SHP Forums

Just one more... for now!
http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsing ... stcount=34

I could actually use a hand. I have the bones of a backstory, but I'm missing the middle part, I'm not sure how this character got from where she started to where she is.
Ilya (eastern European surname)
Tiefling Wizard (Divination)
Background: Entertainer
Born human in a diabolic cult, profane rituals performed near-constantly during infancy have resulted in a fiendish aspect. Whatever the cultists were trying to turn her into was thwarted when she was abducted from the cult by her older siblings around age 4.
They lived on the run from the cult, which doggedly pursued the trio in the early years.
At some point, Ilya fell in with a troupe of traveling performers and learned to act as a fortune teller.
At another point, before or after joining the traveling performers, Ilya was separated from her siblings.
She's currently still with the troupe as they arrive in the port town of Saltmarsh, but is intensely concerned with finding her lost siblings.
A key aspect of this character is despite being a wizard, she has no formal arcane training. Only a elderly guide who taught her about (performance level) fortune telling, and a mysterious feeling that the cards "speak to her" when she holds them. (Mechanically, my tarot deck functions as both my spellbook and arcane focus. This character casts spells by channeling them through specific cards.)
I greatly appreciate any assistance with hammering these disparate ideas into a cohesive story.

Done!

By all means, please feel free to give feedback - I love it all - good and bad! I know I keep saying this in the other posts - but it's true.
Because the Saltmarsh was originally Greyhawk's setting - I used the Page 39 reference of the 5e "Ghosts of Saltmarsh" that states placing it between Waterdeep and Neverwinter.
And for reference - when I mention it down below as to what or who the Bedine are (if you're not familiar)...
https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Bedine
And for the areas on the map that I mentioned (other than Taris'zen, which I made up), check out -
https://www.aidedd.org/atlas/index.php?map=R&l=1

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

There are those who have said that their life was a living Hell.

They have no idea what that even truly means.

My name is Ilya Slivkin, and from the moment of my birth – my life was a true living Hell – that literally involved demons, devils and the occult.

At the age of four, I was rescued by my half-sisters. Children my mother had borne into this world; but did not have the “seed of power” she was looking for.

I had no true memory of my life, at the hands of my mother. Only visions and dreams – nightmares really – that would come to me. My half-siblings explained to me that our mother – none of us ever even knew her true name – only that they called her “The Widow of Night” – had made a deal with a Devil by the name of Bar'garius.

Her name – rather, her title - “Widow of the Night” came from her ritual of taking a mate, mating with them for the night and killing him in the name of Bar’garius – to ensure she would become pregnant with her mate’s seed.

My half-siblings had heard my mother explaining that she had believed that I was “the one who had the seed of power” inside of me, and that’s why I had been subjected to so much torture and tests by the age of four. My half-siblings couldn’t bear to see what I was being put through – and had also grown fearful that if I was indeed “the seed of power” – what might happen if my mother unlocked that power from inside of me.

Originally from a small village called Taris’zen (Without Hope) located in the Tortured Lands, far to the East – we soon found ourselves being pursued by my mother’s loyal followers. We traveled southwest for days upon days, and still they pursued us. With little hope of losing them, we veered west into Anauroch – better known as The Great Sand Sea.

We were beyond exhausted, and I believe my half-siblings honestly thought that we might get lost and die of thirst in the Great Sand Sea, which would have been a much better fate, than returning to our mother, facing her unholy wrath, and whatever torture might have befallen me.

During a sandstorm, it seemed as if we might have lost our pursuers – and thought we were all exhausted and dying of thirst, we were thankful for that one small blessing. When the light entered the cave the following morning, a beautiful woman, whose features had been covered by a veil, stood at the mouth of the cave. “Tieflings, young ones,” she said to no one in particular. The woman removed her veil and introduced herself as Maleeka al-Talar. She extended her hand, “Come with me. I can help you, and get milk for the little one.”

Maleeka al-Talar was a Bedine – or she was, at one time.

Now, she led a caravan of mostly women – most of them former Bedine, also – that traveled the land. Despite the otherworldly appearance of my half-siblings and me, looking like demons, Maleeka al-Talar and her caravan of “gypsies” they called themselves – took us in like family. All of them did – not just Maleeka al-Talar.

By the age of ten, Maleeka al-Talar had pulled me aside.

“There is innate magic in you,” she said, tapping my heart gently. “While we do not have wizards among us, perhaps we can hone your magic in a different manner.”

Maleeka al-Talar held out a deck of cards, like nothing I’d seen before.

She laid one card in front of me, “The Judgement Card Reversed – that symbolizes doubt and self-loathing.” She laid down another card, “The Tower, Upright – This means sudden upheaval or disaster.” She laid the next card over the first, “Ace of Wands, Upright – this means Creation, Willpower, and Desire.” She laid the third card beneath that, “Eight of Wands, Upright – rapid action, movement, quick decisions. This is a reflection of someone in your life doing this for you.” She laid the next card, across the second, “Seven of Cups, Upright – Searching for purpose.”

Maleeka al-Talar then spread all the cards across the table. “These are tarot cards. They say someone who is in sync with them can reveal a person’s past, present, future – and even how others interact with them. Would you like to learn?”

Admittedly, I was curious about these tarot cards – and if it was true that they could peer into the past, present and future. For the next few years, I learned to become one with the tarot cards, and read the aurora from people who sat across from me. By the age of sixteen, Maleeka al-Talar was having me doing readings for customers, as our caravan traveled around the continent.

At the age of twenty one, we had just arrived in Waterdeep. The plan was we would be traveling north with another caravan to Saltmarsh. While Maleeka al-Talar, myself and my sisters were walking through Waterdeep, I got an unusual feeling – my skin felt cold. As I looked around, that’s when I saw the woman from my visions – it was my mother. I screamed, and my sisters turned and saw her too. They yelled at Maleeka al-Talar to take me and run, and that they would keep my mother busy. Maleeka al-Talar and I ran back to the caravan and urged Maleeka al-Talar’s caravan to begin the journey north, at a quickened pace, up the Sword Mountains, and to Saltmarsh…

Each and every night, I waited for them – I refused to sleep – waiting for my sisters to catch up with us. But each and every night, I was never greeted by their smiling face, and I couldn’t help but wonder, had my mother captured them… or had they gotten away?

Then ... that's weird. *shrug* I definitely posted my thoughts on the necromancer angle, but now I can't remember them again. Oh, well.

Rath Darkblade wrote: ↑Sun Jul 07, 2019 9:29 pm Then ... that's weird. *shrug* I definitely posted my thoughts on the necromancer angle, but now I can't remember them again. Oh, well.

I was going to say post'em again - but dern it you don't remember?!

I have finished one more request (two more pending but I do them in the order that they come)...
http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsing ... stcount=45

All of these are freaking amazing dude!
Name: Noah Lockhart
Race: Half-Elf (Wood-Elf heritage)
Class: Rogue (Swashbuckler)


However, we are getting to a point in the campaign where I need a little backstory with one of his mentors since we're about to meet her in the next few sessions, and I can't write it out for the life of me! The basic gist of the "lesson" that he would be learning is how to stealth in the woods as opposed to stealthing in a city environment...but he just can't get it down! HOWEVER if you get inspiration for some other kind of lesson that a rogue might have to learn, go for it.
To give the most basic of basic backstories for context (and to keep it brief): His elven father had accumulated a massive debt with the the Zhentarim and left Noah (9 years old at the time) and his mother to fend for themselves. The debt was left to Noah, and he was forced to join the Zhentarim (since they saw he had great potential) to help pay it off.
Around this time Noah would probably be about 12-13. His personality is like that of Starlord in the Guardians of the Galaxy movies: cocky, immature, talks WAY TOO MUCH, hasn't been traditionally educated, and is emotionally driven instead of logically driven. He hates being a pawn of the Zhentarim, but respects his mentor and DOES want to meet her expectations.
His mentor's name is Yvonne Blackbriar (human). She is a master of stealth and is one of the best infiltrators / information gatherers that the Zhentarim has. She is very quiet, logical, serious, and intense. She is very much a perfectionist and is hard on him, but also has a soft spot for him deep down. Noah sees her as a "tyrant."
I know this is different from asking to write out a backstory, but I figured I would ask anyway!

OK - I had way too much fun writing this and getting into your character's personality.
There's a scene in this backstory that should be familiar, based on the above information you gave me. If you don't pick it up, let me know (to me, it's obvious and intentionally so! But having written it, maybe it's obvious to me but not the reader... but I swear, it should be!)
And naturally - he lies to the guards about his name (you will see down below) - it's not a typo - he just doesn't want to get caught.
I enjoyed fleshing out your character and his ties to the Zhentarim - and fleshing out Yvonne - and her relationship with your character.
That said, please provide feedback - whether you liked it, loved it, hated it, have questions, suggestions - anything! It all helps me grow!
============================================
My father was a short-sighted human named Tourn Lockhart. I say he was short-sighted because he never considered the consequences of anything. When he first met my mother, a beautiful Elf maiden by the name of Zouralyn Moonshadow, despite what my mother tells me, I doubt he was ever truly in love – he was just a challenge. My mother’s father naturally did not care for my father, because he was a human – and they would have “impure” children.

My father courted my mother for weeks, despite the wrath and fury of my mother’s father, and eventually won her heart over – and they married – without the blessing of my mother’s side of the family. I was born a short time after that.

When my father’s business began failing, he got himself tied up with The Zhentarim. Brigands had been raiding business caravans that led to a loss of finances that lacked protection. I’m older now, and I know all about The Zhentarim, and I am pretty sure they were the “brigands” raiding the unprotected caravans so that those who did not employ The Zhentarim would have no choice.

Of course, The Zhentarim seem like a legitimate business from the outside. But at a very young age, I saw how they roughed up my father almost every night – and they told him, that they had illicit “items” that needed to be moved “discreetly” – and that they’d use shipments from my father’s store to get some of these things past the city guards.

For weeks, this agreement seemed to work out – until one night, the shipment was caught at the gates, and the City Guards raided out home, demanding to know about the items in the wagons. My father claimed that someone else took over the shipments once it left his store – and that he wasn’t sure who it was. The City Guards were less than pleased that my father employed someone else to move the shipments.

The shipment that had been found and confiscated was an unholy relic of some kind – and The Zhentarim came to my father’s house, demanding payment for it. Even though he was no directly responsible for its discovery by the City Guards - The Zhentarim’s policy was to make whoever shipped it to pay for their failure.

To complicate matters, the longer one did not pay their debt to The Zhentarim, the higher the interest rate became, until – more often than not - The Zhentarim took over the shop entirely. This still makes me wonder if they tipped off the City Guards in hopes of getting ownership of my father’s shop…

I was only nine years old when my father decided to run away. Though, some nights, I wonder if it was The Zhentarim who had made him “disappear.” The Zhentarim took over my father’s store, and since my mother could not pay them, I became a part of the payment.

It wasn’t unusual for The Zhentarim to recruit children – guards rarely, if ever, stopped them. So getting children to move smaller objects throughout the city was much easier to do. They also used us to squeeze into vents and get into areas and adult could not easily get into without trigger alarms or guards.

Then paying a child more money than they’d ever seen, often kept them locked in with The Zhentarim, even though they knew what they were doing was wrong – every child, and I include myself in this lump of idiotic souls – thinks that they can save enough money, get out of the business, have a normal life, with some gold to live comfortable.

I was twelve years old when a woman who worked for The Zhentarim, came to me and introduced herself as Yvonne Blackbriar. She was a very beautiful woman; slender, a nicely shaped body; long black hair, and ice blue eyes. She walked like a cat – and what I mean is – her feet didn’t seem to ever completely go flat on the ground – as if she were walking on her toes – like a ballerina, I suppose. As she walked by me, her hand brushed my cheek. “You’re Tourn’s boy?” She smiled and didn’t wait for me to answer. “I remember when you were just an infant. You’ve grown to be quite the mouse.”

Mouse was the name The Zhentarim gave the children they used to climb through vents. It felt odd at the time, that I had just thought how she looked like a cat – and she was calling me a mouse at the time – and the way she touched my cheek. It was like a cat playing with its food.

