D&D Character Background Challenge (It's Own Thread Now)

[Tawmis]

https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=825

Hey! It's me again, I have one for you:

this is a LN Golaith Pugilist (look it up if you don't know) who follows the Dog & Hound school, he has a companion Dire Wolf (This is a high-tier game). He is around 70, nearing the end of his life as an adventurer, and currently lives in a retirement home (but occasionally sneaks off to help his former party's children). I only know a few things about him:
He at one time dodged a draft by joining a monestary
Learned Brawling from his best Friend, who died adveturing
and got his name (Bearkiller) by wrestling a Bear to save his companion, Greytooth

Thank you!

This was enjoyable to write - I wrote his younger years, and perhaps the Dire Wolf has some magic to it...
You will see what I mean at the end, to explain a longer life.
I wasn't sure if you ever had the Goliath leave his area - and where he's retired...
But I figure, I wrote his younger years - maybe after this, he began to explore the world, realizing there's more out there to see (which is where I was headed with the personality).
Apologies it's taken so long - my wife's health has been an issue consuming all of my time, effort, and energy.
For reference of the map location - https://www.aidedd.org/atlas/index.php?map=R&l=1
As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts.
A reply helps keep the thread bumped, and so when I add new backgrounds, it can keep it alive.
As always, enjoy!
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Here in the frozen reaches of The Frostmourn – north of Raven Rock, yet south of Reghed Glacier, my people have lived for countless centuries. We have made Frostmourn our home, because it is away from all others – the dwarves, the gnomes, the humans, the elves, the goblins, the orcs, and all of their kind. It allows us to live our lives, fairly peacefully, away from the constant bloodshed and war that seems to consume the world far below.

Because resources are scarce in these frozen mountain tops; fauna and beast being the only food supply and so rare in these conditions, the only ones we have found ourselves at odds with are the Frost Giants of Frostmourn – a band of giants who follow their Chief, Rimebeard. Because of the constant threat of Rimebeard and his fellow Frost Giants, my people created a “Draft” in which once you reach the age of becoming an adult by the age of seventeen cycles, you are recruited into the army to train for the onslaught that comes every Winter.

All my life, I’ve despised fighting and the war. Perhaps because it claimed the life of my father and my oldest brother when I was young. I had watched my mother struggle without my father, and though I know she never meant it – I was a reminder that she had another son that perished in the senseless battles against the Frost Giants. When the time came, I knew I could not join the army – I had to find a way out, but could not run away – I just needed to take care of my mother. The only way to escape being recruited was to join the Monastery of Snowfall. The Monastery of Snowfall were Goliaths who believed in achieving inner peace and despised violence, and fought only in self-defense; never eager to rush out and prove themselves.

So at seventeen, I joined the Monastery of Snowfall and trained with the Monks, namely Morita Hailfist. Despite her best efforts to train me to “find my center” and channel my “Ki Energy” – I never seemed to be able to do it. After months of failed attempts she sat me down to ask why I truly joined the Monastery of Snowfall, to which I confessed, I did not want to fight – and possibly die – and leave my mother with no one to help her. Despite this being a crime, quite punishable by my people, Morita kept my secret – and instead, showed me how to fight using my fists, without channeling Ki energy. She explained that she would train me to become a pugilist – someone, capable of fighting with their fists without channeling Ki, and being very good at it. Because I trained with her, and she was indeed a Monk, I learned a number of astounding techniques in how to fight – how to read a person’s body and understand when they shift their weight on their foot, what they’re more than likely going to do; and how to read and watch their eyes, to see where they’re looking and where they might try to strike next so I can defend and counterattack. When I asked her why she’d taught me these things, because it went against the code of peace and tranquility, she explained she lost her family in the battles against the Frost Giants, and saw herself in me.

Morita and I became fast friends, with our bond of lost family members, and the secrets we kept about each other. Several years ago, I learned that Morita perished while out trying to save a family of humans who had wandered too far up the mountain and found themselves being attacked by a yeti – a dangerous predator in these frozen mountains. She perished, but she had bought the humans enough time to turn and escape.

It was several weeks after that, that I had been wandering the frozen wastes. My mother had just died of natural causes, and normally I would have spoken to Morita about how I felt – and what I should do next. But I had no one – and I was feeling very lost – very alone – when I heard a yelp from what appeared to be a dog. I ran in that direction and saw that a bear had cornered a young dire wolf; and based upon the blood splatter on the snow, looked to have perhaps critically wounded the dire wolf. I ran towards it, jumped on the bear from behind and wrapped my arms around it, and managed to break the massive bear’s neck. I dragged the bear back to our village – it would provide meat, furs and fat to be used – but I also dragged the dire wolf with me. It didn’t look like it would make it through the night. It’d lost a lot of blood.

Before I went to sleep, I placed my hands on the gaping wound as I’d seen Morita do many times to heal cuts and wounds and prayed to the gods to spare this dire wolf. When I awoke the following morning, I found it cuddled against my body, its chest rising and falling, and the wound gone. I named him Greytooth and he followed me faithfully.

I wondered – had it been Morita who directed me that night to find the Dire Wolf so that I would have someone in my life again?

Well, this is a very impressive thread, so here is a character I want to play in my next game:
Name: Alaric of Whitegrove
Race: Human
Class: Arcana Cleric
Alignment: Neutral Good
Background: Inquisitor
Concept: A Cleric of Maelther, god of magic, knowledge and the twilight, and the son of the sun god Mithranar. The cult of Maelther is a minor one, composed mostly of scholars and mages, but its priests also serve as inquisitors, hunting down demonic and undead threats and bringing to justice those who misuse magic and threaten the peace. Alaric was one such inquisitor. He investigated magical phenomena, and brought demonologists and unlawful necromancers to justice. He also followed his god's tenet of seeking knowledge, so he studied under druids and under the priests of the god of passage and the underworld, learning a small amount of druidic magic and lawful necromancy. He could have taken a position as the priest in a temple of Maelther and peacefully retired, but a power dispute between his progressive faction the cult of Maelther and the conservative one meant that he likely would be relegated to a small parish with no influence and meager pay. So instead, he chose the open road: to fight evil and spread good on his own. The life of an adventurer was not so different from that of an inquisitor, after all.

Sorry about the delay - this was enjoyable to write. I didn't do much in terms of NPC interactions (which I often to do help develop a character).
Rather this time, I pretty much solely focused on your character.
The locations I mentioned are specific to Forgotten Realms (I assume FR is where most characters are played unless noted otherwise), and used actual references.
You can see a great map here: https://www.aidedd.org/atlas/index.php?map=R&l=1
I'd love to hear your thoughts on what I wrote.
It helps me (as a writer), and also helps keep the thread alive!
Enjoy!
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You place your faith into the hands of the gods. It’s an odd feeling. Trusting; believing; in something you can’t see, but you can feel all around you. Is our faith in our gods any different than placing our faith in the wind? We can feel it all around us, yet we can not see it nor hold it. Like our gods, the winds can be furious or gentle.

As a Cleric of Maelther, it’s my duty and faith to believe in my god; and not only that, understand one of the other great mysteries of the world – magic. Gaining knowledge in understand how those who do not have the power of their faith behind them wielding powerful magic that can reign down death from the heavens is critical for the Church of Maelther.

While it’s true that there are Mages all throughout the land that need to be kept in check; my god called upon me to do another mission. There are a handful of us selected to become Inquisitors. We hunt down and deliver justice to those whose souls have been corrupted by the great powers of magic. We hunt down cultists of dark powers, heretics, and blasphemers among the faithful. Those who use necromancy for darkness – extending their own lives, or raising the dead, that should only know peace in the heavens.

Unlike many Inquisitors of our Order, I wanted to be sure to follow the creed of my god; and that was to seek Knowledge. I want to know my enemies before I judge them. I traveled to the Misty Forest where I studied among Druids – to see how they use their powers to balance nature. Next I studied at Gillian’s Hill, and some of the artifacts that had surfaced there from the tomb that led to the Underdark, that had since been spell-guarded. It was here I learned much about those who dabbled in demonology and dark arts. Many cultists gathered around the surrounding areas of Gillian’s Hill, drawn by the dark power that emanated all around the village.

I soon earned quite the reputation at Gillian’s Hill, where I spent years, becoming a part of the town. I found more than a dozen cultists, destroyed several dark places of worship, and earned the love and respect of the citizens of Gillian’s Hill.

Word of my victories reached Waterdeep, where the main Church of my Order was positioned. A summons was sent for me to come to Waterdeep. The people of Gillian’s Hill were quite disappointed with the news of my departure, but I was sure that the summoning meant that I would be taking a position as a Priest of Maelther in the great chapel and could live my life comfortably, perhaps settle, get a family, children.

However, that is not what greeted me when I arrived. The Order was in a large dispute between the progressive side – which believed in dispatching death to the guilty, against the conservative side, which believed that we were overstepping our bounds as Inquisitors and that the guilty should be brought to the law.

Days of arguing turned to weeks. Weeks turned into a month. The Order was in disarray and I felt like everyone had lost focus of what we were. One night, I simply went to the stables, grabbed the reigns of a horse and rode into the night.

Perched on the black stallion I called ‘Darksky’ – I paused.

You place your faith into the hands of the gods. It’s an odd feeling. Trusting; believing; in something you can’t see, but you can feel all around you. Is our faith in our gods any different than placing our faith in the wind? We can feel it all around us, yet we can not see it nor hold it. Like our gods, the winds can be furious or gentle.

With a nudge of my foot, the dark horse rode into the night, and we let the wind take us where ever it might go.

Hi Tawmis,
It is Ogre Mage again. I hope your wife is on the mend. This is my latest character for Storm King's Thunder. She speaks in a gravelly voice and is darker than the previous characters you wrote for me.

Name: Suspiria
Setting: Forgotten Realms
Class: Shadow Sorcerer 6
Race: Variant Human
Gender: Female
Background: Criminal
Alignment: Neutral
Feats: Ritual Caster (wizard)
Metamagics: Careful Spell, Twinned Spell.
Skills: Arcana, Deception, Perception, Persuasion, Stealth.
Languages: Common, Giant.
Str 8, Dex 14, Con 14, Int 10, Wis 13, Cha 18.

Sorcerer Spells
Cantrips: firebolt, mage hand, minor illusion, prestidigitation, shocking grasp.
1st: shield, grease.
2nd: suggestion, misty step.
3rd: hypnotic pattern, haste, counterspell.
Ritual spells (wizard): alarm, detect magic, find familiar, Leomund's Tiny Hut, unseen servant, water breathing.
Magic items: bracers of defense.
Her familiar is a black-feathered owl named Nightwing. She named her hound of ill omen Cujo (lol).

Despite the darker tone of your character, I still injected quite a bit of personality and humor through your character's reactions and thoughts.
Tollaris and Rekkar are from another person's origin I wrote: https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=818
The witch's home - Frostmourn comes from another origin I wrote for someone: https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=825 and explains how you know Giant
And for good measure, I threw in Alaric of Whitegrove - which I just wrote in your origin too: https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=825
Once again alluding to the "Tawmis-Verse" where everything is connected through alternate realities.
I hope you enjoy what I did here - apologize about the delay, the wife's health has been my primary concern.
Would love any thoughts or feedback you have!
As always, enjoy!
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Perhaps I’ve made some poor choices throughout my life. Perhaps I can blame circumstance; not having a mother or father figure to help me as I grew up; no one to nurture me and love me. Blaming something – anything – else has always been my preferred choice. But if there’s a deity out there and they’re watching me, only they and I know the truth. Circumstances be damned, it boils down to the choices I’ve made. And that’s why I’m here, hands tied behind my back, my neck in a guillotine as this overweight, blubbering human is rattling off a list of charges being brought up against me – some of which, I admit, are true – but most are not.

His name is Mayor Buggledorm – gods, even his name makes him sound overweight. His fat, pig like appendages that pass for fingers unroll the parchment that details the list of my crimes – everything from theft of jewelry to theft of horses and food. There’s even an account of murder thrown in there for good measure, though no one has been murdered in Liam’s Hold. But what can you expect from a small hamlet like this?

How did I get here, you might be asking yourself. And how will I get out?

Well, my name is Suspiria – I have no last name, because, as I said, I never knew who my mother or father were. My earliest memory is stealing food, while living on the streets of Waterdeep. I was five years old. How I even survived to the age of four – if my mother and father were with me until then and abandoned me, were murdered, arrested – I have no idea. No one ever came looking for me to claim me as their child. That probably left an impact on me. As I imagine it would anyone, really. I fell in with a human named Tollaris who said he sensed something special about me.

He brought me down into the wandering mazes of the sewers beneath Waterdeep – and despite the constant turns, I could tell he was purposely walking me in circles to disorient me. Much to my surprise, there was an entire community existing down in the sewers that ranged from humans to halflings – all operating as thieves. But Tollaris brought me before an elderly woman – blind in both eyes, by the looks of it – since they were both as grey as the morning sea fog of Waterdeep.

She reached out her yellow, withered hand and whispered, “The girl has magic in her.”

“Should I cut it out of her?” Tollaris had asked, quickly drawing his dagger. “Did she swallow a magic ring or something? I noticed her pick pocketing nobles on the street.”

“No,” the woman hissed. “She is born of magic. It courses through her veins, similar to myself. Tell me girl, what is in your blood? Is it demon? Dragon? Ancient wizard?”

“I am not sure, I do not know my parents,” I replied, shrugging as I bit into some bread that had been in Tollaris’ pouch. Tollaris looked at the bread then in his pouch then scowled deeply at me.

“Then I shall teach you magic, pretty one,” the old hag smiled.

I was not afraid of her unusual, large, appearance, but I asked, “What are you?”

“Me?” she smiled, rows of yellow teeth missing. “I am a Goliath. I come from the frozen mountains, a place called Frostmourn – just north of Raven Hill and south of Reghed Glacier. My great, great, great, grandmother was a Storm Giant who was powerful in the ways of magic. Like you, magic was born into my bloodline. My name is Fenja. Whatever shall we call you?”

“Suspect,” Tollaris muttered.

“Suspiria,” Fenja smiled, hearing Tollaris but using the tongue of Giants for the word “Suspect.”

For weeks Fenja showed me how to channel the magic that coursed in my veins. She showed me how to summon a magical hand, create small illusions, even a shocking grasp, which I had too much fun tricking Tollaris with.

I learned that Fenja ran the thieves guild on this side of the city and ran it well. Thieves of other guilds who dared enter her territory were dealt with… which usually meant sending Tollaris and his half-orc friend, Rekkar to “deal with the problem.” Dealing with the problem always had them returning, drenched in blood.

By the age of sixteen, I was quite capable with magic – and Fenja said I would have to earn my own keep. She sent me out to use my magic to trick people into giving me coin – and everything was going well until a man passing through the street, grabbed me by the wrist and jerked on my arm. He was human and looked at me sternly. “My name is Alaric of Whitegrove, and I am an Inquisitor of Maelther. I can sense darkness in you girl. Change your ways or pray that our paths do not cross again. I will not be so merciful.”

That was all two years ago. Fenja told me when I reached eighteen that I would need to go out in the world and find my own fate. Didn’t think that meant having my neck in a guillotine with my hands tied behind my back.

“… and dark sorcery!” Mayor Buggledorm of Liam’s Hold concluded. “For which, her punishment is death!” He gestured to the executioner who tugged on the line. I heard the guillotine release – and using my magic – I stopped it. I used Mage Hand to hold the guillotine in place, then quickly cast Grease on my hands, allowing me to easily get out of the knots. Mayor Buggledorm was screaming at the guards to do something! However, a quick Misty Step to stand next to him, followed by a shocking grasp in his groin forced him to stop talking and let out a scream – as well as soil himself.

