SHP Forums

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Naknakthebedshe;24074295 wrote: Name: naknak the bedshe...
Race:undead or cursed w/invisibility kobold*
Class:spook, distraction, sorcerer? Your free to choose
Neutral
*Looks like it's a kobold under/shaped a bedsheet with two holes where eyes should be

Since you left the class to me, I allude that he's a sorcerer (easiest thing with Kobolds; Dragonblood somewhere in their bloodline).
Since this one seems less serious, I tried to write it with a funny bit of tone and humor!
Hopefully that comes across!
As always I look forward to any feedback you might have! (Or anyone reading this, has!)
Enjoy!
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“You realize I can see you right?” Naknak’s brother, TicTok said, raising an eyebrow.

Naknak sighed. “I was certain I got it right that time!”

The Kobold stared at each other as their mother entered the room. “You’re trying that invisibility nonsense still, Naknak?”

“Yes mother,” Naknak sighed, knowing she would scorn him again.

“One of these days you’re going to figure it out and you know what’s going to happen?” she asked, tapping her foot on the cold, cavern floor.

“I will become the greatest shaman in all the land!” Naknak jumped up and down excited that his mother seemed to finally believe in him.

“No,” she said firmly, “you’re going to get stuck like that because you’re not going to know how to undo it!”

“Nonsense, mother,” Naknak laughed. “Turning visible is the easiest part. Turning invisible is the hard part.”

“Where do you get these crazy ideas from, boy?” their mother asked. “Is it those fish brained Kuo-toa? Because you know not a single one of them is remotely sane!”

“No,” Naknak confessed. “I know to stay away from them. You’ve told me that too many times to count.”

“Then where?” his mother asked pressing the issue.

“From the Illithid,” Naknak shrugged.

“The Illithid? Son, what is wrong with you! I tell you to leave the fish for brains alone so you go to the squid-face-brain eating people?” His mother waved herself with a rag, as if she was about to faint.

“I don’t talk to them,” he assured her. “One of their shamans – she has a hole in the back of her hut that is perfect eye level for me. So I can see inside her hut and watch her casting spells. I’ve been practicing her words and her gestures, but still haven’t gotten it mastered.” Naknak always felt different; his darker blue skin hinted that perhaps somewhere in his bloodline there was Blue Dragon blood and that perhaps was the cause for his insatiable hunger for magic.

The next night, Naknak snuck through the caverns, passed the Kuo-toa, into the small vent that led to where the Illithid had set up a small base of operations. He snuck to the backside of the Illithid Mage as he had always done; but this time he did not wait to watch her cast and practice spells. This time, he sat patiently eating on a slug-sandwich that his mother had packed for him (she was unaware he was going back to the Illithid encampment) and waited until he no longer heard her voice. Once he no longer heard the Illithid he peeked through the hole and saw that she was not in her hut.

Using a bush for cover that he’d ripped out of the ground, Naknak slowly moved his way towards the entrance of the hut before quickly running in, grabbing the ancient spell book tome, and running behind the bush again, which he used as cover to return back to the vent.

As he climbed into the vent he heard an alarm ring behind him. She’d returned to her hut and found her spell book gone. He peered behind him for only a split second and saw Illithid racing around the camp looking for an intruder. Naknak smiled to himself. The Illithid eat brains, he told himself, absorbing everyone’s knowledge and here he was, outwitting the second most intelligent (second to dragons, naturally) creatures in the entire world.

Naknak hid away in his room reading as much of the tome as he could; most of it seemed to be written in common with notes scribbled all over in what was undoubtedly Illithid tongue. More than likely this Illithid had acquired it from a human who had – and yes, on page twelve, blood all over – so yes, probably acquired it from a human wizard trying to cast some last minute spell to save themselves and failed miserably.

Naknak figured he’d focus on one of the earlier spells. He read it over and over, repeatedly without making the gestures, just so he would know the words; next came the gestures, without the words. And finally, two weeks after stealing the book, Naknak felt he was ready.

“Abin tunar shalak defawn tumar,” he began to speak the words and weave his hands intricately, when suddenly Tictok kicked down the door.

“What are you doing?” he shouted.

This had alarmed Naknak who was at the end of the spell, but changed the gesture of his hands, to spin around and face his brother who startled him and then felt a tingling sensation.

His brother, Tictok dropped his bag and his eyes went wide.

“Mother, I think Naknak just teleported away!” he screamed running out of the room.

“Nonsense! I am right here!” Naknak chased after his brother and passed a mirror and did not see himself reflected. “Oh my,” he whispered.

For weeks he tried to reverse the spell with his mother, frequently pointing in the wrong direction, yelling at him that she had told him he was going to be stuck like that. Naknak knew at this point that he was going to need some additional help undoing what he’d done. In the meantime his mother used a sheet and cut out the eyes so everyone could see where he was… as well as he could see where he was, because he was also invisible to himself!

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Naknakthebedshe;24074295 wrote: Name: Sindear the hothead
Race: kobold
Class:divine soul sorcerer 2/cleric of life 1 that has magic Initiate in druid spells.
Neutral good. Someday she will get feather wings and she will be a laughing stock for not getting dragon wings.
Sindear has the hermit back ground and is currently being hunted by drow in the underdark. Think more of a shaman instead of a mixed class. And wants back to the surface so she can see the moon again. Also her head catches fire everytime she casts a spell hence the rest her name. She is a bit panicky she has tried unlocking the cell door with her tail and tko herself because she was recaptured and wanted to be a burden even though she weights about the same as a fat house cat. is that enough info?

I was a little confused by your details of her using her tail to unlock the cell door like she was already captured?
But she was wanted by the Drow?
So I rather than write a point of view of already captured; I wrote what may lead up to her capture instead.
As always would love feedback!
Enjoy!
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“This is not what I thought you meant when you said we can no longer see each other,” Sindear confessed.

Naknak peered from beneath the cut out sheet. “I was always envious how you were able to use magic. I got jealous. Wanted to show you I could do it too. Then this happened,” he removed the sheet and there was nothing beneath it. “Worse part – I can’t even see myself! Like I don’t know where my hand is. It’s like being blind to my own body!”

“Maybe I can do something,” Sindear offered. “But since you broke up with me, why would I?”

“Sindear!” Naknak pleaded, “This isn’t funny!”

“Maybe not to you, but it is to me,” Sindear giggled, which sounded like a pack of hyenas after some prey. “Now you know how I felt!”

“What do you mean?” Naknak asked as he pulled the sheet over his head again.

“All those times we were in the Kobold Square and you were too busy noticing others rather than paying attention to me. I felt invisible next to you,” Sindear grinned. “It would seem the gods have chosen you to show what it feels like.”

“Are you going to help me or not?” Sindear asked.

“I will, I will,” she assured him, “just calm down.”

“Calm down? Half the time I miss my own mouth when I am eating slug stew and spill it everywhere,” Naknak signed. “It’s embarrassing.”

“I’m sure it is,” Sindear grinned.

Sindear had been one of the few Kobolds “called upon” and ascended into sorcery magic due to an ancient bloodline than ran deep in her family. An unfortunate consequence of her casting spells was that her head typically caught on fire. Not that it seemed to bother her, it was more a crown of flames that she would wear while casting and a few moments after the spell was complete. The downside was that she was not sure how to undo what Naknak had done to himself.

He had explained what he had done and she had looked over the book he had stolen from the Illithid Mage, but nothing in it proved useful. That night she prayed to the Great Winged One, and in her mind a vision of an ancient green dragon emerged.

“Emereth,” Sindear whispered. “A good friend of mine has gotten himself into some trouble. I need a way to undo the magic that’s befallen him. Can you grant me such power?”

“I never simply give,” Emereth’s voice boomed. “I will however tell you how it can be done. Not far from where you live there are Drow – The Shadow Council. In their possession is a staff with a green crystal on top of it. Find it and tap your friend on the heart three times and he shall be free of the curse that’s befallen him.”

“The Shadow Council,” Sindear let her concern show in her voice. The Shadow Council had long been at war with the Illithid who lived nearby, fighting over the same area of land.

“Take your friend’s book that he stole from the Illithid and leave it with the Shadow Council. They will see the writing of the Illithid and believe one of them is responsible for the theft of the staff. They will seek their revenge against the Illithid and will be none the wiser that you’ve taken it.”

Sindear returned to Naknak’s room the next day and demanded the tome of spells, which he handed over when she explained she had a plan to undo his curse. Sliding the tome into her backpack Sindear made her way through the caverns. She skimmed along the cavern wall near the underwater lake that she knew an Aboleth dwelled.

She narrowly avoided an Intellect Devourer that had been patrolling a specific portion of the halls that forced her down the tunnel where various oozes dwelled. Her touch kept most of them at bay.

She finally reached the Drow encampment and saw the main tent – the same place Emereth had shown her in the vision. She carefully made her way down; using spells to hide her presence. The Drow had been in the center celebrating a Drow Priestess’ ascension to Lolth’s order. Sindear slipped in and grabbed the staff that had been sitting on the table in the main tent and threw down the book in such a fashion that it looked dropped rather than obviously placed. Quickly she shoved the staff into her bag and made her way back up the side wall.

Going through the cavern with the oozes she unfortunately realized she’d dropped her torch back at the Drow cavern. She turned around to go back but there was already a commotion in the Drow camp. The staff had been spotted as being gone and the Drow were yelling at one another and pointing at the book. She decided to chance running through the ooze tunnel and paid for it. Her bag caught on a nook of stone poking out just as green slime dripped on it, barely missing her and eating through the strap. The bag dropped on the ground. She reached for it and more green slime dripped and barely missed it. She looked up and could see the ceiling glistening. It was a massive colony. She was forced to leave the bag behind and run for her life.

When she returned home she paid Naknak a visit to tell him the news.

That’s when Naknak’s mother kicked in the bedroom door and shouted, “There’s reports of the Drow and Illithid going to war! We may need to evacuate if the war spills into our area!”

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Avista;24077921 wrote: I have another request for you!!
This is an old character of mine, whom I would like to refurbish for a future campaign. Let's see what you can come up with:

Name: Alcot Del Thressal (male)
Race: Half-elf
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Background: Noble
Class: Sorcerer - Dragonborn (Brass Dragon/Fire)
Age: 20ish

Background: Born out of wedlock to a human aristocratic father and nouveau-riche (upper middle class) elf mother. He was the father's favorite, even over his legitimate siblings. To secure a position among nobility the father arranges a marriage for Alcot, but Alcot refuses to go along with it and runs away from home.

Why did he refuse? Was he in love with someone else? Did he fear for his safety from his step-mother? Did he feel dissatisfied with his noble duties? Did he want to earn his place in nobility through heroic deeds, and not through marriage? I don't know, you tell me!

I enjoyed writing this and seeing just why Alcot would run away from a wealthy family...
Almost instantly Alcot began telling me his story and how it all played out...
I simply transcribed his words!
Hopefully it's to your liking!
As always I look forward to feedback! What you liked, loved and hated!
What worked and what didn't work!
Until then - enjoy!
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Her name was Mealladh and with her bouncing blond curls, thin, frail figure, and alluring green eyes, she had swayed my father from a marriage he had been loyal to all of his life. For Mealladh, she was interested in my father, because of how passionate he had spoken during one of the Council meetings. If her kind – other elves – had known she had lain with a human, they would be furious, because Mealladh came from a well off family who would be shamed by her impulsive action.

For my father, a human named Saol Del Thressal, Mealladh represented a youthful hunger for passion that had died out in his wife, Ceansa Del Thressal. Mealladh knew that it would be one night, brief, quick, fast, furious and passionate; the way humans lived their lives compared to Elves who lingered on every decision.

Something Mealladh had not considered however is that one passionate night would be all that it took to become pregnant. Mealladh quickly married another Elf of wealth and importance and slept with him to make it appear that it had been him who had gotten her pregnant. But she knew when it came to deliver the child the truth would be revealed. But Mealladh was an intelligent woman. Just before the birth, she booked a travel and during the second stop, near a lake she’d gone for a walk. She created a scene that appeared a struggle took place and once that was done, she screamed for help but immediately fled deeper into the woods. When they arrived it had appeared she’d been taken, but she knew how to lose them in the woods.

While on the road, fleeing from her own kind, Mealladh buckled and went into labor. Several travelers found her and assisted her with the childbirth. She named me “Alcot” meaning ‘born of passion’ in the ancient Slyvan tongue. She tracked down my father and waited until he was alone, walking back from one of his political debates. She whispered his name and he immediately recognized her voice and ran to meet her in the alley. He had thought of her often and the night of passion they shared; and for the briefest of moments he thought that he would have that again tonight. What he was not ready for was to have me thrust in his arms, and Mealladh saying that he must take care of me. She immediately turned and left my father standing there, stunned, infant in his arms as he watched Mealladh run away.

He returned home with me and told his loving wife that he had found me, abandoned near one of the Churches. He introduced me to his wife Ceansa and recalled Mealladh whispering, “He is our son. His name is Alcot” and introduced me as such.

I never knew Ceansa was not my mother, for many, many years. She raised me as if I had been born from her. When I turned ten, she took notice to something. My half-elven features were far more noticeable and I began to bear a striking resemblance to Saol, my father. This had made Ceansa begin to question her husband and led to a series of endless fights between them. Saol finally confessed his adultery and surprisingly Ceansa took it calmly, once he confirmed it. For her, it was not that he had cheated on her, but rather that he lied to her. She understood that she was older now, no longer to bare children, though having six with him. She knew that taking care of six children had worn her down and made her less passionate in the bedroom. She was remarkably understanding.

