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

[Tawmis]

This one was a little rough to write... the person didn't ask for this scene... but the scene with the dog, was pulled emotionally from when I had to say goodbye to Odin...
https://forums.giantitp.com/showthread. ... st25794228

Hello me again! Would love for another character backstory assist! This one is less bare but I have lots of flavor to add. Thank you for what you do ahead of time.

Name: Earnest Yahweh - Aasimar (Protector) pounce it ernst - Origin: German. Meaning: Serious business; Battle to the death
Class: Death cleric - one level in Warlock hexblade
Background: Far Traveler
Worships a god of death (Leave name blank if possible) - I assume this is Azmo, based on the additional information provided.
Human mother
Celestial being as a father has black wings (Humanoid)

Characteristics -
PERSONALITY TRAITS
I honor my deities through practices that are foreign to this land.
IDEALS
I have much to learn from the kind people I meet along my way.
BONDS
The gods of my people are a comfort to me so far away from home.
FLAWS
N/A aka haven't found a good one or thought of something that fits

When earnest uses Radiant Soul golden wings appear with small square like veins that are faint and empty however when he uses his cleric ability death touch the veins fill up with the color black looks like necrotic energy they slowly fill up (higher the level the more it fills up)

Has a complete innocent look about him almost pure looking, blond hair blue eyes think to complete opposite to a super edgy scene teen.
But his eyes are hollow he is around death so much he sort of became numb to it no matter who it is that dies
Earnest believes death is sacred and if it is someone's time or if they want to die it should be as natural as possible or however they want to go.
Any undead or things of similar nature is heresy to him and sees them as things needed to be "fixed" or to let them pass on by the only way he knows how killing it.

God -Azmo - death god who was split into two one is a demon king
Mother -Priest of the gave
Father- Gravekeeper (Angel)
Born - Tumblegulch:
A prison city for the Empire of Hydein. The city houses much of the empires most brutal criminals
Earnest would always pray to Azmo for guidance and strength his prayers were answered but the wrong Azmo when he was lead towards a lake near Tumblegulch and told to swim into it where upon doing so he got midway and felt something pull him underneath almost drowning until a bony hand dragged him outside of the water saving him from near death, where upon said being cladded in blue flames handed Earnest a small piece of white metal fragment which changes into a sword (cursed) and told him that it would protect him from the dangers to come. The demon king Azmo provided Earnest with the cursed sword and when Earnest accidently killed a humanoid it turned them into a zombie, now Earnest wants is unite Azmo to see if he can be rid of the cursed sword so he searches for humans since they are the only race with the technology to do this.

I noticed you mentioned a German word; and also the spelling (colour) which seemed European - so I am not sure if you yourself are German...
But I named the dog in this story (you will see why) Treu - which according to Google Translate means "Faithful."
So it's not a misspelling of the word "True" - it's actually "Treu"
The whole segment with Treu was written listening to "For The Love Of A Princess" from Braveheart to really set the mood for that whole scene. (I love this soundtrack!)
You can listen to it here if you're not familiar with the song:
Anyway - kept everything pretty much exactly as you asked - only changed the scene where you handed white metal to...
Well, you will see. You can change that scene to be white metal if you want (you can change or disregard anything really!)
Would love to hear your thoughts on this - helps me as I write this what you liked or didn't like - and also bumps the thread and keeps it alive.
As always - enjoy!
===========================================================


I can recall the memory so vividly.

I was five years old and had a dog, named Treu, who was four years old and was sixty pounds of pure muscle and dexterity. His tan coat had what was known as a black saddle; in that his fur on his back was black and in the shape of said saddle. His face was grey, with a black mask that made him appear as if he were a bandit.

We’d been playing at the edge of the village, where I’d grown up, just as we had always done. Treu was a shepherd for our family’s sheep; but he was so good at what he did, that he would herd them to where they needed to go and still have energy to burn; so it just became something we did to help Treu burn off the excess energy he was born with.

I’d been throwing a stick as far as I could and Treu would either run fast enough to catch it before it even hit the ground and bring it back to me, or patiently wait for it to land before going after it. The latter, I am sure he was doing to make me feel better. However, on this particular day – I threw the stick and Treu was running after it – when he suddenly paused and looked to the shrubbery, where tall trees and bushes grew, just near the edge of the mountain. I knew Treu’s sense of smell and hearing was superior to my own – but I never heard or smelt anything. Not at first. But then there was an odor – a strong odor that reeked of rotten meat. Treu’s hackles went up and he began growling at the bushes. I tried to grab Treu by his mane to pull him back – but he would not step away.

At that moment, a towering, horrifying visage broke through the brush. Its skin was a dark green, covered in welts. Its claws were darker than midnight, as was its hair – and its eyes were like soulless pits of despair. The lanky, large figure lunged for me – but Treu jumped in the way – grabbing the towering creature by the throat and would not let go – despite this humanoid using its claws to repeatedly rip into Treu’s side. I fled, screaming for my mother and father, unable to watch in horror as Treu was being ripped apart, but never letting go of the creature’s throat.

By the time I reached my mother and father and raced back, Treu was lying on his side, blood everywhere and the beast that attacked was long gone. I heard Treu whine and I rushed to his side. I put Treu’s head in my lap as his tongue laid to the side; he looked up at me as if to ask, “I did good, didn’t I? I saved you.” I could not stop crying.

My mother placed her hand on my shoulder, and kneeled down. “Treu saved your life, my son. It’s time to let him go to Azmo’s embrace.” My father, seeing this extended his black wings and took to the air in search of what had attacked Treu.

“I can’t let him go,” I cried out, slapping my mother’s hand away. “He is dying because he tried to save me. He knew if we’d both run, the monster would have taken me. He’s dying because of me! I refuse to let him go to Azmo’s side! I want him at my side!” And suddenly, my hands began to glow as I held Treu, rocking him back and forth, and my mother watched in awe as Treu’s wounds began to heal. I was surprised when I felt Treu’s tongue lick my face, and I stared town, through a bleary vision of tears to see Treu’s wound had healed. I looked to my mother, not understanding.

“You have been born with a gift it would seem,” she said faintly.

My father returned a few moments later. “It was a troll. Looks like it came down the mountain. Food has been scarce for those beasts. Looks like Treu did a good job ripping it apart; but they have an uncanny healing ability. This troll however, will not rise again. I have separated its head and burn it and its body.” He looked down to see Treu was now standing and looked to his wife, questioningly. She gestured towards me, and this puzzled my father even further.

From that day forward, I learned that I had the ability to heal; however, I took notice that Treu wasn’t the same. His energy wasn’t there anymore. He laid around much more and his herding of the sheep seemed to be done with less emphasis.

I asked my mother what was wrong with him; and she explained, “Treu was ready to go to Azmo’s side; he’d willingly sacrificed his life for you. He was good with the death he had been given. You brought him back from that, and took him from the honorable death he’d earned.”

“But I wanted him to stay with me longer, I felt guilty, and I love him so,” I confessed.

Treu went on to live to the age of sixteen where he died of old age; he was never the same again.

Over the years I began to accept death for what it was. It was never truly an ending; it was simply the door to the next stage. My mother taught me in the ways, as she was a Priestess of the Grave, celebrating those who passed on to the next; speaking on behalf of those who moved on. My hands had been given the ability to heal – this was in part due to my father’s bloodline living in my veins – but I needed to understand the difference of when to heal and when it was time to let someone slip to the other side.

My mother would take me to hospices where I saw those who were dying with incurable diseases, or had been badly or mortally wounded during the war. My mother showed me the art of gazing at someone’s soul. The soul was an energy that flowed around the body, invisible to the untrained eye; but with Azmo’s Blessing, I could see it. I could see those who were ready to truly pass on and those who still had more to give in the living world. I watched old couples die together, minutes or days apart. I watched, tragically, even as children died.

Eventually, my work would take me to a prison city for the Empire of Hydein. This prison housed some of the most brutal criminals who committed heinous crimes. As I gazed at the soul of most of these inmates, I saw anger and hatred in the energies of their soul. Insanity reigned supreme here and there was a lack for any form of humanity left in these people.

When I heard of some of the crimes these prisoners had done it took everything in my heart and soul not to end their lives at my own hands and banish their souls to the very depths of Hell, rather than send them to Azmo. I wanted to be the judge and executioner of their souls and not leave that to Azmo to do.

This took so much out of me, I felt like Treu after I’d healed him so many years ago. I felt drained and the energy gone from the depths of my being. I turned to Azmo and asked for guidance; how was I to have the strength and faith to allow these horrible souls to his side? Why couldn’t I banish them to Hell? They deserved no less, clearly.

However, I was given a vision of a lake near Tumblegulch and told to swim into the lake and be cleansed of the sins of my mind. However, when I ventured to the lake the following morning, following the will of my god, as I entered the frigid waters – I could feel my body react. The lake’s waters felt like the touch of death itself – and I understood – this is why I was brought here. To understand, to feel the touch of death – but as I swam towards the center – something pulled me underwater before I could get my breath.

Deeper and deeper into the cold, deeper and deeper into the dark, I could feel my lungs burning – when suddenly a bony hand pulled me out and to the shore. Coughing, I looked up and saw a being clad in blue flames. It seemed to stare down at me – and somehow I felt something was amiss. Then it reached to its hilt – and I thought I was going to die as it drew its sword. I was about to be punished by Azmo himself. However, it drew the sword and extended the hilt to me.

In a deep voice it growled, “This will protect you from the things to come.”

I was blessed by the gift of a magical blade from Azmo himself. He had rewarded me for my strength and faith. I had not fallen away as I feared I was doing.

It was six weeks later, when I got in an altercation with one of the prisoners, and instinctively reached for my blade – and ran him through. I stared at the prisoner as he died in front of me. The guards of the prison had seen what happened and rushed to my side to help me out of the cell. However, a moment later, the dead prisoner rose again – but his eyes were vacant and I couldn’t see his soul. He’d been turned into a zombie. I stared at the blade in horror. The guards however, believed that the prisoner was diseased and that’s why he’d turned into a zombie.

I spent weeks researching the blade; and discovered an ancient parchment that spoke of Azmo – and how he was once one being – that during some event – was split in two – and now there was a Celestial side and a Demonic side to Azmo – and both fought for control.

I realized that I’d been led to the lake by the Demon side of Azmo – and this blade was not a gift – but a curse to bring ruin to the world.

I needed to find a way to unite Azmo so that the Celestial Side would reign supreme again – and perhaps then be free of this cursed blade.

[Tawmis]

Name: Nyx
Setting: Homebrew
Class: Twilight Cleric 8
Deity: Raven Queen
Race: Kenku* who has become a wereraven lycanthrope
Gender: Female
Background: Acolyte
Alignment: Neutral
Feat: Fey Touched, Resilient (Constitution).
Str 10, Dex 15, Con 16, Int 10, Wis 20, Cha 10.
Spells
Cantrips: guidance, toll the dead, sacred flame, light.
1st: healing word, cure wounds, bless, guiding bolt, faerie fire, sleep, silvery barbs.
2nd: aid, spiritual weapon, lesser restoration, moonbeam, see invisibility, misty step.
3rd: spirit guardians, revivify, dispel magic, Leomund's Tiny Hut, aura of vitality.
4th: banishment, death ward, freedom of movement, greater invisibility, aura of life.
*Monsters of the Multiverse version of the kenku

This one started to take on a life of it's own. I personally love Kenku, and I miss playing the one I had started (Kenku Rogue) right before the Pandemic hit. We were doing Horde of the Dragon Queen, pandemic hit, DM didn't want to do remote play, so the game came to an end. So writing the Kenku stuff, because it's so wide open, is an easy avenue to explore.

The NPC I introduce – Fitheach – means “Raven” if google translate is to be believed.

Anyway, as always, feedback is appreciated, as it helps me as a writer. What did you like? Dislike? What worked? Was it what you were expecting? Is that good or bad?
The feedback also keeps the thread bumped and alive for others to see it.

Anyway - enjoy!
====================

For generations, my people – the Kenku – with our expert memories have tried to recall why it is that we are unable to fly. Some speculated it was because we took on more of a human form so long ago that it’s been erased from our memories. However, how does one explain the Aarakocra? Are they too, not humanoid birds, like my people? And yet they have retained their ability to fly. Others have heard stories from tribe elders that proclaim that our deity – who violated the gods – had his name struck from the minds of the world and punished those who were his people – the Kenku.

I am not sure what version of the thousands of stories I’ve heard about our past; perhaps a blending of all of them, and that we each hold a small piece of the truth – like a mirror that’s been dropped and fractured into thousands of pieces.

I admit I despised the fact that I, as a Kenku, could not fly while the Aarakocra enjoyed such freedoms. I craved to know why and as such, spent so much time in the Great Library, that when I came in, people would give me the space I needed to lay out the tomes of history about the world and the gods, all in an effort to piece together the notes I’d already gathered. So much of these old texts, however, were written based on speculation or second hand telling; making it difficult to find where the truth, if at all, may lie in the text.

I’d been there so frequently that the Keeper came to know me by name and would often allow me to stay beyond the hours in which the Great Library closed; an honor given to no other he assured me, and I believed him, because in the years I’d remained behind after the Great Library closed, it was only ever me who was inside.

Save for one night.

I had several tomes of books open in front of me, and I was comparing the similar text between them; trying to find out why there’d been some minor differences in the way some noted the story, when a woman sat on the other end of the table. I was shocked. In the six years I’d been coming here I was the only one the Keeper ever allowed to stay.

As I stared across the table, I saw a woman, a hood over her head; but peering from beneath the shadows was a white, porcelain mask, her hair pouring out of the hood like black waterfalls made of thin lace. I turned my head, my words mimicking the sounds of the Keeper, “Can I help you?” I’d heard him ask me six years ago and I could now mimic his voice with absolute perfection.

The woman stared at me through her porcelain mask for a moment before she finally said, “We all want to touch the heavens, to touch the skies but so few of us truly know what it will cost us in the end; to be able to spread our wings and fly free. Is that not right, Nyx?”

“How do you know my name?” I asked, shocked.

“I can show you the way,” she said. “Just follow me. Take a boat to the Underian Islands. You will need to abandon ship because no one will go to the Underian Islands, because they believe the curse that is there. Go there. Find what you seek. And pay for what it will cost to fly again, little raven.”