I called for Nightwing, my owl, who flew directly at the executioner, who tripped and fell into the guillotine, barely getting out of it in time, as I released the Mage Hand. I leapt down on the horse that they had accused me of falsely stealing (so I might as well make good of it now), and rode off into the sunset.

Perhaps I’ve made some poor choices throughout my life. Perhaps I can blame circumstance; not having a mother or father figure to help me as I grew up; no one to nurture me and love me. Blaming something – anything – else has always been my preferred choice. But if there’s a deity out there and they’re watching me, only they and I know the truth. Circumstances be damned, it boils down to the choices I’ve made.

[Tawmis]

https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=835

This background can wait a good long while I feel no rush for this but I felt you would do better with this.

So the Character themselves is another warforged in this case a redemption paladin. The main gimmick I came up with for this one though is that they were made to look more like a certain person the one whose soul was used to awaken this warforged by their creator. This soul was of a paladin that redeemed the creator who died eventually to save people this warforged was made to honor that sacrifice and to keep their legacy going.

My problem is as this warforged has this paladins memory they would know what happened I personally do not. Both the creator and the Paladin are humanoid one is male one is female the order symbol and possibly name would be the bloody rose. This would have all taken place before the warforged was made though so it is more of a memory than a direct experience. If you have any questions if you decide to write this let me know. Keep up your wonderful stories and hopefully life get easier for you.

I don't mind the gender I play 50-50 myself. The Creator and the Paladin are opposite genders they fell in love but shortly after the creator was saved and redeemed the Paladin died. They knew each other before they were adventures. One of the reasons why it is hard for the creator to be around the warforged is cause of that bond that the warforged may or may not have.

Screams. Shouts. Swords clashing.

Darkness.

A battlefield. Men, women, dying.

Darkness.

A woman. Shadows. Retribution.

Darkness.

It’s a cycle that repeats in – my mind? Do I have a mind? Are these… memories?

Of what? A past life?

I stare at my mechanical hands. Did I have a life before this?

And then there’s her – the female mage, Nallia. She is both close and distant to me. There are times where it seems perhaps she has known me forever – and other times, where she looks at me with such sadness in her eyes. I don’t understand.

Many years ago…

Nallia placed her hand on Terrin’s battered arm. “You don’t have to do this.”

Terrin, through blond hair, matted in blood and plastered to his face, looked back at Nallia. “They’re wrong about you. And I will die to prove it to them – but if they insist, I will kill as many of them as I can to prove it to them.”

A commanding voice echoed from outside the cave. “Terrin, this is your last chance. Come out with your blade thrown at my feet. We know Nallia is responsible for the explosion that killed the three farmers. This is your last chance to surrender, and we will give you a fair trial, and understand that you have been manipulated by her magic.”

The voice belonged to Harus, the leader of the Blood Rose, and Terrin’s closest friend. “I am of sound mind, Harus. You know I am. If you send your soldiers in here, you know I will kill them. I may not kill them all, but you will be delivering the tragic news that these sons and daughters died, because you knowingly sent them to their death.” The Order of the Blood Rose was named because they were the battle ready Paladins who did what they had to – by any means necessary – to preserve justice.

Terrin looked up and saw it was none other than Harus who had entered the cave that he and Nallia had taken cover in. Terrin gripped his sword. “Harus, don’t make me do this.”

“I would say the same thing,” Harus replied, locking eyes with his best friend. “Would you kill me, for her?” He gestured behind Terrin.

“I would do what our order has always done,” Terrin growled as Harus edged ever so slowly closer. “I would ensure that she was given a true trial.”

“That’s what we all want, my friend,” Harus replied.

“No,” Terrin growled. “You would have her tried here where emotions run high. She would not be given a fair trial here. You know that as well as I do.”

Harus drew his sword. “I am sad it’s come to this, then.”

Swords clashed in the darkness.

A few moments later Harus walked out of the cave. The others who had followed him here cheered.

Then he fell to his knees, his vacant eyes gazing towards the heavens.

Terrin and Nallia were now running deeper into the caves. Terrin had sheathed his weapon and was holding onto Nallia’s hand. “Follow me. Harus and I used to come here as children. There’s an opening down here. I will get you to the Capital.”

For six nights, Terrin and Nallia were on the run; fleeing from the order he once served so faithfully; fought in countless battles for.

On the seventh night, they reached the gates of the Capital, beaten, cut, bruised, dehydrated and famished and took sanctuary in the Church of Life and Light. Spending several nights here, Nallia willingly turned herself in at the Capital for the crime she’d been accused of.

Shockingly, Terrin would learn that none other than his best friend, Harus, had been behind the explosion that had killed those farmers. The Guild had gathered evidence now that showed he had fallen and served The Black Serpent Order – and that they had needed the land, which the farmers had refused to sell. So killing them and framing Nallia, while striking a blow to his righteous friend, all seemed to fit his plan.

Nallia was cleared of her crimes; and while celebrating, Terrin had gone to the bar to retrieve a drink; and in the bustling tavern no one saw who had done it – but a shadowy figure approached Terrin with a dagger and stabbed him over thirty times in mere seconds, under the armpit, piercing his heart. He bled to death before he could ever be saved. The last thing Terrin saw was Nallia, kneeling over him, crying, and caressing his face.

It was six years to the day, when Nallia finally completed the spell – she had created a Warforged in the replica of Terrin, her heart unable to let him go – but, in the end, the Warforged did nothing to heal her heart – it only broke it ever more.

[Tawmis]

https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=839

I'm hoping to get some help fleshing out a backstory for my next character, for Dungeon of the Mad Mage. I'm planning on 3 levels of Gloom Stalker Ranger, and the rest monk.

Zag is a young adult Dankwood goblin who grew up in the Dankwood and loves small forest creatures, as his people are wont to do. He has many goblin friends, but his best friend is his rabbit Numlefluff.

The Orcs have bullied his people for generations, and Zag feels it is only fair to steal their treasure and share it with his tribe. He has become quite successful at skulking through darkness to liberate treasures for his people. He has brought back gold and many valuable objects from his silent raids. Over time, he has met someone who was willing to buy many of the more esoteric items he was able to obtain, and didn't ask questions or mind dealing with a goblin for this purpose (criminal background).

[Somehow] he heard tales of an incredible dungeon filled with treasure and wonders, hidden beneath the distant city of Waterdeep, and decided to see what wonders he could find. He set out alone to seek his fortune in the fabled dungeon. Along the way he had many adventures.

Taking shelter from a storm one night in a shallow cave he heard sounds coming from beneath the mountain. Upon investigation, he discovered a secretive monastery, dedication to the shadow arts. Watching invisibly from the darkness, he was enthralled, until a slight movement gave him away. Rather than kill him, however, they immediately appreciated his skill at hiding in shadow and recruited him to the order.

He trained there for a time then left to resume his prior quest. [Undecided: is he loyal to them? Or only to his tribe? Did he sneak away? What does the order want from him? Why did they recruit and train him? ]

At some point he needs to join forces with a Tortle cleric/druid and a gnome artificer to enter the dungeon with.

I could especially use help fleshing out the monastic order and their motivations. And also why he might decide to adventure with others. Zag is a bit of a loner and foolishly overconfident in his abilities.

Is there an appropriate god that Zag might worship? Not a big deal for a non divine PC but I like to choose one (or sometimes more) for all my chars. The goblin pantheon does not have a good fit I can find as they are mostly LE and Zag is probably chaotic neutral or something similar. (I don't plan to worry much about assigning an alignment, but focus more on ideals, bonds and so on. Suggestions there are welcome.)

Finally, we are starting at level 5 with one uncommon magic item worth up to 1000gp in sane magic prices, though uncommon items from other official sources of similar power are possible with DM approval. May ask about the relevant tattoo (+1 unarmed strikes etc) from Tasha's but other ideas of something fun are welcome. Bag of tricks would be very on flavor but I don't think allowed.

Thanks

Goblin (Dankwood) Features
Dankwood goblins are much like any other run-of-the-mill goblin but they are much more gentle and artistic than the savage and uncouth goblins of the world.
They are inquisitive and have a magical bond with the small forest creatures with which they are often friends. They are fast and nimble and love to explore. Because of this they make great adventurers and guides.
• Ability Score Increase. Your Strength score increases by 2, and your Wisdom score increases by 1.
• Age. Dankwood goblins reach adulthood at age 8 and live up to 60 years.
• Alignment. Dankwood goblins are typically neutral or neutral good, though some mischievous dankwood goblins are chaotic neutral.
• Size. Dankwood goblins are between 3 and 4 feet tall and weigh between 40 and 80 pounds. Your size is Small.
• Speed. Your base walking speed is 30 feet.
• Darkvision. You can see in dim light within 60 feet of you as if it were bright light, and in darkness as if it were dim light. You can't discern color in darkness, only shades of gray.
• Speak with Small Beasts. Through sounds and gestures, you can communicate simple ideas with small or smaller beasts. Dankwood goblins love animals and often keep squirrels, badgers, rabbits, moles, woodpeckers, and other creatures as beloved pets.
• Nimble Escape. You can take the Disengage or Hide action as a bonus action on each of your turns.
• Languages. You can speak, read, and write Common and Goblin.

Zag was a young adult, Dankwood Goblin. Dankwood Goblins were similar to the more common goblins spread throughout the lands; but they were different in their demeanor. Unlike their more common cousins, Dankwood Goblins had an affinity to nature. Whereas their cousins would maraud and attack passersby, Dankwood Goblins would rather sit by a stream and enjoy the soothing rippling sounds of a stream or engage in a rather odd conversation with animals.

This is how Zag had met Numlefluff – a tan rabbit. Zag had watched as Numblefluff avoided death from foxes, eagles, wolves – always nimble, always quick. Zag had earned the rabbit’s trust by feeding it, Zag sacrificing their own food in order to gain this unusual rabbit’s trust. As Zag was petting its tan fur, she said, “I feel like you. The world hates me because of my goblin cousins and thinks I am like them because I look like them.” Zag smiled as the rabbit cuddled into her lap. “I wish I could be like you,” Zag said, as she laid her head back against the tree she’d been sitting against, the warmth of the rabbit in her lags, her hands gingerly stroking the soft fur.

“You can be like me,” Zag heard a voice. “All the world is our enemy, you and I. Whenever they catch us, they will kill us as their enemy or for food. But first, they must catch us; be cunning and full of tricks and we shall never be destroyed.” (1)

Zag awoke from her nap and stared down at the rabbit, whose twitchy nose seemed to peer up at Zag before nuzzling back into Zag’s lap. “Did you just talk to me?”

The rabbit’s ear twitched, but otherwise made no other indication that it’d heard Zag.

For the days that followed, Zag kept an eye on Numlefluff – and observed how the rabbit would always be aware of its exits should a predator appear. The rabbit was clearly in touch with its natural surroundings and understood how to escape any danger. Zag began to practice, using imaginary enemies appearing, how she might escape any given area she was standing in. Zag was practicing her survival skills when the crackling sounds of a campfire drew her attention. She moved closely and saw three humans and two dwarves sitting around a campfire, discussing rumors of a dungeon near the distant city of Waterdeep. Zag had spied on plenty of travelers who had come through these woods before and heard the name “Waterdeep” mentioned several times – and from what she’d gathered, it was a rather large and magnificent city.

“You should go,” Zag heard the voice in her head. She had to cover her mouth to prevent letting out a startled scream and alerting those around the campfire. She turned and saw Numlefluff right behind her, nose twitching, nibbling on grass.

“Was that you? Can you talk?” Zag whispered. Dankwood Goblins had an affinity to the animals of the land and could hold very basic conversations – but this seemed to be far more than that. But once again, the tan rabbit gave no indication that it understood Zag’s question and so, did not answer.

Zag had spent several nights wondering what she should do – all the while, the tan rabbit either ate or leapt around the base of the tree that Zag had taken up refuge in. Zag finally decided she would go. Packing what few belongings she had, she considered saying farewell to her family and tribe, but truth be told, she rarely paid them a visit. They probably didn’t even realize she hadn’t been around for weeks.

One week into her journey, Zag was pondering if she’d had made a mistake. While crossing through the Greypeak Mountains, a violent and sudden storm darkened the skies. Torrential rain began to pour down causing the path to become slippery. Zag took shelter in a small cave she’d found, but the booming thunder drove her further back into the cave, where she noticed a small opening. She began crawling through it – and eventually came to an area where she heard voices. She peered and saw several – what appeared to be other rangers – and others, dressed in ceremonial robes. One of the humans in robes looked up, staring directly at where Zag had perched herself and said, “We’re not alone. Come down little one.”

Zag’s first instinct was to run – but something in the human’s voice seemed soothing and calm.

“My name is Kallaren,” the human said as Zag reached the bottom. “What brought you here?”

“I was seeking shelter from the storm,” Zag answered truthfully. The Rangers seemed to exchange nervous glances, but the human in robes seemed to calm them down.

“We can’t trust her,” one of the human rangers shouted. “She’s a goblin.”

Kallaren turned to her. “Can we trust you?”

“Yes,” Zag answered. “I am a goblin, but I am a Dankwood Goblin. We’re much different than our cousins, which you’re probably used to seeing.”

“What is your name, little one?” the human asked.

“Zag,” she answered, as she pulled nervously at her leathers.

“Zag, I don’t believe you came here by accident,” the human said. “I believe the gods may have led you here. You see, there is a mad wizard, who has made a home for himself near Waterdeep. He’s grown quite powerful – and he needs to be stopped. Any one of us,” he gestured around him, to the other Monks and Rangers, “would easily be spotted in this wizard’s domain. But he has surrounded him with the likes of your kind and others like you. You may be exactly what’s needed.”

“I was headed to Waterdeep,” Zag confessed. “I’d heard about this dungeon of great treasure.”

“Well, then our goals are aligned,” the human smiled. “Seek allies there. Find the wizard, and put a stop to him. Allow me to bestow this gift to you to help.” (2)

The rest of Zag’s journey was uneventful as she finally reached Waterdeep. Just as the Monk had said, inside the Broken Jaw Bar, she met a Tortle Cleric who had already befriended a gnome, who said they were somewhat familiar with the location of the dungeon.

[Tawmis]

https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=841

Tawmis, I hope you and your wife are well.
I want to play a bear. A walking, talking bear (with opposable thumbs) in a world where walking, talking bears don't exist. In truth, it's not likely that I'll play this character, but it could end up as an NPC. On the other hand, if it's a good enough story... I've been enjoying your stories a lot, and thought it would be fun to see what you came up with for this concept.
Other details... male, brown. Low INT, higher WIS, fightery type. That's all I've got! I hope you enjoy the wide-open ones.

As I sit here, the waves crashing on the beach before me, their rhythmic sound soothing my troubled mind, I listen to the seagulls that remain perched on the lava stones in the water, because landing on the Isle of Serpent Crown are a dangerous one.

No one is quite sure how it happened.

The most common theory is that several druids washed ashore from a shipwreck and quickly saw that the wildlife here was abundant and lethal. On the far northern side of the small island, a cannibalistic tribe of humans viciously protect and kill anyone who tries to come in contact with them. They’re known to eat anything that has meat on its body – human, orc, elf, snakes, whales – there is nothing they won’t eat. The island is also home to some of the most venomous snakes known – and in abundance; this is how the island was named, because of the snake population and the two stones in the middle of the island that come out like large serpent fangs made of grey stone.

The eastern side of the island is marshy lands, populated by a bountiful population of large, salt water crocodiles. As if that were not already enough, the ocean seems to be a beacon and breeding ground for large tiger shark populations.

As if that had not been enough, the island was located so that it suffered the worse winds, and was constantly hammered during hurricane season; which caused floods, that allowed the salt water crocodiles larger areas to roam and devour anything it could.