Even after learning the truth, she never treated me differently. By the age of thirteen I could feel the magic coursing through my blood. I had believed this might have been because of my Elven mother, but my father explained to me that it should not have made me ‘magically aware’ just because my mother was Elven. My father believed that somewhere in his own, or perhaps his mother’s bloodline, some form of ancient magic bloodline had been introduced and was now making itself known in me.

Ceansa was concerned as I grew older and spent time with others outside the family, that some may take notice to my ears which were pointed like an Elf’s, but hidden under my long locks of hair. My father agreed and began looking for suitable women to arrange a marriage to. By the age of twenty, a very beautiful human named Móra Cíoch was introduced to me. I enjoyed Móra’s company quite a bit. She was beautiful, with ample breasts, wide hips, and lips so thick that they were irresistible to kiss.

But the idea of marriage and settling down was not one I was interested in. Not yet anyway. But I could never find the time or courage to tell my father or mother.

So I did the next best thing. I ran away.

The night before the wedding I crept out my window and fled. I wanted to find my real mother, Mealladh, whom my father had finally told me about when I was sixteen years old and learn more about my family from her side… and see if she knew about this ancient bloodline that allowed me to manipulate magic so easily.

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OfficialGott;24081366 wrote:What an excellent idea and exercise to write backstories for random people Just to see what you would get out of my one-shot character I registered here (even though, I have been a long-time lurker).
Wollhelm Woolfgangson
Race: Minotaurus except he isn’t. He is not half-man, half-bull but rather half-man, half-ram.
Class: Warlock – Hexblade – Pact of the Chain
Characteristics and rough outline: with 7’ and a massiv build, Wollhelm looks impressive, almost intimidating with his wool covered shoulders, the massive horns (one is covered in rings, spikes and chains) and the scar-rich skin. Nevertheless, his calm, thoughtful and protective manner kind of gives the impression like he had too much weed (being a sheep and all). His protection of the weak and his friends is a strong behaviour and might result in unhealthy decisions.
I have not yet had a full image of the Hexblade’s origin but it would look like a shepherd’s crook with a massive steel head. Furthermore, his Pact familiar is a dog with wings. The improved, but smaller German Shepherd. You probably get the picture of my twisted Shephard-Idea.
I kinda perceived him as a failed(?) wizard experiment to explain his non-bull-ishness as a Minotaurus. But feel free to think of something else
Looking forward to your story.

This was a lot of fun to write...
The idea of a failed experiment idea is what I worked with...
And just spun it up a little...
You left it open as to which Pact of the Chain...
So I went with "The Great Old One" on Page 109 of PHB.
I mixed in how the Sheppard's Crook is yours... and why you'd have a flying dog...!
This was very fun, and very easy to write.
I even slid in a Kenny Rogers reference (a nod to my late father who loved Kenny Rogers!)
As always, please give feedback - what you liked, loved, hated, what works, what doesn't!
I love to hear it all!
Enjoy!
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I have lived all of my life as a simple farmer. I woke up before the sun and would plough the fields with a tool that barely scratched the dirt. Then, I’d spend the next three hours, just as the sun was beginning to rise in the horizon, raking the fields to prepare them to have seeds dropped. Once that was done, I would grab my sickle and go to the fields and cut down what I could before the overbearing heat of the rising sun forced me to take shelter in the shed for several hours, parched beyond belief.

I frequently helped neighboring farms with ploughing and hay making, so that they would in turn assist me when possible; especially when it came to using livestock manure to help fertilize our fields. It was a community that helped one another and stayed close to one another. When a stranger came into our town, they were questioned, often repeatedly, by several people, to see what their intentions of visiting Torehaven were. My best friend, my dog, Nightmane, would growl at anyone he did not find trustworthy (and he was usually right!)

One year, the sun was so uncharacteristically hot, that we called the three months of relentless sun, The Searing Summer. The sun had been so hot that many of the rivers were much lower than they traditionally were since there had not been much snowfall in the nearby mountains. The dried rivers led to dry wells, which led to no water for home or fields, which in turned led to dying farming fields.

It was as if I had been cursed, because during the Searing Summer, my wife Luseal also decided to leave me and our four children. By the end of the Searing Summer, myself and the others of Tornhaven were worn down, thirsty and hungry, so when a mysterious figure in long, velvet black robes, that covered everything but his hands; and only his nose and mouth were visible from his face, slowly walked through Tornhaven, not a single one of us had the strength or desire to question his intentions.

At the Rabbit’s Hole Tavern, he slowly walked in, speaking to no one, and made his way across the room and sat near the fireplace, which was not lit because of the heat emanating throughout the town already. The way he turned and faced the fireplace he seemed to see a fire burning that was not there; he even extended his hands as if warming them against some invisible flame.

I took a sip of my drink; a small glass of water costing three gold because of the rarity of any water to be found and made my way to the mysterious figure. I sat down next to him. “Hello stranger,” my voice rasped, “you’ve come to Tornhaven at a bad time, I’m afraid. We have little in the way of food, due to no water and the animals seeking food elsewhere. The few livestock most of have we’ve only eaten if they perished from dehydration. We don’t have much for you. But I’ve spoken Vertan and he said he can get you a room for twenty gold. He understands that seems outrageously expensive, but with our,” I was cut off as the man reached into a pouch and handed me a bag of gold that weighed as much as two hundred gold.

“I’ll take it,” his voice hissed like a serpent. His lifted his cowl slightly as I caught my breath. Not only did he hiss like a serpent when he spoke, his eyes had slits like a serpent that glowed beneath his cowl. “You look like you’re strong.”

I tried to break away from his gaze; but there was something hypnotic about how he spoke and the way his pupils seemed to vibrate back and forth so quickly. “I work in the fields every day,” I replied; and though I spoke the words I was not in control of myself and I could tell I wasn’t. I wanted to scream but no words emerged.

He pulled his cowl over his eyes once more and hissed, “Come, let us go for a walk, and tell me about Torehaven.”

Though I could not see his eyes I could still not break from his hold. I rose to my feet as he did and gestured politely for him to walk in front of me. We walked out of the Rabbit Hole and I waved to Vertan as if nothing were wrong though my soul were screaming desperately for someone to help me. Uncontrollably, I told him how Torehaven had been formed by a band of runaway slaves who had escaped the clutches of the Dark Elves – better known as The Drow. We had all grown up as slaves to the Drow and used to being slaves, forced to farm and often be sacrificed to their dark goddess, Lolth.

The stranger seemed to snicker at the notion that Lolth was a goddess. “Calling herself a goddess these days is she?” he hissed between chuckles. “She’s always been such an arrogant one, that one.”

I directed him to my home and explained how the drought had killed the fields that were once lush with life. I opened the barn doors and showed him my emaciated livestock. As I turned to leave, he hissed the word, “Stop” and I froze in my tracks cursing that I could not control my own body.

He touched my face as he pulled back his cowl, revealing a humanoid look, with eyes of a serpent, a smile lined with two large fangs, and golden skin with scales.

“What are you,” I managed to utter.

“What I am won’t matter to you soon,” he laughed. “You see, I travel from town to town, collecting one soul along the way, as to not draw too much attention to myself. I am rebuilding myself, collecting the purity of soul energy into myself so I can return to the Heavens and dethrone these ‘new gods’ who claim to rule the heavens; each and every single one of them.”

He began drawing a circle on the barn floor around me. The sheep and rams in the barn, here to protect them from the desperate predators circling the farms, looking for anything to eat, spoke in volumes their concern of what they felt.

His talon raked down my chest, ripping my shirt open. “Tala-mon,” he snapped his fingers and suddenly I was floating in the center of the circle.

“This, I fear,” he began to hiss, “will be extremely painful.” He looked up at me, “For you.”

“Bela-ros tuh-mere aba-den,” he began to chant.

And pain would never be accurate for what I felt. Imagine a thousand hooks beneath the layer of flesh, suddenly, slowly, and deliberately painfully being pulled in every direction. Now imagine that, doused in alcohol, with a thousand cuts upon your flesh. Now imagine a searing fire beneath you, melting your skin like warm wax. That might begin to describe a fraction of the pain.

My eyes fluttered to the back of my head as I felt numbness from my toes work their way up my body, finally reaching my heart, and then I saw it.

My soul. My actual soul was drifting above my body.

Suddenly a being in white robes, angelic, fiery wings, of pure white light appeared. “Bezarar, I’ve found you! Stop this madness!”

Bezarar, the serpent being, laughed, “You are already too late Thyordin! A few more souls and I will ascend and tear this world apart.”

The being of white energy looked at me, “Do you trust me?”

I stared at my hands which were fading away. “Do I have much choice?”

“I can restore you,” Thyordin shouted quickly, “to break Bezarar’s spell on you! But … he has already pulled your soul from your body. I cannot promise that you will return as you were.”

All I could think of was my four children; their mother had left them, if I died, all they would have is Nightmane and the community.

“I accept, no matter the cost!”

Thyordin pulled out a gleaming two handed sword made of pure light and severed the tie between me and Bezarar and suddenly my being shattered into a thousand pieces. I felt myself torn into a million pieces, thrown together, ripped apart again, thrown together, then ripped apart, and then blackness.

My eyes fluttered open and the first thing I could see was my hands.

“What happened to me?” I was shocked at my own voice which was considerably deeper. I looked around and there’d been no sign of Bezarar or Thyordin.

Had it all been a dream? I tried to stand but felt like my body was still broken. I leaned heavily on the Sheppard’s Crook that had been leaning against the pen. It burst with energy sending searing pain through my body that once again dropped me to my knees. I pulled myself on the Sheppard’s Crook again and began to hobble towards my home. As I opened the door, my four daughters screamed and ran away.

I chased after them until I passed by a mirror.

“No,” I whispered.

I was a foot taller than I was before; but more strangely, I appeared to be a cross between a human and a ram; similar to what Minotaurs looked like, but I had curved horns of a ram.

“My soul,” I whispered, “has been thrust into a ram’s body!”

I quickly ran back to the barn and grabbed a tattered blanket and threw it over my head and hunched over. As I walked out of the barn, Nightmane ran up to me and I immediately noticed how his eyes glowed.

I heard a voice in my head which belonged to Thyordin. “I apologize for the state in which you have been left. I could not let you walk this world alone so I have bestowed your best friend with a gift,” and just then Nightmane sprung out wings from his side. “I believe there is a way to undo what’s been done, but both Bezarar and I are from an ancient time long ago; ancient magic was used, long forgotten by the people of the world… but one day, you may find what is needed to restore you to who you once were.”

With Nightmane at my side, I returned to the Rabbit’s Hole and waited outside, hunched over so I wasn’t my new towering self, and waited for Vertan to leave. As he closed up I kept my distance and said, “My friend, I will need you to watch my daughters.”

Vertan turned, startled. “What are you doing hiding in that cloth? And did you know the stranger never came back to sleep in his room? Free two hundred gold for you and I, I say.”

“Use it to watch over my daughters,” I said, trying to prevent my voice from being so deep.

“What’s wrong with you? Why are you hiding under that? And what’s wrong with your voice?” Vertan asked, stepping closer.

“Stay there,” I snapped. “Listen the stranger inflicted me with a sickness. I am off to the main city to find a cure. But I need to know my daughters will be safe.”

“Of course, of course,” Vertan nodded. “I will pray to the gods that a cure can be found. I will go gather your daughters now. Treat them as my own, I will.”

“Thank you, Vertan.”

That was almost two years ago; my youngest is now eight seasons old, while my oldest is now eighteen. I have wandered the world seeking this “cure” that Thyordin said may exist… One perk of this new form seems to be that my entire body radiates magic…

My name is Wollhelm Woolfgangson, and I am more beast than man.

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Rakoa;24089193 wrote: Thank you for taking my suggestion! The new format is excellent, and the stories that I've read through even better.
Now I have a request of my own. I hope you will accept it and work your magic.

Name: Bruzzan Audesti
Race: Human
Class: Fighter 1/Rogue x
Alignment: Neutral Evil
Background: Modified Guilt Artisan (member of the "Locksmith's Guild" - The Thieve's Guild)
Personality Trait: Anger - I explode if I receive even a minor sleight.
Bond: Gratitude - I owe a great deal to the "Locksmith's Guild".
Ideal: Honor - I don't steal from other thieves.
Flaw: Greed - I value money more than common sense.

He's a big guy, scarred, scary looking. He wears heavy armor, carries around a battle mallet, and does Enforcer work for the Thieve's Guild. He feels greatly indebted to them and intends to work his way up the ranks. His strength, constitution, and charisma are great, everything else average. He is not a friendly man.
I was wracking my brain trying to come up with a story that explained why he joined the guild, why he feels indebted to them, why he chose that path in life, and I couldn't come up with anything that wasn't done-to-death, cliche, seen it a million times before. So I have turned to the expert.

I tried to touch on all the traits you presented...
Came up with a reason why he's big, muscular, and carries a battle mallet and does Enforcer work.
Also explain why he's indebted to the Locksmith's Guild... and why, and how he ended up on the path that he's on...
And I've given him a reason to "adventure" forward to...
And also explain his alignment (I've not really written any evil origins; for myself for my own characters; or anyone else, save for a few times...)
So it was fun to step into the mind of someone and see what makes them evil...
As always, I welcome feedback! Good or bad! Tell me what you liked, loved and hated!
What worked and what didn't!
Enjoy!
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My father, Baron Trijin Barnaressi is a filthy rich politician in service to the local King. You would think that would mean I had money as well, would you not?

Such is not the case. As it would turn out, my father Trijin, met my mother in her home town of Westspring when he and his posse had been riding through. My mother, Ahna Audesti, was a very beautiful woman. Red locks of hair that seemed to be forged of the Eternal Fires of the Setting Sun, a thin waist, with wide hips, she looked as if she would be a beautiful bride and be able to bare children. My father approached my mother’s father, Ahneer and asked for her hand in marriage. My father immediately agreed; after all, Westspring was a small town with a population of sixty people. The notion that his daughter would be wedding into a home of wealth appealed to him. My mother did not resist; while she was not wholly attracted to Trijin, he was not ugly by any stretch of the imagination. On the ride back to Castle Barnaressi, my father and mother consummated their relationship, several times.