“Who are you?” I demanded as I stood up – but rather than stand up, I found myself lifting my head from the three books I’d been reading. Had I fallen asleep? With bleary eyes I looked again at the three books and determined I’d been dreaming. I continued writing down the story of the Raven Queen, and how these three books told of a different story of her ascension. Somehow, I felt this tied to my own fate – there had to be a reason she was called the ‘Raven’ Queen, right?

For three days, I thought nothing more of the dream I’d had at the library. However, on the thirteenth day of the ten month – the Night of Ascension – which was the Holy Day of the Raven Queen, that dream seemed far more vivid in my mind. As others celebrated the Raven Queen, I went to the port and discovered there was a ship that went near the Underian Islands – as a ‘tourist’ attraction, speaking of the Island’s dark ‘cursed’ history. Passage on the Night of Ascension was packed because those who celebrated this night took in all the things of the dark – however, the ferryman made room for me. A few hours later, we were aboard a small vessel that was packed with too many people – as it struggled against the choppy, dark waters.

As we approached the Underian Islands, the ferryman spoke about how long ago, the island had been a small piece of paradise, but the people there began to believe they were angels and deserved to ascend into the heavens – and they were cursed by the gods, for their greed.

This matched everything I had the dream about – people who wanted to fly and touch the heavens and be cursed… I am not sure what made me do it but I flung myself from the top of the ferry into the dark waters; they tried to save me, but when they saw I would not reach for the line, they watched as I disappeared beneath the black tide.

I washed ashore at some point, awakened by the daylight and being stabbed by a stick. I looked up and saw a very attractive human. His long hair was flowing and his beard was nicely trimmed. I was not one for appreciating humans for their good looks – but there was something particular about this human. He seemed different.

“Good,” I heard him say. “You’re alive. My name is Fitheach.” He extended his hand down to me and helped me stand. “You’re a … “ He tried to remember the word, Common was clearly not his native tongue.

“Kenku,” I said.

“Yes, the Kenku,” he nodded. “ Come. Let me introduce you to the kindness.”

I was sure he wasn’t speaking the words correctly; he probably meant to say “allow me to show you kindness” – as in being kind to me. However, he took me deep into a forested area on the small island, and I saw twelve others – all human – all remarkably attractive, like him.

“This is our kindness,” he said, spreading his hands around. I spent weeks with them, learning their names, but Fitheach and I had grown quite close. Fitheach and the others showed me a small temple they’d made inside of a cave, dedicated to the Raven Queen. It was dark, which was something she appreciated; a tomb like death. Fitheach and the others taught me not to fear the darkness, but to welcome it, and through them I became a dedicated follower of the Raven Queen.

On the twelfth week, Fitheach pulled me aside and took my hands into his and said, “You are ready. The Raven Queen tells me it is time for you to feel her kiss and her blessing.”

He pulled me close to him; but did not kiss me as normal humans would; I am not sure he could of with the beak I have; however, he sunk his teeth into my neck – and oddly, I had never felt more alive so close to him – his teeth sinking through my feathers and piercing my flesh. I felt something change within me as he pulled back. I buckled to my knees as did he; but he did so to look into my eyes.

“You’re going to feel sick for a few days, but you will be reborn,” he whispered looking into my eyes.

For days, I screamed at the work, sure that my body was on fire inside; and that death was coming for me.

Do not fear the darkness. Embrace it.

I burned with fever. My body could not stop shaking.

Then the day came – where it truly felt as if I died – and darkness swept me beneath its tide and wrapped itself around me.

Then I sat up screaming – the fever had broke.

I looked and saw Fitheach sitting near me. “Welcome to your new life, little raven. Fly to the heavens.”

I looked at Fitheach – it was true. I felt different. I went to the ledge of the cave and without concern of my own life – stepped off the ledge and discovered I could fly. I returned to Fitheach and asked how this had happened.

Fitheach explained that he and the others on the island are all Aasimar – who were blessed by the gods. However, in their vanity to reach for the heavens the gods had cursed them each with Lycanthropy – turning them into wereravens – where they kept the pureness of their heart – and they could fly, but not matter how high they flew, they could never reach the heavens.

Fitheach and the others eventually begged for death rather than live with this curse; and this drew the attention of the Raven Queen who took them under her wing.

One week before Nyx’s arrival, Fitheach explained that he had a dream of a bird-woman washing ashore and that he should share the ‘curse’ that the Raven Queen said was truly more of a ‘gift’ with this newcomer.

I stayed on the island for a few more weeks, before using this new gift to leave the island.

I needed to figure out why the Raven Queen had taken an interest in me…

[Tawmis]

https://forums.giantitp.com/showthread. ... st25796651

I hope this is what you need this is the link for the grim reaper https://blackbandos-homebrew.fandom.com ... (5e_Class)
I want to be human grim reaper and the grim reaper is a punishment

Fun notes - the town I named - Hafenlicht - means "Harbor Light" in German if google translate is to be believed.
And the disease I mentioned - Krankheit - means "disease" in German if google translate is to be believed.
This was a very fun one to write, even though it's over all, a darker story.
Hope you enjoy it and it's what you're looking for!
I'd love to hear your thoughts - good or bad!
Enjoy!
==============================

My name is Corellius Everburn – and I am a man that now is cursed to walk between life and death.

To help you understand, listen as I tell you the tale that would bestow this curse upon me.

My father was Dalariun Everburn and he was a faithful Cleric of Chauntea, the goddess of agriculture whose symbol was a blooming rose over grain. Her realm was that of Life, because her faithful tended to the gardens that she blessed and from those gardens they created elixirs and potions to help the sick and the dying. My father was a High Priest in the small hamlet of Hafenlicht, but his work and wisdom was well known throughout the land. He was greatly respected. My mother, Eileena Everburn was a woman, who looked ever so beautiful, with only one patch of grey streaking through her hair like falling stars that betrayed her true age. She worked the garden for my father but not because she was asked to but rather because she wanted to. My father, as High Priest, was rarely around – he was often called away to larger cities to speak of the “omens” that the other High Priests have all felt, heard, or dreamed about.

Mother had me late in her life; she was thirty seasons of age. There were complications during the pregnancy and unfortunately, my mother would not survive the ordeal. However, I was born and my father, who had been away on Priestly business, was summoned back – his heart broken that his wife had perished. My father never looked at me with resentment – as a follower of Chauntea, they held life above all else. My mother mourned my mother every night, for several seasons; he even stepped down as the High Priest of Hafenlicht to ensure that he could be around to tend to me when I was but a young child.

When I reached the age of ten seasons, I developed a disease called Krankheit. It’s a fatal disease that begins in the lungs and is incurable, even by magic and herbs. The disease begins in the lungs, preventing air from circulating in the blood. It’s a slow, agonizing death.

By twelve seasons, I was bed ridden, coughing and gasping for breath; I would try to beg my father to let me pass, but he refused. He would kneel at my bedside and say, “I was not here to save your mother. I will be here to save you, at any cost.”

As the days progressed into weeks, the fevers increased, despite my father’s best efforts to sedate them with herbs.

It was during – what I believed then – was a fevered dream – that I saw my father swinging at phantasmal forces that were swirling all about him. They looked like spirits with large sickles – and my father was swinging wildly at them – pushing them back – shouting, “You will not have my son. I will find a cure for Krankheit – and my son’s health will be restored, his life extended!”

It was a few nights later, when I saw my father battling the same spirits, I realized – I was so close to death, I was peering beyond the veil of life and now had a foot in the realm of death. My father was fighting spirits that were coming to claim me and take me away.

It was three weeks later, when I was barely alive – the fighting stopped.

The spirit fluttered at my door, with my father, so weary he could barely hold his mace – his arm trembled as his strength screamed to betray him – but my father refused the calls of his own body. I heard the spirit speak – its voice chilled me, a brief reprieve to the fever that was wracking my body.

“You said you would do anything for your son,” the spirit began. “I’ve seen your strength. In time, I would overcome you – but I see your faith is strong and it fuels your strength and your love. I have stayed here too long – but my orders cannot be denied. I extend you this deal. Your son can live – with just one condition. He walks between life and death, he becomes what I am – a Reaper.”

“I can not agree to these terms,” my father wheezed. He’d not slept or eaten in over five days now. The Reaper’s reprieve was ever so brief, giving my father little time to recover before he’d return for me. It would seem the Reaper continued reaping the souls of others and would come back for mine.

“Know that I am eternal and I can come keep coming back time and time again,” the Reaper said. “You are mortal. Your body is already just about to break. I see your soul withering inside of you. Keep this up and I will be here to Reap your soul before I Reap your son’s.” The Reaper shimmered. “Allow me to sweeten the deal. Agree to these terms and I will remove the Krankheit that withers him ever so quickly now. He will be healthy – a Reaper that walks between life and death. Do you agree?”

I reached out to my father and could barely wheeze the words, as I choked when I tried to breath, “I don’t want to hurt anymore…”

I had meant that I wanted my father to let me go – let the Reaper come for me. I had not lived long but I’d known tremendous love through my father.

I do not know if my father misunderstood my words, or simply could not stand to let me die, so he turned to the Reaper and said, “I agree to your terms.” He stepped aside and the Reaper touched my forehead and my body exploded in pain. My veins were on fire with pain so extreme that darkness took me away. When I awoke, I found I could breath – I was alive. I wasn’t sick. But I could see the souls of people shimmering around them.

The first soul I would Reap would be that of my father’s. As the Reaper had said, my father had spent so much time and energy fighting for me – that he had become ill and passed away. I escorted his soul to the afterlife.

And now I am the man, cursed to walk between life and death.

[Tawmis]

https://forums.giantitp.com/showthread. ... st25802959

My condolences about your husky. I really enjoy the backstory you wrote up for Galausitha. Could I ask you for another one?
I'm thinking about a wholesome character backstory about bonding with beasts, especially the quirky beasts of the Feywild. However, the character should not be naive about the difficulties of living or dying within Toril. I'm going to be playing with the Tamer class of the recently released "Heliana's Guide to Monster Hunting". It's basically Pokemon, though the PC is also a half-caster. The character is going to be a Sorcerer (Lunar) 1 / Tamer (Leader) X, starting at level three or four. Likely, the first pet he'll get will be an owlbear that has to do with the sun. It seems to me that this matches well with the Sacred Flame buff and the lunar theme of the sorcerer subclass. Maybe there's a story there?
For his name, I'm thinking of Opsimos (or Ops for short). Ops believes in Oberon and is Chaotic Good (since I always gravitate towards CG). Bonus points if you find a decent reason for him to greed after shiny, powerful stuff. Other than that, feel free to invent everything you wish.
Thank you very much in advance!

Thank you, for the comment about Odin. He's everywhere I look (he's my wallpaper on my computer, phone, etc.) - so he's always around me. <3

As for the character - so I don't have the "Heliana's Guide to Monster Hunting" - so I have no idea what the Tamer class can do. I did find a free preview PDF, but it doesn't cover the classes. Just some general adventures, monsters, weapons and spells it introduces. So I kept kind away from going into what a Tamer can can do - and focused on how you became a (Lunar) Sorcerer - and how that led to your ability to form a bond with animals - specifically Fey ones at first. I did give a reference to the greed of shiny (you could say it was a habit after dealing with the creature I mentioned) that your character now has a quirk about "hiding" it (being mistaken for geed). I did make reference to a specific type of Owlbear that is in "Heliana's Guide to Monster Hunting" - from what I saw, but also noted your character was familiar with owlbears.

The name for the "fey ferret" - "huron" is "ferret" in Spanish without the accent mark.

I enjoyed writing this - and doing something different as to how you became imbued with magic - rather than the standard "sorcerer" (someone in your bloodline ....)

Hope you enjoy! I'd love to hear feedback (it helps me!) and also keeps this thread bumped and alive!

Enjoy!
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Living in the small hamlet of Eversky was quite easy – and very uneventful. Eversky was named for such because of the beautiful, large reflective lakes that surround our hamlet, giving the appearance that – the hamlet – located on a small patch of land between all these lakes – appears, on sunny days, to always be floating in the skies.

Primarily a place where people either made their living fishing in the abundant lakes, or going out and gathering herbs; life rarely veered off from these two tasks for the people of Eversky.

I was five years old when I’d been watching a lunar eclipse just outside of the small forest around Eversky. Without warning – a portal had suddenly appeared on the tree behind me – and an Elven wizard by the name of Dallarius Silvermane sprung from the portal with such speed and force, he had toppled over me, his limp body rolled to the side, pale in color – paler so, as the moon’s white light from the eclipse seemed to shine down and look at me, as if Selune herself, expected me to do something!

I sat up and looked at the tree that he seemingly stepped out of – and a wave of energy washed over me from the portal beyond. In a panic ran back to Eversky to report what I’d just seen. As the people rushed to follow me, when they got there they glanced at one another, almost as if unsure what to do – until someone shouted he needed medical attention – and the people sprang into action, clearing out a space in one of the homes while gathering herbs and potions to give to Dallarius.

The following morning I’d been violently sick. Three days later, when Dallarius was able to stand with the use of a cane he had asked The Keeper, who it was that had found him. When he was directed to me, he came to me and asked how I’d been feeling. When I explained I’d been sick the last few days since finding him – his face looked grim. He then sat me down and explained how he’d been fleeing from a Coven of Hags in the Feywild known as the Circle of the Serpent – their emblem a serpent in a circle devouring its own tail. He went on to explain that I had inadvertently been exposed to a large dose of Fey Magic when the portal opened and that I may begin seeing magical abilities manifesting. This, despite my young age, seemed absolutely ridiculous. Even I knew, in this small hamlet village, that wizards needed to go to schools and study and learn. It took years to master even the simplest of spells.

That’s when Dallarius explained there are those who turn to exterior forces; known as Warlocks, to gain their powers from a patron they worship and that there are those who have magic in their blood line, or such as my case, exposed to a very powerful dose of magic, that it becomes inherit within the person, and they become the vessel for the magic flowing through them.

I did not believe him; even after a week of him trying to convince me to go with him to train the magic that was now flowing through me from the Feywild. But the next full moon – I could feel it. My body surged with incredible energy and I found myself wandering aimlessly – but finding my way back to the tree in which Dallarius had come out of. Under the visage of the full moon’s light I could see the tree had a rippling effect around it – and I could see inside. Another world existed – exactly as Dallarius had described it – vibrant and colorful. I found myself coming here every full moon – and eventually small animals from this Feywild also breached this portal. Dallarius’ dimension door, as he called it, had created a permanent ripple between the Prime Material Plane and the Feywild. Though, despite my best efforts, I was not able to enter the ripple – the animals of the Fey could exit and return through it.

