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

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

Post by Tawmis »

https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=761
Whit;24422884 wrote: Ozarg (Oz) Strongvoice Half Orc fighter outlander in chain mail armor and a heavy two handed sword. An intimidating figure until he pulls out his lute and uses his skill proficiency in performance. How does this Half Orc fighter know how to sing in Elvish and pluck an instrument? Speaks common, orc and elvish.
He traveled from the outlands and through towns to finally Waterdeep.
This was a lot of fun to write!
I did a bit of what's called "Tawmis-Verse" where I "connected" origins together with characters who I've written or used as NPCs (as in this case) before with other origins...
Tyrell Stormshadow, a NPC bard I made up appeared twice previously in this thread:
https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=530
https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=534
He seems to show up when someone needs guidance about their "destiny"... so is he a god of some kind, some angelic figure... or just a weird bard... up to you and your DM... or this could be his only appearance for simplicity's sake for you...
You will notice I start your character with a different last name... don't worry... not a typo... it all comes full circle.
Also explain how he knows Elvish in a fun way... and how he knows how to use the lute...
I'd love feedback - post in this thread - it helps keep it alive and bumped!
As always - enjoy!
=================================================

Ozarg Strongsteel sat at the edge of the forest, a small campfire crackled in front of him, warming his body. Shadows danced along the trees that hid things in the depths of their own shadows; beyond where the flickering fire light from the campfire could not peer.

Ozarg Strongsteel wore chainmail armor, whose links and metal had seen better days. He’d been in enough fights to have his armor severely damaged, but never cared enough to ever have it fixed. If anything, it showed how battle hardy he was; and he wore the damaged armor as proudly as he wore the battle cuts across his arms, legs, chest and face. These were all markers that should he’d survived dangerous encounters.

For most of his life, he’d traveled with his father’s side of the family – an orc tribe known as The Shadowmaw. However, six weeks ago, he found himself in direct conflict with the Dark Eye’s Chieftain, an orc named Gruin Bloodsky. The Red Eye Orc Clan had been dominating the lands, their aggressive behavior gaining attention. Gruin Bloodsky believed they were the way – that the other orcs in the world had lost their way – their edge – their desire for war and battle. The Red Eye Clan lived for it, thrived in it, and died for it. Gruin Bloodsky had met with their Shamanistic leader, Boon Blackcrow, who encouraged Gruin to fold his tribe into the Red Eye Clan, and that he would take those willing to come to the ‘fountain of faith’ as Boon Blackclaw called it.

Ozarg however did not approve of the Red Eye Orcs ways; they murdered children and defenseless women. Gruin Bloodsky proclaimed that these children would otherwise grow up to fight against the Red Eye; so better to murder them now. That had been the final straw for Ozarg. He had little connection to the tribe after his father had died a few years ago; during a battle against a nearby feuding orc tribe battle had taken his life.

“That’s someone who is lost deep into their thoughts,” a voice said, snapping Ozarg from his walk through his memories. In an instant, he had drawn his sword and was standing, blade outstretched in the direction the voice had come from. The figure, human by the size of it, stood just outside the campfire’s light, held their hands up. “I mean you no harm friend.”

“I have no friends,” Ozarg growled.

“I can see that,” the human said, glancing around the campfire. “In times like these, out in the wilderness, we all need friends. We need someone to watch our backs. After all, we must all sleep some time, do we not?” The human lowered his arms.

“Or to stab us in the back,” Ozarg replied.

“True,” the human said with a tilt of his head, and itched his long, grey streaked beard. “Well, I promise you I am not here to stab you in the back, front, side, whether you’re awake or asleep. I am just looking for some warmth on this chilly night and the embers and soft orange glow of your campfire seemed to be a good place to find such warmth.”

Without lowering his weapon as the human stepped closer to the campfire, Ozarg looked at him. “You would sit with a half-orc?”

The human laughed. “My friend, have sat with Half-Orcs, Minotaurs, Tabaxi, even dwarves,” he said with a chuckle. The human raised his hands again and said, “As you can see, I carry no weapons; only this lute.”

“So you’re a bard,” Ozarg growled.

“You say that with such distaste,” the human smiled.

“Your kind does nothing but steal,” Ozarg replied.

“My kind? Bards? Is that to say your half-orc nature makes you a murderer?” the human raised an eye brow and sat down at the campfire, despite the sword still pointed at him. “I would think not. Or else you would still be with your brethren.”

“What do you mean I’d still be with them,” Ozarg asked, lowering his weapon. “How did you know I left them? Have you been following me?”

“Following you?” the human seemed to give it some thought. “No. A wild guess, really. As I said, you were out here alone. So you’re not with other adventurers. So chances are you were with someone not too long ago; after all, it’s dangerous to travel alone.”

“And you, old man, seem to be traveling alone,” Ozarg pointed out.

“I’m not,” the human replied.

Ozarg was alarmed, suspecting others in the woods.

“I’m with you,” the human finally said. “My name is Tyrell Stormshadow. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?” he said, extending his hand.

“No, I’ve not heard of you, and no I will not shake your hand,” Ozarg growled, “I’d rather keep all my fingers and what little coin I have.”

“I’ve no need of your coin,” Tyrell replied, as he slid his lute from his side and strummed it. “I’ve made all of my money by playing the lute, sharing stories I’ve heard. Most nights, I don’t even made money, but get rooms and drinks for free, because my inns welcome the crowds I bring in for them – and so, the money I bring in for them. So typically food, drink and room are all paid for.”

“And yet, here you are, out on the road tonight,” Ozarg replied.

“Here I am indeed,” Tyrell smiled, as if he were perfectly comfortable. “Perhaps destiny put me here for a reason?”

“Destiny?” Ozarg laughed. “I used to believe in such nonsense. Though the clan I was a part of would rise to greatness. But my chieftain turned out to be weak.”

“Perhaps your destiny was not to be a follower,” Tyrell said, as he continued to play the flute, “but a leader?”

“Me? A leader? Of what?” Ozarg scoffed.

“Your own destiny,” Tyrell answered, as if it’d been obvious. He strummed the strings a few more times. “So I know your father was an orc, based on what you told me. Your mother? Did you know her? I know the origins of most half-orcs is not a pleasant one…”

“I never met her,” Ozarg said quickly. “She was one of the slaves the tribe had kept from one of their raids. She died a few years after giving birth to me.”

“How did she die? Did you ever hear?” Tyrell pushed as he continued to softly strum the strings.

“One of the other males had wanted her as a slave, my father refused. The opposing orc said my father had grown weak and had fallen in love with her,” Ozarg replied. “When my father challenged the orc because he’d been insulted – my mother threw herself on the opposing orc’s blade to stop the fight. She died shortly after. My father grieved for her loss.”

“But,” Tyrell said, with yet another strum of the lute, “she was an elf was she not?”

Ozarg looked at Tyrell. “How would you know that?”

“Your eyes,” he replied with another strum, “as well as your ears show a hint of your half-elf heritage that courses through your veins; though your orcish features are most dominant. So if your father grieved for her, you say? So did he love her? Did an orc truly love an elf? Do the Orcs not hate Elves?”

“Traditionally, yes,” Ozarg replied, seemingly feeling entranced by the steady strum of the lute. As he continued to listen, he could hear Tyrell asking him more questions about his father, his mother, how he’d grown up, and found himself willingly answering even the deeper most painful questions.

In his mind, he saw a world where his father was still alive; his mother, a beautiful elf, also alive, him as a young child in a wooden cabin not far from here, living peacefully. He saw his father playing with him and teaching him how to fight; and his mother, loving him, showing him compassion, caring and education in the world that was large and full of wonders.

The days were filled with joy, laughter and love; and though it seemed that the world was only the three of them, all three of them were so peaceful and happy to have one another.

As he came out of the trance, the sun was beginning to rise in the distance. The human was gone, the embers were flickering, fading; and on the rock, was the human’s lute. Ozarg waited for awhile to see if the human had gone to go hunt for food and would return, but as the day grew longer, there was no sign of the human.

Taking the lute with the intention of returning it, Ozarg strummed it as Tyrell had, and found that he was quite proficient in it. He began to sing a song; one of the many songs his mother had taught him while he had been in his dream state and suddenly realized he’d been singing in Elvish.

How had that happened? Had he learned to play the flute and speak his mother’s language while under some weird trance? He shook his head, packed his bags, and continued on the road, slinging the lute over his back, so that it rested peacefully next to his long sword. When he came into the first town, he introduced himself, with a strum of the lute as Ozarg "Oz" Strongvoice....
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Re: D&D Character Background Challenge (It's Own Thread Now)

Post by Tawmis »

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trctelles;24423824 wrote: Hey Tawnis, salutations from Brazil!
Name: Alek, 27 years old
Setting: Homebrew, but it revolves around a zombie epidemic
Class: Fighter 2 (Will eventually become a Battle master)
Race: Human (variant)
Gender: Male
Background: Haunted One, from curse of Strahd
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Feat: Crossbow Expert
STR: 8 | DEX: 16 | CON: 14 | INT: 12 | WIS: 14 | CHA: 10

Character concept:
Alek lived with his parents until he was around 5 yo. One day, when he was gathering wood on the nearby forest, he was kidnapped by a coven of Hags. He was raised by them, and used by them to lure other kids to be eaten/ used to produce more Hags. It took him a couple of years to understand what happened to the kids he helped kidnap.
For years, he was used as bait, playing in the woods to attract kids (mainly human and young elves from the villages nearby). Once he became a teenager, the Hags saw potential on him to serve as an enforcer and to protect the coven. They started training him, but since he was physically weak, they gave him a crossbow, and he became really good with it.
Whenever he failed to see potential invaders, or when they were bored, the Hags experimented with him, giving him potions with unknown effects, warping his flesh and disturbing his head. Many times he tried to escape their grasp, but every time they were able to track him down. He found out too late that the Hags used his baby teeth to make several amulets, which helped them to keep Alek on check.
With his help, they became bolder over the years, kidnapping more and more kids, even invading houses to take them from their beds. When he was a kid, he used to cry himself to sleep every single night for the things he had done. When he became older, he tried to take his life multiple times, but the Hags curse on him prevented him from ever being successful.
Whenever he was left alone on the lair, he studied the tomes and notes they left scattered, and discovered a ritual that prevented the Hags from finding someone. The problem is: he needed hair from the head of the Hag that wanted to find him. Every single night, he would have to give a drop of his blood and burn a strand of hair from the Mother Hag.
One fruitful night, the people from the villages nearby became fed up with the monsters taking their children, and started a witch hunt to bring them down. When they were finally found, Alek took advantage of the chaos and cut a handful of hair from the head of the Mother Hag and fled.
Finally free, he saw fit to try to right the wrongs he had done to the world by working as an adventurer, and, one day, to kill those that made his life a torture.
In our current adventure, he already died once (at level 1, but it was part of my GMs plan to kill someone, so we owed an important NPC a favor) during a zombie attack.
Personality: Alek is a shy, but strong willed person. His twisted and sickly appearance made it hard for people to be kind to him after he escaped. He always try to be help people in need, and he feels a strong connection to any kid that seem to be suffering. He has his own moral code, and always try to be a good person, but there is evil inside his heart, he can feel it. Even though he knows that what he did is wrong, he can’t deny the thrill of the hunt he felt, and how accomplished he was when he shot down those who tried to invade the coven.
Battle tactics: the way I imagine him fighting is very similar to John Wick. Kitting people and using maneuvers to better position, always seeking for the best angle to shoot people with his crossbow.
Current events: he befriended a paladin named Mikail, who is his partner in his new adventures. His new friend does not yet know the full extent of his past, but he is aware that Alek did some really bad stuff on his past, and is trying to atone for his crimes.
I know it’s kind of cliché by now, but sorry for my English ( I haven’t written anything in a long long time)
First and foremost, your English is amazing. Most people can't even write in a second language, so be proud.
Second, I really enjoyed the details you provided - so I took it and expanded on it.
I didn't write about Alek's first death, since that sounds like those details were already hammered out between you and your DM.
So I focused on the abduction of Alek, what he endured, and how he escaped.
I changed how he escapes, from how you mentioned it (let me know if that's OK) - I enjoy the idea that people know of these three hags; but don't know how to find them.
And that gives Alek a reason to try and hunt them down himself, one day.
I also elude to the hags mentioning an epidemic (which they may or may not have known about, up to you and your DM), if they foresaw the "zombie apocalypse."
Anyway, I'd love ANY feedback you have!
I enjoyed writing this and I hope you enjoy what I got here!
=======================================================


“Alek, do not go far,” he heard is mother call out as he ran up the hill to gather wood to light the fire for tonight’s dinner.

“Yes mother,” he rolled his eyes. She’d always been concerned about him going too far into the woods. His mother was fearful of the things that dwelled in the dark shadows of the woods and had gone as far as creating a ward around their home. At one time, his mother, according to the stories Alek’s father had told him, had been a great and powerful wizard for a nearby king, and had given up her lavish life to be with her father, who was nothing more than a simple guard of the kingdom.

Alek had always enjoyed hearing the tales his father spoke of; most of which his mother would discourage and claim to not be true; one of them being that she had been such a powerful wizard who worked for a nearby king. Alek admittedly had never seen his mother use magic in the five years he’d been alive; but then she always said that there were things in the shadows that fed upon magic and perhaps that’d been why she’d never used it.

“Well,” a woman’s voice said from the shadows of the tree line. “Aren’t you a strong boy? Helping your mother collect wood for the fire?”

Alek looked up and the shadows from the trees seemed to cover her face in complete darkness; but somehow the glow of her eyes shined through the dark. “Who are you?” he asked. “Do you live nearby?”

“I live very close,” she replied, “very close indeed. My name is Kavi’lana. And I could use your help.”

“I don’t know,” Alek said gripping the wood he’d gathered more tightly. “My mother does not approve of me entering the woods. Perhaps you could come down the hill with me and speak with my mother and father and they can help you?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “They are too large. You see, I have a rabbit that has gotten beneath several rocks not far from here and I fear she may be stuck. Someone your size can easily crawl into the hole she went in and get her out for me.”

“How far is it from here?” Alek asked.

“Not far,” Kavi’lana replied, “not far at all. Just over this small hill here. Come to me and you will be able to see it clearly – a mound of rocks.”

Alek set the wood down and approached the woman; and just as he got in arm’s length the woman reached out with lightning speed reflexes and pulled him into the shadow of the trees.

Inside the cabin, Alek’s mother suddenly screamed out. She sensed that her son had gone past the protective ring she’d put around their land. She quickly dropped the plates that crashed and shattered on the ground and ran up the hill. She saw a collection of small logs and next to them the amulet she’d given her son to always know if he’d stepped outside the ring. She glared into the shadows of the tree and began to weep madly.

Alek’s mother had, at one time, been a wizard for the king and used her resources to have the woods searched for two weeks; but as she suspected there’d been no sign. Even when she was a wizard for the king, there’d been reports of children missing and when she used her magic she could detect dark fey magic, just as she’d done at the edge of the woods when Alek went missing, and suspected a coven of hags was operating somewhere in the area.

None of the missing children were ever found.

Alek included.

As a prisoner of the hags, there’d been three hags – each distinctly different that Alek came to know. Kavi’lana was what his mother would have called a ‘green hag’ – and by the looks of things, Kavi’lana led this Coven. Kavi’lana’s true form was that of green skin, long, black fingernails and as a stark contrast, she had purple eyes and long, white, flowing hair, with the skulls of various animals woven in as braids.

The second hag had purple skin, no pupils (her eyes were simply green – an Alek supposed, in his later years, this had been the sign of envy). Her hair was also jet black; but she had horns near her forehead and wore necklaces full of various sized skulls – none of which were animal – they were all human or humanoid in nature. She’d gone by the name of Va’lana.

The third was one who looked sickly; her skin was light blue, as if she were already dead. Her hair always looked as if it were wet and woven with seaweed. Her face was distorted as if she’d been drowned and someone how returned to life. She only wore a bottom dress, composed of seaweed; leaving her bare top exposed, her sickly ribs jaunting from her flesh. Her eyes were large, bloated, and green in color. This, though seemingly the weakest of the three, had been the one that frightened Alek the most. She’d gone by the name of Nela’lana.

Alek believed, when he’d first been captured that the hags would devour his soul; it’s what he’d always heard – they devour souls, and the greater the innocence the more powerful they became, which is why hags abducted children so frequently. Nela’lana seemed the most eager to devour Alek, and perhaps that’d been why, even after years of servitude to the hags, he’d always feared her the most – aside from her appearance had also been the most ghastly to behold.

The hags began discussing how they could use Alek to lure children towards the hags; as the years had pressed on, parents had become increasingly more cautious – they’d never suspect a child that worked for the hags. Kavi’lana, the green hag, then approached Alek, and spoke in the Common tongue, explaining, “We are not like other hags,” she lied. “We have foreseen the future and a great epidemic is on the rise. Soon the dead will outnumber the living. We are trying to gather the children and pull them into the Feyworld where they – like you – will never have to fear the coming epidemic. We need you to gather the children, Alek. We need you to save the world.”

This seemed to be a rather large burden to throw on a child’s shoulder, but they knew Alek possessed a heart of pureness and that sure a dire situation would certainly call to him to take action. For the next five years, he helped the hags lure the children to them and once he did so, he never saw them again.

When he was ten, he finally asked, “Where are the other children? All of those children I’ve helped save?”

“We have teleported them to the Feyworld,” Kavi’lana lied. “They have new homes now. They are happy and free.”

By this time, Alek was listening to the Hags when they spoke in their Dark Fey tongue; and he began to understand more and more of what they said, but he never let them know. For example, he learned that the “lana” after their names, was the mark of their Coven which translated to (quite loosely) as “Sisters of the Darkwood.” One night, the three hags debated in their native tongue over leaving Alek alone while they tended to Coven matters. Nela’lana had wanted to kill Alek, which was no surprise, since she’d been the hag that seemed the cruelest of the three. But she had been outvoted and Alek was left in their cavern home alone. This was the first time he’d tried to run away, but every direction he ran always led him back to the cave, and he realized that the Hags undoubtedly protected their home – and prevented him from escaping – similar to how his own mother had supposedly protected their home. So lost in desperation, Alek even tried to take his own life to be free; and found that the hags had created a spell that prevented him from inflicting self-harm. In one of the tomes, he’d learned the truth about the children as well – they were never taken away to a better life – the hags devoured their life essences, just as he’d always heard about.

Still, he kept that secret that he knew the truth since the hags trusted him when they left to tend to their Coven business. On one such occasion when he was left alone again, while the hags left to attend to Coven business, he now took the time to read through their tomes of spellbooks now that he knew how to both understand the words they spoke and read them (though he’d been far better at understanding what they said rather than reading their written word). But again, years of being left alone at times, he had taken the opportunity to read through their tomes time and time again. As Alek grew older, the hags knew they could use him to help hunt for food while they tended to their dark magic; knowing he could not leave the distance defined by the hags’ vile magic. He had become proficient at using a crossbow, but naturally learned, the spell that prevented him from harming himself, also prevented him from inflicting harm on the hags as well.

One night, he found what he had needed; a spell that was called ‘Twisting the Veil.’ It would allow him to bypass any protective barrier. While the hags slept, he grabbed a strand of each of theirs, wove it tightly together and managed to brush against the corner of a table enough to cut his skin and draw his own blood. He dropped his blood upon the knot and spoke the words:

Bound and tied, woven inside
Blood drawn, barriers gone
Allow me, to walk free

With that, he ran outside – and for the first time, ran further than he’d ever managed to run before, without being returned to the hags’ home. Behind him, he heard the howling fury of the three hags and could swear he could feel Nela’lana’s frigid breath on his neck. He closed his eyes and pushed himself harder than he ever had – and suddenly felt the warmth of light. He opened his eyes, too late, to see he was running for a cliff, and before he knew it, had stepped over the edge. He screamed as he fell, to what he’d assumed was his death, but instead landed in a river that washed him down stream.

He was recovered and brought back to health.

He vowed he would one day find the three hags and put an end to them and get justice for all the children they’d devoured.
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Re: D&D Character Background Challenge (It's Own Thread Now)

Post by Tawmis »

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KyleG;24384099 wrote: Half-Orc Fighter Echo Knight: Kage Runar, a consecuted soul born into this 3rd, or is it 4th life not in the body of a Kryn but into that of a Half-Orc. Not that he knows much, the memories are hard to separate from his own, well his own from this life, its confusing. And he wasnt identified and given the normal training to deal with this. Now he strives to make the most of this life as is the way of the consecuted.
When looking for a visual to help me feel Kage’s appearance, I came across this:
https://www.d20radio.com/main/wp-conten ... b53369.jpg
I've also known been following the whole Critical Role show (a sin, I am sure)...
So I am not super familiar with the origins and settings of the Luxicon and the characters, other than what I found here: https://criticalrole.fandom.com/wiki/Leylas_Kryn
So I kept it super vague - and made the "Luxicon" a tower because I wasn't sure if you were playing in that setting... or just needed an echo knight.
It could be explained that the beacon was in the tower, if that's what's needed - or that something else in the tower is what powers it.
At any rate, this was a bit of a challenge - because I am not familiar with it... but I think I created a potentially fun thing to explore.
As always, I appreciate feedback!
Enjoy!
=======================================


The scene had been a chaotic one.

The dead and dying were scattered around like droplets of rain throughout the battlefield. Orc and Elf clashed blades, cutting and killing their enemies without pause, without remorse. When an Elf or Orc fell dead by the wayside, the living took a step forward; and hoped to keep stepping forward, or fall dead.

On the backend of the battle scene, the Orc Chieftain, Brall Bloodhammer watched, his sight magically enhanced by his most trusted advisor, the Shaman named Olinar Blackblade, brother of the great warrior, Olani Blackblade.

“They draw closer,” Brall said his eyes glowing magically as he turned to look at Olinar.

“But slowly,” the shaman noted. “The Elven Queen will soon dispatch her aerial assault and our ranks will break. We must send in our backups now, to push through.”

Brall knew this was right; but their backup was Orc Warriors who were trained to kill anything and everything in front of them – disciplined on a word to command them to go and to stop. Sending them now with no clear opening would kill many of their own.

“We can not delay,” Olinar urged his Chieftain.

Brall heaved a deep sigh. If there was any hope of capturing the tower; it was going to be now or never. He looked at Olinar and nodded. The Shaman knew the choice was heavy on his heart; there were a great many warriors in the battle field that both of them knew that may now be killed by their own kind. “Ballak’shaw!” Olinar cried out the words that resounded across the dark hillside.

At that moment, thirty orcs that had seemed as if they were sleeping on the hill side all jumped up on their feet, grabbed their weapons and charged into battle swinging their blades and axes, viciously, cutting down friend and foe alike.

Kage Runar had just cut down an elf behind him when he heard the Shaman’s words somewhere far behind him. The command had been given to unleash the Red Eyes as they were called – Orcs who never slept, enhanced by shadowy magic to make them pure killing machines. Their creation was often debated, even among the orcs – some praised their lack of fear of death and overwhelming odds, while others feared that something would one day go wrong, and the Red Eye would break free of the commands that help them in place.

Already Kage could hear orcs behind him screaming in pain as they were cut down from behind as the Red Eye began charging through. The clashing of a blade against his sword snapped Kage back to attention. He began parrying and fighting, though his mind was distracted by the approaching Red Orcs from behind him. He knew if he did not get out of the way he would be cut down as well; but if he let his guard down the elf in front of him would cut him down just as quickly.

So he continued to fight, knowing this was probably his last day on the world.

He could hear Brall shouting commands from behind the Red Eye, and Olinar barking commands, directing the Red Eye like hunting dogs, to turn right or left or focus down the center. The elf’s expression however was everything Kage needed to know; the Red Eye were behind him. He felt a slash against his back, and blood seeping down his leg as he collapsed to the ground. Before his vision faded to black, he saw the elf in front of him cut down the front of his chest, his organs pouring out, as the Red Eye stepped on him and over him in their pursuit for the kill.

Kage tried to breathe, but his lungs felt as if they were filling with water. He struggled, the fear of suffocating consuming him as breathing became increasingly difficult. He reached out to someone – anything – and found nothing. In the end, Kage perished buried beneath several other bodies, discarded and forgotten.