My mother revealed she had gotten pregnant after living in the castle for several months and Trijin had his minions take her and drag her away to the bustling city of Highstone. Once there, they revealed that Trijin had called off the wedding. With no money and no means to return home, my mother learned to survive on the streets, even while she was pregnant. I was born in an unmarked alleyway, where my mother died during childbirth; but not before a stranger had found her.

The woman, a thief named Ellastar, took me and brought me down to the Thieves Guild of the Locksmith’s Guild. Ellastar took my mother’s hand and smiled warmly, looking down at me, “Your baby is born, love,” she said soothingly.

“Please take care of the baby,” my mother choked.

“It’s a baby boy,” Ellastar smiled, giving my mother’s hand a gentle squeeze. “What’s your name, love?”

“Ahna,” my mother had told her, “Ahna Audestri.”

And with that, my mother passed away.

The woman who found me, Ellastar, was one of the members of the Locksmith’s Guild a prominent thieves guild in Highstone. She looked down at me, a new born, barely born less than ten minutes ago she guessed with the umbilical cord still uncut, lying in a pool of my mother’s blood.

Bythorn, a half-orc who ran the Locksmith’s Guild was furious. “What do you think you’re doing Ellastar? A crying infant like that is bound to reveal our location to the city guards if they search these sewers again.”

“I can always take the child, and my skills, elsewhere,” she threatened.

As it turned out, Ellastar happened to be one of the best at what she did; and that was fight her way out of a situation if she couldn’t sneak out of it. Ellastar began targeting pregnant or new mothers, and following them to mark their house and sneak in to steal milk that they had stored for their infants. In her mind, they had more milk in their breasts to feed the children; the child she found had none. She’d done research about my mother and discovered who she was and how she had come to Highstone. When I was five, she named me “Bruzzan” which was Orc for “Born In Blood.” Though she was not Orc in anyway; she was actually a beautiful female elf, she knew naming me an Orcish name would appease Bythorn’s ego and set aside any frustration he had with me.

By the age of twelve, Ellastar was not holding back when she taught me to fight. She would hit, cut, and bruise me. The compassion and generosity she’d shown me for years was gone. When I cried and asked why she was being so mean and hitting so hard, she simply replied, with no emotion in her voice, “Because that’s what the world is outside. It’s cruel. It’s relentless. It does not care about you. It will walk all over you. You will be the cobblestone and step to every person who walks on you as they ascend to greatness. Your tears won’t matter to them or to the world.”

It took three years but I was beginning to defend myself successfully against Ellastar’s attacks. That’s when she said, “Now to teach you how to steal.”

We spent countless nights sneaking around, breaking into homes, mugging the foolish. There were times after we mugged someone, she would scream for help as she dashed away, forcing me to find my own route of escape. This I didn’t need to ask why. I knew from the fighting lesson that the day might come that someone might betray me and I had best better be ready to fight or stealth away when that day comes.

Each successful run, Ellastar only gave me five percent of the take, taking sixty for her, and lying to Bythorn about the total, which she would give him the rest.

By the age of eighteen, she told me my mother’s name, her story and what she’d found out about her. I was furious with my father, who may or may not be dead by now. I had wanted to find him and crush his skull beneath the battle mallet I had grown accustomed to using. It was around this time, Bythorn had propositioned me to be the Locksmith Guild’s personal “retrieval expert.”

This meant going after specific targets that borrowed from the guild and neglected to pay back in time. These jobs included smashing the knees, hands, and sometimes heads, of those that refused to pay me when I came to collect on behalf of the Locksmith’s Guild.

Perhaps it was the mixture of knowing the truth of my father; knowing how my mother died; and the love that Ellastar never showed me again after I reached the age of twelve; and how the world outside was simply cruel; but all I cared about was earning money – enough one day to perhaps buy my freedom from the guild and go after my father to extract my revenge. I was easily angered and any slight against me would set me off, that typically was resolved through violence.

That short fuse has gotten me into more fights than I can count; and typically within the Locksmith’s Guild. You’d think Bythorn would be against such violence; but the Orcish half side of him believed that only the strong should remain; and those I fought, and sometimes killed, were being weeded out as being weak. Bythorn even believed that one day; someone would rise up and challenge him for the title of Guild Leader.

His eyes were always on Ellastar.

And that was foolish. Because the notion of running the guild myself certain bounced in my own head from time to time…

http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsing ... tcount=367

AH0098;24080987 wrote: Two more as usual good sir. I hope work becomes less busy, not because of your writing schedule of course. Because life usually isn't awesome when work is extremely busy.

1st
Name: Dandir Truesword
Race: Half-Orc
Gender: Male
Class: Fighter - Cavalier
Background: Knight of the Order
Personality: I will honor my house and my country. I understand that most people distrust me because of my appearance, but I will prove them wrong. My heritage brings destruction, but I am above that and a man of honor.
Ideals: Life is only worth living through honor and living a life worth respecting. Never judge a book by its cover, appearances are always deceiving. The weak deserve to be protected as long as they are good folk. It's the responsibility of the Noble class to protect those less fortunate.
Bonds: I owe my life to my adoptive mother and family. My siblings accepted me when they didn't have to.
Flaws: He is blind to racial prejudice, and is willing to trust anyone
Notes: He is adventuring on behalf of his family. He was raised in a Noble house of Cormyr, and wishes to join the Purple Dragon Knights, but he still faces the prejudice associated with half of his blood. He doesn’t know his parents and doesn’t care, owing a stronger bond to his adoptive family.

This was fun to write...
Someone who appears one way but whose heart is another...
Similar to Nightcrawler, of the X-Men.
I really enjoyed writing how he was found and how he came to be into the world...
And how being raised the way he was... made him blind to hatred and prejudice. If only all the world could be that way, for real...
As always, I look forward to feedback! What you liked, hated, loved, whatever! I'd love to hear it!
Enjoy!
==============================================
“Over here!” one of the Purple Dragon Knights shouted, his blond hair falling in front of his eyes as he gave chase. One of the Red Eye Orcs whom the Purple Dragon Knights had been actively hunting in the region cut through the Ashbenford Forest.

Garen Havenshield nearly had his head severed when another Red Eye Orc jumped out from the bushes. “Ambush!” he shouted as he raised his shield and deflected the next blow that came towards him. “I could use a little help, Toramar Trueblade,” he laughed as he stepped back and avoided the next swing.

Toramar rushed forward and slammed one of the Red Eye Orcs from the side, “Pardon my less than favorable attack,” he smiled, “but I doubt you would have given me the courtesy of an honorable fight either, as it would seem you tried to ambush my dear friend, Garen.” With that, Toramar ran his longsword through the orc as he struggled to get up.

The other orc, whom Garen had been chasing, would not go down so easily. Just as they’d seen before, something in the Orc’s eyes suddenly appeared as if he was spiritually no longer there as he entered an aggressive form of rage, swinging wildly, all the wounds already inflicted upon him seemed to do little to slow him down.

The Orc had managed to deliver a lucky strike against Garen, cutting into the joints of his armor at the shoulder and drawing blood. This only seemed to fuel the enraged Orc. As Garen fell backwards the Orc leaped from a log, sword in hand ready to bring it down into Garen’s unprotected face. However, in the Orc’s rage and focus on Garen, it had lost sight of Toramar who had been standing to the side and severed the Orc’s head as it leapt through the air.

Toramar kneeled down. “Why am I always saving your life?”

“I believe,” Garen winced, “the score currently stands at five to three, in my favor. Even after this,” he looked at his shoulder as he removed the arm piece to examine the wound. “These Red Eye Orcs and that rage they get into… worse than any barbarian from the North. It’s almost like they leave their body and have no regard what happens to it.”

“If we could ever capture one alive,” Toramar smiled, “we might be able to learn something. But even the few we manage to subdue, they all have a poison they keep in their mouth to bite down on in the event they’re captured; only adding to the mystery of their recent rise.”

At that moment, Toramar heard a sound. He placed his hand on his friend who looked at him knowingly. Toramar drew his blade and quietly made his way through the woods, moving as quietly as his heavy armor would permit him. The sound came again; crying. Toramar moved more quickly and burst into the clearing near the Ashaba River.

A human woman, beaten so badly that her eyes were swollen shut, her teeth knocked out, and tied to a tree. Toramar dropped his sword and rushed to her side and let out a gasp. She had not been the one who was crying; it was the infant that lay between her legs, freshly birthed, and by the looks of it, by the sheer force of the mother, who was now dead.

Toramar wiped the blood off the infant and used his belt dagger to cut the umbilical cord and rushed the crying baby to the river where he washed off the blood and fluid from the birthing process and saw immediately, that the child was not human like the woman tied against the tree. It was a half-orc. Toramar did not even hesitate; he immediately tore off his cloak and wrapped the infant and rushed back to his friend’s side after picking up his sword.

“We need to get this infant back to the Church,” he urged his friend to stand.

“It looks like an orc,” Garen raised an eye brow as he sheathed his own sword after putting the armor pieces back onto his arm.

“Half-orc,” Toramar corrected.

“The mother?” Garen asked.

“She did not survive,” Toramar led his friend back to the woman. “This must be Jana Springstorm,” he concluded; she’d been a part of a caravan that had been attacked almost a year ago and vanished in this very area. Due to the severe beating and torture she suffered at the hands of the orcs, identifying her would be extremely difficult. Garen began cutting her free and placed her body over his shoulder. She was easy to carry as she was emaciated from lack of being fed.

“We will pray for her,” Toramar nodded, “and ensure she is given a proper burial at the Hall of Heroes.”

“What about the child?” Garen asked as they made their way back to their horses at the edge of the forest.

Toramar looked down at the child then back at his friend, “I will ask the Church to bless the child and cleanse him of the evil of the orc blood and I will raise him.”

“You?” Garen paused, shocked.

“It’s the least I could do for her,” Toramar nodded to the woman slung over Garen’s shoulder. “She may not have wanted this child, but it is a part of her. We were not able to save her in this life, but if we can save this child, we might just be able to find our own redemption for failing her.”


The Church blessed the child; but echoed the same concern Garen had shared, but it did nothing to sway Toramar’s decision. Toramar named the child, Dandir, who had been an old folklore hero with a monstrous appearance and fought against the odds to earn the trust of the people, despite how he looked outwardly.

Toramar taught Dandir to fight and defend himself starting at the age of ten. Toramar’s wife, though uneasy when Dandir was first brought to their house, soon embraced the infant. With a heart of pure gold and full of nothing but love, Neena, was someone who might fight against an idea, but nearly a minute later would be in love. It’d been one of the Neena’s strongest traits that initially drew Toramar to her. She had taken in homeless children, dogs, and cats and tended to them. Dandir was just another homeless soul in need of a home and love.

Toramar taught Dandir to temper his inner fury that boiled in his orcish bloodline and find his center and peace when overcome by the rage. He learned to respect and love those that deserved it and always extended his hand to those in need, giving up his own food and clothing at times, to a homeless woman or child in the streets. Toramar’s other children simply embraced him because in their family they were never taught hate; and that carried over into Dandir who looked at everyone the same; whether they were rich or poor, healthy or handicapped, each of them deserved his respect, his love, and his honor.

And now at the age of eighteen, his dream was nearly at hand.

Like his father before him, he sought to enter the ranks of the Purple Dragon Knights; but despite the lack of hatred in his eyes, others still judged him and he knew this.

That meant he had to work twice as hard to earn their trust and respect.

A challenge he wholeheartedly embraced.

Born in hatred, raised in love, Dandir Trueblade would be a Purple Dragon Knight, if it was the last thing he did in this world.

http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsing ... tcount=368

AH0098;24080987 wrote: Two more as usual good sir. I hope work becomes less busy, not because of your writing schedule of course. Because life usually isn't awesome when work is extremely busy.
2nd
Name: Aithe Darante
Race: Human (Variant)
Gender: Female
Class: Cleric
Background: Port Noble
Personality: I wish to understand the Arcane, it is such a huge part of my nation’s life. I am utterly serene, even in the face of disaster. I am always calm, no matter what the situation. I never raise my voice or let my emotions control me.
Ideals: Mystra holds the weave together, and the weave holds the world together so both are equally as important as the Toril. Destiny. Nothing and no one can steer me away from my higher calling. Greater Good. My gifts are meant to be shared with all, not used for my own benefit.
Bonds: Mystra's will is my life, she chose me to not Master the Art, but blessed my soul with the Art and the Power. Mystra’s calling has made me leave my nation since it came back to Toril, I don’t know where my destiny will take me.
Flaws: Shy in public and doe
Notes: Feat: Magic Initiate (Druid). She is adventuring away from her home nation because of what she thinks is a vision from Mystra, not sure if it’s a real vision or not.
I hope you have some fun with them. I assume you've enjoyed writing the histories for the characters I've presented.

I enjoyed writing this...
Did something a little different...
Left plenty of mysteries to this one...
Is the Tabaxi just a Tabaxi?
Is there a ploy to the Tabaxi's game?
Had the Tabaxi made noise on purpose in hopes of waking the daughter?
Or is the Tabaxi some celestial being who senses greatness in Aithe?
The island mentioned is not on Forgotten Realms proper; but could easily be explained as being a very small island, and thus not charted properly.
Or it can be changed to an existing island!
As always, would love ANY feedback you have!
Enjoy!
====================================
Ideals: Mystra holds the weave together, and the weave holds the world together so both are equally as important as the Toril. Destiny. Nothing and no one can steer me away from my higher calling. Greater Good. My gifts are meant to be shared with all, not used for my own benefit.
Bonds: Mystra's will is my life, she chose me to not Master the Art, but blessed my soul with the Art and the Power. Mystra’s calling has made me leave my nation since it came back to Toril, I don’t know where my destiny will take me.
Flaws: Shy in public and doe
Notes: Feat: Magic Initiate (Druid). She is adventuring away from her home nation because of what she thinks is a vision from Mystra, not sure if it’s a real vision or not.