“I need you to get something for me, Noah,” she said, her voice purring. Definitely like a cat. “Something very important to me,” she added. “It will be your last job as a mouse.”

“What am I going after this time?” I sighed. Last job as a mouse – that meant they were either promoting me or… this was a suicide mission.

“The Sphere of Truth,” Yvonne smiled coyly. “It would seem a local wizard has come across it. However,” she walked behind me, circling me, “I would not recommend touching the Sphere of Truth. Supposedly it has a powerful enchantment on it. If you don’t speak the words before placing it in your palm, it simply incinerates your mind.”

“It kills you?” I asked.

“Not really,” she replied. “You’ll still be alive. Your mind will simply cease to function.”

“That sounds fascinating,” I muttered beneath my breath.

“It does, does it not?” she whispered directly into my ear. I hadn’t realized she heard me. Definitely has cat-like hearing.

“So if I can’t touch it, how am I supposed to steal it?” I asked, as she slowly walked away from me.

She turned and threw a small wand at me. “Touch it with that.”

“Will it remove the enchantment?” I asked, staring at the plain looking stick. Didn’t even look like a wizard’s wand. It literally looked like a branch that might have fallen off a small twig.

“To be honest,” Yvonne smiled at me as she left the room, “we’re not entirely sure what it will do. The wizard we took it from stopped talking… after he lost his tongue.”

I get it. Cat got your tongue kind of thing.


She didn’t tell me this “local wizard” who had this Sphere of Truth was Faistyr Marrenhammer – notoriously thought of to be doing Necromancy of the darkest kind – that not even the City Guards approach his tower. Yvonne would probably explain that she didn’t lie to me, she simply left out some of the finer details.

Moving through Faistyr’s home was nerve wracking – each of the photos – it felt like their eyes moved and watched as I snuck through the hallway. I eventually found the room that she had pointed out in the blueprints she had acquired (The Zhentarim’s reach goes far) – and sure enough, in a glass case was a floating sphere. Rather than glass doors I could see energy guarding it. Was I just supposed to stick this… twig through this energy field to touch the Sphere? Why did this seem like the worse idea possible? And it wasn’t like I could go back – they’d kill me then kill my mother.

“It will be your last job as a mouse.” I heard Yvonne’s voice echo in my head.

“Well, here goes everything,” I muttered to myself and shoved the twig through the energy field. I waited for it - I really did - For that surge of energy to bolt through the twig, through my body, and reduce me to ash. I waited for about thirty seconds, before I opened my eyes. The hum of the energy field was gone, and the sphere was now stuck to the end of the stick. I looked at it closely and couldn’t believe my eyes.

I began sliding and singing (quietly) to myself as I headed back to the vent I had entered, feeling extremely cocky that I had pulled this off – only to see two guards that Faistyr employed, standing in front of the vent.

“Drop it,” one of them growled as he held up his crossbow.

Stunned I looked around for other exits – and naturally there were none. None I could get to before a crossbow bolt was lodged in my back.

“Drop it now,” the second guard warned.

Well, this was going to make my life a lot more complicated. One of them shoved their crossbow into my side, and I could feel the tip of the bolt pierce my leather armor. “I said drop it.”

I dropped the twig with the sphere attached – honestly unsure if it would shatter or explode on the ground – I was admittedly disappointed. I expected a big flash. Had closed my eyes and everything, hoping it might blind the guards.

The first guard picked up the twig and looked at me, “How do you even know that Faistyr came to own this?”

“Hey, listen,” I said, “I don’t even know what that is. It was raining outside – I saw a bent ventilation system. Climbed inside. Got a little too curious.”

“You carry a magic twig with you?” the second guard asked, looking at it.

“Oh? That thing? It’s like one of those watering sticks you use in a desert to detect water,” I lied. “I poked the weird ball and the thing got stuck. I didn’t know what to do.”

“What is your name, boy?” the first guard asked.

“Belar,” I replied. “Belar Frostmane.” I looked at the guard square in the eye. “People call me… Frostmane.” I tried to sound sinister.

The guard simply looked at me. “Who?”

“Frostmane,” I repeated. “Come on! That sounds like a tough name right? Kind of edgy?”

“Get a move on, Faistyr is going to have questions for you,” the second guard shook his head.

“Oh, forget this,” I muttered, and reached into my pouch. “Either of you ever play marbles?” I unleashed a number of marbles across the floor and quickly dove into the room to the right. I heard the guards give chase and immediately begin to fall – and the sound of their crossbows misfiring as they fell. Perfect. It’d take a minute to reload their bolts. I peeked around the corner, smiled at the two guards and said, “Looks like you all fell for it – get it? Fell for it? Anyway, I won – so I will take this.” I quickly grabbed the twig with the sphere and made for the room again – I threw a small lamp through the glass paned window, and climbed out onto the ledge. I looked around quickly and found a line running between the tower and another building. I quickly unfastened my belt and threw it over and gripped each side of the belt and slid down the line – just as crossbow bolts whizzed by me. I tumbled into the alleyway and quickly jumped down into the sewer line.

The guards would never come down here – first of all, because it’s filthy and smells horrible – and also because they believe strange creatures dwell down here. Both are technically true, but the creatures are thanks to The Zhentarim – and if you know how to read the “chicken scratch” on the wall that they call Thieves Cant, you will know which ways is safe to go. The Zhentarim keep the tunnels populated with things like gelatinous cubes and the like so that City Guards don’t come down here – and The Zhentarim can use it to move shipments beneath the city.

When I put the trinket in front of Yvonne, sliding it across her desk, she pinched her nose. “You smell horrible, mouse. Did you not think to wash off before you came into my office?”

“Well, the two guards I ran into made it so I didn’t want to come home and clean myself off, before I dropped off your little toy,” I remarked.

“Well, you did good,” she smiled, “and as I said, that is your last job as a mouse. Despite your lack of finesse, and apparently cleanliness,” she added, “I think you have great skill.”

I spent years learning with Yvonne. She taught me how to check for traps, climb vertical walls, pick pockets, and become an all-around better agent for The Zhentarim.

When she claimed I had mastered the ability to move throughout a city – it was time to expand my skill set. As someone with Elf in my blood – she claimed I should be able to move in the woods perfectly, especially since my mother was a Wood Elf.

She explained that Elves often horde magic – being naturally born with it as “the first children of the gods” as some proclaimed – and that if The Zhentarim could get their hands on some of these hoarded objects – then it would greatly benefit The Zhentarim.

She touched my scruffy cheeks and smiled, “We clean you up,” she pulled my hair back to reveal my elfin ears, “you might even be able to pass as an elf, which would make things easier.”

The first lesson was in the Fall. She brought me out to a large field, where dry leaves littered the ground. “Cross this.”

I began to walk across it normally.

“Quietly,” she snapped.

“Well, you should have said that!” I retorted and hunched over and tried to stealthily cross.

“What are you doing? What is that pose you’re in?” she hissed. There were those cat features. I could almost imagine feline ears being bent back on the top of her head.

It was weeks of this. Her hissing at me, me stepping on what seemed to be the loudest, crunchiest leaf possible.

“A deaf rhino could hear you coming from a mile away!” she yelled.

“They’re dry leaves! What do you expect? They’re crunchy! They make sounds when you step on them!”

“Then don’t step on them!” she snapped back.

“Reality check,” I yelled back, “I am not some Aasimar that has wings!”

Without even looking at me, she crossed the field, and for a moment I thought I might be deaf, if it wasn’t for the birds chirping – but not once did I hear a leaf crumple beneath her heels – and her heels were like tiny daggers.

“Well I have bigger feet,” I used as an excuse.

“Really?” She then did a duck and roll across the leaves. And not one sound.

“You’re using magic!” I yelled.

“No. I am using skill,” she retorted.

This had gone on for weeks. Same thing. Recycled.

“How is it possible you can’t be quiet in the woods? You’re part Wood Elf! This should be natural to you!”

“I grew up in the city,” I replied.

“Sometimes,” she signed, “I wish I did know magic – so I could cast silence on your mouth and on your feet.”

http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsing ... stcount=49

Conquest Paladin 8/Hexblade Warlock 1, Fallen Aasimar, Lawful Neutral
Hails from a city that is entirely anti-theists. Public worship of God's, even using their name as a figure of speech can get you beaten around the wrong crowd. Keep the religion out of his life.

This one started off a challenge - keeping religion away from a Paladin... and a Hexblade...
But as I started writing how he grew up... the pieces began falling into place.
I left the opening mysterious (with the dreams of a great war... is it his past? Is it his future? Is it nothing at all? Entirely up to you, and the DM, if you end up using this, to do what you will).
As always, feel free to change whatever if you want to use it ... But I'd love to hear what you change and why!
Not that I think, "How dare you!" But more, perhaps I missed the mark on something - and could use some advice how to better wrap that around my brain!
I welcome all feedback you have - whether good or bad - as it helps me grow!
Enjoy!

EDIT: In the event you're unaware of the properties of Darkstone: Darkstone seems to drink in light. In tunnels cut through this material, light sources dim, shedding a glow only half as strong as usual. Thus, a bullseye lantern illuminates a cone only 30 feet long and 10 feet wide, while a torch lights only a 10-foot radius. A daylight spell in a darkstone area radiates daylight in only a 30-foot radius.

================================================== ========
Shattered.

Take a glass of water and drop it – watch it hit the floor and shatter into a thousand pieces. Watch the water, once contained inside, spill out onto the floor.

“Are you all right?” I feel a hand shake me. I look and see the glass I heard had been my own, slipped through my hands, when I slipped into that damn trance again.

“My apologies, I am fine,” I tell the gentleman and kneel down and begin to pick up the fragments of glass. Some shards are larger than other, easier to identify, easier to pick up. Others bleed in with the water, making them nearly impossible to see until…

A child, without shoes walks by, screams and clutches his foot. Crimson liquid merges with the spilled water. A protective mother pulls him aside and scowls at me, as if I had purposely cut her boy’s foot. Maybe he should be wearing shoes.

But those small pieces – those are hard to see – when it’s just water. But you add blood, and suddenly, like the icebergs of the Sea of Moving Ice, they’re more visible. Easier to pick up.

But no matter how hard you try, there will always be small shards, so small that they’re invisible to the naked eye. Those will need to be swept away. Put in the trash. Discarded.

And the glass that fell? I look at the pieces in my hand. It will never be whole again. And the water… the water will dry. Evaporate.

There are nights, I feel like the glass. A shattered vessel whose insides have spilled out.

In my room, I stare at the mirror – furious at what I see staring back at me. You see, I was born an Aasimar – an “angelic being.” Some of my past is lost to me – and I wonder if the visions I’ve had – where I see myself in a great war – if that was a part of who I was. A part of the glass. The water inside.

But at a young age, I grew up in a small town between Triboar and Griffon’s Nest called Greenvale, with a portion of my memory completely gone. I was looked at with great distrust – almost hatred – because of my appearance.

In Greenvale, the people here have turned their backs upon the gods. They’ve become completely self-reliant and don’t believe the gods do anything to make the world a better place. To them, I was a reminder that the gods were real. Some hated me, because they thought that I was sent there, because one of the gods had felt their precious ego had been hurt by these people who turned their back on them – and that I was an “omen” to remind them that the gods were real – and that they were listening.

That made my life, as an Aasimar, a living Hell.

So few people in Greenvale trusted me – and to be honest, I am not sure what kept me there – other than the fighting. I was always in fights because of my appearance – and maybe I didn’t want to be driven away, shown as weak. Or maybe I was just too stubborn to leave. But the longer I stayed, the more furious the people got – believing that I was the omen that wouldn’t go away because of some god’s ego. Each time I stood up to fight another round, I saw it in their eyes – fear.

This fighting fueled a fire in me – that made me believe it wasn’t enough to defeat an enemy. My unbreakable will to leave, would show them that – a blade can end a life, but fear can tear down an empire. Strength above all, for each who dared challenge me – I rose to it, and I won. Fear. It wasn’t long before I walked the streets, and they stepped out of my way – I ruled the streets with an iron fist, and tolerated none who thought they could best me. Even the rumors, I dealt with them – with pure force.

“You’ve made quite the name for yourself,” I heard a voice whisper, while I was visiting the Broken Vale Tavern.