So the idea, that several shipwrecked druids washed ashore and realized that perhaps the only way to survive was forgo their human forms, and take on animal forms – one of the strongest being the bear form. The tale says that for generations, druids remained in these bear forms that they soon forgot as the generations passed on, that they were human to begin with. However, in these bear forms, they had opposable thumbs, and learned to continue to speak in Common amongst each other. The Druids were said to even have adapted bear habits they knew, housing themselves in the caves, up in the Serpent Crown stone area that kept them above the often flooding waters.

I stare at my furry paws extend my claws that glisten in the sun’s setting rays, that cast orange lights across the heavens.

I have been with my sleuth since I was born – that was eighteen years ago. I’ve listened to the stories, I’ve heard the legends. I’ve hunted, I’ve survived – I have enjoyed my time on this island being a part of something.

But I can’t help but wonder – is there something out there? The Druids must have come from somewhere. None of the legends, none of the stories speak of it. The Druids simply washed ashore. No one knows from where. No one knows why.

I want to know why. I want to know from where.

In the caves we call home, in the Serpent Crown, there are ancient drawings that were drawn by those Druids before they forgot their human form – and it shows many great things none of us have bothered to know more about.

I want to know.

[Tawmis]

https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=845

Name: Theranial (could use surname or house-name)
Race: Elf (Moon)
Class: Cleric (Twilight domain)
Diety: Selune
Background: Inn's Child (Homebrew on DnD Beyond) - https://www.dndbeyond.com/backgrounds/51620-inns-child
Swapped racial weapon proficiencies for:

• Shawm
• Playing Cards
• Tinker's Tools
• Herbalism kit

Personality Traits
Nobody stays angry at me or around me for long, since I can defuse any amount of tension.
I am always calm, no matter what the situation. I never raise my voice or let my emotions control me.
Ideals
Respect. People deserve to be treated with dignity and respect. (Good)
Bonds
My family's inn is the most important place in the world to me.
Flaws
I’m a sucker for a pretty face.

Not sure how much you’ve read of previous stories I’d done; but early on, I frequently connected people’s origins or had reoccurring characters appear and created what folks in this thread playfully called “The Tawmis Verse.” This is no different. The bard I use in yours has been used quite a few times!
https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=530
https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=534
https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=761
https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=815
Used him quite a few times – he’s a reference to my father.
https://forums.giantitp.com/search.php?searchid=336941

As always, I hope you enjoy and this fits what you were looking for! I’d love to hear a comment in this thread as it helps keep it alive and bumped!

Enjoy!
====================================


Gentle, soothing music drifted out from the old, tan, wooden walls and opened windows of the Shining Star Inn. As the sun set in the distance, shops closed for the night, and familiar faces gathered to share familiar stories about their day.

My name is Theranial Crescentmoon and I have spent my entire life in this Inn. It’s owned by my loving parents, Airdor and Hallia Crescentmoon. Some might imagine that I spent my entire life cleaning up grime and spit from those who came here; but truth be told, serving as both a local inn, as well as a tavern, The Shining Star Inn was well known as generally being for the locals. Sure, from time to time, adventurers would stumble into the Inn, cut, bruised, bleeding, in need of a room for the night.

Those nights were a tradeoff. While I enjoyed hearing some of their tales of orcs, goblins, even dragons that they’d fought – cleaning up their rooms after their stay was done was never easy. Oftentimes, the sheets would be stained with blood – and other stains, I’d rather not think about. Despite this, my parents had always instilled in me to treat everyone with dignity and respect.

By the age of sixteen, I had spent five years, watching those around me gamble. I would watch as each hand was dealt, observing each of their cards, as I pretended to clean around them. I learned their tells, from when they had a good hand or when they had a bad hand. Doing so, by the time my father allowed me to sit in for a few games when I was on my breaks, I was easily able to typically read everyone at the table as if they were the books my mother gave me to read.

But not all adventurers who came in were dirty and bleeding or boasting of treasures and conquest. When I was sixteen years old, a human had come to the Shining Star Inn and taken a seat next to the crackling fireplace. I remember the human clearly – as well as that night.

I remember when he came in – I was sitting at a table, and he walked right up to me, paused, smiled, before making his way to his seat near the fireplace. I excused myself and approached the man, clearly a bard by the way he was dressed (fancy clothing) and the musical instruments he had slung over his shoulder. He looked at me as I reached his table and said, “I did not mean to interrupt your game. I only wanted to know if it would be OK if I played my Shawm.”

“Shawm?” I had asked, never having heard of such an instrument. The mysterious stranger seemed to read my thoughts.

He shook his head, “My apologies. Where are my manners. My name is Tyrell. Tyrell Stormshadow.” He pulled out a long, wooden instrument which resembled a flute but produced uniquely different sounds as Tyrell began to gently play. Strangely enough, patrons stood, moved their tables and danced slowly with one another – something I’d never seen in my eleven years here.

By Midnight, most of the local patrons returned home, and many of the adventurers had returned to their rooms for the night, gathering sleep to get up by dawn’s early light. A few adventurers still remained, drinking and sharing information and stories. That’s when I realized Tyrell was still here and he had never requested a room. Just as I approached him to ask if he needed a room, he stood and said, “I will see you tomorrow night.”

This happened for the next three months. I have no idea where he stayed. I’d asked around; others claimed to have seen him, but none knew where he was staying. In those three months, he would talk to me – and seemed to know quite a bit about me. He knew my mother fed not only my stomach with food, but my mind with Knowledge and that by the age of seven, I’d already sworn my allegiance to the goddess Selune. He’d also begun showing me how to play the shawm. Just before the last night he disappeared, I remember he said, “I have but one more lesson to teach you.”

I had thought that I was quite good at the shawm – but as it would turn out, it had nothing to do with that. The following night, a blond maiden, no more than eighteen years old, golden hair, ice blue eyes; a human woman, with an amazing figure had come into the Inn. She approached me and asked if there were rooms available. I have no idea why I said it, but I replied to her, “Yes, mine is.”

The slap across my face was sure to sting for days to come, and I felt like it glowed like a bright red apple. It was within minutes of being slapped that I saw Tyrell come into the tavern, a broad smile on his face as he sat down next to me. He shook his head and laughed a little, “Listen. I could tell that you were a sucker for a beautiful face – and if you’re not careful,” he turned my face slightly so he could see the welt from the slap, and I watched as he winced. “You’re going to get yourself hurt.” That’s when it became clear what his final lesson to me was – it was not about the musical instrument – but the ability to speak in such a way that bards were renowned for – a way to weave and shape your words, in a specific way, with a specific tone that helped diffuse situations; and a proper way to address a lady.

I’ve missed those visits from Tyrell, and frequently wondered where he might be now.

I picked up the shawm he’d given me and put it to my lips and blew.

Gentle, soothing music drifted out from the old, tan, wooden walls and opened windows of the Shining Star Inn. As the sun set in the distance, shops closed for the night, and familiar faces gathered to share familiar stories about their day.

[Tawmis]

https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=852

Hey Tawmis! Been awhile, but I got some characters that I'd love help with fleshing out and getting on paper.

I won't flood you with all the requests at once, but here's what I have for the first one.

Name: Seeker (Previously Sentry, details below)
Race: Warforged (Previously Human, details below)
Class: Armorer Artificer
Age: ~5 years since woke up as Warforged, between 40 and 50 years old as a Human prior to that.
Sentry Age: ~ 4 year old Warforged.

So the basics of this are it’s actually me fleshing out one of my players characters. The character Seeker woke up with no previous memories. Thus they assume they are what they have always been. The thing is they left everything BEFORE waking up to me.

Seeker escaped from another plane that was/is under assault by an extraplanar force. (Think StarCraft zerg, they come in destroy/consume and move on) There he was a human that was trying to find help. Either a place to escape to or a world to get assistance from. He remembers none of this, but will get hints about it throughout the campaign. He managed to get his SOUL out of that world. When it got to this world it was lost, confused, and looking for its body. It instead found a damaged Warforged. Its soul melded with the broken body of the Warforged and that's when he woke up. He doesn't remember any of it.

I need/want help with two things for this character. Who he was as a Human before the ritual that propelled his Soul through the Void (my Astral space between planes/worlds). And also who the Warforged (Sentry) who's body he is in was before his/her death.

All I have for the Warforged is that he/she is missing an arm and was serving in the Cyre Military during The Last War (Eberron campaign setting, heavily modified so don't worry about sticking to lore here if you don't want to/know it) and was called Sentry.

I really enjoyed working with you on my previous character and look forward to it once again

Edit: Not that I think it will matter, but the world he came from is populated solely by Humans and the monstrous races, and the world he went to I have removed Humans completely but all the other races are present. Elves are the most populous race, but all other fantasy races, dwarves, gnomes, Goliath, etc, are all present.

Urmph! Finally got around to doing this one for you - I'd just done a Warforged before this and didn't want them to seem too similar.
Tonight I was listening to some soundtracks - and I realized I'd not gotten back to doing yours.
So I threw on some music - and got to writing.
Apologies about the delay - not even sure if you need this anymore, considering how long it's been.
Regardless - hope you enjoy!
=========================================

The prophets foretold of this day – they called it The Jarrigun – meaning “the final day of judgement.” They foretold that the day would come when the “Ancestors of the Skies” would return to “free the souls from the chains of the flesh.” They foretold a world of rapture and peace.

They were right – the day did come – and they came from the stars.

But peace? Rapture? None of that is to be found.

Once beautiful buildings now lie toppled, concrete coffins for those who could not escape from their towering homes when the Zenfree came. The air – though once tainted with pollution – now reeks of searing flesh, smoldering and bubbling. The skies, once filled with clouds and stars are littered with ships from the Zenfree reigning death from above.

I have watched family, friends and strangers murdered before my eyes as small pockets of resisters try to fight the Zenfree – all for naught. The Zenfree are more powerful physically and have weapons like we’ve never seen before.

My name is Sentry – and I was once a proud guard of Commissioner Gorehaun of Everlight. Now, Gorehaun was cut into a thousand pieces and broadcast for all to see – in our minds, our dreams, our nightmares. Everlight, named for the beautiful lights on the top of the three towers, shining their light proudly towards the heavens waiting for the “Ancestors from the Skies” to return – is now a dark, torn, desolate ruin. But during my time as a personal guard to Commissioner Gorehaun – I was privy to his hidden chambers – and one such place he kept – a place his most trusted scientists worked. Scientists whose deaths were faked so that they could work here gave up any semblance of life – because they believed in something special. They’d developed a portal that could “touch” the stars, they claimed. Commissioner Gorehaun believed that it was a portal to the “Ancestors of the Skies.”

It’s never been tested.

And here I am now – standing before it. The portal shimmers a faint blue – it looks as if it’s composed of water – with my distorted reflection staring back at me. This goes one of two ways – I step through it and if it truly does connect to the “Ancestors of the Skies” – as in the Zenfree – I am as good as dead. It could also just drop me off in the middle of space to suffocate. Or it could just drop me off on some distant land devoid of life. Truth is – any of those sound better than what’s happening outside. But what I hope happens is that when I step through – I can find someone – an army of some kind – to come back and reclaim my world from the Zenfree.

My name is Sentry – and right now – I am about to risk it all. One step for mankind…

“Seeker!” a voice calls out.

I look, staring – I feel – weird.

“Snap out of it, Seeker,” the voice repeats. I turn and see someone – tall, elegant looking. Thin. Beautiful eyes and hair. Pointed… ears? She approaches me. “Seeker, has something happened to your wiring? You’ve been off today.”

“Apologies, Ellisha,” I say – wait – how do I know her name? “I feel … different today.”

“You’ve been acting strangely since we checked out that small burst of light,” Ellisha, a beautiful female elf says. “All we found was the weird clothing and the husk of what looked to be something of a humanoid of some kind – one I’ve never seen before.”

“It looked as if it might have been human,” I reply. Might have been? But I am human. It was me… wasn’t it? I raise my hand and am horrified to see they’re mechanical. Large. What’s happened? Who am I? What are these feelings I feel?

“Human?” Ellisha seems to laugh. “There’s not been ‘humans’ here for a very, very, very long time, Seeker. I doubt that was a human. My ancestors don’t even remember humans.”

Ancestors? Why does that word mean something?

“Now stop being silly, take in the warm sun, and enjoy the beautiful sunset,” Ellisha smiles, sitting down on a tree stump.

My eyes go upward – the sky. I can see the sky. It’s blue again.

It’s always been blue.

What’s wrong with me?

Why do I feel like… two people?

After an hour, Ellisha stands up, looks at me and says, “We better get going. The others are expecting you. I won’t tell them about how you’ve been acting today. We will keep that between you and I.” She shook her head again and muttered, “Humans. You’re funny, Seeker.”

My Female Tiefling Evoker needs a backstory, please.
Her name is Lolikiano. It was her lifelong dream to learn magic. She grew up on the streets, pickpocketing until she had enough money to pay for tuition at a school of magic. Her flaw is that she is as stubborn as a mule.

You left the playing field pretty open for me - so here's what I came up with!
I had some fun with it - like "Sirteks School of Wizardry" - this is a reference to the company "Sir-Tech" who developed the old CRPG "Wizardry" - and the Evoker teacher "Wurdnuh" is a reference to Werdna in Wizardry (the main bad guy for the first few games).

I'd love to hear your feedback!
Enjoy!
=====================================

My name is Lolikiano – which, I’d grown up most of my life believing to mean “Dark Beauty.” That’s what my mother told me the name meant – just before she disappeared on me one day. My mother was poor, and my father – if my mother is to be believed – died bravely in some battle. She’d sent me out to fetch some bread – which to hear meant, begging for it – or stealing it – whichever opportunity arose first. Being a young girl, begging came easy – and most men and women – took pity on me and gave me bread and drink. That was until I turned ten years old, and my body began to change. I developed horns, my skin color slowly changed over time – and the truth of my bloodline was revealed. I was a Tiefling – something that looked part human and part demon.

Two things happened when this started – my mother had sent me to ‘fetch some bread’ – and I learned that begging wasn’t working anymore. People gasped when they saw me or turned their gaze away from me – now I was being forced to steal. The second thing – when I came home that day – my mother was gone. She’d left everything behind. But she was gone. At first I’d thought she’d gone out to get food or water also – but when the days turned into weeks – I knew she wasn’t coming back. She’d run away because of what I’d become.

My stealing caught the attention of a local gang run by another Tiefling named Hauren. He told me that he could take me under his wing – and make me a part of his organization – and he would provide me with shelter and food. When I accepted and introduced myself, he smiled and said, “Fitting name.” I’d thought he was flirting – but I would come to learn that my name truly meant “Power of Darkness” in the Abyssal tongue.

Rummaging through my mother’s possessions – what little they were in the slums we lived in – I found an assortment of spellbooks – but I couldn’t read any of the text. Hauren said he couldn’t either – that he never bothered with learning anything, other than stealing. He had a place in the slums – and old, abandoned warehouse – which he used as shelter for his ‘guild’ and ran his ‘business’ out of. I told Hauren that I would work with him and earn my percentage of what I stole, to one day pay for a teacher to teach me the ways of magic – like my mother. So I can find out if she is the reason I am the way that I am – and if she is – I can find her, track her down – and have my revenge.

I worked for Hauren for quite a few years – and eventually, I went from stealing for him – to showcasing for him. He’d often acquired unique paintings of great value and had ‘bidding wars’ in the warehouse. He’d used me to display the paintings and speak of them. He claimed I had a special kind of appeal and intelligence when I spoke. The bidding of such paintings earned Hauren a considerable amount of money – far more than sending his guild members to pickpocket those walking through the streets. He attributed that increase of sales from these ‘acquired’ paintings to my ability to speak of them – which earned me a larger percentage.