Aithe Darante had spent her nights sitting on the ledge of the patio that over looked the ocean. She wondered if somewhere out there the dark seas of the ocean touched the dimly lit star filled skies. She would ask her father who commanded a fleet of explorers what the men would report to him. Typically he entertained her questions and curiosity; but from time to time, her father Fenryn Darante would fabricate stories of mysterious islands and fantastic beasts.

Aithe Darante spent her days and nights praying to Mystra, goddess of all the magic that flowed through the world. Aithe hoped that she would one day sail to a mysterious island and find the exotic creatures that her father had told her about.

One night, while her father had been up late, discussing political agendas, Aithe crept down the stairs after hearing an unusual sounding voice. Much to her surprise she saw what appeared to be a tall, slender, humanoid cat, with orange fur. She couldn’t withhold her gasp and caught the attention of the unusual looking humanoid feline, who was clearly a female. “It would seem our discussions have awakened your daughter.”

Fenryn flushed with embarrassment. “My apologies, Freyathye. It is my daughter. And she is a rather inquisitive child. Allow me a moment to put her to bed.”

Aithe could not take her eyes off the feline creature. Freyathye smiled, “She seems rather enamored.”

“She’s never seen a Tabaxi,” Aithe’s father smiled.

“Well, we cannot send her off to bed without meeting one then,” Freyathye smiled. The Tabaxi approached Aithe, who while initially enchanted by the sight of the Tabaxi, was now gripped with fear when she saw the Tabaxi’s rippling leg muscles and long claws. Freyathye retracted her claws, “My apologies, when I heard a sound I extended my claws. My name is Freyathye.”

Aithe extended her hand, “Mine is Aithe. Aithe Darante.”

“The honor,” the Tabaxi bowed, “is all mine. Perhaps one day we will meet again, little one?”

Fenryn rushed Aithe up the stairs and into her room. He looked at her and wanted to say something about interrupting a sensitive meeting; but he realized her interruption had sundered the rapidly building tension and reset everyone’s mood, so he was, in truth, thankful for the interruption.

Fenryn was able to return to his meeting and discuss the trades with the Tabaxi for the refined ore found exclusively on their island and reach a mutual agreement.

As soon as her father had left her room she quickly crawled out of bed and peered out her window, which over looked the dock. After an hour, the Tabaxi could be seen leaving and as if knowing she were being watched she turned and smiled directly at Aithe who was stunned and quickly dove to the floor, leaving her father who had been happily escorting Freyathye back to her ship, looking over his shoulder and wondering why the Tabaxi had been smiling.

Aithe opened her hand and stared at the note that the Tabaxi had passed her in their brief handshake.

“Watch the Heavens; see the stars;
The gods with their all seeing eyes;
We shall meet again; for I am never far;
The truth to who I am, you will realize.”

It’d been an odd note to be sure. How had the Tabaxi known that she would meet her? Or was there some other meaning? Aithe folded the note and kept it in her pocket. As the days followed, she continued to try and analyze the note and determine its meaning, all the while keeping her eyes gazing at the stars every night.

By the age of twelve, during one of her classes, one of her friends had been pushed down by a bully and smacked her head against the wall. When Aithe rushed to her friend’s side, inexplicably, Aithe’s hands began to glow and the wound on her friend’s head seemed to mend itself. It was that moment something else changed in her. She found an inner peace that she’d never felt before. This kept her calm in the face of danger; for example when her father’s docks caught fire; she had walked out there, calmly as if guided by some holy presence, and directed the people who needed help how to get away, while issuing commands in an effective manner when it came to putting out the fires.

The birth of this new inner peace made her slightly detached from her family as she began to reach out to strangers to help them. The sick, the homeless, she wanted to help them all. Despite her inner desire to help everyone she came in contact with, the peace she felt and how she felt cut off from others had made me shy, and sometimes awkward in public. One night while sitting in the garden by herself, arms at her side, legs crisscrossed, she closed her eyes and sought answers as to why she had felt so changed. When she opened her eyes there’d been a small rose that had grown in front of her. She thought for a moment the rose had symbolized something; but soon realized there was a rabbit lying peacefully next to her. Somehow her peace had made a small connection to the balance of nature as well.

She returned to her room and began to pack some of her belongings away.

Her father, now older, entered the room to ask where she was going.

Aithe turned and faced her father, “Truth be told I do not know. Something in me has changed. I can do things I never thought possible. I had always wanted to shape and use magic like the wizards I’d seen; but my power,” she looked at her hands, “does not require a spell book.” She smiled at her father, “Mystra has heard my endless prayers; but rather than make me a wizard she has turned me into one of her priests. Perhaps someone in a major city can help me.”

“Just tell me where you want to go,” her father pleaded, “and you can use one of my ships to have you taken there. I have connections everywhere.”

Aithe shook her head, “That’s just it, I don’t know where I am going. I will let fate decide,” she smiled, and at that moment opened her old dresser and saw a crumpled, aged, yellow note. She opened it and read the poem that the Tabaxi had given her so many years ago.

“Where does Freythe live?” Aithe suddenly perked up.

“On the jungle island of Festhwill,” her father replied. “But I can’t let you go there. It’s dangerous.”

“I’ll be fine,” she smiled. “Mystra guides me.”

http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsing ... tcount=371

Ghghj2;24092825 wrote:I have a rough idea for a lizard folk scout rogue and any suggestions on his character, backstory, motivations for adventuring, connections, etc. would be appreciated.
Sludge is a black, green spotted lizardfolk. His egg was stolen from his tribe and sold to a noble who thought it was at least a pseudodragon, and filled whit rage, tried to vent it out on him, only to get half of his hand bitten off. When the guards rushed in, sludge scurried to an exit, ending up in the city sewers. While time passed, he grew up watching the manners of the people up there, learning about their ways. While still being hunted by the noble, sludge managed to survive in the underground, and eventually found out about the thieves that also lurked bellow, managing to live among them. One thing that really picked his interest was coin. Not its value or significance, but its shape and glimmer and the sound a bunch of them make together.

Phew! I may have gotten too into writing this one! I would have probably kept going had my one hour timer I set as a max for writing these hadn't gone off, so I had to wrap it up!
I really enjoyed writing this...
The "poachers" I wrote were fun and came alive in my head...
The Nobleman also was easy to write...!
And then I left a lot of room (for years between his escape from the noble to what he does for the Thieves Guild) open, but explain how he comes to find them.
I'd - as always - love to hear feedback from you (or anyone reading these, really!) - what you liked, hated, loved, whatever! Let me know!
I thrive on the feedback, it helps keep this thread alive, and it bumps it up so that others can see the thread!
Enjoy!
===================================
Deep into the High Moor, a swamp notoriously infested with trolls, two poachers moved as quietly as they possibly could. Each step in the thick mud seemed to be an attempt at the land itself to try and pry their boots from their feet.

The human, whose hair was plastered to his face due to the humidity turned towards his Tiefling companion. “Are you trying to draw the trolls our way?”

The Tiefling muttered about the mud and muck, “This isn’t what I signed up for.” The Tiefling had ram like horns that were covered in moss with flies and mosquitos buzzing all around. “I don’t understand how anything would want to live in a mud hole like this damn swamp.”

“Because it’s full of water,” the human replied, “and the humidity in the air keeps things moist. Fun little fact about trolls, fire is one of the few things they fear because it’s about the only thing on this world that can harm them.”

“And that’s why you brought me? In case we run into trolls?” the Tiefling name Arus Ramsky asked.

The human named Yourn Blightfall shrugged, “You’re a Tiefling. Can’t your people shoot hellfire from your eyes?”

Arus rolled his lavender colored eyes, “Do you know anything about Tieflings?”

“That you shoot Hellfire from your eyes?” The human replied questionably.

“No,” Arus sighed, “no. We do not shoot ‘hellfire from our eyes.’”

“Well if we get into trouble with trolls, I suppose we improvise then,” he sighed, muttering under his breath that he wasn’t certain why something would look like a demon from the pit of Hell without being able to shoot fire from their eyes.

Hearing a commotion both men moved to investigate what had been happening. What they saw were Lizard People – humanoid looking lizards of various scale tones fighting with a small group of trolls.

Yourn tugged on Arus’ sleeve and pointed emphatically to something on the ground. The Tiefling looked and saw an egg in a nest. “Pseudodragon egg!”

Arus arched an eyebrow. “I am not so certain. I am pretty sure that’s a lizard –“

But Yourn cut him off. “Trust me! I’ve seen and sold plenty of pseudodragon eggs! That’s one! I know what they look like!”

“Similar to how you ‘knew’ Tieflings ‘shot hellfire from their eyes’,” Arus sighed.

“Just grab the egg!” Yourn uttered through clenched teeth.

“Me? Why don’t you grab the egg?” Arus snapped back in a hushed whisper.

“Because you have all of that unholy strength,” Yourn continued to emphatically point at the egg.

“Unholy strength? Where do you get these pieces of Tiefling knowledge,” Arus growled. “I am not grabbing that egg.”

Yourn shook his head and reached over and grabbed the egg. “Now come on! Let’s get out of here! We can sell this pseudodragon egg to a noble for thousands of gold! We will be set!”

“I’m sure your bar tab at The Last Chance Inn is probably close to a thousand gold,” Arus sighed as Yourn stuffed the egg – rather carelessly – into his bag. The two quickly made their escape – both of them losing a boot each to the mud’s siphoning powers, opting to leave them behind.


Back at Waterdeep, Yourn had arranged to meet with Untar Jorankhan, a noble who had recently taken up residence and known for his exotic tastes.

“What is it you bring me today, hunter?” Untar asked, his accent thick.

“A pseudodragon egg,” Yourn smiled; pulling the egg out of his backpack.

“It looks like an ostrich egg,” Untar replied, unimpressed.

Arus shook his head rolled his eyes.

After explaining how he had climbed some unnamed mountain, up high, above the clouds and plucking this extraordinarily looking plain egg from the nest of a mother pseudodragon (all of which was met with constant sighs from Arus for each additional lie Yourn stacked on to his “magnificent story”), Untar finally agreed to purchase it for the agreed deal of one thousand gold.

After being paid, Arus approached Yourn as they left Untar’s home and said, “I’d like to say it’s been a pleasure, but it’s not been. At all. Since I’ve known you, actually. With this,” he jiggled the pouch of gold in his hand, “I am going to cut my losses and go my own way from here on out.”

Yourn laughed. “Good luck! You’ll be crawling back to me, friend!”

“Please don’t call me friend,” Arus assured him.

“But we are friends!” Yourn cheered and pat Arus on the back.

“Touch me again and I swear to the darkest gods I will shoot hellfire from my eyes and burn you alive where you stand!” Arus growled, his eyes flaring.

“I thought you said you couldn’t…” But Yourn knew better than to press it any further and quickly excused himself and headed for The Last Chance Inn.”

Arus looked at Untar’s home and shook his head, whispering, “Damn fool.”


It’d been two weeks before the egg had hatched; and when it did Untar was disappointed. “This pseudodragon doesn’t have wings! My daughter will be furious!” He reached out to touch the creature to see if the wings were simply tightly pressed against its body, only to have it lunge at him and take a bite at his finger.

He pulled his hand back and looked at the blood it had somehow drawn. “I do believe I have been tricked. Guintin, take this foul thing out back and kill it.”

“How about,” a voice said from behind him, “I pay you five hundred gold to take it off your hands.”

Untar turned, startled to see the Tiefling from several weeks ago. “You and your friend swindled me! Told me this thing was a pseudodragon!”

“Two things,” Arus growled. “First, that human was not my friend. Second, he is the one who lied and swindled you. Not me. If you’d been listening closely to me, I was sighing the entire time that human trash was weaving his fantastic tale. But you were too caught up in his tale to want to hear anything else.” Arus threw the bag of five hundred gold on the table. “Now that you know you’ve been swindled, I am willing to give you my half of what was paid to take the creature off of your hands.”

“Wait!” Untar eyed Arus. “What are you not telling me? Why are you willing to pay five hundred gold for this beast?”

“Because I know where it came from and I can take it back home,” Arus explained. “You were just going to kill it. Now you can let it live and get five hundred gold back. Seems like a winning situation for you.”

“You don’t strike me as the compassionate type,” Untar eyed Arus. “There’s something you’re not telling me, demon.”

“I’m not a demon,” Arus growled.

“I’m afraid I can’t take your gold,” Untar smiled, believing there was something more to this recently hatched creature. “Get the other five hundred of my gold and the beast is yours.”

“Rest assured that the other five hundred gold you gave that human wastebasket is already gone,” Arus retorted. “All you’re getting is that five hundred gold there.”

“I think not,” Untar whistled and the room filled with the guards. “Try anything and these men will run you through. Now run along, find your friend, and get the other five hundred gold and I will consider selling this beast back to you.”

Arus growled and left the estate furious. He found Yourn at the Last Chance Inn, passed out in the northern corner. Arus searched him and as he had suspected, not even a copper coin to his name. Arus shook his head and punched Yourn who barely made a sound of acknowledgement.

Arus spent the next few weeks scouting Untar’s estate; but Untar must have suspected Arus might try to steal the beast as the security nearly tripled from the last time Arus had snuck into the mansion. It had been nearly six months that Arus agreed to an assortment of odd jobs – some of them landing him working with Yourn again, much to his dismay – to earn the other five hundred gold. When he approached the estate he was escorted by heavily armed guards to Untar.

