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Sasbuzzkill;25239158 wrote:Name Rumil male eladrin bladesong wizard the concept I have right now is he was exiled from the feywild to the mortal realm.

I felt like I had a pretty wide field to play with here.
So a few fun things to point out as "Easter Eggs" that I often do when I write these.
I introduce a Pixie named "Metalsing" - this is a double reference. First, heavy metal is my preference of music. (Metal Sing). But secondly, since the Monster Manual has the Pixie as a female with green skin, I thought it'd be fun to reference "Petalwing" from ElfQuest (if you're not familiar with the comic, I strongly STRONGLY recommend the original 20 issues). So when I needed the name "Metalsing" was a spin on "Petalwing."
Second, Metalsing is heard singing a song - the song she's singing is the lyrics from a song called "Edge of Thorns" by Savatage.
I used this for a number of reasons - because of the Eladrin thing with seasons - I wanted something with "seasons" in it.
Also Savatage is my favorite band ever, and the album and song "Edge of Thorns" is pretty amazing.
Also, Criss Oliva who was the guitarist of Savatage - was killed October 17, 1993 - so I typically spend a week just talking about Savatage (on the day of his birth and death, and really any time anyone listens).
The location of the river mentioned is "at the edge of Thorn River" - this is a nod to the same song "Edge of Thorns"
Skraggy's Tomb is mentioned - and this is also a reference to the title of a Savatage song.
The thing the "enemy" of the story (don't want to spoil it) is from the Savatage song "By The Grace of the Witch."
Anyway - with all of that said, enjoy - and I'd love ANY feedback you have for me - good, bad, whatever.
It all helps me grow - and it also keeps the thread bumped and alive. So it's always appreciated.
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It is the Eladrin way is to surround ourselves in the things of beauty found within the Feywild; but like the changing seasons, so to, does our mind sway. From the joy of Spring, to the intense fiery heat of Summer, to the feelings of goodwill during the Autumn, where we avoid violence when possible, to the melancholy chill of the Winter breeze.

My name is Rumil, and the Feywild was once my home.

I say once, because I’ve been exiled – now to the plane of Mortals.

I reflect back on how I got here and I know I regret nothing. I’d make all the same choices I’d made before that led to my exile.

It’d been a Spring like any other. The chill of Winter’s touch had faded; the snow, now melted turned to water to feed the plants and give life to the streams and rivers again. This led to the blooming of the wild flowers all across the land that filled the air with their beautiful scent. Indeed, Spring was the Season of New Beginnings.

And for me, the Season of an Ending.

I’d been walking with Korrus – you must know Korrus to truly understand Korrus. He’s a Korred – and to take his own words (a jest he commonly repeats to anyone who bends an ear to him) – “You should have seen me mother! Most beautiful dwarven lass in all the Planes! And me father, he was a Satyr who could charm the pants of any Deity!”

In truth, Korrus was not part Dwarf – part Satyr. But for those unfamiliar to what Korred look like; that may be perhaps the best way to describe them. Short, stout, muscular, their upper torso is humanoid, with a face and beard that resembled common dwarves; but their bottom torso was that of a two legged goat.

Korrus was unlike any other Korred – yes, he loved to dance and play – but he was often far more crass, brash, and forward than most (which sometimes made me wonder if that joke he told about his mother and father just might be true – because he certainly had the self-control of Satyr at times). Korrus – in short – was the Feywild defined in a single being; coursing with magical energies and absolutely wild and shifting at all times.

We had just reached the edge of the forever green woods of Aeternum, when Korrus had just finished wrapping up his (I am quite positively – slightly exaggerated) story of his latest conquest that included the Dryad Praesidiumili, of the Lost Wood. Up ahead, I could hear the overly loud singing of the very person I was here to see.
Metalsing.

Metalsing was a Pixie who was named as such, due to the metallic color of her wings, and her passion for singing. Metalsing – like all Pixies, had the youthful features of an Elven child – and while the skin tone of Pixies varied – with some, like my own people, able to shift their skin tone – Metalsing always maintained a green skin tone, with fiery red hair (to match her fiery attitude, no doubt). With a gossamer clothing, she was quite a sight to behold.

She was – naturally – singing as we were approaching her.

“A study made of winter, of summers long ago, and dreams that used to glitter, safely now hidden under snow, And so we end – Oh!” Metalsing looked up, perched on a log. “I didn’t hear you. Which is surprising,” she looked at Korrus, “because he usually never stops yapping.”

“You’re a fine one to talk!” Korrus barked back. “We could hear your singing all the way back from Krestadin!”

“And it sounds beautiful,” Metalsing pouted, folding her arms across her chest.

These two bickered all the time – but in truth, there was a great love between them. Nothing romantic. Simply a mutual respect. Metalsing loved Korrus’ story telling while Korrus actually loved Metalsing’s voice.

“All right you two,” I sighed. I sat down next to Metalsing and looked over at her. “Have you heard or seen anything?”

“Yes,” she turned and looked at me, a dark expression on her face. I was taken aback, because I’d been doing my patrols for months now, and Metalsing never had anything to report. I half expected, after a moment that she was going to make a joke about Korrus being the problem, but when her expression did not lighten up, I knew she was serious.

“What have you seen?” I asked.

“A hag,” Metalsing whispered. “A Green Hag.”

“This close to Aeternum?” I asked, shocked.

“And you – singing at the top of your lungs!” Korrus muttered loud enough to be heard, his magical beard slithering around like a snake.

Metalsing scoffed, “I can turn invisible.”

“And most Hags have the power to see through that,” Korrus growled. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“Easy, easy,” I whispered putting my hands between them to keep them apart. “Where did you see this hag?”

“Near Skraggy’s Tomb,” she replied. “At the edge of Thorn Lake.”

“I know where it is,” I said, drawing my sword. I turned to Korrus, “You don’t have to –“

But he stopped me.

“I’m coming with you,” he said, matter-of-factly.

“Fine, follow me,” I whispered, and slowly he and I made our way towards Thorn Lake.

Skraggy had been a human; one of the few to enter the Feywild. He was a great warrior, admired by many; but the Feywild magic eventually began to impact his sanity. He was soon caught up in the wild changes of the Feywild, and rapidly went from great, esteemed warrior, to hopeless drunk – which in the end, proved to be his demise; poisoned by the alcohol he’d consumed so much of. Regardless, his time before his fall into madness – he had been a great warrior for the Feywild, and so his tomb was erected here at Thorn Lake, where he would often come to speak to the Dryad every Dawn of the morning.

As we reached Thorn Lake – both Korrus and I noticed something immediately.

“Why are there no birds chirping?” Korrus whispered. “Something is definitely off.”

Even Nature knew when a hag was present and to remain silent. Hags were the embodiment of evil, inside and out. They thrived not so much in killing – but suffering. The longer their victims suffered, all the better to the hag; especially if the suffering was done through an act of deception. There was a story that’s been told for generations of how a cult had killed a Dryad of the Woods as well as the Unicorn of the Woods; and a Green Hag was drawn to the scene of this great tragedy – and took on the disguise of the Dryad and tricked a group of adventurers into slaying Centaurs of the Woods, by using her foul illusions to make them appear as demons to the adventuring party; and once the demons had been slain, she revealed the truth of what they’d done. This was the type of depravity and horror hags thrived on.

As we scouted the area, we had found evidence of a hag’s presence; where plants had mysteriously rotted and died; touch by the foul magics of a hag who despise all things beautiful.

For weeks, we’d come back and Metalsing reported seeing the hag, and we’d go to Thorn Lake and find evidence of the hag’s presence; but never found the hag itself.

One week, as we approached Aeternum, I expected to hear Metalsing’s voice, as we’d always had; but this time there was silence. Could it be that the hag was near Metalsing and her fellow Pixie’s home? Korrus and I began moving quietly forward – and like the times down and Thorn Lake, the forest was eerily quiet. Despite it still being Spring, there was a chill of Winter’s touch – and a tremendous sadness that pounded over us both, like a tsunami wave of endless grief.

And soon it’d become clear as to why.

Metalsing’s body was pinned to an oak tree – spikes driven through her hands and chest. Her wings pried off her dead body.

Pixie Wings were used for a number of spell components, such as Dust of Disappearance; but a many other great, darker magics. It was clear who had done this.

I heard Korrus whisper, “Don’t do anything-“

But it was already too late. I quickly drew my swords and rapidly made my way towards Thorn Lake where we’d always seen evidence of the hag – I suddenly realized where the hag had been hiding. Reaching Skraggy’s Tomb, I ripped open the door and immediately could smell foul magic. The damn hag had used the tomb as her home; drawn here by a great fallen hero, who died due to his own demons from within the bottle.

“Show yourself,” I howled as my skin turned the fiery red of Summer.

“Alone in the darkness,” a voice hissed from the shadows, “lonely and scared; you’re in fear of your life. Deadly witch’s crystal sensing your fears! My spell is cast upon you, my little dear!”