It reeked of death and decay when Kage opened his eyes again. He let out a scream and pushed himself up, tossing the other bodies that had fallen on top of him aside. He looked at his hands – but they were not his? How was this possible? Kage stood, stumbled, and collapsed again.

“There’s one!” he heard Brall’s voice shout. He looked over and could see him and others rummaging through the bodies of the dead. Brall ran to Kage’s side. “Breathe easy. The tower is ours.”

“Ours?” Kage barked. “You disgrace us!” Kage pulled away and looked around for a sword. “I will cut you where you stand, orc!”

Brall looked over at Olinar. “What has happened? Has he gone mad?”

“No,” Olinar smiled. “Our conquest of the tower seems to have impacted the direction of reborn souls. It would seem that the magic field I applied when trying to stop the rebirth of the elves has had a diverse effect on our friend. It would seem that his body shares two souls – that of Kage and that of the elf he was undoubtedly battling.”

Kage looked down at the dead elf at his feet, and stumbled backwards. “That’s me.”

Olinar held up a mirror, “This is who you are.”

At that moment, Kage suddenly seemed to reclaim himself – though his last memory had been of the Red Eye Orcs behind him and hearing Olinar barking commands to them.

“I’m alive?” he asked, somewhat surprised.

Brall looked over at Olinar, “What do we do with this?”

“We can pry knowledge from the elf’s side,” Olinar smiled. “Welcome to becoming an Echo Knight, Kage. Unfortunately, we know nothing of how it works. You are the first orc known to have such an ability. We will learn much from you.”


WadeWay33;24428253 wrote: I’m not sure if I’m allowed to ask twice, but if I am put me farther back on the list because I’m not going to be using this character for a while.

Ion Dursk
LN
Mystic
He was a normal person until he had a near-death experience by an arcane rival of his. He called out into the darkness moments before his demise, and something answered. Instead of becoming a warlock, however, this being infused inside of him, giving him psionic powers. He adventures to control Arcane magic and to make sure no one can be hurt how he was.

EDIT: He's a human originally, but the near-death experience might warrant a race-change. I'll leave it up to you!
Had to look up the Mystic:
https://media.wizards.com/2017/dnd/down ... ystic3.pdf
I've never played a Mystic - so this was a bit interesting to develop how he might transition into a Mystic based on the guidelines you provided.
Not sure if you've read other backgrounds but the name "Bar'garius" is someone I've used before - to strike such deals - essentially tying together what's affectionately been called the "Tawmis-Verse" where these characters are operating out of the same world; or that said demon is plane jumping between words. Just a fun little thing.
I also leave the "enemy" of your character "alive" in the end - could they recover and come after the character one day? That's up to you and your DM if you use this origin!
Let me know your thoughts - if you were looking for something a little different or if this works!
As always, enjoy!
=========================================

Ion Dursk had spent a life time learning the history of the world. Even from a young age, he had no interest in swords, sorcery, or even the opposite sex. Instead he threw himself into tomes of endless history books where his mind devoured the knowledge. However, Ion suffered from an unusual disease, in which the more he learned, the more he craved to learn. His mind was ever hungry. When he ran out of books to read, he would even go as far as reading tomes of fiction (written mostly from self-proclaimed historic bards; all of which clearly clashed with actual historical facts).

This also made Ion socially awkward around people. Instead of talking about something in common with others, he would begin to rattle off historical facts with such vivid detail; or he discussed what happens to a body when it begins to decompose, because his mind was thirsty to find someone else who might who might be remotely interested in such facts. As a teenager, he began to study magic to understand how it worked and see if he could make sense to the illogical manner in which it seemed to apply itself to the physics of the world. After all, how could someone simply summon a fireball from their fingertips without using accelerant?

Ion, despite lacking any form of years of practicing as a wizard, quickly rose up the ranks without ever truly mastering magic. His knowledge and his in-depth questions about various rune magic and magical gestures and how they related back to thousands of years from his own studies had been enough to get him recognized among the arcane community.

There was one however, who did not appreciate Ion’s rise. An older wizard who did not care for how Ion had questioned everything seemed to impress everyone with his knowledge of how magic may work without truly ever coming close to mastering magic itself by the name of Orehs Soulstone.

Orehs had a notorious reputation for being extremely harsh to his students; so much so that many would disappear in the middle of the night, for which Orehs claimed they were too weak to understand and accept how true power works and the dedication it took.

Orehs Soulstone took Ion beneath his wing to push Ion to learn magic itself, rather than always question it. Even then, under the old man’s tutelage, Ion often recommended how Orehs could improve his casting time but changing a gesture ever so slightly or enunciate one of the arcane words with a slight change on the pronunciation.

Rather than accept what he was being told, the old wizard who had spent his entire life studying solely magic, grew furious with Ion.

Fury overcame Orehs and he then turned to Ion and said, “If you know so much about magic, defend yourself against my attacks. I will not be holding back and nor should you.”

Orehs was admittedly surprised when Ion was able to summon up several spells to deflect some of his most direct attacks. “I am suitable surprised you know magic at all, Ion.”

“I do not cast,” Ion replied from behind a turned over table that had been struck by several magic missiles. “But I have a memory that allows me to remember and mimic what I see. I’ve been studying with you, thinking how you can correct and improve some of your spell casting, so my mind can retrace your gestures and words spoken.”

“I, however,” Orehs’ voice suddenly came from behind Ion, “shown your everything.” Ion turned to see Orehs behind him; an illusion had been what had been standing in front of him while the wizard moved behind him. “You will question my ways no more.”

Ion watched as Orehs threw a magical jar at Ion’s feet and in his final moments Ion felt his soul being pulled out of his body. As his soul ripped from his physical body he could see Orehs for what he truly was – it wasn’t only an illusion before him – but Orehs had maintained an illusion for a very long time as his lich like features became visible, Ion’s soul immune to the illusion.

And now… now it all made sense. The tomes of books that Ion read while studying beneath Orehs had dealt exclusively with necromancy, devils and demons and the darker side of magic. Ion knew in those moments of dying that Orehs was devouring souls to consume their power.

Desperate – even as a soul – Ion called out – and to his surprise, in the darkness a pair of green eyes emerged. “My name is Bar'garius,” the voice echoed. “You call for help between the mortal and the astral has been heard mortal.”

“Help me,” Ion begged. “I do not want my soul consumed! I will do anything.”

“Become my servant,” Bar'garius smiled, “when I need it – and I can help you.”

“I agree,” Ion pleaded.

And in that moment, felt his soul violently returned to his body. His eyes flared open and an astonished Orehs stared at him. “How?”

Ion stood and his mind felt sharper than ever. “I know who you are, Orehs. I’ve seen your true face.” What Ion had not noticed as he began to feel his mind slipping into Orehs’ mind, his appearance began to change into what could best be described as a tiefling and with a snap of his fingers Orehs’ mind was suddenly cut off from the rest of his body and collapsed to the ground, eyes wide, mouth agape, drooling. Ion caught his new appearance in a mirror and was shocked, but it quickly changed back to human.

He realized, each time he used his power, his body shifted planes and suddenly appeared more demonic in nature. He quickly grabbed a cloak and left Orehs’ tower and began to wander the road.
WadeWay33;24428253 wrote: I’m not sure if I’m allowed to ask twice, but if I am put me farther back on the list because I’m not going to be using this character for a while.

Ion Dursk
LN
Psi-Knight
He was a normal person until he had a near-death experience by an arcane rival of his. He called out into the darkness moments before his demise, and something answered. Instead of becoming a warlock, however, this being infused inside of him, giving him psionic powers. He adventures to control Arcane magic and to make sure no one can be hurt how he was.

EDIT: He's a human originally, but the near-death experience might warrant a race-change. I'll leave it up to you!
Psi-Knight Details:
https://media.wizards.com/2020/dnd/down ... ptions.pdf
I admit - I definitely attached more to the Psi-Knight version of this character.
I think the NPCs I introduced helped me identify with the character more and allow me to really step into their shoes.
Some random information on "Easter Eggs" if you will - this origin makes a lot of references to an old game called King's Quest from Sierra On-Line.
The Commander's name is "Sierra" backwards, for example. Ion's best friend (Graham) is the name of the main character of the majority of the game. Cedric is the (much hated?) Owl that helps Graham in King's Quest 5. And Rosella is Graham's daughter first seen in King's Quest IV.
And for the "second life" - if it's not obvious it's Lathander - because what Ion sees is Lathander's symbol.
Anyway - hope you enjoy!
As always, would love feedback! (Replies keep the thread bumped and alive)
Enjoy!
==========================================

“Winning a battle with sword and shield is one thing,” Commander Arreis barked, his hands folded behind his back as he paced back and forth, “but you have to know what you’re enemy is thinking if you hope to survive.”

He paused to look at some of the hopeful recruits standing before him. “Some of you will never be what I need you to be. You will be the brainless, smash and slash,” he looked specifically at Ion’s good friend, Graham. “Some of you,” his eyes drifted to Ion, “have the potential to be something more.”

Later that night at the Daventry Tavern, Cedric spotted Ion and Graham and laughed, “Oh, look who has walked in. Commander Arreis’ pet dog.”

Graham tugged on Ion’s shoulder, “Don’t pay him any attention, Ion. Cedric’s jealous that the commander does not notice him.”

Ion, however, could not resist Cedric’s taunting. Cedric had been pushing at Ion since they all joined the academy together, spitting at him, scoffing at him, tripping him. Ion had had enough. He spun on his heel and smiled, “Perhaps I am Commander Arreis’ dog, as you proclaimed, Cedric. But if I am, it is because I am loyal. What do you know of loyalty?”

“Oh,” Cedric put his drink down and quickly made his way across the tavern and got directly in front of Ion, “so the little puppy bares his teeth and barks back does he? Well, seems as if the obnoxious puppy needs to be taught a lesson.”

Cedric brought his fist upwards in an attempt to uppercut Ion, but Ion had centered his mind and extended it to read Cedric’s aurora and could almost see – and feel – Cedric’s muscles tightening in his body seconds before the attempt to upper cut.

The crowd cheered when Ion dodged at the last moment. Cedric then brought his fist down in an attempt to strike Ion across the cheek; but again, Ion could almost feel and hear the muscles in Cedric’s body changing direction. He quickly pulled a steel mug from the table and brought it up, crashing into Cedric’s fist.

Cedric reeled back, holding his fist, howling in pain, as he felt several of his fingers had broken from the impact. He stumbled backwards as Ion set the mug down. Cedric snarled at Ion, “This isn’t over. Not by a longshot” and with that, slinked into the crowd and out the door.

Graham was looking at Ion with a raised eyebrow as the rest of the tavern returned to their drinking and discussions. “What?” Ion asked as he settled at a table.

“How did you do that? It was like you knew what he was about to do before he knew,” Graham said, sitting down on a rickety chair and flagging down Rosella, the beautiful blond waitress.

“I could feel what he wanted to do,” Ion explained, “like Commander Arreis mentioned. Almost as if my mind was touching his.”

“Well,” Graham chuckled, as Rosella brought them two ales, “that had to be a bleak place.”

“What was?” Ion asked.

“His mind. You said it was like you touched his mind,” Graham explained. He looked at his friend more closely. “Are you all right?”

“I am,” Ion nodded, reassuringly. “His mind was full of so much anger. It comes from his father. His father used to…”

Graham shook his head, “I don’t want to analyze Cedric’s mind. But, that said, I am not so sure shaming him in the tavern was the best move either. You know Cedric. He has his little group that follows him around and does whatever he says because they think he’s the ‘biggest and baddest’ around the block.”

The next day at the Knight’s Academy, Commander Arreis paced back and forth, his hands folded behind his back, as he’d always done. “One thing that you will need to learn to control is your anger,” he began, “if you allow your anger to seize control of you, you will no longer be able to think clearly. And if you can not think clearly, you’re going to make a mistake. And one mistake out there,” he gestured to an open field, “will cost you your life. And if you die – that means the soldier next to you now has to pick up your slack. You’re putting my other men in peril when you do that. And I don’t want that,” he paused in front of Cedric and looked down at his bandaged hand. “And if you are thoughtless and become wounded and can not hold a sword, you’re of no use to me. Learn to control your mind in the battlefield. Understand your enemy,” he came to stop in front of Ion, “and you will unlock the potential within you to become so much more.”

The following night, Ion and Graham were leaving the tavern when they parted ways, each of them heading for their homes after a few drinks. As Ion walked home he could hear footsteps behind him and as he closed his eyes, he could feel the tension. Whoever it was behind him meant him harm. He focused and felt a familiar mind.

He spun on his heel, “Cedric.”

But it was not simply Cedric. Several of his cronies were flanked around him.

“What do you want Cedric?” Ion growled.

“You had to go and tell Commander Arreis about last night didn’t you?” Cedric sneered. “A damn snitch as well as a damned lap dog.”

“I told the Commander nothing,” Ion said truthfully. “He could undoubtedly read our minds.”

“He’s a simple warrior,” Cedric growled. “Not some mage, wizard, warlock, or whatever. He can’t read minds.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Ion tried to explain even as Cedric gestured to his cronies who then began to surround Ion. “He can read minds. That’s exactly what he’s training us to do. If you’d only listen. Release the anger that burns in you. I know about your father and what he did.”

“Shut up!” Cedric growled and gestured to his followers who all jumped on Ion. Despite Ion’s best attempts he could not stop all of them, and they soon had him restrained. Cedric got up close and whispered, “If you can read minds, read this,” as he plunged his dagger deep into Ion’s heart as his minions released him.

Ion collapsed to the ground, his hand over his chest wound. He could feel the warm blood pouring out. Ion could feel his life ebbing away and prayed to the gods for help; but there was only silence. He closed his eyes and accepted his fate, and as he did so, a road appeared before him with a sunrise in the distance. Beautiful trees blew in the gentle breeze.

He felt a light touch on his head and gasped for breath. He looked down at his wound; it was now sealed. His shirt and hands caked in dry blood.

The following morning he attended the Knight’s Academy as he’d always done; but this time, felt more in tune with both his mind and body. As he glanced around he did not see Cedric; nor could he feel his presence around him.

“It would appear,” Commander Arreis said, as he paced back and forth, “that some of our recruits have been pulled to a darker order. Those of you who knew Cedric,” he looked over at Ion, and not at his eyes but his chest, before looking back at everyone else, “he has left the Order. We learned last night that he’d paid a visit to a secret temple dedicated to the God Bhaal. Needless to say, Cedric is never to be accepted here and if you ever see him,” he looked at Ion again briefly, “I recommend you try to arrest him – and if you can’t – then kill him.”

Training at the Academy continued, but Ion’s scar on his chest never healed and he wondered who had given him a second chance at life – and why.
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Tawmis
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Re: D&D Character Background Challenge (It's Own Thread Now)

Post by Tawmis »

https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=784

One of the cool things - Anita, who is only of my players that I DM for (originally that game, has been put on hold due to the current situation of the world - it's a party of 7 people - so it's difficult for them to get time down - especially one of them who is actively working to put an end to this Covid-19 stuff) - but Anita has gone on to learn to DM (I am in two of her games) - but she's also in another game that I am not in - and reached out to me, because they're doing stuff in Matt Mercer's "Wildemount" campaign. So she gave me the details of being a Pallid Elf Wizard - think Hermone Granger (Harry Potter) - and gave me how she's smart, and super snooty, socially awkward, has an ally who saves her (she didn't have any info), and that someone interested in her named Viktor would kill her parents in front of her. With those details, I figured I know she's a big Harry Potter fan... I would tie in several reference. While she didn't submit it in this thread, I figured I'd still share (see what others thought - she loved it).

Syleena Clearwater strained against the pregnancy. Beads of sweat trickled down her beautiful, elven features like rain coming down from dark grey clouds. She clutched the hand of her faithful husband, Aeron Clearwater. Even as the midwife barked at her to push, Syleena looked over at her husband and managed to moan the words, “I am so sorry.”

“Sorry,” he laughed, even as she squeezed harder to push again. “Whatever could you be sorry for? You’re doing just fine.” He looked down at the midwife for verification, and she acknowledged him with a nod of her head. “Everything’s going along fine.”

“Tonight,” she winced as pain shot through her spine, “is Barren Eve.”

Her husband chuckled, “It’s not an omen,” he promised her. Barren Eve fell on the 2nd of Duscar and was the longest night of winter. It was also the night in which people typically spend the day and nights mourning those specifically lost during the war, with the night skies lit up by thousands of candles, marking a light for each soul that perished.

Aeron peered out the window and could see Catha, the larger of the two moons, peering directly into the window and larger than he’d ever recalled seeing it before as if the very moon itself seemed interested in Syleena’s plight.

As the midwife guided the newborn infant into the world, she quickly wrapped it up and handed it to Syleena. “You should be proud,” the midwife smiled. “You have a beautiful baby girl.” With that she bowed and left the room so that the parents could have their privacy with their newborn.

Aeron peeled the soft blanket back, and Catha’s light beamed into the room, as if to see as well; and he could see the child’s earthly brown eyes staring back; brown to strawberry blond hair streaked across her head, line gentle plains capturing the light of the rising sun. Her pale skin, like all Pallid elves, seemed to take in the light of the moon’s gaze.

“Penelope,” Syleena smiled. “Her name is Penelope.”

Aeron smiled. “And it is a beautiful name.”


By the age of five, Penelope was obsessed with knowledge. Rather than go outside, she would visually consume endless volumes of tomes and books.

“Penelope,” her father would say, “you need to go outside. I am thankful that you’ve read,” and he’d peer over the large pile of books she’d finished – in just one week, and sigh, “but you need to go outside some. We are not Pallid Elves because we avoid the sun,” he chuckled. “You should go out and make friends.”

However, each time she attempted, she discovered she didn’t much care for those who played outside. When someone would come and speak with her, she’d simply say something like, “Did you know that frogs have teeth but toads do not?”

This usually incited a look of puzzlement from the child who approached her, as if stunned by magic, before regaining their composure and running away to play with the other children instead. For Penelope she did not mind. She’d simply return home and when her father saw her and stopped her to ask what happened, she’d explain, “Father, those children out there – they don’t even know about the orc nomads that roam the Rime Planes, who use large hunting cats to help them hunt – and if their hunting cats die, that they shave off their eye brows as a sign of mourning.”

“I am not sure I even knew that,” her father replied.

“Well, you should have. It’s in the History of Greying Wildlands, Volume Seven, written by Varus Oathblade,” she pointed to her father’s library.

He rubbed his right temple, “Yes, of course. I should have known. It’s just… You don’t get out much.”

“Well,” she countered, jabbing her finger behind her, “they don’t read much.” She walked away to sit down in the study and picked up, “The Art of Arcane and Mysticism, by Rauling Gingerbread.”

Aeron felt the familiar gentle touch of his wife’s hand resting on his shoulder. “Perhaps she would be better if we sent her to a school for magic. That seems to be primarily what she’s interested. Everything else she consumes is simply for the sake of knowledge.”

“She’s so young, though,” Aeron sighed. “She’s not even had a chance to live her life. If we send her to a school of magic she will never see the light of day. She’ll always be studying.”

“It’s what she does now. At least she will be happy,” Syleena countered.

“I suppose you’re right,” he admitted with a deep sigh.


Penelope had only been at the Stone Hallow Academy for two days before she had already caused ripples. As she was heading for her next class – Defense Against The Magical Creatures – she noticed there’d been a gather in the center of the lawn and people were jeering and shouting. She was going to keep walking when she caught from the corner of her eye, they were standing around a goblin.

The green skinned creature was small – like the gnome in her Ancient Artifacts class – who seemed resigned to his fate. They were going to hang the goblin for sneaking into one of the libraries and causing a fire that resulted in the loss of tomes of knowledge that had not yet been transcribed. Seemed to be a fitting fate for a creature who was focused on destroying knowledge. However, just as they pulled the rope to spring the noose, her arm – almost involuntarily moved up and she extended the index of her finger and whispered, “Kne’towl” and a single fire bolt sprung from her finger and hit the rope with perfect accuracy, burning it – so the goblin fell to the ground with the severed noose around his neck, much to his surprise.

The other wizards all turned and looked at her at the same time in disbelief. “What have you done?” barked the one on the platform as the goblin quickly found a sewer drain to leap down and make good of his escape.

“I,” Penelope stammered. But then something set in her mind – she stood her ground. “Do you not know about Goblins? They’re affected by Bane’s Curse of Strife. They’re helplessly goaded by Bane to commit acts of wanton destruction and malice. He isn’t even of his own mind. We should show mercy.”

“Mercy? Mercy? You do realize that monster burned volumes of tomes that we have now lost,” the wizard snapped back as he began to approach Penelope from the platform. “What would you have us do? Let them in? Welcome them? Give them the shirts off our back? The socks off our feet?”

She was surprised when a young male stepped between them.

“Master Quid,” the boy said, “I am sure she meant no harm. Perhaps we could all learn to show a little mercy?”

Master Quid stopped in his tracks. “Viktor,” he whispered. “Yes,” he finally said after a moment, “perhaps we could.” Master Quid turned around and shouted, “Why is everyone still standing here? You, don’t you have a Music class? And you? Don’t you have an Earth Magic class. Go on! Go on! Shoo now, there’s nothing here to see.”

The young boy turned around, “That was either the bravest or most foolish thing I’ve ever seen.” He extended his hand, “My name is Viktor.”

“I heard Master Quid say your name,” Penelope replied, “I have ears; big ones, being an elf. Now if you’ll excuse me,” she said as she grabbed her books closer to her, and bumped into his shoulder as she left for class.

Viktor stared after her.


Viktor had spent the rest of the semester trying to get to know Penelope, but she remained closed. Every attempt to talk to her, she rebutted that she had to go to class, study, or spouted out a random fact about the difference between Minotaur anatomy and an actual bull’s anatomy.

In the month of Dualahei, just before the Renewal Festival, the school took a break allowing their students to return home. Viktor had approached Penelope, yet again to speak to her.

“My parents are teachers here at the academy,” Viktor began, “so I see them all semester. If you’re headed home and would like some company, I would love to go with you, meet your parents and your friends.”

“No thank you,” she said coolly, while packing her books that she would study while visiting her parents. She slung the backpack over her shoulder and headed for the carriage, leaving Viktor standing there – yet again – declined.

“Fine,” he whispered. “That’s just fine.”


A few short hours later, Penelope returned home, and had gone to shut the door just as she came inside, calling for her parents to let them know she was home – and in case they were trying to make more children to please stop. However, much to her surprise, she did not hear the door close behind her. She turned and saw a shadowed figure in the door.

One she recognized.

“Viktor? What are you doing here?”

He stepped inside, his eyes ablaze. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your parents?”

Just then both her mother and father came around the stairwell. “Penelope? You brought a friend?”

“No mother, he was just leaving,” she said turning to him.

“No,” he said. “No I wasn’t. I’ve been… dying… to meet you both.”

Penelope let out a scream as Viktor raised his hands and fire erupted from them, striking her parents, consuming them in magical fire. Penelope began to rush to their side but Viktor’s next Thunderwave spell knocked her not only off her feet, but unconscious as she slipped on the cold, tile.

When she awoke, there were loud noises all around her. She could smell smoke. She suddenly sat up and saw her home ablaze. Her mother’s friends were holding her back. “It’s too late, Penelope dear,” she heard her weep. Penelope let out a scream and then shut down, falling into complete darkness.

With her mother and father gone, Master Quid took her under his wing and gave her a free home at the Academy. Viktor never returned to the school, and neither of his parents claimed they saw him again. Penelope wanted to find him. Understand why he did what he did. Then make him pay.

She became more distant, and further socially awkward, not sure how to deal with those who said they were sorry for her loss or had hoped to comfort her. She wanted none of that. The only thing that truly seemed to comfort her was reading.

One night while she was study, a stone came loose in her room and a familiar goblin stuck his head through. “They’re coming. He’s shown them the way in.”

“Who?” Penelope asked, leaning forward. “And what’s your name?”

“My name?” the goblin seemed shocked that she cared enough to ask. “Nor’orn,” he explained, “Nor’orn Greenskin. And for who,” he peered behind him nervously, “The bugbears,” he replied. “The wizard boy has shown them the secret entrance.”

“Wizard boy? Viktor?” she asked.

The goblin peered behind him in the darkness. “I must go. Warn your people.”