“I bring the other five hundred,” Arus said, throwing the gold on the table.

“You’re too late!” howled Untar thrusting his hand forward, revealing that two of his fingers had been severed. “The damn beast bit two of my fingers and escaped down a ventilation shaft before my guards could kill it!”

“Where is it now?” Arus asked.

“If I knew I wouldn’t be so furious! Turns out the blasted thing has eluded my guards who are scouring the city day in and day out in search of any information leading to the capture. And don’t think for a moment I was going to capture it to hand it over to you! No! I want it captured so I can cut the beast’s fingers off before I kill it. I will keep this five hundred gold to pay for the medical bills that your lies brought upon me!”

Arus once again found himself broke – and with Yourn’s constant lies to blame, yet again.

The “beast” was in fact, as Arus had believed a lizard person. With velvet black scales, with green spots dotting his entire body, the young lizardman learned to live on the streets, sticking to dark alleyways that most guards he noticed, avoided, and typically came out at night where his dark skin complimented his ability to move in the shadows and steal whatever he needed. He adopted the name “Sludge” – a word that he’d heard the humans call mud and muck, in which he lived in.

By the age of sixteen, Sludge’s courage continued to grow and he grew braver about going out during the day, and traveling deeper and deeper into the sewers. He had seen signs of life and other humanoid tracks in the mud of the sewers and wondered if it had been the guards or someone else.

He discovered a Thieves Guild that went by the name of “The Blackstone Brigade” who were interested in Sludge’s ability to remain nearly undetectable in pure darkness; even against those who could see in low light, Sludge’s coldblooded reptilian nature made him difficult to spot.

The leader of the guild, a Half-Orc named Burg’graw Kattle’dorn recruited Sludge for some of the lower end jobs to see how good he was before promoting him to some more… lucrative tasks.

All the while, just thirty feet above him, Arus continued to look, even to this day for signs of the young beast…

http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsing ... tcount=376

Great Dragon;24085057 wrote:@ Tawmis: Here's one to ponder, when you get around to it.
5e FR, and Skullport in DotMM start for Introduction to Campaign.
Before that - have fun!
Name: Vippi Padkookkra Gender: Female (serves Silverstream Ancient Silver Dragon)
Race Kobold. +2 Dex and -2 Str
Ht 3'4" * Wt 26 * Eyes: Topaz * Scales: Emerald.
Str 06 Dex 20 Con 16 Int 10 Wis 14 Cha 12
ASIs (4) Dungeon Delver (8) Crossbow Expert (10) Skulker
Background: Survivor: Insight and Survival
Trait: Gossip-monger
Ideal: Spread Love and Joy!
Bond: Will never betray a true friend.
Flaw: Loves to prove themselves superior to everyone.
Class: Arcane Trickster Rogue level 11
Skills: Perception, Investigation (Ex), Stealth (Ex), and Persuasion( Ex)
Tools: Thieves Tools (Ex), Poison Kit. Tinker Tools
Languages: Draconic, Undercommon; Common (250 gp), Elvis (250 gp) Drow Sign (250 gp).
Dwarven (250 gp), and Duergar (250 gp) Gnomish (250 gp)[/spoiler]

I tied her to your own character's origin to explain who she was better than.
There's also references to this kobold and this kobold.
This one is kind of short and sweet; but because it's tying to a module, I didn't want to take too many liberties with it.
I leave the mystery at the end open to tie to the module, or just be something else entirely!
I will also post this in your thread too!
Enjoy!
=======================================================
“Have you heard the news?” Vippi looked around to ensure others were not listening. Her emerald scales glistened like precious stones as several Kobolds leaned closer to see what she had to say. “Turn out,” she wiggled her finger, her high pitch voice drawing even more (perhaps intended?) attention towards her. “Ol’ Blezzel’top knows Naknak and Sindear!”

“Isn’t Sindear the one that got herself captured by Drow, or something?” Joo’kar, one of the Kobolds who had not originally been intended to hear the news, spoke up as he couldn’t help over hearing Vippi’s squeaky voice.

Vippi turned to face Joo’kar, an old friend of hers who had taken up guarding Silverstream’s treasure trove. Silverstream was an ancient Silver Dragon who had taking a liking to the Kobolds who swore loyalty to her after her arrival; her true name was Sruthairgid, but it was nearly impossible to pronounce with the way true Dragons used inflections.

“I hear that Drekekno is going to go after the Drow and try to rescue Sindear,” Vippi added, taking a seat on a jagged piece of stone, seeing a crowd gather around her. Drekekno was one of the few and exceptionally rare Dragonwrought; a Kobold, whose bloodline somehow directly ties into that of the Dragonkin – or so that’s how Kobolds explain it.

“I don’t see why Drekekno would risk his life for someone from a different tribe,” Puuntar jumped into the conversation. He had one eye (the other lost to a Displacer Beast) and that one eye always seemed to be unfocused on anything in particular.

“Because they came to us seeking help,” Vippi replied. “Apparently a war between Drow and Mind Flayers broke out in their home and spilled into their area of the cavern so they were forced to flee. Sindear was apparently captured by trying to do something heroic and save her ex-partner, who had managed to permanently turn himself invisible. So Drekekno, being the hero that he is, thought that her heroic deeds deem her as someone worth saving!”

“Didn’t you have a thing for Drekekno?” Crune, a golden scaled Kobold asked, popping up from around the corner to see this odd crowd that had gathered. “Does it bother you he’s going to rescue a female? What if they fall in love?”

Vippi laughed. “Me? Have feelings for Drekekno? The only feelings I have for him is admiration! You know me! I love everyone! If Drekekno ever needed me, he is a dear friend, nothing more – and I would always be there for him if he called on me.”

She pulled out a dagger and juggled it in the air. “That said, despite the fact that he’s a Dragonwrought, I am pretty sure I am better at everything he does!” She spun her dagger in the air, caught it by the hilt and threw it across the cavern so it stuck to a small piece of wood. “And what I can’t beat him in melee with,” her hands began to glow, “I was also born with magic!”

At this, everyone – having heard the same story about how she was better than Drekekno for the fiftieth time – quickly began to disperse.

“Wait! Come back! I still haven’t told you what else Ol’ Bleezel’top told me! About the passage in the mountain that he found! Come back!” But no one came back. Vippi did indeed love everyone; her genuine passion for her people allowed her to be close to everyone; and this allowed her to gather information that she shared with her guild; but sometimes couldn’t keep the secrets to herself and told anyone who would listen. She loved a good crowd. She would have made for an excellent bard in a another life.

“Fine,” she muttered to herself, sliding off the rock. She looked at her dagger and used the arcane magic that burned in her veins to call the dagger back to her. “I will go check out what’s in the cavern below by myself…”

http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsing ... tcount=383

Bundin;24096311 wrote: Race: Warforged Envoy, integrated thieves' tools, and a pistol embedded into one arm.
Class: Artificer - Battle Smith (UA v3)
Setting: FR, all over the place
Level: 8
No feats, all ASIs into Int, 12 Wis, 8 Cha

He/she/it (don't know if it identifies as malenor female, anything goes) is just joining the party, as my previous character (100% self-centered Yuan-ti lore bard) ran off because he no longer felt the party was an adequate meatshield. The slate is completely clean. The only magic item he currently has is a Cape of the Mountebank, which acts like a personal transporter once/day (refluffed as some sort of backpack-like techno magical contraption, but where did he get it?!). All other fancy stuff is the result of artificer infused items (repeating shot pistol, repulsion shield, goggles of night). He can have one more major uncommon item, which I'd like to mesh with the background. Utility > combat power for that item.

I've given that some more thought, and while I would like to avoid the "doesn't understand emotions" thing, I do feel that this warforged hasn't interacted with many different people on a personal level, even though it might have seen different parts of the world during service. It has served as an aide to a high ranking magic user, think general's aide / batman (the British soldier-servant version, not the nocturnal wingy flappy one). A mix of bodyguard, butler, fixer and messenger, but also a repository of knowledge. Knowledge about magic, tech, tactics and strategy, all was to be absorbed by this aide, to be analysed and reproduced when asked. It loved that and took to it with gusto, reading and studying when time allowed. Background: Sage. The subclass with the artificial mind was a bit too esoteric for me though, after all, soldier/bodyguard first, walking database second.

Ideal: Logic would probably be something that the character would adhere to, with Int 20. Maybe not Spock level logic, but I can see it being no-nonsense, often to the point of flaw: being unnecessarily blunt. After all, it's used to having the authority of a high ranking officer backing him up, social niceties aren't a big thing in such a case, and it just doesn't really care about all that.

Loyalty is also a big thing though, once trust is earned. It might be blunt and stand-offish to strangers, but when push comes to shove, it will stand in harm's way to protect his companions. Alignment wise, lawful neutral, with the code that is to be adhered to being a result of logic, military experience and former job experience.

The one regret that keeps eating at him, and never leaves the back of his mind: killing an enemy soldier after he surrendered, and covering that up. That soldier might have been a conscript with little choice in the matter. He wants to make up to the soldier's family, but does not know the first thing about that soldie, except what he looked like.

As for why thieves' tools are integrated, that doesn't really make sense now, I just picked that as 'might come in handy'. I might change that to tinker's tools or something similar, to fit the repair part of the job and stress the multifunctionality of the previous job.

I took a little of everything you said and tried to explain everything (though I did forget to explain the Cloak! I just realized that now! But that could be a gift from the Wizard memory that's mentioned; which might explain why you have been around so much, by teleporting). I've never DM'ed for or play a Warforged (was never a fan of Ebberon - sp? - so I never got into it). But someone in this thread also had a Warforged character... so I did some research... and dug the concept. Then someone else came along with a Warforged, so that one was easier to write, because I now had an understanding of the character. Both of those pretty much knew where they came from and why they were made...

So I wanted to take your character on a different ride!
Please give me feedback - whether you like it, love it, hate it!
What works! What doesn't! Let me know!
Enjoy!
=========================================

Shattered; torn asunder is what has been called “my memories.”

Pieces of my past reveal themselves to me like small fragments in a broken mirror. Not knowing who – or why – I was created; I have walked the face of the world in search of the missing pieces of who I am and why I am.

I am neither alive; nor dead. I am what they call Warforged.

As a part of being a Warforged, a part of my core is defending the land and the people who built me. Only, I am unsure of who that is. My fractured memory has revealed to me haunting clues and pieces of my life before what I have called “The Sundering.” The order in which these pieces appear are not in any form of timeline. Sometimes it’s a vision of several dwarves and fighting Duergar, but the next piece is aiding a wizard, another piece is a battlefield on the surface, with the next being collecting the dead in the first vision of the Duergar.

The pieces I recall –

The Wizard: Power and Master of the Magical Realm. Perhaps he was the one who forged me. Proficient in magic, he is the logical choice who may have created me to defend him from those who would seek out his secrets. He was an older Elf, strangely with white hair and golden colored eyes. He worked tirelessly and uncovering and understanding how magic worked. Perhaps it is he who has also imbued within me this understanding and ability to find magic in all things. I remember a group of Magic Using Zealots by the name of the Hand of the Shadow Council coming after him; and that I stood in there way and fought them. Is that when I lost my memory? If so, why is everything else also fractured?

The Dwarves: Powerful smiths and expert weapon makers. I look at my right hand and see a pistol embedded into my arm. I remember this.

“You know what he needs, do ye?” one of the dwarves with fiery red hair asked.

“Don’t tell me ye wanna go with cannons for arms again? Do ye remember how that went last time? He figured his cannons and ripped his arms off, he did!” another dwarf, this one younger than the fiery haired one said shaking his head. “We can’t be affordin’ to be doin’ that again, ye know! Especially with them blasted Duergar and the vicious beasts of the dark they be haulin’ up here to attack us!”

There are fragments here; but I recall leading a charge with Dwarves behind me and attack these creatures called Duergar that bare a strong resemblance to their Dwarven cousins. Leading the Dwarves through the Duergar’s frontlines we confronted something that looked to be a humanoid with a squid like head on its shoulders; and behind it a massive, floating brain, with tendrils connecting into a pit of blood. And this is where that memory ends.

Humans: The War against Orcs. Another fractured memory is me standing amidst a cavalry of Knights, Paladins and Cavaliers. We had chased an portion of the Red Eye Orcs back to their mountain cave where they had retreated and undoubtedly set up a trap for those of us about to follow them in.

“He’s alive,” one of the Paladins pointed to me, “perhaps not born like you and I – but he’s capable of emotion. I’ve personally seen it in him.” This was a Paladin of Helm and his name was Arith Moontide. There is a look of pain and regret in Arith’s eyes when he says that.

“He’s our best chance,” the Cavalier of some Kingdom whose emblem appeared to be a rising sun replied. “He may be ‘alive’ as you say, but he’s a construct. If they’ve laid out traps, and you know they have, he’s the best one to survive it. And should he get damaged we may be able to find a wizard who can piece him back together. If one of us perishes we visit our gods as a consequence.”

The Knight winced and placed his hand on Arith’s shoulder. “I hate to admit it,” he added, stroking his long mustache, “but Tornar is right.”

“I can’t in good conscious allow this,” Arith replied, folding his arms in front of his chest. “The view of the world has changed greatly for me; after all I’ve lived through. He’s more than just a construct in my eyes.”

I turned my head and smiled – or what passed as a smile for a Warforged – and said, “There is no need to discuss this further. I will do it.”

Readying my pistol arm I charged forward into the cave. I remember seeing a large Red Eye Orc, covered in fur, almost like grizzly bear, and then the memory there ends.