I slowly turned, “And you’ve made quite a mistake coming here, stranger.”

“Perhaps I have,” the stranger replied. “Or perhaps you should give me a moment to explain.”

“A moment is all you have stranger,” I replied. “If I do not like what I hear, you will not like what I will do to you.”

“Fair enough,” the hooded stranger replied. “My… queen has something for you.” From a bag, he pulled out a gleaming blade that had an extremely jagged edge. A tinge of crimson red reflected on the blade, as the flames of the oil lamps danced.

My hand went to the hilt of my weapon.

“Stay your hand,” the stranger smiled, his eyes seemed to sparkle beneath the hood. “This,” he presented it to me hilt first, “is a gift for you.”

I took the weapon, and it seemed to be forged of crystal. While the hilt was smooth, the blade itself was – as it appeared – jagged, making for unusual workmanship. “What is this made from?”

“Darkstone,” the stranger replied. “Shattered Darkstone.”

At the base of the hilt, something seemed to be missing. I looked at the stranger.

He smiled oddly from beneath the hood, “No matter how hard you try, there will always be small shards, so small that they’re invisible to the naked eye.”

The crimson inside the darkstone – it’s blood. As I move the blade, it moves inside the glass.

I look up at the stranger – and he’s gone, but the Darkstone Sword is still in my hands.

http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsing ... stcount=51

I usually am happy to create my own, but these are pretty damn impressive. If you still feel like doing more and expanding on mine-
Human Wizard, level 1. Limited magic campaign - all casters are limited to 1 major school and two minor schools of magic, so I'm working with Conjuration (main), Illusion, and Transmutation
Setting is a bunch of floating islands, ran by two groups: a trader's guild and the order of the sun (religious, anti-necro).
My story so far: Father was a wizard, was a very peaceful man, abhorred violence. Raised me as a single father until my early-mid teen years, when the Order of the Sun came looking for necromancy and killed him. As far as I knew, he didn't have anything to do with necromancy, and the man who executed him certainly had no evidence but killed him "just in case." Horrified, I ran (they hadn't discovered that I existed yet), and kept to rural islands, helping with odd jobs using the magic that I had learned. I now wish to find the guy that killed my father. I also wish to learn necromancy, wearily, to figure out why it is so feared/hated.

Oh, I went kind of dark with yours... Necromancy kind of lends to that...
But I had a lot of fun writing it - and doing the reveal of a secret (which I am curious to see how you like it)...
Did some foreshadowing of stuff that becomes clear at the end...
As always, would love to hear what you liked, didn't like, or any advice, tips, anything! I welcome all feedback!
Enjoy!
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“Casting magic is not as simple as just knowing the words,” my father cautioned. “The way you move your hands, even your fingers – and the exact pronunciation is all a part of casting a spell.” He looked at me, and sighed, sitting me down. “I understand you want to be like me, son. But magic is dangerous. If you ever hear someone say, ‘This is how you control magic’ the best thing to do is run from them, because there is no way to control magic. Imagine magic as a wild Pegasus,” he pointed to the sky as a flock of Pegasus flew by. “It may allow you to ride it, if you are blessed, but you will never control it. And someone who thinks magic can be controlled is ignorant of the truth.”

“I understand,” I sighed. “So what should I be then, if I can’t be a wizard like you?”

“What should you be?” My father stood and ran his fingers through my hair. “You can be whatever you set your mind to, son. I just prefer it not to be magic. Now, I am going to go prepare dinner for you and I, before the roaring of our stomachs scares away the Pegasus that fly by, fearing that a manticore has taken up residence in our home!”

“Father,” I called out.

My father halted in his tracks and turned, “Yes, son?”

“How did mother die?” I asked.

My mother had passed when I was just an infant. I have no memory of my mother, nor are there any paintings of her than hang in the house. I could see the pain that etched across my father’s face. “You mother had an accident, son. That’s all you need to know.”

“You never speak of her,” I said, wondering why.

“Because it hurts, son. It hurts remembering… losing her…” My father turned, but I saw tears run down his cheek as he coughed to clear his throat, his voice sounding broken as he said, “Listen, I am going to work on dinner now. Can you clean up the yard a little? I will call you when dinner is ready…”

I slowly moved around the yard, cleaning up what little there was to clean. There was only one spot in the garden that was ever “dirty” – and that was near the back window. But it wasn’t dirty. It was as if it had been scorched. When I had asked my father about it, he claimed that a dragon had done it. This ploy of “cleaning the garden” was clearly to keep me out of the house, as my father had magical servants that tended to the yards and bushes. I returned to the house quietly and watched as my father moved aside a painting of him and I and revealed a safe in the wall that I had been unaware of. He touched the safe and it sprung open. He pulled out a steel box, and from there, pulled out a crystal ball. He waved his hands over it and I had to bite my tongue as I watched the crystal ball.

There was a woman – beautiful, blond, blue eyed – full of life, there with my father in the very yard he had me cleaning up. She looked glowing – she was holding an infant – it was me. My mother and father had been kissing me, giving me attention – and then I saw it. Another person – a young girl. I… had a sister? How did I not know this? I watched in horror as my parents had given me attention, and my sister climbed up to the second story trellises, and while calling out to mother and father and waving – she lost her grip and fell – striking one of the garden stones.

Her death was instantaneous. My mother screamed, and nearly dropped me from her arms, as the horror settled in. She rushed to my sister’s side. “We can’t lose her,” she pleaded to my father.

My father, holding me in his arms, touched my sister’s throat, “It’s already too late. It was quick. Painless.”

“We can undo this,” my mother had said.

“No!” my father stood. “No. Get that notion out of your mind.”

“I can not!” my mother screamed. “She is our daughter! She’s only five years old! She has her entire life in front of her!”

“No! You know this is forbidden! They will come for you. “

“For my daughter, I must risk it!”

“No! I refuse it!”

“You do not control me!” And then and there – she began whispering words. Words like I had never heard before. I wanted to run away. Hide. I was afraid. But I could not tear myself away from the truth that was being played out before me.

Suddenly, my sister sat up, crying.

She was… alive? How?

Then they came, just as quickly as my sister had sat up. I recognized them by the symbols they wore on their chest: The Order of the Sun.

“Necromancy!” one of them shouted. “Melyna, you are charged with the act of Necromancy! You know the price!”

My father stood between them, “Please, no! Listen! My daughter – she fell – died and…”

“There is no excuse for Necromancy,” the man snarled. “Melyna, you will be executed. Your name, evidence of your existence shall be erased from the world.”

Men from the Order of the Light rushed in and began taking photos where both my mother and sister had been in them, and began burning them. The man grabbed my mother, “Melyna, you have been found guilty of necromancy, and the punishment is death.”

My father screamed, as the Order of the Sun, slit her throat and threw her body in the fire. Then they grabbed my sister, and did the same thing, claiming she was an abomination. In one night, my father watched his daughter die – his wife get killed – and then watch his same daughter get killed again. When the fire had become nothing more than ashes, he had taken a handful – crushed it in his hand – whispered magic and slowly extended his hand apart – and the ashes turned into the crystal ball he was looking at. He had created a Memory Sphere – done typically with something from the person’s being, to capture moments of their life.

For my father, that moment was watching the day his wife and daughter died on repeat.

I watched as the images in the crystal ball swirled to mist and finally looked normal inside. He stood – his stance – it was rigid. His hands glowed with fire, as he began burning the house. Was he furious?

Then I heard them – “By the Order of the Sun, the act of Necromancy has been committed.”

Wait. Had using the crystal ball been necromancy? Why was my father burning the house before the Order of the Sun arrived?

Then I heard my father’s voice in my head. “Run, boy. Run.”

My father had used the Message spell to plant those words in my head.

He was erasing any evidence I had existed so that the Order of the Sun would not know I existed. I spent my years living on the rural floating islands of the lands. I took odd jobs here and there.

Despite my father’s request – I began to learn magic.

And not only did I begin to learn magic, I took an interest in Necromancy.

Why were the Order of the Sun so fearful of it?

I needed to know because it cost me my father, my mother, and my sister.

And damn it to Hell if I wasn’t going to get my revenge.

The responses in the thread have been flattering - and very therapeutic for my brain.

Malkavia;24017255 wrote:This is great! I love that it's so dialogue heavy, as it gives me the opportunity to practice his voice before we our first session. The only part that surprised me at the end was Tyr, which I don't actually think is a bad idea. I hadn't considered Tyr since Jesse operates outside the constraints of the law. However, Tyr is actually the God of Justice, and justice is exactly what drives Jesse. Thanks a ton.

yellowrocket;24017314 wrote:These are awesome. I wont br playing in a game anytime soon, but i kmow where to come if I or my players are stuck. These are fantastic.

HeartlessBow;24017453 wrote:This is perfect! Thank you so much for doing this.

KorvinStarmast;24017500 wrote:This one was quite good. *tips cap*

TGMohle;24017890 wrote:All of these are freaking amazing dude!

Hobbo Jim;24018353 wrote:I usually am happy to create my own, but these are pretty damn impressive.

TGMohle;24018398 wrote:This is awesome dude! Noah's personality in this write up was spot on, and I really appreciate you fleshing out how and why his father disappeared. That's something that I hadn't really come up with, and damn does it sound like something the Zhentarim would do! Yvonne was also great, especially her frustration with him later on (I was hoping you would use the fact that he was half wood elf to make fun of him and you did xD).

Also, I definitely caught the reference and was laughing my ass off! :smallbiggrin: Thank you so much!!!

I can barely keep up with the requests - but damn, if I am not enjoying myself.

http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsing ... stcount=55

Ironheart;24018549 wrote:I have a Paladin who’s desperate to worship an elven god even though she herself is not an elf. This has meant that any communication she could have gotten while trancing, she hasn’t.
Name: Navani Siannodel
Race: Yuan-ti Pureblood, formerly a Wood Elf (she was cursed/reincarnated by a green dragon to be this way- she’s currently adventuring to find some way to reverse this.)
Class: Paladin 2/Sorcerer 5 (She’s a Draconic Sorcerer with a green dragon bloodline. Her powers may be the reason why she was cursed.)
Traits:
-Navani harbors dark thoughts, especially since her exile from home. These dark thoughts manifest as tendencies to lie and seek conflict.
-Navani’s combination of being Draconic and a Yuan-ti leaves her looking hideous, in her own mind, and so she constantly disguises herself.
-Despite her newfound interest in religion, she herself is not that knowledgeable in the gods, outside of what she’s gleaned taking refuge in forgotten shrines to unknown gods.

Some important events:
Navani was using her innate magic to defend the elven city of Len Thalore, and she had a romantic rivalry with another spell user named Gallindrann. After a hard fought battle, Navani was killed, and her body was taken.

When she next woke up, she was at a grove, and remembered some interaction with the green dragon, but many of her memories were murky.
Returning to Len Thalore led to have many believe that she was an imposter, a mockery of the Navani they knew. Gallindrann in particular swore to capture this creature and make her reveal where Navani’s corpse was, so that he could give it a proper burial. Navani escaped with her life, but felt utterly betrayed.
I’m mostly struggling to write up what events would have her believe that she could return to being an elf, and why she believes that worship of Sehaine Moonbow could do this. It could be inspired, it could be desperation. I plan to have her take the Oath of Ancients, but I’m looking more for why she decides to be a paladin in the first place while she’s in exile, despite her perceived incompatibility.
I also am working on feedback; your writing deserves the best.

Done!

I had a fantastic time developing the romantic rivalry between her and Gallindrann... and think I landed a pretty good story of how that comes to be.
The Green Dragon I mention is named Emereth - this is a Green Dragon that I _always_ use for my games and character backgrounds (even seen on these forums when I used her for a character background where I was a player, rather than the DM). You don't have to use the name, but it tickled my fancy at the notion that my Ancient Green Dragon creation might be traveling the multi-verse (she is after all an Ancient Dragon, and may have unlocked such an ability) and wreaking havoc!)
I enjoyed the idea of how I made her come to the side of wanting to be a Paladin also... lots of symbolism in here.
Also if you're familiar with "Stranger Things" - I squeezed a reference in there (since Season 3 just came out - and it's amazing!)
I hope you enjoy reading it - even if you don't use it - by all means, any feedback you have (did you hate it? Like it? Hate some of it? Like some of it? Love it? Suggestions?) - feel free to tell me - I take ZERO offense - and use it to grow.
============================================================



My name is Navani Siannodel, and at one time, I was what many would have called beautiful.