The goblin pulled the stone back and it appeared as if it never moved. She doubted she saw what she saw, but she could not chance it. She ran immediately to Master Quid’s room and shared the warning she’d been given. Master Quid sent several wizards down who were indeed ambushed and attacked in the passage.

The goblin had been telling the truth.

The Wizard were able to drive back the bugbears, but had they gotten any further they would have been able to murder most of the wizards before any knew what was happening.

Master Quid looked down at Penelope, “Perhaps we could all learn something from you, child.”


====

And here's the fun notes I sent her -
- Being born on Barren Eve (a Wildemount thing) - being the "longest night of winter" - I thought this would be a cool aspect to tie in with her "cold heart" (more so being socially awkward)
- The moon Catha (that's the largest moon in Wildemount) - "watching" the birth is sort of like a god or goddess keeping an eye on your birth, because you might be significant to the world - also to show the pale skin of the Pallid Elves.
- The reference to the orc nomads who shave their eyebrows after their hunting cats are killed is a reference to (Ancient) Egyptians who shaved their eyebrows when their cats died
- The author of "History of the Greyling Wildlands, Volume Seven" noted in the story (Varus Oathblade) is actually the name of my character in Paul Crowder's D&D campaign I play in
- The author of "The Art of Arcane and Mysticism by Rauling Gingerbread" - is a reference to J.K. Rawling and the Gingerbread reference is the character this she is the president of
- The name of the Academy "Stone Hallow Academy" is the first and last Harry Potter book (Sorceror's Stone & Deathly Hallows)
- When Penelope casts Fire Bolt she uses the arcade word of "Kne'towl" - which is "Newt" and "Owl" - the classes thing in Harry Potter (N.E.W.T.) and (O.W.L.) - "Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Test" and "Ordinary Wizarding Level"
- When Master Quid says "What shall we do? Give it the shirt off our back? The socks off our feet?" - a reference to how to free a goblin in Harry Potter
- Saving the goblin in itself is a reference to Harry Potter
- Master Quid is a reference to "Quiddage"
- The classes Master Quid shouts at the students to go to are actual Harry Potter classes
- The goblin's name (Nor'orn Greenskin) is a reference to a goblin NPC in my work game (in the same game world I DM for you guys)
- The Bane Curse about goblins is a Wildemount thing and it says under the race for Goblinkin in the Wildemount book: It is nearly impossible for a goblinkin to break Bane’s curse on their own. Only those who undergo particularly traumatic events or are shown exceptional compassion typically find the inner strength to do so.
- So Penelope saving the goblin just before death broke him free of Bane's curse. And is now an NPC that the DM can use. :-) Along with the others.

--- Side note: My wife corrected me for a reference that Dobby was a House elf (in Harry Potter) not a goblin, but whatever. :)
Jaryn;24437574 wrote: Hi Tawmis, I'm playing a few more games than usual (online) as my social life has taken a nose dive for obvious reasons. I'm also going through a bit of a cleric phase at the moment. Would love to see what you make of this one when you have the time. Don't overdo the screen while you're wfh!

Malcer Stormwind
Cleric of Mystra

Born and raised in Silverymoon as part of a happy family, he has always been in love with magic which he sees as a thing of wonder and beauty in and of itself. Became a novice in the temple of Mystra, and was then assigned to the Silverwatch in a supporting role. Became quite good at solving crime.

Upon advancing to a fully fledged Servant of Mystery he left the city to go adventuring, which allows him to both so good and seek out and preserve interesting magical items. His tendency to wander does lead him to sometimes butt heads with more established members of the church hierarchy as he doesn't want to be tied down to a specific temple. Unbeknownst to him, he is being observed by a couple of Harper agents who are studying him with an eye to recruitment if he proves suitable.

EDIT: Made some amendments to the concept, mostly because I thought it could be fun to do the Harper thing in play rather than character creation.
This was fun to write; although I think I could have (easily) made this a little longer - I didn't want to make it an epic story. I technically still had 15 minutes left on my hour clock that I allow myself to write these.
I feel like I could explain more how he goes from studying like a Wizard, to becoming a cleric - but I left it to just the vision he gets.
I also ended up making a reference to the previous story in this post that I wrote for Anita (you will see if you read the previous background in this post). As always, it doesn't matter other than "a fun little Tawmis-Verse" kind of thing.
I hope this is what you were looking for - if not, please let me know!
Oh and you didn't mention what race Malcer was so I didn't go into anything in regards to what race he might be.
As always, please leave feedback - it bumps the three and keeps it alive.
And also - as always ...
Enjoy!
=================================================

Born in the growing town of Silvery Moon, Malcer Stormwind grew up in a loving family. At a young age, his parents encouraged and endorsed him in each and every one of his efforts, doing whatever they could to help Malcer achieve what he wanted out of life. By the time that Malcer was a teenager he became interested in the arcane arts. But something would veer Malcer from following the path of becoming an Arcane Mystic. During one of his studies, a fellow student – a human named Raistilus Timegate – was grievously injured when someone had tampered with his potions, causing a mixture of two chemicals that should have produced nothing more than a foul odor to explode. While Malcer was not close with the unusual human who suffered these wounds, he felt compelled to do what was right. He often went to the Church and prayed for Raistilus to recover – and it was there his path began to change. In the Church of Mystra, which had been located next to the Loadstone Academy (said to have been built upon a fallen star fragment) is where Malcer suddenly felt a sense of peace and ease. His mind cleared and it were as if he could was seeing that fateful day in slow motion with utter clarity. He could see now that Langtree Cystalthorn had tampered with Raistilus’ potions, quickly pouring in a portion of some form of green liquid.

Malcer began to delve into the backgrounds of both Raistilus and Langtree. Raistilus came from an extensive lineage of known Mystics, while Crystalthorn’s family also came from a long line of Mystics; they were never quite as known or rose in the ranks in the Academy, the way the Timegate family had. The Crystalthorn family had a long history of trying to prove their worth by performing dangerous tests, often with disastrous results. Had this been a simple issue of jealousy? Some form of means to remove direct competition so that perhaps Langtree would no longer be overshadowed.

Malcer was glad to hear that Raistilus would make a full recovery, though he would suffer scars that the clerics could not heal, both on his face and on his hands. His face, Raistilus could have probably dealt with, but his hands – as a Mystic – he would need use of his fingers. If this had been Langtree, he may have planned this perfectly – to hurt Raistilus enough to ruin his hands, and perhaps his face to prevent him from uttering the delicate words of magic – but he hadn’t killed Raistilus – that might have drawn too much attention to the accident. This would be, by local authorities, swept under the rug as an unfortunate accident.

But for Malcer, he wanted to know for sure if this was an unfortunate accident, or had the vision he had revealed a much darker secret.

Malcer found Langtree sitting on a hammock on his estate, enjoying the morning sun, as the Loadstone Academy continued to clean the potion room which had suffered significant damage, from shattered vials to burned tomes. Malcer came to stand next to Langtree, who after a moment, no longer felt the warmth of the sun and wondered what had happened. He held his hands over his eyes and peered to his left, started to see Malcer standing there.

“What are you doing here?”

“Did you do it?” Malcer asked simply.

Langtree swung his legs over the edge of the hammock and set them firmly on the ground. “Did I do what?”

“Tamper with Raistilus’ healing potion making vial,” Malcer asked, though he knew full well that Langtree knew exactly what he had meant.

Langtree stood up. “Of course not! Why would I do such a thing?”

“Competition,” Malcer replied. “For generation – and I mean generations – your family has often been overlooked in favor of the Timegate family when it came for positions of power among the Mystics. This would be your chance to show your family – and all of Silverymoon that your family is not ‘second place’ and it would all begin with you.”

“That’s madness!” Langtree barked back. “Utter and complete madness.”

“I thought so too,” Malcer admitted. “I thought I had seen a fever dream when I was kneeled down in the Church of Mystra. But standing before you, I see clearly now.”

“What does that mean?” Langtree clenched his fists.

Malcer pointed at Langtree’s clenched fists. “You were never good at potion making. Seems like something you’re entire family has been haunted by. While I was standing here, I noticed your fingertips.” Langtree clenched his hands tighter, as if to hide them. “The one thing your family has often failed at during the Mystic training was understanding the delicacy of potion crafting. You burned your own finger tips because the corrosion you poured into Raistilus’ healing potion burned your own hand in the process.”

“You have no proof!” Langtree growled.

“Don’t I though?” he turned and said over his shoulder. “Then you have nothing to fear when I tell the local authorities.”

At that moment, he heard something shatter against his back, and his cloak got wet. He spun and turned, smiling. “That was a mistake,” Malcer smiled. “You see, I suspected it was you – and this,” he tugged on the cloak, “is coated in anti-acidic liquid. But,” he looked at the green liquid dripping on the cloak, “I am pretty sure this mixture will be the same mixture that was found in Raistilus’ healing potion he was making during the class.”

The local authorities were there to arrest Langtree, who cursed and howled at Malcer who watched him being hauled away.

Master Quid, a teacher who was well know for using his portals to teach at various classes smiled, “It would seem I have quite a few impressive young pupils these days. You were wise to ask for help on the potion to create something to protect you from the same acid we’d found in Raistilus’ healing potion. But if Langtree ever gets out… you must know you’ve made a mortal enemy this night. Not only has he been shamed and banned from the classroom, now his family, which has always struggled to make a name for themselves will be associated to the actions of their son. It’s a burden he will carry until he extracts his revenge upon you.”

Unbeknowst to him, two fellow members in his classroom were more than aspiring mystics; they were Harpers and now they had their eye on this clever Cleric of Mystra.
Tokuhara;24445476 wrote: Name: Rafiq
Race: Bugbear
Gender: Male
Class: Fighter (headed to Battlemaster)
Background: Mercenary Veteran (The Chill)
Alignment: Neutral

Personality Traits: I’ve lost too many friends, and I’m slow to make new ones. I have a crude sense of humor.
Ideal: Independence. When people follow orders blindly, they embrace a kind of tyranny. (Chaotic)
Bonds: I’ll never forget the crushing defeat my company suffered or the enemies who dealt it. Those who fight beside me are those worth dying for.
Flaw: I made a terrible mistake in battle that cost many lives, and I would do anything to keep that mistake secret.

Keepsake: Banner of The Chill attached to his weapon (Glaive currently)
Oh. This was fun to write. I wasn't sure where to start it - so I started it with him wounded.
And just let myself... just write. I took a back seat and let the creativity just pour out of me.
And I actually really like how his "secret that he'd die to keep" came about by the time I reached the end of this.
Hopefully this works for you - and if it doesn't tell me - and I may revisit this to get it right if it doesn't work for you!
My apologies it took so long - been in a metric ton of D&D games lately!
As always - please leave feedback - it bumps the thread, it lets me know if you liked it or not, even if it's a simple "Loved it" or "hated it" (naturally I'd love to hear more specifics but I just want to know if folks are enjoying - or even seeing these after they request it!)
As always, I hope you enjoy!
====================================

Rafiq blinked his eyes slowly. Blood cascaded down from above his eyes like a crimson dam whose walls had been shattered. He tried to sit up but every bone in his chest felt as it’d been crushed and broken, as if a giant tramped through the woods, carelessly shattering and sundering everything beneath its gargantuan feet.

Rafiq tried to draw in breath, but found it nearly impossible. The weight on his crushed ribs was so immense that he was literally suffocating. He growled furiously and wiped the blood from his eyes again, and for a brief moment could see part of the problem. A rotund ogre lay sprawled across his body, felled by an arrow between its fat, baby-like face. His left arm had still been pinned beneath the dead ogre, and after a considerable amount of struggle, he pulled his arm free; though he was certain that it was broke at the wrist, undoubtedly from when he put his hand up to stop the ogre from falling on him in the heat of the battle.

Shoving all the pain that wracked his body – and especially his left wrist – Rafiq screamed and howled as he pushed the ogre’s heavy carcass while trying to pull himself free of the dead beast. When he had managed to finally do so, he could see that his right ankle was also broken. He heaved a sigh of relief then gave into the intense pain that followed once the adrenaline cooled down, and lapsed into immediate darkness.

He awoke to seeing Segor, the Chill’s primary shaman standing over him. Segor was a hobgoblin, whose light blue skin marked him as something different than the standard hobgoblin; almost resembling aquamarine colors. He claimed it was a birth defect and nothing special, but he was also the only one to survive a pandemic that ran through his village wiping out the rest of his clan. Ardenor Crush, founder of the Chill had found him, as a young adult wandering – and a natural healer, he knew he could use his skillset.

“You fought well against the Blue Sigil,” Segor said, sitting down next to Rafiq.

“The others?” Rafiq tried to sit up and look around, but before Segor could tell him to take it easy, his body quickly – and painfully – reminded him that though Segor may have mended the flesh; the bones would take a while to “snap” back into place.

Segor shook his head, “Unfortunately, the others… did not return. We had even thought you lost. But you stumbled into the camp, eyes closed, going on memory alone. You were not even coherent when you arrived.”

Rafiq laid his head back down. “How was I the only one to survive the ambush against the Blue Sigil?”

“I asked myself the same question,” Segor replied. “I had watched my family, my friends, my tribe all die a slow and painful death. Someone must have told the Blue Sigil your band was there. They must have a spy or an informant or knew your location by magical means.”

Rafiq simply nodded – but his mind traced back to the night of that battle.

“We shouldn’t go forward,” Rafiq’s best friend, Goroth, a fellow bugbear he’d known all of his life. “We’re a part of the Icicles. We’re the ambushers. If we wait – as we’ve been commanded – they Blue Sigil will be pinned between the walls – and because of their mass, will be easier to trap with nets before we sling our spears.”

“That’s just it,” Rafiq turned towards his friend. “The Blue Sigil have been a bane to us for too long. We could wait. We could spring our trap. And we will probably kill many of them before they’re forced to turn and flee. But I am tired of ambushing. I want to challenge them. Confront them. Let them know we’re not afraid.”

“It’s a wonderful idea,” Goroth said, patting his friend on the shoulder. “But not tonight.”

In the distance, they could see the torch light of the approaching ogres of the Blue Sigil. They were coming towards The Hourglass Pass – a small path, where like its name, each side of the mountain path comes inward, forming an hourglass appearance from above. That’s where the Rafiq and the others waited to spring their trap – to throw their nets down at the choke point, and throw spears and shoot arrows from above. The Blue Sigil were coming forward in hopes of tracking down the Chill and attacking the camp.

Rafiq, however, could not put his impulse aside. Quietly he stepped back and quickly made his way down to rocky path – and it was too late when Goroth had spotted his good friend moving towards the Hourglass.

“You damn fool,” Goroth muttered.

“Blue Sigil!” Rafiq howled, his voice bouncing down the Hourglass Pass. The Blue Sigil came to a halt before the choke point. “We have no fear of you. We never have. We heard the fat, thundering footsteps of your overweight bodies from miles away! And today,” he clutched his glaive, “I will cut you all down.” He howled and charged forward.

The Ogres however were nowhere near the chokepoint. The hobgoblin commander barked commands for them to move down as quickly as they could – and shouted for the melee division to run in and come out of the caves to help Rafiq. The chaos ensued and Rafiq had done as he promised, cutting down several ogres, just as the other members of the Chill arrived behind him, cursing his name. From above, they had moved and began throwing down needs. One Ogre batted the net away and swung wildly at Rafiq. Rafiq stepped back but twisted his ankle on a rock. The Ogre howled and cheered, bringing his Warhammer over his head – only to be struck by an arrow between the eyes. Rafiq had enough time to see that Goroth had saved him, before he realized the immense ogre was about to fall on him. He extended his left hand which he heard snap; then got the wind knocked out of him. He tried to keep breathing, but the ogre’s weight, and some broken ribs was making it increasingly more difficult. He saw ogres making their way up the side path towards the archers – towards his friend. He reached out with his right hand and lapsed into blackness.

Rafiq came back to the present; no one else had survived. No one. No one would know his shame. He would die to hide that secret.

“Yes,” he finally said looking up at Segor with sorrowful eyes, “they must be using magic.”
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Re: D&D Character Background Challenge (It's Own Thread Now)

Post by Tawmis »

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Whit;24447227 wrote: Hello Tawmis. Hope all is well. When you have time, here are two odd characters for you.
I played these character already but I believe your story writing will bring it alive and fun for others.

1. Name Frawd, My name is FRAWD!
Race Hill Dwarf, but denies he is a dwarf.
Class Sorcerer wild magic
Background Hermit.
During a day of mining he located a shiny glow of energy behind the rocks. Excited upon his discovery, he mined the crack more until a fissure of wild magic exploded; bathing him in glowing magic. Every other Dwarf had vanished in the explosion. He ran, his mind fractured, he ritually keeps his head and beard shaven clean prestidigitation cantrip. If I can find what happened, i can find who I am.
This was both fun and a challenge. I think I am a funny person, myself.
But I've never really done a "funny" D&D campaign nor written a "funny" type character before.
So, this was fun for that challenge - and then to get the answers to his questions... then have what happens at the end.
Won't spoil it, but if it's not clear - let me know!
The wizard name is a reference to one of my all time favorite Dragonlance wizards - Dalamar.
Anyway! Hope you enjoy!
Would love to hear your thoughts.
Enjoy.
=========================================

“Listen to me! I’d know what I am! And I ain’t no Hill Dwarf!” Frawd growled as patrons in the tavern gathered around the escalating argument.

Dalmarius, a Dark Elf of renowned power and reputation, and widely accepted despite his outward appearance raised an eye brow. “You’re nowhere near as stocky as a Mountain Dwarf. And lack the complexion of a Duergar – trust me, I’d know. And neither are you Derro or Frost Dwarf. Because they would never remove their beards – for that matter,” Dalmarius gave it some thought, his purple eyes darting back and forth, “No Dwarf in their right mind would remove their facial hair. I’ve heard of Shield and Sun Dwarves, but you lack the tan color of their skin; which leaves me back to A Hill Dwarf. But what I am curious about is the magic. Why does your body surge with it?”

Frawd tried to recall. His mind was a jigsaw puzzle; but most of the pieces didn’t fit. He saw himself as a human in a mine, hammering away with a pick into grey stone. A blue skinned orc had whipped his back and caused him to bleed. He saw his reflection in the droplets of blood, his Hafling features staring back at him. He clenched his fist and with the pick brought it up against the creature – which was now a goblin! The goblin held up a shield and Frawd could see his features reflected in the shield’s glistening steel, and he saw himself as a Minotaur. Then there was an explosion.

When he opened his eyes – he was reduced to the form he was in now and all the other slaves – and all of the evidence of the orcs and goblin slavers was gone. Had he been unconscious for so long that they thought him dead and mined these mines for everything that it was worth? No. That didn’t make sense. He would have starved. And why did his appearance keep changing?

“I think whatever happened to me,” Frawd began to explain, “changed me. I used to be human. Then a Halfling. Then a Minotaur. And now… this.”

“Interesting,” Dalmarius smiled. “There is an old saying in the History books – that the Dwarven God created the Dwarves in his image. Proclaimed that they will be as versatile as humans, as small as Halflings, and like Minotaurs, never got lost beneath the ground and bare their strength and endurance.”

“That’s ridiculous! The Dwarves came before Halflings, Man and Minotaurs!” Frawd protested.

Dalmarius raised an eyebrow and a coy smile crossed his ebony dark elven features, “That’s certainly the stance of any Dwarf.”

Frawd paused. “Gods… am I… a Dwarf? Am I really a dwarf?”

Dalmarius nodded, “Not only that – but it would appear your body was somehow infused with this magic that emanates from your body allowing you to wield it. Has there been anyone in your bloodline that you recall being able to wield magic?”

Frawd placed his hands on his head; each time he tried to think to a previous day – anything beyond twenty four hours made his brain spin, flip, and then giggle in his ears. “I don’t remember,” Frawd final said.

“Would you allow me to study the magic emanating from you?” Dalmarius asked. “Even from here I can tell it’s emanating a very… unique signature.”

“I guess, if you think it will help,” Frawd admitted.

It’d been three weeks of living in Dalmarius’ mage tower, which admittedly made Frawd feel queer and uncomfortable – which made him realize – perhaps he was a Dwarf, as Dwarves tended to mistrust those who wielded magic. He looked at his own hands which pulsated with white magic, ebbing and flowing between his fingertips – which presented a problem for himself.

Finally Dalmarius came out from the upper tower. “I have good news,” the dark elf said, coming to sit next to Frawd. “The signature of magic – I tracked it down. There’s remnants of the magic still flowing near Greymine Hills.”

“That’s a Hill Dwarf mining community,” Frawd said, somehow recalling that.

“That is correct,” Dalmarius replied. “There’d been a human wizard by the name of Malum who employed the Greymine Hill Dwarves to do some excavating for him. He told them that he was searching for an artifact that had been lost in time – and he believed he’d tracked it down. It was a Crystal Ball of Hydrus.” Dalmarius looked at Frawd, “And my guess is that your pick struck it and shattered it, and all the magic coursed into your body. Malum, and the others all disappeared when search parties were sent in after seeing a white light explode from the mines. You must have either been shunted or fled before they arrived.”

“Where’s Malum then? And the other Hill Dwarves?” Frawd asked.

“If I were to hazard a guess; when the crystal ball exploded, it shunted all of you – perhaps some of them also shunted out of whatever dimension it thrust you through – but there’s a good chance that Malum, and perhaps the other Hill Dwarves are still trapped there.”

Frawd had come to accept he was a Hill Dwarf. “I need to find a way to free them.”

Dalmarius nodded. “I can do some research on my end. But there’s a Mage’s Academy several miles to the North. Look for Seiveis. He should be able to help you.”

Frawd nodded. “Thanks, Dalmarius. You’re not bad for a wizardry type.”

Frawd left and waved goodbye, however as he’d done so, he struck his head on a wooden sign that pointed which direction the Mage’s Academy was located.

When he regained consciousness, he sat up. Saw the Mage Academy sign pointing to the west. He couldn’t remember why – but something told him to head that way.

Wait.

He looked at his hands.

Why were they glowing white?
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Re: D&D Character Background Challenge (It's Own Thread Now)

Post by Tawmis »

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richardbob123;24450908 wrote: Name: Julian Colt
Class: Monster Slayer Ranger
Age:27
Race: Aasimar (Scourge)
Gender: Male
Background: Hunted one
Harrowing Event: A fiend that slaughtered my mother, spared me, my sister and my fathers life, and you don't know why.
Family:
Father:(Dead) Jonathan Colt -Human- Former solider turn blacksmith
Mother:(Dead) Sarah Colt -Human- Farmer
Sister: Eleanor Colt -Former Human Turned Tiefling -
the idea is that, when he was 4 his mother was killed by a devil called Abaddon, after as she saw her feeding her daughter devils blood, in order to make a super solider to fight on her side. and after that his father began investigating the cause of Sarah's death and learned about supernatural creatures and the people who hunted them.so his father became a hunter himself, and trained Julian to be one as well, though both hid the supernatural from Eleanor until she was 8 years old. Eleanor apparently started hunting alongside her brother and father around the age of twelve, however, she began wanting a normal life without monsters; years later, a teacher encouraged her to carve out a life away from the "family business" after reading Eleanor 's story about a werewolf hunt. At nineteen, after a heated argument with John, Eleanor leaves for the capital city, thus leaving her family and their hunting crusade behind her
the idea is based on dean Winchester from the supernatural TV show
This was entirely too easy to write. I just wrote a "D&D Supernatural Fanfic."
The black horse, obviously represents the black Impala. Named the horse, "Impala" and gave the name a meaning.
The first town mentioned is clearly a mix of Padalackie and Ackles names. The second city mentioned is meant to sound like "Eric Kripe"
I tried to write it in the same flavor and voice of Dean Winchester.
Hope you enjoy - would love to hear feedback!
=====================================

The moon and stars gently followed the trotting horse steps of the figure moving through the shadows; ever curious what this mysterious rider may be doing. The rider pulled gently on the reins of his midnight black warhorse. “Easy, Impala,” he whispered, the name given to the horse from an ancient Elven word meaning “my sole friend” – though, some argued it meant “my soul, friend.”