One of these creatures I’d seen quite a bit and found quite amusing was one known as a “huron” – they’re similar to the ferrets of the Forgotten Realms; however, they seemed to possess quite a bit of intelligence and had an uncontrollable craving to take anything that was shiny. I am not sure if this was because of their heightened intelligence and understanding the value of things or some natural interest they had in all things shiny. This instinctively made me begin to pick up and hide everything shiny from them as they continued to drag these items back to the Fey Realm with them and I had no way of retrieving them once this was done.

Another magnificent creature I encountered was a beast known as a suneater owlbear. They appeared to be like the Forgotten Realms owlbears in their structure and size; but rather than brown coats, they were purple, and yellow and orange. Their name came from when they opened their mouth, inside it was yellow, and their throats were small slits, giving the yellow appearance of the sun; but more importantly, this, I would learn, was a defense mechanism for the suneaster owlbear, because when they opened their mouths wide – it takes on the appearance of a floating eye – a dangerous monster in the Fey known as an Observer, similar to how Beholders look.

It’s now been sixteen years since that event. I’d grown quite accustomed to handling fey creatures all those years I’d lived in Eversky. Perhaps they felt safe with me – I felt familiar – who they saw the Fey magic aurora around my body, just as Dallarius had told me all those years ago.

I’d not only earned a name for myself as someone who could handle beasts of all kinds, I’d also made a job of it as well. Now, I wanted to see the rest of the world – and see what wonderful beasts I’d not yet seen… and perhaps one day, find a way into the Fey Realm itself…

[Tawmis]

From:
https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... count=1124

Name: Wisp
Race: Firbolg
Class: Monk - Way of Mercy/Yin Yang (Laserllama homebrew alternate)
Background - Outlander
Characteristics
> Personality - I'm always picking things up, absently fiddling with them, and sometimes accidentally breaking them.
> Idea - Change. Life is like the seasons, in constant change, and we must change with it
> Bond - ? (will develop in the campaign?)
> Flaws - I remember every insult I've received and nurse a silent resentment toward anyone who's ever wronged me.
Backstory idea/details
Wisp used to be in a Firbolg Monk Monastery. Sometime later, an elder in the Monastery kicked me out for being gay and then he tried living off scraps before he joined a group of adventurers trying to hunt down some pirates for their first quest together
I do have an issue on why Wisp continues to follow the way of the monks that rejected him that was brought up by a friend and the DM. I would say that Wisp still see good in the Way of the Yin Yang, just maybe not the people?
His main weapon is his fans (like Kitana from Mortal Kombat), that is infused with Sapphire draconic magic

Notes:
Addressing the concern your friend and DM had - and also, I wasn't enjoying the idea of these people (Monks) who are traditionally - love and peace for those with good hearts - kicking you out simply because your character was gay... found an answer without losing the idea of your character gay, or the reason for your departure... read on to see if it works with you...

Found the homebrew that LaserLlama posted: https://www.gmbinder.com/share/-MhGHvc1sNLoUrISINrV
The Forest Giants mentioned; there’s never been forest giants (officially) in D&D (that I can remember) – but I’ve always had Forest Giants in my game. Similar to “Sand Giants” (which are giants out in the desert). So if your DM wants to do something with the whole “Forest Giant” thing I set up, they can, or just leave it as is. (I did, while writing this – wonder if someone has made a 5e version of “Forest Giants” – and the internet never disappoints – found this, in case you want to pass it to your DM: https://dmdave.com/forest-giants/ )
The human, from the Order, whom you develop feelings for – their name is “Amante” which is “lover” in Spanish.
The name of the Sapphire dragon magic essence is named “Zafiro” which is Spanish for Sapphire.
Since you mentioned Kitana, I simply had to also make a Mileena reference (though it’s rather subtle, but you will know it when you see it if you’re a Mortal Kombat fan).
The Master of the monetary is Master Sabiduría though I removed the accent mark over the “i” – the word means “Wisdom” in Spanish.
The Order member named “Espíritu” (once again removing the accent over the “i”) means “Spirit” in Spanish.

Anyway, here it all is... please let me know, by replying to this thread - if this works. If you liked it, etc.
All of it, helps create backgrounds for people, but also gives me reasons to write and be creative, because I am taking samplings of what people want and fleshing it out - and love hearing what worked and what didn't. It helps me so much.
Anyway...
Enjoy!
================================



I never truly knew who my parents were. What I’ve been told is that I was left at the doorstep of a Monastery and taken in by this order; the Order of Yin Yang. When I was found, I was an infant, bundled in a “blanket” woven from vines and leaves. The Order named me “Wisp” because I looked like a small bundle inside the woven vines and leaves.

I grew up in the Order; however, I had always felt like an outside. The Order was primarily humans, while I was something – according to the Order – known as a “Firbolg.” They explained to me, that my people – the Firbolg’s – were distant relatives to the giants, from ages long ago, specifically, from a race of giants known as Forest Giants, who have not been seen now for ages.

As I grew to be a teen, the Order began to train me to officially become one of their Order members. They told me that I must seek Balance in all things, and that should I continue the training, I will be able to manipulate mystical abilities to do such wonderful things as heal, cure diseases, and break curses.

Something else happened, when I grew to be a teen – I began to develop an attraction to a human named Amante. He was a teenager, like me, and I longed for the days I would get to practice with him. I had not told him how I felt, but even as he threw me on the ground, I just loved that his arms were around me for those brief moments as he balanced me across his hip and laid me on the floor during our practice sessions together.

Often times, when Amante would extend his hand to help me up after a hip throw, I would take his hand and stand, my face and lips close to his. Amante always smiled at me, but I wasn’t sure he’d felt the way I felt for him.

I’d reached the First Circle within the Order, which designated me a weapon to master. As I looked over them, the War Fans had caught my eyes and that’s what I picked. I learned that the War Fans once belonged to a previous member of the Order who’d fallen in battle – and that this warrior had been fighting a lich, who’d sought to extend his life. The story says that this Order’s dragon, whom he’d bonded with – a Sapphire Dragon, who like him, believed in the balance of all things, had given its life essence to the War Fans to help his bonded rider defeat the Lich. While the Order member had indeed defeated the Lich, it’d cost him his own life.

The story is that the dragon’s essence – named Zafiro – still lingered in the war fans, but so far none who bore the weapons had ever managed to awaken him. It’s unknown that perhaps, after his own master perished, if Zafiro too passed on leaving the weapons, or if Zafiro is merely waiting for someone worthy to bond himself with.

Amante had also reached the First Circle, and he’d chosen a pair of Sais that he had wanted to master. The Sais gave him the ability to teleport short distances, which Amante mastered quickly, while I had trouble learning how to use the war fans.

It’d been several weeks of training in the First Circle, when Amante and I were sitting on the grass field, admiring the serenity of the garden. I turned to him and said, “You are quite good with the Sais and mastering how they allow you to teleport.”

Amante blushed. “You will soon master the war fans, Wisp. I believe in you.”

I paused, thinking. “I am glad someone believes in me. Since they told me about the spirit in the war fans, I’ve tried everything to ‘awaken’ it. I want to show the Order that I am worthy.”

“If you were not worthy,” Amante smiled, “they would not have trained you long enough to reach the First Circle. They see good in you, Wisp, just as I do.”

“Do you,” I started, paused, tumbled over in my thoughts, wondering if I should finish the question, before simply blurting out, “see anything else in me?”

Amante looked puzzled, unsure of what I’d meant. My cheeks turned as orange as the sunset before us, thankful to be able to blame the sun for the sudden rush of color to my cheeks. “I see many things about you, Wisp. You are different than the rest of us, but your heart is aligned with ours.”

“Speaking of the heart,” I started. Why was I doing this? What am I doing? The not knowing was certainly worse than finally getting an answer. “I care for you, Amante. Deeply.”

“As I do for you,” Amante replied, patting me on the back.

“No,” I persisted, “I mean, very deeply. I’ve lain in my bed, alone, wondering what you were doing. What you were thinking.” I leaned in to kiss Amante on his beautiful lips – and tasted, ever so briefly, his upon mine, before he suddenly leapt to his feet.

“Wisp,” he whispered, with a bow, “I am sorry, but I can not pursue this. I am here to strengthen my spirit and soul. I fear that pursuing what you would want of me, despite what I may feel, would be a distraction from my goal.”

I stood up and stammered over the words – looking for a way to apologize, to reverse what I’d done – but nothing seemed adequate. Amante bowed one more time and excused himself quickly running off. I stared after him wondering if I’d ruined everything.

The knock on my door within the Monastery the following day was answered with dread. As I had suspected, it was Master Sabiduria. “You have reached the First Circle of the Order,” he said, bowing deeply. “And now, you must go.”

“Are you kicking me out because of what happened between Amante and I?” I asked, standing up.

“I do not know of what you speak,” Master Sabiduria replied. I stared at him for a moment, staring deep into his eyes – he was telling the truth. “If something happened between you and Amante, he’s told me nothing of it. Is there something I should know?”

I shook my head. “Nothing, Master Sabiduria,” I replied. I cleared my throat, “May I ask why I am being told to go? Others who have reached the First Circle have not been asked to leave.”

“Not all who reach the First Circle are asked to leave,” Master Sabiduria confessed, “however, I had a vision last night. Long have we wondered why none who have selected the war fans, supposedly imbued with the essence of Zafiro, the Sapphire Dragon, have been able to awaken it and my vision last night may have provided me an answer. You see, Zafiro’s bonded Order member, Espiritu, left the Order after he’d reached the First Circle. He’d believed he’d learned what he could about the balance – but felt that the true fight was beyond our walls. In doing so, he met many people, encountered both good and bad – and eventually met Zafiro, the Sapphire Dragon, whom he’d bonded with. I wonder if Zafiro has never awakened since his first bonded partner because Zafiro has been stuck in these walls. Zafiro, perhaps like his bonded Order member, Espiritu, needs adventure to be awakened. I sense a longing in you to discover who you are and where you come from. Perhaps, in finding yourself, Zafiro too will awaken for you.”

I took what few belongings I’d managed to gather – and was surprised when Amante was standing at the gate. He ran up to me and embraced me stronger than he’d ever had before and I heard him sobbing, saying, “I truly wish you did not have to go, Wisp. You have been a terrific friend to me and a wonderful sparring partner. I promise you, I said nothing to no one.”

Somehow, everything felt right. I hugged him close, “I am not leaving because of you or anything like that. Master Sabiduria believes my destiny lies beyond these walls, and I am going to see if he is right. If he is not, I promise to return.”

Though Amante and I did not become the lovers I’d longed for us to be; to know he cared for me so deeply as to say farewell and shed tears for me, had somehow soothed my heart. My greatest fear last night was that at most I’d lost a lover, at worse; I’d lost a close friend.

I was surprised how quickly I adapted to being able to survive on my own in the woods; Master Sabiduria had mentioned that my people – the Firbolg – were once some form of descendants against a long, thought to be extinct race, of Forest Giants, and perhaps that’s why. Here in the woods, it had awakened that ability within me. I discovered the animals and plants seemed to respond to my voice as if they understood me, though I could not understand them. It’d provided some form of company, but I was still, despite adapting well, feeling lonely.

That’s when I heard a voice inside of my head speak to me. “You are not alone, child of the woods,” it said, “my name is Zafiro, and I am with you.”

I was shocked. I nearly stumbled backwards falling over a tree trunk in shock and awe, away from the war fans initially. I stared at them from the safety of hiding behind the tree stump.

“Do not be afraid, child of the woods,” it assured me, “I have waited long for someone to have the heart that you do – it reminds me much of the first mortal I’d bonded with, Espiritu. You seek to find out who you are, and to do so we should venture forward. There is darkness and light in the world, and those who would do great evil. Together, we must fight such evils. Stay true to that, and I will always be here with you.” With Zafiro awakened, I found that using the war fans came much easier, as if Zafiro’s essence was helping me – awakened, at long last.

I found a road and followed it, which took me to a city. It would be there, that I had overheard others about putting an end to some pirates – that seemed a good place as any to begin this quest to drive the darkness out of the world – and perhaps, by the end, find out more about who and what I am.

[Tawmis]

From: https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... count=1128

I always have general ideas with I want my characters to be but I can never get them to any level of satisfying detail:frown:
Name: Rouke Enstone
Race: Centaur
Class: Cleric - Twilight Cleric
Background - Sage???
Personality Traits - I wanted him to have child-like innocence to him like a "Kid wanting to be an Astronaut" kind of feel
Ideals - To Rise. To be able to reach for the glittering gold and the giant wheel of cheese in the night sky.
Bonds - Rouke loves the cliffs that hang over his hometown, not because it has an amazing view of the valley below but because of how it shows the great celestial bodies hanging above.
Flaws – Always looking skyward, that he tends to cease watching where he’s going. Doesn’t do well when he can’t see the sky (such as in caves)

Backstory:
Rouke is the adopted child of a pair of small folk (Gnome mother/Dwarf Father) and was taught by his astrologist mother about the great celestial bodies that hand in the night sky. Rouke makes it his mission to cross beyond the sky and leave his mark among the stars.
The only problems I have with the characters is how he got his powers. Now while I understand that the following ideas are more along what warlocks are like, I wanted his patron to either be a dying star (not a literal dying star but a flickering ball of light the size of a fist) to float towards Rouke's corner of the universe or the concept of space giving its blessing to Rouke for some reason or another (not a god but a literal concept of all things space and stars being like "this is guy is ambitious, let’s give him some pizzazz). Go ham on another idea if you want because the longer I think about those previous 2 ideas, the dumber they sound to me.
Thanks again for any help you can give me.
P.S. The only reason the father is a dwarf is to make a reference to a phrase used a lot in the game "Deep Rock Galactic" (Rouke Enstone/ Rock and Stone). Not sure if this help in the creative process but I just like my dumb references.