And at that moment, a spell came from the far left corner of the tomb – and that was all I had needed. Diving behind the sarcophagus, the spell shattered the corner – but now I knew where the hag was. My flesh and steel shining as bright as the day breaking sun I rushed forward and plunged my blade deep into her. Her invisibility crackled, and faded, and her horrified eyes peered at me.

This wasn’t enough.

While she was still alive, I wanted to make her suffer. So I dismembered her, while she was alive. She screamed at first – but in the end she laughed.

And I knew why.

She’d made me go to a place just as dark as her own soul.

Because of this, I was exiled. Though I had killed a Hag that had, upon investigating, murdered many; it was how I’d lost control of myself. How I embraced a darkness that I did not know existed within me.

And now, here I am – standing on a dusty road, in the Plane of Mortals, hoping to find my place in this world.

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javianhalt;25082486 wrote:Sure, will do!
I do have some NPCs that could use some help with a richer backstory if you find yourself with free time and nothing to do with it

The world used is Forgotten Realms. There is this guy (an oath of conquest paladin) who is on a "personal crusade" to get rid of mages who are (in his eyes) "out of control and abusing their power for selfish needs". You see, he is not an EVIL TO THE CORE kind of guy, I was thinking more of a "Lawful Neutral" kind of alignment. He is just someone who doesn't trust spellcasters (I didn't think about the "why" yet, but definitely something to do with a bad experience in his past).
His biggest flaw is that he enjoys himself in combat a little too much. He is not satisfied in just defeating enemies, he likes to instill FEAR into their minds and crush them when their spirits are already broken. He once commanded a legion of soldiers but was deemed too extreme and forced into exile. Nevertheless, he continues on his personal mission, feeling now more than ever that the world is misguided and needs a firm hand (probably his) to guide it back into a path that doesn't involve chaos and corruption.

That's all I have for concrete thoughts. For a less concrete part, I was considering the idea of his race being an Aasimar. Maybe figuring out this origin was the spark for the start of his personal quest on maintaining order, but despite the supposedly good intentions and guidance of his celestial guide, the paladins' actions fall more into a grey area where people are not really sure anymore if he is actually a good influence or just a lesser evil who takes on bigger evils and therefore are excused for some of his transgressions.
A good old human is also an option. I wouldn't have a lot to go on here based on race alone if he is Human, but the good part is that it's a blank canvas for anything to be added.

Kept it kind of short, because it was for an NPC and didn't want to go too deep.
Wanted to form that foundation, you'd wanted about his dislike for magic users.
And went with Aasimar because that made it much easier for the "motive"... and whether he even might be 100% sane.
Anyway, enjoy!
===================================

Look at me.

Most can’t see it – but I can feel it.

It’s inside me – coursing through my veins.

It’s something I never had a choice in. Somewhere down my bloodline, some Angelic being decided he or she loved or lusted after some mortal in my family tree – and introduced this damn angelic bloodline into my veins.

Not everyone who is born from then on becomes what I am – an Aasimar – born to serve as “champions of the gods” and my birth “hailed as a blessed event.”

Hardly.

Maybe it’s the “angelic blood” that pounds through my veins, mixed with my “mortal” blood that makes me think the way I do… But I’ve seen too many mortals – Wizards, Mages, Warlocks, Sorcerers – using their magic haphazardly.

Magic, in of itself, is a chaotic energy. It’s not natural for Mortals to be wielding it. This is why Wizards spend years learning it. This is why Warlocks “take the short cut” and often make pact with demons and the like, to gain this magical power far more quickly. And then there are Sorcerers – who like the Aasimar – had some damn powerful being muck with their blood line, introducing an inherently magical gene into their bloodline.

Too many humans – and half breeds – eventually find themselves overcome by the power of magic; short life span, powerful magic, extending their life force through unnatural means. I wouldn’t say I hate and want to kill every single human and half breed caster I come across.

Just.

Most of them.

Most people fear powerful spellcasters – because they can do a lot of things and hurt a lot of people with a flick of their finger and muttering a bunch of incoherent words. But those are the ones I want to get to. Those are the ones that need to be taught that they can’t possess that kind of power. That power will corrupt them. They need to be stopped.

This made me fearless. I thrived on battles where powerful mages cowered behind a row of soldiers. I’d cut down all those who stood between me and the Mage – and when I got to the Mage, it wasn’t just about killing them.

It was about breaking their souls and minds. Making them understand what possessing that kind of power does.

This fearlessness eventually allowed me to quickly rise among the ranks of the soldiers I fought with; and eventually got my own squadron to lead. But when the fools cowered at my tactics, which eventually led to the loss of my squadron as well as being exiled from the forces. It’s to be expected. They were mostly humans, after all.

Ironically, no one ever said I was evil – but nor were they ever certain I was good.

To be honest…

I am not sure either. This damn half breed blood in my veins, sometimes makes me feel like even my own mind is as much a hybrid as I am.

Ogre Mage;25227312 wrote: Hi Tawmis --
Name: Leif Skyfall
Setting: Forgotten Realms
Class: Circle of Stars Druid 3
Race: Wood Elf
Gender: Male
Background: Outlander
Alignment: Neutral
Feat: Fey Touched
Str 9, Dex 16, Con 15, Int 10, Wis 17, Cha 10.

Character concept: Life has gone comically wrong for Leif. The last time he was at the Witchlight Carnival (in the Wild Beyond the Witchlight module) he did not have a ticket and a curse shrunk his manhood three inches shorter! Some time after that, his boyfriend Idris ran off with a satyr named "Mr. Big." Leif returned to the carnival hoping to cheer himself up and recover what he lost years before. Though it is an embarrassing thing to talk about!

I am thinking A Midsummer Nights Dream vibe but also a bit of the horror of Changeling: the Lost. I think it was Carol Burnett who once said that our most comedic experiences often felt painful and/or difficult while they were happening.

One thing I forgot to mention -- Leif's ex-boyfriend Idris is also a wood elf.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Changeling:_The_Lost

This is probably way past due. My apologies, life with the wife's health (for the downside of things) continues; but the plus side, I am DMing a mess of D&D games, and playing in quite a few (the escape is nice!) - But finally had some spare time to get back and give another swing at maybe some of these pending ones.
I've not played the Witchlight game (all of the games I DM are homebrew world/setting) and not played in it yet.
So I had to look it up.
I've enjoyed breaking the barrier of writing guy/guy or girl/girl relationships. This one felt very easy to do.
Hoping, despite that it's probably too late if you needed this for a game, that you can still enjoy the story!
As always, would love comments - it helps keep the thread bumped and alive.
=====


Honestly, I am not even sure why I am here. Was I hoping to see if Idris would be here too? Get a chance to talk to him? See why he left me? It couldn’t be because of what happened a few years ago with that blasted curse. Idris didn’t seem that shallow.

Last time Idris and I had come here, it’d been as our first date. We’d been best friends for a very long time, before I finally had the courage to ask him out; to share how I felt. I was surprised – pleasantly so – that he’d felt the same way but kept his feelings in check. As he’d said – he would rather suffer in silence, and have me as a best friend – then to never have me at all.
So what changed?

Yes, I was cursed last time we’d come here. It was my idea to come here. Back to this damn place.

The Witchlight Carnival.

I’d thought it would be a fun place to ride the rides together, close, side by side, caught in the revelry of the moment. What I hadn’t realizes is that the Carnival attracted all kinds; from bards trying to sing and strum their instruments louder than one another, to thieves who pick pocket the unaware.

I’d been one of the unaware; so wrapped up in being with Idris, I hadn’t considered securing my coin purse; so once we got to the window to pay, after having stood in line for hours – I’d discovered my coin purse had been stolen. I was embarrassed and devastated – as I’d said I’d be the one to pay for the entrance, so Idris had left his coin purse back in the room we’d gotten inside the town that the carnival was closest to. We’d ridden a stage coach here to the Carnival, because it’d been a fair distance away – so walking back would have just driven my embarrassment and shame deeper and deeper with each step away from the Carnival, and miles and miles away, with each step from the wonderful date I’d planned in my head.

We stepped out of line and I turned to Idris and whispered, “Let’s just sneak in. What could go wrong?”

What could go wrong, indeed?

We’d made it to the Hall of Illusions, and were standing in line for that – trying to be as inconspicuous as we could – but Idris saw the Fortune Teller next to it and had begged to go see what I fortune held. He’d wanted to hear how we would find happiness forever.

Begrudgingly I agreed, and as Idris approached, the Fortune Teller came alive, “Dance and song, you will find happiness! Eternally shall it be yours to have! Hand in hand! Dance and song!”

Idris looked at me, because he’d been holding my hand and took that as an omen.

“There,” I’d said, “now can we go to the Hall of Illusions?”

Suddenly the fortune teller’s eyes turned to me, “Truth revealed, stunted and pealed, a wound never healed.”