The Thieves – Masters of the Tool. I have another memory where a number of Halflings found me floating in the river, all of my functions turned off. They kept me in the river and pulled me into the city sewers not too far in the cover of night where one of their mages who worked closely with the thieves guild (usually trading services of magic for items the thieves stole for him) and reignited me. When I awoke the thieves had customized me and I had Thieves Tools at the end of my hand.

“What have you done?” I asked, regaining self-awareness.

“We’re about to gain entrance to the palace and you’re going to be our frontrunner,” one of them smiled. “Sure, you’re not all that stealthy, but someone your size is going to send most of the guards running. And if there’s traps – well, you’re big and strong – I am sure you will survive them.”

That night I went with these halflings thieves who had numerous tunnels to gain entrance to the inside of the castle. As we made our way, the halflings were able to knock out most of the guards with non-lethal poisons. We reached a balcony where suddenly there was a shout and a piercing pain in my back. I spun aggressively to see who had attacked me and my hand with the gun slammed into a young man who lost his balance and toppled over the edge of the keep to his death below.

I heard one of the halflings gasp, “He just killed the prince…”

“Shut him down! Shut him down! We need to wipe him so he can’t tell who we are and we need to get out of here now!”

Darkness.

The Field Of Dreams. There was a field, endless flowers in every direction. It seemed to be much like this thing called “Heaven” that the Elven Wizard’s books spoke of.

I stood and looked around and could see I was near a farm. I approached the farmland and found that the farmers had been slain. Brutally killed by what appeared to be Red Eye Orcs, by the sheer brutality of their deaths and the painted symbol of blood on the wall.

I have wandered the world looking for who I am.

I am looking to find my purpose.

And make amends to a King I do not know for the accidental death of his son.

One day, I will find out who I am. Why I was made. And I will pray to the gods, if they even care about the Warforged, and beg them and the King for forgiveness.

One day, I will be complete again.

http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsing ... tcount=391

Falcos;24086231 wrote:Got a bit of a doozy for you.
This is the one I've tried my best to flesh out on my own, but I'd still love your spin on it.
Shui Leigong, Human from the far-off land of Kara-Tur. Chosen at birth by the destroyer-storm-God Talos to be his servant on earth, he is a Storm Sorcerer/Paladin multiclass. He was born as a potential heir to the Jade Throne, and has been sent out, along with all of the other potential heirs to bring back "something of value" to prove that he'd be an acceptable Emperor. He's gone to c, with three retainers; his personal majordomo, an Emperor's scribe to record his findings, and a cartographer to map the unfamiliar lands.
He misses his home dearly, and he attempts to learn what is needed to become Emperor, find something "valuable" to bring back, and serve his God faithfully - with the mindset of "If I'm an avatar of destruction, surely there are always things that need to be destroyed."
Think you can work with this amount of restrictions, mon amie?

And... finally... challenge accepted!
Was a busy (insane?) week at work last week...
Then I decided to do new folks before repeat folks...
Then I had to do a crash course in Network + Certificates (just barely failed, sigh)...
And now I am writing because my brain needs to think about something other than creating Subnets and knowing what port FTP, SSH, and every other protocol you can - and can't imagine - uses!
I took the opportunity to tie your origin into another one over here. Simply because the region and... what I mention below... seems to tie it all together nicely.
This one, I feel was SIGNIFICANTLY easier than your previous requests...
This one at least operated out of D&D (not 5e, but still, D&D rather than MTG)...
So that made the familiarity of it much easier...
Anyway - hopefully that means I got close to the mark!
As always - tell me your thoughts - what you liked, hated, loved, whatever! Tell me!
Enjoy!
====================================================
Kara-Tor; the great Eastern Human expanse! At one time considered one most rapidly expanding kingdoms to the Far East whose government was composed of eight ministries: State, War, Magic, Faith, Sea, Agriculture, Public Works and State Security.(1) The current Emperor, a wiser, older human by the name of Kanja No’chie now sat on the throne. Rather than the militant behavior like previous Emperors before him, Kanja enjoyed the idea of peace and tranquility; and more so the expanse on knowledge.

Devastating attacks from a Tuigan Horde invasion decimated the northwestern providences, forcing refuges to flee westward across the Golden Way Trade towards the Unapproachable East, settling in the Thesk region. (1)

Kanja believed that war begot war, and sought instead to make peace with the warring tribes, hoping to find peaceful settlements as to why they were attacking and what could be done to resolve the issues. For the most part, Kanja’s plan worked beautifully; but there were those who felt disgraced by Kanja’s army, and the only way to redeem themselves was to kill them or to die honorably trying. Applying the forces of the Wu Jen, which the previous emperor Kai Tso Shou Chin had also used, Kanja hoped that they infinite wisdom could convince those who refused to find peace to see the error of their ways.

The Senso Clan had been particularly resistant to Kanja’s peace offerings, once sending back the severed head of one of his most trusted Wu Jens, hoping to instigate a war with him. Instead, Kanja gave his most trusted friend and confidant, Watashi No’yujin a funeral ceremony like no other; and buried him in a massive tomb, guarded by a golden dragon, the highest honor any can hope to obtain.

Realizing that Kanja would not go so easily to war, the Senso Clan demanded something of great value; something that they knew Kanja did not have in his possession; something so great, so magnificent, so unique that it would be the only thing to settle the Honor Dispute.

Kanja gathered his most trusted individuals and explained that since he had no son, each of them was being considered for the throne. However, to earn the Jade Throne, the person must undergo a critical mission to satisfy the The Senso Clan’s demands of this wondrous unique item that would settle whatever transgression that caused an Honor Dispute that Onak Senso, leader of the Senso Clan, had in his mind that had happened.

Shui Leigong, one of the humans whom Kanja had selected was prophesied to be reborn as the Avatar of Talos, the Storm God of Destruction. On the day of Shui Leigong’s birth a small island with a small population of people called Dansa was wiped from the map by a raging storm that triggered Earth shattering effects, triggering a massive tsunami that washed away most of the island’s existence. This had been one of the steps to the prophecy; that a chosen child will be born with such power that it will trigger a massive storm bringing destruction.

Shui grew up worshiping Talos, knowing he would become the avatar and discovered, aside from the holy magic bestowed upon his god, he seemed to be able to naturally shape and manipulate the magical air around him, which further led to the idea that Shui was indeed the Avatar of Talos; and that the innate ability to shape magic was tied to the blood of Talos that coursed through his veins.

Kanja had told the other potential heirs to seek something great to settle Onak Senso debt; but before Shui could leave, Kanja pulled him aside and explained something else.

“I need all of you to return, but especially you, young one,” the old Kanja said, his dark brown eyes now a light grey, as blindness had begun to settle in.

“All of these great things will not be given to Onak Senso, but rather to Talos so that Talos can see the great gifts we give him and strike down Onak Senso once and for all from this world, and kill him, and his descendants, so that no other will bring harm through the eyes of revenge!”

That had been nearly five years ago. Now Shui was now wandering Faerun in search of… something? He traveled with three trusted companions; his majordomo, who was an elderly man, blind in one eye (though Shui believed it was both) named Dai Domo, as well as Kanja’s own personal scribe (none too pleased with leaving the safety of the Palace) named Sukuraibu, and the (overly talkative) Chizu Seisaku-sha, who was a cartographer.

Like Sukuraibu, Shui missed home (though he simply missed the familiarity, the customs, his family, his friends), while Sukuraibu on the other hand missed it because it was safe; and the things they’d encountered in Faerun were things unlike Kara-Tor. Also many people of Faerun were … uncivilized in how they behaved; very little self-control among the humans.


1. This information was taken directly from https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Kara-Tur (and just abbreviated/slightly rewritten - just wanted to give credit where credit is due).

http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsing ... tcount=401

Avista;24087347 wrote:Well, since you ask, why not do one of my old oneshot characters?
Name: Shidiri (Female)
Race: Tiefling
Class: Thief
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Background: Criminal -or- Charlatan
Since she was created for a short campaign, she never had her own solid backstory. She's a spitfire archetype, and prefers intimidation rolls over persuasion. She's loyal to herself, but will assist other downtrodden tieflings. She also despises the aristocrats.
[I did use her again in another short campaign where a friend played a tiefling warlock (male). We made them siblings, abandoned at the church orphanage run by a friendly old priest. The priest tried to turn them toward religion, but failed to protect them from the local denizens, so instead they turned to the dark arts and a life of crime.]
You can use that snippet as a cornerstone, or create something completely new and different! (I encourage you to make something new and exciting!)
EDIT: It was a tiefling warlock, named Vedras. He was played as a dark and brooding character who put up with the crazy shenanigans of the party. If I recall, the alignment was true neutral.

I stuck with the Religious guy trying to turn you to religion... Because, it just so happens that it was easy to tie into another origin.
I had written Barakas' backstory as a part of a new religious group in the Southern Ward. And later tied Erintor's background to the same event. So it was very easy to tie your character's background to the same event and make it fit seamlessly!

Because it tied into another event, it wrote itself - there's some development of your character... but more so about the Church and the "opposing" Church (The Pillars of Light). But it all helps build up what your character lived as a life, and the change in the end (where you mentioned she relied more on intimidation and why she ended up on that path).

As always, I'd love to hear feedback! What you liked, hated, loved, whatever you want to share - I want to hear it! It helps me, and it helps keep the thread alive!

Until then - enjoy!

========================
Abandonment.

It’s been a scar in my life that I hide, like a cut on the wrist that runs so deep; you wear long sleeves to hide it.

My brother, Vedras, and I were left on the steps of a rundown Church by our parents, whose names we never got to know. The “Church” whose footsteps we were left on was the Church of Mythia, a Church in the Southern Ward of Waterdeep which worships a Marilith – a female demon, with six arms, and a serpentine body, notoriously known for being evil – but claimed Mythia was different. Despite her outward appearance, she was a demon, cast out from the Planes of Hell, because of her compassion for the “Lost Souls.”

As you can imagine, the Church of Mythia attracted the attention of a lot of Tieflings who could relate to her. The outward appearance of a demon who was not as evil as the rest of the world might perceive them to be.

The Church of Mythia was led by a human, also an outcast, named Okil Northman, who genuinely believed in Mythia and her desire to unite lost souls under one banner and give them the family they were often deprived of.

However, the Church of Mythia wasn’t without their enemies. The Pillar of Light was a religious organization in the Southern Ward of Waterdeep as well, mostly composed of humans and half-elves who still believed there was hope for them to escape the clutches of poverty that the Southern Ward had ensnared us all in. The Pillar of Light was composed of followers not of just one god; but several different ones. Some were common gods, such as Torm, but others seemed to be made up by members of the Pillar of Light, such as Sadensa, the Goddess of the Eternal Light. The members of the Pillar of Light all believed that their chosen gods and goddesses gathered around every full moon to shine a light on the world and show them where evil resided.

Naturally, every full moon, the Pillar of Light was outside of the Church of Mythia, chanting how we were all devils and demons, and those who were not Tieflings were being “beguiled by the darkness.” Okil Northman, who led the Church of Mythia, always told us to ignore their ignorance and pray that their gods forgive them for the hatred spewing in their hearts and souls.

Ignoring the members of the Pillars of Light during Church is one thing; but when it’s day time, and you’re out trying to buy food and supplies, and the merchants are members of the Pillars of Light, and despite their poverty level, still refuse to sell to myself and my brother because we’re “demons” in their eyes, it can become significantly more difficult to try and survive in the Southern Ward. This is why Okil would ask his fellow Church members to go about and “earn as honest as a living as possible” and give the coin to him so he could go out and make the purchases.

He knew when he said “earn as honest as a living as possible” that because the majority of us were either Tieflings or Half Orcs, that it meant sometimes lightening a purse of an innocent person or two; but he never wanted to know how we can across the coin.

Years of growing up with other members of the Church of Mythia, I was taught how to move quietly and how to steal. My brother, they said, was a “Chosen One” because his connection with Mythia granted him special magical abilities, meaning that Mythia saw great promise in him.

One day, Fate would change everything. During the eighteenth celebration of Baraka’s day of birth, there was a celebration that was held for those who were a part of the Church of Mythia that acknowledged that they were adults. The Pillar of Light had caught word that there would be a special celebration and it just so happened to fall on a full moon; something that sent the overly zealous religious group into overdrive that they were being given a sign to stop the celebration.

What started out as the standard chanting of devils and demons, rapidly began to escalate as more of the protestors began to shout more and more violent suggestions. That’s when the first torch hit the Church and the run down Church that was mostly dry wood barely held together caught fire. Okil tried to keep everyone calm, but Baraka and a Half-Elf named Erintor Greenhaven, both seemed to undergo a change and chaos erupted. We were forced to fight the Pillars of Light members, with Okil shouting commands to defend ourselves, but not to kill. He was right, of course, because if we killed anyone from the Pillars of Light, it’d only add fuel to the idea that we were swayed by a demon.

By the time the night was over, the Pillar of Light members fled, carrying away their wounded, and we had successfully driven them away without killing any of them, but the Church was nothing more than crackling red embers.

That’s when my brother and I thanked Okil Northman for all of the years of shelter, but we knew we could not stay. The racial tension was too much. There had to be more out there in the world.

Okil’s words as we left were haunting. “Your parents may have abandoned you on our front door, but we have never abandoned you. Nor will we ever. May the many arms and blades of Mythia forever protect you.”