This one came pretty easy to write to me... and I certainly kept on going.
I enjoyed creating the father and mother figures...
And felt very connected to how much they cared... though most of it focuses on the mother...
The father's side is seen through her...
And I added a flaw (two, but either or both could work) based on this whole idea...
And included the idea of drawing power from a star and how it all ties in.
I'd love to hear ANY feedback you have!
Not only does it help ME as a creative person always striving and enjoying these writing challenges...
But it also helps keep the thread bumped and alive for others to see and hopefully request things...
And thus keep giving me things to write about!
Enjoy!
=======================


“Ye can’t be fillin’ the lad’s head with this nonsense,” the dwarf with the fiery red beard shouted as he threw his arms up in frustration. That’s my father, Rex Amberbeard. The beautiful woman next to him, a gnome with golden locks of hair, in perfectly spun curls, down to her waist is my mother, Anna Amberbeard. My father was a former Mountain Dwarf – I say former, because when he met the woman who would be my mother, Anna, who was a Forest Gnome and she’d captured his heart completely. He lost honor with his clan to be with Anna – but to him, that didn’t even give him a moment to pause. He knew he’d wanted to be with Anna the moment he saw her, no matter the cost.

Now, you might wonder – if my father is a Mountain Dwarf and my mother a Forest Gnome – what kind of person was I? Dwarf? Gnome? A mixture of some kind?

I am neither.

I am actually a Centaur. No, no. Before you ask, a Mountain Dwarf and a Forest Gnome mating is not how Centaurs are brought into this world. Truth be told, I was found, wounded, wandering aimlessly, with no true memory of how I’d come to be there. I have vague memories of human bandits attack my birth parents and I – but even with what I could remember, when Rex and Anna searched the area, they found no evidence of my parents, bandits, or even any kind of battle.

They accepted me as their own, explaining that they would be more than happy to help care for me, until the day my true parents came for me, if they did. That was about sixteen years ago and there’s been no sign of my true birth parents, and so I simply began calling Rex my father and Anna my mother, and they have always embraced me as their son.

My mother, Anna, had been telling me about the Constellations again, when my father had thrown his arms up in the air calling all of this nonsense. But my mother, who was a Forest Gnome, said she’d always kept her eye on the stars – and that some nights, when she was young, she would climb the highest tree she could find just to be as close as she could to the stars, and sleep on a branch and dream what it would be like to be among the stars and hear the voices of the gods.

She’d told me that she knew that Rex and she were fated to be married; she pointed out a small star in the heavens and explained that when she was born, according to her own mother, who also loved the stars as she had, it had been the brightest star in all the heavens – and my mother’s mother had said that it was ‘her star.’ And so night after night, my mother Anna, in her youth watched that star more closely than any star in the heavens. When that star had passed through the Constellation known as ‘The Great Forge’ – another star seemed to follow her star after passing through the ‘Great Forge’ constellation and she took it that a dwarf, whose deity was responsible for the great forge, would come to her… and within one week, Rex who had gone out of his Mountain home for trading with the surface had collided, quite literally, into Anna – and could not take his eyes off of her. This gruff dwarf was stunned into silence, and when he had spoken, he stammered over his words, like someone just beginning to learn how to speak.

My mother, Anna, was showing me how recently a third star had seemingly emerged next to her star, and the star she called Rex’s – and she believed that the third star represented me. It’d appeared several years after I’d come into Rex and Anna’s life, but she was confident that my own star had emerged. She believed that the star had remained hidden until I truly felt safe; and it’s true, while I had always felt loved and protected by Rex and Anna, there was always a doubt that the mysterious bandits might find me… and truly, after so long, I feared that my own birth parents might appear and take me away from Rex and Anna. I’d finally felt safe with them, and it was a week after, that the third star had emerged.

Anna taught me about the gods and how they were in the constellation and stars; and began to show me her priestly rituals to speak to the gods; and I quickly embraced it. One night, while she and I had been observing the stars, Anna pointed, “Do you notice how the third star, these last few weeks has been moving slowly away from the other two?”

I looked up and could see that the third star had indeed moved ever so slightly away, based on the other constellations. I looked at Anna, “What do you suppose that means?”

“We are all a part of the wheel that spins,” my mother explained. “However, sometimes, the vehicle must travel its own path and forge new roads.” She paused and looked at me. “I believe the stars tell us that soon you will be on your own path; away from Rex and I.”

“I don’t want to be away from you and father,” I protested.

Anna smiled, though tears brimmed in her eyes. “I do not want you to leave either. But,” she said as she wiped her tears with the back of her sleeve. “Your past, the bandits, your parents, though you’ve accepted your place with Rex and I, just as we’ve accepted you – there’s something there that needs to be answered. Who were the bandits? Why had they attacked? What happened to your parents? You may bury them in yourself – but just like the earth,” she grabbed a handful of dirt and squeezed, so that the dirt left her hands and when she opened her hands, only small stones remained. “Those questions will always remain inside of you like these stones. You must answer them. Grind the stone down to dust, as Rex would say.”

“I am not ready to travel alone,” I whispered.

“Alone?” Anna laughed and cried at the same time. “You will never be alone, my son. Your father and I are always here,” she said as she placed her tiny hand on my chest, just above my heart. “And,” she looked up, “I believe the star will always be with you – a vigilant eye with whom you will draw your power.”

She swallowed and finally said, “And besides, like the moon and the sun, how they cycle, ever chasing one another; your star will find its way back to the stars that represent your father and I, and on that day, you too, will find your way home back to us, once you have all of the answers your heart truly seeks to know.”

She then nudged me and pointed, “Do you see? Look – see the faint other stars around yours now? They’re barely visible. I believe you will find companions who will travel with you and aid you in your quest, just as you will aid them.”

[Tawmis]

https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... count=1132

Hello Tawmis, I appreciate the effort. I have a general 'concept' but can't come up with an actual story.
Cleft (male), Variant Human, MC (Infiltrator Armorer (artificer), SoulKnife (rogue)).
Used to get extreme migraines as a kid and had visions of weird places and societies both past and future (explaining psionics). Due to the severity and frequency, a lot of gaps in memory of childhood, adolescence, and early adulthood where they all but ceased. Character knew they grew up in several homes, but doesn't remember much about the people they lived with. Character remembers faces of people they've interacted with in the past, but as time goes on less and less about what they were doing or where they were exactly. Character is arcane but supremely adverse to magic as they don't understand it. In reality, they're casting spells, but its tied to what's around them (mixing and boiling herbs, casting cure wounds, thinking it's the drink or going trance-like for mage hand and not believing an actual hand was there, just rolling with the fortunate results). Character became interested in blacksmithing and engineering (explaining artificer), using what was around them to mimic what they remembered from those visions from. They were successful enough to be accepted to a smithing guild at some point, they had a letter somewhere to prove it. One day they'll remember where they put it. Due to the amnesia effects, character gets lost in the details all the time. Focus' so much on trying to identify differences in the trees, forgets they're in a forest. Becomes very single-minded which is regarded as extreme laziness, led to being kicked out of the guild because they just worked on their own projects and lapsed in contribution to the guild. Horrible with small-talk or picking up on body queues, much less interpreting them.
Personality Trait - Any solution which requires the least effort should be considered.
Ideals - I never run the same con twice.
Bonds - I'm trying to pay off an old debt I owe to a generous benefactor.
Flaws - If there's a plan, I'll forget it. If I don't forget it, I'll ignore it.[/SPOILER]
Hoping you can help! Feel free to take artistic liberties wherever you want, It'll be interesting if it inspires something completely different.

They call it the Eternal Night – the rare occurrence when there is a lunar eclipse during the winter solstice. It’s often celebrated by the people of the world – to show courage against the darkness that washes over the world.

The people of Palmhaven lived on a secluded island, in a small hamlet, near the base of the Greystone Mountains. During the event of the Eternal Night – something terrible came to the hamlet of Palmhaven. Humanoid creatures that were things of nightmares and they were there for slaves and food – and the people of Palmhaven met both of those criteria.

The people of Palmhaven were aware of these creatures – they called them “Mind Flayers” – the rest of the educated world called them “Illithid.” In a single moment of terror, the entire hamlet of Palmhaven had disappeared, pulled into the darkness beneath Greystone Mountain. The fortunate ones were devoured early, others were made into slaves, and the young, such as myself, were “experimented” upon by the Mind Flayers.

One of the women, Belleza Astucia, had managed to trick one of the Illithid into loosening her bonds; and with that, she was able to escape – grabbing a random child – that happened to be me, and run blindly through the Greystone caves. Remarkably, she found her way out of the caves by following the blood of her fellow villagers that decorated the floor from the night that’d all been dragged in. Once she reached the surface, she fled, holding me tightly until she reached another hamlet called Windbrook where she explained what had happened to the people of Palmhaven. It so happened that a wizard by the name of Adnaflag Panil Mereaj (though she simply went by “Mereaj” pronounced “Mirage”) took an interest to the story as she listened closely to Belleza’s story.

Mereaj ask Belleza why she’d only grabbed the infant boy, and not simply fled; Belleza explained that the Illithid had been experiment on the children and she knew she could only save one. She’d named the boy “Chasm” because in truth, she did not know which infant she saved – and named him after the darkness from which he’d been pulled. Mereaj sensed that the experience the Illithid had done had a drastic effect on the child’s energy and aurora and offered to care for the boy. Belleza, who was in no condition herself to tend to the boy, was thankful. Mereaj would take “Chasm” to the main land and introduce him as “Cleft” instead, borrowing from the name that Belleza had used, as to avoid explaining why the young infant was named “Chasm.”

Over the years, Mereaj had treated Cleft as her own child – and soon, those who got to know Mereaj assumed that the boy had indeed been her son. When Cleft reached the age of five, he began to suffer extreme and rehabilitating migraines that would leave him in the fetal position. Desperate to help Cleft, Mereaj began researching more and more about the Illithid – but information was difficult to come by, due to how elusive they were and how dangerous it was to even go to where they’re found – and the Illithid were never taken alive, making learning about them and their culture extremely difficult.

The migraines that Cleft suffered continued for years as Mereaj searched desperately for a cure. He’d been sixteen and out with Mereaj, walking the streets when they had passed a blacksmith and Mereaj took notice how, for the first time, Cleft seemed at peace. She stopped and walked back to Cleft asking why he’d looked so peaceful suddenly.

Cleft looked at the blacksmith who was hammering away at forging a sword and said, matter-of-factly, “It’s weird. The noise of the anvil and hammer seems to negate my migraine in my head.”

This did not make sense Mereaj – if anything, the loud thundering noise should make it worse. But this had given her an idea. She looked at the blacksmith, “Excuse me, sir,” she said politely. “Could you use a striker?” The blacksmith looked up from the forging of the blade, wiped his brow, and looked between Mereaj and Cleft.

“The boy looks like he could use some muscle. Sure,” the human laughed, “bring him on over here.” Cleft walked around, and the blacksmith who introduced himself as Oakhammer, instructed Cleft on how to be a blacksmith striker. Mereaj watched and could not help but feel the tears brim in her eyes, stinging the corners, as she tried to fight them back – seeing Cleft truly smiling and happy. When Mereaj had come back to Oakhammer to pick him, Cleft was exhausted; but Oakhammer complimented the boy’s dedication and said he’d love to see him back again. When Cleft got home, he collapsed immediately, too exhausted to even realize his migraine had been waiting for him; and so Mereaj found a cure – in a roundabout way. Day after day, Cleft would get up, eager to go to Oakhammer and begin helping – the rhythmic pounding, somehow keeping his migraines away, and day after day, Cleft was learning more and more from Oakhammer.

As the months went by, it was getting increasingly more difficult for these sessions to tire out Cleft, though he was seemingly able to keep his migraines in check. One night, at dinner with Mereaj, Cleft asked, “What do you know about the Illithid? For some reason, I remember being in a pod, where the Illithid were tampering with me – and a woman, her name was Belleza rescued me. Though, I don’t know why – as she wasn’t my mother. I can’t even remember my mother or father. But I remember the gel-pod very clearly, as well as Belleza’s face.”

Mereaj’s mouth was agape, her hand half way between the table and the destination of her mouth. How had Cleft remembered, in such detail the gel-pod, the Illithid and Belleza’s name and her looks – Mereaj had never spoke of it, nor has anyone else – for it’d been eighteen years, and all the connections Cleft had with his small island where he’d come from were long gone. Mereaj cleared her throat, “How is it you remember this memory?”

Cleft shrugged. “I was at the forge today, and one of the sparks, it reminded me of something, and then it all came back.”

“You were an infant then, barely three months old, how could you remember so much detail?” Mereaj asked, though it’d been rhetorical. That night Mereaj shared with Cleft all she’d known about the boy and that dreadful night and how he’d come into Mereaj’s care.

It’d been two weeks after Cleft had asked that question of Mereaj where Cleft’s life took another strange twist. While with Oakhammer, the human blacksmith explained he wanted Cleft to have his own hand in forging – and explained that Cleft should envision how this weapon would look in his hand – he explained the balance, the hilt, and how all of it was a delicate process to make the perfect weapon. Cleft closed his eyes and envisioned this dagger that Oakhammer was going to let him forge; when he heard a started yelp from the burly man. Cleft opened his eyes, and to his surprise saw a glowing blue dagger coming out from the back of his hand.

Oakhammer immediately fetched Mereaj as Cleft was beginning to panic at the sight of this ethereal dagger that he could not get rid of. Mereaj came rushing over and saw this glowing blade that seemed to come out from the top of Cleft’s wrist. “A psychic blade,” she whispered in awe. Few whom Mereaj encountered had the ability to unlock the potential psionic that exists in all people; locked away in the potential of the brain behind a million doors with a million different keys. She wrapped her arm around Cleft and calmed him down.

Despite Cleft’s unusual ability, Oakhammer was eager to have him back and do further training. He soon discovered that day when the “psychic blade” as Mereaj had called it emerged from his fist Cleft had also gone through a change. Whatever had awakened inside of him had also made him feel disconnected. He was no longer the same engaging person – he began tinkering with things and wiring things together from the scraps from the blacksmith’s forge. Rather than engaging with the customers, he was often getting so focused on the minute details that people would often wander off.

When Oakhammer expressed this to Mereaj, she knew what had happened. When he summoned that “psychic blade” – it opened up Cleft’s mind to everything. He was now seeing the world in brand new details and he was, undoubtedly, whether he knew it or not, perhaps one of the most intelligent people on the continent. The experiments the Illithid had done on Cleft as an infant were now bearing fruit.