Suddenly there was a searing pain in my groin as I collapsed to the floor. Idris looked at me shocked, just as I saw a Satyr grab his hand. “We’ll have someone look after him, you come with me! Share a dance and song! We can get along! Forever, forever, as long as we’re together.”

Two hands suddenly picked me up and dragged me out of the Carnival for not having my butterfly wing tickets. Once outside the pain subsided. I waited all day and night for Idris to come back. To leave the Carnival. If he did – I never saw him. But others I knew claimed to have seen him – happily dancing around with a Satyr who’d introduced himself as “Mr. Big.”

It wasn’t until I got back to our room, after a very lonely walk, that I realized the curse the fortune teller had bestowed – she’d reduced the size of my … Well, you can probably guess.

Like I said – I am not sure why I am here. If I hope to see Idris. If I want things… fixed… between he and I … and things fixed for me. But I am here. At this damn Witchlight Carnival.

Barebarian;25227086 wrote: Hi! I've FINALLY finished a homebrew archetype for a quickdraw-focused fighter in a samurai game (set in the same world as the other character's you've done for me btw!) who has to go on the run when someone starts killing samurai while in disguise as him.

He's a level 8 character whose fighting style is about storing his attacks, then releasing them as one big attack on his bonus action. But I haven't got any more story ideas in mind for him! Thanks if you're up for this!

Level 3
Iaijutsu— During your Attack Action you may Concentrate and “store” your Attacks, then unleash them as a single Bonus Action attack on the same turn or in response to being attacked before your next turn (this also costs your Reaction) adding 1d12 extra damage to this single attack per attack stored.
Your first attack after drawing your weapon also has a crit range of 19-20.

Level 7
You have Expertise in Insight
You gain advantage on Initiative once per short rest

Level 10
You may add your dex mod to katana damage once per turn.
If you kill a character with an Iaijutsu strike you can apply the same attack roll to another within five feet, up to Dex bonus times.

Level 15
Action Surge grants you an additional bonus action as well.

Level 18
Sheathing your sword by spending your Reaction lets you reroll damage after a hit.
^here is what I've so far decided on for the archetype. He's a level 11 character with 1 level of rogue (he has expertise in stealth and persuasion!) and 10 in fighter. I haven't decided on a name for him, but he's a human in his early twenties. His parents passed away when he was a teen, so he's grown up as head of his own estate, and he's been a bit...flighty. He has a not undeserved reputation as a lothario (gained his stealth and persuasion skills that way!), which annoys his wives a bit but as long as he doesn't get cut apart by angry fathers they're just glad he makes it home safely.*

Besides that he's a skilled duelist famous for not yet being defeated by man or monster. However! Following an invitation from a beautiful woman (who looks a lot like Lily...Not that he knows her) to a secluded location, he found a dead body, moments before guards burst in and accused him of the crime!

Now he's on the run, along with his wives, who refused to leave him to fend for himself.

*His wives are the retainers he gets from the Noble background, except each has a level of Rogue (taught by Furea) Monk (taught by Lily) and Fighter (taught by Kosai and Senshi!). Incidentally, this game is going to take place a few years in the future of the world Kosai is in, and this guy's wives are her triplet daughters!

Heh, you gave me a lot of info and not a lot of info at the same time. I wasn't sure how many "wives" this character had - so I worked around it.
It's not as long as most, but since I've written some pretty lengthy ones for you, I figure you wouldn't mind.
It was enough to set up what happened (for the background you wanted) and some interesting hooks to go with.
This like the others is so late, that it's probably of no use, but maybe enjoy the read anyway.
I'd love to hear comments, because it keeps the thread bumped and alive! So feel free to reply! Good or bad comments welcomed.
============================

My name is Gaido from House Seishin, and I am a warrior who lost his family by the age of thirteen, learned to rule my own estate for several years, before being lured into a trap that framed me as a murderer of a local lord named Deddorodo.

I believe I may have been set up by Deddorodo’s eldest son, Azamuku. Azamuku had both wanted the family estate, as well as the heart of Utsukushi-sa. It can not be coincidence that on the night that I was lured out to find the body – the guards timely arrival – had been the very same night, I’d been visiting the estate on trade business and had met Utsukushi-sa there. Though nothing had happened between her and me, she’d given me plenty of attention and none to Azamuku himself. He’d tried, several times, unsuccessfully to put himself into our conversation – and though I welcomed it, she seemed to terminate any conversation he’d started.

Several of my wives fled with me, not because they feared for their lives – in truth, each of them had been trained by the finest Rogues, Monks and Fighters, whose reputations I knew and trusted. They’d fled with me because they said they were bound to me – not in any financial form of way, though they were “mine” by my noble background – the bond I shared with each of them ran much deeper – what some would dare call love.

I’ve sent them away for now. Not because I don’t think they’re capable or that they would slow me down – just the opposite, really. As I said, I had them trained by some of the finest in the land, because I knew something like this might happen one day. Where I would get in trouble or some Lord would come to seek and take my land from me because of my young age. I wanted my wives trained by the best so they could defend themselves if the need arose. So now I have sent them aboard to use those skills in which they were trained to gather information for me – to confirm if it was indeed Azamuku who framed me for the murder of his father.

Azamuku isn’t a fool. After his father’s death, he did not hesitate to take over the estate and triple the amount of guards and demand more from the people who worked the lands around him. If Azamuku is to blame for my dishonor, I will come for him – but it will be difficult.

But he thought he would only have to contend against me. He failed to take my wives into account. Two of which have already infiltrated his circle.

Sasbuzzkill;25241166 wrote:I loved the one you wrote for Rumil so if you are up for it I have another for you. Kvol is a lizardfolk death cleric who has lived as a hermit taking care of ruins in the mountains for the raven queen so he doesn't know the etiquette of the civilized world.

Sorry this is so late, like the last few. Probably too late to use for your character, but perhaps you can still enjoy the background.
I'd love to hear feedback - as it keeps this thread bumped and alive, and the last few I've written haven't gotten any feedback (I can't tell if that's good or bad....)
Anyway, enjoy!
=========================

There in the chilling region of the Spine of the World, far to the north – and just south of the Reghed Glacier a lonely castle, made into the face of the mountain, long forgotten by time lived a single individual.

In his youth, Kvol lived in the Evermoors, among several other Lizardfolk like himself, and for the most part had led most of his life quite directionless, never sure what he was going to do or where he was going to go. When a black dragon named Sha’douse attacked the lizard folk village with the intent to make the Evermoors its new home, Kvol – like the others of his village fought for their homeland. Kvol remembered all of them charging the Black Dragon – and the last thing he’d remembered was the Black Dragon rearing back, its mouth bubbling with acid. Much to Kvol’s surprise, he was still alive when he regained consciousness. Yet somehow he’d found himself in the middle of Lurkwood. Fleeing from Ettins and giants, and confused as to what had happened, Kvol had finally managed to come out just north of Xantharl's Keep. Fleeing to the north – Kvol heard a woman’s voice beckoning to him.

It’d been that voice that led him to the long forgotten ruins of the castle in the face of the wall, pounded by the chilling winds from the Reghed Glacier. As Kvol made his way around inside the ruins of the castle, he saw raven symbols everywhere – and eventually found the ruins of the chapel, where Kvol finally slept peacefully. There he had a vision of a large raven landing next to him and taking the form of a human female. She’d touched his head and mentioned how he’d endured so much pain and misery and fear – just what she had wanted.

When Kvol awoke the next morning, there, leaning against the shattered pillar of the chapel was a beaten breastplate and shield that bore the symbol of the Raven Queen herself – a raven’s head, in profile, facing left. He donned the armor and equipped the shield and realized it’d been his duty to come here and protect this castle… He felt it in his heart, and his very soul, that the cold, biting winds brought the physical pain similar to the pain of the memories that echoed and screamed in the Raven Queen’s own castle in the Shadowfell – and that one day, she would return here perhaps – and it was up to Kvol to ensure that it remained protected.

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Konstellation;25341142 wrote:Hey, I'd love some help with developing a further backstory for my character. My DM had asked me to find a backstory on how I came about my sorcerer powers, especially regarding the Mechanus realm and I'm not too sure how to work it all out.

Her name is Malevia Sabausong, a tiefling (variant: devil's tongue) clockwork soul sorcerer who works as an urban bounty hunter.