My name is Shidiri, and along with my brother, Vedras, we are out to see what the world offers. I have spent years of my life in the shadows. I am ready to step into the light and take what’s mine.

http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsing ... tcount=412

AH0098;24095658 wrote:
Name: Rincain Loyalar
Race: Human (Variant)
Gender: Male
Class: Ranger - Hunter
Background: Folk Hero
Personality: I am calm, quiet and reserved except when it involves orcs. I study everyone, as if I was on the hunt.
Ideals: Protect the land before the people, those that intend harm on nature aren't worth her respect. Most people are good, just usually ignorant of what they do.
Bonds: I will protect the people of my valley from the monstrous races, they aren't part of the natural order of things. I will protect the land from harm.
Flaws: I hate orcs, they destroyed my Hamlet and my family. They are creatures of chaos and destruction.
Notes: His hamlet was overwhelmed by Orcs and was rescued by his uncle who taught him the ways of hunting Orcs. His hamlet is now a set of ruins in the North Western part of the Dessarin Valley. He has the Alert feat. His uncle taught him how to follow

I enjoyed writing this one... and going really dark with his emotional state... and by the end, hopefully explaining why he is the way he is...
As always, I welcome feedback! Good? Bad? All right? Loved it? Liked it? Hated it? Not what you imagined/wanted?
Let me know!
Enjoy!
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Tradeton: It wasn’t much, but it was home.

Now the hamlet I once called home is a skeleton on the barren plot of land where echoes of my childhood reside. Charred remains of broken homes still send flecks of ash across the valley like falling tears. Just outside the small hamlet, a graveyard full of unmarked graves, because some of the bodies were so horribly mutilated or burned that we could not identify them. Children. Women. Men. Young. Old. Elderly. These Orcs – the Red Eye Orcs – did not care who they cut down. They weren’t looking for anything specific. We were not hiding some great or some world shattering secret. The reason for their attack was for one reason and one reason alone: The sheer thrill of killing.

This all happened four years ago; and there are some years, like this year, where I return to my old home on the anniversary of the attack. It helps remind me what happened. It fuels my soul for vengeance and rekindles my searing hatred for Orcs.

Had it not been for the timely arrival of my uncle, Ganrer, I would be one of the bodies in those unmarked graves. My younger sister, my mother, and my father were all slaughtered in the vicious attack. He had arrived, just as one of the Orcs had killed my sister, having already killed my mother and father. He cut down the orc from behind as it was leering at me, blood dripping off of its blade. I had been a simple farmer back then. My uncle, a man who refused to ever settle, had lived off the land. When we escaped the onslaught, my Uncle taught me how to live off the land and how to track not only animals, but Orcs. I was obsessed with the idea of getting my revenge. The memory that I see every night when I sleep is my sister’s arm extending out to me, crying for help, as the Orc brought his sword down on her time and time again and the helplessness I felt.

Whether they know it or not, the Red Eye Orcs forged a weapon that night. I was frightened, terrified and horrified beyond words. In those four years, my Uncle Ganrer has shown me so much. Like a Master Smith Dwarf, my Uncle forged me into a weapon that strikes out without mercy or hesitation.

He’s taught me that the world is full of vile souls, and that, despite appearances; no one should ever be fully trusted. A human could be just as vile and malicious as any Orc. Because of that, when I meet someone, I immediately take notice to everything about them; from what they’re wearing, to how they smell, and if it’s anywhere in the wild, where I can examine their footprint, I take note of it. Because I will never be a victim again and I will track down anyone who crosses me to the ends of this world and I will have my revenge, no matter what it takes.

But I am not a man without compassion. I have killed numerous brigands who have chased innocent people into the woods I’ve wandered to defend the innocent. After all, it’s as my Uncle said; everyone, no matter their race, has the potential to be just as vile and malicious as the Orcs. And I never – ever – want someone to suffer as I did and be a hopeless victim. I will be the one to take the stand for them and defend them if I ever see it. And I will act without mercy to defend the innocent. A lack of respect for life earns a quick death from me; whether they’re intending to inflict harm on others, or on nature itself. There is a difference between hunting an animal for food and killing for pleasure. There is a difference between cutting down a tree to build a home and maliciously burning down a forest. Just as I would go to any length to defend a person from those who would invoke harm; I show the same compassion for the animals, the woods, and for Nature itself.

As I walk through the skeletal remains of Tradeton, I pass my old house, running my hands across the charred remains. There are still stains of blood that not even the rain seems to be able to wash away, a constant reminder of the great tragedy that took place here; fuel and fire for my heart.

I stop when I reach some of the only few marked graves in the cemetery: my mother, my father, and my sister. I run my hands over each of the makeshift tombstones and kneel down for a moment to speak with them.

I hear their voices. My mother telling me to release my rage. My father telling me he’s proud of the person I’ve become, but fears for my safety. And my sister… I hear her the loudest. That she forgives me and that it was not my fault.

It’s the same conversation each time. I tell my mother, I will release my anger when I am done. I tell my father, not to worry about me. And I tell my sister, when the time comes, I will hug her again.

I stand and listen.

Drums. Orc drums. Not too far away.

I smile.

Until then.

They will have to wait for me.

My name is Rincain Loyalar, the Orc Slayer. And I will have my revenge.

http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsing ... tcount=423

Great Dragon;24099091 wrote: Name: Emza Fiendreaper.
Female. Variant Human Alert Feat.
Ht 5'9" Wt 176 Eyes Blue Hair Black. Age 56.
Str 20 Dex 10 Con 20 Int 16 Wis 18 Cha 14
Race Bonus Language: Celestial
Background: Noble. History (5 + 3 = 8) and Perception (5+ 4 = 10). Language: Sylvan.
Trait: While tolerant of most Fey, will hunt down any Evil creature.
Family Creed: "If I cannot rid the World of Evil, I will at least expunge of it what I can."
Ideals: Noble Obligation. It is my duty to protect and care for the people beneath me. (Good)
Responsibility. Rule with wisdom. Defend those in my care. (Lawful)
Bond: The common folk must see me as a hero o f the people.
Flaw: In fact, the world does revolve around me.

(Backstory Idea: From a long line of Heroic individuals dedicated to keeping the World safe from Fiends.)

Skills: Insight (5 + 4 = 9), Persuasion (5 + 2 = 7).
Languages: Common; Undercommon, Abyssal, and Infernal.
Equipment: +2 Adamantine Plate (calling), +2 shield (calling), +3 Longsword (calling), Portable Hole, Decanter of Endless Water, Boots of Spider Climbing, Neckless of Adaptation, Amulet of Proof from Detection and Location, Backpack, 10 days rations, Everlit Hooded Lantern.

I got a little too carried away with this one and since I only give myself an hour to write these...
I did not write how they get off the... Well, read and see...
But I explain how they could have...
And leave the rest open for you to explore with as you please, if you enjoy what's been presented!
As always, I welcome feedback! Did you - Love it? Hate it? Think it was "just all right"? Did it work? Not work?
Let me know!
Enjoy!
=============================================
I admit my bones ache and scream at me to stop, to lie down, to rest and sleep.

I have seen fifty six full seasons come and go, and I have seen the world change. I have seen how time has worn down the edges of the mountains and my sword, just as it has worn down my muscles and bones.

But I come from a long line of noble heroes who have spent their lives making this world a better – and safer – place to live. As my long hair, normally pulled back in a ponytail, blew in the chilling wind, my blue eyes scanned the darkened heavens as I continued to try and climb this jagged mountain. My age slowed me down, by my magical boots of Spider Climbing helped ease the burden.

Things had taken a drastic turn while aboard the Dwarven vessel, the Seirbigh Casúr, and as we were scouting an area known for “ominous sense of evil” – and a cast of Sirens on this uncharted island sang their song and forced our ship to run aground. The starving Sirens decimated the majority of the ship’s crew and several of the soldiers I was stationed with, before fleeing, their stomachs full and content. Knowing that the Sirens would return those of us who had survived the initial attack moved away from the coast and further inland.

Unfortunately, as we took refuge near a lake, the horrors did not end. Brydor, a good friend of mine whom I have served with for many years, let out a scream. As I and several others rushed to the edge of the lake where Brydor had been refilling his water, a horrifying woman stood over him, her clawed hangs red with his blood, feasting on his innards. Before the Night Hag was killed, she had taken down three others, leaving me only with eight other survivors.

When we camped for the night we were exhausted. The fight with the Night Hag had taken much out of us and burying Brydor was both exhausting physically and mentally. I will miss his cheery demeanor even in the face of great danger he had always something funny to say.

When we awoke we began exploring the island, sticking together. We traveled into a dense jungle near the lake because just beyond the dense jungle we could see a towering mountain that would provide us a vantage point to overlook the entire island and better understand our situation since none of us were familiar with this unmarked island.

Within a few feet of being inside the jungle, each of us reported that we were feeling dizzy and that the world seemed to sway as if we had lost our sea legs. When we tried to turn around, the very jungle itself seemed to turn with us. Every step to get out of the jungle only seemed to drive us deeper into it.

“Magic,” I growled.

“Of the foul kind,” one of the other eight survivors, an Elf Wizard named Trislan Stormoak, added. “I sense it all around me. Someone – or something – is messing with our perception of reality, but all my efforts to pinpoint it are to no avail.”

“Emza,” a human soldier named Yurn Skystar looked over at me, “I don’t want to die on this cursed island.” I could see him gripping his blade nervously.

“Don’t worry,” I replied, “if we stick together we can see our way out of this and get off this island.”

“Well,” another voice, also human, a traveler on the boat, whose sole interest was mapping out the uncharted islands, raised his spectacles and looked me up and down, “Miss…”

“Fiendreaper,” I replied.

“Yes, Miss Fiendreaper,” he rolled his eyes and muttered beneath his breath something about an overly dramatic name, before introducing himself, “My name is Eliss Fieldstone, and I have a good fortune back at home, should you successfully escort me off this island, I will be sure to reward you handsomely.”

“I will not take, nor need your money, Mister Fieldstone,” I replied. “My job was to keep you and the explorers safe.”

“Yes, well, smashing job doing that so far,” he muttered beneath his breath.

Yurn lunged for Eliss and I was forced to step between them. “You take your cowardice words back,” Yurn shouted. “I have stood next to Emza in a hundred battles and never did she back down from any fight!”

“It’s quite all right, Yurn,” I smiled. “All of our tensions are high. Whatever is in this jungle is only elevating that further.”

“I refuse to wait!” The towering human who was a barbarian from the frozen north – and as far as I could recall, his name was something along the lines of Bajorn Frosttower. The barbarians had been brought on – despite my protests – as muscle, and undoubtedly because they doubted my leadership as a woman. Bajorn charged through the jungle and managed to get a few feet ahead of us when something that looked like black octopus legs snared his ankles, pulled him off the feet, and into the brush in a matter of seconds – an impressive feat, considering Bajorn probably weighed near three hundred pounds. There were sounds of a struggle that came to an end abruptly with a sickening sound of bones snapping. Then a beast – like a shimmering black panther leapt on the path in front of us.

“Displacer Beast!” I shouted. “Do not scatter. Stick close together. Back to back! Now!” But it was already too late. Displace Beasts rarely traveled alone, using their shimmering ability to cause confusion and attack with hit and run pact tactics. Trislan and Yurn were already gone, either having fled or been taken by a Displacer Beast. Eliss was still clinging to me, while two dwarves and two gnomes and an elf were forming a circle.

One of the dwarves, the owner of the doomed ship, Gillan Seastorm and his brother, Jillan Seastorm had their weapons drawn, while the two gnomes, Burklestop Donkatop and a distant cousin of his, Turikuri Pumpordoo were glancing around nervously, daggers in hand, and the elf, a female named Paylin Karastone had energy crackling around her hands.

When one of the Displacer Beasts lunged from the side, Gillan and Jillan were able to anticipate it and each side step it and decapitate it. “We need to get goin’ lass,” Gillan shouted, wiping the blood splatter from his face. “There could be a thousand more of these blasted things!”

It was a wonderful idea to get out; but the jungle seemed determined on distorting our sense of direction. I could no longer see the edge of the jungle and lake no matter what direction I looked, and we hadn’t gone in far enough so that the jungle’s edge should have slipped out of view.

Moving slowly we edged our way forward, unsure if we were going deeper into the jungle or headed back for the lake. After an hour, I realized we were either going deeper or in circles, until we finally reached the edge of the jungle, fending off against Displacer Beasts two other times, without casualties.

“I must admit,” Eliss Fieldstone cleared his throat and adjusted his tie, “that was some impressive work back there. There’s the mountain. We should be in the clear now.”

“If there’s anything I’ve learned about this island is that we are never out of danger until we’re far from here,” I growled. As we made our way through the plains that seemed to be more swamp than anything; as if the very land itself was attempting to stop us from reaching the mountain.

“This isn’t natural,” Gillan growled his brown beard prickling.

“I have to agree with my brother,” Jillan said. “This’ll be the first an’ only time you’ll be hearin’ me say this, but I wish that blasted elf, Trislan were here. Drove me crazy with his talk of nature and magic, but he knew his magic.”

“You are not without magic,” Paylin growled from behind the dwarves as her hands glowed red.

“I don’t care much for ye wizardry types to begin with,” Jillan said. “But at least I knew Trislan got his magic from readin’ that weird book o’ his. You… you say that the magic is just in ya.”

“I am a sorcerer,” Paylin explained, yet again.

Perhaps it had been the heat, the island, or just being exhausted but none of us had seen a creature swimming through the muddy plains until it reared its head – all six of them. A beast with a crocodile like body, and six heads that looked like dragon lizards roared up. In two quick attacks it had bitten and killed one of the gnomes, and the other it had grabbed and flung against a nearby tree. Burklestop could be dead or just got the wind knocked out of him, but his distant cousin Turikuri looked dead. Gillan and Jillan were already attacking while Paylin was launching a volley of spells at the creature.

“Go on!” Gillan shouted.

“Get out of here!” his brother, Jillan added. “Get the explorer out of this mess!”