Though Oakhammer continued to have Cleft help, and even forge some of his own things, Cleft often veered off the plans that Oakhammer had laid out, causing delays in customer requests, as Cleft made weapons and armor that varied than what was requested – simply to see what the outcome would be. With that, Oakhammer had to eventually speak with Mereaj about Cleft’s behavior and released him from working with Oakhammer.

Cleft could tell he was different than everyone else – he took what he learned from Oakhammer, in making weapons – especially armor – and with a glance at his “psychic blade” thanked Mereaj for all the love and support she’d given him – and packed his bags and set out for the world. There was something out there, he was sure of it, and he wanted to find it. He just wasn’t sure what that “it” was.

[Tawmis]

https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... count=1138

Hey man I need a backstory for a lvl 1 Tiefling rogue name Damon Salazar age 22 height and weight 5'11" and 140 I want my parents to be alive
Animal Master - It's a little background that has a feat called creature tamer and it says I have advantage on animal handling checks when handling any sized creatures. Additionally, I can add my proficiency bonus to animal handling made to ward off animals I have seen before

Had a quick moment during lunch at work to write something up!
It's pretty short (cranked it out in the last 15 minutes of my lunch).
Found a way to explain your animal master ability and your rogue ability...
And make it all logically fit.
Let me know what you think!
Comments not only help know if I am doing good or not, but also bumps the thread and keeps it alive.
Enjoy!
==============================

I have traveled much of the world, ever since I was a child – the benefit of perhaps growing up in a traveling circus. My parents, both human – Elaran and Teila Salazar – have always loved me and shown me the greatest amount of love. But they also showed me that those in the Circus with us, were all a part of the family as well.

Though most called us “gypsies” as if that were some form of slander, the people still could not resist coming to the Circus. We had exotic animals, fortune tellers, games, and shows that captured the imagination of those who came to the show.

My mother and father were animal handlers, and while no one ever seemed initially impressed when they brought out a polar bear or a sabretooth tiger – when they brought out the manticore that they’d tamed – the crowd would go silent – undoubtedly both in awe and utter fear that the manticore would break hold and attack anyone who shattered the concentration of my parents handling the monstrosity.

My mother, who was a well-versed Druid as well, would often use her ability to Conjure Animals, and began training me on how to approach various animals. First it was with hawks, then ravens, then rats, axe beaks, wolves, black bears, and finally sabretooth tigers. It wasn’t easy – all too often I had scared the animal away or gotten clawed or bitten for doing it wrong. But failure and pain are often the best teachers to ensure it doesn’t happen again. Over time, I too, learned how to handle various animals and how to approach each one.

My father on the other hand, was quite… quick at helping himself. He showed me how to pick the pockets of people – and he explained to me that while they were doing the show – that I was to go under the wooden bleachers that were set up and learn to pick the pockets of the people who were in attendance. He always told me that it wasn’t very important – and far more dangerous – but to never take someone’s entire coin purse. Only remove a few coins from each one – so that they will never be truly sure if the coins were misplaced – an entire coin purse gone raises too much suspicion.

And so I grew up in the circus for 22 years of my life; until I had told my parents I had seen much of the world traveling with the circus – but it was always by where the circus was headed next – and that I was old enough and curious enough – to now set out on my own and see the world by my own will rather than by the circus.

My parents were both sad and disappointed, but they could see that even though the Circus was full of various – what people might call “freaks” – as a Tiefling, I wanted to go out and see the world and find my own place, and perhaps one day return to the Circus.

[Tawmis]

https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... count=1142

Hey there again, Tawmis! Could you help me once again create a backstory?
My new group I play with needs some support in the mix and I was thinking of playing a bard for the first time... However, I'm known for liking to deal my fair share of damage with past characters, so I'm thinking of going with the battle-focused and heroic-sounding College of Valor. The campaign starts off at a local village that has been raided overnight, and its guards are calling for us adventurers to investigate and hunt down the culprits... All I ask is for you to stick with an animalistic race (like the tabaxi or aarakocra), maybe that'll even help spark an idea. I know this isn't much to go off of, but I encourage you to get creative and fill in the blanks... Let me know if you need any more suggestions, I look forward to seeing what you think up this time! :smallbiggrin:

Some fun notes...
You made no mention of a name, so I named him Tahlewse (which, naturally, you're free to change)...
One might think I am a fan of France, or the painter/artist Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec... both incorrect. (I have nothing against either, to be clear!)
If you were to say, "Ah ha. Are you a fan of that old Disney cartoon - Aristocats?" I'd then say yes.
For my orange tabby, Toulouse, was named after the orange tabby in the cartoon (which in turn, was named after the painter).
Toulouse was an amazing cat who lived for 17 years, and absolutely LOVED everyone.
So the idea of writing a Tabaxi, I couldn't resist giving a nod to my cat who is no longer with us.
He also has a bit of "Puss'n'Boots" attitude; probably because my Toulouse was an orange tabby, and so I could envision a bit of Puss'n'Boots as I was writing this.
Anyway, again, change whatever is needed! But hope the core of it works!
As always, would love feedback - it helps me and keeps the thread bumped and alive!
Enjoy!
========================

Tahlewse was a tabaxi bard who was quickly earning quite the reputation. As he strolled into the tavern, an air of confidence swirling around him like a hurricane, he leapt onto a table and strummed the strings of the guitar which he normally kept strapped to his back. “I,” he said, his feline features revealing a smile that looked like a predatory cat who had just corned a mouse, “am going to introduce myself, but it shall not be long before you will soon sing my name alongside the praises of the greatest heroes you’ve ever heard of!”

“My name,” a quick strum of the guitar which captured the attention of the last few people who were not already looking at him, “is Tahlewse – and I have done many great deeds already! Though, until recently, I kept my true identity hidden.” He strummed the guitar loudly, “For you see, when one becomes too popular, one gains many enemies – enemies whose hearts,” the strumming slowed down, became dark and cold, “are filled with jealousy and greed. And now, that fame has followed me, like a murderous shadow – lurking behind me. No matter how fast I run I cannot escape my shadow – except,” he paused, and the crowd leaned forward. He strummed the guitar ever so lightly, “in the darkness of night.”

In truth, the Tabaxi named Tahlewse had just fled from a nearby town due to – in his mind – incorrectly being accused of lifting some gold from one of the drunken patrons who’d been enjoying his show. While he didn’t care for the idea himself of pickpocketing, it was another matter entirely, if he’d just spent the entire night weaving wonderful tales and playing incredible music, and a patron is too drunk to tip him. This is how he made his living after all, telling stories and playing music! Why should someone be able to listen to it all for free and claim they were “too drunk to tip.” Unfortunately the drunk patron had a not so drunk friend who’d seen it all and called out Tahlewse’s behavior.

However, that was last week. Tonight, tonight is what mattered and Tahlewse had the people of this small village eating out of his hand as he played music and told fantastic stories of fantastic adventures – most of them very similar to legends of yesteryear that somehow, Tahlewse, had injected himself into and changed ever so slightly as if to make it sound as if it only happened thirty moons ago. During his performance he heard louds sounds coming from around but thought nothing more of it.

That was until the tavern’s doors suddenly burst open, and a town guard stumbled inside, bleeding profusely and choked, “The village has just been attacked… we are need of heroes…”

Everyone turned towards Tahlewse expectantly. “Son of a…” he muttered, as he slung his guitar over his shoulder and rushed towards the guard.

[Tawmis]

https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... count=1147

Heeeey, I'm back
Name: Zalminar
Race: Half-Elf
Class: Shaman - Wild Heart (Also a Laserllama Class)
Background - Hermit
Characteristics
Personality Traits - I often get lost in my own thoughts and contemplation, becoming oblivious to my surroundings.
Ideals - Self-Knowledge. If you know yourself, there's nothing left to know. (Any)
Bonds - Nothing is more important than the my furry friends in the forest
Flaws - I harbor dark, bloodthirsty thoughts that my isolation and meditation failed to quell.
Details about the Class
Ancient Power
Before the gods took notice of mortals and bestowed power on Clerics and Paladins, Shamans served as protectors and guides. Using ancient techniques, Shamans were able to bind spirits to Totems, small objects of spiritual significance, and channel that power for the good of their people. This ancient art was passed from elder to elder in a continuous chain, down to the Shamans of today. Those who master the powers of shamanism are part of a truly ancient spiritual tradition.
Spiritual Existence
Shamans spend their lives maintaining the delicate balance between the physical mortal world, and the ethereal spiritual world. They are trained to recognize the spirits that dwell in every living thing and use this spiritual sight to protect those they love from sinister spirits who seek to destroy all life.
Sometimes, Shamans will seek out spirits of love and life that willingly bind themselves to Totems so that they may aid the Shaman in their spiritual warfare. Other malevolent and vile spirits are bound to Totems against their will and used by Shamans to help defeat other spirits of destruction.
Wild Heart
Often raised by, or closely with, wild beasts, Shamans known as Wild Hearts develop an intense spiritual connection with the wild. This intense devotion, when combined with spiritual power, allows a Wild Heart to transform into the Great Beast, a legendary guardian of the wild animals of the natural world.
World setting
Both elves and humans see it as a terrible act to have a half-elf child, and as such it is very rare. When one is born, they are often raised by elves who don’t hold it against the half-elf. Humans will distrust you.

Zalminar was shunned from his village/community for being a Half-Elf, it got worse after both his parents died while he was a teen.

Left the village/community to go live in the woods/forest.
> Grew close to the forest animals and learned to live with them
> Learned to be a Shaman self taught. From the totem his parents gave him
> Will be confrontational when met with discrimination
> Very closed off and takes time to trust people
> I imagined the totem to be a medallion

Any time a character's parents, as you had wanted, to perish - that becomes an easy spot to focus on to grow the hero outward from, because it gives an easy life changing moment that says, "This is where the person gains the desire to make a difference."

I enjoyed writing this. I apologize about the long delay. Things in life have been very tense.

Anyway - here it is! Hope you enjoy!
I'd love to hear any comments you have - it's a nice way for me to know what worked, what you liked or didn't like - and it bumps the thread and keeps it alive.
===============================

Zalminar sat in the center of the woods, allowing the natural sounds of the trees swaying in the wind, the birds singing, and the shuffling of rabbits through the brush, wrap around him like a comforting blanket, as he placed his hand on the medallion he wore.

His mother, who had been a Wood Elf, and a Shaman – connected to the land, like a tree to roots, she would say – had been the one who had given him the medallion. Throughout his childhood he was often teased for being a Half-Elf, not welcome among elves or humans alike, simply because he was different than most. His mother had been the one to care for him the most; while his father, a good, hard worker, did all that he could to provide for the family.

Zalminar had lived outside of the town’s limits, closer to the woods, simply because Aesghan was a human town; and the fact that Zalminar’s father had chosen an Elf as a mate and worse, to have laid with her so that she had a half-elf child had been too much for the family. Zalminar’s father suffered the sneers and snarky remarks so that his family would not. Tragedy would however strike and deliver a crushing blow to Zalminar himself. Zalminar had been out in the woods trying to communicate with rabbits as his mother had been teaching him to do – when he saw smoke rising up in the distance in the direction of his home. He began racing back, gripping the medallion his mother had given him, whispering a prayer as he ran – pushing his body beyond its limits, so much so his lungs felt as if they might explode. As he made it to the clearing, he saw his home on fire – and saw that his father’s wagon was near the front. He ran as fast as he could, tears burning his eyes, washing away the ash and soot that was settling on his face but by the time he’d gotten to the wooden cabin, it was a raging inferno and the heat was far too intense.

No one came to help put the fires out from Aesghan, even though Zalminar knew they must have seen the smoke rising just as he had. Zalminar had run back and forth from the lake using the bucket from the back of his father’s wagon, but he knew it was useless; still, he didn’t stop until he collapsed. He awoke the following morning, covering in ash and choking. As he rose to his feet, the skeletal remains of not only his home, but his parents remained inside the flickering, ember, remains of his former home. Zalminar tried to tell himself that this fire wasn’t intentionally set by someone from Aesghan, that despite their dislike, they would not stoop this far.

Zalminar pondered vengeance against the people Aesghan; but he had no evidence this fire was intentionally set by one of them, and if he had, he had no idea who in the town had done it. Zalminar, still a young teenager wasn’t sure what to do. He could try to rebuild his home, but he wasn’t well versed at it. His father had been the one to make it, and while he’d been doing so, Zalminar was learning the Shamanistic ways from his mother. And if the people of Aesghan had been responsible for burning down his home and murdering his parents, they would surly come back and try to finish the job if he rebuilt his home. He spent the next week, creating a memorial for his mother and father and buried them. No one else came to their funeral. No one else was told about it, but Zalminar believed, even if they had been, none would have come.

Zalminar decided he would live in the woods and continue the training his mother had trained him to do with learning how to “be the root connected to the world” – because it was not just mastering the ability to see and speak with the living – but one who found the true balance of being a Shaman could see and speak with the spirits of those long gone; and Zalminar wanted nothing more than to learn how to do this so he could speak with his mother and father again, and apologize for not being there, just in case he could have done something to help.

Zalminar opened his eyes from the meditation he’d entered when he first sat down and saw that several hours had passed by, and like always, he had become lost in his thoughts. He felt, at long last, that he could move on. He would go out and learn not only of himself, but of the world, and perhaps one day, speak to his mother and father again. As he packed his bags, he took one last look behind him and saw where, several years ago, his home had been. Nature had reclaimed the burned remains of his home. Beyond that, he saw Aesghan, and his heart churned; that’s where he felt darkness; a hunger to get revenge. As the days turned to weeks and months, he became more and more convinced that someone in Aesghan had started that fire that murdered his parents… and somehow he would find out who had done it and come back and get his revenge.

Hey I need a another backstory please
Name is pitch
Aarakocra ranger
Eyes are black
Height 7'6"
Weight 90
Skin is black feathers
Background haunted one
Feature heart of darkness
Those who look into your eyes can see that you have faced unimaginable horror and that you are no stranger to darkness though they might fear you commoners will extend you every courtesy and do their utmost to help you unless you have shown yourself to be a danger to them they will even take up arms to fight alongside you should you find yourself facing an enemy alone.
Personally Traits
I don't run from evil, evil runs from me
I live for the thrill of the hunt
Ideals
I'll stop the spirits that haunt me or die trying
Bonds.
There's evil in me I can feel it, it must never be set free
Flaws
I talk to spirits that no one else can see
I am a beastmaster ranger but leave the companion open please and thank you for your help

Apologize for the delay, but here you go. Hope your DM can run with what I did (even though I am not sure what it can be, but a "dark spell" from some big bad can easily explain it).