Here is some of the info I have for her:
(Personality Traits from background)
-The first thing I do in a new place is note the locations of everything valuable—or where such things could be hidden. (Mostly to keep an eye out for potential threats and figure out how to gain a bounty if one would be needed, and put pieces together of any kind of puzzle.)
-I am always calm, no matter what the situation. I never raise my voice or let my emotions control me.
(Ideal) -People. IÂ’m loyal to my friends, not to any ideals, and everyone else can take a trip down the Styx for all I care. (Neutral)
(Bond) -IÂ’m trying to pay off an old debt I owe to a generous benefactor. (My personal idea for this: Someone helped cover me when I failed a bounty, and they are why I'm not in prison)
(Flaw) -An innocent person is in prison for a crime that I committed. IÂ’m okay with that. (Could be an old friend or somebody, but regardless-- during a bounty, something went wrong, and they were caught instead of me. Probably something worked out by the benefactor.)
(Not sure if this is important, but this is an additional flaw my character has: I have a “tell” that reveals when I’m lying. (Tail twitches, fingers cramp, and/or maybe an eye even twitches or changes color?))

Further personal character traits:
I plan to make her to be "bothersome" to my party in regards to humor. (Mild mischievous humor, mostly inside jokes with people)
She likes the manipulation of elements, time, matter, etc., in fights and enjoys using charismatic behavior (intimidation, persuasion, deception, flirtiness if need be) but for the good of her party/other people, or relatively neutral outcomes.
I kind of plan for her to be some kind of chaotic or neutral alignment, probably mostly neutral if not even CN-- mostly because if the party messes up anything, I enjoy the chaos that can potentially happen where morals might be overlooked for the sake of protecting my party.

I'm not sure what else I have for her, except that I think I want her in good stands with her family (but neutral emotionally regarding them, not sure why I want it this way, though). I can't figure entirely why she would go into bounty hunting except maybe she often walked among the criminals, and so she would hear things and see bounties put out for them and know where to find them and stuff, and that was her way to earn money. She doesn't follow/believe in a god ("if the gods even do exist, I can manage without them" type of thinking, probably less harsh though), but I don't mind changing this if it makes it easier to mend things together.

I was unfamiliar with Mechanus - and quickly realized why. I don't think in my 30+ years of DMing, have I ever even USED a modron!
I'd never done a Clockwork Soul, as a result.
So I took some liberties.

This is WAY after ye had requested it, I know. But the wife's condition has taken so much time and energy out of me.
Hopefully, if you can't use it, you still enjoy the story!

Malevia Sabausong
Devil's Tongue. You know the Vicious Mockery cantrip. Once you reach 3rd level, you can cast the Charm Person spell once as a 2nd-level spell. Once you reach 5th level, you can also cast the Enthrall spell once. You must finish a long rest to cast these spells again with this trait. Charisma is your spellcasting ability for these spells. This trait replaces the Infernal Legacy trait
http://dnd5e.wikidot.com/sorcerer:clockwork-soul
http://dnd5e.wikidot.com/background:urban-bounty-hunter

I'd love to hear feedback (from you or anyone who read this - as it keeps the thread bumped and alive).
======



The world is cruel. Ruthless.

It doesn’t matter how rich you are, something people can never get past is how you look. You can own an entire kingdom – but if your face was severely burned, trying to protect an innocent woman from bandits – the world will veer away from you when you approach.

They can’t see your heart. You soul.

They just see your flesh. No matter how much fancy clothing you try to hide it under.

I am well aware, that’s why I am the way that I am. That’s why some would call me heartless and cruel; because this is what the world forged me into. As an infant, I was a piece of iron – but those around me who forged me to make me what I am – only taught me self-preservation.

“There is only one person who will ever fetch you from trouble,” my father had warned, “and you’re looking at her,” he said pointing at the mirror I’d been gazing into. My father had always tried his best to provide, and despite his human appearance, and his good looks – he was known as the “cursed man of Elmwood” – because his wife had bore me, a Tiefling, meaning that clearly my parents were into some form of dark magic.

Where my bloodline comes from, to be honest, I am not sure. Nor do I care. When I was old enough, I left home, hating that I was a burden to my family, though I loved them dearly. Being a thief was entirely too difficult – because, being a Tiefling – everyone always eyed me and suspected me, as soon as I walked into an establishment. At a tavern, I’d met another Tiefling, another female, like myself named Pirullinen Kauneus. She shared many of the same traits I had – her father had been human and his wife had had her, and the people of the hamlet captured her family and burned them at the stake. Only Pirullinen’s mother’s quick thinking had allowed her to escape – so Pirullinen took up hunting down those who had been responsible for killing her parents. She began teaching me the ways of becoming a bounty hunter – and I quickly found, that being a “demon seed child” made it easy to intimidate people and get information – and tracking down people for money was quite easy.

We had had a successful career of being bounty hunters together until we’d been told to fetch an item rather than a person. We’d been hired to retrieve a chest from a wizard named Razathorn. This chest was supposedly near the top of his tower – and neither of us being rogues, climbing the walls was going to be out of the question.

So we can up with a horrible idea – but we couldn’t turn down the job, it was worth 25,000 gold. With that we could stop this business and try to find a way of living a normal life… We approached Razathorn, who was known for recruiting mages of all kinds to do his work and translate his endless volumes of tomes. Both Pirullinen and I claimed to be Warlocks, and Razathorn greeted us and assigned us to translating after marking our necks with an unusual rune.

One night, Pirullinen and I snuck up through the halls, hiding in closest when we had to when other students were walking the halls – it took quite some time to reach the top. When we got there, we opened the door – which was, surprisingly not locked and entered the room. I saw the chest that the client had wanted sitting on the table – in the open.

At that moment I knew, it had been a set up.

I turned and Razathorn was standing in the doorway, his hands crackling with magic. “I had suspected the two of you were up to no good – I sensed no magic in you and waited for you to make your move. Tell me who sent you and I will banish you to a plane where you might live… try something, and I will banish you to the planes of Hell.”

I looked at Pirullinen and shook my head. We should have known this was going too easy.

I am not sure what came over me – but I quickly grabbed the chest and opened it – hoping something would blast forth and hurt – or at the very least blind – the furious wizard, Razathorn – but instead, a mystical door, of blue crackling energy opened. I grabbed Pirullinen’s hand and began running for it – but suddenly I lost Pirullinen’s hand. I looked at Razathorn had ensnared her with a spell.

I stared at Pirullinen – not wanting to leave her.

Then I heard my father’s voice - “There is only one person who will ever fetch you from trouble,” my father had warned as I had gazed at a mirror as a teenager, “and you’re looking at her.”

I whispered the words sorry and stepped into the portal.

It felt as if I was falling into eternity. I could see stars, and giant sphere, flying by me – odd colored shapes and mist all around – and then, a violent tug as I saw a similar blue portal in this odd dimension suddenly pull me.

Unbeknownst to me, at the same time, the ruling being of this dimension – mechanical creatures like I’d never seen before – called modrons had found a demon siphoning magic from Mechanus – and had expelled him. He’d been intended for the very entrance I’d just fallen through. I saw black and purple like energy swirling towards me like a giant spear – and it pierced my body and instantly rendered me unconscious.

I was surprised to be alive… on a beach… near, what appeared to be the edge of reality… my hands and eyes all crackled with the same energy that struck me and I heard a voice in my head whisper, “Yes, I will hide here for now.”

And I collapsed again.

https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=924

Originally Posted by GreyBlack View Post wrote: So, you've already done one for me, and I loved it so much that I'd love one done for my newest character, Darren!
Name: Darren
Setting: New Orc City
Class: Fighter (Rune Knight) 8
Race: Goliath
Gender: Male
Age: 16
Background: Sailor
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Feat: Tavern Brawler, Brawny
Str 20, Dex 10, Con 16, Int 13, Wis 8, Cha 12.

Darren is a character who came to New Orc City because his people were basically going to be put into work houses, so he came from across the sea at the age of 12 to help pay for his family's freedom, and he's been here for the past 4 years. I kinda based the backstory on the IRL Irish Diaspora and work houses; won't go into too much detail regarding that, but I'm just providing that basis. When he got here, he was taught to fight by the toughest SOB in New Orc City, Garkag, who was a bouncer at a local establishment.

So, he basically was a dock worker and sailor for hire up until he joined up with the group, at which point they found out that he's a hard drinking sailor with a heart of gold, but is constantly trying to fight something bigger. He can be impulsive, but family always comes first, and he's willing to fight and die to protect his family, both by blood and by choice.

I normally play him as kind of a comic relief, but there's always a hint of quiet tragedy in the character because he's literally 16, and he's supporting a family of 4 from a war torn country on his adventuring money. Because of that upbringing, he didn't exactly know what he wants, because he's never been given the chance to figure it out because of all of the expectations foisted upon him.

He's a big wrestler. Wrestled a 6 headed shark, a dragon, and effectively C'thulu. At this point, I play him more as a superhero in a gritty "Gangs of New York" setting, and it's so much fun for everyone involved.

Oh, and the character concept was originally "Groundskeeper Willie."

Some side notes -
The uncharted island “Tiffland” is a reference to “Ireland” – Tiff meaning Ire.
The drink mentioned “Pixiedus” is a reference to “Spirytus” which is the drink that holds the record for highest alcohol content at 96% (Everclear has 95%)
You mention the tragedy hidden - I wasn't sure what you wanted there.
So like many people, I paint the picture that he hides behind his drinking.
And while it may be "fun" - he clearly has a drinking problem that masks the pain.
Anyway - I know this is way, way, way late - but hope ye enjoy!
I would love to hear comments - good or bad - in the thread, as it helps keep the thread alive.