I looked at Eliss who was looking back and me. I was not one accustomed to running from battles. I sneered and grabbed Eliss by the hand and began running for the mountain, leaving the others behind me. Tears streaked down my eyes as I ran, but I knew I had to see if there was a way off this cursed island. I would not let their sacrifice be in vain.

When Eliss and I reached the base of the mountain, he leaned against one of the rocks wheezing deeply. “I can’t do it. I can’t climb this mountain. You go. I will wait here.”

“What if something comes for you?” I asked.

“Then I will try to face it with the same courage I’ve seen tonight,” he said, matter-of-factly. He was clearly so exhausted and pushed beyond his limit that he would almost welcome death, just to be free of the island.

I reached into the side of my boot and handed Eliss a dagger. “Use it,” I said, “to defend yourself, or end yourself, should you fear what comes for you.”

With that I began the ascending the mountain.

I admit my bones ache and scream at me to stop, to lie down, to rest and sleep.

I have seen fifty six full seasons come and go, and I have seen the world change. I have seen how time has worn down the edges of the mountains and my sword, just as it has worn down my muscles and bones.

But I come from a long line of noble heroes who have spent their lives making this world a better – and safer – place to live. As my long hair, normally pulled back in a ponytail, blew in the chilling wind, my blue eyes scanned the darkened heavens as I continued to try and climb this jagged mountain. My age slowed me down, by my magical boots of Spider Climbing helped ease the burden.

Just as I reach the top, I overlook the horizon, and notice a large cave. Two eyes flare open and a massive green scaled head emerges. With a gash over the left eye, it’s immediately known who it is that rears before me.

“Emereth,” I muttered, the legendary green dragon known for her viciousness. Before I can draw my sword she flaps her massive wings and the wind is enough for me to lose my footing and topple over the edge of the mountain.

Death.

I should be dead.

Instead I awaken to the sound of a familiar voice.

“About time ye gone and opened yer eyes,” it was Gillan’s voice. Perhaps I was still dead after all.

“Ye know there’s a much easier and less painful way to get down a mountain,” Jillian’s voice added. “We should know. Bein’ dwarves and all.”

My entire body burned with pain. “What happened?”

“Ellis here says he saw something massive fly into the sky when ye reached the top; then saw ye fall backwards down the mountain. Ye hit some big rocks along the way down and got yerself stuck, so he climbed up to where ye were pinned. He tended to yer wounds; and when he saw from up there that we’d beaten the damn Hydra; he called for us and we climbed to ye. Together we were able to get you back down an’ get ye stabilized. An’ ye wouldn’t believe who else we ran into.”

“Glad to see you alive, Emza,” it was Yurn’s voice.

“Indeed, you had us frightened there for a bit,” Trislan added.

“Burklestop is alive too; though his right arm and leg will never be the same. Same can’t be said for his cousin, Turikuri, unfortunately,” Gillan said grimly. “Burkle is burying him now. Wanted some privacy.”

“So before you decided to jump,” Ellis tried to joke, “did you see anything up there?”

“Before Emereth,” I began.

“Emereth? The dragon? She was here?” Gillan asked.

“She was,” I replied, wincing. “You know of her too?”

“Destroyed our home on the hills, long ago,” Gillan replied. “She’s the reason I began sailing, because I was trying to hunt her down.”

“As is most of the world,” I sighed. “To the north, I saw another island… and there appeared to be some kind of civilization there at the water’s edge on that other island. It’d be a short trek, but we’d need to gather supplies to make a raft to get there.”

“Then we know what to do next,” Jillan nodded. “Gillan and I can get started on that and get us off this damn island.”

http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsing ... tcount=429

~Soul;24120679 wrote: Finally, I have been trying to write some about my cleric, what do you think guys?

I'm going to play a hill dwarf cleric, domain of life, he serves to Lathander and will join to Ravenloft

I don't know anything about clerics, so I would appreciate some ideas, also, I need help with the background to unify it and give it coherence and cohesion.

The main idea is to build a dwarf who lives in an Amish city/town and wants to join adventures, then, he lives bad experiences and finally is aware of the evil in the world, making him reflects to help others, who like him, have needed help and they haven't got it

- His city, located in a place in the mountains, was inhabited by clans of dwarfs from the hills,They are versed miners and blacksmiths, who initially made trade with foreigners and cities. But, over the years, they became more closed with respect to other races, travelers, merchants and foreigners because they were treated for illiterates who could easily be deceived, and tried to take advantage of them.
- My character was developing a feeling of denial to his people, motivated by merchants, adventurers and others travellers who came to his city, and they found a sullen response from the dwarves: "We do not want you here"
- He left his birthplace seeking adventures and knowledges, ignoring the advice and threats of his family and friends.
- He went from town to town, and city to city, offering his services as a blacksmith or as miner.
- He was underpaid, and that ended up affecting him, becoming malnourished
- Eventually, after being cheated and underpaid for a while, he was thrown out of the villages like a dog.
- He made the decision to join a clan of thieves and bandits, as a last option.
- He started to stealing to travelers in bad routes/roads with/for the clan.
- Selling his robbed things in cities and towns.
- Even hurting other people in his heists.
- But this situation didn't last long, the clan to which he belonged gained fame, and soon, and the justice put a price to their heads.
- His clan was persecuted, and one by one, the members were captured, defected or killed.
- In one of the robberies, the dwarf was injured, and left behind by the clan. He rambled for days in the region, until he was captured by the guard of a lord, who enslaved him.
- He spent years enslaved, working for the Lord, and being mistreated.
- In a riot created by slaves, he manages to escape with a small group of people.
- The group was persecuted and divided. The dwarf, after a long road, fell faint
- When he regained consciousness, he was in a room, belonging to a sacred temple, devoted to Lathander.
- He remained in bed for a while, until he regained strength.
- There, he became friends with novices and clergy.
- And these, transmitted the values of his faith. The dwarf, for the first time since he began his journey,
- The dwarf, for the first time since he began his journey, he felt at home, and reflected about his actions.
- He stayed with them for a long time, helping them in what they needed, teaching them the hard work of forging and mining.
- And was so great, the impact caused by this new experience, and its good reception in the clergy that he decided to embrace faith, and be part of them.
- He was educated and taught for a while until he was able to become a novice, and no less important: Dawnbringer
- Many years later, already trained as a cleric, he decided to embark on his journey through Sword Coast to instruct those in need, lead by example, and take Lathender's faith to any corner in need.
- Wearing the emblem of his faith engraved on his armor, a dawn, and holding his shield and war hammer tightly, he embarks on his true adventure path

(I tried my best to write it in english)

Edit: Hill Dwarf, Cleric, Domain of Life, Acolyte, serves to Lathander.

The details you provided opened the door for what you were looking for in your character...
So I expanded on the bullet points you had and wove it into a story easily!
Hope you enjoy what I have!
I would love to hear your feedback!
Tell me if you love it, hate it, like it, if it works or doesn't work!
Enjoy!
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Silver Iron.

A small town that sits at the base of one of the Greypeak Mountain ranges, with a beautiful, soothing river running nearby. The small town had earned its name because once, a very long time ago, flecks of silver ran through the rivers coming out of the Greypeak Mountains.

However, the Hill Dwarves who live in Silver Iron were not so welcoming to outsiders. This had a lot to do with a nearby town. Llorkh was one of the most important westernmost outposts for caravans for the Northern trade. The city came to be because of the veins of gold and silver found in the Llork mines, but after a handful of decades the mines had run dry and the town was left abandoned to fall into ruin which attracted unwanted occupants such as goblins, orcs, and bugbears, until a bandit king came and took it over. He spread out his men using the abandoned town and mines as their fortress, raiding and marauding and recruiting. One day, Stone Giants appeared and smashed the town into rubble.

Dwarves of all kinds, including Hill Dwarves, have a long memory; and while typically more forgiving than their stone cousins, the Hill Dwarves of Silver Iron could not so easily forget the constant raids and assaults done on Silver Iron. And Dwarves, naturally being stubborn, refused to leave their home. Blood was shed, many lives were lost, until the Stone Giants arrived to put the Bandit King down and destroy the cursed city.

For Firesteel Lighthammer, as a Hill Dwarf, he was curious about the lives of adventurers. Though unwanted in Silver Iron, with scowling glances cast their way, if they brought gold with them, an outsider could stay a few nights, knowing that the people of Silver Iron would get richer and charge them outrageous prices. It was during some of these times where Firesteel had heard numerous stories from humans and elves, and even gnomes and halflings, about some of the wonders – both beautiful and horrifying – that they’d seen in the world.

Bored of the simple life he had led in Silver Iron, Firesteel packed up a few necessary belongings and decided to go out on the road, despite the protests and concerns of his family and friends. But life as a novice adventurer was not an easy one, Firesteel quickly learned. Food was scarce when he traveled on the road since he was not well trained at hunting. Pricing for rooms at Inns were expensive and he was quickly running out of what little money he had. He began selling some of his own belongings just to pay for a night at an inn. He took a job in different towns, assisting blacksmiths, but would eventually grow tired of it since that’s what he had spent his life doing in Silver Iron, so that the quality of his work dropped and he would eventually be fired. Each stint at blacksmithing was shorter than the last.

He finally fell on hard times, and was soon living in the alleyways of different towns until a Half-Orc named Bythorn, who led the Locksmith’s Guild in Highstone. Bythorn saw Firesteel as a sturdy Dwarf who had been mistreated by society, down on his luck, with nowhere to turn, and no way to easily get back home. Those, Bythorn knew, were the best ones to recruit into the Thieves Guild, because they would embrace the chance at being welcomed and taken care of.

As a part of the Locksmith’s Guild, Firesteel and the others, successfully robbed several high profile caravans, eventually getting the attention of the local authorities who began actively hunting down the Locksmith’s Guild members, going as far as using Bounty Hunters to find and kill members of the Locksmith Guild.

This did nothing to slow down Bythorn’s hunger for riches; if anything it seemed to only drive him on further, his Orcish blood thriving on the danger and the notion that he had gained so much infamy and attention. During one of the heists of a local noble, things took a drastic turn when the noble, anticipating he would be robbed by the Locksmith’s Guild eventually, had hired a group of mercenaries to defend his home. The mercenaries, an organization known as The Shadow Walkers, mostly vicious Rogues and Assassins, who set their greed aside of stealing, for employment opportunities, took down quite a few members of the Locksmith’s Guild. Firesteel had been injured in the ambush, and had tried to hide in the nearby bushes, but was caught when the Noble, a human named Hauren Darksky, moved the bushes with his rapier and smiled, “Well, what do we have here?”

At the hands of Hauren Darksky, Firesteel was imprisoned and made to be a slave. Hauren forced the Dwarf to forge weapons and armor of high caliber, which Hauren in turn sold to the local infantry of guards for an outrageous price. Firesteel was beat if he slowed down, rarely permitted to sleep, and fed only rotten food. He knew no one would ever come for him. His family and friends had not heard from him in years, since he left Silver Iron. And the Locksmith’s Guild motto was “If you get caught, we don’t know who you are” so they would not be coming for him either.

Firesteel had caught word that several slaves were hiding standard equipment (stealing a knife from the table they would clean up, here and there) and that they were planning a rebellion. Firesteel knew that many would die in this rebellion, especially if the Shadow Walkers were still employed, but he knew it would be his only chance to escape Hauren – one way or another.

During the rebellion, as Firesteel predicted, many were killed. But the Shadow Walkers were no longer employed; it’d been just normal guards which gave the rebellion a better chance. Many of these guards were not aware that so many slaves were bound to Hauren’s greed, and some of the guards even allowed some of the slaves to escape without putting up a fight. Firesteel was one of them, and when he escaped the manor he ran until the darkness of exhaustion consumed him and he collapsed on the side of a road. Even as the darkness consumed him, his fear that pounded his heart was that he had not gotten far enough away to escape Hauren.

When his eyes fluttered open again, the light stung his eyes and it took a moment to adjust to his surroundings. An Elf, a woman, placed her hand on his chest. “Rest easy,” her voice was soothing and beautiful, “you have been malnourished for quite some time and your muscles and body are recovering from the poisons and toxins in your body.”

Firesteel’s eyes closed again, feeling safe.

For weeks, he was tended to, until he regained his strength. The female elf, a gorgeous, tall, frail looking woman named Neila Highmoon, had checked up on him every day and brought him food and drink like he’d never tasted before.

“Where am I?” he asked.

“Inside the Church of Lathander,” Neila smiled.

“How did I come to be here?” he sat up, wincing at the clenching pain in his stomach. He’d not realized, until now, how badly he had been malnourished during his time as a slave of Hauren.

“Some people found you on the side of the road, put you in their wagon, and dropped you off here,” she explained.

When Firesteel was finally able to stand and walk without pain, he spent his time around the Church, improving some of its structure. He helped expand a portion of the building and showed several of the members how to use a forge and create weapons. During this time he also attended the numerous sermons that the Church performed.

He approached Neila and asked, “Can anyone join the Church?”

She smiled, “Anyone can. But to become a Priest, you must open your heart to Lathander, the God of Rebirth.”

“The God of Rebirth,” Firesteel repeated the title. The compassion; the kindness; the love; the caring. Firesteel understood now that everything he had endured up until now had been for a reason. It took everything to lead to this moment to be reborn.

That night, Firesteel prayed for the first time in a very long time, to Lathander, hoping to reach the ears of the god and embrace his change. The next morning, Firesteel woke up with an energy he never felt before. They was an extra spring in his step as if he had eaten holy food that gave him this extra energy. Neila pulled him aside and smiled, “I have a gift for you.” She took him to her room and on the bed lay armor he had forged, with the symbol of Lathander. A shield and war hammer also bearing the mark of Lathander was on the bed.

“A new dawn,” she smiled, “and a new rebirth. Welcome to the Order.”