It was two years of working with Hauren, auctioning these ‘acquired’ paintings that I had finally accrued enough money to pay for my entrance exam into Sirteks School of Wizardry. In the class, my interest was solely in Evocation. This got me assigned to a teacher by the name of Wurdnuh.

I remember how he looked at me, arms folded behind his back, his hands clenching one another, his gaze peering down at me. “It does not surprise me you seek to learn Evocation, Lolikiano. I see the Tiefling blood coursing through your veins. Those who specialize in Evocation are typically of the supernatural bloodline, seeking to master powerful, aggressive, and destructive spells. Evokers, like yourself,” he paced around me, slowly, like an eagle staring down at a wounded rodent, “are born – not made. Often times, the fire that burns their soul is the fire of demonic hereditary,” his smile beamed at me. I can teach you the ways of the Evoker. I will gladly teach you the ways…”

For three years, I studied with Wurdnuh – then a note came to me.

“I know when your mother is. – Hauren.”

[Tawmis]

https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=855

I’m really enjoying your work and would love you to flesh out my next character. I really am not settled on anything including names.

My level 3 high elf archer battle master Haldir is a refugee soldier of a conquered city state Gildar (not sure about the details of the conqueror). The final attack happened when he was a young elf of around 50 and was ordered to help guard the civilian retreat. He has served as a watcher for the human city Thurin that gave them refuge under King Vinya. Vinya’s son and successor Maug was less patient with them, and some elves hate depending on humans, so he was one of about 20 young elves who want to retake their home, and have gone to various cities to seek experience, resources, and allies. He will meet up with the party in one city and be convinced that adventuring is a way to meet his goals.

Personality: I face problems head-on. A simple, direct solution is the best path to success; I can stare down a hell hound without flinching
Ideal: Greater good. Our lot is to lay down our lives in defense of others
Bond: My city, nation, or people are all that matter
Flaw: I'd rather eat my armor than admit when I'm wrong
Stat order is dexterity, intelligence, constitution, wisdom, strength, charisma

Since you weren't sure about the conqueror - I wasn't sure if you meant the DM hadn't told you - or if it was open.
I assumed 'open' - so I created a history and conqueror for you - perhaps, if your DM likes the idea, they can infuse it into their game.
Change around whatever they - or you - want to change.
Regardless - would love to hear your thoughts on this!
Enjoy!
=================================

All of my life, I’ve been trained to fight. The persistent threat of orcs from the Gazaaren Steppes has made for my entire bloodline to be trained to defend our lands. My name is Haldir – and I’ve become a battle master, specializing in archery. It’s not to say I can’t – or won’t – fight an enemy up close and personal. I’ve had to – more than once. The story goes that during the time of the gods – Kazalaan, god of the orcs – spread his people across the land to claim it in his name. Furious, Lanna, goddess of the elves – unleashed a flurry of arrows into the world, striking the land, killing millions of orcs – and Lanna’s arrows are what gave birth to the first trees – that we now call our home.

This story – whether it’s true or not – has created a blood feud between Elves and Orcs that has spanned on for centuries.

For the most part, it seemed as if it would continue to span for centuries – when one side seemed to gain the advantage, the tide would turn, and swing the pendulum the other way. Both sides seemed too evenly matched – the orcs were far more aggressive and ferocious in their attacks; while my people were more skilled and patient, and could drive them back.

I was fifty years old – young for one such as myself – when all of that changed. A charismatic orc leader by the name of Kall’esh Shall (which translated to ‘born of the one eye’) was different. He gathered the orcs from his tribe – as well as neighboring tribes – and brought them under his rule. Not through strength and killing – but by wisdom. He led the orcs against my people and used tactics, rather than just sheer aggression – and for the first time in history – my people were forced to flee from our homes.

We retreated back to Thurin – a human city, whom we had established a trading relationship with – providing them with lumber, food and skins – while they provided us with steel weapons and armor. Now, forced to retreat into Thurin – my people crowded their streets, and overflowed the city’s population. Where once, we’d provided them lumber and food – now we were taking up space and giving nothing in return.

King Vinya was a kind king, however. He assigned many of us to the city walls, to help defend against the orcs who were now seeking to complete their tasks of murdering and wiping every elf from existence. Through our mutual understanding we were able to help the humans and earn our place in Thurin – but when King Vinya passed, and his eldest son and heir to the throne, Maug took the throne – he was not as understanding as his father.

He accused my people – perhaps rightfully so – for bringing the danger of the orcs to their walls. All of my life, I was trained to fight – to stand and ensure what I believed in was what prevailed. It has always bothered me that I was forced to flee from my home – and the words of Maug are like searing alcohol on an open wound.

My simple, direct, facing problems head on – often made me less “charismatic” to those around me – but rarely could someone argue with the results. It was past time letting the orcs sit in our homes, spoil our lands. In the slums of Thurin – I called for a meeting – that a small band of us should attempt to sneak back into our homes and reclaim our land. When others demanded that they wanted to go – I explained that our presence needed to remain here – despite Maug’s words – we were a part of the city’s defense until the orcs could be driven back. Also, a lack of presence here would alert the orcs that something was going on.

There’d been several cities between our home and Thurin – the orcs left most of them alone – deciding to track us down. They’d go after the other cities after “the filth of the elves was erased from the world” – and perhaps, in that – somewhere out there – I could find companions – explain to them that the orcs would be turning their attention to them soon enough.

And that banding together, perhaps we can find and put a stop to Kall’esh Shall and his marching orcs.

[Tawmis]

https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=865

This seems super cool, and very helpful. My new character could definitely use some fleshing out if you get the chance.

Name: Locke
Race: Human
Age: 29
Class: Cleric (Twilight) Level 3
Background: Criminal
Setting: Eberron
Stats in order: Wisdom, Dexterity, Constitution, Strength, Charisma, Intelligence

Personality Trait: I don't pay attention to the risks in a situation. Never tell me the odds
Bond: I'm guilty of a terrible crime. I hope I can redeem myself for it.
Ideals: I don't steal from others in the trade.
Flaw: An innocent person is in prison for a crime that I committed. I'm okay with that.
Regret: Murdered a rival. Actions may have been justified, but their face still haunts you.

The basic idea is a cleric devoted to the dark six, specifically the Keeper. A member of a priesthood (the shadowsworn), which in actuality is closer to mercenaries, thieves, and assassins. Essentially as they are devout to the death god, taking a life or even losing your own is seen as a boon rather than something bad.

The gods name is the keeper it's part of the dark six, they are pre-established Ebberon gods. (Basically the counter the sovereign hosts the nine "good" gods). Essentially the idea of death in Ebberon is when you die rather than a God claiming you, your soul travels to a sort of limbo where you linger eternally. The keeper is a greedy God who claims those souls before they can reach limbo, to some this is a blessing, to others an eternal torment (the keeper does not have good intentions).

I may have some things wrong, this is my first time in Ebberon, so this is just my basic understanding from reading a few sources.

I am not at all familiar with Eberron other than the D&D MMO, which I play every blue moon - if that.
So I had to do some research - which is always fun.
I think I came up with a very, very, very tragic background for the character.
Sorry it took so long - I am DMing a bunch of games (COVID makes people want to D&D remotely, just to connect with people - who would have thought!)
Also, my senior dog has been having issues - so it's been difficult to sit and write much.
But here it is at long last!
Enjoy!
========================================

The campfire flickers as shadows dance in the fading light around me. I am lost in thought, thinking of the things I've done. Most of which, I have learned to live with. As a Cleric of the Keeper, the God of Death and Decay, I've seen my fair share of horrible things in this world and it's hardened my soul, wrapped my consciousness in impregnable barbed wire. But there, deep in my mind, screaming and echoing, never silent is my best friend Harrik Longstem.

Harrik Longstem was my best friend – a human, kind and gracious. He came from a well-to-do family with more gold than they knew what to do with. Harrik had met me while I had been living on the streets of Korth. He'd been with his family and their guards when he saw me and took pity on me. I am not sure what it was about me that he saw – but he stopped and gave me enough coin to survive for months. I'd thought that would be the first and last time I'd see him – that this was just some act of pity he felt for me. But he ended up coming back week after week, looking for me. He wanted to know more about me, the things I'd seen, the things I'd done – what life was like on the streets of Korth. I would learn that his parents had never let him out of the house, for fear someone might abduct him and ransom him – because, as he said, the gods forgive them if they had to part with a single coin if it wasn't for something that was mandatory or to purchase something elaborate. He told me how he'd snuck out of his home once he saw me because he felt some kind of kinship with me – almost an opposite. Where he'd wanted to see the real world; in me, he'd seen someone who was tired of living on the streets.

Harrik used some of his money to dress me in clothing that felt like the most expensive silk I'd ever seen and brought me to his house, one day – introduced me as Locke, the son of Arreis, land owner of Sarisvell. I'd never heard of Sarisvell – and was pretty sure he'd made up the name, to ensure his parents would not know the barons of the land. His parents treated me with respect, invited me to their dinner table – a table that stretched over forty feet, for a family of six. Everyone sat so far apart, but I realized the table was this big to allow for room on the table to display priceless tokens that the family had amassed over the years.

Weeks turned to months, months turned to years, and I simply became known as Locke, son of Arreis to the Longstem family. I'd stay for a few days, every few weeks – but then have to return to the streets, until I could return with Harrik to continue the ruse. I was getting accustomed to the rich life Harrik and his family led, and despite our friendship – I grew tired of life on the streets. If I could just take one of the many priceless items in the Longstem home, I could sell it and leave Korth behind and start a new life.

Sypheros, the moon of shade, had peered its eye through the window that fateful night. I had excused myself from the dining room table and headed for the restroom. However, once I turned the corner, I quickly dashed up the spiral staircase, lined with paintings valued more than I would ever hope to earn in my life time – but that would be too big, too difficult to hide. In Harrik's room, there'd been a crystal sphere that traced the cycles of the moon. He'd told me it possessed great magic. That I could fit in my pocket, and after dinner, take and sell – and with that money, leave and make a new life for myself, build a home, and be rich. As I placed the item in my pocket, I heard Harrik's voice behind me, "What are you doing?"

I turned and in Harrik's eyes I saw a pain of betrayal that took my youthful heart and shattered it. He'd trusted me, befriended me, and now had caught me stealing. I am not sure if it was the look on his face, the guilt that exploded in my chest for my betrayal – but what came next did not feel like it was me. Some unseen force made me draw my elaborate dagger I'd kept at my side, and plunged it into Harrik's neck. He quickly grabbed his neck, blood pouring out of the wound, gurgling. One of the guards entered the room and I had to think quickly. I plunged the dagger into my stomach and threw it at the guard, then collapsed to the floor screaming for help.

More guards rushed into the room and I pointed to the first guard and gasped, "He… killed Harrik… I tried to stop him." The guards saw that he'd been holding a bloody dagger with a blank expression on his face and quickly tackled him and subdued him.

They'd taken me and Harrik to the closest temple – but I knew it was too late for Harrik. He laid next to me, his lifeless eyes peering at me, accusatorily. I was approached by a priest that night – he looked different than the others who tended to us.

He whispered in my ear, "The Keeper has guided your hand. Welcome to the Order."

And that night, I was taken off the streets and taught the ways of the Keeper, the god of death and decay. The years that followed, I saw things that would break the soul of any man or woman, but that was a part of who I was, who I'd become.

But I could never release the voice of Harrik's voice, gurgling, drowning in his own blood. The look of his death-filled eyes peering at me, piercing my soul deeper than any weapon ever could.

1. Got the city name from this helpful Reddit post: https://www.reddit.com/r/Eberron/commen ... of_cities/

2. Got the name(s) of the moons here:
http://eberronunlimited.wikidot.com/the ... of-eberron
And came across this as well, which is amazing: http://marksworld.zeemer.com/files/cale ... endar.html

[Tawmis]

https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=867

Ok, cool. Like I said, I have disparate elements that are currently in need of structure to make them go together.
1. The character has the outlander background. She's lived at least most of her life in the woods and respects living the natural way, hunting and foraging her own food and living an ascetic life off the land. Views herself as an apex predator. Nature is ruthless, but dispassionate and fair.
2. She's also a wizard, with a very nature and hunter-based flavor to her spells. Scorching ray will be drawn from a spectral bow that fires three flaming arrows, Evard's Black Tentacles will be mighty vines growing out of the ground. Stuff like that. Not entirely sure how to reconcile wizardly studiousness with the character's wild theme.
3. So, why not just be a druid, right? The character is cut off from natural forces, and thus has turned to arcane study to obtain a facsimile of druid-like abilities. She may or may not have been at least partially raised by druids and wanted to replicate their powers.
4. I'm not totally committed to exactly why she can't access primal magic. My working rationale is that she's viewed by primal forces as some sort of aberration, something outside of the natural order.
5. To that end, the loose explanation I'm working on is that maybe in her last life, she was a Spirit Naga that had its reincarnation cycle broken (By a wish spell from one who chose to break the chain, but not destroy the creature?) and came back as a humanoid with the soul of the Naga, but none of the memories or personality. I'm not set on this either.
6. Her overarching goal and reason to adventure, go into cities, etc. is because she can "no longer hear the spirit of the forest" and wants to find out why/fix it. For some reason, things have changed in the forest, and she no longer feels at home there. Unsure whether the problem is with the forest itself, or within her.
7. Character study is: Make the life you want with the tools you have.
As you can see, I need a lot of help getting these ideas strung together, so I really appreciate your help and creativity, because I'm having a block.

FIRST AND FOREMOST - Thanks for the donation! <3
This was a lot of fun... I wanted to do what you had asked with the Spirit Naga and the Wish spell...
And I wanted to make it dramatic ... so I ended up building some lore behind it...
With the idea of the Great Wheel... the Spirit Guardians... the previous souls... and how it all ties into your character.
I left (at the end) the character's name blank (with memory loss, as you requested) that makes it easy ... because I wasn't sure what you wanted to name her... and so the names I used could then be forgotten if you go with another name... or if she recovers her memory... or parts, she could go with the Allania name I used...
Hopefully this works for what you wanted! I had a lot of fun writing it!
Enjoy!
=====================================


There is a legend of a Great Wheel in the Heavens. The legend states that those who perish, return to the Great Wheel and are judged by the Guardian Spirits – who then assign a new host for the spirit to return to the world. For this reason, Necromancy in the world where the dead are raised and brought back to life, the Spirit Guardians demand justice against those who would attempt to thwart the ways of the Great Wheel.

There are beasts that thwart the ways of the Great Wheel; and the Spirit Guardians will place souls into new hosts, with ‘suggestions' to hunt down such beasts – one such beast is the Spirit Naga, whose evil and seething hatred and magic have allowed it to avoid the judgement of the Spirit Guardians at the Great Wheel and reincarnate themselves as they were.

Souls who come to the Great Wheel are returned to the mortal plane to continue their journey in new bodies, creating new memories, until they've achieved Great Understanding – a lesson that their first soul never learned, and spent cycles returning to the mortal plane, born anew – until that lesson is learned.

Thorvall Ironstone, a great warrior of the frozen north was a straight forward thinker. He charged into battle without thought or consequence, bathing in the blood and corpses of the enemies that fell before his great axe. However, something he'd never encountered was magic – and when one of his adventurers took him into the depths of a jungle where an ancient temple to some forgotten deity had been discovered, he and his companions came across a Spirit Naga name Cha'neela who protected her ancient treasure viciously.