Funny, if that’s even the right word, how life can be so utterly unpredictable and strip away from you the things in your life, you take for granted.

But, I am getting ahead of myself…

As I said, my name is Navani Siannodel, and I am a Wood Elf that has called Len Thalore home for a very long time. It was here I had also met Genthal Wolfstone, a Wood Elf like myself. We had grown up as childhood friends, and always flirted with the idea of developing our friendship into something more, but something always held us back from expressing our feelings. Our families were aware of one another, and frequently invited one another to each other’s homes for dinner, which perhaps made it more difficult to imagine what we could be as more than just friend – in the event anything ever went wrong with the relationship – how awkward it might become for our family. And so we buried those feelings – but each time we looked at each other – or our hands brushed against each other – magic surged from our veins – and not because I was a sorcerer – this was something deeper.

Len Thalore wasn’t a large town; but when Vash Vareen was attacked – a small village not too far – by a band of orcs from a tribe called The Red Eye – the families of the Vash Vareen town were forced to flee – and a great many of them took refuge in our town of Len Thalore.

My family took in one of those displaced families – and I got to know Gallindrann Lightbringer. She was beautiful – but she was also one who didn’t take much from anyone. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, and her mother had repeatedly told the story about how – while the orcs had been attacking, Gallindrann was standing with her brother (who, we learned during the first telling of the story, had perished in the fight against the Red Eye Orcs), using her magic to help allow others to escape, while they had kept the orcs occupied.

I definitely admired – even respected Gallindrann – for her courage in a fight and to speak her mind. Gallindrann, myself and Genthal all grew very close. We did everything together.

But one day, I saw it – the way Genthal looked at Gallindrann. It was the same way he had used to look at me. Was he attracted to her? She certainly spoke openly about her attraction to him, and frequently complimented him, when the three of us were together. To be fair, I had never told Gallindrann about the attraction Genthal and I had – have? – for one another.

Now, it was too late to say something – now to say something would make me look selfish. Like a child taking her toys away from her friend and storming home.

One night, when I was alone with Genthal, we watched the stars streak against the moonless sky. I turned to him and simply said, “You know I’m attracted to you right? I think I have been since we were kids. I’ve always felt you… felt the same way about me.”

Before he could respond, Gallindrann had climbed the tree we had been sitting at and sat down between us. “What are you two doing?”

“Staring at the stars,” Genthal had smiled at her.

“It’s a beautiful night for that, especially with the moon out of the sky,” Gallindrann replied. Then her eyes went wide. “No!” she suddenly whispered. “We must warn the others! We must warn the others now!” She had suddenly sprung to her feet.

“Warn them of what?” Both Genthal and I were standing now.

“The Red Eye Orcs, they come,” Gallindrann explained. “It was on a night like this that they came.”

“But how do you know,” I began to ask. But she cut me off.

“Listen,” she whispered.

I listened. I heard no sound of marching orcs or war drums. “I don’t hear anything,” I replied.

“Exactly,” she said. “No birds.”

She was right. There were no bird sounds. No owls screeching through the night. No animals moving in the brush below.

As we rushed back to Len Thalore, we could already see smoke rising above the tree tops.

“No,” I whispered.

But it was true – the Red Eye Orcs had come – and they were attacking Len Thalore and its people. Gallindrann, who was a practiced mage shouted to me, “We must defend the gates! Genthal, get to the barracks and gather everyone who can wield a weapon – whether it be a sword or pitch fork – because the Red Eye Orcs will kill everyone regardless – man, woman, child – in their eyes, the more death they cause, the more they honor their one eyed god.”

Len Thalore looked like Hades had erupted on the land – fires burned, people screamed – the smell of flesh burning assaulted our senses – the Red Eye Orcs were ruthless as they ran through the city streets, cutting down anyone and everyone in their path. They’d burn the doors first, then the buildings, so people could not escape the infernos. They were sheer savages who killed in the name of their god, just as Gallindrann had said.

And that was the first part where my life took a drastic change. The Red Eye Orcs used some kind of sorcery to be able to move so quietly – their leaders were Shamans – using ancient magics. Somehow, one of them had got the drop on me – and I felt what seemed to be an electrified rope around my neck that had pulled me down to the ground. The last thing I saw that night was six orcs standing over me, each of them with an eye gouged out, before they all began thrusting their swords into me, well over sixty times, before I blacked out...

… and died.

There was quick flashes.

Blurs. Visions.

Then everything felt… upside down.

The skies were black, and green lightning pieced the skies. A large, shadowy figure suddenly stood before me, her voice deep, sinister, cruel. “You have some of my blood in you,” she said. “It’s faint, but it’s there. In many ways, you are a granddaughter of mine, by many generations. I’ve made a deal… with some old friends… using magic, ancient magic… long forgotten by most… You won’t die just yet… I have need of you… And so, I bestow upon you, life once more, grand-child of mine…”

Green lightning split the skies, and for that brief moment, I could see her clearly.

She was a Green Dragon – enormous in size – and undoubtedly ancient.

Then I felt something, as if there were a fishing hook inside of my heart – and it violently pulled at me – with so much force that my hands touched my feet as I was yanked through a green, swirling mist.

I can only describe the sensation of having been held underwater for five minutes, and then finally being allowed to come up for air. I was choking, taking in deep breaths, and my lungs burned, my head screamed, my stomach revolted against me, and my very body seemed to be at war with itself.

When I finally regained control – and I could look around – I was in a grove with memories I could scarcely believe.

It took a moment to remember what had happened – and where I was – before I could gather my sense of direction and return to Len Thalore. The first person I saw was the first person I had hoped to run into – Gallindrann Lightbringer.

But her reaction was not what I had expected. She launched a series of spells at me, calling me a demon. When I tried to convince her it was me – even sharing details that only she and I would have known – she continued her furious attack upon me. I was forced to run away from my own home, uncertain why – until I had tripped near the small lake outside of Len Thalore called Silverlake, because of how it looked like a mirror.

And now I saw why Gallindrann had attacked me.

What had I become? My eyes – the iris looked like snakes. My skin was not my own. Scales decorated my skin in small patches. I looked at my hands and saw long, black nails. “What’s happened to me?” I cried out – and took notice, my tongue – forked like a snake.

What had I done to deserve this?

The vision I had – with the green dragon – I remember her name – Emereth – I heard it as I was pulled back. Did she have something to do with this? Was she even real? She had said I was her grand-daughter by many generations… was she saying… I had Draconic Bloodlines? And from a Green Dragon, notoriously known for their evil?

I took to disguising myself, because I looked, in my eyes, frightful. I began to study about Draconic Bloodlines, and found several volumes that mentioned Emereth the Green, and how she was a vile, evil dragon, who killed and tortured for the pleasure of it.

I looked at my hands. Is this what I was destined to become?

I took up sanctuary in the charred remains of Gallindrann’s old home, Vash Vareen – and fell asleep in the first building I found.

In the daylight, I saw I had fallen asleep in a Church – and that despite the damage, the statue that honored Sehaine Moonbow was undamaged.

It was a sign. She would be my redemption. The fact that the entire village had been burned down and she, despite the outside appearance, inside this temple, was still clean and pure – she was a symbol of what I was. I was burned on the outside – but inside, I was still pure.

I needed to dedicate my life to Sehaine Moonbow – spread her holy word – and pray that she would cast her gaze upon me and restore me – so that I could return to my life – and restore my life again.

http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsing ... stcount=61

User requested:

This is awesome.
If you ar still accepting submissions, here is mine.

Name : Lucy Feelfreetocomeupwithacoollastname
Class : Probably some bard or paladin, maybe both.
Race : Aasimar, Fallen more likely due to "bloodline interference" rather than properly falling from grace.

Backstory outline : Lucy Was a self ignoring aasimar. Lived a simple life working at the family luthery shop.
Until she got abducted by local vampire. Due to her divine blood though the vampire got very messed up. So much noone has seen it or heard of it ever since. Everyone in the town now believe she is the greates hero of all time.
She takes on adventuring to avoid her people and beeing asked to go slay the dragon around.

So since you were unsure about Paladin or Bard... I left it very ambiguous...
This is what I listened to when I started writing the vampire portion...


Anyway - if you have feedback, I'd love to hear it...
==========================================



They say there is a perpetual war between the Heavens and the Planes of Hell.

A war of gods and angels, devils and demons – for reasons, long lost through the sands of time. This war has bled out into the mortal world – where Aasimar – like myself were born, where the angels and gods tampered with our bloodline. On the other side, there were Cambions – which were plane-touched by a demon or devil. All so their petty war could spill into the land of Mortals.

I was one of those Holy Warriors – I fought in their Wars, until I saw that’s all it was. An endless cycle of fighting, where the gods and devils squabbled for reasons long lost. When I had asked what the fighting was about – it was simply, “They are evil. We are good. They want we have and we can’t allow it.” Asking what it was “we had” that “they wanted” – none could answer.

I turned my back upon the gods, the angels, the demons and the devils and learned to live among the mortals.

My name is Lucy Briarthorn. I am a weapon of the heavens, who now lived a simple life in the small town of Fall’s Edge.

My family owned a Luthier shop called “The Sound of Fall’s Edge.” It was named after the waterfalls of Fall’s Edge and the sound that the nearby waterfall created.

Several bamboo-like trees known as ‘strenbows’ grew through the stones of the waterfall at different lengths and widths – which generated the sounds of musical pipes. The strenbow were notoriously strong – withstanding the power and pressure of the waterfall – and the vines of the strenbow were slung between the branches and often created a haunting melody, sounding like someone furiously strumming a harp.

I enjoyed living in Fall’s Edge – here, the people treated me with respect. I knew what I was doing – I knew why I got up every morning, and why I was exhausted when I went to bed (though, admittedly my endurance surpassed most humans, due to the bloodline).

A few years ago, the peaceful town of Fall’s Edge was changed. People had begun to vanish. My adopted father, one night, when a young girl had gone missing, turned to me, and said, “Lucy, I know you don’t want to – but Mayla has gone missing. She’s just five years old. The people of Fall’s Edge are simple people. You… you have the ability to find out what’s going on… to put a stop to these disappearances… and perhaps, if it’s not already too late, save Mayla.”

I put down the fork and pushed my plate aside. I knew this day would come – where I would have to rise above the person I had enjoyed being. But he was right.

I walked out of the house and headed to the barn in the back. A cool breeze blew my hair and sent shivers down my spine. I spun around, feeling as if though I was being watched – but as my eyes pierced the darkness, I could see no one… but my heart was beating unusually fast.

I swung the old barn doors open and inside, my armor hung, and my sword lay against the wall, just as I had left them years ago. The only difference was that they were both covered in webs. There was no time to deal with that now. I slid on the armor and clenched my sword and walked over to the home of Mayla, where I asked her sobering mother and father, where they had last seen her.

They explained she had been playing near the Mill. I began my search there, where I found a young boy who had been hiding in the tree. It took a moment but I recognized him. “Var, what are you doing up there?”

“Hiding from the shadow-man,” the young boy replied.

“The Shadow Man?” I asked. “Wait, did you see what happened to Mayla?”

“The Shadow Man came,” Var explained as he climbed down. “We were playing – we made little boats and put them in the stream… and then the Shadow Man came… He looked into Mayla’s eyes… and it was like she couldn’t hear me anymore. She took his hand… and they … turned to smoke.”

“Turned to smoke?” I had asked.

“Like fog,” Var corrected. “Cold.”

“Did they go a certain way?” I asked.

“Yes,” he pointed to the west.

A long time ago, just west of Fall’s Edge, there was a human who built a large manor – a blemish, the people of Fall’s Edge thought – compared to the rest of the land, that had been small homes. The people were fearful that this would attract others here to build larger homes and destroy the natural beauty that surrounded Fall’s Edge.