Unlike the other horse, he knew he would not need to tie Impala to the post. She was loyal and faithful like no other he’s ever known. Pushing the inn keep doors open, the creaked and groaned, like a tree’s branches screaming against the wind. All eyes turned to him, and rather than feel uncomfortable, this made Julian Colt, an Aasimar Ranger, smile as he settled into a chair.

“Gentlemen,” Julian said, gesturing around the room, “and for some of you, I use that term loosely – very loosely – it would seem as though we have a problem.”

“And what might that problem be,” a half-orc stood up, hand on the hilt of his sword.

“It would seem,” he began, then thanked the waitress as she dropped off his drink, “thank you, darling,” he turned back to the others, “Where was I now? Oh yes, it would seem that one of you is a gosh darn rat.”

“A rat?” the half-orc, though admittedly not overly intelligent, was now considerably confused. “You mean, like a snitch?”

“No,” Julian took a big swig of his drink and swung his feet off the table. “I mean in the literal sense. An actual rat.”

The patrons glanced around the room and wondered if the Ranger sitting before them had lost his mind. “Let me clarify those confused looks you each have,” he said gesturing to each of them with his empty mug. “It would seem one of you is not what you appear to be. As it would turn out, one of you murdered a man I knew – quite well – in the town of Padackles. Now, we can do this the nice way,” Julian said, sliding his empty mug across the table and standing up. “Or, if you want – this goes down the hard way.”

Julian placed his hand on his crossbow and looked around the room.

Julian’s mother was killed when he was just four years old, by a demon named Abaddon. Julian’s mother, Sarah, had stumbled upon Abaddon dripping her own blood into the mouth of Sarah’s daughter, Eleanor – Julian’s younger sister. Abaddon then used her foul magic to slam Sarah against the wall and snap her neck. When Julian’s father, Jonathan arrived in the room, Abaddon quickly fled.

When Julian turned thirteen his body underwent a change; and he discovered his bloodline had that of an angel, as his Aasimir features made themselves known. Jonathan confessed that he knew about their special bloodline, and that it had come from his side – and skipped generations. However, when Eleanor turned thirteen, it was not Aasimar like features that revealed itself – but Tiefling-like. Horns emitted from her head, and her eyes glowed yellow – similar to that of Abaddon.

The three had made it a “family business” to hunt down demons – hoping to one day find Abaddon and get revenge for the murder of Sarah, and the corruption placed on Eleanor. Eleanor parted ways from her brother and father, after a dispute and sought out to try and lead a normal life, fearful that the “hunting” was going to darken her soul further. During one of the missions, Jonathan had left Julian to pursue what he believed was a connection to a cult that had ties to Abaddon.

Jonathan never returned.

Julian had taken up the family business upon himself and had been meeting with a friend of his in Padackles. His friend had gone to the shop – and never returned. When Julian went to find his friend, he’d found him by the barn, his throat slit. Tracks on the ground revealed them to be human – up until the center of the city – where suddenly they had turned rat-like and fled down into a sewer. Julian tracked the creature through the sewer and out the other side of the town, where the sewer emptied out into a lake.

The murderer had clearly hoped that between the shifting forms, and the trip through the sewer, and then coming out of the lake – that no one would be able to track him.

Little did he know that it was none other than Julian Colt who had picked up the trail – and Julian prided himself on being an expert tracker, which led him here to the small town of Airkripe – and this small, horrendously smelling tavern, “The Swan Song.”

“All you have to do is tell me who came in here about ten minutes before me,” Julian explained, as he loaded up his crossbow. He raised an eye brow and looked at each of them. “But you’re not going to do that are you? By the looks of it, you’re all pals, with your dingy little members only jackets.” Julian shook his head. “That’s a shame. You see,” he slung his crossbow onto his shoulder, “chances are, you got approached by a beautiful demon. I mean, Abaddon is gorgeous – weird horns and tail and goat feet aside – she’s beautiful. And she probably told you where I was. And the assassin was probably sent to kill me but in the shadows couldn’t tell who they killed was not me, but a good friend of mine.”

Several of the patrons stared at a small human.

Julian smiled. “Well,” he pointed his crossbow at the human, “so it was you then?”

He watched as the others began to draw their weapons. “I suppose you’re right in your thinking. Kill me now is just as good as if he’d killed me back at the farm, right?”

Six minutes later, Julian Colt walked out of the tavern, threw some gold on the closest still standing table. “I apologize about the mess. Hopefully the blood won’t take much to wash away. You may also consider better patrons.”

He slid on top of Impala who huffed at him, that he’d done all the killing and not needed her to pummel someone with her hooves. He patted her on the neck. “Don’t worry, Impala. I got another lead on Abaddon from one of them wererats.”
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Re: D&D Character Background Challenge (It's Own Thread Now)

Post by Tawmis »

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Kvard51;24463664 wrote: Hey Tawmis, I've got a bit of a challenge for you (I think). I'd love if you would write up the story of two brothers. Children of the same remarkable, human mother, but different fathers. The idea is that the mother died when the boys were very young (3-5 years old?) but had a powerful spell created that forced them to be raised as foster sons by the other's father. The first, a Tiefling Celestial Warlock, was raised in Heaven by the General of the Angelic Host. The second, an Aasimar Conquest Paladin, was raised in the Abyss by its Demonic King.

Names: Ontogenes and Philogenes Velciter (mothers last name)

They are fated to destroy the world, but an obscure piece of prophecy has recently been found by Ontogenes that has made him reconsider what CAN be, as it seems to indicate he and his brother could work together to destroy their fathers and end the war, thus saving the world.
Side note, I wasn’t sure which was which – so I assumed Ontogenes was the Tiefling (since you name him first and in the paragraph above it says, “The first, a tiefling…”) So I assume he’s the Tiefling and that Philogenes is the Aasimar. If that’s not the case, it will be a matter of just switching their names.

A lot of this does focus on the mother, since she plays a critical role in the background... and I leave it open for what comes next, leaving both children around the age of 17 and 18.

As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts. Replies help keep this thread alive.
As always, enjoy!
================================



Shiela Velciter had been a hard working woman. Since she was a young child, she had worked for her father at the Heaven & Hell Tavern – a tavern named after their heavenly beds and exceptionally hot and spicy food that her grandmother, Allinicia had learned from recipes passed down generations on her side of the family. Though she enjoyed working for her father, Tarvell Velciter, she had always something more out of her life. Her father naturally did not see it that way; he’d expected her to take up after her recently deceased mother’s role when she was old enough to work the kitchen.

When she was ten years old, an elderly wizard had come to the tavern and sat himself in the far corner. He only ordered water, no food, and had been staring at the door as if expecting someone. As Shiela had been sweeping near him, he whispered, “Come here, dear girl.”

She looked at him and he had seemed harmless enough. He reached into his robes and handed her an ancient tome. “There will be a man… he has red eyes… no, wait… ice white eyes… wait, no, one red, one white… yes, yes, that’s it, I think. I need you to give this to him. It’s very, very, important. Can you do that for me, young one?”

She held the old tome in her hands, which had a leather bound strap around it and seemed as if would turn to ashes in her hands. “I can,” she replied, “are you going somewhere? Getting a room?”

But that’s when she’d noticed, the old man had, in those moments, passed away peacefully in the chair. She tucked the tome under her arm and summoned her father who then contacted local authorities. The unknown wizard was buried in the town’s graveyard in an unmarked grave.

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and months turned into years; Shiela always waited for this man who would come for this tome to walk in through the door. One year, she simply stopped bringing it to the tavern and left it hidden under her bed. When she was sixteen, as she was cleaning her room, her father having recently passed, and she became the sole owner of the Heaven & Hell Tavern, alongside her grandmother, Allinicia (who, to Shiela seemed as though she never aged), she rediscovered the tome, which she had forgotten about. Daring to open it, she learned that there had been what appeared to be arcane words scribbled inside. Knowing her grandmother once practiced witchcraft, she showed it to her, and her grandmother began the task of translating the tome.

Seeing Shiela’s interest in the arcane, her grandmother not only taught her the family recipe, but also began taking the time to teach her magic. It took another three years to completely translate the tome, but by the age of nineteen, Shiela was well versed in magic. Her grandmother passed away, writing the last line of the tome, “And so, Heaven and Hell shall find love in the same place; and so Heaven and Hell, share bare into this world darkness and light, and so shall the darkness and light, wage a war so terrible that ashes will be all that remains, as the fires of hell burn this world, and the tears of angels quench the flames, for all eternity.”

When she was twenty one and still working at Heaven & Hell, she’d forgotten all about the old man she saw eleven years old, or she might have remembered – a young man, a guitar on his back, long, flowing black hair, outlandishly bright clothing, came into the Heaven & Hell Tavern and when his eyes – his red eyes – saw her, he paused as if he’d seen a ghost. She too, saw his gaze, and found herself blushing deep shades of crimson. Immediately moved by her beauty, the man removed his guitar and began playing a song to serenade her. She was like a leaf caught in a gentle wind of his words.

It’d been a night, like no other. The moon watched, the stars fell from the skies, the image on the lake shimmered, as the two made wild, passionate love.

By morning, he was gone, and she lay on the sandy beach shore of the lake, alone with the memories. She was not angry or disappointed; she thrived on the memory and the moment she had, and for the first time, felt as if she was alive. Within several months, she realized she was pregnant, and would eventually give birth to her son, Ontogenes.

It had been a year, to the day, that the man with the red eyes who had won her heart for the night, that another stranger came into the Heaven & Hell Tavern. That in and of itself was not unusual since the Tavern was an Inn that hosted many strangers passing through the small town. This stranger was in heavy armor, his symbol on his chest and shield bore the symbol of the goddess of love and hope. He seated himself at a table near the fireplace, and Shiela approached him to ask what he would like to eat or drink, or if he needed a room. However, when he lifted his head, and his white eyes peered from beneath his long blond hair, Shiela’s voice choked in her throat. She could see so much in his eyes, as if they were indeed windows to his soul. She could see the wars he’d fought, how his friends had died around him, and how he, despite his faith, was broken. She was compelled to help him and gave him a room for free, bringing the food and drink to his room. She used her knowledge of magic to mend some of the wounds on his arms and legs which had become infected.

“You’ve done much for me, fair lady,” he whispered. “I have no coin, nothing to pay you with. There must be a way I can work off this debt which I’ve earned.”

Inexplicably, she found herself drawn to him, and in that moment, softly tasted his lips upon hers. Gently he wrapped his arms around her as he leaned back into the bed. Like a prowling lion, she climbed on top of him, and in that moment – that night, he repaid his debt, by granting her a night of uncontrollable passion and love which was knowledge bestowed upon him by his goddess.

When she awoke, she expected him to be gone; but he was not. He sat in a chair in the corner, smiling, and said, “I can not thank you enough for what you’ve done for me; the hospitality, the food, and the love. I have somewhere I must go for now, but I would like to return and see you again.”

She smiled from beneath the sheets and pulled them around her as she stood. “If your road takes you back this way, you will always be welcome here.”

A few short months later, she discovered, yet again, she was pregnant. She gave birth to her second son, Philogenes, a few short months later. Just before going to work at the tavern, she noticed her eldest son, now four years old, had pulled out the ancient tome that was under her bed. She leaned over to pick it up, and noticed it’d been on the last page, that her grandmother had transcribed before dying of natural causes:

“And so, Heaven and Hell shall find love in the same place; and so Heaven and Hell, share bare into this world darkness and light, and so shall the darkness and light, wage a war so terrible that ashes will be all that remains, as the fires of hell burn this world, and the tears of angels quench the flames, for all eternity.”

She looked at her oldest, his red eyes smiling up at her; then looked at her youngest, still in the crib, his glowing white eyes shining like the falling stars of the heavens. She collapsed on the floor. Had the old man fifteen years ago, not been waiting for someone? Had he given this to her as a warning?

She rushed to her grandmother’s chest, and began digging through it until she found the tome of witchcraft. She immediately cast a spell of protection that would protect her children from being dragged into this war between heaven and hell by their potential fathers.

Shiela died at the age of 41, of natural causes; her eldest son 16 years old, the other 15. Both had vanished the night she died; the town believed they’d run away.

However, as the prophecy in the book had mentioned; Heaven and Hell had fallen in love with the same thing; it had been Shiela. However, her spell prevented her eldest son from being dragged to Hell, and her youngest from being dragged into Heaven to fulfill this prophecy. However, what the spell had coincidentally done was make it so that Ontogenes, born of a demon and Shiela was dragged to Heaven instead, while Philogenes, born of an angel and Shiela was dragged to Hell.

During his time in Heaven, Ontogenes was taught about the prophecy – and how they had hoped that this unusual result from his mother’s spell – may be just what it takes to prevent the prophecy from being fulfilled. And so, two years later, Ontogenes returned to the Prime Material Plane, and discovered he could sense his brother, Philogenes.

Finding Philogenes, Ontogenes discovered that the demons had taught him to hate his father for abandoning him and allowing him to be dragged to Hell, forgotten. Ontogenes spent weeks trying to convince his father that the demons were manipulating him into trying to fulfill the prophecy that they were destined for… but perhaps there was a way to undo what had been done.
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Re: D&D Character Background Challenge (It's Own Thread Now)

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Lendário;24477205 wrote: Hi Tawmis. This is a character for a campaign in Eberron.

Name: Baki
Class: Arcane Trickster Rogue
Race: Halfling
Gender: Male
Background: Far Traveler
Alignment: Chaotic Good

Character concept: A Halfling from the Talenta Plains who got himself exiled from his tribe. Twice. With his strong personality, he never fit in well among his people. He's a big dreamer that wants to see the world. Despite feeling sad for leaving behind the few friends he had, he decided to leave the plains and go see Breland and the city of Sharn that he once heard fascinating things about. There he got involved with a small band of Halfling thieves, earning enough to survive in the big city without luxury.
Trying to get back into the swing of doing these.
I know nothing about Ebberon so I had to look up the Talenta Plains, Sharn, etc.
Hopefully I captured the information correctly and it fits the character you wanted. Granted you requested this a bit ago, so I am not sure if you still even need this?
Regardless, I enjoyed writing it and discovering Baki's personality from what you provided.
If nothing else, I hope you enjoyed it!
A reply is appreciated, as it keeps the thread alive!
As always, enjoy!
=======================================


“Baki,” his friend placed his hand on Baki’s shoulders. “Surly you must understand why the lath is upset?”

“I understand,” Baki admitted as the young Halfling itched his chin. “But ever since he found that tome in the cave, he’s been acting unusual. And tonight, I got to see what that tome was. It had strange writing on it. Arcane writing.”

“Yes,” Baki’s friend, also a Halfling, named Ellias nodded emphatically. “He’s said that it holds some knowledge about a great power source in the Mournland – and that perhaps, the true cause of the Last War lies in the secret to be uncovered in that tome. He said it would take time to decipher it.”

“That’s just it,” Baki protested, brushing his friend’s hands off of his shoulder. “The lath was in the room, speaking to some kind of misty figure in a language I didn’t understand. I was able to see several pages of the tome before the figure made my presence known to the lath, who then had me arrested. I think there is something afoul here.”

“Baki,” Ellias sighed, “if this had been the first time you had found yourself at odds with the lath, I might be inclined to believe you. But this is the second time now. The first time was Mulina’s wedding.”

“I didn’t think Egeris was good for Mulina, so I spoke up,” Baki shrugged.

“You questioned the lath. You know it’s the lath’s job to bring families together, even if it’s through marriage. Egeris was the leader of the Engazi Tribe. His marriage to Mulina would have brought our two tribes together and created a powerful union. But because of you, and your confessions of your relationship to Mulina before she and Egeris were married destroyed that. You can see why the lath exiled you, that time. But because your parents are good friends of the lath, after several years, they were able to convince him to forgive you and allow you back. And now you do this – go sneaking into the lath’s home, and he accuses you of trying to steal the tome. It’s amazing that he hasn’t left you chained to the Stone of Judgement.”

“He plans to exile me again,” Baki replied to his friend.

“And this time your parents will not be able to undo what you’ve done, Baki,” Ellias sighed and he slumped into the sand dune. “Why must you be so stubborn?”

“There’s so much I want to know,” Baki replied. “So much I would like to see. Have you ever heard of Sharn? It’s said to be one of the most populated cities in the world! Can you imagine? A city! No more wandering, herding, hoping to find water, fighting with other tribes! And Sharn,” Baki extended his arms wide into the night sky, “it was built on a foundation that dates thousands of years before humans ever set foot here. It’s literally layers upon layers, upon layers of city!”

“That sounds horrible,” Ellias admitted. “Why be trapped between walls rather than have this,” now Ellias extended his arms, “all of this freedom, fresh air, you can go anywhere, do anything.”

Baki sighed. “So you won’t come with me?”

“Come with you?” Ellias laughed. “My life is here. My father is old. He needs me to help tend to the herds. I know you, Baki. If you are exiled, you will do quite all right. You always have.” Ellias stopped and looked at Baki, seeing an all too familiar expression. “That look. You’re looking for trouble.”

“I have nothing to lose,” Baki said suddenly. “He plans to exile me. What have I got to lose?”

“What are you going on about?” Ellias asked, sitting up.

Baki placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I will miss you most of all, my friend.” And with that quickly ran over the dune towards the oasis that the tribe had settled at.

It was less than ten minutes later, Ellias heard the lath yelling for guards. He was on his feet, struggling to climb the dune, muttering, “Baki, what have you done…”

And with the moon watching in the night sky, Ellias saw Baki riding on a claw-foot as quickly as possible out of town, and he knew immediately that Baki had returned to steal the tome and learn what it was.

For weeks, Baki traveled the desert – one he was quite familiar with, knowing where each oasis was, and during that time he thumbed through the ancient tome, and studied the arcane language scribbled inside. The more he did so, the more he found, he was able to slowly begin to manipulate magic himself.

It had been nearly three months, but the city of Sharn finally came into view, and it was just as glorious as he had imagined it to be. He released the claw-foot which would make its way back to the tribe, trained to always do so. Inside the city, he met other halflings – some, like himself – from the Talenta Plains, and through them, learned how to live on the profit of others. All the while, he kept the ancient tome a secret, and always at his side.
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Re: D&D Character Background Challenge (It's Own Thread Now)

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Just sharing my latest round...
Alluster716;24515638 wrote: Name: Cassius Twilight-Might
Age:
Race: Human
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Cassius is a sage Fiendlock Level five (Chain pact boon)
Personality Traits: I’ve read every book in the world’s greatest libraries—or I like to boast that I have.
Ideals: No Limits. Nothing should fetter the infinite possibility inherent in all existence. (Chaotic)
Bonds: I have an ancient text that holds terrible secrets that must not fall into the wrong hands.
Flaws: Most people scream and run when they see a demon. I stop and take notes on its anatomy.
This was fun to write - and easy, one I determined I'd use Belaros. Belaros is a (Pit Demon, essentially) from my campaign world - that I've used quite a bit in this thread, to explain he's traveling through planes collecting pieces of souls for some grand mission! Your DM can use him (if they so please, or change it to another demon) - I also love leaving doors open for the DM. Will you encounter your father later? Learn some truth about him? What about your mother and sister? What will their fate be? Plenty for the DM to tinker with.

Anyway, hope you enjoy - would love feedback as it keeps the thread bumped and alive!
========


My family was poor, and I grew up living out of improvised shelters that my mother called “home.” My father was someone I never knew – my mother told me stories of how he had died in some great battle, but as I grew older, I began to suspect he simply left my mother, myself and my sister to our own fates. By the age of nine, an older gentleman had seen me pandering for food on the side and offered me a position at the Great Library sorting books. He said he would pay me both in food and education, and he did. He provided me enough so that I could share with my mother and sister, and patiently educated me on learning how to read.

He was patient with me, and has no fear in my learning too much, since I had no education before him. He told me how to read the letters, the order they’re in; the numbers, and the order they’re in, so that I could properly put the books in the correct order, on the correct shelves, in the correct rows, based on the numbering on the spines of the book – a system developed by an ancient wizard named Mel Vilduey.

However, one night, as I was putting the books away – a smaller book slide out from the center pages, as if it had been a bookmark. I checked the spine and saw no code on the back, for which I would normally simply have put it in its proper spot. I pocketed the book with the intention of asking Jern Storecloud, who had been graciously teaching me. However, the night escaped me and I took this book back with me – by this time, I had earned enough to also pay for a small, one bedroom inn that I shared with my mother and sister. My mother and sister slept on the small, uncomfortable bed, while I slept on the wooden floor. It wasn’t much – but it was paradise compared to what we used to live like.

When I opened the book, it seemed to hiss – but I assumed that was just old pages breathing life. The words on the pages were written in unusual symbols – like nothing I’d seen before, and certainly nothing Jern had ever taught me. However, as I turned the pages – the symbols swam on the pages, changing and churning – and rather than reading them, I could hear a voice inside my head – a voice who introduced himself as Belaros. He explained he saw great potential in me, and that I rose up from nothing to finding this ancient text – a piece of my own destiny. However, this Belaros had been trapped by evil wizards, long ago – and needed an anchor back to the world – and that if I agreed to be his anchor he could provide great power to me – but I would have to prove myself to him. He said with my power would come money to provide for my sister and mother.

With that, I accepted. He explained he would send a piece of himself to me – to be by my side – and that came in the form of a creature he called a Quasit. He explained that – when needed, so it would not arise suspicions – it could take the form of a bat, centipede or a toad – but that I was to protect it.

With that – came his knowledge as he opened my mind to the world – and suddenly I could read. As I filed the books away, I would read them as quickly as possible – but something told me to never tell Jern – never tell anyone – about what had happened – this connection with this being named Belaros. I kept the book that granted me this power close to me.

As I grew older, and I kept my familiar safe – but there was something interesting about releasing him and seeing people’s reactions to him. Why had they feared such a small, demonic creature? Why do people fear so many small things – mice, spiders, and other such beasts which could technically easily be killed, with minimal effort.

As the wagon creaked, I waved farewell to my mother and sister. I would go on to find adventure and send money to them to ensure they were always taken care of.

After all, that’s what Belaros promised.


huginn;24516646 wrote: Name: Drake Flint
Race: Human
Class: ranger 1 will be taking gloom stalker
Alignment: lawful neutral
Background:urban bounty hunter

Ideal: I don't steal from others in the trade
Flaw: I am inflexible in my thinking
Not sure what Personality Trait or bond to take.

My concept is I was a henchmen for the bad guy and I been thinking about 2 different ways
1) My parents were tenant farmers and my choices were become a tenant farmer, bandit or priest. I joined out of desperation but I felt they were going too far. They didn't become bandits out of desperation they were greedy bullies. I started to see them as being partly to blame for my family being so poor as they would steal from the poor
2) I was working for a corrupt official, a sheriff of Nottingham type and after seeing how corrupt he is I switched sides

In either case I see something bad that happened which caused me to turn against them and on some level I knew what I was doing was wrong. I seek to redeem myself for what I did
So... I decided why not mix both ideas and come up with something.
This was fun to write.
Also gives your DM some potential villains for your characters/campaigns.
As always, hope you enjoy and would love feedback in the thread.
It keeps it bumped and live, so it really helps!
===================================

Some of my earliest memories were of my father, worked to the bone, coming into the small shed we’d been provided as farming tenants. He would collapse in the small chair and heave a deep sigh that came from deep within; and each time he did, it always sounded like his final breath. Most nights, he would simply fall asleep in the chair and my mother would retreat to the small mat on the floor, alone, weeping.

I remember the years growing up – swearing I would not be someone’s slave – I would be something more. This harvested a dark attitude that earned me a reputation for starting fights – and it was all true. I didn’t allow anyone to talk down at me, despite being poor, despite coming from a family with nothing; I always stood up for myself.

This reputation carried with me as I grew into a young, rebellious teenager. This eventually caught the attention of Marius Hillstorm. She, like myself, was a woman with a reputation for never backing down – whether it was man, woman, or child that she had a problem with. She stared down and fought humans, half-orcs, and rumor had it – a minotaur, once. She had several scars on her face and arm, and when she moved right – you could see some on her abdomen too, making it easy to believe the stories.

She approached me and told me about how she had wanted to see if what she’d heard about me was true. Some need in me wanted to show her that everything she’d heard and more – was indeed true.

“I have a task you might be interested in,” Marius said, her green eyes flashing as her amber hair blew gently in the wind. “I’ve heard you grew up from a family with nothing and had a father that worked himself to death, and how your mother was forced to marry another man that she did not love, or lose the roof over her head.”