Thorvall Ironstone may have been a great warrior of the frozen north, but something he'd always been susceptible to was magic that took over the mind, and Cha'neela immediately saw the great warrior as an easy target, using her Dominate Person to seize control of the warrior's mind. She then commanded Thorvall to attack and murder his own companions, even as it cast Blight on them all – including Thorvall Ironstone – followed by lightning bolt. Despite being dominated mentally – Thorvall could not stop himself and watched as he murdered his companions and friends and Cha'neela laughed in his ear, enjoying the anguish of this warrior murdering his friends at her bidding. She then wrapped her slithering body around the stunned warrior when she released her hold then sank her fangs deep into his neck, injecting her lethal poison into his veins. Thorvall shuddered for a moment then fell forward, dead. Cra'neela looked through the items and took the magical items and added it to her growing collection, pleased with herself.

When Thorvall's spirit returned to the Great Wheel, the Spirit Guardians took notice to his needs on the Threads of Fate and looked amongst one another and silently nodded. Thorvall's spirit was put into the body of newborn Grey Elf, who was born Allania Silvercrown.

As the years passed, it was clear Allania would be much like her mother. She seemed to be a mirror image of her mother in her youth – and took a great interest in magic, like her mother before her. Her parents sent her to Allanford – a massive human settlement known for their specialty at magic when Allania was still young. There she rapidly rose through the ranks mastering her spellcraft weeks ahead of students who should have been her superiors.

Allania felt an unusual compulsion that she could not explain while in Allanford to go to the Great Library and read about ancient cultures. Perhaps subconsciously she'd hoped to learn more about some long forgotten ancient magic that she could bring back into the world. She could not stop reading tome after tome, until one day she could not keep her eyes open and her head collapsed onto the book. When she awoke and stared down at the page, she saw a drawing of what appeared to be a large cobra in front of a temple with a sun behind it.

Allania took the tome to her teacher, Garith Stronghorn. "Master Stronghorn," she whispered. "Where is this?"

Master Stronghorn took the tome from her and examined it, then looked at Allania. "You should not be reading these tomes. These are of the Isle of Kallark – an island said to have been home to an ancient, forgotten god that demanded human sacrifices. It's been overrun by jungles and nearly impossible to gain access to – the very jungles and the beasts – seem determined to continue the ways of the old god and bleed the lands in sacrificial blood." Master Stronghorn closed the tome and put it under his shoulder. "Now get back to reading normal magic books."

"Of course," Allania smiled, and quickly spun on her heel and returned to her desk where she thoughtlessly thumbed through another spellbook. That night, Allania dreamt of the tomb – the sun shining bright behind the temple – and the giant serpent that emerged from the dark doorway. The next morning when Master Stronghorn came for her, her room was empty.

Master Stronghorn already knew where she had gone as he shook his head, "Foolish child."

Allania had booked a passage to Argenti – a large port city not too far from Allanford, that was ripe with would be adventurers and heroes. From there, Allania booked passage aboard the ship The Covenant. Aboard the ship, she'd befriended several others, also seeking out the rumored treasures buried deep in the jungles of Kallark.

Allania and her companions cut their way through the jungle, encountering cannibals, displacer beasts, ophidians, grung and rivers full of vicious quipper fish; but they finally reached the temple, led by the visions and dreams that had plagued Allania's mind. Just as she'd dreamed – a giant serpent emerged from the dark temple – but it wasn't just any serpent – it was, Allania now realized – a Spirit Naga. Somehow she'd known of the beast, and found herself muttering, "Cra'neela."

This caught the Spirit Naga's attention as to how anyone alive would know her name. Immediately a fight broke out and Cra'neela, as she'd done before, devastated those that stood before her. This time, however – the fight would go differently. Though critically wounded, Allania was a powerful wizard and had managed to hurt Cra'neela who was casting her Dimension Door to escape – forced to retreat for the first time ever. However, something in Allania pushed her to rush forward – with no regard for herself or anything, as if she possessed the spirit of some great warrior – she lunged at Allania, her magical dagger drawn and plunged it deep into Cra'neela's neck just as she stepped through the Dimension Door – trapping them both into a spell that was now out of control. Allania knew that the Spirit Naga would rise again – and quickly used her Wish spell to break the Spirit Naga's connection – and now both tumbled through the Dimension Door that sealed behind them – but never opened again.

Several years later – a shimmering portal opened and a female grey elf fell from the heavens and into a forest, her bones were broken from the fall, but she pulled herself up when she regained consciousness and tended to her wounds.

She had no memory of who she was – but something felt different. Something inside her was not right – that much she knew. She gazed around her and could see nor hear any sign of civilization of any kind. She set up a camp high in the trees and overtime built a small wooden home above. She didn't know who she was – or how and why she'd come here, but she knew she needed to be strong in order to survive. These woods did not cater to the weak. There were creatures here who fed upon the weak so she trained herself to hunt using the magic she'd found herself able to wield and quickly rose as an apex predator in these woods; manipulating her magic to ensnare her food and arrows magic of magical energy to kill anything that dared challenge her position in the order of things.

As the weeks went by, whether it was something inside of her – the thing that felt ... off or something else – she suddenly could not hear the song of the woods. Something she'd been in tune with upon her mysterious arrival into the woods. Perhaps – somewhere – out there beyond these woods she'd called home for several years – was the answer... was it the woods... or the thing inside her that felt so very wrong?

[Tawmis]

https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=871

This is a really cool thread. It’s been so much fun to read through everything you have done!
Here is a character concept I have been working on if you are able to help.
Name: Barnaby Oswald Boyd (Bob)
Setting: Faerun
Class: Wizard 1/Sorcerer(Aberrant) 1/Cleric(Arcane) 1
Race: VHuman
Gender: Male
Background: Cloistered Scholar
Diety: Mystra
Str 8, Dex 10, Con 12, Int 14, Wis 14, Cha 16
Feat: Spell Sniper (Eldritch Blast)

Personality: There's nothing I like more than a good mystery.
Ideals: Self-Improvement. The goal of a life of study is the betterment of oneself.
Bonds: I sold my soul for knowledge. I hope to do great deeds and win it back.
Flaws: I am easily distracted by the promise of information.

Character concept: Bob loves magic in all its forms. He is especially enamored with cantrip magic and will do just about anything to get more of it. He originally joined a wizard college but did not do very well after learning the basics. Bob is easily distracted and loses focus regularly. The plan is to take as many spell casting classes as possible to get all the cantrips if he can. The thought of why cantrip magic is unlimited while everything else isn't seemed interesting. Learning everything he can about cantrips is one of his main goals.

Spells:
Eldritch Blast - Spellsniper
Aberrant Sorcerer - Mind Sliver, Mage Hand, Prestidigitation, Firebolt, Mending, Gift of Alacrity, Dissonant Whispers, Shield, Chaos Bolt
Arcane Cleric - Guidance, Thamaturgy, Spare the dying, blade ward, dancing lights, Cure Wounds, Sanctuary, Healing Word -
Wizard - Shape Water, mold earth, gust, Absorb Elements, Alarm, Comprehend languages, Feather Fall, Find Familiar, Witch Bolt

This was fun to write - I experimented a little with Barnaby bouncing back and forth from past to present to show his inability to pay attention.
Some fun facts - the teacher names presented are anagrams of Harry Potter teachers.
And the guy that Barnaby meets "elsewhere" (for the Sorcerer Aberrant portion is an anagram of the villain of Harry Potter).
I am not even a big Harry Potter fan (read the books after the wife asked me to, and saw the movies) - but since I was primarily writing Barnaby as a Wizard type student - I thought it'd be a fun "Easter Egg" to make anagrams of the teacher names from Harry Potter.
Anyway - I hope you enjoy what I've done!
I'd love to hear feedback in the thread - because it helps me... it keeps the thread alive and bumped too!
========================

As the morning sun peaked over the landscape, the birds gathered on the branches of the tree just outside the window and began to sing to one another beautifully, which caught the attention of young Barnaby Oswald Boyd. With wide eyed wonder, Barnaby wondered if the birds were actually communicating with one another. Could they understand one another? His mind wandered deeper and deeper until suddenly the sound of a book slammed on his desk jerked him back to the present.

“Am I boring you, mister Barnaby?” the voice of an old, but very stern and very intimidating Sabul Potsur had been what reeled him in after the startling sound of the book against his desk.

Barnaby cleared his throat, “No, Master Potsur. Not at all. It’s just the birds outside they –“ But before Barnaby could finish his sentence, Master Potsur turned towards the window, and with a gesture of his hand the curtains slammed shut – not only cutting off the view of the birds, but the sunlight as well – leaving the room to sink into darkness, illuminated barely by the candles hanging off of the sconces.

“There should be no more business about the birds,” Master Potsur growled. “Now, as I was saying, on page seventy, it clearly shows the gestures for Dancing Lights. Now, because Mr. Barnaby would rather listen to the chatter of birds than learn magic – which one of you would like to attempt to create some light using this cantrip?”

Without waiting to be called on, Barnaby stood – made the gesture with his hands, moving his fingers ever so slightly, while squeezing a bit of phosphorus in his other hand – and four lights suddenly sprung to life, bouncing gently in the air, as if someone were holding a lantern.

Master Potsur turned, the slits of his pupils narrowed like a cat about to spring when he saw Barnaby standing. “Mr. Barnaby,” Master Potsur’s voice seemed about ready to break into a shout, “I know you come well regarded from the University of the Arcane – but here,” his hand gestured around him, “in the Temple of Mystra, I expect you show me respect – and wait for me to call on you. I want to observe your gestures, because the slightest error can turn dancing lights into a fireball centered in this room, which would have incinerated us all.”

Barnaby knew what was coming next – this had been the third time this week – and it was only the second day of the class week. “Please wait for me outside, so we can discuss the matter further,” Master Potsur growled and spun on his heel, not even waiting to see if Barnaby picked up his belongings, he simply continued, “Now, would anyone else like to try the Dancing Lights cantrip and raise their hand,” now his eyes dashed towards Barnaby, “before casting?”

Barnaby waited on the all too familiar bench until the class ended and Master Potsur came out. The elder human, whose eyes were a sharp, piercing blue – like cold steel – stared at him before sitting down next to him.

“They weren’t wrong about you,” Master Potsur said softly. That was different… than the typical scolding he received. “Master Panse of the University of the Arcane said you were different… gifted… You’re picking up these spells much faster than the other students. Mystra must guide your hands.”

Barnaby was about to say something but thought better of it. He simply nodded, “Yes, Mystra must guide my hands.”

However, Barnaby’s mind sank back to three years ago – in the Great Library of the University of the Arcane, Barnaby had found an old tome shoved between two history books. The old tome definitely seemed out of place. The leather binding on it was like none he’d ever seen before. Even as he’d reached for it, he could almost hear voices calling to him.

If there was something Barnaby loved, it was a good mystery – and this unusual tome seemed to be something of a mystery. Upon touching the tome, however – everything changed. Barnaby felt as if his very soul had been viciously ripped through his chest and suddenly shoved through a purple portal where he felt as if he’d been falling for all eternity – before coming to a rather sudden stop, landing on what appeared to be a giant field of light blue flowers, under a purple sky.

Barnaby had pulled himself up and was surprised to see his body was semitransparent. The voice of a stranger whose voice sounded like three voices speaking at once, at slightly different pitches, suddenly made him aware he wasn’t alone. “Do not worry – you’re not dead, nor cursed. However, I am. I was banished here by those who were afraid of my powers. My name is Telv Romod,” the hooded figure introduced himself. It was odd, Barnaby noted how no matter how Telv turned his head, the shadows of his hood always cast darkness from his forehead to his upper lip, as if the light itself could not penetrate to reveal how he looked.

“Why… why did they imprison you here,” Barnaby asked, admiring the green clouds slowly making their way across the purple haze of the heavens. “Where is here anyway? And is it normal that the clouds are green? Where I come from they’re definitely not green. Well. Nor is the sky purple. That’s pretty weird too.”

Telv heaved a sigh that was all too familiar to Barnaby. He’d heard it many times from Master Panse and Master Potsur. He’d allowed himself to get distracted. He snapped back to his present situation. “Sorry. I’ve just never seen anything like this.”

“To answer your first question, I was imprisoned here by my Masters who feared my powers. My arcane ability grew beyond there. My mind became so focused; I found I could read the minds of others. So they imprisoned my essence in this realm – and somewhere out there, in the real world, my body lies frozen – neither alive, nor dead – never aging – eternally trapped. You touched the Book of Flesh.”

“Book of Flesh,” Barnaby questioned, and realized a moment later – that’s why the leather felt different. It was made of humanoid flesh. He suddenly realized what he had come to understand and retched at the thought. “Is it really made of flesh?”

“Yes,” Telv replied. “Each time they banish an essence here; a portion of their flesh is cut from their skin and bound to the book to keep us imprisoned.”

“So there are others here? In this realm?” Barnaby asked.

“Were,” Telv replied with an odd, shadowy smirk.

“What do you mean ‘were’,” Barnaby asked for clarification, but he feared he knew the answer.

“I found them, tracked them down, absorbed their essence into myself, to see if that would give me the power I needed to escape,” Telv replied matter-of-factly.

“And did it?” Barnaby asked, and then quickly realized how silly the question was. “Wait, are you going to absorb me?”

“No,” Telv replied. “You were banished here. But the fact that when you touched the Book of Flesh you were transported tells me you are powerful. Join with me,” Telv reached out his hand, “allow me to ride the conscious of your mind and I will show you power like you’ve never known.”

Barnaby always loved a good mystery; but he’d sell his soul to be better at magic. “Sure,” he shrugged not truly considering the consequences and embraced Telv’s hand and found his essence shunted back out into the Great Library where it landed in his body, which had collapsed to the ground.

“Are you even listening to me?” It’d been Master Potsur’s voice who snapped him back to the present, yet again.

“What?” Barnaby asked shaking his head.

Master Potsur sighed deeply, yet again.


https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=874

For this one I built of the poster's existing story he'd already laid out here: https://forums.giantitp.com/showthread. ... st24988557

Wow, I gotta get in on this. I have to upload some material that I don't have to hand right now. So why am I posting right now? Because I'm excited.
I have a character backstory, and would love to have you extend it further back. (I've never had a chance to play this character, but hope to.) I have his backstory starting when he is middle to high level (he'd start in a high level game) and would love to have you write about when he was young and/or when he was low level. So I actually know a lot about him that your work would have to tie into. You say you like a challenge; I hope you like the sound of this one. (I just found this thread after several years of being mostly absent from the forum, so I obviously haven't read the hundreds of posts prior to mine.)
OK, in a nutshell, he is a human paladin who's been declared a sinner and heretic by his church but not by his god, so still has his powers. And the powerful church leaders are not happy about that. His "sin" is being gay. The church did not know this until he was already middling high level, in my part of the story.

Got to admit - never heard of Tantus before - so I googled to see if it was some existing character in Forgotten Realms (to make sure I stayed true to the character) - and was... shocked as to what Tantus was a reference to. But with the context of the story - it definitely fits! (You're a lot like me, in that regard, in placing references in the stories...)

So that extent...
I used your existing characters to flesh it out (Danson was mentioned as Gerald's friend, so I built on that - and also built on Isabel who you introduced - and how she ties into everything - using her as a instrument to show the character's sexual preference).
The tavern name I use is a clear reference to the LGBT community, though to make it not obvious - I provide a different reason for the tavern's name. But named it as such for you. You will see when you get there.
The bard I introduce can be the same bard seen in your story - because I definitely build on that.
The bard's name is someone quite famous (should be obvious) who is also gay.
I mention your character having a brother, who had passed - named Criss. This is a reference to my favorite guitarist, Criss Oliva (of Savatage), who was killed by a drunk driver. (You will see how I make a reference to how he passed...)
I really enjoyed writing this - never focused on the struggles or exploration of a character's sexual orientation - especially of the gay, bi orientation. So I feel quite blessed to be trusted to write such a story.
I hope I did good by you.
Would love your feedback in this thread - good or bad - it helps keep the thread bumped and alive.
That said - enjoy!
===============================


Danson looked over at his friend Gerald. “You know she likes you, right?”