The old man was rarely seen – and he only ventured out at night to get food from the small shops in Fall’s Edge. This of course, led to rumors and speculation that he was a mad wizard, creating horrible experiments deep in his basement.

But if what Var saw is true – then this was worse than some “mad mage.” This meant an ancient evil had taken up residence near Fall’s Edge and now had the courage to feed upon the people, believing it was safe. The trips to the town at night were never about truly getting food – it was scouting, observing, seeing if there was anyone here who could be a threat.

The man who had lived in that manor was no wizard; he was a Vampire.

I escorted Var back to his home – called for an alarm through the city for everyone to keep their doors locked. I raced over to the home of Ansun Marebreaker and pleaded for her fastest horse. I rode hard for an hour, never resting. When I arrived at the manor I could feel it again – the same feeling I had when I had walked to the barn.

I kicked down the door and began walking through the halls, gripping my sword.

As I walked into the foyer, at the top of the grand stairs, stood a tall figure. He was slender, but very handsome. Besides him, a young girl – Mayla!

“When I saw you,” he said, his voice, thick, rich, accented. “You… took my breath away. Your hair, golden like the sun… the sun I’ve not seen… for so… very … long. And your eyes, ice blue, like the cool spring waters. But you never ventured out of your home at night… and I am bound by the curse to never enter a home I am not invited to. I sensed power in you… You were different… I knew you would come for me, eventually.”

He released his hold on Mayla. “The little girl can go free now that you’re here.”

Mayla quickly ran down the stairs. As she ran by me, I told her to get on the horse – it would ride back to Fall’s Edge.

He seemed to glide down the stairs. “You remind me of someone I lost… long ago…”

His words were soothing. I could feel my arms going limp. The urge to run my sword through his heart had seeped away with each word he spoke.

Before I knew it, he was standing in front of me. As he suddenly lunged forward, I could see his fangs – and just before they sank into my flesh I smiled.

It looked as if the sun itself had erupted inside of his manor as a blind flash exploded from outside of me. I heard him scream – and watched – seemingly in slow motion – as he turned to ash.

Mayla, who had been riding the horse had turned her head and saw the light piercing the windows.

It took me a day to recover. I awoke on the manor floor, weakened. I knew the moment he would try to bite me he would ingest blood composed of holy light. This was a risk. On a vampire that had fed, and been at full power – this may not have worked. I could tell, once I learned he had been scouting that he was probably feeding on livestock, before attracting any potential unwanted attention towards himself.

I walked back to Fall’s Edge and was greeted by cheers.

Mayla had told them what happened – what the man was.

This isn’t what I wanted. I wanted a simple life.

I’d never have that again here.

They’d always look at me differently.

I sighed and thanked everyone as I walked towards my home.

That night at dinner, I told my family, I was leaving, and that perhaps one day I would return to Fall’s Edge to visit…

Tawmis wrote: ↑Mon Jul 08, 2019 8:31 pm They say there is a perpetual war between the Heavens and the Planes of Hell.

A war of gods and angels, devils and demons – for reasons, long lost through the sands of time. This war has bled out into the mortal world – where Aasimar – like myself were born, where the angels and gods tampered with our bloodline. On the other side, there were Cambions – which were plane-touched by a demon or devil. All so their petty war could spill into the land of Mortals.

I was one of those Holy Warriors – I fought in their Wars, until I saw that’s all it was. An endless cycle of fighting, where the gods and devils squabbled for reasons long lost. When I had asked what the fighting was about – it was simply, “They are evil. We are good. They want we have and we can’t allow it.” Asking what it was “we had” that “they wanted” – none could answer.

So the one who requested this replied:

Originally Posted by DevilMcam View Post
This is pretty awesome,
Actually Maybe à little to awesome for What I expected. to me Aasimar are like TIEFLING, they most lakely have never seen the planes.
For lvl 1 character I expected est less heroic behavior (for example we swap lucy with mayla in the first part : lucy get kidnapped, rescue party comme to save her, and vampire crumble to dust when they arrive, lucy is now à héro that did nothing)

Man the music though, totally on point

So I wrote two more versions - keeping most of it the same, but going more with what was clarified...

http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsing ... stcount=64

Modified, per the above... just ended up writing it this morning (keeping most of it and change it up so it matched more with what you mentioned above)...
Hopefully it hits closer to the mark! If not, do please let me know!
=========================

They say there is a perpetual war between the Heavens and the Planes of Hell.

A war of gods and angels, devils and demons – for reasons, long lost through the sands of time. This war has bled out into the mortal world – where Aasimar – like myself were born, where the angels and gods tampered with our bloodline. On the other side, there were Cambions – which were plane-touched by a demon or devil. All so their petty war could spill into the land of Mortals.

But that wasn’t me. I turned my back upon the gods, the angels, the demons and the devils and learned to live among the mortals.

My name is Lucy Briarthorn. I am a weapon of the heavens, who now lived a simple life in the small town of Fall’s Edge.

My family owned a Luthier shop called “The Sound of Fall’s Edge.” It was named after the waterfalls of Fall’s Edge and the sound that the nearby waterfall created.

Several bamboo-like trees known as ‘strenbows’ grew through the stones of the waterfall at different lengths and widths – which generated the sounds of musical pipes. The strenbow were notoriously strong – withstanding the power and pressure of the waterfall – and the vines of the strenbow were slung between the branches and often created a haunting melody, sounding like someone furiously strumming a harp.

I enjoyed living in Fall’s Edge – here, the people treated me with respect. I knew what I was doing – I knew why I got up every morning, and why I was exhausted when I went to bed (though, admittedly my endurance surpassed most humans, due to the bloodline).

A few years ago, the peaceful town of Fall’s Edge was changed. People had begun to vanish. My adopted father, one night, when a young girl had gone missing, turned to me, and said, “Lucy, I know you don’t want to – but Mayla has gone missing. She’s just five years old. You have to do something.”

“Me?” I asked, somewhat in shock. “I’ve never really been one for fighting…”

“Everyone else,” my father gestured around the table, but I knew he was encompassing the whole village, “are just simple folk. You,” he placed his hand on my shoulder, “my dear Lucy, were born to be special.”

“I don’t want to be special,” I retorted. “I want to be normal. Just like everyone else,” I added, mimicking my father’s gesture.

“Lucy, you were born to be something more,” he said, shaking me slightly with his hand on my shoulder. “The blood in you is holy. You’ve been touched by the gods. This may be the passage to your destiny.”

“I want my destiny to be here,” I replied, shaking myself free of my father’s hand. “To build harps and lutes and guitars, and play them near the waterfalls, and make music,” I pleaded.

My father’s face looked both proud and sad at the same time. “I wish that were the case. These disappearances have been happening for weeks. This is the first time someone so young has gone missing. It will keep happening until something happens. You are the something that needs to happen,” he pleaded. “After all, it will only be a matter of time before myself, your mother, or,” he looked at my two younger brothers and sisters, “they, disappear.”

Guilt. It was an arrow through my heart. My father never used guilt against me. He truly wanted me to find out what was going on.

I took in a deep breath, and sighed. “Fine, I will look into this.”

I walked out of the house and headed to the barn in the back. A cool breeze blew my hair and sent shivers down my spine. I spun around, feeling as if though I was being watched – but as my eyes pierced the darkness, I could see no one… but my heart was beating unusually fast.

My father had kept his armor here – old and beaten up as it was – from the years he had worked in the Militia before setting down, getting married, and moving to Fall’s Edge. Next to the armor was a beaten up sword – his – also from his days at the militia. It was rusty, and the armor was tight – not being made for a woman of my figure. I slid on the armor and clenched my sword and walked over to the home of Mayla, where I asked her sobering mother and father, where they had last seen her.

They explained she had been playing near the Mill. I began my search there, where I found a young boy who had been hiding in the tree. It took a moment but I recognized him. “Var, what are you doing up there?”

“Hiding from the shadow-man,” the young boy replied.

“The Shadow Man?” I asked. “Wait, did you see what happened to Mayla?”

“The Shadow Man came,” Var explained as he climbed down. “We were playing – we made little boats and put them in the stream… and then the Shadow Man came… He looked into Mayla’s eyes… and it was like she couldn’t hear me anymore. She took his hand… and they … turned to smoke.”

“Turned to smoke?” I had asked.

“Like fog,” Var corrected. “Cold.”

“Did they go a certain way?” I asked.

“Yes,” he pointed to the west.

A long time ago, just west of Fall’s Edge, there was a human who built a large manor – a blemish, the people of Fall’s Edge thought – compared to the rest of the land, that had been small homes. The people were fearful that this would attract others here to build larger homes and destroy the natural beauty that surrounded Fall’s Edge.

The old man was rarely seen – and he only ventured out at night to get food from the small shops in Fall’s Edge. This of course, led to rumors and speculation that he was a mad wizard, creating horrible experiments deep in his basement.

So was it some wizard abducting people and doing experiments on people in his basement after all?

I escorted Var back to his home – called for an alarm through the city for everyone to keep their doors locked. I raced over to the home of Ansun Marebreaker and pleaded for her fastest horse. I rode hard for an hour, never resting. When I arrived at the manor I could feel it again – the same feeling I had when I had walked to the barn.

As I walked into the foyer, at the top of the grand stairs, stood a tall figure. He was slender, but very handsome. Besides him, a young girl – Mayla!

“When I saw you,” he said, his voice, thick, rich, accented. “You… took my breath away. Your hair, golden like the sun… the sun I’ve not seen… for so… very … long. And your eyes, ice blue, like the cool spring waters. But you never ventured out of your home at night… and I am bound by the curse to never enter a home I am not invited to. I sensed power in you… You were different… I knew you would come for me, eventually.”

He released his hold on Mayla. “The little girl can go free now that you’re here.”

Mayla quickly ran down the stairs. As she ran by me, I told her to get on the horse – it would ride back to Fall’s Edge.

He seemed to glide down the stairs. “You remind me of someone I lost… long ago…”

His words were soothing. I could feel my arms going limp. The urge to run my sword through his heart had seeped away with each word he spoke.

Before I knew it, he was standing in front of me. As he suddenly lunged forward, I could see his fangs – and just before they sank into my flesh.

I screamed as his fangs bore deep into my skin.

I could feel the warmth of my blood running down my neck as he slowly pulled back and looked deep into my eyes.

I wanted to run away – but I couldn’t. When he saw, deep in my soul, I had wanted to resist but could not – he smiled.

He had enthralled me.

For over a week, I was bound to him.

Until the day came, where adventurers had kicked down the door and began storming the house. I tried to defend the Vampire, but they had easily shoved me aside, made their way to the basement and put a stake through his heart.

That action had slain the vampire – and in the process – freed me from being enthralled, but the pain to my chest seemed to be shared by whatever the Vampire had felt. I was left gasping for breath. The adventurers, ran past me and began rummaging through the house.

They seemed to care very little about my well-being. I grabbed the one that looked like a fighter, “Who sent you?” Suspecting that it might have been my father.

“We’ve been tracking Darnak Bloodmoore for weeks now,” the fighter explained as he helped me stand. “He has kept relocating. But when news of people vanishing began appearing, we knew we were on his trail again. This is the first time, we’ve actually managed to track him down inside his home during daylight."

It took me a day to recover, taking shelter in the manor, after the adventurers had pillaged it of any valuables that they could carry.

I walked back to Fall’s Edge and was greeted by cheers.

Mayla had told them what happened – or what she thought happened. That I had come and rescued her. It wasn’t the truth, and as much as I tried to tell the others the truth, they all twisted it, that I had held off the vampire until help came.

This isn’t what I wanted. I wanted a simple life.

I’d never have that again here.

They’d always look at me differently.

I sighed and thanked everyone as I walked towards my home.

That night at dinner, I told my family, I was leaving, and that perhaps one day I would return to Fall’s Edge to visit…

============================ and ============================

http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsing ... stcount=68

And here's the "less than courageous" version...
==================================================

They say there is a perpetual war between the Heavens and the Planes of Hell.

A war of gods and angels, devils and demons – for reasons, long lost through the sands of time. This war has bled out into the mortal world – where Aasimar – like myself were born, where the angels and gods tampered with our bloodline. On the other side, there were Cambions – which were plane-touched by a demon or devil. All so their petty war could spill into the land of Mortals.