My arms folded in front of my chest, I nodded, “You heard right. What of it?”

“The right have long held us down, their foot on our necks. It’s time we take back what we’ve worked for but were never paid. I have several men who will be ambushing a Senator’s wagon tonight. If you’d like to accompany them – prove your worth to me – I can bring you in and give you part of the take.”

I agreed – and the night had gone perfect – we surrounded the wagon – crossbows out – demanded the chest in the wagon – Karak, a half orc mounted on a horse rode off with it – the rest of us retreated into the shadows. For it, I was given 37 gold – which is more than I’d ever held in my hand. Marius officially introduced me and inducted me into ‘The Black Razors’ that night.

For weeks, we successfully pulled off robbery after robbery – even when guards were accompanying them – typically an arrow to the leg was enough to convince them to stop and surrender. There’d only been one time that things turned violent.

One night, I’d observed Marius holding back on the drinking during another successful celebration; so I stopped drinking as well. Something tonight seemed different in how she was acting. Her pose seemed much stiffer as she leaned against the post – as if watching and waiting for her team of brigands to become drunk. I began to feign intoxication, but never took my eye off of her. When she believed that her crew was too drunk to notice, she slipped out the back of the cave, which was also unusual – we only used that as an emergency exit, because the door on the other side was hidden and we feared someone spotting us leaving from there. I followed her to the back, sticking to the shadows as she slid out the door and proceeded to light a fire. She climbed on a wagon pulled horse and quickly rode off. With no other choice I burst through the fiery door and ran towards another horse – when I noticed an entire battalion of city guards riding towards the front of the cave. I stared after her and stared back at the fiery door and cursed.

Sliding off the horse, I jumped through the fiery door again to warn the others of the city guards – but most of the city guard had arrived and were either arresting or killing members of the Black Razors even as they slept! We had been played. Leaping through the fiery door, yet again, I jumped back on the horse and pushed it to catch up to Marius Hillstorm – easily catching up since he horse was pulling a wagon – I maintained some distance. I watched as she pulled into a small lake front area and jumped off the horse. She paced back and forth, until another figure – human – approached. They hugged, cheered and embraced on another. The human was older – and it took a moment, but I recognized him.

Sheriff Hillsky.

And suddenly it became real – he had amber hair and green eyes.

He was her father.

He was her father!

This had all been a set up for her to hire mercenaries, gather gold, take a larger share – and share it with her father.

It was only three months later, when I heard the news of “Marius Hillstorm, who barely escaped with her life, against the City Guard, was looking for men and women to recruit to strike back…”

She was going to do the same thing again.

Klorox;24517275 wrote: Ok, how about this? I’m looking for an expanded story on a kenku paladin. Brief story is he was observing the initiation of a paladin into his order, he started mimicking the ceremony, and found himself unwittingly initiated into the order.
He’ll obviously be a very strange paladin.
This one was a bit of a "cheat" - if you will. In one of my games, I am playing a Level 9 Rogue Kenku - whose origin is very similar to this.
However, as I copied and pasted your request into WORD to begin writing it - I realized, with a tweak to the end - the origin of my Kenku could EASILY become that of a Paladin.
So with a tweak of the character's name (you never mentioned one so I called him "Karik") - your character became a member of my own Kenku's "flock."
Left some doors open for your DM (in regards to tracking down a demon and such)... anyway, hope you enjoy it!
I'd love feedback or comments!
---------------------------------------------------

Karik’s life drastically changed when he followed the words of their Chief – whom they’d dubbed ‘The Caller.’ The Caller had spent weeks, as a minion to an old, human wizard named Rylius. ‘The Caller’ using expert Kenku ability to forge, had been copying the wizard’s tomes, and storing them for himself. He often tricked the Wizard into speaking a few words to spell components, by pointing at them and shrugging.

What Rylius was unaware of, was that ‘The Caller’ had found and copied one of the wizard’s tomes on Demonology. Within the book, ‘The Caller’ found a spell to summon a demon named Rano Kau, that bore a striking resemblance to the Kenku; except Rano Kau still had his wings. Believing that Rano Kau would sympathize with the Kenku of ‘The Black Talon’, ‘The Caller’ used the words he had tricked Rylius into speaking and summoned Rano Kau forth.

Rano Kau told ‘The Caller’ that he could indeed restore his flock with the ability to fly once more; but in order to do so the flock would need to recover six stones for the demon. Blinded by the desire to have their wings restored, all of the members of ‘The Black Talon’ traveled around the world, doing whatever it took to steal the six desired stones.

When all six had been gathered, they summoned Rano Kau once more and presented the six stones to the demon. The demon laughed, and took the stones, and said, “A promise was made, that I would restore your flight, so you might visit the heavens again.” And with that, the demon cast a spell that sent the members of ‘The Black Talon’ soaring into the air; then, when they reached the clouds, ceased the magical spell that lifted them. Without their wings, the flock of the ‘The Black Talon’ plunged towards the Earth. Karik knew then, that the demon had kept his words – he never said he would restore their wings; only that he would allow them to fly once more to touch the heavens…

Karik crashed into towering trees, snapping branches as he plummeted to the ground below. How he had survived, he did not know. But all of his flock was around him, and not a single one survived. Karik was furious that he and his flock had been so easily manipulated and betrayed. But in that moment of being a lone survivor, Karik wondered had there been a reason?

He wandered aimlessly for days, without a flock, without a purpose, until in the city of Aventine, he bore witness to a Paladin Initiation Ceremony – and subconsciously muttered the words and mimicked the movements throughout the entire ceremony – and to his surprise, when he was done, he felt his body surge with positive energy and the presence of a god coursing through his veins.

Karik now wondered – had the god been the reason he survived? To lead him here? To perhaps one day hunt down the demon Rano Kau and destroy him for the manipulation and murder of his flock?

Lysimarchos;24680854 wrote:Well, this is a very impressive thread, so here is a character I want to play in my next game:
Name: Alaric of Whitegrove
Race: Human
Class: Arcana Cleric
Alignment: Neutral Good
Background: Inquisitor
Concept: A Cleric of Maelther, god of magic, knowledge and the twilight, and the son of the sun god Mithranar. The cult of Maelther is a minor one, composed mostly of scholars and mages, but its priests also serve as inquisitors, hunting down demonic and undead threats and bringing to justice those who misuse magic and threaten the peace. Alaric was one such inquisitor. He investigated magical phenomena, and brought demonologists and unlawful necromancers to justice. He also followed his god's tenet of seeking knowledge, so he studied under druids and under the priests of the god of passage and the underworld, learning a small amount of druidic magic and lawful necromancy. He could have taken a position as the priest in a temple of Maelther and peacefully retired, but a power dispute between his progressive faction the cult of Maelther and the conservative one meant that he likely would be relegated to a small parish with no influence and meager pay. So instead, he chose the open road: to fight evil and spread good on his own. The life of an adventurer was not so different from that of an inquisitor, after all.
Added to the list.


Apologies, as mentioned previously - I'd found my wife unresponsive - and life took a drastic turn.
We're still dealing with all of that. But creatively writing from time to time helps me escape.
I've been running a number of games also - which has also helped.

Anyway, way over due...
Vooez;24520457 wrote: First: Coal, a fire genasi sage wizard (probably abjurer).
I imagine him as being born in the city of brass in the elemental plain of fire, and he lived a life of service to an efreeti. Since he was genasi he was treated slightly better then the other slaves, and at some point he befriended an old wizard who was also enslaved. Eventually he was caught doing something he wasn't supposed to, and was sentenced to death/exile but by some miracle (maybe with the help of the old wizard) he was sent to the material plain, and would eventually find a home in waterdeep/boulder's gate. Now at his new home he wants to become stronger so he doesn't waster the opportunity he got, and one day perhaps defeat the efreet who enslaved him..
Coal was a Fire Genasi, who – for all of his life – had only known the life of being a servant to the Efreeta by the name of Kurrstin. Here, in the City of Brass – home to the Efreeti – Kurrstin was well known and well respected. But she could be as cruel as she was beautiful – and, for an Efreeta, she was rather breath taking.

Though Kurrstin had many slaves, Coal was fortunate that he was a Fire Genasi – because of that, she seemed to treat him better than many of the other slaves. Those Coal befriended, also seemed to gain some leniency from Kurrstin’s wrath. One such slave was an older human wizard, Stefaun, who Kurrstin seemed to initially have a strong hatred for.

Stefaun was average looking for a human; streaks of white in his black hair, eyes of blue.
“She seems to favor you,” Stefaun noted, as Coal sat down next to the old wizard.

Coal looked over his shoulder at Kurrstin, who was just leaving the room, before looking back at Stefaun. “I believe she ‘favors’ me only because I am born of fire, similar to her. The rest of,” he paused, wondering how to phrase, “flesh types, are playthings to her. If you perish, she can easily purchase another in the market.”

Stefaun smiled, which Coal thought was unusual. “Why do you smile, human?”

“Because she did not purchase me in the market,” Stefaun replied. “She sought me out.”

“She sought you out? On the Prime Material Plane?” Coal asked. He’d heard stories of the Prime Material Plane from all the slaves Kurrstin had had over the years, but had never seen it himself. “Why would she do that?”

“You could say I study… Chronomancy…”

“Chronomancy… the magic of time?” Coal asked.

“Indeed,” Stefaun smiled. “It would seem, Kurrstin had brought a small army into the Prime Material Plane, and attacked a village – a village, I happened to be at. I was able to – with my knowledge – twist time back several hours – before her attack – and allow most of the villages to escape.”

“When she returned,” Stefaun continued with a chuckle, “the only person there was me. And I had enough strength to shunt her several hours back again. This happened a number of times, before I was too exhausted to continue – but by then, the villagers had all fled. She maintained the memory of the time shunts and was furious with me. She’s tortured me to learn how I had done it, but I’ve not given in to her.”

Stefaun paused, “Honestly, the only reason she’s let me out of my cage is for you to befriend me, to talk to me, so she could use you to get knowledge from me. I won’t expect you to turn on her… but what if I offered to teach you magic… so that you could escape from here?”

Coal looked surprised, “Where would I go?”

“To where she would have the hardest time finding you,” Stefaun replied, “the Prime Material Plane.”

Coal was shocked. But it only took a moment for him to agree.

He met with Stefaun daily, and as the human mage had suspected, Kurrstin pulled Coal aside to ask what Stefaun talked about. Coal never revealed he was learning magic; instead, he lied and said that Stefaun was telling him about all these different places on the Prime Material Plane that Stefaun had visited over the many years of his long life.

The day finally came where Kurrstin suspected Coal was lying to her – and used her own scrying magic to observe the teachings Stefaun was bestowing upon her favorite slave. When she burst into the room to confront them, Stefaun quickly opened a portal and shoved Coal through – and shut it behind him. As the portal came to a close, Coal could hear Kurrstin’s cussing, and the screams of Stefaun – all suddenly silenced as the portal closed.

Coal looked around him and saw lush green forests, and the lapping water of a nearby lake. He stood up and at that moment noticed, Stefaun had shoved a note in his vest – but the writing was Arcane in nature – and ancient by the looks of it. What was he supposed to do with it?

How I imagine Kirrstun might have looked: https://i.pinimg.com/originals/3c/cc/e9 ... 4304cd.png


Aldreck;24522117 wrote: Very interesting thread, and I have a few ideas for characters at the moment, with backstories that could do with fleshing out. For starters, how about this:

Braelaine, Wood Elf, True Neutral, Barbarian (Wolf Totem), Outlander background

Braelaine narrowly survived being mauled by a werewolf when he was a young boy. Unfortunately for him, the deeply superstitious folk of his village took a dim view of having a newly-turned lycanthrope living among them, and he was forced to flee the town with a torch-and-pitchfork-wielding mob at his heels. Trying to survive in the wilderness while limiting his contact with civilised folk, he eventually found company with a circle of Moon Druids, who took him in as an adoptive son, found ways to control/restrain him during his transformations and eventually contracted a travelling cleric/paladin to break the curse on him. Though he was offered druid training and a position in the circle, Braelaine declined, as the thought of transforming into an animal again, even voluntarily, made him uneasy. Instead he trained to become a barbarian, with his rage ability representing him recalling nightmarish memories of his cursed form. Now he finds work as a monster hunter, with a particular interest in evil lycanthropes so that no innocent shall have to bear the curse as he did.
I did make a slight change to what you had... and in turn, made this a story based off an old, old, old module I wrote called "Giant Problems" (originally written for and declined by DUNGEON Magazine) of a Hill Giant infected with Lycanthropy...
Kept the part of the wolves totem - and I think I tied that in nicely.
I'd love your feedback!
=====================

The woods were eerily silent as Braelaine hunted his prey. He knew he was on the right track, because he’d just passed the corpse of a young doe whose insides had been ripped out for the sheer pleasure of the kill. Until now, he’d suspected it’d been the Hill Giant he had spotted several weeks ago, who had wandered aimlessly into the woods. But even now, as he knelt down to examine the tracks – what he was tracking was no clumsy Hill Giant – but rather the largest bear he’d ever seen.

The others from his village had also been hunting this predator – though, like Braelaine, they believe it to be the Hill Giant. Braelaine considered quietly turning around to warn the others that it wasn’t the Hill Giant when a large, brown, grizzly bear burst through the brush – claws gleaming in the pale full moon light, raking across his chest and snapping his bow in half. Braelaine stared up, from the floor, hands clutching the gaping wound. He could feel warm blood seeping from his fingertips. He watched as the large bear reared up – and Braelaine was certain the killing blow was coming – but instead saw several arrows hit the massive bear, who quickly turn and fled. Braelaine saw his best friend, Rotol kneeling down – calling for the healers. Braelaine reached out to his best friend but lost consciousness.

It was several weeks before Braelaine was on his feet again. Rotol was there to greet him, his raven black hair and soft green eyes, showing deep concern for his friend. He peered at the scars across Braelaine’s chest. “That bear left quite a mark on you. The healers said they couldn’t heal the scar.”

“It burns,” Braelaine admitted as his hand subconsciously traced the long scar.

“It burns?” Rotol stood. “What do you mean it burns? Did you tell the healers?”

“No,” Braelaine shook his head. “Otherwise they’d never let me leave.”

As the days passed, Rotol observed a continued change in Braelaine. Braelaine had become more agitated, quickly losing his temper. Just before the full moon, his hunger seemed virtually endless, to the point that Braelaine did not even wait for meat to be cooked – he’d begun eating it raw.

Then on the full moon – the truth was revealed.

Braelaine awoke, drenched in sweat – hungry. He looked at his hands as they trembled violently. His body ached. His mind felt like it was a living inferno. His stomach and heart were churned inside him, as if some spiritual hand had reached inside and twisted his organs.

He tried to stand, and collapsed on the floor – and in that moment, watched as his hands had grown in size and become covered in brown fur. He looked up – and in the mirror saw what he’d become – a brown bear. Bursting out of his room – his villagers were surprised to see a bear in his room and launched arrows. Braelaine fled for his life.

After the full moon had passed, Braelaine awoke near the lake and realized his last memory was running out of his own cabin. He looked at his hands in horror – as he saw they were covered in blood. He crawled to the lapping water of the lake to wash them off, only to see his face reflected in the ripples of water – also covered in blood.

“It was the Hill Giant, wasn’t it?” a familiar voice asked.

Braelaine turned to see Rotol sitting on a log. “I knew you’d end up here. Despite the beast you’d become, your subconscious will always take you here to Bluesky Lake – where your mother would bring you to sing to you when you were just a baby.” He shook his head. “We were tracking the Hill Giant – only we didn’t know he was infected with lycanthropy. That explains the oversized bear. And it looks like he’s infected you. You know our people… they believe there’s no cure… other than a swift death. Braelaine, you need to run. Run far and fast. Don’t look back.”

Braelaine stood. “You’re not going to kill me?”

“I’m giving you a head start, because you were my best friend. But the animal inside you – the trail of dead animals in your wake of the beast you’ve become. A part of you is forever changed. Run. Now,” Rotol said plainly as he began to draw his bow. “Take advantage of the head start.”

Braelaine ran as fast as he could – truth be told, he could not tell if Rotol would truly hunt him down – but he was right – the Priests believed that Lycanthropy – even cured from a person, remained and could be passed down to children – so death was truly the only cure.

Several arrows narrowly missing Braelaine know that Rotol was indeed, somewhere behind him and so Braelaine pushed himself harder that before – leaves, branches, vines, all seemed to work against him; cutting his face, his arms, his legs, until he finally simply collapsed.

When he awoke, he was surrounded by Druids – and he immediately recognized them. The Druids of Nashar – the Moon Druids.

“You’ve been inflicted,” one of them said, a woman of incredible beauty as she kneeled down and placed her palm on his forehead. “We can sense the disease coursing through your body. We have called on a friend to help bring a cure.”

“There is no cure,” Braelaine muttered.

The woman smiled, and placed her hand on his eye lids and whispered, “Rest now.” And as if magically commanded, Braelaine slipped into a state of slumber. In his dream, he saw himself by the ocean, howling, the tides of water breaking around him, shaping themselves as wolves, howling at the moon. His burst from the waves, like a rising phoenix, the waves turned to mist, swirling around him, now changing into hundreds of wolves, wrapping around his body.

When Braelaine opened his eyes, he found himself being tied to a post by the Druids – and standing before him, a human adorned in full plate. He accepted that the Paladin that stood before him had come to “cure” him by killing him – but when the Paladin did not draw his weapon, but instead placed his hand on Braelaine’s forehead and explained, “I apologize about you being tied up, but this cure will invoke the beast in you – restraining you like this is for your – and our – benefit.”

The Paladin placed his hand on Braelaine’s forehead tightly and began to chant a prayer – and Braelaine could feel it – the beast inside of him screaming to be free – to kill the Paladin, the Druids – to stop them from freeing him of the evil that dwelled inside of him.

It was an hour before the Paladin finished the prayer, and Braelaine collapsed, exhausted, as did the Paladin, who buckled to his knees. But inside of him… Braelaine could feel it… the evil was gone. But he also felt changed by the entire experience. The evil that had lived inside of him changed him irrevocably.

The Druids released Braelaine, and offered him a place there with them – but Braelaine felt that even in the Druidic nature of being able to change their shape was something Braelaine never wanted to do again. Instead, he thanked them and ran far away from the woods – until he was alone in the mountains, unsure what to do with the change he felt in him.

He screamed in fury – and it echoed across the cold stone mountains. But his furious cry did not go unheard – a wolf howled in response. Then another. Then another. Then another. Soon he was surrounded by the song of the wolves – who were all drawn to him.

In their eyes, he saw an intelligence he’d not seen before in a wolf. They had an enemy that needed to be hunted down. A vicious killer who had upset the balance of nature. Killed needlessly. The wolves would show Braelaine his new path. They were his family. His brothers. He was now a part of the pact.

For weeks he ran wild with the wolves, embracing the wild nature – and forgetting all that it was like to be civilized. He gave in to rage and fury – fed to him by the wolves who needed him to be strong if they were to bring down their enemy.

One night, Braelaine followed the wolves, adorned in nothing but furs – and they led him to a large cave, where he heard the growl of a familiar large bear…


togapika;24593637 wrote: Fin Varra
Male Satyr Warlock

Met and fell in love with a Succubus who ended up falling for him. They were even set to be married. When heaven and hell found out, they drug her away to parts unknown, while heaven condemned him and hell cursed him. Only problem for hell was the entity they got to curse him had never cursed a Fey before, so instead of harming him, it forged a link between them and granted him the powers of a Fiend Warlock without actually making a deal.

Not sure who seduced/charmed/romanced whom, but feel free to make it whomever you think is better/funnier.

Forgot to mention that her name is Kay'Linn, and they met because she was working for a more powerful devil and he sent her to try and offer Fin a deal for fame and a music career. Fin was fine with his music trajectory, and said no, but was intrigued by her and asked her for a date. After she figured out he wasn't just looking to bone her, she accepted, partly due to finding the whole idea funny, and partly for a 2nd chance to close the deal for her boss.
This was rather fun - literally - to write!
Would love your feedback!
------------------------

Saaris sat upon his throne of charred bones, his forked tail flickering, and his lip in what seemed to be a permanent curl of displeasure. He gazed furiously into his scrying pool and finally hit the water with his hands, breaking the connection. “You know what I hate?” Saaris, a Horned Devil, growled.

Kay'Linn, a beautiful succubus next to Saaris bowed, “What is it that displeases your, master?”

“Happiness,” he rolled his eyes. “Joy. Glee. Music. All of it.”

Normally when Saaris was in this mood, Kay'Linn gathered a hapless soul for Saaris to rend and gain pleasure from the sounds of torment as the soul is ripped to pieces. “Shall I gather a soul for you to rend? That usually helps, master.”

“No,” Saaris shook his head. “No. Not this time. This is all because some Fey is running wild on the Prime Material Plane – a Satyr whose music and charms and spreading love and joy. It’s making me sick. Something about him.” He paused, and then slowly looked at Kay'Linn. “I’ve an idea. Go, find this ‘Fin Varra’ – offer him a deal, from me – to grant him fame and fortune like he’s never known – for the music he plays, in exchange for his soul. Then, when he signs the paper work, kill him instantly, so that I might rend his soul, specifically, to pieces.”

Kay'Linn bowed, “As you wish, master.”

Kay'Linn muttered the magical words than shunted her to the Prime Material Plane. She quickly folded in her wings, and used magic to hide them and her horns. It took only a moment to hear the merriment coming from a tavern called “The Lion’s Pride.” She slowly made her way towards the tavern, walking down the street, feeling eyes upon her of many of the men – and many of the jealous women.

As she pushed open the doors, she saw him – the Satyr who was dancing on the tables, clanking drinks with other patrons while singing a song about some waterfall that flowed backwards, that house a thousand mermaids, more beautiful than anything he’d ever seen.

But that’s when he turned, and saw her – and the words stopped. Everyone else continued to cheer and sing – but his eyes were locked with hers. He felt his mouth slowly opening in awe, and quickly tried to recover. He approached her, leaping off the table to take her hand into his and kiss it gently.

“Your hair,” he awed, “it’s like that of the most beautiful sunrise. Your eyes as soft as any bed, so welcoming. I’ve never seen such beauty before. What is your name?”

“Kay,” she replied.

“Well, Lady Kay, I do hope you will join us for a drink?” he gestured behind him and the patrons of the inn all raised their mugs and cheered, then proceeded to sing the song that Fin had taught them about the magical waterfall.

Kay'Linn blushed, “I would be honored.”

She sat and watched Fin, as he continued to dance, sing, cheer, and tell magnificent stories. For nearly a hundred years, she’d faithfully served Saaris – especially after Saaris had killed her previous master, another Horned Devil, who was higher ranking than Saaris. He’d been much crueler, demanding things of her; but at least he’d sent her to the Prime Material Plane to enslave me. This had been the first time in a hundred years that Saaris had allowed her to come to the Prime Material Plane. Saaris did not care about Kay'Linn, but she was a trophy – a reminder to those in the Planes of Hell, that Saaris had killed someone more powerful than him.

She’d forgotten what life on the Prime Material Plane was like.

Fin approached her, flowers in hand, which he had gotten from one of the vases, and quickly set them down. He frowned, “I saw these flowers, and they were beautiful. I brought them here, to you, but as soon as I saw you, I was reminded of your beauty – and these flowers paled in comparison.”

“I want them,” she said, taking the flowers. She looked at them, then looked at him. “I … work for someone who can make you very rich and very famous, Fin. I have a contract that you need but just sign and I can make it official.”

Fin smiled, “I can hardly think of music, when I am around you. My heart beats so loudly in my ears, it’s like the drums of a hundred men.”

Saaris was right – Fin was, without a doubt, quite charming.

The two of them spent nearly a week together, becoming closer and closer, before one night, they celebrated their mutual feelings inside Old Man Edgar’s barn. As she lay next to him, she placed her hand on his chest, and felt his heartbeat.

“I’ve never felt more alive than I do now,” he replied.

“Nor I,” she responded honestly, though barely above a whisper.

For the first three nights of their growing relationship, she’d brought up the contract. By the fourth night, all she wanted was to be next to Fin.