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

It all starts to blur after awhile.

I am sure a lot of that might have to do with the excessive amount of drinks I have every night. I might be adding a little extra flair to the stories. When I wake up in the morning, it’s difficult to try and recall what really happened compared to what I told everyone happened.

My name is Darren. And, yes, as you might have guessed by my size, I am a Goliath.

I was born on a small, uncharted island known as Tiffland; but to be honestly, that was four years ago but feels like a life time ago. I was a different person then. I had left Tiffland four years ago because my family was being moved into work houses and we needed a way to make money. So I worked at the docks for a few years, learned my way around a ship, and took up a job as a sailor for a few years. One of those trips, we had stopped at New Orc City – and I saw a whole new world – a bustling city so alive. I sailed for a few more years aboard a ship, before deciding to try my luck at New Orc City.

Oh, the city was alive, all right. Alive with thugs and crime, and I quickly learned that living in the city was like living in the wild – doing whatever it takes to survive. I learned there was an orc by the name of Garkag who was a bouncer at the Black and Blue Bar – named such, for both their drinks – and their sordid history of the endless bar fights. Garkag was known for being one of the toughest citizens of New Orc City because of the bar’s history and his ability to “one punch” people into the twilight sleep.

The city was chewing me alive – or trying to. So when I found out who Garkag was – I walked up to him and socked him with everything I had. I had to make a name for myself. Unfortunately, it only staggered him – and then he looked at me, said something about how I have guts and he was about to show me by cutting me open and shoving them down my throat – and a fight broke out.
The entire Black and Blue bar was cheering – the fight spilled into the streets, where it drew even more attention. And on and on it went – people were impressed that his “one punch twilight” hadn’t taken me out and people speculated it was because I punched him first so he wanted this to last.

And last it did.

We fought, non stop, for over twelve hours.

By the time it was done, we’d wrecked an entire city block – and he finally delivered his “one punch twilight” and knocked me out.

When I regained consciousness, I was pleasantly surprised to see that my stomach hadn’t been cleaved open and my guts displayed for me to visually gaze upon. Instead Garkag was next to me shouting how I’d finally regained consciousness and ordered me a drink and said I was one of the greatest warriors he’d ever fought. So many people not only heard about the fight, but also saw the fight, and I quickly garnered the respect of many people.

People began calling on me for help – like I was some kind of hero. Because I needed money to get back to my family, I always charged them – and became a Hero for Hire, as they used to like to say. When news broke out about some kind of aquatic threat, I was hired to board a ship – and sure enough, the craziest thing I’d ever seen – a six headed shark attacked the ship.

Now, let me take a step back. The ship I was on was importing a strong potent drink called Pixiedus – or sometimes, “Pixie Dust” because of how it makes you feel – and I may have had about ten or so too many. So there’s a good chance that it may have just been a mutated two headed shark – seen plenty of them before – but what I was seeing was a six headed shark. So by the time I’d defeated this shark mutant and climbed back on the ship, I was telling them how it had six heads and the legend spread. I even remember fighting a giant octopus, which I may or may not have claimed was the elder god, C’thulu. (I am unclear, because of the drinking – if it actually was the elder god or if it was a giant octopus – in the dark murky waters and all those tentacles touching me in places I didn’t enjoy being touched, I was sure it was an elder god).

Most days, I’d swear there’s more alcohol flowing through my veins than blood.

https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=926

Posted by Withershins View Post wrote: Greetings - Love your work - starting a new campaign, level 6 (so a bit of adventure under their belt)
Mark of Shadow Elf
Clockwork Soul Sorcerer/Hexblade Warlock (2)
Urchin Background
Here is her Description:
The young elven Woman before you is of a short stature and a lithe and slender build. Her long dark blonde hair bound simply into a utilitarian braid, hangs unremarked over a slim shoulder, a small gray mouse is perched on the other.
Whisper has large deep eyes, the color of cracked wheat - restless eyes, piercing eyes - ever wary, ever on the move - like the girl herself, asparkle with mirth that she rarely allows herself to share. Whisper is of pale complexion and her skin is smooth and clear, with the exception of several clear, simply lined tattoos: visible on her face, hands arms and neck.
Whisper appears to never truly relax - like a thread pulled tight - always on the cusp of explosive action. Her piercing, thoughtful eyes seem to notice everything and her posture straight and poised, like a dancer. She wears a sarcastic smile on the corner of her lips, as though she is listening to a joke that you have not heard yet. A large black leather pouch hangs at each hip, appearing to be lovingly cared for and oft-used. She is dressed largely in black, cast off or stolen clothing which she clearly takes some bit of effort to maintain. A black cloak, torn at the height of her knee - so as not to impede her movement, a round, metal, buckler-style shield and two efficient looking daggers - sheathed on her thighs complete her carried equipment.
What could be the connection between the clockwork soul/memory loss and loss of family/Hexblade pact... I hope this has you interested

I am by far, the least political person in the world.
But a lot of times, when I need names for towns - I will use google translate and take a word or two and translate into a foreign language.
So for example, the town I mention is "Zabuta’dusha" - which translated from Ukraine's language is "Forgotten Soul."
This is in honor of all those, who are fighting over there... may they never be forgotten souls.
=====================


Everything is a balance.

Chaos and Order. Life and Death. Light and Darkness.

Even as I balance this dagger on my finger tip by the blade – the way the blade was made, so perfectly balanced.

So why do I feel out of balance?

I feel like a weapon – still being forged in the flames of a searing forge. I see pieces of something – my own past, perhaps. Just fractured images captured in time, like fine paintings. I see myself, much younger, happier. I see what I believe is my mother, my father, an older sister and a younger brother.

But I don’t know their names. I don’t have any emotion when I see them and think of them.

It’s as if all of that was ripped from me and I am a shattered glass that’s fallen on the floor with all these pieces around me.

My first memory – where I felt something – and could remember clearly was ten years ago. I woke up on the streets of Zabuta’dusha. I had to quickly learn to live on the streets and adapt – but I was surprised, these tattoos on my face, neck, and arms – I thought they were slave markings – but when I found I could use magic – they… tingled.

These weren’t slave markings at all – but something else.

Despite being an elf – and seeing others in Zabuta’dusha being tall and slender, I was shorter and slender, and could easily move between people and get where I needed to go. As I learned more about these strange markings on my body at the library located in Zabuta’dusha – I used the magic to summon and bond with a grey mouse I frequently saw in the library.

I spent copious amounts of time in the library, studying and devouring knowledge – trying to figure out what had happened to me – and that’s also where I took the name Whisper. Signs all over the library said, “If you must speak, please whisper.” And somehow that fit who I was – I wasn’t tall like my fellow elves, I was smaller – they were the spoken voice, I was the whisper.

It’d been while I was in the library one night – where I had the first vision; the first puzzle piece to what was apparently my past - an image of my mother, father, brother and sister. But it came with a voice, “You are the sundered weapon – once, for order. Restore the Order. Bring back the Balance, and the pieces and shards of your life – and the truth – will be revealed to you, piece by piece – and when completed, you will stand as a Weapon of Order.”

I took to seeking out the wrongs of the world, and doing what I could. And sure enough, as I did things – pieces were slowly being revealed to me. The greater the order, the more that was restored to my memory of my own past.

I am a weapon of Order, being forged together, to find out who I am.

I will be the Whisper that speaks with volume.

And I will be heard.

Quote Originally Posted by f5anor View Post wrote: I would be very curious to see what you make out of this, since your other efforts are certainly impressive!

Here are the main points.

Arjan Kralkatorix, male Tymantheran Dragonborn (bronze), Paladin Oath of Conquest modeled after judge Dredd
Hatred of evil dragons, his belief is that they enslaved the Dragonborn, his goal is to conquer and eradicate evil dragons
Follower of Bahamut (lawful good)
Agent of the Lords Alliance and officer in the service of Laeral Silverhand Lady of Waterdeep
Protege of Nymmurh, ancient dragon living on an island off the Sword Coast. Nymmurh is involved in various Waterdeep intrigues.
Moved from Tymanther to Waterdeep to escape persecution due to his faith
Very interested in Draconic and dragonborn lore (speaks draconic), condescending attitude towards other (lesser) races
Considering multiclass out into HexBlade and Sorcerer and have been thinking about some cool way to introduce this into the story.


Oath
I am the sword in the darkness.
I am the lightning that leads the storm,
I am the storm that conquers fire,
I am the fury of the just, the shield of Lords.


Quotes
I am the LAW
This isn't a negotiation.
It's judgment time!
You have been judged. The sentence is death.
Attempted murder of a Knight Judge, sentence: Death.
Are you ready civilians?