Please let me know if you enjoyed it - or didn't enjoy it! Both work, as long as it's honest feedback!
Here you go.
=================================

The flickering campfire sends ash and ember drifting skyward and I think how these fluttering pieces of ashes remind me of myself. They fly, ever towards the sky, once made of wood, now black, empty husks flying out of control. I reach out and crush several of the ashes in my own palm.

The flickering flame catches the colors of my feathers, which are as dark as the shadows and ashes I have crushed in my palm; my eyes, also black, catch the firelight as the wood crackles, sending a new wave of ash into the air.

The Aarakocra are a proud people – what many call “the bird people” – who take pride in their nests (the name, Aarakocra call their villages). However, six years ago – a dark mist, like living shadow, descended on the nest – and everyone who was caught in it had their life drained from them, leaving empty husks. When the shadowy mist washed over me, I felt my own body drained – I felt the life in my veins rapidly ebb away, like a drinking pouch that has been punctured by a thousand blades. When I awoke, I was surprised to be alive; but all around me, the other Aarakocra of the nest lay dead, expressions of sheer terror forever etched in their faces. I was so weakened, I could barely move; but I had a deep thirst as if I had been without water for months and crawling to the watering hole took almost the last remaining life in my veins from me.

When I reached the waterhole, I was surprised to see my reflection. I had expected to look thinner – I felt thinner – drained of what felt like all of my blood. What I did not expect to see what a shadow of the person I was – quite literally. The soft browns of my feathers, and the crimson red around my eyes – all of it was gone. My feathers, the color of my eyes – all of it – devoid of color – black as the moonless night. I looked more like a disfigured Kenku than an Aarakocra.

I drank from the water – even it had been tainted by the shadowy mist, for it tasted of deep iron, like drinking blood; still I had to drink from it to survive. It took days of me crawling about like some wingless bird, before my strength began to return. I’d hope that these black feathers of mine would wash off, or that my color would return – but it had not, and by the looks of it, would not.

I am not sure what it was that washed over the nest that fateful night; but whatever it was, when I survived, I could feel a part of it still in the veins of my blood. Some dark essence lived inside of me and when I was exhausted, I could hear it in my head as I drifted off to sleep.

Unsure what to do without the nest, I began to wander in the woods. I noticed animals fled from me; perhaps they sensed that darkness I could feel lingering in me. But after years of needing to feel connected, I had learned how to tame the animals around me – so that they had befriended me. While I loved their presence; something told me there was something I was supposed to do. I am not sure if it’s the darkness inside of me urging me forward or my own will to discover what the darkness was, purge it and get revenge for nest that was consumed by its evil…

[Tawmis]

https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... count=1153

Hey there! I would love to chat about a character story. It's my first time playing D&D and I'd like to wow the party!
My name is Eowyn and I am a elf cleric, 550yrs old, 75lbs, and 4ft 6". I have white hair and blue eyes. The skills I have (since I don't fight, my strength is 11, had really bad rolls when I build it lol) I can cobble, tailor/seamstress, other things just don't remember.
any questions please let me know
We are playing mostly 1E and 2E.

First, I loved 1st and 2nd Edition D&D. Loved it immensely.
But 5e is incredibly easier to understand - for both DM and players alike. So curious why your DM would be introducing you to a version of D&D that is both mechanically more difficult to wrap your brain around, and also, mechanically much, much, much more difficult (monsters were very, very, very lethal in those older versions of D&D).
Anyway, I cranked something up - I ran with the "white hair" thing and went a certain way with it.
And then added that you were a cleric - and spun the following.
Please let me know if it works, if you like it, what I can do to improve, the works! I love honesty!
And feedback helps ME and keeps this thread alive.
===========================================

Eowyn was being chased by her brother, only a few seasons older than her, as the two young children scampered around their aunt’s legs, then to their mother’s. Eowyn’s aunt, Nylli, commented, “Her hair is white and wispy like a spider’s web.”

“And her eyes as deep and blue as the high sky,” Eowyn’s mother, Ateel smiled as she ran her fingers through her daughter’s hair. Both Nylli and Ateel were tall, slender elves, and nearly identical in appearance, save for Nylli had green to hazel eyes, while Ateel shared the same deep, blue eyes her daughter was born with. Nylli’s hair was blond with dark brown streaks while Ateel’s hair was as blond as the morning sun.

Nylli watched Eowyn and her brother, Cozad, continue to chase one another through the house. Nylli looked to her sister. “Her hair,” she said again, this time with more concern. “It’s beautiful. But that color. It’s the color of the Dark Elves.”

Ateel rounded on her sister, her soft blue eyes, ablaze with fiery rage. “You silence your tongue, sister,” he words spat from her lips, “or I will cut your tongue. How dare you make such an acquisition! Do you think I would forgo my love for my husband for some,” she spat the word, “Drow?”

Nylli reeled back in horror, never having seen her sister react in such a manner. “No, no,” she waved her hands in front of her, both defensively and to assure her sister she’d meant no offense. “I meant for no such thing, I merely worry that whatever makes her hair such, she will have a difficult time in the years to come.”

Ateel composed herself and cleared her throat. “My apologies, sister of mine,” she finally said. “I, too, have thought about Eowyn’s future. It has been a very heavy burden on my mind and heart. I’d hoped that the blond hair of myself, or that of her father, would shine through, but it appears that the white, wispy hair remains. Her brother, Cozad has his blond hair by the age of two. Eowyn is now sixteen, and still it’s not come through.”


Nylli smiled, “There is no need to apologize, sister, I imagine you anguish over your own daughter.”

What Nylli did not know was that while Ateel was out spreading the word of her goddess, as one of her faithful clerics, the caravan she’d been part of had been ambushed and she and several others became prisoners of the Drow who had ambushed them.

To Ateel’s great fortune, and she believes, the power of her deity, one of the high-ranking Drow officers took an interest in her and her beauty. He kept her in his home but never abused her. He treated her with so much respect that escaping was something that seemed to fade from her ideas to even try – as she began to believe that perhaps this was all a plan of her goddess to learn and observe these Drow, which the Elves, and most of the world, knew so little about.

His name was Astarin Hollowlight, and he spent hours questioning her about her beliefs, the “surface world” – and she in turn, had asked him the same, though asking what it was like to live in a world devoid of the sun, moon and stars.

Astarin Hollowlight ensured that she never came to harm when other Drow came into his home. He demanded his guests to treat her as one of their own.

That’s when the surprise had come – in time, they’d learned not only to respect one another, but they had fallen in love with each other. Now more than ever, the idea of escaping seemed further and further away – but that would soon change when another surprise came.

She discovered she was pregnant. Astarin Hollowlight knew that the Drow would demand that the child be slain – whether they believed it was a pregnancy she had before her capture or if they dared guess that the father was none other than Astarin Hollowlight himself. He could not bare the idea of Ateel coming to any harm and devised an escape plan for her. However, he knew he would never be accepted on the surface world and so this escape would have to be done – and she would have to leave him behind, and he would need to forget her – and forget the idea that he would never see the child he brought into the world.

Astarin Hollowlight had smuggled Ateel to freedom – but the moment was heart wrenching for both of them.

Several months later, Ateel gave birth to Eowyn. When she came into the world, her flesh tone was the tone of her mother, and her hair blond like her mother. But as she grew older, her flesh remained the same but the blond soon gave way to white, a gift from her father’s genetics.

As Eowyn grew older, she followed in the steps of her mother, while her brother, Cozad, had followed in the steps of his own father who had died several years before Ateel’s abduction, during a battle with the orcs. Eowyn was close to her mother, and wanted to learn how to cobble and be a seamstress so that she could help others, just as her mother had.

As the years had gone by, Eowyn soon joined the Priesthood, just as her mother had, following in all the steps her mother had. She wanted to be a healer, not only for the people, but for the land. She wanted the world to feel the love and compassion her mother had always had. She harvested no hatred, not even for the orcs who had troubled the lands for years. She believed if they could just stop the hatred and if they could just hear about her goddess – perhaps they could find peace.

And so, she set her foot forward, just as her mother had done, into the world, to share the message of her goddess and heal the people and the world, who so desperately needed it.

[Tawmis]

https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... count=1155

Hey Tawmis!! First, thank you for the backstory for Duke Reginald Morris (several pages ago)! I've been playing him and having a ton of fun exploring his backstory, especially within Dragonlance.
I'm getting ready to join a different group, and I again come to you seeking your expertise! This one is a little more open ended, as I don't know a lot about the rest of the party.

I'll be playing a Hill Dwarf Criminal, and the adventure will be Waterdeep: Dragon Heist. Other than that, I know very little. I'll be playing one of three classes (Trickery Cleric of Mask, Eloquence Bard, or Soulknife Rogue). Sadly, I won't know which one until session zero, probably next week. But it's been requested that I have a backstory of some kind before then.
I'd really like to lean in to the criminal aspect, but with one request: I'd like my parents to still be alive! Crazy, I know. A criminal without a tragic backstory? The scandal!
Anyway, I hope you're well, and thank you for anything you may decide worthy of the pen!

Fun notes:
Clach Liath roughly translates to “Grey Stone” in Scottish Gaelic.
It's always difficult writing someone as a criminal...
Because you never know how far to push the criminal element.
Is slavery too much? Assault?
Anyway, here's what I came up with, as always, feel free to change as needed...
But would love feedback. It helps me and keeps the thread bumped and alive!

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

Tradition, in its most basic sense, boils down to: the handing down of information, beliefs, or customs from one generation to another.

I suppose that summarizes my own life. You see, roughly – the story often changes, depending on who you ask – but roughly around six generations ago, my great (several times over) grandfather was an Officer to King Battlestone, who at the time, sat upon the throne of Clach‘Liath. It’d been nearly sixty years since the “Blood River” war – named after the red lava that flowed through a massive ravine that the dwarves used for smelting adamantine they’d harvested. A band of goblins found a new leader in a brash, tactical hobgoblin named ‘Urtha’natar’ who knew why these dwarves used this ‘Blood River’ and convinced the goblins that the dwarves were making weapons and armor to wipe them out. One fateful night, the brash goblins attacked the dwarves – and began a ten year war between dwarf and goblin, and planting a distinct hatred between the races.

My great (several times over) grandfather was involved in that war, and said he’d never felt more alive, despite being surrounded by death.

After the war he watched as the proud dwarves became complacent. Oh, the Mountain Dwarves still forged great weapons and armor – and they were proud of their work – but after defeating the goblins, the dwarves grew careless. Guards began to patrol, with lackluster effort. Often stopping to sleep or rest, because the Dwarves had felt safe. There was no enemy to fight anymore. They’d killed all the goblins, the few that did survive, fled the mountain because they’d been hunted down.

My great (several times over) grandfather found others that were like minded – Dwarves who did not enjoy seeing their kin become lazy and lethargic; their guts growing rounder and softer rather than their arms growing stronger and toned.

During a routine scouting mission my great (several times over) grandfather and his like-minded companions discovered a new enemy. Elves. Elves that lived deep beneath the mountains. They were further down than the patrols usually had gone – and neither side had been aware of the other. My great (several times over) grandfather and his companions formulated a plan.

They launched a volley of attacks against the Drow – not to kill them, but to get their attention. They did constant hit and run attacks to get the ire of the Drow – who then, as expected, began the chase. My great (several times over) grandfather and his companions led them right back to the kingdom, shouting for the alarms and to be at arms.

My great (several times over) grandfather and his companions thought this would be an easy war – and insure that the Dwarves remained vigilant – but the Drow… they had magic… dark magic… this was not an easy battle. That simple battle evolved into an all-out war, that even today, six generations later, still rages on. My father and his companions were put on trial for their actions, convicted of treason. However, since none of them would break and confess it was intentional, the King could not execute them and instead exiled them and struck their names from their history. My family’s entire name even from before my great (several times over) grandfather and before was erased from their history books.

They, as a group, moved to an area in the Forgotten Realms to the east Goldenfields. There, they passed themselves off as Hill Dwarves, and for all intents and purposes, had truly become Hill Dwarves, both in their home, and with their name struck from the Mountain Dwarves. Their families mingled, the history of why they had migrated here, generally forgotten after six generations.

I say generally forgotten, because my great (several times over) grandfather’s son continued the tradition by becoming a well-known criminal. He would rob, lie, and swindle travelers near the area. His actions were taught to his son, then his son taught his son, and so on and so on.

Like I said, it was like a tradition – which leads to me. Who am I to break six generations of tradition?

But I was going to do something different. I heard, through a few travelers, about the city of Waterdeep. A huge city, ripe for stealing from.

Waterdeep, when I arrived, was everything I imagined it would be – a pollution of mixed races! Humans, Tieflings, Elves, Dwarves – you name it and they were here. And in all walks of life, from the rich to the poor.

My great (several times over – what? – you thought I was done speaking of him?) grandfather had instilled a hatred and dislike for authority, passed down each generation, that we were not to ever live beneath anyone’s thumb again.

Immediately defying the current “Lord of Waterdeep” (I can’t even be bothered to learn his name!) immediately got me into trouble with the “local authorities.” Which is exactly what I wanted. This got me in a prison cell where I could make contacts. From there I met a few people, operating out of a very small guild – and did some minor theft, some vandalism, minor assault on roughing up people who weren’t paying money they owed. From there, I got into forging documents (often impersonating local authorities) and claiming folk’s shops were out of compliance, and taking bribery from them to not shut down their stores.

From there, I got into blackmail – where I would in turn, blackmail those who were paying me bribes – so that it became more than just gold in my pocket – but also information and often times trinkets from their stores. As I proved to be more and more valuable, I eventually got into where we were smuggling slaves from various ships – and bringing them into the tunnels where we would set up a market for them to be purchased. It’s funny how even the rich will get their hands – and clothes dirty – for a good slave.