Gerald turned to his friend. “Who?” he asked with furrowed brows.

“Who?” Danson laughed. “Are you really asking me who? Her,” Danson pointed to Isabel who was skipping down the hill. She’d been with the two of them all day and was now returning home.

“Isabel?” Gerald laughed. “First of all, no she doesn’t. Second of all, she’s… like a sister to me.”

“First of all,” Danson sighed, “you’re blind if you don’t see her fawning over you, her hands under her chin, wistfully sighing as she watches you practice with your blade.”

“You’ve always had a wonderful imagination Danson,” Gerald shook his head as he sheathed his sword.

“And you, Gerald, have always been blind to every woman who has thrown themselves at you,” Danson laughed as the two wrestled and tumbled down the hill.

At a mere age of thirteen, both Gerald Singer and John Danson aspired to follow the Faith, which they’d spent their entire life being prepared for. As they too slowly made their way to their homes, Danson turned towards Gerald. “I’m curious – your family – like me, has always been about the Church. But you always brandish that,” Danson’s eyes went to the sword that Gerald wore. “Bishops and the like don’t typically go around brandishing such weapons.”

“I want to be a part of the Faith,” Gerald nodded, “but there are the Defenders of the Faith, who wear red, white and don armor and swords. I feel as if my destiny lies there, rather than becoming a Bishop to the Church.”

“You don’t think that … such violence will lead your soul astray?” Danson asked genuinely concerned for his friend.

“In the writings of Lord Tantus, it says – ‘Live life, so that fear never enters your heart. The Faith shall be the True Spoken Word; defend it always. Pray that the Faith can be defended by word alone; but know, that there are those that would oppress the Faith, and sword and shield must be drawn.”

Several weeks later, Danson and Gerald were walking through the town when the sound of music gently drifted over the shouts of street merchants.

“Sounds like Elton is at Rainbow’s Edge,” Danson noted, hearing the pleasant sounds of the piano that Elton was so well known for playing.

“His very talented,” Gerald added. “His music can even make the marketplace smell pleasant,” he laughed.

“Should we swing by?” Danson shrugged.

Gerald halted in his tracks. “Is this about trying to get Isabel and I together? You know her parents run the Rainbow’s Edge – and that she works there to help out.”

Danson feigned shock, placing his hands on his chest. “Would I do such a thing?”

Gerald looked at his friend – and the two of them shared a good laugh as they made their way towards the Rainbow’s Edge. The tavern had been given its name because at one time, Isabel’s father, Erik, was said to have brewed the most golden beer, that even leprechauns were envious. As Danson and Gerald entered the busy tavern, Isabel spotted them and waved. She quickly fixed her disheveled hair and tried to iron out the wrinkles in her apron as she brought the two of them water. She stood there for a moment, admiring Gerald – then noticed how Gerald seemed to be locked on Elton.

“He’s incredible, isn’t he,” she said, trying to get Gerald’s attention.

Gerald felt a quick elbow to his ribs from Danson then shook his head and looked at Isabel. “Thank you for the water,” he hastily said.

“She said isn’t Elton incredible,” Danson coughed.

“Elton?” Gerald’s cheeks flushed for a moment. “Yes. He’s… quite incredible.” He realized after a long moment that he’d not said much else, and cleared his throat and added, “Apologies. The… way he plays the piano… the way he makes it sound… it sounds like it’s crying… it touches my soul. He reminds me of my own brother who passed, Criss, who was very talented on the guitar. He could strum the strings and just make it sound like the guitar was weeping.”

Criss was Gerald’s elder brother by six years – and one night, while playing at a tavern, a drunken human drew his sword and ran Criss through for reasons that still remain unclear.

Isabel wrapped her arms around Gerald. “I am sorry. I wish I got to know him better.”

After Elton’s set – Gerald approached him. “I’ve heard you play, off and on, for several weeks now,” the unusually tall warrior’s cheeks flushed red. He felt like a child. “And… I never took the time to … let you know… how much I appreciate your … talent. You’re quite amazing.”

Gerald extended his hand and shook Elton’s – and the handshake lasted longer than normal – and as their hands parted – their fingertips seemed to cling to one another’s hands. Their eyes met and each of them clearly felt something. Gerald seemed ready to tell Elton something when he was startled by Danson’s arm around his neck, “Come along! We need to walk Isabel home – make sure she gets home safe. And maybe tonight on the way home you can ask her out?”

Elton quickly pulled his hand away – wondering if he’d misread what he saw in Gerald’s eyes. But when he looked at Gerald he could see the frustration. He’d read him right – but his friend apparently didn’t know the truth.

“It was a pleasure meeting you,” Elton said, with a slight bow. “Perhaps we will meet again. I come through this town quite frequently. I don’t live far from here.”

“I would like that,” Gerald nodded.

“Come on, loverboy,” Danson laughed as he playfully messed up Gerald’s hair. Gerald’s eyes lingered on Elton for a moment longer before he was tore away by Danson.

That night, walking Isabel home, Gerald managed to successfully avoid asking her out, despite his best friend’s attempts to set them up. In the years that followed, Danson and Gerald grew apart as Gerald entered the Defenders of the Faith, and Danson pursued his lifelong dream of following in his father’s footsteps in hopes of becoming a Bishop one day.

Their lives would, however, soon come crashing into one another…

[Tawmis]

https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=876

Hello!
I'm new to this forum but I have been reading your character backstories and loved them!
I will run a new character in an upcoming campaign in Faerun and maybe you could help me with some bits of backstory to complement my character personality.
Name: Oleg Blackbones
Race: Mountain Dwarf
Class: Twilight Cleric
Background: Clan Crafter

I don't have the characteristics set in stone yet.
The most thinking I've done so far involves the base picture for the character (https://imgur.com/jxmwnFm)
I'm initially thinking about a stereotypical "russian hard skinned guy" that deep down has a good and warming heart.
I don't know a lot about the continent (he is probably from the north somewhere around Neverwinter, I guess?) or the deities he could be serving as a twilight cleric for example.
EDIT: I've decided on a few more details, if that's alright
He is proficient in Smith's and Tinker's tools and plays a Balalaika (Balalaika)

I enjoyed writing this - a stern dwarf, who believed in a higher calling - that was traveling with two humans.
His relationship with them - starts much like the very road - very rocky.
But you can tell, I hope, from the start - there's already a budding relationship growing.
I selected Helm, as the deity - since he is one of the gods with the Twilight domain, and more fitting than the other god (who is the god of suffering).
You mentioned not being too familiar - so here's info about Helm: https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Helm
You also mentioned not being too familiar with Forgotten Realms - so I had your character leaving Mirabar (far to the north) heading to Neverwinter.
A WONDERFUL map of the Forgotten Realms is here (it takes a bit to load, because it's huge - but it's amazing) - https://www.aidedd.org/atlas/index.php?map=R&l=1
Hopefully you enjoy - would love to hear any thoughts of feedback you have!
It helps keep the thread bumped and alive.
Enjoy!
=========================================


Oleg sat on the back of the wagon and muttered aloud (so that those in the front could hear him), “By Helm’s eyes! Could this road be any bumpier?”

Jarek Silverstorm, a human and one of the coachmen, craned his neck. “I apologize. Our wagon is heavily burdened by the weapons in the crates. Makes the roads feel a little rougher than they actually are.”

“Clearly these roads never had dwarven hands to make them smooth,” Oleg Blackbones muttered.

“No,” Jarek laughed as he turned to face the front again. “Your kind rarely come out of your mountains.”

Jarek and his companion, another human named Ellis Starlight, were merchants who had traveled back and forth from Mirabar – which sat atop of a dwarven kingdom – down to Neverwinter for the purpose of trades. It was during their time in Mirabar that Oleg had met the duo and began speaking to them about their trade route.

Something pulled at Oleg’s essence, the same way he plucked at the strings of his balalaika. He secured passage with them for a small price – promising to provide healing should the trio encounter trouble – and according to Jarek and Ellis – trouble was frequently found in the form of brigands of various species just waiting for unprepared traders making their way down the road.

On the first night, when the wagon was pulled off to the right of the road at a small clearing, Oleg pulled out his balalaika and began strumming. Ellis looked at Jarek who then looked at Oleg. “Did you just pull a fast one on us? Are you not really a Cleric? Are you a bard?”

“A bard?” Oleg’s beard bristled in offense. “Do I look like a bard to you two?” He stood up, moved his arms away from his chest so that they were vertical to the ground. “How many blasted bards do you know that wear heavy armor like this? And have the symbol of Helm on their chestpiece? A bard, indeed!” Oleg huffed as he sat down and continued playing his balalaika.

“OK, fine,” Jarek laughed. “So, why is your guitar missing three strings?”

“Are the two of ye so uncivilized? Have you never seen a balalaika before?” Oleg growled.

“I’ve seen one – well, not seen it – I averted my eyes so I wouldn’t be turned to stone,” Ellis said.

Jarek shook his head, “No, Ellis – that’s a basilisk not a… what did you call it again, Oleg?”

“A balalaika,” Oleg sighed.

“That sounds pretty close to basilisk if you ask me,” Ellis shrugged his shoulders.

Oleg heaved a deep sigh. “Why do I feel like I am going to regret this very long travel to Neverwinter?”

Jarek unrolled his bedroll as he laughed. “Forgive us, Oleg – we are but simple men. Tell us, what brings you out of your mountain home and headed for Neverwinter?”

Oleg grumbled, “I don’t expect a few ‘simple men’ such as yourselves to understand a higher calling.”

“Only if there’s gold involved,” Ellis smirked.

“Tell me,” Oleg said, matter-of-factly, “when the end comes – what will you do with that gold? How will it benefit your immortal souls?”

“It’ll pay for our funerals,” Ellis laughed.

“Ah, there’s no talkin’ sense into either of ye, I see,” Oleg muttered. “I’d be just as well talking to that tree over there.”

Just as Oleg pointed – his eyes focused. Though Dwarves were gifted with Darkvision – as a Cleric of Twilight, Oleg’s vision was drastically increased from 60’ to 300’ – and he saw several figures slowly approaching. He quickly drew his weapon and whispered, “You two might as well get some of those weapons ready – we have a fight on our hands.”

Jarek and Ellis looked in the direction Oleg had been peering. “I don’t see anything.”

“Of course you don’t,” Oleg grumbled. “Your bloody human vision can barely see past the length of your arm in the dark.” Oleg placed his hands on Jarek and Ellis and shared his Eyes of Night blessing with them – and suddenly they saw three gnolls approaching.

“Gnolls,” Ellis muttered. “Probably Bloodmane’s litter again.”

“That damn hyena can’t keep her legs closed,” Jarek muttered as he drew his long sword and took position on the other side of the wagon.

As the gnolls entered the clearing looking around for the humanoids and the music that they’d initially heard – an arrow flew through the dark and struck one of the gnolls who yelped. Suddenly, Oleg appeared from the brush and cast a spell that ignited the gnoll’s flesh – glowing purple, though causing no harm – just making them very visible in the dark. The gnolls pressed their attack – but this is where Oleg saw that as uncivilized as Jarek and Ellis were – they were accomplished warriors – using their team work of arrows and swords to confuse and cut down the would-be marauders in less than a minute.

As the third gnoll fell dead, Oleg turned and looked at the two humans. “That was some impressive work.”

“We’re all good at something,” Jarek said as he wiped off the blood from his blade.

“We just happen to be good at weapons and killing,” Ellis smiled. The two then positioned the dead gnolls in sitting positions against the trees as if they were still alive and to discourage any other marauders from approaching.

For the rest of the trip, Oleg developed a strong friendship with the two humans, and admittedly – though he wouldn’t tell them – felt a tinge of pain in his heart, knowing he would miss the two humans and hoped that perhaps their paths may yet cross again.

[Tawmis]

Wrote another for someone -
https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=886

Hi, Tawmis. I hope the days are treating you well. I have a request for a character I will be playing eventually but I can't come up with a good backstory. I'd love your help. I have some of his information here for you if any of it helps, but you don't have to use all of it, especially if it just doesn't come into play in whatever you might come up with. There is no rush either since I won't be starting for a while so feel free to take however much time you might want. I don't have much of a solid personality developed yet, so feel free to take it in any direction you wish if you want to.

Name - Ashworth Tealeaf (Ash, for short)
Race - Halfling
Class - Monk (Way of the Four Elements)
Gender - Male
Background - Urchin? (This just isn't set in stone and can change since we use custom backgrounds for the freedom to pick skills and proficiencies.)
Alignment - Any good. Maybe LG since the PHB says that's what most Halflings are, but I'm equally happy with any of the good-hearted alignments.
Extra details - Will have Thieves Tools and Brewer's Supplies proficiencies. DM is allowing the latter to be used for alcohol AND tea should I wish. His preferred weapon is a spear. I imagined a Way of Shadow Monk initially because I wanted this character to be sneaky and the archetype reflected his tendency to want to generally avoid notice very well. However I got to thinking about the spear and the fishing thing, and how thematically I think it would be very neat to instead lean into that and be a Way of the Four Elements Monk to show that connection to water, focusing on water and ice themed abilities. I'm not changing any of my proficiencies, but I thought I'd let you know this is the direction I think I am going to take Ash now. And if it works out better for you to just keep the original idea for him in your writing; I'm still happy with that. Thanks again.

I delved into why your character is studying (water element specifically) - at least training/starting reasons! Hope you like that!
Put on some Soul Edge/Soul Calibur music to get into the vibe of "Monks" and "Ki" - and that mind set. This naturally led to this - The character I introduce (Tahki) is – if you’re a Soul Edge/Soul Calibur fan – clearly meant to reference “Taki” (https://i.pinimg.com/originals/ec/86...d90f18ad93.jpg) – she was one of my favorite characters to play in Soul Edge.
I love leaving things for DMs to take and run with (Tahki and what happens there - and the group that's introduced - the monastery your character starts at). All of that the DM can run with, or ignore.
Anyway - would love to hear your feedback - it helps keep the thread bumped and alive since we can't double post to bump threads!
Anyway - enjoy!
-------

Ashworth Tealeaf – his friends, which were far and few between – simply called him “Ash” – sat on the cold, hard, marble floor of the monastery, his legs crossed, his arms resting peacefully on them, his eyes closed as he hummed ever so slightly. In front of him was a small table with a small tea pot in front of him that slowly began to whistle to the same song that Ash himself had been humming.

A young female, with a shapely body, hair as black as the night, tapped Ashworth on the back of the head playfully. “Are you doing that thing where you channel your Ki to make your tea?”

Ash unfolded his legs, sighed, and stood. He came up to the young female’s waist line as he stared up at her. “Yes, Tahki, that’s exactly what I was trying to do before you interrupted me.”

Tahki sighed and rolled her eyes at her small companion. “But that’s so boring!” She clenched her fist and it began to glow. “You can use your Ki to do so much more.”

“True,” Ashworth grumbled as he packed up his teapot and placed it in his backpack, knowing that the young Tahki would not let him return to his practices and studies. She was relentless, wild, and easily bored – and there was nothing Ashworth feared more than when Tahki was bored – she became unbearable.

As they left the monastery and headed down the lake, many of the young men, who had been trying to maintain concentration during their training in the yard, faulted as Tahki walked by. Ashworth looked up at her, “You see that right? How the human males fall over you?”