But that wasn’t me. I turned my back upon the gods, the angels, the demons and the devils and learned to live among the mortals.

My name is Lucy Briarthorn. I am a weapon of the heavens, who now lived a simple life in the small town of Fall’s Edge.

My family owned a Luthier shop called “The Sound of Fall’s Edge.” It was named after the waterfalls of Fall’s Edge and the sound that the nearby waterfall created.

Several bamboo-like trees known as ‘strenbows’ grew through the stones of the waterfall at different lengths and widths – which generated the sounds of musical pipes. The strenbow were notoriously strong – withstanding the power and pressure of the waterfall – and the vines of the strenbow were slung between the branches and often created a haunting melody, sounding like someone furiously strumming a harp.

I enjoyed living in Fall’s Edge – here, the people treated me with respect. I knew what I was doing – I knew why I got up every morning, and why I was exhausted when I went to bed (though, admittedly my endurance surpassed most humans, due to the bloodline).

A few years ago, the peaceful town of Fall’s Edge was changed. People had begun to vanish. My adopted father, one night, when a young girl had gone missing, turned to me, and said, “Lucy, I know you don’t want to – but Mayla has gone missing. She’s just five years old. You have to do something.”

“Me?” I asked, somewhat in shock. “I’ve never really been one for fighting…”

“Everyone else,” my father gestured around the table, but I knew he was encompassing the whole village, “are just simple folk. You,” he placed his hand on my shoulder, “my dear Lucy, were born to be special.”

“I don’t want to be special,” I retorted. “I want to be normal. Just like everyone else,” I added, mimicking my father’s gesture.

“Lucy, you were born to be something more,” he said, shaking me slightly with his hand on my shoulder. “The blood in you is holy. You’ve been touched by the gods. This may be the passage to your destiny.”

“I want my destiny to be here,” I replied, shaking myself free of my father’s hand. “To build harps and lutes and guitars, and play them near the waterfalls, and make music,” I pleaded.

My father’s face looked both proud and sad at the same time. “I wish that were the case. These disappearances have been happening for weeks. This is the first time someone so young has gone missing. It will keep happening until something happens. You are the something that needs to happen,” he pleaded. “After all, it will only be a matter of time before myself, your mother, or,” he looked at my two younger brothers and sisters, “they, disappear.”

Guilt. It was an arrow through my heart. My father never used guilt against me. He truly wanted me to find out what was going on.

“Father, I can’t,” I cried. Feeling the pressure, I ran outside and sat outside of the barn. It was night, but not far away, I could see someone in the tree. Perhaps it was Mayla?

But instead I found a young boy that lived a few farms down from our home. “Var, what are you doing up there?”

“Hiding from the shadow-man,” the young boy replied.

“The Shadow Man?” I asked. “Wait, did you see what happened to Mayla?”

“The Shadow Man came,” Var explained as he climbed down. “We were playing – we made little boats and put them in the stream… and then the Shadow Man came… He looked into Mayla’s eyes… and it was like she couldn’t hear me anymore. She took his hand… and they … turned to smoke.”

“Turned to smoke?” I had asked.

“Like fog,” Var corrected. “Cold.”

“Did they go a certain way?” I asked.

“Yes,” he pointed to the west.

A long time ago, just west of Fall’s Edge, there was a human who built a large manor – a blemish, the people of Fall’s Edge thought – compared to the rest of the land, that had been small homes. The people were fearful that this would attract others here to build larger homes and destroy the natural beauty that surrounded Fall’s Edge.

The old man was rarely seen – and he only ventured out at night to get food from the small shops in Fall’s Edge. This of course, led to rumors and speculation that he was a mad wizard, creating horrible experiments deep in his basement.

So was it some wizard abducting people and doing experiments on people in his basement after all?

I escorted Var back to his home – called for an alarm through the city for everyone to keep their doors locked. As I walked home – I saw him walking towards me – the man from the manor. My heart stopped. I wanted to run and turn the other way.

His words were like velvet. Even from here, it was like he was speaking into my mind… my soul.

“When I saw you,” he said, his voice, thick, rich, accented. “You… took my breath away. Your hair, golden like the sun… the sun I’ve not seen… for so… very … long. And your eyes, ice blue, like the cool spring waters. But you never ventured out of your home at night… and I am bound by the curse to never enter a home I am not invited to. I sensed power in you… You were different… I knew you would come for me, eventually.”

He seemed to glide towards me. “You remind me of someone I lost… long ago…”

He wrapped his cloak around me, and the world went dark.

I awoke and we were in his manor. “I will need you to guard me. I sense a power in you. I’ve had some trouble… but you, you can protect me.”

As he suddenly lunged forward, I could see his fangs – and just before they sank into my flesh.

I screamed as his fangs bore deep into my skin.

I could feel the warmth of my blood running down my neck as he slowly pulled back and looked deep into my eyes.

I wanted to run away – but I couldn’t. When he saw, deep in my soul, I had wanted to resist but could not – he smiled.

He had enthralled me.

For over a week, I was bound to him.

Until the day came, where adventurers had kicked down the door and began storming the house. I tried to defend the Vampire, but they had easily shoved me aside, made their way to the basement and put a stake through his heart.

That action had slain the vampire – and in the process – freed me from being enthralled, but the pain to my chest seemed to be shared by whatever the Vampire had felt. I was left gasping for breath. The adventurers, ran past me and began rummaging through the house.

They seemed to care very little about my well-being. I grabbed the one that looked like a fighter, “Who sent you?” Suspecting that it might have been my father.

“We’ve been tracking Darnak Bloodmoore for weeks now,” the fighter explained as he helped me stand. “He has kept relocating. But when news of people vanishing began appearing, we knew we were on his trail again. This is the first time, we’ve actually managed to track him down inside his home during daylight."

It took me a day to recover, taking shelter in the manor, after the adventurers had pillaged it of any valuables that they could carry.

I walked back to Fall’s Edge and was greeted by cheers.

Mayla had told them what happened – or what she thought happened. That I had come and rescued her. It wasn’t the truth, and as much as I tried to tell the others the truth, they all twisted it, that I had held off the vampire until help came.

This isn’t what I wanted. I wanted a simple life.

I’d never have that again here.

They’d always look at me differently.

I sighed and thanked everyone as I walked towards my home.

That night at dinner, I told my family, I was leaving, and that perhaps one day I would return to Fall’s Edge to visit…

This is really awesome. I've always been bad at making up backstories that aren't bullet points of things that had happened, so do you mind if I leave a character?
Name: Krusk Bonesmasher
Race: Orc (full Orc)
Class: Celestial Warlock
The best I came up with was having him be beaten up by a celestial of some variety and begin following the celestial because the strongest is the boss.

http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsing ... stcount=72

Side note... orcs are some of my favorite humanoid monsters... they're always powerful figures (and as common as humans) in my campaign so I always spend a lot of time developing them...
The way I explain your character having magic is almost "Sorcerer" in nature (but it's not intended) - the actual thing is how it ties to Gruumsh, which is where he's truly drawing his (corrupted) power... it explains it down below.

I had a lot of fun writing this - and if there's anything that misses the mark - or you have any feedback - let me know! I'd be happy to rework parts of it.

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

Strength and power ruled the Red Eye, Orc Clan.

Devotion to Gruumsh was unquestionable. Unbreakable.

The most devote followers of Gruumsh in the Red Eye Orc Clan, would carefully take a dagger an extract one of their own eyes – and sacrifice it in Gruumsh’s name – throwing into a bonfire, so that the ashes carried to the heavens would reach their god. With these ashes, he would spread them across the world, so that he could see everything. The Red Eye Orcs believed that Gruumsh would guide their blade during battle, so the inconvenience of visual impairment did not matter to them – after all, what was more glorious than dying in battle in the name of Gruumsh?

Some claimed that Gruumsh had been born with one eye – and that their god was infallible. But others – like the Red Eye Orcs believed that Gruumsh had been tricked by Corellon Larethian, God of the Elves, and on that – the blood of Gruumsh bled onto the world giving birth to orcs, who were infused with hatred for Corellon and his people.

My name is Krusk Bonesmasher, brother of Kreen Bonesmasher. Kreen was raw strength and savagery. He had been one of the Red Eye Orcs who had cut his own eye out during tonight’s preparation for our upcoming battle. While I still had the same fuel of hatred for elves, my strength was not in my body, but rather my mind. I was born to wield magic. My father was disappointed, but my mother has told me in secrecy that she had had a dream, before becoming pregnant that Gruumsh came to her and said that he had blessed her to wield a child of powerful magic – and that the child’s destiny would be different than his elder brother. He would walk a different path.

By the age of five I was able to manipulate the magic in the air. Only a select few were born to yield and shape magic – this was considered a blessing from Gruumsh. The story goes that when Corellon Larethian struck Gruumsh in the eye, and his blood fell – some of Corellon’s magic had dripped down with the blood – and through there, came those born with magic. It was a twist of fate that the Sorcerers of the Red Eye tribe were using Elven magic that they corrupted and changed to suit the needs of the Orcs.

Tonight we would march upon the Misty Forest, and from there, continue our march to the North. I dipped my fingers into the war paint, which had been made with dyes, mixed with the blood of elves we had already slain.

The Misty Forest had some mystery surrounding it. Rangers and Druids were known to fiercely protect it – and though we’d used the edges of the forest to hide and ambush caravans passing on The Trade Way, we had never pressed the advantage to dive deeper into the forest.

Ombar Breaksky stood on a boulder and raised his axe. “Tonight, we invade the Misty Forest! Tonight we kill every Ranger and Druid, every Wild Elf and Wood Elf, and every animal we find. Tonight, the roots of the Misty Forest will feed on the protectors of their land! We will marsh through the mud that is mixed with their blood and the soil they strived to protect! Tonight, we claim the Misty Forest as ours!”

We cheered. He signaled with a pointing of his axe, and like a rippling tide from the ocean, the orcs charged forward. Instantly a volley of arrows seemed to be thrown from the tree tops themselves – Rangers! Hundreds of orcs collapsed, but the tide did not stop – we stepped on or stepped over our dying or dead – and continued the charge. Once we were inside the forest, the warriors climbed the trees, launched spears or used ropes to pull down the Rangers and Wood Elves who had attacked from the trees.

When the very land and animals turned on us, I stepped up. Burning Hands, Fog Cloud, Sleep, Thunderwave – these were the spells The Shadow Blessed, as we had been called – unleashed on the forces attacking us.

It was several hours between fighting the Rangers and Wood Elves on one side, and Druids and Wild Elves on the other – but we had amassed several other Orc Tribes under our banner for this assault. It was thrilling to see the Elves falling, dying, even being forced to retreat.

We pressed on until we reached a small clearing in the forest – and suddenly – everything was silent. The Elves, the Rangers, the Druids – they had all ceased their attack.

The hair on the back of my neck began to stand – not because it was cold – but magic. A great sense of power. I looked up just in time to see a lightning bolt of pure white energy hit the ground with such force that not only had it thrown back several hundred orcs – but it had incinerated them. The flash was blinding, leaving those who had survived the strike, blinded.

I saw what was there though.

It was a unicorn.

First, once the blindness wore off, a few orcs nervously laughed. But the laughing increased and grew with confidence as others joined in at the notion a single Unicorn was going to stop the remaining two hundred orcs that still stood to destroy the Misty Forest.

I shook my head. This was no normal unicorn. The magical energy crackling from it was suffocating me. I wanted to say something – to call for a retreat – but my brothers and sisters and fellow orcs were all laughing at the unicorn – they would shame me for calling for a retreat.

A few orcs glanced amongst each other and nodded. The orcs had encircled the lone unicorn and called for a charge.

“This was foolish! Stop! Turn around!” I shouted in my head.

But they charged forward, and all I could see was the Unicorn moving at blinding speeds, impaling orcs with blinding speed, and crushing others between its hooves. The other Shadow Blessed began launching a volley of spells – all of which simply bounced off the Unicorn’s pristine white fur. As it moved to kill them, its tail seemed to become a fiery trail.

I watched, frozen in terror and awe as this magnificent creature slaughtered my people.

