and loved learning all manner of things, with a particular aptitude and affinity for linguistics and lexicology. She groomed me, that I may join the Wizarding College of Adven, and seek enlightenment among the most powerful and revered of Elven archmages. That I may live in refuge and peace with my scrolls and scholars, safely tucked away from the judging eyes within the confines of ivory and crystal towers." She shifts listlessly in her seat, her petite frame far from taking up the entirety of the barstool. Her full pupil-less vivid, vibrant violet eyes do another furtive sweep of her surroundings as she brings the mug of hot tea—nearly the size of her head--up to her lips. Her pearlescent lavender skin reflects the warm glow of the hearth as voices murmur lightly in the background. She finishes her sip and continues: “That is until my one hundred and twenty-fifth birthday. It was then that my mother and grandmother made startling revelations—secrets that if I revealed here to you now, I would have no choice but to forfeit your life.” Her voice remains calm and unwavering, smooth as wet silk and soft as warm butter, with a light Elvish accent. Despite the morbidity of the threat she just rendered, she remains cold and unflinching, as if exchanging courtesies with a stranger about the weather or some other mundane topic. She is deceptively delicate, big words for such a small woman, but her movements betray an unearthly grace and elegance--and a lethal speed and precision. Her ankle-length platinum white hair flows around her body with the slightest provocation, as though suspended by spectral hands. Nothing about her gives away that she is well into her fourth century. “With this revelation I was at a divergence in my life: stay the path I have known and become a Wizard, or follow this new, unknown road of secrecy.” A wry smile barely parts her lips. “And seeing as I have yet to sear your face with a fireball through finger-waggling esoteric arcana, I’m guessing you know which direction I chose.” In an instant she is standing, empty tea cup on the counter. She is barely taller than it, comfortably under five feet. “Alas, I have said too much already. If you wish to know more, I must get to know you better, Human. Clear your first century and I may tell your great grandchildren more of my life story in your honor.” She tosses a gold coin into the barkeep’s tip jar, and by time it lands she is silently across the tavern, out the door, and vanished into the cold winter night.