Tahki blushed for a moment and shook the comment away with her hand, “They’re just not thinking right.” It’s true that Tahki was a beautiful woman – but she had no interest in the opposite sex it would seem – or even in anyone, except Ashworth – and even their friendship was completely platonic. She’d been drawn to him when she first came to the monetary because he seemed to be the most genuine of all the students she’d been training with. Perhaps, because the other students, who had just began their training had not yet learned to harness their minds, and still thought too much with desire – but Ashworth was different. He was focused, unwavering and unaffected by the beauty she’d been born with. She was in every regard, Ashworth’s opposite – where he was focused, she simply wanted to be the best at what she trained at – but taking the shortest route possible. If training took too long, she would lose her focus and cease trying. In many ways, Tahki reminded Ashworth of a cat he once had – it would have a burst of energy, and then become bored and lay in the sun.

Part of Tahki’s problem is that she came from a very rich family. Unlike Ashworth, who grew up an urchin on the streets, struggling for his next meal, Tahki simply snapped her fingers and her parents would bring her whatever she wanted. Tahki’s sole interest in even becoming a Monk and joining the monastery was because she’d witnessed a fight on the street and watched as a Monk had single handedly, with one hand behind his back, take down six would be muggers. She thought it looked amazing and she wanted to be able to do that – the one thing she couldn’t get with the snap of her fingers was the skill, time and dedication it took to properly channel Ki to do all it was capable of.

Ashworth pulled the small fishing boat closer to the pier as he looked back at Tahki who was rambling about wanting to fight orcish armies. Ashworth rolled his eyes and heaved a deep sigh. The fishing boat gently bumped against the dock as he climbed in, he extended his hand, “Are you coming?”

“Fishing again?” her shoulders slumped as the energy drained from her body. “That’s all you do. Stare at your tea and go fishing.”

As the small fishing boat floated gently in the water, she tossed and turned, and finally asked, “So why do you spend every morning staring and singing to your tea?”

Ashworth smiled, “I am trying to channel my Ki to understand how the very elements around us interact. I put my tea leaves in my tea pot with water – and when I close the lid – I close my eyes and focus my Ki – to try and see inside the tea pot. Once I can see inside, I begin to master the small body of water to break down my tea leaves and create my tea. Did you know our bodies are mostly composed of water? Can you imagine what an enemy could do if they could master the Water elements on such a level as to drain a person’s body of liquid?”

“Is that why you come out here to fish? To study the water?” she yawned.

“No,” Ashworth smiled, playfully. “Normally I come out here to fish, because it’s how I get away from you.”

She sat up quickly and smacked him playfully in the arm. “You’re mean! You love me! You know you do!”

“Love you?” he laughed. “I don’t even think you know how to love. I do, however, adore your friendship, as maddening as you can be sometimes.” He sat back and cast his fishing line, his fishing spear at his side. “The truth of it is – my tea is for drinking, the fish are for eating. But yes, understanding – and reading the waters – allows me to try and better understand the movement of the fish beneath the water that my eyes may not be able to see.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re boring?” Tahki laughed.

“Yes,” Ashworth replied.

“Oh?” Tahki sat up, as if there might be someone she might need to go rough up to defend her friend. “Who?”

“You, Tahki, like every single day you tell me,” he laughed, she laughed, and the boat nearly toppled over.


The following morning, Ashworth was packing up his teapot before Tahki arrived – robbing her of her tradition concentration disruption. She stood in the doorway. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Master Heiwa has asked me to go to town and fetch some supplies,” Ashworth replied.

“I will go with you!” Tahki cheered.

“That’s not a good idea,” Ashworth remarked quickly.

Tahki paused. “What? Why?”

“Tahki, not only are you a beautiful woman who is going to draw a lot of attention, but you also come from a very wealthy family. You’re liable to attract unwanted attention. There are people who would abduct you and ransom you for money,” Ashworth explained.

“Well, then we show off our skills as Monks, that’s what we’ve been training for, right?” Tahki held up her first which glowed a soft hue of energy.

Ashworth sighed – he had hoped to have left before Tahki arrived, because he knew there would be no convincing her otherwise. “Fine,” he muttered. “But stay close. And for the love of the gods, put a loose fitting cloak on to hide your face.”

“I can’t stay hidden forever,” Tahki smiled.

“No, but you can for today,” Ashworth argued.

He brought with him, his fishing spear – it made him look like one of the local fisherman in the town of Hamuretto. “Stay close to me,” he muttered as they walked through the streets. As a child, Tahki grew up very secluded – her parent’s carriage typically took the nicer roads and never into the heart of a town unless it was lined with guards. Her gaze was wandering here and there as she continued to bump into people because she was not paying attention to what was in front of her. One of the men had bumped into her so hard, that her hood fell off, revealing her face – and too late, Ashworth realized the men who had been bumping into her had been the same men – undoubtedly trying to make out if she was who she appeared to be. And now with the cloak off – more men seemed to spring from the alleyways. Ashworth threw down his satchel and drew his spear, but before he could do much, men had tackled him and managed to knock him down while others grabbed Tahki.

Before Ashworth was beat into unconsciousness, he heard Tahki’s voice yelling, “Ash!”

Ashworth woke up at the monastery, being tended to Master Heiwa. “Take it easy,” the elder human’s voice assured the Halfling, as his hand rested gently on Ashworth’s chest. “You took quite a beating.”

“Tahki? Where is she?” Ashworth tried to sit up, but the bruised ribs ensured the better idea was listening to Master Heiwa and remaining on his back.

“They’ve taken her,” Master Heiwa said after a moment.

“Who is ‘they’,” Ashworth asked.

“The Veriskani,” Master Heiwa replied. “An elite force dedicated to training assassins.”

“We have to get her back,” Ashworth winced. “She got taken because of me.”

“No,” Master Heiwa replied, “she got taken because of her own actions.”

Still, for weeks Ashworth trained – and every day he waited for Tahki to come in and interrupt his tea ceremony – but she never did.

One day, he heaved a deep sigh and packed his bag and fishing spear. As he turned to leave he saw a figure – but it was not the soft feminine figure of Tahki – but rather of a slumped over male – “Master Heiwa!”

Master Heiwa smiled. “I knew this day would come. I came to wish you luck on your travels – and should you ever need us – we are always home to you, Ashworth.”

Ashworth smiled, bowed and said, “Thank you, Master Heiwa.”

And the monastery eventually disappeared behind the sunset as Ashworth set out to find clues to where he might find Tahki.

[Tawmis]

Wrote another one today -

Hey Tawmis. I'm sure you have a lot on your backlog already, but here goes another character that needs a backstory written, for my girlfriend's new character.
Name is Zara, and she is a Half Drow Shadow Monk. She knows how to fight while blinded (thanks to a dip in Fighter). Initially she would be some sort of furtive spy type or a bounty hunter traveler.
Our DM seems to have different plans and is incentivizing her to play as a member of the Emerald Enclave, so that is a bonus challenge for you (only if it fits somehow, I don't think it's required)
Mechanically she intends to run up close to enemies while obscured in darkness and punch them until they die, that's like her signature move (see Akuma special move and think something like that)
Not sure if this is too vague, let me know if you need details about any other aspects.

And here is Zara!
She was fun to write - a misfit by nature (half Drow) - and dipping fight (Blind Fighting) with Monk.
The beginning really focuses on her Blind Fighting - but then I use her Monk abilities - and make reference that someone else saw it (describing it similar to the Akuma move you mentioned - link)
And that someone else ties into what you said would be a "challenge" for me (The Emerald Enclave - https://dnd.wizards.com/dungeons-and-dr ... aldenclave)
Hope you and your girlfriend enjoy!
I'd love to hear feedback in this thread - because replies help keep the thread floating (since we can't double post to bump or gain the wraith of the moderators).
Enjoy!
==============
Zara stood in the center of the arena – the dust settled around her.

Normally the crowds would be roaring – but they were staring down in awe. Zara was not only unusual looking in her appearance, due to her half Drow heritage – but she stood in the center of the arena, after leaping off the cart that pulled her in – staff in hand, and blindfolded.

Two, large, rotund humans entered the opposite gate and saw the woman in the middle of the field. They paused wondering if she was the announcer for the fighter they would be fighting against, but as the voices in the crowds began to cheer it became clear to Brik and Thik, that the woman was their opponent.

“Don’t think for a moment we’re gonna go easy on you, pretty lady,” Brik laughed as he pounded his lucerne hammer against his shield.

“But we might not kill you either,” Thik added, laughing as he strapped on his chest piece. “A pretty lady like you could be fun after the fight.” Thik picked up his horseman’s mace and pounded it against the ground to get the recent blood and flesh off of his weapon.

Those brought to the arena were typically brought here to earn their freedom through fighting; however, some, such as Zara enter the arena to test their skills in a fight that was often to the death. Zara turned her head towards the voices she heard, “Do me a favor,” she yelled back as she gripped her staff. “Don’t hold back, because I won’t be. And for the other, the condition you leave this arena will only leave you begging for a Cleric’s healing.”

The crowd erupted into a loud cheer as Zara boldly faced her opponents without removing her blindfold. Brik and Thik were large humans – with the blindfold on, she didn’t need to see them – she could hear them – their thundering footsteps charging her. They’re yelling some “manly howl” as they rushed towards her. She effortlessly dodged Brik’s lunge with his lucerne hammer and used her staff to parry Thik’s horseman’s mace.

She smiled beneath her blindfold. “Tell me, that’s not the best you have to offer? You lunge, you swing – that’s too predictable.”

Normally, she would have followed her parry with a foot sweep – but judging by the thundering sound of their approach, these were large men – so she quickly slid Thik’s weapon into Brik’s as she adjusted her staff and quickly slid beneath Thik’s legs, and kicked behind his knee, sending him tumbling forward into his brother, Brik. The crowd cheered with approval.

Brik howled in fury, “Get off of me! She’s making a fool out of us!”

Zara was already on her feet, staff behind her back, just as she’d been when she leapt from the cart. “I can give you the option to surrender, but you’re probably too dumb to realize you’re already defeated!”

“That’s right! We’re not surrendering!” Thik helped his brother up from the ground since he was rolling back and forth like a turtle who’d fallen on its back.

“Good,” Zara smiled. “I haven’t even begun to sweat – but based on the odor on both of you when I so easily parried you – both of you worked up a sweat just running up to me. A girl does love to be chased by boys, you know.”

“Well, we’re done chasing you!” Thik growled, his brown eyes narrowing on her.

“That’s right,” Brik added, “we’re gonna pound you into the sand.”

There’d been rumors that both Brik and Think were half ogres, based off their size and general intelligence and demeanor. Zara – based off her blindfolded state – that these brothers were more ogre than human.

Brik lunged again as he charged her with his lucerne hammer, which she caught with hand, and brought up at the sound of Thik’s horseman mace. This time she kicked Thik’s blubbery knee forward so he buckled down – and used the momentum to then bring Brik’s hammer crashing down on his brother’s head. She then whispered several words as darkness enveloped them – and when it cleared, both Thik and Brik lay on the floor unconscious.

The crowd roared – the ‘blood brothers’ as they’d been called had never been defeated against a single opponent until now.

“She’s good,” a human in the crowd nodded.

“I told you,” an elf sitting next to him nodded. “She caught my attention when she came to town. It’s not often you see a half Drow. I watched her use her methods to stop a robbery – by doing what she did there – casting a darkness type spell, then repeatedly hitting her targets. She’s clearly very trained in blind fighting – which she uses to her advantage to doing what she does in the shadows.”

“We should talk to her,” the human said, as he stood to leave – the small crest pin on his cloak, that of a deer with gold and green.

[Tawmis]

Wrote another -

Hi there! I hope it's okay to ask for help?
I've been struggling for hours trying to get this backstory together...
Your character's Name: She doesn't have one. I was leaving it open for someone to find her, befriend her and give her a name. But for needing a name's sake, I was thinking 'Hope'
Race: Tiefling
Bloodline: Unsure. Asmodeus or Mephistopheles. Admittedly, the bloodlines have me super confused on how to weave it all together so please feel free to pick one for me.
Class: Druid (I know it doesn't technically go but my DM is allowing it)
Gender: Female
Appearance: Blue skinned, white hair, solid white eyes, one horn broken halfway, thinner than what is normal for a Tiefling's weight/body build.
Demeanor: Shy, timid, untrusting... takes a while to earn her trust.
Background: Unsure, leaning more towards 'Haunted One' (feel free to change this if you need to)
Rough Outline for Backstory:
Mother (human) is disgusted by the blue baby that she birthed. She couldn't stand to be the mother to a monster so she committed the death. Maybe the Father brings her back. She's yet to grown her horns and tail so she just looks like a normal blue baby. Had a very abusive upbringing to the point where one of her horns is broken. Thinking of perhaps a monster of sorts using her as a slave and for sickening entertainment purposes.
Until all that anger finally hit and she let loose.
She finally managed to escape but not without a fight (hence her horn breaking). She ran until exhaustion hit her. Deep wounds that needed time to heal. She was found bruised, bloodied, and weak by her new 'party', (or she ran to them before collapsing from exhaustion) fighting unconsciousness she begs them not to harm her.
Her story arc is going from abused and weak (timid and frightened to her group like a deer), learning to navigate through so much hate and distrust, to being strong and managing to convince people that she's not evil just because she's a Tiefling.
Feel free to add/change any of these characteristic traits. I've tweaked a couple of them from the Haunted One Background. DM is allowing his players to make their own as long as it works.
Flaws: (Hopefully following her bloodline with this but her) anger gets out of control. Once she reaches that rage, there's no controlling her outburst.
Traits: Nurturing nature (bringing plants and animals back to health) brings her happiness.
Ideals: (Currently unknown)
Bonds: (Currently Unknown)
If it's too much, or too triggering, please don't worry about it! I don't want to make you uncomfortable. But her backstory is traumatic and sad, which only adds to her strength as a character.

I went with Mephistopheles (just because it grants an extra power – Legacy of Cania) rather than the standard Tiefling (which is standard PHB Tiefling). Also because I named your mother “Oskurra” which is a play on the pronunciation of “Dark” in Spanish. And Mephistopheles, according to legend stood for “he who shuns the light.” So it somehow seemed fitting to tie all of that together.
The type of demon that finds her (a Glabrezu) is noted as using temptation to ruin mortals. So this seemed a solid fit for you had mentioned “thinking perhaps a monster of sorts using her as a slave for sickening entertainment purposes.”



In a small hamlet, on the edge of a forest whose name has changed over the years, the cry of a newly born infant pierces the night – followed by the horrified screams of the mother who bore the child. It is not screams that the child has died – no, rather it is because the child is still alive. The mother’s voice could be heard on this still, quiet night, breaking the silence with her fury, “Why is my child blue? If it’s not because she’s suffocating – then why is her skin blue? Take this monstrosity away from me! Take it away now!”

The new mother was a human mother named Oskurra Redmoon. The midwives held the child in their hands as Oskurra turned her back on them and the child on the bed; with the midwives exchanging glances. They called Oskurra’s husband, Speran Redmoon, who entered the room and gazed at the infant wrapped in a blanket and saw the blue skin.

“Is she…” he began, his lip trembling.

“No, she is alive,” the midwife named Nakimienta replied. “And she is healthy.”

Speran’s eyes gazed past the midwives to his wife, who still had her back turned. “And my wife?”

“Also alive and healthy,” the second midwife, Nina answered. “She however, denies the child milk of her breast.” She paused. “She denies the child. She wants her… killed.”

Speran’s eyes widened, horrified. “Killed? But we’ve tried for years to have a child… and now we do.” The midwives stared amongst one another, having no answer. Speran nodded, and whispered, “I will take the child home. My wife, when she is well, I will talk to her to accept the child.”