Saaris had been watching it all unfold, and could tell he was losing his hold on Kay'Linn. He commanded her to return to him – and so she did – leaving a note for Fin, that perhaps, one day, when she is free of her boss – they will meet again.

Saaris, so furious, cursed Fin – however, never having cursed a Fey before – the result was disastrous, when Fin saw the note, his heart broke and in fury – and inexplicably – he released an Eldritch Blast from his fingertips!

At that very moment, in the plane of Hell, Saaris sat up suddenly, touching his chest, and growled, “What the Hell just happened?”



Saaris, the Horned Devil:
https://media-waterdeep.cursecdn.com/av ... 36976.jpeg

Kay'Linn, the Succubus:
https://media-waterdeep.cursecdn.com/av ... 12994.jpeg
Great Dragon;24561687 wrote: Anyway, here's a background you might have fun with:
One of my current PCs is a Folk Hero Kobold Ancestral Barbarian.
But, what isn't known is his Wife! Except that she is still a Kobold.
There's a good chance he's a Pa!!
What was meant is that literally nothing was really known about the female Kobold: Her Name, Background or Backstory. If she already had Class/Subclass-Levels, or acquired them later;

This PC is from my Council of Wyrms Campaign, which is an Island World (officially) ruled by Dragons.
I look forward to seeing what you come up with !!

This is the backstory I came up with for the Ancestral Guardian Barbarian when I made him:

(The PC) Dhamkeakrux (Dam That Kobold!) during one of his solo Folk Heroic rebellions against ‘Bad Bosses’ (Evil Dragons) found the female Kobold that he rescued (from the City-lair of an Adult Green Dragon, that he never even saw) and in true Classic Knight (Cavalier) Story style, she fell in love with Dam and married him. Together for an unknown (to me) amount of time, before the agents of Endigax Treebreaker (the Adult Green Dragon) found where Dam was (Flaw: the local Lord wants me dead!) and forced him to send his wife to another Island to be safe.
Maybe someday, he will rejoin her. (The “he might be a Pa” spoiler is a possibility)

A fairly simple soul, I tend to refere to Dam as the Kobold version of an angry Forest Gump with a battleaxe!
I have the Council of Dragons book, but never ran it back in the day.
So I am not sure who would serve Endigax, so I just made it Ogres and humans. Feel free to adjust of course.
I named the female Kobold, because repeatedly calling her "female Kobold" in the story was bugging me.
As always, feel free to adjust. :)
Hope you enjoy and would love feedback in the thread, as it keeps the thread bumped and alive. :)
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Dhamkeakrux – often called Dam by those that knew him – never cared much for stealth. The Rage of Fury of his Ancestors burned in blood and yearned to be wild and free in the midst of combat. But his companion – another Kobold named Obokld who was quite skilled at both stealth and lightening someone’s coin purse – had warned him that he’d spotted dragons in the area and that there was a good chance, somewhere in this city – a dragon was sleeping.

They moved quietly through the town, which had been overrun by both Ogres and humans alike, who were loyal to whatever dragon now reigned supreme here – but, by the appearances of their tattered tabards it would seem that a green dragon had taken up residence here. When a patrol of ogres was nearing them, both were forced to quickly break down a door and take cover in the building – however, the building was not abandoned. It’d been a barracks to keep slaves. The slaver, a human rose to his feet, puzzled at seeing two kobolds. The green dragon, Endigax Treebreaker, had certainly employed Kobolds as a part of their militia but these two seemed distinctly out of place.

“What order are you with,” the slaver asked, as his hand went to the whip to his side.

Obokld was about to try and lie his way through the situation, but before he could, his good friend Dhamkeakrux flew into a rage. Spirits swirled around Dhamkeakrux, as the Kobold flew into a frenzy and attacked the slaver.

The human stumbled backwards, surprised by the rush of the attack and the unusual sight of spiritual images charging with the kobold at him. He tried to attack the Dhamkeakrux – or the spirits – anything to keep them at bay, but Dhamkeakrux was already leaping through the air, battle axe in hand, and cleaved it deep into the chest of the slaver.

As the body collapsed to the ground, gurgling in his own blood, Dhamkeakrux saw the one slave that the human had been abusing in here – a female kobold.

She rushed to Dhamkeakrux and embraced him tightly. “Thank you,” she whimpered, “thank you for saving me from him.”

Dhamkeakrux was taken aback, unsure of how to react. He’d just felt the rage coursing in his veins, but her warm touch and embrace seemed to cool him down immediately, and fill him with a different kind of fire. “What happened?” he asked. “How did you come to be here?”

“There is a green dragon here named Endigax Treebreaker who found my village and demanded our servitude to their cause. The elders disagreed – and Endigax Treebreaker demanded her followers to capture and enslave us. Most of her soldiers didn’t even try to capture us – they got lost in their bloodlust and killed most of my village. This,” she looked down at the dead human slaver, “beast, captured me and has kept me for himself.”

Dhamkeakrux broke the shackles around her ankles that kept her bound to the wall. “A green dragon – here; that confirms what my friend, Obokld here,” Obokld waved his hand to the female kobold, “had heard. We were looking for evidence of that. Dragon activity has been on the rise and we need to know why. But for now, let’s get you out of here.”

Together, the three of them had escaped, but it was only a few short days later, that the slaver’s deceased body had been found by one of Endigax’s patrol. Endigax demanded that the murderer of her slaver be found and brought before them.

A human witch was brought in – she used her ancient magic on the shackles – she could see the female Kobold… and the slaver an what he did with her… she shuddered… then saw through the female Kobold’s eyes… another two kobolds… one jumped on the slaver and cleaved into his chest… then broke the female of her shackles… The witch stood up, and nodded. “I have a vision of him. It will take some time but I should be able to track him down.”

In the meantime, the weeks that followed, the female Kobold named Oellafin, confused her love to Dhamkeakrux and the two were officially wed by Dhamkeakrux’s tribe elder. Though Dhamkeakrux continued to scout for more information on dragon activity, coming home to Oellafin was something he’d always looked forward to.

That happiness came to a startling end when the alarms in the village rang and Dhamkeakrux ran outside and saw a large figure flying in the distance coming for them. Endigax, no doubt, Dhamkeakrux told himself and quickly rushed inside and told Oellafin to go with Obokld, and that he would help hide her.

The large figure had indeed been Endigax, and Dhamkeakrux was ready to fight the army that so faithfully followed the green dragon. Flying into a rage, he and several other warriors from the village remained behind to buy time for the others to escape. Dhamkeakrux had put up a grand fight, but was eventually struck from behind by a mace and fell forward into the blood soaked mud. The fighting continued all around him before he lapsed into unconsciousness.

Dhamkeakrux was surprised to awaken in the crusty mud, and as he slowly pulled himself up, he could see the sun rising in the distance. Most of the blood soaked mud had hardened, telling him that he may have been unconscious for several days. Bodies of both his fellow warriors, and the warriors of Endigax’s army lay all around him. He tried to stand – his arms shook – he was still dizzy and weak. He eventually managed to stand and knew this was far from over. He’d need to find others to help fight not only Endigax – but the other dragons he’d heard rumors about.


Whit;24604175 wrote: Tawmis here is my new character if you have time
Phaemus Songbinder
Dragonborn Male gold
Bard Valor strength Charisma based
Instrument/fire breathing/singing skills
Acrobatics athletics persuasion performance deception
I enjoyed writing this one. A bit therapeutic for me, emotionally too.
The Knight mentioned is a reference to two Dragonlance Knights - Huma and Sturm. (The name Huma reversed, and Sturm's last name with acronyms). Even the death is a reference similar to Sturm's.
The initial opening song is a reference to Blind Guardian's "The Bard's Song - In the Forest" which I simply kept on repeat as I wrote this for inspiration and mood setting.
The other bard who appears, has appeared in other people's origins I've written. Sort of suggesting a "Tawmis-Verse" of connected characters. :)
Hope you enjoy and would love feedback in this thread, as it keeps it bumped and alive!
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The scales of Phaemus Songbinder glittered as the flames in the fireplace seemed to dance to his song, and the patrons of the “Lion’s Pride” all listened intently. “Hear my song, about the dawn of the night, For tomorrow will take us away, Far from home, And no one will ever know our names, Only this song, To tell the tales of brave men, Who lived far from here! The setting sun, the fallen son, the dawn of the night, the dawn of the knight, for tomorrow will take us away, far from home, and no one will ever know our names! Tomorrow will take us away!”

Phaemus strummed his talons across the lap harp for the final chord. For a brief moment there was silence, before the entire tavern erupted into cheer. Patrons approached him and placed coin in his pouch that he had open at his feet.

A young child approached him and tugged on his sleeve. “I want to be like you when I grow up,” the human girl smile. She was no older than five years old, by human standards. “Will my skin glow and flicker like yours?”

“No,” Phaemus smiled. “But your eyes will. They are as blue as the seas of Avashore, and your hair is as golden as the rising sun. You will not need this,” he pulled up the sleeve that she’d tugged on, revealing his golden scales. “You will shine on your own, just the way you are.” He ran his hand across her hair on the top of her head, purposely messing it up.

“Quite the tale, that last song,” a human standing behind the girl, had said, as the girl ran away singing.

Phaemus looked up and saw a strong looking male human, arms folded across his chest, the neck of a lute peering from behind him, like a sword strapped to his back. “I apologize if this is normally your tavern for playing,” Phaemus stood.

The human smiled. “Nonsense. I was traveling through the town and stopped for food and drink and heard that this was a good place for that.” He extended his hand, “My name is Tyrell Stormshadow. I wanted to ask you about that last song. It seemed very personal. I could tell that it meant something to you.”

Phaemus was quiet for a moment, before he looked at the human. “It was very personal. The Knight in the song was a good friend of mine named Amuh Lightsteel.”

“I would like to hear the tale of your friend,” Tyrell said as he sat down.

Phaemus took a deep breath. It had happened years ago, but in his mind, it felt as if it had just happened. His song was how he honored Amuh.

“Amuh and I were best friends,” Phaemus began. “Inseparable,” he smiled at a distant memory. “He did not care that I was different. As children he saw me inside, rather than outside. Many times, he stood up for me and fought for me when others might say something about me. He was always the one that was ready to fight – me, I was never much of a fighter. I wanted to sing, write, and tell stories. He was the strength and I was the heart. His spunk got him noticed, and he was recruited into the Knighthood when he was sixteen. We remained close, but the Knights were often sending him on missions as a squire. He quickly proved himself quite capable with a sword and once saved the Knight he’d been a squire for from goblins who had ambushed them.”

Phaemus paused. “We saw less and less of each other, but when we did get the chance to see one another, it was as if no time had passed. We both became the children we were growing up, laughing and poking fun at each other.”

“One day, there was news of a green dragon having attacked a village, and Amuh was called to go help the villagers. I begged Amuh not to go, because I had a very bad feeling about this. But Amuh… he was so headstrong… and he even said, if he died fighting a green dragon, saving people, then there was no more honorable way to perish.” Phaemus shook his head. “My songs had gotten into his head, apparently and he thought a heroic death would be the best way to go.”

“Several weeks later, the squadron that Amuh had been a part of, finally returned. One hundred men left, six returned. News of the death and destruction quickly spread. I found out from one of the survivors the exact location of the village and quickly purchased a horse and rode there. I never stopped riding. I traded my horse in each town for another, just so I could keep riding. When I got to Azzatan, the village that had been attacked… I… could not believe what I’d seen. Buildings still burning. The smell of death lingered like a heavy fog. As I made my way through the village, I was stepping over countless dead - villagers and knights alike… but then I found him. Amuh was standing at the top of a ballista that had been brought to slay the dragon – and the spear fired from the ballista had been run through Amuh instead. He’d died here, a hero, trying to save people… but the Knights who returned… they couldn’t even bring back all of their dead. He died, nameless, on a ballista. He was just another name, when the other battalions came to recover the bodies, and bury the dead. The Knight Commander just read down the list of names. And that was it. He was just one of the many who died. So now, I travel around and sing about him, as my way of honoring him.”

Tyrell smiled. “He never died,” the older human smiled. He placed his hand on Phaemus’ chest, just above his heart. “You have kept him alive.”
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Tawmis
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Re: D&D Character Background Challenge (It's Own Thread Now)

Post by Tawmis »

Collecting the latest rounds of stuff I've written on the forum.
Ominae55;24719219 wrote:Hello Tawmis,
I am extremely new to dnd and have have a small group of friends who use to play and know the rules. They wanted to get a small group going and needed another player. So they asked me to join. I am actually already having fun just with the character background and reading the PHB and other books I purchased. But I want to make sure it all fits correctly.
Name: Grim
Race: Variant Human (Male)
Class: Barbarian, will go path of zealota
Alignment: Neutral Chaotic
Background: Haunted One
Campaign: campaign is set to be relaxed, semi comedy vibe over experience since it would be easier for me to pick up and learn. It will center around a town much like a mmorgp where we get quests and such from our guilds.
Concept: my character is somewhat like Ash Williams from evil dead (Polearm master anyone?) that is mixed with a little Gutz from Berserk (manga or anime if you know of it) and a splash of Benders attitude (futurama). So likes booze women and makes lames jokes, all to hide his haunted past.
History is maybe along the lines of being found as a grim looking child abandoned or in a burned out village by sellswords and is raised by them in the company. He becomes a decent fighter with a glaive. Later in life he is either possessed, cursed, or makes a deal with a demon and gains power but loses something more important. This leading to his wandering of boozing and finding the town in the campaign since it promises coin he needs to pursue his addictions.
I like your other write ups with haunted pasts and tried to imagine one for myself but I am way in over my head when it comes to demons and what they can do. I liked the pit demon concept you had in another write up and hoped you could fit something like that into it but make it a demon queen? Ash likes his women.
Think this is possible to do while keeping it slightly comedic?
Btw I do have PayPal and will definitely donate if this seems like a write up you can help me with.
Cheers
For some reason – perhaps because you closed with “Cheers” – it made me imagine the sellswords in the beginning having a British accent – which as I wrote it, added more humor to it in my head.
Also, for paypal – it’s never mandatory by any means. It’s always appreciated, but never, ever mandatory!
Since you're new to D&D - and a first time requestor (I believe the others I have pending, I've written for before!) - so I skipped you to the front of the line!
Let me know if this is what you're looking for!
Enjoy!
=========================

The smoke drifted into the grey skies, as the sounds of thunder crackled somewhere in the distance. Rekker, who was a half orc warrior was staring at the infant, who somehow managed to be the sole survivor of an attack on his village. The infant sat, wailing loudly, next to the water well, his mother and father, presumably, next to him, their bodies full of arrows.

“Well, we can’t just leave him here,” Rekker groaned, pointing at the infant.

Tollaris, his human companion, and fellow sell sword looked over at his half-orc friend. “Well, we certainly can’t take him with us.”

“You’re okay with just leavin’ the lad here to die?” Rekker asked, scowling at his companion.

Tollaris spun on his heel and tried to get face to face with the towering half-orc.

“You do realize we’re sell swords, right?” Tollaris growled.

“Of course,” Rekker growled.

“And you realize what we do right,” Tollaris continued.

“Of course,” Rekker rolled his eyes.

“We kill people. For a living. It’s what we do. How,” Tollaris gestured to the still crying infant, “can you possibly have a conscious about a human whelp crying in the middle of a burned out town that got raided – by the looks of it, I might add – by your people – orcs!”

“Listen,” Rekkar tapped Tollaris on the chest, forcing Tollaris to take a step back. “I’m a half-orc. I’ve got all kinds of abandonment issues in my noggin. So pardon me if I see an innocent child – an infant – which,” Rekkar snarled, “you may or may not know, we have never killed.” He looked at the child again then Tollaris, “And if we just leave the little bugger here, he’s as good as dead and we’d be just as responsible as the orcs that burned his village down.”

Tollaris threw his arms in the air. “Clearly, there’s no changing that small mind of yours. Fine. You take the kid. You do. I won’t touch the blasted crying siren. You feed it. You change it. You do whatever it takes to take care of it and leave me out of it.”

Tollaris and Rekkar traveled together; and upon reaching the first town, Rekkar used funds he’d made tracking down a small band of pestering goblins to purchase some clothes and food for the infant. Tollaris spent his on drinks and simply shook his head at his friend, as the large half-orc tried to burp the child over his shoulder. “You are destroying our reputation, you know that right?”

Rekkar looked to his friend, “I don’t plan on keeping the infant. When we reach The Silver Sage, I will see about getting rid of the child there.”

“Good,” Tollaris took a deep drink. “Because when we’re out in the wild, that kid’s crying is drawing everything out there right to us. Might as well light a signal fire.”

The duo finally reached the neighboring town, where they often operated from and ventured to the Silver Sage, a house of “ill repute.” The women clamored all over Rekkar to see the child, much to Tollaris’ surprise. Even the offer of glittering gold did not take the women’s eyes off of the young child in the half-orc’s arms.

Ellarisa Flameforge, a dwarven prostitute looked up to Rekkar. “What have ye named the lad?”

“Named him?” Rekkar’s eyes widened and he looked at Tollaris.

Tollaris shook his head and simply said, “Leave me out of it.”

“We’ve named him Grim,” Rekkar finally said. “We found him under grim circumstances. So his name is Grim. I have a favor to ask of you ladies,” he began.

“Of course we will help you take care of him!” they all cheered.

For the next several years, Rekkar and Tollaris continued their professions as sellswords and as always, returned to the Silver Sage. Rekkar watched the infant grow to a young boy, where he shared some of his favorite jokes. “What’s a beholder’s favorite food?” He paused, “Eyes Cream!” Grim laughed, and only had a vague idea what a beholder was. “What happened to the warrior who met an Illithid? It blew his mind!” They laughed and laughed. “Know what a rogue’s favorite metal is? Steel!”

Every few weeks, the duo returned and shared more memories with Grim, and more jokes. Even Tollaris was beginning to become fond of the child when Grim ran up and hugged him. He pushed Grim away, but he couldn’t hide his smile.

One day, when Grim was seventeen, the duo stopped showing up. The headmistress of the Silver Sage, a woman named Janna, approached him and told him that they may have met their match and that he had better get used to the idea that they might not be coming back. Grim took notice that Janna never aged – despite the seventeen years he’d grown, Janna still looked as if she were twenty-five, and according to the other mistresses, she’d been running the Silver Sage “for as long as they could remember.”

Janna soon took an interest in Grim. He had been working around the Silver Sage, to earn his room and board, and had been doing quite a bit of manual labor (much to the enjoyment of the fellow maidens of the Silver Sage). One night, she called Grim to her room – where she seduced him. After a night of love making (his first time, despite the many attempts of the maidens), Janna asked, “If you could have anything in this world – what would it be?”

Grim lying there, with Janna cuddled in his arms, answered, without much thought, “Knowing what happened to Rekkar and Tollaris.”

“Funny,” she said seductively, “I would have thought you may say peace for all, an end to wars…”

“None of that matters to me,” Grim shrugged, “since I am not directly impacted by it.”

“What if I could give you what you wanted, for one small price,” Janna cooed.

“I’d do it,” he shrugged. “What’s the price?”

“What if I said, your soul,” Janna smiled, almost laughing.

“My soul? Sure! What use have I for it?” Grim laughed.

Janna reached out and touched Grim’s forehead, and there he saw Rekkar and Tollaris fighting a band of orcs – and a powerful Shaman was there – he cast a spell that rendered them unconscious, and the duo were dragged away.

He sat up. “They’ve been captured by orcs! Wait.” He looked at Janna who slid out of the bed, her bare body glistening in the moonlight, and for a brief moment, in the reflection of the mirror he thought he saw large bat-like wings, before she slid on her robe. “How did you do that? How did you show me what happened to them?”

Janna turned. “You’d better go. They’ve been slaves to the Red Eye Orcs for several weeks,” she said, ignoring his question. “Most don’t last more than a year. I can’t tell you where they’re being held exactly, but perhaps if you find others to help you…”

Grim forgot his question, threw on his clothes and left the Silver Sage, much to the dismay of the other women. Janna watched from the window, as he rode away – and in her hand, a small glowing sphere that represented his soul.


xanxosttheslaad;24632378 wrote: Here's my current character idea; I look forward to seeing what you come up with to fill in the gaps. Sorry if it's a lot - feel free to focus in on whichever part you think would be the most fun to write about!
Name: Isoba of Neverwinter
Gender: Male
Class: Celestial Warlock
Age: 82
Alignment: LG
Race: Scourge Aasimar (reflavored)
Background: Guild Artisan (Cobbler)
Isoba grew up in a poorer part of Neverwinter, with his mother, a half-orc cobbler, and his father, a Turami human bard. His brother would go on adventures with his father, and eventually grew up to join the city guard. Isoba's mother helped him get an apprenticeship, where he learned to cobble, taking over his mother's workshop. When not working on his trade, he would go on walks and appreciate nature and the city, and was well liked by children, animals, and his customers. On one of these walks, he ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time, and was mistaken (accidentally?) for a notorious murderer. Mount Hotenow erupted while he was awaiting his sentencing, and with the prison in Neverwinter no longer able to hold him, he was sentenced to penal labor, and worked the next fifty years in a private dungeon under a Waterdeep noble's manor. These years he waited out patiently, accepting his apparent fate of dying in prison, but also using his craft to help others, sending meager wages away to pay guild fees and support his home city's reconstruction. I imagine he also would have made and lost several friends, maybe fallen in love or had a child, during his lengthy imprisonment. Near the end of his sentence, he was getting old, and had fallen ill, until a sudden emergency (probably someone's sudden injury or illness) prompted him to call for supernatural aid. His prayer was answered by an entity he came to know as Xag-Ya, an alien being from the positive energy plane, who infused his body with the healing magic of that plane (this gift of light is also represented by his racial abilities). This also doubled his lifespan, allowing him to finish his sentence, and venture forth into the world, where he seeks to find his younger brother, use his gift to help the world, and act as an interplanar tour guide for Xag-Ya (their demand in exchange for the granted power, as Xag-Ya has great interest in life in the material plane), who accompanies him in the form of a white spider sitting on his shoulder (Chain Pact).
Also, he sometimes wears a wooden spider mask, painted white, to set himself apart from others, and thereby avoid being punished again for the crimes of others based on his appearance.
You provided a lot of great detail that made this all too easy and enjoyable to write. Even managed to put in some social messages. :)
Please reply to the thread and let me know what you think - helps keep the thread bumped and alive!
Enjoy!
==============

Growing up in the streets of poverty in a large city like Neverwinter, it’s easily to become lost and forgotten by the people who quickly walk by you, averting their gaze to stare at walls splattered with offensive graffiti rather than see a poor, stricken, down on their luck, filth covered humanoid. Even those loyal to the best Churches quickly scuttle by as if our filth was a symbol of disease. Perhaps if they knew, when we reached out – we were not reaching out for coin, but rather, help.

This is the life I’d led for most of my life. My father was a Turami human, whose dark skin, and muscular composure had captured the eyes of a female orc when he’d been captured while drunkenly wandering through a forest. My father’s name is Delias, and he is a good man, even if he drinks too much. Much of the coin he earns from his songs, his poetry and stories is in turn, invested back into the local tavern hosting his performances.

My mother, when she saw him captured, and dragged back to the cavern that the orcs had been using as a temporary home – he was being beaten for their amusement, and he was too drunk to defend himself. So she stepped in, claiming that the orcs had been acting dishonorably for beating on my father when he was clearly too inebriated to defend himself. One of the orcs got up and got in her face – she clenched her first and punched him so hard he was knocked off of his feet. The other orcs now turned their attention to the orc who’d been knocked down by a female. But my mother was never a frail woman – even for an orc. She’d been the one that helped shape the caves and make them comfortable with her hands and mallet.

For reasons she says she can’t even explain to this very day – one the second night, when my father was tied up to a post, my mother watched until the guard fell asleep and quietly moved to my father and untied him. That’s all she had to do – untie him. And she did. But then she left with him to help protect him, turning her back on her own people. She knew she would be shamed by the members of her tribe and that she could never go back – so together, they came to Neverwinter with nothing to their name and tried to make a life together. They grew to tolerate – even perhaps love – one another, and eventually I was born. My mother had begun to earn a reputation for her cobblestone work, though a rich human noble named Elkare is the one who paid her meager coins and then took it and sold the fine craftsmanship for much higher, claiming he’d made it with his own (unblistered) hands, because the people of Neverwinter would rather buy from a rich noble than believe that such craftsmanship could come from a peasant orc.