You clearly took a lot of reference from Judge Dredd (the comic, not the movie) - but a lot of DREDD (not to be confused with Judge Dredd) movie references too.
So I did the same.
It's very clear... Kera is Anderson.
And the main villain - well, that should be obvious when you get there.
I'd love to hear your thoughts in this thread as it keeps the thread bumped and alive.

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

“I am the sword in the darkness.
I am the lightning that leads the storm,
I am the storm that conquers fire,
I am the fury of the just, the shield of Lords.”

That had been my oath, my measure, my life.

My name is Arjan Kralkatorix and I have devoted my life to law and order. Too many people – every one else, really – have the selfish craving in their hearts, their souls – with so little regard of their repercussions to others. Chaos reigns supreme, even in those who call themselves heroes – more often than not these heroes are just as chaotic as the villains they devote their time fighting.

I am the weapon. I am the sword.

I alone will cut through the chaos. I will restore order.

Whether “hero” or villain who stands before me, they must all answer to Order and those who do not, or believe themselves above the law I serve, will learn swift and righteous justice.

As a Tymantheran Bronze Dragonborn and a Paladin of Conquest, I stand as a towering beacon of justice. I want those who break the law to see me; to know I am coming for them so they can stare into my eyes and know what is coming.

As a faithful follower of Bahamut, I know my means are justified and Laeral Silverhand the Lady of Waterdeep has seen me fit to be one of the Knight Judges. My work has been so thorough that I even gained the attention and trust of Nymmurh, an ancient dragon living on an island off the Sword Coast.

Nymmurh’s knowledge has been beneficial to me – my interest in my own history, as a Dragonborn – and the history of Dragon Kind that Nymmurh shares with me, has shown me the greatest evil this world has known – the Dragons who serve the darkness; so many serve them, through greed and fear. Cutting down those who faithfully serve these evil dragons does little; the dragons simply employ more who would gladly take the place of the fallen.

It was during this time, when I was on the island visiting, that Nymmurh told me about a human female who like myself, was a weapon for order.

“What’s so important about her?” I asked Nymmurh.

Nymmurh smiled, rows of razor sharp teeth, despite the dragon’s age, glistened. “Let’s just say she’s very important to me.” That’d been one of the things that Nymmurh had warned me about dragons – they were also a secretive lot. I just didn’t expect it from Nymmurh.

“Where do I find this girl?” I asked.

“You will find her in or around the Black Wagon Alley,” Nymmurh replied. “That’s where she was last seen.”

“If that’s where she’s at, then I will find her and bring her back to you,” I said.

I’d been in Waterdeep long enough to know the history of the Black Wagon Alley – it was a poor district, once raved by disease, and now supposedly the “Black Disease Wagon” can be seen some nights, without horses pulling it and incite insanity, fear and/or disease.

As I reached Black Wagon Alley, many of the people scampered away, like frightened rats into their crumbling homes. Truth be told, not many Knight Judges came to Black Wagon Alley, whether it was because of the superstition, or because most of these people had no possessions to steal, so the only crime that happened here was among one another.

So why was this human woman – Kera doing in a place like this?

I saw a child observing me with great interest. “You, child, come here.”

The child slowly crept towards me.

“What do you know of a blond woman who came here two days ago?”

The boy seemed shocked; undoubtedly by my towering size and presence.

I reached into my pouch and gave the child coin and food.

“Now, this girl,” I growled, “what do you know?”

The child placed his hand on his chest, “Mouse. Mouse show you. Mouse know way through Matron Clan hideout.”

“Matron Clan?” I asked.

“Yes,” the child who called himself Mouse explained. “Clan who runs Black Wagon alley.”

“Good,” I draw my weapon and smile. “That means a fight.”

Mouse led me through a number of traps into an abandoned building that once served as a hospital before it was abandoned after the disease had run so rampant. Within entering the first room, I was greeted by two humans. “You made a mistake coming in here,” one of them growled, brandishing a dagger.

“No,” I smile, holding up my weapon. “It is you who has made a mistake. You’re already dead, you just don’t know it yet. Mouse has told me of what you and this Matron Clan have done – and I am here to tell you, its judgement time.”

They lunge forward and my sword cuts deep into one while elbowing the other, breaking his jaw. He collapses to the floor trying to scream by his jaw is barely hanging on. “As I said, your time for judgement is at hand.” My foot ends his pain; permanently.

As I make my way through levels of what was now a gutted hospital, now being used to produce a narcotic known as “Free Fall” – it’d originally been produced in a less effective form to help people whose mind ran too quickly. It was quickly purified into this “Free Fall” form that makes those who ingest it feel as if everything was moving in slow motion.

Some of the people were people in the empty rooms, their mental state obliterated.

Others were members of this Matron Clan who tried to stop me.

“I am the law,” I growled as I cut endless cultists down. “I am your judgement. I am your death.”

When I finally reached the top floor, I was drenched in blood. I kicked down the door and saw a woman, scars across her face – a dagger held to another woman, blond.

I looked at the woman with scars. “What do I call you?”

“I am the Matron,” she growled. “I had nothing. Came from nothing. And made this empire.”

“What’s your interest in the girl,” I gestured with my blade to the blond woman.

“She’s a powerful telepath,” Matron smiled. “I could pry the secrets from politicians with her. Move from illicit drugs to blackmail; draws far less attention and far more money. How about this – you turn around and leave, I forgive you for killing a bunch of my employees.”

“You’re mistaken,” I growl. “This isn’t a negotiation. Your men, under your orders, attacked me – and by law, that is attempted murder of a Knight Judge and the sentence is, as it was for them, Death.”

“Then I slit the girl’s throat now,” Matron smiled.

“I don’t think so,” I smiled. “Ready Civilian?”

“Civilian?” Matron growled. “Who the –“

She doesn’t finish her sentence – and lets out a scream as Mouse slices a dagger I’d given him across the back of her ankle, severing her tendon. She releases her dagger and clasps her foot, allowing Kera to quickly scamper away.

I quickly raced to Matron, picked her up by the scruff of her tunic. “As I promised, your sentence is death.”

I threw her out the window and watched as she fell, screaming – her body pierced by a broken wooden beam on the ground.

I didn’t save Black Wagon.

Another gang or clan will swoop in and take over where Matron left off.

But Mouse.

I saved him.

Showed him how to stand up.

He can grow up and tell others to stand strong.

To stand for justice.

I took Kera back to Nymmurh, who thanked me, but didn’t reveal anything more about her, saying, “My promise to you was always to share information about our kind. As you can see, she’s human.”



https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=931

Originally Posted by yellowrocket View Post wrote: I have a new request if you're still writing.
A low level cleric of waukeen. Neutral Evil. Emphasis on the neutral part. Just selfish. Willing to sacrifice others. But doesn't go out of their way to be evil. Just wants to gain power. Always cautious. Always places self preservation first but knows adventuring is the fastest way to power.

This was fun. I wanted to find a basis for his "evil, but not really always" - and it initially starts with a bit of racism (or ... longevityism? Is that a thing? LOL)
But as it goes on...
His quest for power becomes more clear...
And how he's a cleric of Waukeen, and why...
Anyway, hope you enjoy.
Would love to hear feedback, good or bad, as it keeps this thread bumped and alive!
Enjoy!
=========================


I’m human.

Unlike the Elves and Dwarves that walk the streets around me, my time is limited. The Elves walk with an air of arrogance, believing they’re essentially immortal, while the Dwarves don’t show off their “immortality” or “longevity” I suppose is the better word – but you can see it in their eyes when the deal with people like me – humans, mortal.

We’re forced to move quickly through the world, to try and make a name for ourselves. This weird impulse that has been in the back of my head since I can remember has been a driving force in my life. I don’t know why it’s there – if some tragic event in my past made me realize my own mortality – just, as long as I can remember, I’ve felt it.

And it’s not this … fear of death. It’s this… desire to do something with my life. My father, not a perfect man by any stretch of the imagination, was a merchant and taught me the ways of Waukeen – and how she was to be respected and thanked for our good fortune as merchants. His compassion for his goddess was deeper and stronger than his love for his own wife – my mother.

Despite this, when my father died of natural causes, my own mother shut down. She was like a castle keep who slammed down their gates and welcomed no other visitors – not even her own children. But like a sealed city, she rotted from the inside, and soon died herself.

I ended up taking over the family business, with my two younger brothers and younger sister, helping me. When a small band of adventurers had entered the shop in hopes of trading some of their wares, I could see the weapons and armor, and artifacts that dangled from their bodies were like none I’d ever seen before. I made some foolish trades with them, exchanged what they needed for information about where they’d gotten these weapons and armor.

Adventuring, they’d explained with great pride.

Adventuring. That sounded dangerous.

But the reward.

I couldn’t get the glistening weapons and armor out of my head.