But when Oskurra came home, no matter what Speran said – he could not convince her to embrace the child. Their nights were full of violent fights where Oskurra, more than once, drew a kitchen blade and put it to her husband’s throat demanding he take the demon child out and kill it. After months of fighting, Oskurra finally crossed a line. She felt a swelling fury pounding at the temples of her brain as the fight escalated, and like she’d always done – she drew the kitchen blade – but this time, she did not hesitate. She plunged it deep into Speran’s stomach and growled, like an animal. “You’re right!” she spat in his face. “We tried for years to have a child! And you know what? I did something I shouldn’t have! When the gods refused to hear my prayer – I called on a demon – who came to me and said he could grant me a child! I thought he meant between you and I! But no – he came to me in a dream – seduced me, against my own will – I wanted to say no, but I couldn’t – I just gave myself to him in the dream! And it was incredible! Do you want to know that? It was incredible! Even though I hated it – what he made me feel! When I awoke – I awoke, sweating – as if I had experienced it! But I was sure it was a dream! But then I was pregnant! And then I told myself it was coincidence! But the child – the child is born of a demon seed!”

She stared at her husband, and his vacant, hollow, horrified eyes stared back at her – devoid of life. He’d bled to death somewhere during her rant. Furious, Oskurra turned towards the unnamed infant, “See what you made me do! See what your demon magic has done!” The infant, unaware of what was going on reached out, wanting nothing more than to finally know the embrace of a loving mother. Instead, Oskurra grabbed the infant by the throat and took her to the river and cast her into the rapids – she couldn’t even bear the thought of the child, even dead, being anywhere near her – so let the infant drown and be swept away, the fish that nibbled at her flesh would be poisoned by her demon flesh!

Perhaps, had the infant died in that river, she would have been spared the pain that followed. But there’d been a Glabrezu demon named, Tentakion had taken a great interest in Mephistopheles work – and this infant could be trained and for his own needs. Tentakion saved the infant child and opened a portal to his dimension – a corner in Hades, where he raised her for sixteen years – forcing her to kill, main, murder, and harvest souls to create manes. When the child reached the age of sixteen her unleashed her into the Material Plane, to tempt married men, and in turn blackmail them – and many would promise their soul Tentakion, not believing the parchment they were signing held any true weight coming from a sixteen year old, with a womanly figure, white hair and solid white eyes. Despite her own demonic appearance, most men who engaged in relationships with her were looking for something they were not getting from their wives – which often meant wild, twisted and unthinkable relations.

This persisted for two years, when one day, the child who had never spoke a word to Tentakion, came back from one of her “missions of seduction” – and took the parchment and tore it in front of him. Tentakion stood, furious, “How dare you! I saved you! What’s the meaning of this?”

The child, with her white eyes, stared directly into his black, soulless eyes and whispered one word.

“Hope.”

He howled in fury and lunged at her and somewhere in her – she broke that chain of submission she’d been enslaved to for all of her life. Something inside her told her to fight – to break free – and begin her life anew. She produced a dagger she’d taken from her latest “conquest” and plunged it deep into Tentakion’s shoulder! The four armed demon reeled back – staring in awe – and somewhat horror – that this mortal whelp had not only dared to defy him – but strike him as well. His two arms reached out and grabbed her by the wait, while his two clawed hands grabbed her by the horn.

“I can twist your neck from your body,” Tentakion howled.

The unnamed child then threw a handful of acorns she’d had in her pouch, and found herself uttering, “The Oak Father sends his regards!”

Tentakion’s black, soulless eyes bulged as the acorns seemingly expanded in his throat. His hands went to his neck as he choked and gasped for air. The child quickly turned, using the portals that Tentakion had created to send her to the mortal plane, and escaped – running, never stopping.

She spent weeks living in the forest, where she began her life anew. She could hear the roots, the way the wind made the trees speak. She fashioned herself an herbalism kit as she began to learn about the plants, and what different ones did. At night, a large oak tree would frequently visit her dreams – and speak with her, and taught her a new language – the Druidic tongue. She thought it was strange, but unlike Tentakion – this voice seemed to want to teach her – help her grow – and find herself.

Several times, throughout the following months, she thought she heard Tentakion’s voice in the shadows, and she found herself running – and that’s when she ran into another group of adventurers who had heard something in the woods running – it’d been her.

One of them extended their hand to her, “We’re sorry. We thought someone was in trouble. What’s your name?”

Nervously, she accepted the extended hand, and answered, “Hope. My name is Hope.”

[Tawmis]

Wrote another, after a long break (due to real life situations).
https://forums.giantitp.com/showthread. ... st25218967

Name: Pekk
Race: Half-Orc
Class: Barbarian
Gender: Male
Background: Outlander; Homesteader (Farm-Boy)
Primal Path: Totem Warrior
Alignment: Neutral Good/Good
Other
Eye Colour: Ice Blue
Skin Colour: Greenish Grey
Hair: Black, short on sides, swept back.
Scars: Deep scar on his torso, shoulder, a few littering his forearms, one on his chin/jaw
Teeth: Bottom two tusks protruding ever so slightly outside the lip.
Body: Bulky but fit. Leaning more towards human appearance than orc.
Attire: Blue plaid shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, few top buttons open to expose a bit of chest - which usually exposes an inch of his prominent scar. Black pants.
Flaws: [I don't like the ones offered in the book, so something to do with short-tempered anger issues. Like, I lose my temper/rage at the slightest insult]
Personality Trait: I feel far more comfortable around animals than people.
Bonds: Any injury to the unspoiled wilderness of my home is an injury to me. [feel free to change the Bonds or make one up as you see fit. I'm undecided with what works]
Ideals: The natural world is more important that all the constructs of civilization or If I dishonor myself, I dishonor my whole clan [Feel free to change or make one up as you see fit. I'm undecided on the ideals.]
Rough Outline:
Orc and Human tribe formed an alliance together as they went to war against something. That's how the orc father met the human mother (who was a nurse). Fell in love.
Once the war was over, they retired to on some acred property and lived out a farm life, harvesting for the tribe/s (orc/human).
I don't know whether another war broke out or they were attacked by some form of a giant beastie. But Pekk is old enough to fight alongside his father. The Father died - his last words to Pekk were 'Look after your Mother'. (they were a sweet old-fashioned couple who raised Pekk to be a gentleman. Treat a lady right.)
Pekk lived out most of his time working on the farm, constantly going into town for supplies or whatever.


That's all I got.

Other things I would like to consider:

• He's wise. Not so much intelligent, but I swapped out his 3rd high level stat for wisdom. As I'd like to make him wise but with anger issues. Being on a farm, with nature, you quickly learn things.
• He's polite.
• He's a gentleman towards a lady. Would like him to meet someone, fall in love, treat her proper-like. Probably a bit bumbling around her rather than his usual macho self (This is more for character development throughout the game though).
• Has a soft spot for animals.
• Leaning more towards Bear/Wolf as a totem for a spiritual reason. Either the loyalty of a pack of wolves speaks to him or the protectiveness of a Mother Bear or something like that.
• Accidentally crushes teacups etc. with his natural strength. Always an 'Awh. Dang it.'
• "Perhaps if we considered the terrain-" "What would a green, boogery dimwit know-" "-GOES ON A VERBAL RAGE TANGENT- Ahem. Terribly sorry about that. All I'm saying is..." moments.

I'm sorry if I've written a lot. I tend to use my DnD Characters as normal characters to write with in general (outside DnD). No rush to do it. No pressure either. If you're not vibing with it, that's all good too

It's only been - what? Four months since you requested this. As I mentioned, between the loss of my dog of 17 years, and some back to back health issues with my wife...
I couldn't find the time or inspiration to write.
But my wife is very, very, very slowly mending - and things look hopeful now.
So my brain is at a slightly more state of peace - and I decided to come back and get to this.
I actually ... really, really enjoyed writing this.
I was able to get inside the character's head space, pretty easily, which just allowed the story to write itself with me at the wheel.
Those are the best, because it feels so natural.
Anyway, enjoy. It's probably too late to be of use to you, but maybe you can still enjoy the story.

As always, please reply with feedback (whether you loved it, hated it, thought it was all right) - or anything you enjoyed about it. Replies help keep the thread bumped and alive.

==========================================


War.

It has often torn countries apart, created division among people. But sometimes, when an enemy is so great – nations unite, and even those who would consider themselves enemies – band together to face the larger threat.

It was such a war that brought two tribes together – Human and Orc – to stand together, side by side, back to back, against a common enemy.

The years fighting side by side, each side discovered that they’re not much different than the other. Both human and orc, cherished and loved their own families. Each wanted land to live off of. It had been ignorance and fear, of the other, that drove both sides previously to breed hatred in their hearts and soul.

But now, after sharing loss and grief, and seeing each side, suffer so greatly – and share one another’s pain – did these two tribes, not only come to understand one another… to respect one another… but they even came to love one another.

And when the Great War was done; there was a moment where each side wondered, if that fear of one another would rise again, and they would find themselves fighting one another – but instead, each side offered to help the other and maintain the bond they’d formed during the Great War.

Skourn had been a warrior for the orc tribe, when he’d been wounded during the Great War – and had been tended to by Allanessa, a female human cleric and nurse, during the war. The wound to his leg had been a grievous wound, and had it not been for Allanessa’s quick thinking, Skourn would have quickly bled to death. Instead, he survived, and after the Great War, the two remained in contact with one another after the human and orc tribes went their separate ways.

Their bond grew stronger as the weeks passed, as each of them learned, that while they were apart from one another, there was an aching within them that could not be quenched; and soon, mutual respect for one another and friendship, developed into so much more.

Within a year of Skourn moving in with Allanessa, on her farmland, she was soon pregnant. Their son Pekk, was soon born into the world. As the midwife handed Pekk to Allanessa, Skourn smiled as he pulled back sweaty locks of hair from Allanessa’s face. “He is perfect,” Skourn whispered, his deep, husky voice, filled with love. “He looks more like you than me.” He added, with a slight bit of laughter.

Skourn had been raised a warrior, from the time he could speak; but he wanted his son, Pekk to have a different life. Instead of teaching him to be a great and powerful warrior, Skourn focused on teaching his son how to be a great farmer. He taught him the proper time to plant and the proper time to harvest. He showed him how to take care of the farm animals, and how to help when the animals were delivering litters of their own. He taught him how to respect the land, and to kill only in self-defense, or for the need of food – never for pleasure. He taught Pekk that when he did kill an animal for food, to thank the animal for their life that’d been given – and thank the gods for providing the meal.

By the time he’d reached his teenage years, Pekk was far more comfortable around animals than people; but due to his father’s wounded leg from the Great War, and his mother taking care of things around the house, Skourn frequently sent Pekk to the main town to gather supplies and farming equipment that was needed.

It was here that Pekk was often met with glares and whispered comments about how he’d been a half orc – and strangely it came from both sides. Boratun was a town that was frequented by orcs and humans alike – but half orcs here, were extremely rare. Despite their mutual respect for one another, each side – both human and orc – rarely bred with the other.

It was here in Boratun – that Prekk usually found himself getting into trouble. He’d brook no insult about him being a half orc – and even less so if someone spoke ill about his father or mother. More than once, Skourn would have to ride into town when his son hadn’t returned, and pay the local authorities to free his son who had gotten in a fight with someone else who’d insulted him.

Skourn could see it in his son’s eyes – though he physically looked more human than orc, spiritually he was more orc than human – and had a fighting spirit inside of him. Skourn knew that he would need to teach his son how to be a warrior and channel the rage that was building inside of him.

One day, when Skourn had sent his son to Boratun to pick up some farming equipment – and emphasized to ignore any remarks made towards him – Pekk sighed and agreed. He hated going to town but he knew his father couldn’t go – even on horseback, with his wounded leg – it taxed him greatly. Additionally, he hated turning the other check when insulted or sneered at, and just thinking that those making those remarks might be considering him a coward.

When Pekk arrived in Boratun, it was just like every other time. The streets were filled with humans and orcs, the odors from the forges and meat shops lingered in the air, twisting and turning, churning, creating an unpleasant smell.

He happened to see a young woman, standing in front of one of the meat vendors, rifling through her coin purse, blushing in embarrassment. He drew closer and heard her say she was shy several gold coins. Pekk reached into his purse and put them on the counter and smiled at the human woman, “There you go,” he nodded and began to walk away. He heard her thank him.

However, this didn’t go unnoticed by several humans who approached Pekk and snarled, “Why don’t you stick to your own kind, half-breed?”

Pekk paused in his footsteps – and recalled his father saying to ignore insults. Pekk forced the rage down and turned to the three humans who’d insulted him. “I meant no disrespect. I saw the lady was in need for coin for food – to undoubtedly feed her children, and I had some spare coin.”

“Why don’t you hand over the rest of your spare coin?” one of the humans snapped.

“Sadly,” Pekk countered, “I have no more to give. The rest I must use for farming supplies.”

One of them spit on Pekk.

An hour later, he was in the local cell again, with the three humans in a separate cell.

His father came through the front door, apologizing, and again paying for his son’s release. Skourn rode his horse back, while Pekk rode the wagon with the farming supplies. They spoke about what happened, and as they did, Pekk could see the weariness on his father’s face. The farm was an hour away on horseback and it was difficult for his father, more so when it was an hour there, then an hour back with no rest.

“I am sorry father,” Pekk whispered.

His father laughed. “There is nothing to be sorry for,” Skourn shrugged as he looked over at his son, lovingly. “You look like your mother on the outside, but inside, you have my fighting spirit,” he smiled, “You are the perfect blend of who your parents are.”

When they arrived and dismounted, unloading the farming equipment, Pekk looked over at the cattle and sheep and saw how they were completely still. “Father,” Pekk whispered, “something’s wrong. Look at the cattle and sheep.”

“Agreed,” Skourn nodded, “and the chickens as well. They’re being entirely too quiet.”

At that moment, Allanessa saw her husband and son arrive, from the window and came out. “Well, it took both of you long enough,” she said as she made her way towards them, stomping her foot in feigned anger.

In that moment, it became clear why the animals had been so silent and so still – as a large ankheg burst from the ground in front of her. An ankheg is a massive creature, whose appearance resembled a brown praying mantis in the face and mandibles that buried through the ground. Though they primarily fed on the rich soil; they would, from time to time, spring up from the ground to sustain a meat diet. The ankheg was a dangerous animal, because its mandibles could snap tree trunks easily; their chitnous exoskeleton was so thick, that some said it was like striking platemail; and as if that were not enough, they could spit an acidic spray that they used to help break down soil, meat and bones.

Allanessa was stunned by the creature before her, not even able to scream. Skourn did not hesitate, he ran as quickly as he could, his wounded leg searing with pain that could not be measured; and slammed into Allanessa – knocking her out of the way, just as the ankheg released its acidic spit, striking Skourn.

“Father!” Pekk screamed, as his father buckled under the green acid. Pekk grabbed the triangle hoe and rushed the ankheg who turned just in time to see Pekk leap and drive it deep into its left eye. The ankheg struck Pekk with its massive claw, which was covered in hundreds of spikes, ripping his clothes and flesh to pieces as he slammed against the barn wall and had the air knocked out of him. When he regained consciousness moments later, the ankheg had retreated. As his vision cleared he saw his mother crying over what was clearly his father. He tried to stand, but could not, so he crawled to his mother’s side, where his father was rasping for breath. His father reached out, and clasped his son’s hand as firmly as he could, and smiled, and said, “I… am so… proud of you… take care… of your … mother… “ And his eyes rolled to the back of his head, and one large, final breath escaped his lips.

For months, Pekk fought with the guilt that had built up inside of him; had he not got in a fight, had he been home sooner, had he seen the animals sooner; all of this might have been avoided. But it was the animals that knew how to sense the ankheg – and for months, he seemed to spend time learning more from animals than spending time with his mother. The ankheg had gotten away. But it was wounded. Pekk wanted to find it again. Kill it.

And so the rage in him built up. He embraced that side of him. He needed that side of him.

But one day, he saw his mother, struggling around the farm and knew he also needed to be here for her as well.

He would hunt down this ankheg when the time was right.