I’d taken up apprenticeship with my mother, just after my younger brother was born, so that I could help maintain our income. Perhaps because I’d spent so much time cobbling stone, but I began to take notice that my father tended to favor my younger brother, even as the years went on. Soon all my father spoke of was, “Kallian this, Kallian that!” It bothered me at first, but I learned to accept that my younger brother was the baby of the family and bore a closer resemblance to my father than I did. He had his skin color while mine was lighter. Perhaps my father was suspicious that I was not his son?

One night, I had been strolling through the poverty streets of Neverwinter when I heard a gurgling cry, and suddenly a human came out of the shadows and shoved a dagger into my hand, before running away into the shadows. Another man came out of the shadows that the first man had just left, stumbling, holding his throat – and under the pale moon, I saw crimson running between his fingers as he collapsed at my feet. I immediately recognized him as Elkare, the human my mother dealt with. He was on his way to our home. In fear, I dropped the dagger, just as local authorities turned the corner and saw me leaning over him, bloody dagger on the floor.

My trial was a sham. Members of Elkare claimed there were with him and saw me, and barely escaped with their lives (though they had no cuts or bruises or even torn clothes). They couldn’t even answer where Elkare had been murdered and claimed “the poverty streets all look the same – full of beggars, bards, and wooden homes. How could we tell where we were?”

Six weeks into my sentence, the explosion of Mount Hotenow changed the face of the city of Neverwinter forever. Myself, and the prisoners who had survived were put on wagons to be placed in other prisons or to work off the rest of our time as servants (though some might call it slavery) to various nobles.

I was assigned to work for Retney Ravenhill, a noble in Waterdeep. Two days of being there, he personally paid me a visit to ask what I had done. I explained the truth of what happened, and he told me that someone – or several people – were willing to pay him an exuberant amount of money to arrange an “accident” to happen to me. I immediately knew this had to be the family of Elkare. Lord Ravenhill said he would decline the generous offer if I promised to work hard. I promised him that’s all I knew how to do – and I was being truthful.

Several months later, several servants were suddenly in a panic. Lord Ravenhill had been poisoned! I rushed up to Lord Ravenhill’s dining room where he was frothing at the mouth, his body shaking violently. I knew this had to be the work of the Elkare family – they had poisoned him since he declined their bribe to arrange an “accident” for me. I placed my hands on his chest and prayed to the gods to undo this vile poison.

To my surprise, my entire body glowed white – and I felt the poison leave his skin and enter mine, and when all the poison had been extracted and the light faded, I fell over vomiting violently. When Lord Ravenhill recovered and heard what I’d done – the poison had taken away the mobility of his left leg, so he now walked with a cane – but he came down and cut my chains free. “You are free to go. Thank you for saving my life.”

“It wasn’t just me, it was also Xag-Ya,” I said.

“Who is Xag-Ya? I don’t recall any of my servants with such a name?” Ravenhill inquired.

“No, it is I who is a servant of Xag-Ya,” I replied. “I heard her voice in my head as I pulled the poison from your body. She filled me with peace and tranquility even as my body grew sick from pulling the poison from you and into me.” I pointed to the white spider on my shoulder. “She came to me.”

“Then my thanks goes to the one you call Xag-Ya as well,” Ravenhill smiled. “I wish you both the best in life. Know you will always have an ally in me and a place to call home.”

Lord Ravenhill provided me with equipment as I set out into the world. Perhaps I could find my younger brother and see where he is and how he has been?

KyleG;24676709 wrote: Slightly different challenge If you are interested...Im currently playing a warforged monk and I have a gap in his history.
1.Basically he gets deposited on this world practically brand new (as far as fully awakened). His only task...observe. there is other history prior to this but I have it covered.
2. Becomes a runner/messenger
3.goes on to join party for reasons.

Its really that history of 2 I'm after. How does a creature (not exactly charismatic) not seen in this world integrate themselves, at least to a useful extent? (he is fully aware, senses, while resting....could be the angle???) Translate that into a "career" and learn some monk skills.

The monk skills are perhaps an act of copying someone he sees in a town he frequents, he isn't going to be comfortable staying put for long. Or perhaps he joins a caravan and trains along the journey.
A lot of this is back and forth between two NPCs I introduce. Being unsure of what your "Step 1" other background mission/origin was - I leave that open at the very end of this.
I enjoyed writing this - and imagined how the two NPCs I introduced were interacting with your character - and it made me chuckle a few times.
I hope you enjoy it and would love feedback in this thread - as the thread has sank deep in the forum pages, so a reply would give it life again!
So please let me know your thoughts!
Enjoy!
======================================

I have spent my entire life in an endless battle. I have fought for a cause. I have seen triumph. I have seen failure. I have seen men live. I have seen men die. The faces over the years have changed, but the results are always the same. Blood spilled by the dying – they all sound the same. The look of fear and anguish painted on their faces as they see the shadow of Death.

I step through a portal – the world shimmers and blurs behind me. Reality spins wildly and finally I come to a halt landing in a marshland. The crickets cease their chirping unsure of my presence – this new stranger that now stands among them – like no other they’ve ever seen before. After a moment, the crickets resume their song, and I sit and listen.

I want to change. I want to find peace. I want to find balance. Though the swamp bares the same stench of a battlefield littered with dead, the sound of the crickets is calming, soothing, and rhythmic. I close my eyes and welcome the peace. I feel the sun rise and fall; the heat of the day and the chill of the night. Time passes. How much? I can not say. Time has never mattered much to me the way it does humans and other humanoids.

I am awakened by the sound of voices – which is unusual in this swamp. It’s the first time I’ve heard another voice in… countless cycles of the sun. I open my eyes and see a human and half-elf cautiously approaching me. The human is male while the half-elf is female.

“What is that?” I hear the female inquire.

“A statue of some kind,” the male replies. “It’s been here for awhile based on the amount of galias moss growing all over it.”

Has it been that long? I look at my arms, my body, and see it – even as this green moss covers parts of my head and obscures my view. Indeed, I have been here for a very long time.

“Do you think it’s dangerous?” the female asks.

“I don’t even think it’s alive,” the male retorted as he poked me gently with a stick.

I rose to my feet, sending them both toppling backwards in surprise. “I am quite alive,” I say, matter-of-factly. “I did not realize I’d spent so long here in the swamps. The music of the swamp was a … soothing change from what I am used to.”

“What are you?” the male asked as he pulled himself to his feet, pulling off the moss from his body.

“I am… a stranger,” I said, unsure of how to properly answer the question. “Who are you?”

“My name is Thoh,” he said, his hands on his chest. “This here besides me is,” he looked at her, “my girlfriend. Her name is Yivan.”

“First,” the female sighed, her hands firmly placed on her hips, “I am not your girlfriend. You’ve never officially ever asked me to be.”

Thoh turned at her with a pleading face, “Is now really the time to discuss this?”

“Is now really the time to announce that I am your girlfriend to this talking statue,” she gestured towards me in frustration.

Thoh heaved a deep sigh and turned back towards me. “I apologize. Yivan and I often sneak away from the Monastery from time to time to see the world.”

Yivan nodded, “I don’t know why I let this numbskull talk me into it. Last week we ran into goblins which we barely got away from.”

“Well, all that talk of inner peace,” Thoh shook his head. “The world out here is not like that.”

“Tell me of this Monastery and this inner peace,” I suddenly cut off Thoh’s rambling.

“Well, it’s where we study. The Order of The Rising Light,” Thoh explained. “It’s the order of Monks. The Monastery is only a few hours away. We could take you there.”

“Thoh!” Yivan’s voice was sharp. “What has gotten into you? How are you going to explain a waddling, eight foot … thing,” she looked over at me and whispered, “No offense.”

“None taken,” I replied.

“I believe the Masters would be interested in…” Thoh turned and looked at me.

An awkward moment of silence hung in the air.

“Warforged,” I replied.

“Your name is Warforged?” Thoh’s eyes opened wide with concern.

“No,” I replied, “that’s what I am.”

“What is your name?” Thoh asked, thinking that would be better than introducing the towering thing as “Warforged.”

“Name? I’ve never had one,” I shrugged. “I was never made to be taken care of.”

“We will call you Swamp Forged,” Thoh said, with a smile, “since we found you in the swamp.”

“That’s a horrible name,” Yivan sighed. “How about Tarn.”

“Tarn?” Thoh sighed. “You mean from the ancient texts?”

“Yes,” Yivan replied. “Tarn was a giant man who sought to change his war like ways.”

“I like that,” I replied.

“Fine,” Thoh threw up his arms. “Tarn it is. Don’t go always siding with her Tarn. She’s already difficult enough to live with.”

As expected, my appearance at the Monastery was greeted with surprise. And just as Yivan suspected, both she and Thoh were being scolded for venturing into the swamps – because of the danger those swamps represented.

“If I may,” I injected. “They saved me. I would have been lost to the swamps forever. They have told me of your ways of finding peace. Tranquility. These are the things I desperate seek. To find balance.”

Master Megumi heaved a deep sigh. “It would go against our ways to turn you from us. We offer our home to you. If you wish to learn our ways we shall teach you.”

Days turned to weeks and weeks into months, and months into years, as I slowly embraced this new way of living – observing. Always observing. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, my mission awaited – the sign for me to become who I was truly meant to be. The true reason I was sent here.

Goldlizard;24677395 wrote: Hey! It's me again, I have one for you:

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

Thank you!
This was enjoyable to write - I wrote his younger years, and perhaps the Dire Wolf has some magic to it...
You will see what I mean at the end, to explain a longer life.
I wasn't sure if you ever had the Goliath leave his area - and where he's retired...
But I figure, I wrote his younger years - maybe after this, he began to explore the world, realizing there's more out there to see (which is where I was headed with the personality).
Apologies it's taken so long - my wife's health has been an issue consuming all of my time, effort, and energy.
For reference of the map location - https://www.aidedd.org/atlas/index.php?map=R&l=1
As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts.
A reply helps keep the thread bumped, and so when I add new backgrounds, it can keep it alive.
As always, enjoy!
====================

Here in the frozen reaches of The Frostmourn – north of Raven Rock, yet south of Reghed Glacier, my people have lived for countless centuries. We have made Frostmourn our home, because it is away from all others – the dwarves, the gnomes, the humans, the elves, the goblins, the orcs, and all of their kind. It allows us to live our lives, fairly peacefully, away from the constant bloodshed and war that seems to consume the world far below.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lysimarchos;24680854 wrote: Well, this is a very impressive thread, so here is a character I want to play in my next game:
Name: Alaric of Whitegrove
Race: Human
Class: Arcana Cleric
Alignment: Neutral Good
Background: Inquisitor
Concept: A Cleric of Maelther, god of magic, knowledge and the twilight, and the son of the sun god Mithranar. The cult of Maelther is a minor one, composed mostly of scholars and mages, but its priests also serve as inquisitors, hunting down demonic and undead threats and bringing to justice those who misuse magic and threaten the peace. Alaric was one such inquisitor. He investigated magical phenomena, and brought demonologists and unlawful necromancers to justice. He also followed his god's tenet of seeking knowledge, so he studied under druids and under the priests of the god of passage and the underworld, learning a small amount of druidic magic and lawful necromancy. He could have taken a position as the priest in a temple of Maelther and peacefully retired, but a power dispute between his progressive faction the cult of Maelther and the conservative one meant that he likely would be relegated to a small parish with no influence and meager pay. So instead, he chose the open road: to fight evil and spread good on his own. The life of an adventurer was not so different from that of an inquisitor, after all.
Sorry about the delay - this was enjoyable to write. I didn't do much in terms of NPC interactions (which I often to do help develop a character).
Rather this time, I pretty much solely focused on your character.
The locations I mentioned are specific to Forgotten Realms (I assume FR is where most characters are played unless noted otherwise), and used actual references.
You can see a great map here: https://www.aidedd.org/atlas/index.php?map=R&l=1
I'd love to hear your thoughts on what I wrote.
It helps me (as a writer), and also helps keep the thread alive!
Enjoy!
=============================

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With a nudge of my foot, the dark horse rode into the night, and we let the wind take us where ever it might go.
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Re: D&D Character Background Challenge (It's Own Thread Now)

Post by Tawmis »

Ogre Mage;24707564 wrote: Hi Tawmis,
It is Ogre Mage again. I hope your wife is on the mend. This is my latest character for Storm King's Thunder. She speaks in a gravelly voice and is darker than the previous characters you wrote for me.

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

Sorcerer Spells
Cantrips: firebolt, mage hand, minor illusion, prestidigitation, shocking grasp.
1st: shield, grease.
2nd: suggestion, misty step.
3rd: hypnotic pattern, haste, counterspell.
Ritual spells (wizard): alarm, detect magic, find familiar, Leomund's Tiny Hut, unseen servant, water breathing.
Magic items: bracers of defense.
Her familiar is a black-feathered owl named Nightwing. She named her hound of ill omen Cujo (lol).
Despite the darker tone of your character, I still injected quite a bit of personality and humor through your character's reactions and thoughts.
Tollaris and Rekkar are from another person's origin I wrote: https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=818
The witch's home - Frostmourn comes from another origin I wrote for someone: https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=825 and explains how you know Giant
And for good measure, I threw in Alaric of Whitegrove - which I just wrote in your origin too: https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=825
Once again alluding to the "Tawmis-Verse" where everything is connected through alternate realities. :-)
I hope you enjoy what I did here - apologize about the delay, the wife's health has been my primary concern.
Would love any thoughts or feedback you have!
As always, enjoy!
=============================================

Perhaps I’ve made some poor choices throughout my life. Perhaps I can blame circumstance; not having a mother or father figure to help me as I grew up; no one to nurture me and love me. Blaming something – anything – else has always been my preferred choice. But if there’s a deity out there and they’re watching me, only they and I know the truth. Circumstances be damned, it boils down to the choices I’ve made. And that’s why I’m here, hands tied behind my back, my neck in a guillotine as this overweight, blubbering human is rattling off a list of charges being brought up against me – some of which, I admit, are true – but most are not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Suspect,” Tollaris muttered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

dragonearth;24807394 wrote: This background can wait a good long while I feel no rush for this but I felt you would do better with this.

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

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

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

Darkness.

A battlefield. Men, women, dying.

Darkness.

A woman. Shadows. Retribution.

Darkness.

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

Of what? A past life?

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

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

Many years ago…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Swords clashed in the darkness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

dragonearth;24869949 wrote:A soul of self sacrifice made anew

That is the title I am giving this backstory hope the dm I use this with also enjoys it as much as I do.
I love leaving doors open for the DM to explore - perhaps Terrin's murderer comes up again? :)
Eliana Solange;24873053 wrote:I started a backstory thread here that I'd love your thoughts on https://forums.giantitp.com/showthread. ... hadow-Monk
I wrote you one in my thread (below) - will go to yours to link it back here.

I made a few changes from what you had already down - the stealing of orcs and such, felt like there was too much Rogue in there.
So I took that out in my rendition, which you don't have to use. Just enjoyed the challenging of fleshing out what you had.
The (1) note - if you don't recognize the quote, it's a very, very, very close reference to something in WATERSHIP DOWN.
The (2) note is the gift you mentioned your DM was allowing - you'd mentioned, potentially a tattoo.

Eliana Solange;24866986 wrote:I'm hoping to get some help fleshing out a backstory for my next character, for Dungeon of the Mad Mage. I'm planning on 3 levels of Gloom Stalker Ranger, and the rest monk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thanks

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Samayu;24873763 wrote:Tawmis, I hope you and your wife are well.

I want to play a bear. A walking, talking bear (with opposable thumbs) in a world where walking, talking bears don't exist. In truth, it's not likely that I'll play this character, but it could end up as an NPC. On the other hand, if it's a good enough story... ;-) I've been enjoying your stories a lot, and thought it would be fun to see what you came up with for this concept.

Other details... male, brown. Low INT, higher WIS, fightery type. That's all I've got! I hope you enjoy the wide-open ones.
Ask and you shall recieve!

Galithar, I’ve not forgotten yours. But I just did a Warforged with a forgotten memory (https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=835) so I wanted to give a crack at a few other things, make sure that yours isn’t too similar to that one.
Samayu;24873763 wrote:Tawmis, I hope you and your wife are well.
I want to play a bear. A walking, talking bear (with opposable thumbs) in a world where walking, talking bears don't exist. In truth, it's not likely that I'll play this character, but it could end up as an NPC. On the other hand, if it's a good enough story... ;-) I've been enjoying your stories a lot, and thought it would be fun to see what you came up with for this concept.
Other details... male, brown. Low INT, higher WIS, fightery type. That's all I've got! I hope you enjoy the wide-open ones.
As I sit here, the waves crashing on the beach before me, their rhythmic sound soothing my troubled mind, I listen to the seagulls that remain perched on the lava stones in the water, because landing on the Isle of Serpent Crown are a dangerous one.

No one is quite sure how it happened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I want to know.


BookWyrm;24875108 wrote: Name: Theranial (could use surname or house-name)
Race: Elf (Moon)
Class: Cleric (Twilight domain)
Diety: Selune
Background: Inn's Child (Homebrew on DnD Beyond) - https://www.dndbeyond.com/backgrounds/51620-inns-child
Swapped racial weapon proficiencies for:
  • Shawm
  • Playing Cards
  • Tinker's Tools
  • Herbalism kit
Personality Traits
Nobody stays angry at me or around me for long, since I can defuse any amount of tension.
I am always calm, no matter what the situation. I never raise my voice or let my emotions control me.
Ideals
Respect. People deserve to be treated with dignity and respect. (Good)
Bonds
My family's inn is the most important place in the world to me.
Flaws
I’m a sucker for a pretty face.
Not sure how much you’ve read of previous stories I’d done; but early on, I frequently connected people’s origins or had reoccurring characters appear and created what folks in this thread playfully called “The Tawmis Verse.” This is no different. The bard I use in yours has been used quite a few times!
https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=530
https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=534
https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=761
https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=815
Used him quite a few times – he’s a reference to my father.
https://forums.giantitp.com/search.php?searchid=336941

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gentle, soothing music drifted out from the old, tan, wooden walls and opened windows of the Shining Star Inn. As the sun set in the distance, shops closed for the night, and familiar faces gathered to share familiar stories about their day.
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Re: D&D Character Background Challenge (It's Own Thread Now)

Post by Tawmis »

Also one of the people, who'd never played D&D before in my game has now officially begun DMing - bringing me and her brother into the game.

Her brother asked me to write a backstory based on info he gave me:
Bazil Ogrim placed his hands on his knees and took in a deep breath. He felt a hand on his back, and the familiar voice of a friend, “We can’t rest yet. The battle has not yet been won, brother.”

Bazil looked to his right, the direction of the voice, and saw his good friend, Tallis Arcthorn. They’d known one another since childhood, and often referred to each other as “brothers” because of the bond that ran deeper than blood between them. The one thing each of them shared, and perhaps what brought them together, was their bloodline. Bazil’s eyes often glowed a soft blue when his adrenaline level was accelerated due to the angelic bloodline from somewhere in his heritage, making him as an Aasimar while Tallis was a half elf, despite his human like beard, and long brown hair, his pointed ears peered through like twin towers emerging from soft sand.

“Let’s finish this,” Tallis said, standing straight and pointing. On a small hill was one of the enemy commanders, adorned in dark blue armor. “We take him down, we may not win the war this time, but this will win the battle. They will be leaderless and need to retreat and regroup. We can cut through there,” Tallis pointed, his elven blood given him sharp eye sight, revealing a small section of trees to the side that would provide cover.

Quickly, Bazil and Tallis made their way to flank the opposing commander; cutting down the few who had been protecting the flank. The commander had clearly believed, being perched on a hill, that his flank would be safe, for the enemy would tire running up the hill. Both Tallis and Bazil were indeed tired, cut, bleeding, and ready to fall to their knees by the time they reached the top – the Commander, who had two soldiers with him – signaled them silently to take care of Bazil and Tallis – but the two were beyond exhausted, beyond understanding how broken their bodies were and were moving on sheer adrenaline now.

As the Commander’s two soldiers fell, feeding the blades of Tallis and Bazil, with their sacrificed blood, Bazil pointed his longsword to the commander. “Surrender. We promise to take you in, treat you fairly.”

The Commander turn, and from beneath his dark blue helmet, Bazil thought he saw shimmering red eyes glowing. Tallis turned to Bazil, “He’s not going to surrender, is he?”

Bazil shook his head, “I don’t think so.”

“So we have to kill him?” Tallis sighed.

The Commander drew his blade.

“We have to kill him,” Bazil confirmed.

Tallis and Bazil charged the Commander, but the Commander, despite the heavy armor, moved gracefully. He side stepped Tallis’ lunge, and brought his sword streaking down across Tallis’ chest, cutting it wide open.

Bazil screamed and for a moment, forgot where he was. His eyes burned bright blue as he slid next to Tallis. “No,” he whispered, seeing the wound was deep and fatal.

Tallis gripped his hand and wheezed, “We will meet again… brother…” And that had been his final word.

The Commander seemed to pause, looking down in silence – waiting for Bazil to draw his sword again. Bazil gripped his sword, now the blue in his eyes burned brightly. “We gave you a chance to surrender. To take you in peacefully. Treat you right. You have killed my best friend. Now, you will die on this hill as I cut you down a thousand times.”

Bazil lunged forward – his sword clashing against the Commanders. “There is nothing that will stop me,” Bazil growled. “Not even death.”

Bazil deflected the Commander’s blow with his shield – and that left the stunned Commander open – so Bazil brought his blade down in an attempt to sever the Commander’s head, however it struck the Commander’s helmet, knocking it off – revealing golden hair, much like his own.

And that’s when Bazil froze. The face looking back at him was his own – only the eyes were red in color, the skin a shade of purple. A Tiefling? But with his face?

“Surprised… brother,” the Commander laughed and brought the hilt of his blade crashing into Bazil’s temple, rendering him unconscious – blackness sweeping over his eyes like a blanket.

Bazil awoke, hour later, still on the hill, lying next to Tallis, whose grey, vacant eyes stared into the heavens.

Bazil was surprised to be alive, and the battle had moved on, as he wept for his friend.

But his mind retraced seeing what appeared to be a near perfect twin of himself – staring back at him.

Who was he? Why did he call him brother? Where had he gone now? Why did he leave him alive?
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Re: D&D Character Background Challenge (It's Own Thread Now)

Post by Tawmis »

And here's the background for my character...
The small tree village of Willow Thicket, located in the upper branches in the Towering Oak Forest, had found itself frequently under attack by a nearby band of marauding humans who believed, hidden away in the large oak tree that Willow Thicket called home, was a powerful magical item hidden and protected by the Wood Elves of Willow Thicket.

Turim and Marith Stormshadow had just had their first child – after several failed attempts, and wanted a safer home for Arreis to grow up in. Speaking to the elders of their concern of the constant threat of the marauders, Turim proposed that he and his wife be permitted to leave Willow Thicket and perhaps find a home elsewhere in the woods, away from the troublesome humans.

The Elders disagreed, and believed that Turim, his wife and newborn child, were safer in the branches of Willow Thicket. Turim had argued that the humans had become more brazen, now using longbows to shoot up into the trees and he did not feel his child would be safe. The Elders insisted they remain, but Turim’s resolve could not be swayed. Turim argued the wolves would protect his family, just as they had historically done for Willow Thicket – a bond, ages long gone, had been formed between the Wood Elves of Willow Thicket and a pack of wolves in the Towering Oak Forest, that allowed the Wood Elves to call on them when in danger. Some claimed this gift was some ancient tradition that dated long before any could remember; some claim it to be a gift from Aritimi or one of the other gods.

Knowing humans lacked the ability to see well in the dark, Turim gathered his wife, and his son, Arreis, and on the night where the stars and moon were hidden away beneath a thick blanket of grey clouds, they descended to the ground and quickly moved through the forest. However, what Turim had not anticipated was the level of greed and determination of humans – several had been posted around the village of Wooden Thicket and spotted Turim and his family fleeing in the dark.