I told my younger brother, Molodshy, that I would be leaving to go on an adventure. And that I too would return home one day, rich like those who’d come into the shop.

I was right.

Not about returning to the shop, rich and famous – but that adventuring was dangerous.

I’d joined a small group that was doing an expedition into a buried temple. Things were going right – up until everything went terribly wrong. We’d made our way deep into the temple – a task, which even to me, seemed too easy – but my fellow adventurers; a human fighter, a Halfling rogue, an elf cleric and tiefling warlock seemed to believe it had nothing to do with luck, but rather skill.

To me, we were being led into a trap that was intentionally set so that escaping to the entrance would be further away.

I turned out to be right.

Boyets, the human fighter was the first to die – when he stepped on a cobble stone that sent two large stones crashing down on either side of him. There was literally nothing left of him, except the blood that pooled at the base of the rocks. I urged everyone to turn around, but they pressed on.

Zlodiy, the Halfling rogue perished next – when he went to open one of the stone doors – and it electrocuted him to the point that only his bones remained, and the entire room stunk of charred flesh. Once again, I urged them to turn around since he’d been the main guide – but they insisted.

Svyasha, our elf cleric – she perished next when the stone she stepped on simple crumbled into a bottomless pit. We heard her scream for over two minutes before we couldn’t hear her anymore. (A shame, really, because she was rather beautiful to look at – if you could get past her arrogant attitude).

When Dyyavola, the tiefling warlock triggered the rolling stone – and it was right behind us – I am not sure what came over me – but I slammed her into the wall so that she’d trip. The rock rolling over her slowed it down enough that I could make it around the corner and avoid it as it rolled on by. I looked down the hall, and saw that she’d been crushed.

I slowly made my way out of the temple and marched back to town empty handed.

Good to know, that even those with longevity can die just as easily as I can, I suppose.

But I am not looking forward to dying anytime soon.

I need to find more people. Get power.

At by any means necessary.

Even if it means the lives of my fellow adventurers.

It is, after all, for a greater cause.

Me.

My name is Zhovt A’raketa.

Quote Originally Posted by Samayu View Post wrote: Hi Tawmis!
I'm working on a bugbear bard. He's not the sharpest hammer in the bag, but he he's very encouraging. He wants everyone to live to their fullest potential. That's why he left his tribe and bugbear society in general. I guess he wanted to help people, but had an epiphany and didn't see that happening. So he took the idea to its extreme, and went off to wider society to help a greater number of people and find people that he could help and would be accepting of his help. In true D&D bardic fashion, this help comes mostly in the form of encouragement via Bardic Inspiration dice - "you can do it!"
What do you think? Any ideas?
No rush on this one.

This was fun to do. Never really wrote the adventure from a monster like point of view - and I wanted to play that up.
While he's not smart, he's clearly smarter than the average bear... er, bugbear, as shown with the conversation with his brother.
I wanted to play up the complexity of the issue of being a bugbear too - and left that open at the end.
Oh and the songs are references to Bonnie Tyler songs, if you are even old enough to know who she is.
I'd love to hear whatever feedback you have - good or bad - about what I've written.
It bumps this thread, and keeps the thread alive.
Enjoy!
===============================

“You ever think there’s more to this?” I asked asked in fluent goblin.

Balbh looked at his brother. “What could be better than waiting for stupid adventurers to pass below and spring on them and take their gold?”

You see, Balbh is my brother. We’re Bugbears who serve under our relentless chief, Airgead’fuil (whose name gets longer and longer the more treasure we acquired for him – the longer the name, in his eyes, was a status symbol. He was looking to have a longer name than the previous chief, Ainm’fada’do’dhaoine – his own brother who murdered during a trial of combat. I say murdered, because I am pretty sure he used poisons we’d found on a hapless gnome rogue we’d just captured to weaken him during dinner, before the big trial by combat).

My brother Balbh, picked some flees off the tip of his ears and ate them, and itched his belly, releasing a loud belching sound. “Why? What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “Seems like all we do is capture, kill, loot.”

“Yeah,” Balbh nodded, “that is all we do. It’s good.”

“I just feel like we could do more,” I shrugged.

Balbh looked at me sternly. “Did you get into Sugh’s Shrieker potions again?”

“No,” I grumbled, itching my shoulder and finding a tick. A quick squeeze between the fingers and it ruptured. “It just seems all we do is capture, kill, loot – and only Airgead gets the profits, while we sit here in this literal flea and tick ridden cave.”

I reached over and pulled out the lute that we’d gotten from the human bard who’d dropped it as they fled, and plucked the strings. “I came up with a song… Well, I heard the lady bard singing it, and my common isn’t great – but I think it goes something like this,” and I strummed the strings and sang, “Burn the ground, fire eyes! Every now and then I cast fireball! Burn the ground, fire eyes! Every now and then, I watch my enemies fall!”

Balbh looked at me – and there was a long moment of silence before he finally said, “That’s stupid. You can’t cast fireball. You’re not a wizard like Sugh.”

I heaved a deep sigh. “I don’t have to be able to do it. It’s a song. A story.”

“It’s a lie,” Balbh said, not getting the concept.

“Well, yes, technically a lie, sure,” I agreed, “but you’re missing the point brother.”

It’d become clear, after over three hours of trying to explain it to my brother, that he would never see what I was seeing – the idea of there being more out there – and that we’re more than savages and monsters as others saw us.

That night, I packed my scant few belongings, and took the lute and began my own adventure.

I’d been out in the woods for almost a week – and it wasn’t easy, being alone. I was used to being with my brother and the others, and I was beginning to actually miss them. I sat on the rock and strummed the lute, singing softly, “It’s a fool’s quest, trying to go out and be different than the rest, standing in the cold rain, as it comes down.”

That’s when I heard something. I sprang to my feet and quietly moved through the brush – and I saw several adventurers fighting an ankheg – a large insect creature! I jumped out, believing this was my moment and began singing, “I need a hero! I’m watching these heroes fight deep into the night, They look so strong, they move so fast, and they look larger than life!” I tried to inspire the heroes – but, as it turns out – after they’d defeated the ankheg – they saw me as a threat, believing I was there to ambush them and attacked me.

I barely escaped with my life.

Well, this wasn’t going to be as easy as I thought.

I guess me and my kind, have sort of made a bad reputation for our kind.

https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=933

Originally Posted by D3adZ0mb13Gur1 View Post wrote: I would very much appreciate your help in creating a backstory for my Human (Mark of the Marking) Twin Mind character. So my character is essentially a twin brother & sister (Jiang & Mo) who are 2 separate people on the outside but are really just one person that shares a soul. Pretty much similar to the Dvati race of 3.5 but in class form. They complement each other perfectly and always fight in sync. Jiang, the brother, wields a great sword & Mo, the sister, wields a longsword. They wear hanfu & are modeled after Chinese cultivators/taoist. I know it's not a lot to go off of but any help is appreciated. Thanks!

Not afraid to admit, I completely winged this one... unfamiliar with the class ......

So one thing... this is a pretty dark story. I never know what is going to come out of me, when I do these.

I kid you not.

I just started writing - and immediately wanted a way to explain "the shared soul" - and I thought, "Oh, they're born... but share a soul from the get go... go from there..."

And the story does take a dark turn because of it... and involves abuse... but I think, it shows the character's strength, as they continue to have faith in making things right in the world, and not being broken and repeat the chain of abuse.

Anyway, read on - I'd love to hear your comments, good or bad, about what I've written!

It helps keep the thread alive and bumped!
======================================

Our father, Kude, has often reminded us – the cost of birth into this world.

It’d be been enough, that the Priestess, Shenghuo, had said that she sensed the beat of two hearts within my mother. Twins meant that there would be two mouths to feed, and our mother and father were not doing well financially, due to the taxes enforced on the people of the village from the local warlord.

The story he tells is that on the day our mother, Tian, was to give birth to us the Priestess said that she only sensed one heartbeat and soul – my father, admitted to us, he was relieved. That he would only have one mouth to feed, and that he prayed it would be a boy who could help him out in the fields.

I was the answer to his prayer – my name is Jiang. However, my twin sister, Mo, was also born that night. Originally Shenghuo believed that Mo would be born still born – so imagine her surprise when Mo began to weep as she entered the world. She said it was a miracle – but what she’d not noticed in her shock, is that my mother passed away after Mo’s birth.

My father has always said that Mo stole our mother’s life force, and that Mo was the reason that our mother was dead. Mo suffered greatly at the hands of my father, through verbal abuse, while I suffered through physical abuse, as nothing I ever did was fast enough for our father.

I was thirteen when it happened – I’d been out in the fields, working. My father was older, barely able to lift things anymore – but I suddenly heard his voice as clear as if he were next to me, scolding, yelling. As I looked around, I could not see him – and our home was a distance away. I realized, he was scolding Mo – and something changed inside of me. I dropped everything I was doing and ran as quickly as I could back to the house – just in time to catch my father’s raised arm, as he was about to hit Mo.