With the rich now in our hands, we’re getting information about rumors circulating. All kinds of rumors…

[Tawmis]

https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... count=1164

Some quick notes on the setting. This is a homebrew campaign and there is only two gods, Dol'Dorne and Dol'Arrah. People having divine powers from those gods (clerics and paladins) are really rare.
My character is a bard with the charlatan background.
Now, the father of my character is one of those rare people, being a cleric of Dol'Dorne. Sadly, my characters did not seem to inherit from these divine powers. Ashamed/frustrated by that, he eventually leaves home and begins to steal/scam people.
Someday, he actually develops power on their own with his singing/musical talents. He uses this magic to mimic the powers of clerics and begins to heal people or use illusions to scam them, passing himself as an itinerant cleric of Dol'Dorne.
Obviously he is quite conflicted with his arcane powers that he uses to mimic Dol'Dorne's divines powers that were denied from him... or were they?
His father is named Madilor Meklan and the character is named Madileth Meklan.
Once he left home and began his new life, he began to call himself Godwyn Theus (yes the pun is intended, as a kind of self-deprecating joke)
As for the gods, both of them are kind of neutral and pretty much never interfere at all in mortal business.
Dol'Dorne may be a bit more powerful, but he's very distant from his followers, letting them learn from their experiences and very rarely giving them any sign of acknowledgement really. Being a follower of Dol'Dorne is a challenging test of one's faith.
Dol'Arrah is more of the loving-mother type but still in a distant godlike way.

In this world, there are two deities. Some call them “Darkness and Light” some call them “Mother and Father.” There is Dol’Dorne, who most consider the “more powerful” deity between the two – like many fathers, he is distant from his children and allows them to learn from their experiences. He is what many call a cruel father – or the Darkness. For when he is called upon, to hear anything from him is such a rare occurrence that not even the word “miracle” can accurately describe it. Then there is Dol’Arrah, she is more of the motherly figure – she is in the heavens, always looking down and watching her children – but she too, keeps them at arm’s length – but her love and presence is always felt.

Few are ever blessed with the divine blessing of either deity – Paladins, Clerics, are extremely rare in this world. So imagine when my own father, Madilor Meklan, was blessed not by Dol’Arrah, the loving Mother, but rather Dol’Dorne, the cruel father – he became a very strict father himself. Unlike the deity who had blessed him with Divine energy, my father demanded things of me constantly. I was to gather food and supplies every day; I was to be in before it got dark; I was to feed all the farm animals, all the while, so my father could “commune” with Dol’Dorne. He made the same expectations of my mother, demanding food on the table at specific times, cooked a specific way, and served a specific way – even down to how the utensils were laid on the table.

My name is Madileth Meklan, and I am the son of the “Divine Touched Madilor Meklan” – and I was expected, by my fathers, and others, who believed our “bloodline was blessed by the gods” to one day perform miracles just as my father had been blessed to do.

At first, I lacked the discipline required; I rebelled for the sake of rebelling against my father and his ways. However, as I grew older and truly understood how rare it was for mortals to be blessed with the Divine Energy, and how those who are selected could make such a big difference in the world, I stopped focusing on what I wanted and strived to do better for the world.

However, it would seem that my youthful years turning my back on my father and the ways of the gods, had made them forever turn their gaze away from me. This upset my father who had said that his bloodline going forward would be blessed by the gods – perhaps, he was misled by the gods themselves to teach him some humility because he had certainly needed it.

It had eventually become too much for me – and with one final note to my mother, I explained I could not live beneath the same roof as father – and that I had always loved her – and even loved my father, but I could not live with him.

Packing up what little possessions I had (my father believed material possessions were a weakness to the mortal coil), I left on the road. It was absolutely terrifying the first few weeks – each time I made camp alone, I heard every sound imaginable and imagined that it was the worst thing possible each time.

I had been robbed – a few times – by brigands. One group had even attempted to abduct me and sell me for ransom – and when asked my name I provided them the name “Godwyn Theus” because I knew if they discovered I was the son of Madilor Meklan, my father, they would use that to their advantage. Another human who had been captured – a rather oddly dressed human – also captured for ransom looked at me, “Godwyn Theus?” he smirked. “A rather interesting name.”

“Well, it’s what my parents named me,” I said, pulling on the shackles that kept my arms restrained at the wrist inside the jostling wagon. “What’s your name?” I asked.

“Dasho Musgon,” the human smirked.

“The Show Must Go On,” I shook my head. “That is not your name.”

“Nor is Godwyn Theus your name,” he retorted, “Madileth Meklan.”

I was stunned into silence. “How do you know my true name?”

The bard shackled to the wall opposite of me, shrugged. “Your father is quite well known, being one of the few ‘blessed by the divine.’ I was called to play at one of his ceremonies,” he answered. “And I remember seeing you from that scar over your right eye. Same scar you have now.”

“They mustn’t learn my true name,” I explained in a hastened whisper.

“They won’t hear it from me,” he said with a pause, finally adding, “Godwyn Theus.” He looked at me, “What do you say we get out of here?”

“How? We’re shackled,” I began to say, but then watched as the bard across from me was suddenly unshackled and rubbing his wrists. “How did you… do that?”

The bard smirked. “Trade secret.”

“So you could have gotten free awhile ago?” I asked in a whisper.

“Sure,” the bard shrugged and leaned over and quickly unlocked my shackles effortlessly.

“Why didn’t you?” I asked, as I too, rubbed my wrists.

“I wanted to see how you ended up here and how you were going to get out of this,” the bard smirked. “Clearly you weren’t. So let’s go.” He peeked out behind the wagon – none of the brigands were behind the wagon, never expecting the prisoners would break free. “We’re near Akalas River,” he finally said. “We’re about to go on a very long wooden bridge. You have to trust me and jump when I say jump. Do not think about it, because it’s about a thirty foot fall into the river below. The bridge is so long there’s no way they can get to us once we reach the middle and jump off.” He nodded, pleased with his plan, and then turned to face me again. “Come to think of it, I should ask, you do know how to swim don’t you?”

I nodded that I did – but I’d never swam in a river. But that was going to be more of a pleasing death than whatever these brigands might do to me.

It wasn’t long before the wooden wheels clanked onto the bridge. The bard across from me was counting each board the wheel struck – then finally swung the door open and shouted, “Go and jump!” I did so – leaping out of the back of the wagon and leapt off the edge of the bridge.

The thirty foot fall to the river felt like forever. As I fell, I could see the bard above me also leaping off. The river took us both downstream rapidly – and just as he had said – there was no way for the wagon to cover the large distance of the bridge and come down the thirty foot embankment safely.

I traveled with this bard – learning to survive – and manipulate both magic and people through my songs and quick hands; and the name of Godwyn Theus spread as a “miracle worker.” One day the bard had left me a note explaining he had urgent business to attend to – and that one day our paths might cross again.

I never asked him his name.

[Tawmis]

https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... count=1167

Name: Barxus Roxley
Gender: Male
Race: Tiefling, Winged
Class: Wildfire Druid
Background: Boros Legionnaire - Refluffed to faerun? Preferably in the west coast close to Baldur's Gate/Candlekeep
Maybe Flaming Fists from Baldur's Gate? U have total creative freedom, just want a way to find a place in faerun.
Would be cool if you can find a purpose for my character.
The party is gonna find my character imprisoned in a place called Hellfire Prison (controlled by Bane) in a hell pocket dimension
Trait: Dangerous work is best accomplished by an orderly group working with common purpose.
Ideals: Achieving justice requires establishing fair, equitable, and compassionate relationships within a community
Bonds: I ran with "X Bad Guys" (maybe origin from Avernus?) in my youth, and I'm striving to atone for my past misdeeds.
Flaw: I act bravely when I'm in a group, but I'm a coward when I'm alone.

Some notes - I dug up what your background (Boros Legionnaire is from) -
http://dnd5e.wikidot.com/background:boros-legionnaire

I called it the "Legion of Light" (call it whatever works best for you and your DM if it needs to change) - came up with this slogan for it:

“The Light may never destroy the darkness;
But we shall shine so brightly that the darkness
Is forced to cower in the corners of the world.”

The idea would be, once out of the prison, all of your father's teachings would be ingrained in your memory.
This was fun to write - and I thought the small explanation for the Tiefling was a fun creative twist (a goddess getting involved, you will see...)
Anyway, would love ANY feedback you have - what did you like, hate, whatever?!
It helps me and keeps this thread bumped and alive.
Enjoy!
===================================

The cage swayed from left to right, my feet dangling out, my hands clasping onto the bars, my head pressed against the swaying, hanging cage I’d found myself in. How had I even ended up here?

Maybe I should start at the beginning? I was born into this world as Barxus Roxley. My mother and father were both – seemingly – normal parents. I’d eventually learn that was a lie. But that’s for a little later. I grew up in what seemed to be a happy home. My father had always call me ‘his little hellion.’

As I grew up, I noticed my father aged normally – as the years came through and I got older – I could see the grey hairs piercing through his jet black mane and beard. My mother however, always kept her youthful, amber colored hair and never wrinkled like my father. She always said it was because she ate well and my father ate anything and everything.

When I was sixteen it became very obvious something was very strange – and even my father had taken notice by now. While he was barely able to walk, my mother looked just as she did when she had me sixteen years ago. My father was forty two and showing it while my mother still looked to be as if she were twenty one years old.

When death had finally come for my father, he lay dying on his bed with my mother at his side. She did not know I was at the door listening, stifling my crying. I heard her whisper to my father, “I need you to know the truth. I was sent to originally kill you. You see, I am not what I appear to be. You were a part of the Legion of the Light, and you and your fellow legion members had slain enough devils and demons to get the attention of some very high ranking devils. I was sent to seduce you and murder you. However, as I watched you to see how I could best lure you into the darkness, I was amazed by the kindness you displayed – not just for the rich, but mostly for the downtrodden – even sparing what you humans call ‘monsters’ from time to time. Your damn compassion was impossible to resist. I’d come to watch and seduce you, but instead you had seduced me without even knowing I was there.”

I heard my father cough, his breath ragged, but there was the hint of laughter as he spoke. “No, Tabatha, I always knew you were there. My goddess blesses me with the ability to detect fiends. I sensed you. I waited for you to come for me; to attack me, but you never did. Instead, the day you finally came to me, I saw in your eyes a deep passion and desire to understand who I was. I wanted to redeem that which you’d become.”

I heard my mother weeping now, as she giggled, choking back her tears, “You bastard. You knew what I was?”

“I’d never met a succubus before you,” my father’s haggard reply barely made it to my ears at the doorway. “Truth of the matter,” he coughed again, his voice growing fainter, “I never thought I’d fall in love with you. I fought it day in and day out in the beginning, because I believed it was some foul magic that was taking effect… but soon realized it’d been my heart that loved you not some demonic magic.” He paused. “Take care of Barxus.” Then I heard him gasp – and I knew it was his final breath – followed by loud weeping by my mother. I too, could not hold back the tears, and let loose my own tears – suddenly the door flew open, my mother having heard me, as she wiped away her tears.

“How long have you been there, Barxus?” she asked, still crying.

“Long enough to have heard everything,” I said, then picked myself up and ran to my room and slammed the door.

It was two years later – when I’d turned eighteen that my life changed forever, and the true bloodline from my mother made itself present. My skin gradually took on a slightly redder color, horns grew from my forehead, and wings eventually grew from my back. Everyone who was my friend suddenly ceased being my friend as I begged my mother to understand what had happened – I asked her too, if I was a demon like her – and she explained I wasn’t. However, because of the mixture of her bloodline mixed with my father’s – I was known as something called a “Tiefling.” She explained because I was born looking human originally – she knew I would eventually become what is known as a “Tiefling.” Had I been born looking more like a demon, she explained I would have been what’s known as a “Cambion” – and she believed that it was my father’s goddess who may have even purified me in the womb to ensure that I would not be this “Cambion.”

While I was thankful not to be some demonic “Cambion” – being a Tiefling proved to be difficult growing up. As I said, all the friends I once had no longer associated with me – they’d spread rumors that my mother was a vampire, which is why she still looked so young; or that she was a witch and had siphoned my father’s life, or that – in this case, they were accurate – calling her a demon or some kind. This led me seeking company and friends where I could – and when you’re an outcast because of how you look, the gears and pieces all fall into place, and you find yourself with other outcasts.

As I ran with these outcasts – I felt a burning inside of me – and soon discovered, whether it was some hellish attribute thanks to my mother, or some magical means – I felt bonded with flame and fire.

The pact of outcasts I ran with – decided we would try to rob a wagon they knew would have plenty of riches – and if we pulled it off, we wouldn’t be outcasts anymore.

I was young. Stupid. Rebellious. Whatever you want to call it. I believed in this idea.

What I didn’t know is that it was connected to some person or thing named “Bane” – the name alone should have given me a clue – and as it turned out, what was supposed to be an easy heist completely collapsed around us – as we soon discovered they had anticipated an ambush and were very well prepared to deal with it.

And now. Here I am. Sitting in this floating cage. In some pocket dimension of Hell. And, really, I am wondering if maybe I deserve to be here.

[Tawmis]

https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... count=1172

Hi there! I'm new to the game and I'm not really sure what I'm doing. Would you mind writing my backround

Laleorris (18) - Female Tiefling Sorcerer 1 / Bard 1 / Cleric 1 / Fighter 1 - Level 4
Backstory Haunted One
You are haunted by something so terrible that you dare not speak of it. You’ve tried to bury it and run away from it, to no avail. Whatever this thing is that haunts you can’t be slain with a sword or banished with a spell. It might come to you as a shadow on the wall, a bloodcurdling nightmare, a memory that refuses to die, or a demonic whisper in the dark. The burden has taken its toll, isolating you from most people and making you question your sanity. You must find a way to overcome it before it destroys you.

Skill Proficiencies: Survival, Arcana, Heart of Darkness
Alignment: Lawful evil (LE) creatures methodically take what they want, within the limits of a code of tradition, loyalty, or order. Devils, blue dragons, and hobgoblins are lawful evil.

Lifestyle Modest
A modest lifestyle keeps you out of the slums and ensures that you can maintain your equipment. You live in an older part of town, renting a room in a boarding house, inn, or temple. You don't go hungry or thirsty, and your living conditions are clean, if simple. Ordinary people living modest lifestyles include soldiers with families, laborers, students, priests, hedge wizards, and the like.

Hair black
Skin brown
Eyes lavander
Height 5:2
Weight 135

TRAITS
I don’t run from evil. Evil runs from me. I don’t talk about the thing that torments me. I’d rather not burden others with my curse. I expect danger around every corner. I put no trust in divine beings. I refuse to become a victim, and I will not allow others to be victimized. I like to read and memorize poetry. It keeps me calm and brings me fleeting moments of happiness.