Before I knew it, I stood amongst the bodies of my tribes, the only orc standing with the unicorn standing in front of me, eyes burrowing into my soul.

“Well, orc,” it said to my mind. “You have not dared attack like the others, so I have not killed you. Yet.”

I immediately dropped to one knee and averted my gaze.

“You are all powerful,” I choked, not out of fear, but from sheer admiration. We had all prayed to Gruumsh before marching in here – and yet this creature had bested all of my brethren. I looked up at the unicorn whose gaze was still burrowing into me. “Allow me to serve you.”

“Serve me,” the unicorn’s voice sounded as if it might be scoffing at me.

“We have always served the strongest,” I said aloud. “That has always been how we picked who was Chief. You,” I pointed to Ombar Breaksky, whom the unicorn had impaled against a tree, “destroyed the strongest of the strong - Ombar Breaksky had united six different warring tribes by proving his strength. We all believed he was an avatar of Gruumsh. And you… destroyed him.”

“How would you serve me,” the unicorn probed into my mind.

“By showing the world, your power. I will speak of you. I will change my ways. Accept the messages you bestow upon me,” I said.

“I am no god,” the unicorn said, “I have no need for priests or paladins.”

“You are no normal unicorn,” I retorted respectfully. “I have seen them before. They did not move like you. Have power like you.”

“I am a representation of the unicorns,” it said, “My name is Truestrike, and I am a Celestial Being composed of their energy.”

“Let me serve you still,” I asked.

“You have my attention and my curiosity,” Truestrike said. “Fine. Stand and receive my gift.”

I stood – and in that moment watched as Truestrike impaled me with his horn.

Blood trickled out of my mouth, as he pulled back.

I collapsed to the ground.

When I woke up, I was at the edge of the Misty Forest.

I heard thunder across the cloudless skies and knew that was Truestrike running through the heavens. He had not killed me after all.

http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsing ... stcount=78

Originally Posted by DrowPiratRobrts View Post
Name: Darin Stronback
Race: Kobold
Class: Finesse Barb (Uses Dex and tactics instead of Strength)

I swear this idea will gain traction in the main stream if it's the only thing I accomplish in life, haha.
I know that he often uses a bow but still fights up close and personal most of the time. When he rages he's rabid and screaming as he weaves his flurry of daggers or scimitars or whatever else he's wielding. He sometimes tricks people by begging for mercy in the middle of a fight (Grovel, Cower, and Beg racial feature) before screaming and jumping back on them to fight again. And he is simple, good, and loyal.

I really enjoyed this...! I apologize for not focusing entirely on your character...
I also wanted to show how lethal attacking Kobolds in general could be... So I had some fun there.
I painted your Kobold with some intelligence... and tried to fit in everything you mentioned.
Let me know if you liked it, hated it, what you may have liked or hated, what could be improved on, or any general feedback!
Enjoy!
==============================


The Greycloak Hills are my home.

And they have been for a long time now.

With the wastelands of the Anauroch to the east, food wasn’t readily available. But me – and the tribe of Kobolds I was a part of – we called ourselves The Sand Wyrms. Story is that the Greycloak Hills were once towering mountains, but the sands of Anauroch continued to encroach on the land, eventually burying the Greycloak Mountains so that they became known as the Greycloak Hills.

The Hills run deep in every direction, and the caves have become our home. Some days, we can find animals that have wandered too close to the Greycloak Hills to hunt – other times, we have to travel deep into the ground and live off the glowing mushrooms.

Life was good.

One day, Boon Bumblethorn was on watch, when he said he spotted a big dust cloud coming from the east. This wasn’t entirely uncommon – sandstorms blowing out of Anauroch and hitting the Greycloak Hills during the hot Summer days was common.

But Boon Bumblethorn swore there was something else. I stood next to Boon and stared out into the bright morning’s light. Though we, as Kobolds, disliked daylight, we always had someone on watch, even during the day. Too many times in the past, others who would seek to take shelter in our caves and begin venturing further in, ransacking our homes and killing our kind.

I cupped my hands over my eyes to shade it from the sun

As I peered closer, I could see what Boon was talking about. There were shadows inside the sandstorm, at the base of it.

Boon looked at me, “What do you think it is?”

“Riders,” I replied.

Riders in general were not all that uncommon. Nomadic tribes had somehow made a living in the harsh conditions of the Anauroch wastelands. The problem came when those riders were not the human nomads, but rather a marauding group known as the Bloodspear.

The Bloodspear were a band of hobgoblins, whose name comes from the deep red hue of their skin. One of the only known Hobgoblin groups that adapted to the sea of endless sand, adopting the nomadic lifestyle. Most of their kind preferred the darkness, just as we do – but not the Bloodspear. They changed the way they lived to maximize their lives and their raiding.

I looked at Boon and nodded, “Get the others ready.”

The Bloodspear were notorious for throwing their weight around – and that included raiding our home, as well as the goblins, who had made their home on the other side of the Greycloak Hills.

Boon signaled the horn as the Bloodspear made their way up the mountain. Boon then ran up to me and smiled, “They will regret this day.”

“Yes,” I smiled, and the two of us ran deeper into the caves, with Boon stopping halfway. “I will see you again.”

The Bloodspear tied their horses to a fallen tree near the base of the cavern’s entrance and slowly made their way inside.

Boon barked at them and quickly bolted away.

“Kobolds,” one of the Hobgoblins growled.

Boon ran down the cavern with several Hobgoblins chasing him. As he crossed a wooden bridge that swayed. The Hobgoblins seemed to pause and wonder why Boon had stopped running. One of the Hobgoblins barked an order than the first one slowly began to make his way across the bridge. Just as it had reached the middle, a Darkmantle – a creature that was nearly indistinguishable from the cavern celling, appearing to be a stalactite-octopus creature dropped down on the Hobgoblin both toppled over the edge. The Darkmantle had always survived these falls, and frequently fed on other creatures, besides the Kobolds, whom it had grown accustomed to “feeding” it. After feeding – especially on a creature the size of a hobgoblin – it would slowly crawl its way back to the ceiling and allow the creature to digest for the next few weeks.

Boon then ran down the hall as the Hobgoblins pushed and shove, cautiously looking at the ceiling to ensure there were no more such creatures. He tagged me in and I appeared in the hall so that Boon could catch his breath. I darted around a corner, and side stepped a frayed carpet that was laying on the stone floor and paused just beyond. The furious hobgoblins did not even pay attention as they turned the corner and stepped on the frayed rug – and found themselves falling into a pit. As the hobgoblins who had fallen recovered, some with broken bones – eyes glowed from the darkness.

You see, several years ago, a gypsy caravan had been attacked by the Bloodspear, near the Greycloak Hills. They had only cared about things of value – such as gold, weapons, and the like. They had left several animals in cages – one of which, had been a small kitten. That small kitten soon bloomed into something more as the truth revealed itself – and quickly grew to be more than we could handle – because we had thought it was a panther (which we could train) – but when the tentacles appeared, it was evident it was a displacer beast.

The hobgoblins screamed in horror as the beast fed upon them.

I pulled on the string and pulled the rug back up. We’ve kept it fed, usually with scraps. Now, it would be fed for quite a long time.

They were furious as they made their way, edging across.

As they reached me – they seemed uneasy, since I had not run away – as if they were expecting another trap. In a sense, they were right – they had walked into a trap. You see, there’s a secret they don’t know about me – and it’s that, deep down inside – there is a sense of fury that pounds to escape.

My name is Darin Stronback – and I have grown up a survivor – and there is a rage inside of me begging to be set free. Drawing my daggers, I scream a battle cry and lunge forward. The Hobgoblins started, take a step back, sending three of them toppling backwards into the Displacer Beast pit.

The other six are started at the speed and agility I possess, dodging between their legs, cutting them along their exposed calf – and sometimes, in the privates – as I made my way through them. As some buckled forward, I would climb them, and springboard from them, onto the next one, stabbing them in the eyes, and kicking off from them, onto the shoulder of the next one, who was screaming now in fear. I was like a mosquito – they could hear me screaming, but I was moving too quickly, and I was too small – to effectively target in these constrained hallways. As one collapsed, I stopped and looked at the nearest Hobgoblin, and with pleading eyes said, “I am sorry. Do you have any gold?” He looked at me strangely, then I smiled, and shoved my dagger under his chin. The shocked hobgoblin collapsed to the side, dead.

By the time I was done, six hobgoblins lay dead at my feet. I edged my way across the pit and found several others – and proceeded to attack them.

The few that had stayed at the cavern entrance were now calling for a retreat.

Boon and I watched as they quickly scrambled down the mountain side.

“Think they’ll come back?” Boon asked.

“No,” I said smugly.

But that had gotten me thinking. What was out there in the world beyond our cave?

http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsing ... stcount=82

This is an absolutely fantastic thread - loving reading all the characters! If it's not too late, would you mind having a look at this one?

Name: Alathiel Nightbreeze
Race: Half-elf
Class: Paladin (will be Ancients when he gets there)
Background: Folk hero

Raised by humans, eleven part of parentage currently unknown
Faced down a monster threatening the village at some point
Feels some kind of calling, and slightly out of place where he is despite the love he bears for family and friends
Has a certain joie de vivre

Done!
I really enjoyed getting into your character's head space of not knowing who is true parents are...
And yet having this loving family - but also having a yearning to know the truth about himself...
If you have ANY feedback - things you liked, hated, enjoyed, or if I missed the mark anywhere (or the whole thing!) please do let me know!
Enjoy!
=========================================
It’s strange.

Not knowing where you come from – who your parents are.

It’s not to say I am not thankful for what I have. I am. I truly am.

But I’ve always wondered who my parents were. Why they had abandoned me. If they had abandoned me, for that matter. Not knowing at all has always been something that’s lived in the back of my mind and found its way to my thoughts.

I have a loving family now; humans by the name of Bryston and Aunna Nightbreeze.

You might be wondering why I specified humans. I’m getting to that.

They were merchants traveling northwest from Nightstone to Waterdeep for the Twin Moon Festival. From what they’ve told me, it had been a brisk, cool night and the only sound was their creaking wagon. No wolves. No owls. An unusual silence. That’s when they said they heart an infant’s cry and brought their wagon to a stop. Just off the path, in a small basinet, a child. Because of my ears they had assumed I was an elf. They had named me Alathiel (meaning ‘watcher of the moon’) because the way the moon seemed to be shining on me, as if it were destiny for them to have found me.

But the age of five, they could tell, because I was not as slender as other Elven children my parents had seen. Despite having pointed ears, I did not have the eyes of an elf and by the time I was sixteen, it had become clearer, as I grew facial hair, a trait not frequently found amongst most elves.

My father, Bryston was a hardworking man. He was honest, and cared deeply for his community, often offering things well below cost, for those who could not afford his ware. He always told me to kindle the light of hope, because the world was often cruel and unpredictable. A person could have everything in the world, but a single, random, unpredictable event could strip that from them.

My mother, Aunna, was a beautiful woman, despite her age. She seemed to always glow, was always thankful and happy, and volunteered her time to help those in need. She would sew blankets for those who lost their homes, make shoes for those who had none. Like my father, she encouraged me to always bring hope and laughter to those around you. We can never know what a person has endured, what pain they may be going through. She always told me – laughter and love were like a campfire. If you do not tend to it, and feed it, it will die. She would say, when someone was lost in darkness, be the light that guides them home.

Then, one night – the Orcs came; a tribe known as the Red Eye Clan.

I heard the city guard issue an alarm. I rushed to the city gates to see – and outside of the city gates, a large mass of orcs had launched a volley of arrows into Nightstone. People all around me screamed as arrows struck random targets, including the guard perched on the city wall.

One of those guards, struck, tumbled backwards, and nearly fell on top of me as I rushed to brace myself against the wall, to avoid the next volley of arrows that came.

I heard my mother and father calling for me to come back.

But their shouts were drowned away by the sound of something smashing the front gate. Then came the sound of splinters.

I knelt down and closed the eyes of the fallen guard. “May the gods grant you peace, your watch has ended,” I whispered. I then took his sword in my hand. I quietly whispered a prayer to any of the gods that might be listening.

I stepped away from the wall, just as the front gate gave way. Orcs began to charge into Nightstone.