The humans quickly fired arrows – and for fear of his wife or infant being killed – he stopped and tried to reason with the humans. He explained repeatedly that the large oak trees were not a symbol of some great power being hidden in the woods – specifically the Towering Oak Forest for which these woods were named. Not believing Turim, a human named Gallis Blackraven, stabbed Turim and left him to bleed. He then looked at Marith with eyes of lust – Turim, with his dying breath – let out the call that summoned the wolves. Quickly the wolves burst through the brush, seemingly out of nowhere, almost ghost like in appearance, and began attack the brigands. Gravely wounded, Gallis was able to escape, but not before he’d successfully delivered a fatal blow to Marith as well, who had wrapped her body around the infant. Hearing the weeping sounds of the infant, the wolves nudged Marith and took the child into their powerful jaws, and slowly stepped back into the shadow of the brush. The wolves released a mourning howl, as if one of their own had died; but the people of Willow Thicket knew what the wolves had sung for – Turim, Marith and Arreis were all dead.

However, Arreis had not died. Taken by the wolves, he was raised and cared for them as if he were one of their own. When he was five, he could tell he was different than them – but they were his family – the only family he ever truly remembered. He learned to hunt, and appreciate the balance of nature. At the age of ten, the wolves had brought him back around Willow Thicket, to be found by his kind now that he knew how to defend himself. He was easily identified as the son of Turim and Marith – not only by the amount of years that had passed and when they had vanished – but Arreis had Marith’s unmistakable green, deep eyes, and Turim’s golden locks of hair.

The Elves of Willow Thicket all adopted Arreis as one of their own; but he was never comfortable around other elves. He took time learning what his parents were like, and what had happened to them; and developed a strong dislike, borderline hatred for all humans. The Elves of Willow Thicket tried to explain that not all humans were evil; but even during his time with the wolves, Arreis witnessed (and killed) humans who killed animals for sport, and left the rotting corpse of deer for its antlers as a trophy – those that Arreis saw do this, typically did not leave the woods alive.

Arreis spent most of his time in the wild, often running with the generations of wolves he’d grown up with – and while scouting humans who had taken refuge in the woods, sitting around a small campfire, Arreis heard them speak of relics and magic and some sword that was lost generations ago – but people seemed to be clamoring towards Cermelete.

This, Arreis thought, should be investigated. He’d seen magic used by the Elves, they said it was in his blood, he would simply need to learn to channel it. If there was magic – new magic – and weapons that could upset the balance of nature – Arreis would need to find them, and if need be, destroy them if they posed a threat in the wrong hands.

He ran his fingers through the ghostly mane of the wolf he’d known the longs – Winter, he called him – and said, “I must go to Cermelete, my friend. But we shall see each other again.”

The wolf licked his face, and Arreis stood and slung his bow over his shoulder and began to make his way towards Cermelete.
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Re: D&D Character Background Challenge (It's Own Thread Now)

Post by Tawmis »

https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=818
Ominae55;24719219 wrote:Hello Tawmis,
I am extremely new to dnd and have have a small group of friends who use to play and know the rules. They wanted to get a small group going and needed another player. So they asked me to join. I am actually already having fun just with the character background and reading the PHB and other books I purchased. But I want to make sure it all fits correctly.
Name: Grim
Race: Variant Human (Male)
Class: Barbarian, will go path of zealota
Alignment: Neutral Chaotic
Background: Haunted One
Campaign: campaign is set to be relaxed, semi comedy vibe over experience since it would be easier for me to pick up and learn. It will center around a town much like a mmorgp where we get quests and such from our guilds.
Concept: my character is somewhat like Ash Williams from evil dead (Polearm master anyone?) that is mixed with a little Gutz from Berserk (manga or anime if you know of it) and a splash of Benders attitude (futurama). So likes booze women and makes lames jokes, all to hide his haunted past.
History is maybe along the lines of being found as a grim looking child abandoned or in a burned out village by sellswords and is raised by them in the company. He becomes a decent fighter with a glaive. Later in life he is either possessed, cursed, or makes a deal with a demon and gains power but loses something more important. This leading to his wandering of boozing and finding the town in the campaign since it promises coin he needs to pursue his addictions.
I like your other write ups with haunted pasts and tried to imagine one for myself but I am way in over my head when it comes to demons and what they can do. I liked the pit demon concept you had in another write up and hoped you could fit something like that into it but make it a demon queen? Ash likes his women.
Think this is possible to do while keeping it slightly comedic?
Btw I do have PayPal and will definitely donate if this seems like a write up you can help me with.
Cheers
For some reason – perhaps because you closed with “Cheers” – it made me imagine the sellswords in the beginning having a British accent – which as I wrote it, added more humor to it in my head.
Also, for paypal – it’s never mandatory by any means. It’s always appreciated, but never, ever mandatory!
Since you're new to D&D - and a first time requestor (I believe the others I have pending, I've written for before!) - so I skipped you to the front of the line!
Let me know if this is what you're looking for!
Enjoy!
=========================

The smoke drifted into the grey skies, as the sounds of thunder crackled somewhere in the distance. Rekker, who was a half orc warrior was staring at the infant, who somehow managed to be the sole survivor of an attack on his village. The infant sat, wailing loudly, next to the water well, his mother and father, presumably, next to him, their bodies full of arrows.

“Well, we can’t just leave him here,” Rekker groaned, pointing at the infant.

Tollaris, his human companion, and fellow sell sword looked over at his half-orc friend. “Well, we certainly can’t take him with us.”

“You’re okay with just leavin’ the lad here to die?” Rekker asked, scowling at his companion.

Tollaris spun on his heel and tried to get face to face with the towering half-orc.

“You do realize we’re sell swords, right?” Tollaris growled.

“Of course,” Rekker growled.

“And you realize what we do right,” Tollaris continued.

“Of course,” Rekker rolled his eyes.

“We kill people. For a living. It’s what we do. How,” Tollaris gestured to the still crying infant, “can you possibly have a conscious about a human whelp crying in the middle of a burned out town that got raided – by the looks of it, I might add – by your people – orcs!”

“Listen,” Rekkar tapped Tollaris on the chest, forcing Tollaris to take a step back. “I’m a half-orc. I’ve got all kinds of abandonment issues in my noggin. So pardon me if I see an innocent child – an infant – which,” Rekkar snarled, “you may or may not know, we have never killed.” He looked at the child again then Tollaris, “And if we just leave the little bugger here, he’s as good as dead and we’d be just as responsible as the orcs that burned his village down.”

Tollaris threw his arms in the air. “Clearly, there’s no changing that small mind of yours. Fine. You take the kid. You do. I won’t touch the blasted crying siren. You feed it. You change it. You do whatever it takes to take care of it and leave me out of it.”

Tollaris and Rekkar traveled together; and upon reaching the first town, Rekkar used funds he’d made tracking down a small band of pestering goblins to purchase some clothes and food for the infant. Tollaris spent his on drinks and simply shook his head at his friend, as the large half-orc tried to burp the child over his shoulder. “You are destroying our reputation, you know that right?”

Rekkar looked to his friend, “I don’t plan on keeping the infant. When we reach The Silver Sage, I will see about getting rid of the child there.”

“Good,” Tollaris took a deep drink. “Because when we’re out in the wild, that kid’s crying is drawing everything out there right to us. Might as well light a signal fire.”

The duo finally reached the neighboring town, where they often operated from and ventured to the Silver Sage, a house of “ill repute.” The women clamored all over Rekkar to see the child, much to Tollaris’ surprise. Even the offer of glittering gold did not take the women’s eyes off of the young child in the half-orc’s arms.

Ellarisa Flameforge, a dwarven prostitute looked up to Rekkar. “What have ye named the lad?”

“Named him?” Rekkar’s eyes widened and he looked at Tollaris.

Tollaris shook his head and simply said, “Leave me out of it.”

“We’ve named him Grim,” Rekkar finally said. “We found him under grim circumstances. So his name is Grim. I have a favor to ask of you ladies,” he began.

“Of course we will help you take care of him!” they all cheered.

For the next several years, Rekkar and Tollaris continued their professions as sellswords and as always, returned to the Silver Sage. Rekkar watched the infant grow to a young boy, where he shared some of his favorite jokes. “What’s a beholder’s favorite food?” He paused, “Eyes Cream!” Grim laughed, and only had a vague idea what a beholder was. “What happened to the warrior who met an Illithid? It blew his mind!” They laughed and laughed. “Know what a rogue’s favorite metal is? Steel!”

Every few weeks, the duo returned and shared more memories with Grim, and more jokes. Even Tollaris was beginning to become fond of the child when Grim ran up and hugged him. He pushed Grim away, but he couldn’t hide his smile.

One day, when Grim was seventeen, the duo stopped showing up. The headmistress of the Silver Sage, a woman named Janna, approached him and told him that they may have met their match and that he had better get used to the idea that they might not be coming back. Grim took notice that Janna never aged – despite the seventeen years he’d grown, Janna still looked as if she were twenty-five, and according to the other mistresses, she’d been running the Silver Sage “for as long as they could remember.”

Janna soon took an interest in Grim. He had been working around the Silver Sage, to earn his room and board, and had been doing quite a bit of manual labor (much to the enjoyment of the fellow maidens of the Silver Sage). One night, she called Grim to her room – where she seduced him. After a night of love making (his first time, despite the many attempts of the maidens), Janna asked, “If you could have anything in this world – what would it be?”

Grim lying there, with Janna cuddled in his arms, answered, without much thought, “Knowing what happened to Rekkar and Tollaris.”

“Funny,” she said seductively, “I would have thought you may say peace for all, an end to wars…”

“None of that matters to me,” Grim shrugged, “since I am not directly impacted by it.”

“What if I could give you what you wanted, for one small price,” Janna cooed.

“I’d do it,” he shrugged. “What’s the price?”

“What if I said, your soul,” Janna smiled, almost laughing.

“My soul? Sure! What use have I for it?” Grim laughed.

Janna reached out and touched Grim’s forehead, and there he saw Rekkar and Tollaris fighting a band of orcs – and a powerful Shaman was there – he cast a spell that rendered them unconscious, and the duo were dragged away.

He sat up. “They’ve been captured by orcs! Wait.” He looked at Janna who slid out of the bed, her bare body glistening in the moonlight, and for a brief moment, in the reflection of the mirror he thought he saw large bat-like wings, before she slid on her robe. “How did you do that? How did you show me what happened to them?”

Janna turned. “You’d better go. They’ve been slaves to the Red Eye Orcs for several weeks,” she said, ignoring his question. “Most don’t last more than a year. I can’t tell you where they’re being held exactly, but perhaps if you find others to help you…”

Grim forgot his question, threw on his clothes and left the Silver Sage, much to the dismay of the other women. Janna watched from the window, as he rode away – and in her hand, a small glowing sphere that represented his soul.
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Tawmis
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Re: D&D Character Background Challenge (It's Own Thread Now)

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https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=822
xanxosttheslaad;24632378 wrote: Here's my current character idea; I look forward to seeing what you come up with to fill in the gaps. Sorry if it's a lot - feel free to focus in on whichever part you think would be the most fun to write about!
Name: Isoba of Neverwinter
Gender: Male
Class: Celestial Warlock
Age: 82
Alignment: LG
Race: Scourge Aasimar (reflavored)
Background: Guild Artisan (Cobbler)
Isoba grew up in a poorer part of Neverwinter, with his mother, a half-orc cobbler, and his father, a Turami human bard. His brother would go on adventures with his father, and eventually grew up to join the city guard. Isoba's mother helped him get an apprenticeship, where he learned to cobble, taking over his mother's workshop. When not working on his trade, he would go on walks and appreciate nature and the city, and was well liked by children, animals, and his customers. On one of these walks, he ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time, and was mistaken (accidentally?) for a notorious murderer. Mount Hotenow erupted while he was awaiting his sentencing, and with the prison in Neverwinter no longer able to hold him, he was sentenced to penal labor, and worked the next fifty years in a private dungeon under a Waterdeep noble's manor. These years he waited out patiently, accepting his apparent fate of dying in prison, but also using his craft to help others, sending meager wages away to pay guild fees and support his home city's reconstruction. I imagine he also would have made and lost several friends, maybe fallen in love or had a child, during his lengthy imprisonment. Near the end of his sentence, he was getting old, and had fallen ill, until a sudden emergency (probably someone's sudden injury or illness) prompted him to call for supernatural aid. His prayer was answered by an entity he came to know as Xag-Ya, an alien being from the positive energy plane, who infused his body with the healing magic of that plane (this gift of light is also represented by his racial abilities). This also doubled his lifespan, allowing him to finish his sentence, and venture forth into the world, where he seeks to find his younger brother, use his gift to help the world, and act as an interplanar tour guide for Xag-Ya (their demand in exchange for the granted power, as Xag-Ya has great interest in life in the material plane), who accompanies him in the form of a white spider sitting on his shoulder (Chain Pact).
Also, he sometimes wears a wooden spider mask, painted white, to set himself apart from others, and thereby avoid being punished again for the crimes of others based on his appearance.
You provided a lot of great detail that made this all too easy and enjoyable to write. Even managed to put in some social messages. :)
Please reply to the thread and let me know what you think - helps keep the thread bumped and alive!
Enjoy!
==============

Growing up in the streets of poverty in a large city like Neverwinter, it’s easily to become lost and forgotten by the people who quickly walk by you, averting their gaze to stare at walls splattered with offensive graffiti rather than see a poor, stricken, down on their luck, filth covered humanoid. Even those loyal to the best Churches quickly scuttle by as if our filth was a symbol of disease. Perhaps if they knew, when we reached out – we were not reaching out for coin, but rather, help.

This is the life I’d led for most of my life. My father was a Turami human, whose dark skin, and muscular composure had captured the eyes of a female orc when he’d been captured while drunkenly wandering through a forest. My father’s name is Delias, and he is a good man, even if he drinks too much. Much of the coin he earns from his songs, his poetry and stories is in turn, invested back into the local tavern hosting his performances.

My mother, when she saw him captured, and dragged back to the cavern that the orcs had been using as a temporary home – he was being beaten for their amusement, and he was too drunk to defend himself. So she stepped in, claiming that the orcs had been acting dishonorably for beating on my father when he was clearly too inebriated to defend himself. One of the orcs got up and got in her face – she clenched her first and punched him so hard he was knocked off of his feet. The other orcs now turned their attention to the orc who’d been knocked down by a female. But my mother was never a frail woman – even for an orc. She’d been the one that helped shape the caves and make them comfortable with her hands and mallet.

For reasons she says she can’t even explain to this very day – one the second night, when my father was tied up to a post, my mother watched until the guard fell asleep and quietly moved to my father and untied him. That’s all she had to do – untie him. And she did. But then she left with him to help protect him, turning her back on her own people. She knew she would be shamed by the members of her tribe and that she could never go back – so together, they came to Neverwinter with nothing to their name and tried to make a life together. They grew to tolerate – even perhaps love – one another, and eventually I was born. My mother had begun to earn a reputation for her cobblestone work, though a rich human noble named Elkare is the one who paid her meager coins and then took it and sold the fine craftsmanship for much higher, claiming he’d made it with his own (unblistered) hands, because the people of Neverwinter would rather buy from a rich noble than believe that such craftsmanship could come from a peasant orc.

I’d taken up apprenticeship with my mother, just after my younger brother was born, so that I could help maintain our income. Perhaps because I’d spent so much time cobbling stone, but I began to take notice that my father tended to favor my younger brother, even as the years went on. Soon all my father spoke of was, “Kallian this, Kallian that!” It bothered me at first, but I learned to accept that my younger brother was the baby of the family and bore a closer resemblance to my father than I did. He had his skin color while mine was lighter. Perhaps my father was suspicious that I was not his son?

One night, I had been strolling through the poverty streets of Neverwinter when I heard a gurgling cry, and suddenly a human came out of the shadows and shoved a dagger into my hand, before running away into the shadows. Another man came out of the shadows that the first man had just left, stumbling, holding his throat – and under the pale moon, I saw crimson running between his fingers as he collapsed at my feet. I immediately recognized him as Elkare, the human my mother dealt with. He was on his way to our home. In fear, I dropped the dagger, just as local authorities turned the corner and saw me leaning over him, bloody dagger on the floor.

My trial was a sham. Members of Elkare claimed there were with him and saw me, and barely escaped with their lives (though they had no cuts or bruises or even torn clothes). They couldn’t even answer where Elkare had been murdered and claimed “the poverty streets all look the same – full of beggars, bards, and wooden homes. How could we tell where we were?”

Six weeks into my sentence, the explosion of Mount Hotenow changed the face of the city of Neverwinter forever. Myself, and the prisoners who had survived were put on wagons to be placed in other prisons or to work off the rest of our time as servants (though some might call it slavery) to various nobles.

I was assigned to work for Retney Ravenhill, a noble in Waterdeep. Two days of being there, he personally paid me a visit to ask what I had done. I explained the truth of what happened, and he told me that someone – or several people – were willing to pay him an exuberant amount of money to arrange an “accident” to happen to me. I immediately knew this had to be the family of Elkare. Lord Ravenhill said he would decline the generous offer if I promised to work hard. I promised him that’s all I knew how to do – and I was being truthful.

Several months later, several servants were suddenly in a panic. Lord Ravenhill had been poisoned! I rushed up to Lord Ravenhill’s dining room where he was frothing at the mouth, his body shaking violently. I knew this had to be the work of the Elkare family – they had poisoned him since he declined their bribe to arrange an “accident” for me. I placed my hands on his chest and prayed to the gods to undo this vile poison.

To my surprise, my entire body glowed white – and I felt the poison leave his skin and enter mine, and when all the poison had been extracted and the light faded, I fell over vomiting violently. When Lord Ravenhill recovered and heard what I’d done – the poison had taken away the mobility of his left leg, so he now walked with a cane – but he came down and cut my chains free. “You are free to go. Thank you for saving my life.”

“It wasn’t just me, it was also Xag-Ya,” I said.

“Who is Xag-Ya? I don’t recall any of my servants with such a name?” Ravenhill inquired.

“No, it is I who is a servant of Xag-Ya,” I replied. “I heard her voice in my head as I pulled the poison from your body. She filled me with peace and tranquility even as my body grew sick from pulling the poison from you and into me.” I pointed to the white spider on my shoulder. “She came to me.”

“Then my thanks goes to the one you call Xag-Ya as well,” Ravenhill smiled. “I wish you both the best in life. Know you will always have an ally in me and a place to call home.”

Lord Ravenhill provided me with equipment as I set out into the world. Perhaps I could find my younger brother and see where he is and how he has been?

KyleG;24676709 wrote: Slightly different challenge If you are interested...Im currently playing a warforged monk and I have a gap in his history.
1.Basically he gets deposited on this world practically brand new (as far as fully awakened). His only task...observe. there is other history prior to this but I have it covered.
2. Becomes a runner/messenger
3.goes on to join party for reasons.

Its really that history of 2 I'm after. How does a creature (not exactly charismatic) not seen in this world integrate themselves, at least to a useful extent? (he is fully aware, senses, while resting....could be the angle???) Translate that into a "career" and learn some monk skills.

The monk skills are perhaps an act of copying someone he sees in a town he frequents, he isn't going to be comfortable staying put for long. Or perhaps he joins a caravan and trains along the journey.
A lot of this is back and forth between two NPCs I introduce. Being unsure of what your "Step 1" other background mission/origin was - I leave that open at the very end of this.
I enjoyed writing this - and imagined how the two NPCs I introduced were interacting with your character - and it made me chuckle a few times.
I hope you enjoy it and would love feedback in this thread - as the thread has sank deep in the forum pages, so a reply would give it life again!
So please let me know your thoughts!
Enjoy!
======================================

I have spent my entire life in an endless battle. I have fought for a cause. I have seen triumph. I have seen failure. I have seen men live. I have seen men die. The faces over the years have changed, but the results are always the same. Blood spilled by the dying – they all sound the same. The look of fear and anguish painted on their faces as they see the shadow of Death.

I step through a portal – the world shimmers and blurs behind me. Reality spins wildly and finally I come to a halt landing in a marshland. The crickets cease their chirping unsure of my presence – this new stranger that now stands among them – like no other they’ve ever seen before. After a moment, the crickets resume their song, and I sit and listen.

I want to change. I want to find peace. I want to find balance. Though the swamp bares the same stench of a battlefield littered with dead, the sound of the crickets is calming, soothing, and rhythmic. I close my eyes and welcome the peace. I feel the sun rise and fall; the heat of the day and the chill of the night. Time passes. How much? I can not say. Time has never mattered much to me the way it does humans and other humanoids.

I am awakened by the sound of voices – which is unusual in this swamp. It’s the first time I’ve heard another voice in… countless cycles of the sun. I open my eyes and see a human and half-elf cautiously approaching me. The human is male while the half-elf is female.

“What is that?” I hear the female inquire.

“A statue of some kind,” the male replies. “It’s been here for awhile based on the amount of galias moss growing all over it.”

Has it been that long? I look at my arms, my body, and see it – even as this green moss covers parts of my head and obscures my view. Indeed, I have been here for a very long time.

“Do you think it’s dangerous?” the female asks.

“I don’t even think it’s alive,” the male retorted as he poked me gently with a stick.

I rose to my feet, sending them both toppling backwards in surprise. “I am quite alive,” I say, matter-of-factly. “I did not realize I’d spent so long here in the swamps. The music of the swamp was a … soothing change from what I am used to.”

“What are you?” the male asked as he pulled himself to his feet, pulling off the moss from his body.

“I am… a stranger,” I said, unsure of how to properly answer the question. “Who are you?”

“My name is Thoh,” he said, his hands on his chest. “This here besides me is,” he looked at her, “my girlfriend. Her name is Yivan.”

“First,” the female sighed, her hands firmly placed on her hips, “I am not your girlfriend. You’ve never officially ever asked me to be.”

Thoh turned at her with a pleading face, “Is now really the time to discuss this?”

“Is now really the time to announce that I am your girlfriend to this talking statue,” she gestured towards me in frustration.

Thoh heaved a deep sigh and turned back towards me. “I apologize. Yivan and I often sneak away from the Monastery from time to time to see the world.”

Yivan nodded, “I don’t know why I let this numbskull talk me into it. Last week we ran into goblins which we barely got away from.”

“Well, all that talk of inner peace,” Thoh shook his head. “The world out here is not like that.”

“Tell me of this Monastery and this inner peace,” I suddenly cut off Thoh’s rambling.

“Well, it’s where we study. The Order of The Rising Light,” Thoh explained. “It’s the order of Monks. The Monastery is only a few hours away. We could take you there.”

“Thoh!” Yivan’s voice was sharp. “What has gotten into you? How are you going to explain a waddling, eight foot … thing,” she looked over at me and whispered, “No offense.”

“None taken,” I replied.

“I believe the Masters would be interested in…” Thoh turned and looked at me.

An awkward moment of silence hung in the air.

“Warforged,” I replied.

“Your name is Warforged?” Thoh’s eyes opened wide with concern.

“No,” I replied, “that’s what I am.”

“What is your name?” Thoh asked, thinking that would be better than introducing the towering thing as “Warforged.”

“Name? I’ve never had one,” I shrugged. “I was never made to be taken care of.”

“We will call you Swamp Forged,” Thoh said, with a smile, “since we found you in the swamp.”

“That’s a horrible name,” Yivan sighed. “How about Tarn.”

“Tarn?” Thoh sighed. “You mean from the ancient texts?”

“Yes,” Yivan replied. “Tarn was a giant man who sought to change his war like ways.”

“I like that,” I replied.

“Fine,” Thoh threw up his arms. “Tarn it is. Don’t go always siding with her Tarn. She’s already difficult enough to live with.”

As expected, my appearance at the Monastery was greeted with surprise. And just as Yivan suspected, both she and Thoh were being scolded for venturing into the swamps – because of the danger those swamps represented.

“If I may,” I injected. “They saved me. I would have been lost to the swamps forever. They have told me of your ways of finding peace. Tranquility. These are the things I desperate seek. To find balance.”

Master Megumi heaved a deep sigh. “It would go against our ways to turn you from us. We offer our home to you. If you wish to learn our ways we shall teach you.”

Days turned to weeks and weeks into months, and months into years, as I slowly embraced this new way of living – observing. Always observing. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, my mission awaited – the sign for me to become who I was truly meant to be. The true reason I was sent here.
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