IDEALS
I try to help those in need, no matter what the personal cost. (Good) I have a dark calling that puts me above the law. (Chaotic) I’m a monster that destroys other monsters, and anything else that gets in my way. (Evil) I kill monsters to make the world a safer place, and to exorcise my own demons. (Good)

BONDS
I would sacrifice my life and my soul to protect the innocent. There’s evil in me, I can feel it. It must never be set free. A terrible guilt consumes me. I hope that I can find redemption through my actions.

FLAWS
I assume the worst in people. I feel no compassion for the dead. They’re the lucky ones. I am a purveyor of doom and gloom who lives in a world without hope. I talk to spirits that no one else can see.

Hello! So I focused on how you had multiclassed 1 level into a few things. I thought that would be a fun way to focus on why and how that happened.
As always, writing evil character is always a bit of a challenge - because you don't know how "dark" to go with it, and you had selected Lawful Evil by the looks of the character sheet.
So I focused on not having guidance in your youth that allowed you to go down that slippery slope towards evil...

The list of deities is here - I picked a Chaotic Evil god, though your alignment is Lawful Evil because none of the lawful evil gods really had follows. But you can still be lawful evil while following a chaotic evil god.
https://www.dndbeyond.com/sources/basic ... multiverse

Fun notes:
The hamlet mentioned is called “Aite Anuilc” – this roughly means “Place of Darkness” in Gaelic (without the accent marks over the letters). The Priestess mentioned “Cridhe Sgaile” – means “Shadow Heart” in Gaelic (again with accent marks removed)
Anyway! Enjoy!
I'd love ANY feedback you have!
=================

It’s the same wherever I go – they see the protrusion of my Tiefling horns and immediately people give me a wide berth when walking by me, doing everything they can to avoid me and avoid any form of eye contact with me. It used to bother me awhile ago – but now, I prefer it. Ever since I turned ten seasons old, a voice began whispering in the dark to me. Shadows seemed to come alive in my room, moving on their own accord, separated from the very thing that was casting the shadow. My mother and father thought I was sick – cursed, because of the Tiefling appearance that began to emerge around the same time – my parents, despite their best efforts to say that they loved me, showed me very little love and very little guidance. By the age of eleven, my body began displaying magical abilities, inherently born into me – I did not study for magic or anything – but I suddenly discovered I could control flames! *

My parents took this to be connected to my “devilish” appearance and had finally cast me out when I could not control this surging power in my body, so by the age of thirteen I was out on my own, living on the streets. It was there I had met a human by the name of “Levar Truestring.” He proclaimed to have been a well-known musician in the big cities – but a series of misfortunate events (which I would learn later was a gambling problem he had) – let to his fingers finally getting broken (by someone whom he’d owed a tremendous amount of money too). Barely able to play, and having learned nothing else in life, he strummed painfully on his battered lute, which also looked to have been broken and smashed and pieced together by Levar himself.

I was drawn to Levar and felt great pity watching him play, each strum of the lute, causing him immense pain. I sat down next to him and asked him what had happened – and over the next few days, he asked I would be interested in learning how to play the flute – and that perhaps, they could team up where I would play and he would do the singing. I accepted, because this would allow both of us to get donations from people passing by on the streets. For three years, I traveled with Levar from city to city. He was kind and treated me like a daughter he never had, and truly, like the father I feel I never had.

When we reached a small hamlet called Aite Anuilc he introduced me to a woman named Cridhe Sgaile who proclaimed she was a Priestess of Myrkul, god of death, and on her chest was the symbol of Myrkul: A white human skull. She was beautiful beyond words – her eyes a bright blue color that looked like oceans because of how they seemed to shift ever so slightly between different hues of blue. Her hair seemed to forever be lightly blowing, even if there was no breeze, giving her auburn hair the appearance of being made of flame. She kneeled down to me and said, “Levar has told me much about you.” Her hands ran along my face, “The blood of shadow lingers in your veins I see. And the voice speaks to you.”

My shocked expression of how she’d known about the voice I heard could not be masked.

She stood and looked past me at Levar and nodded. “Come forward, Levar.”

He did so and placed his hands within hers – and I watched as she miraculously cured he shattered fingers. “You’ve done well,” she smiled. “Thank you, Levar.” She placed her arm around me and said, “Come with me, child. I have much to show you.”

I would spend the next two years with Cridhe Sgaile, as the dying came to her to be free of their pain – she would not heal them, however. She would cast a spell that would allow them to painlessly slip from the mortal coil into the waiting arms of Myrkul. She would turn to me from time to time and say, “See, Myrkul is not always an evil god. He welcomes those into his arms. He waits for us all for we are all mortals.”

After some time, she finally then introduced me to an Elf – but like none I’d ever seen. His skin was as black as night, his hair as white as the snow caps, and his eyes as yellow as the raging sun. He introduced himself as Trodaiche Dorcha, a Drow Elf. Cridhe Sgaile explained that though he was not a Cleric of Myrkul, Trodaiche Dorcha was one of the greatest warriors in the deity’s service. She went on to explain a war is coming – and I would need to be ready. The “Harvesting of Souls” would be at hand – and the faithful would reign supreme.

Trodaiche Dorcha spent a year, training me to fight. He gave me little chance to rest. When my body was broken and exhausted is when he pushed me the hardest. His eerie yellow eyes never showed any signs of mercy or affection, unlike Cridhe Sgaile, who I often ran back to, crying that I could not do it. She always put her arms around me and said, “You can, child. And you must. For what you learn from him will better prepare you for your own adventure. There will be a time that you must go out and be the ears of Myrkul – and that I would be one of his many agents to Harvest the Souls.

Character name: Galanodel (Whisper of the Moon)
Race: Wood Elf
Gender: Male
Class: Druid(lvl1)/Circle of the Moon
Age: 120 / Height: 1.50 / Weight: 60kg
Eyes: green / Hair: White / Skin: fair
Background: Outlander
Profession: Guide
Alignment: Good Neutral
Languages Known: Common/Elvish/Sylvan
(note: he is still a YOUNG elf, so innocence may still be one of his imperfections hahaha)
Personality traits:
Kind and compassionate: Galanodel is a man who cares deeply about others, both humans and animals. He is always willing to help, even if it means putting his own safety at risk.
Wise and perceptive: Galanodel is an intelligent and perceptive man. He has a deep understanding of nature and the world, and he uses his knowledge to help others.

Ideals:
Justice and equality: Galanodel believes that all living beings are equal, and that they should be treated with respect.
Protection of the weakest: Galanodel believes that the weakest should be protected from the strongest.

bond:
Nature: Galanodel has a strong bond with nature. He sees nature as a sacred living being, and he is determined to protect it.
Animals: Galanodel has a strong bond with animals. He believes that animals are wise and compassionate creatures, and he treats them with respect.

imperfections:
Idealist: Galanodel is sometimes very idealistic. He believes that all living beings can live in peace and harmony, but this is not always possible.
Insecure: Galanodel is sometimes a little insecure. He's afraid he's not good enough to protect nature.

Traumatic memories:

His scar is a symbol of the trauma he suffered as a child. He was attacked by an monster, and the curse and scar is a constant reminder of that event.
(ps:This event occurs when he is still a very young child, where he is kidnapped or captured by monsters.(he was saved and raised by druids))

some details I got from the master about druid channeling and a little more about the scenario:: *edit*
the druid channels spiritual magic.
The spiritual plane was the first plane created after Ernas (which is the material plane). It was made with the aim of balancing and filtering the release of arcane and umbral magic.
To achieve this objective (the goddesses Soluna and Arcana) at the time found themselves obliged to shield the spiritual plane of the umbra, so the two deposited a lot of energy, meaning that the umbral energy was unable to overcome the barrier of the spirit plane, so It is a PURE plane, where there is no energy influence other than spiritual.
*edit* about archimedia: it is a very mystical kingdom (among the 3 kingdoms in the scenario it is the most mystical of them), there is a lot of magic around archimedia, the woods, forests, jungles are very mystical, there is a lot of magic involved in all archimedia; It is the smallest of the 3 kingdoms, but it is the place where most conjurers are born (and conjurers are rare (VERY RARE (1 in 1,000,000.00)))

Speaking of the Druids: The vast majority live in tribes spread out in the forest, because they have a very primitive culture, they claim that their primitive culture brings them closer to nature.
the Tribe: it is closed in the forest, they generally use illusions to keep people away from the tribe.

Here is a more detailed description of the pain:
-The pain begins as a tingling sensation in the scar.
-The tingling turns into a burning sensation.
-The burning becomes a sharp, searing pain.
-The pain spreads throughout the body, like shock waves.
-The pain can be so intense that Galanodel writhes in pain.
-The pain can last for a few minutes or even hours, depending on the intensity of the magic.
(Ps:This part is still under debate with the master because he didn't tell me which monster and which curse was marked on the scar.)

Final words:
Feel free to change some things, and add many others, I leave your creativity in charge of the story's destiny.

If you need to change any personality trait/ideal/bond/defect, feel free.
Some things that if you want to use would also be interesting:
His parents are pure white-haired elves born of Archimedia, (he was also born in Archimedia)
value the freedom and ferocity of untamed nature
stronger connection with the beasts of the world, you admire their primitive savagery and innocence that separates them from “civilized” or “intelligent” creatures.
The focus that is definitely a wand into which we have carved a crescent moon to represent our dedication to the Circle.
We haven't been blessed by the moon yet.
(ps: he doesn't hate humans hahaha)

NOTES:
I checked and couldn’t find anything on Archimedia… But a google result brought me to someone’s homebrew on Reddit by the same name (but no idea if it’s the same person where your campaign takes place, since that post was from 2 years ago). So I will keep from naming too many things, so I don’t conflict with whatever your DM has. Here’s the post for reference: https://www.reddit.com/r/worldbuilding/ ... dia_in_my/

The forest I mentioned “Aeithalis” is the (rough) translation of the Greek Word “Evergreen” which is “Aeithalís” – I just removed the accent mark. I like using google translate to find unique ways to name something – and in the random, odd event that you’re playing in the above Reddit posts world (they never seem to name any of the woods in the map) – the post mentioned it being a Greek settings, so I thought, “Why not? Let’s look up ‘Evergreen’ and see what the Greek translation is!)

The orc in question I use is a Orc Claw of Luthic – which may or may not exist in your DM’s world, or may be reflavored to represent a different deity: https://www.dndbeyond.com/monsters/1729 ... -of-luthic

Anyway - would love feedback in this thread! It helps me! What did you like? What did you dislike? Does it even work? Not only does it help me - it keeps the thread bumped and alive! <3
Anyway, enjoy!
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The reasons for deep, racial, hatred are often lost in the weaves of time; the truth of the foundation, twisted and turned, depending on who tells the story. Such is true about the ancient hatred shared between Orc and Elves. So long has this hatred existed between the two races, that the truth of the reason is blurred by retellings of different stories and different causes. Some say it was a war between the gods that spilled down to the mortals. Some say some Orc Chief slew an Elven Priestess, some say the Elves marched on the Orcs and killed them, because they were abominations that should have never existed.

Whatever the truth, now long gone, I was a victim of that hatred.

My name is Galanodel, and I was only ten seasons young when I had met my first orc.

The forest I called home, Aeithalis, was protected by illusionary magic. It helped keep the … unwanted individuals from entering the woods. Whether it was humans, and their destructive need to gather wood and build all over the face of the world, or the vile orcs, goblins and ogres that roamed the land that seemed to hate anything that was beautiful.

For ten years of my life, I’d been told Aeithalis was safe from “the outside world.” I roamed through Aeithalis freely – enjoy the wild flora and fauna that grew throughout Aeithalis’ landscape. I’d been chasing after a rather distinct and playful raccoon I’d nicknamed “Shadow Mask” who had a distinct habit of always taking my dagger – the green gem at the hilt apparently made Shadow Mask believe it was edible.

He'd been sprinting through the brush as I gave chase – same path he always took. I could have probably just run to where he always takes it – the small lake inside of Aeithalis to wash it and try to eat it – but I had nothing better to do this fateful day than give chase to Shadow Mask. During the playful pursuit, I noticed that Shadow Mask had suddenly halted and veered to the left – when normally he would have gone straight. I decided to keep going straight, assuming he was headed for the small lake – and collided into something that should not have been there.

The wind knocked out of my lungs, I stumbled backwards and looked up. What I saw was a horrifying humanoid – she stood as tall as any human, her flesh grey as the very mountains of the world, her hair however was as black as midnight, as if it seemed to somehow absorb the light around her into itself and murder it in the shadows of her hair. That’s when I noticed her hands – more specifically – her nails. They were long, as if they were made of steel, but like her hair – dark, black and sickly looking. She lunged forward – I tried to scramble away, but her long, lethal nails like the claws of some wild bear, her index finger managed to cut into the side of my right cheek.

She seemed to mutter something guttural – and when she was done, the pain in my cheek where she’d cut me open suddenly burst into searing pain as if alcohol had been poured into the open wound. I put my hands on it and could still feel the warmth of my blood pouring out of the open wound. She seemed to laugh as she peered down at me, making no other effort to strike at me. I managed to back up and get up against a tree where I managed to stand myself up.

Arrows fly past me towards the humanoid – but they seem to miss, as she seems to bend the air around her. She looks at me one last time, and with a laugh disappears into the brush. The source of the arrows make themselves known – my mother and father and some of the mystics of our tribe. My mother rushes to my side, dropping her bow when she sees the gash on my cheek. “What happened?” she asks, and I describe the odd events.

“How did an orc get inside our woods,” Fysi asked aloud, though it’d been rhetorical. “There’s no way she should have been able to pierce the veil.”

My mother prayed to the goddess; but was shocked when the wound would not seal. “Why does the wound not seal?” she looked to the mystic, Fysi.

The mystic kneeled next to me and touched my wound. His hand was as cold as ice, a sharp contrast to the searing, burning my open wound felt like. “Magic most foul,” he finally said, his own magic also failing to seal the wound or cure whatever sickness it might be. “A curse,” he sneered.

I spent several years among Fysi, and the other mystics – as they studied me and questioned me time and time again about the female orc who had pierced the veil of Aeithalis. When there was no answers to be found, when I was eighteen seasons of age, I made the decision to go beyond the veil of the woods with what the mystics had taught me – and see if I could uncover just how the orc had pierced the veil and why the scar would not heal – and from time to time, even burn, as if it had been struck anew upon my cheek.