I gripped the hilt of my sword and took several deep breaths.

“Kindle the flame,” I took a deep breath. “Shelter the light,” I gulped hard as they were rushing towards me. “Stroke the fires.”

I took one deep breath as the orcs swarmed over me, shouting, “Be the light!”

And in that moment, I felt something; a presence guiding me.

I moved and dodged, and swayed – everything was in slow motion. Each movement was so fluid; one strike moving into the next, as if the entire thing had been professionally choreographed. Orcs were falling all around me, and behind me, I heard people cheering. Then I heard the clash of weapons and shields, and saw others rushing around me, to stand next to me.

“Be the light,” they were all chanting as they fought off the onslaught of orcs.

It was nearly an hour of this, but to me, it felt as if perhaps ten seconds had passed.

The orcs were fleeing.

I took a deep breath, and suddenly felt exhausted and collapsed to the ground.

I woke up to both my adopted mother and father standing over me, and priests moving about rapidly. “Where am I?” I stammered.

“You’re in good hands, son,” my father said proudly, his eyes brimming with tears.

“What possessed you to do that?” my mother was a nervous wreck. “I’ve never seen you pick up a sword before! You could have been killed.”

“You possessed me,” I said, smiling at my mother, patting her hand assuring her I was fine. “You both did. You both have taught me about how the world can be horrible and we must do what we can to preserve the light. If I didn’t stand to fight – I could have lost you.”

“You worried us so much,” my mother cried on my chest.

“People can’t stop talking about you though,” my father smiled. “Some even say you were glowing like a beacon.”

“That’s nonsense,” I laughed. “Just hyped up imagination.”

But I was lying to my parents.

What had possessed me? What had made me so fluent with a sword? The energy I felt? It was more than bravery or courage. Something had guided my hand, and I wanted to know what it was…

http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsing ... stcount=83

Your work is amazing. I wish I had your quick writing ability.

Name: Kergal
Race: Protector Assimar
Class: Barbarian
Background: Barbarian Tribe Member
Notes: Exiled from his tribe, looking for his sister, maybe forgotten realms setting, not sure yet.

I was trying to think of how to get a Barbarian Aasimar... while typically angelic from an angel or god...
I thought I wanted to do something more... savage like... something that really lends to a barbarian's ... desire to fight... be strong...
And then I thought, "Well, he's looking for his sister... so tracking would be important..."
Then I thought... "How am I missing this? Wolves are my favorite animal. Expert trackers... Let's start there..."
You weren't sure if you were going to do Forgotten Realms - so I stuck with that theme, but the story is general enough that the mentioned gods could easily be changed to be whatever...
If there's anything I missed the mark on, please let me know - I'd be happy to rework it!
Let me know what you liked, hated, or whatever! Any and all feedback - even if it's negative (as long as it's constructive!) I will be happy to hear!
=================================


There is a legend among my people that centuries ago, the god Silvanus had enchanted a magnificent wolf to hunt down The Prince of Lies, the god known as Cyric. This great wolf was named Frostmane, and it is said that the stars that fall from the skies are Cyrics running away from Frostmane. Cyrics was widely hated among the gods for his viciousness, so much so that evil the gods of darkness and shadow despised him.

Cyrics had tried for centuries to kill Frostmane, but never could. Every wound that would have murdered a god seemed to heal instantaneously. Cyrics then presumed that Silvanus had enchanted the great wolf so that he would never be able to wound it. Cyrics developed a new plan. Knowing that Frostmane was relentlessly chasing him, he led the great wolf to Tyr’s kingdom. Tyr had just lost his hand to Kezef The Chaos Hound – and when Frostmane entered, Cyrics had used an illusion to make Tyr appear as Cyrics, while making Frostmane appear as Kezef the Chaos Hound.

Tyr, believing that Frostmane was Kezef struck a mighty blow and drew blood. Perhaps because of his own ego, Cyrics revealed the truth, rather than allow the charade to continue. Tyr, realizing what he had done felt great shame and called for Silvanus. He took great pleasure in seeing Tyr’s shame, Frostmane’s wound, and the hurt in Silvanus’ eyes.

As Frostmane bled, drops of blood fell to the world. Those that were touched by the blood of Frostmane were granted wondrous powers, and those powers carried on in their bloodline for generations.

My name is Kergal, and my bloodline has been blessed by Frostmane, who died that night. If you were to look at me, you would think I was simply a barbarian and nothing more. I stand just over six feet tall, adorned in furs from polar bears. I have a weapon whose hilt is also wrapped in fur. But it’s my eyes that give me away. Like all who are touched by Frostmane’s blood, my eye are not the traditional brown of all my people – rather they’re blue – and they almost appear to look like sapphire.

When I was born, I was immediately given over to the Shamans. My own family was not permitted to raise me, because of my blessing of Frostmane’s blood. I was given the best care that I could possibly be given – often times, given food while the rest of my tribe was starving.

There had been a band of gnolls called the Skulldiggers that had taken up residence in the frozen wastes not far from my village. Food on the frozen tundra is similar to finding food in the endless sea of sand – simply put there was some, but not enough to go around.

Eventually, under new leadership, the Skulldiggers gained the courage to attack our village. I had wanted to go to the town’s defense – but the Shamans insisted I was too important to be wounded in such a battle, and that the others would take care of it.

The Skulldiggers were driven away – eventually – but to a great cost to our village. Sixteen had been slain, and eight taken away as prisoners. One of those eight was my sister. While I had never had the chance to know her because I was forced to spend time with the Shamans who were “preparing me for my destiny” – there was no denying that she was my sister – born of the same blood as myself.

On top of that, there was no plan to track down and free those who had been taken or extract our revenge for this attack. Despite the commands of our Chief, who followed all the words whispered in his ear by the Shamans, I denied our Chief’s command to remain calm.

I grabbed my spear, and began tracking the Skulldiggers. I had tracked them to their den, where I had single-handedly killed three of them, and found evidence that the others had moved on. But among the things I found in the den were three members of my tribe, who had been dragged off, now dead. This made me fearful that my sister’s fate would be the same if I did not find her.

I found another den – this one looked to be older than the previous one. Probably one of their original dens as they moved about, relocating, hoping to find food. This den had no gnolls but it did have two more bodies from members of my tribe, both of which had been dead for two days, at the most.

Two more bodies were found, while I was tracking them – leaving the last one to be my sister.

The trail however, came to an end near a merchant’s road – and three gnolls were found slain. Undoubtedly they had tried to attack the merchant caravan for supplies, and perished, but there was no sign of my sister.

Had she been taken with the merchants? Was she a slave? Or was she wounded and taken to be healed?

The caravan seemed to be moving southwest. From what I had learned from the Shamans, a large city called Luskin was in that direction.

That’s where I would continue my search for my sister…

More today!
http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsing ... stcount=99

Well since you're all cought up, finally I don't feel bad dropping this one off.
I managed to come up with a character but didn't manage to make it all away to backstory. Well, I sorta did, but it lacks the "one thing lead to another" narrative a true story has.

Tawmis, meet Barakas
https://homebrewery.naturalcrit.com/share/ByZX13jRxr

First, my apologies! Work has been insane today! (I knew it would be - I had a bunch of training classes I had to - which lasted until 1pm... then it was back to back meetings)... Lunch I needed to walk away from my desk... but now, I sat down - between meetings... and decided Barakas and I would take a stroll through Waterdeep...
If there's anything I missed the mark on or that you don't like - feel free to let me know.
It was admittedly challenging writing a Warlock (Fiend Pack), whom you said you didn't want to be evil...
And that their "devil worship" would not be evil... so ... I left it open... with ... is it real, or is there a grander scheme that the Pillars of Light suspect...
What am I talking about? Well - read on! Again - please be honest - if you didn't like something, let me know! I can try to revisit it and get it closer to what you want.
=======================


Waterdeep is one of the most influent cities of Faerûn. The city was vastly known for its trading community, thanks to the merchant kingdoms in the nearby neighborhoods of Calimshan and the trades that came from the Inner Sea to the east. Many who walked in Waterdeep seemed to be in awe of the endless amounts of things that could be purchased. Unique items, never seen before, hung in the windows of shops, waiting to find a new home. This is what earned the city the title of The City of Splendors. Those native to Waterdeep also called it the Crown of the North, showing off their pride.

The surrounding population of Waterdeep had a population density of over 200 people per square mile, while more than 100,000 people called the city of Waterdeep “home.”

Most who knew visited Waterdeep would tell you the streets were clean and the guards patrolled the streets rigorously and viciously. Most of the people who would describe Waterdeep as such never ventured into the Southern Ward of Waterdeep.

Here, where I called it home, there was mud that lay thick on the streets. Mud that seemed to desperately cling to your boots in an effort to pull them from your feet as you walked.

My name is Barakas and I am one – of many – Tieflings who call the Southern Ward home. But just because there’s mud and muck, does not mean one is living an unhappy life. The Southern Ward is also home to the Jade Dancer – famous for the dancing statue. The Moon Sphere is also in the Southern Ward, celebrated every full moon.

If you’re looking for a drink and have a score to settle – The Full Cup tavern would be your place of choice. The Spouting Fish was also popular, but fights were typically not tolerated there. I have always preferred the Red Gauntlet. It was quiet, dim, and the place to go to lose yourself in your thoughts.

One might think because I was a Tiefling, I was sitting here, brooding because of my heritage or because I wasn’t rich. Honestly, that was the furthest from the truth. I understand that there’s a general distrust – possibly even hatred – of Tieflings. I get it. You see someone with horns on their head and a tail, you instantly see some devil standing before you.

I enjoy people even if they give me odd looks. I am comfortable with who I am and care nothing if they’re afraid of me or hate me. I see it as a challenge to prove I should not be feared. I know the fact that in one of these run-down homes, we’ve converted it to the Church of Mythia. People took great discomfort with it, because Mythia was a Marilith – a female demon, with six arms, and a serpentine body, notoriously known for being evil. But Mythia was different. After all, humans vary from evil and good – can a demon not be reformed? Mythia always spoke to us in ways of helping others accept our appearance. I had taken a great interest in Mythia and her teachings and had made a pact with her, to lawfully server her, in exchange for knowledge and power that she could bestow upon me.

There were others – especially the religious ones – who claimed Mythia being a demon, that she had been manipulating us. Lying to us. And that she had some other grand scheme that she was launching. This had brought us in conflict, from time to time, against a religious sect in Southern Ward known as The Pillar of Light.

Typically, they would simply protest outside of our “Church” and from time to time, fists were thrown, but never more than that. We never bothered protesting against the Pillar of Light, because we believed they were entitled to believe what they wanted, so long as they did not invoke harm on others.

Eighteen seasons had passed since my birth – and at my Ceremony of Ascension – thing had changed drastically. There had been shouting outside, then screams – and before I could understand what had happened – humans were charging inside of our Church and throwing torches down. I watched as they viciously knocked over my family, my people. They were not looking to kill anyone – they simply wanted to burn the Church down because they believed it represented evil.

I heard her voice in my head suddenly, “Stop them.”

Instinctively I reached for a scimitar that was hanging on a wall – and felt her energy coursing through me as a thick, black, liquid seemed to surround the blade, with bursts of purple, sparkling energy. Though I had not really used a scimitar in the past, I felt as if I was one with the blade, and that perhaps she was guiding me. My strikes were all non-fatal – in truth, I had only wanted to drive them away.

Since none of them had weapons, they exchanged nervous glances and quickly turned and fled, the Church already burning. Others in the Southern Ward all rushed out to assist in putting out the fires. Despite their distrust of Tieflings, and even the one we followed and had made a pact with, most people knew we never did any harm – and that we had not deserved this.

In the hour of desperation, as we tried to save our Church, the people had come together. Tomorrow, old suspicious and prejudice would surly arise – but on this night – we were united. I looked at the scimitar in my hand again – the black liquid faded. The scimitar was the weapon of the Marilith and Mythia was no different.

Most of the Church could not be saved. The following morning the sky smelled of ash as I stared at the charred remains of our Church.

“Show the world,” I heard her voice again, “that we are not evil. Go. Make them believe.”

I looked down at the scimitar in my hand and realized, I had not let it go all night …