“You will not do that, father,” I growled.

“You dare, boy? You dare put your hands on me? I am your father! Get back out in the fields and harvest, so I can feed you two soul sucking children!” He’d turned his attention to me, and had gone to strike me with his other hand, but this time, it was Mo who had caught that arm in mid-strike and stopped it.

My father was furious. “A girl! Stopping me! What right have you?”

With a flick of my wrist, I broke my father’s wrist. He buckled to one knee, screaming in pain.

“You will not lay a hand on her or I, ever again, father,” I said.

Mo and I left home that night. As old as my father was, and now with a broken wrist, he would not be able to farm – but after so many years of abuse, I realized, I no longer cared. Mo and I took some of my father’s weapons, from his day among the warlord’s army, before becoming a farmer, and set out on the road.

Mo was far more poetic and calmer than I was. She always looked for the good in people, while I was more brash and quick to react. Where she liked the softer things in life, I preferred things to be more edgy and jagged – to be cut and bleed, let me know I was alive, while she was one to rather mend the wounds.

But, make no mistake – when the time came, she fought with a warrior’s spirit. The hanfu we both wore, spun like a circular blade, as her longsword and my greatsword seemed to make the perfect balance – of light and dark, heavy and light, soft and hard. Back to back, we were like one living person, with eyes behind our backs, connected at the mind, heart and soul.

We go out, in search of others, who want to bring light to the world.

To make things right.

No matter how big or small.

https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=940

[quote="Originally Posted by animorte"
I have a fellow player with whom the struggle is very real. He plays a Half-Orc Paladin 5/Barbarian X...
The only thing I have for his backstory is that he doesn't talk about any family. His early days (as far as we know) consist of learning in a temple of many faiths; Clerics, Paladins, Monks, etc. have come from far and wide to visit here, if only the chance to meet a legend or say they have studied here. He left after a few years of study, just to travel with some friends and get in touch with his old ways (barbarian combat tactics). He makes very few enemies and is always welcome back. Everyone who meets him knows him to be simple. He rarely voices his opinion even when asked, unless circumstances are dire. If everything looks like it’s going bad, he will not hesitate to save himself. His most spoken words, "I am George."
[/quote]

Hopefully this potentially helps flesh out your character, if they want to use it.
==========

The Dreams.

Every time I close my eyes, I can see their faces. People begging for their lives as I cut them down. All around me, my family, my clan – bathing in the blood of the innocent. I was a weapon, forged by my father’s fury, smelted and pounded with hatred, and doused in the blood of the innocent.

Those that didn’t die in battle, I heard their screams hours later, as they were captured, tortured and killed.

The girl.

Her eyes peering from the bushes, drowning in fear, having bit her lip so hard to try and remain silent that droplets of blood spread on the snow like spider webs of crimson silk spread out. I kneeled down and she didn’t scream, she didn’t run.

“Why,” she finally sobbed. “Why did you attack our wagon?”

“Because you and your kind kill my people,” I whispered. The words were spoken by me, but in truth it was my father’s words that spilled from my lips.

“My father was a priest of Eldath,” the girl stammered.

“Who is Eldath?” I asked.

“She is the goddess of peace,” the girl wept. “My father never raised a weapon. Ever. Even when your people attacked, my father sought to speak to you and your people.”

My mind traces back through the chaos. There was a man. On a wagon. He was saying he meant no harm. Showed a symbol. What was it? A waterfall spilling into a pool? What was it my father said to me, “That is the symbol of flowing blood. He is a priest of war.”

War.

It’d been me who pulled her father down from the cart. Severed his hand. Still he never spoke a foul word, reached for a weapon. My Common wasn’t great – especially if people speak quickly. But he’d said something about Eldath. That she will not judge me. And that she was sorry it’d come to this.

My father had severed the man’s head, because he’d noticed I was trying to understand the man.

Just then, Jurith – my cousin patted me on the back, “Oh! You found another one! She looks young. We can throw her in the slave pits till she gets old enough to breed more like you.” Jurith was a pure orc – and his remark of “more like you” was something he always said – it was his way of saying my blood was tainted. That I’d never be as good as him, and despite being the son of the war chief, I will never be the war chief because of my human blood.

I can’t explain what happened. What made me do it.

My dagger found itself lodged in Jurith’s throat.

He’d never say anything about my half-blood again.

And he will never reveal the location of this girl.

I look down at the girl, even as Jurith’s gurgling, dying body clings to me, slowly sliding down as he gasped for life. I extended my hand to the girl, “I am getting you out of here.”

I was only a few years older than the young girl. I grabbed her hand as she extended it to me and began running with her. Some of my father’s soldiers spotted me and he barked at me to stop. And for the first time in my life, I disobeyed my father and I kept running.

I heard him shout, “I curse your human blood! You’re no son of mine! You never were. You will see! You will see how the humans see you! You will see!”

They hunted us down for days – but father had trained me; trained me to survive. And although the little girl slowed me down, I was still a survivor. For three weeks we moved through the wilderness of the Lurkwood until we reached Mirabar.

And my father was right.

The humans saw me, beat me down, and threw me in a prison.

I was spared by the words of the young girl I’d saved, who cried that I’d saved her. She never mentioned that it was me who pulled her father down from the cart. It’d been my father who delivered the killing blow, but I was still a part. But that’s not the story she told – she told them how I’d saved her from my clan, helped her survive in the woods, and had brought her to Mirabar.

The Lord’s Alliance approached me. They wanted to know where my clan was positioned in Lurkwood. I exchanged my freedom for that information. A dispatch was sent to take care of my clan.

I don’t know what came of them. Something I was learning, though homeless in Mirabar, was that the rhetoric my father preached was wrong. Kallius, of the Lord’s Alliance, even took me to Temple so that I could learn more about Eldath. My father had preached that Gruumsh was the one true god, and all other “gods” were charlatans and false gods; but what I learned in the Temple told a very different story. Some of the priests there even brought in Monks from a local monastery who taught me the importance of balance – to understand that shadows need light, and the light will created shadows.

When I asked what that meant, Master Trulite explained, “Shadows need light… You see, the darkness, the evil – they need something to hate. Something to attack. That is the light. And the light, the hope, the good, will always create shadows – those who are envious of the good, who think they don’t deserve their good life. So they want to consume it with shadows and darkness – so they gather other shadows to drown the light. And just as the darkest of nights, still have the moon and the stars to break the darkness; so does the brightest day, cast the longest shadows.”

I studied there, and accepted the path of light and studied and took forth the name of a god – that was not Gruumsh. I had met several others, traveling the roads, and took to going with them. I wanted to be the light that created the longest shadows.

But peace was never truly in my veins. No matter how hard I fought, half of my blood will always be orc – and that part is a raging monster.

I dance between light and darkness, shadow and light, and my name is George.

https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=944

Originally Posted by Barebarian wrote: I request a red dragonborn monk, high in Strength, Wisdom and Intelligence, maybe with Dexterity, Constitution and Charisma at 14.
For her background I'm thinking she's a wandering warrior trying to learn more about the world, Nature, the Creator (her world is monotheistic) and martial arts, while protecting people and churches, but I haven't got many ideas besides that :/

Here's another one, for ya!
It's not too long - but I wanted to leave the door open (if you're using this character) as to what their past was, and focus on the fact that they're a Red Dragonborn, and the downside of being "good" and having red dragon scales - and leaving that mysterious past WIDE open for a DM to do something with.
Hope you enjoy - and always - I would love to hear comments in the thread!
==========================

I’ve grown up, feared most of my life, simply because of my appearance. Being born a Dragonborn of the Red Scales doesn’t bring about a sense of ease in the people whom I walk next to on the street. Most give me a wide berth, because of I am both dragonborn, and more so, because of the red scales. I have faced this sense of prejudice all of my life.

I don’t blame them, as Red Dragons are notoriously known as some of the most powerful and evil Dragons in all of the world; so each person that sees the glint of red of my scales sparkling under the velvet moonlight, assumes that the same evil intentions reside in me.

Truth be told, that might have been the case had I not awakened in the Monastery. There are pieces of my past – fragmented in my mind, like a puzzle scattered across the floor. I try to recall the memories, put the pieces back where they belong – but so many pieces are missing. When I asked the Monks about who I was, they only told me that I arrived on their doorstep gravely wounded – with cuts to my chest, and a large wound to my head. They had debated helping me, because, as I said, people see the red scales and always assume the worse.

Truth is, they might have been right. I can’t even remember what my life was like before I woke up in the Monastery. But the Monks, the Order of Mir – a Monastery dedicated to peace and soothing of the soul. As I slowly recovered, I began learning from them – because truth be told, I couldn’t remember what I was before – and I just needed some kind of purpose; something to focus on while I tried to piece together who I was.

That was ten years ago that I showed up on the doorsteps of the Mir Monastery, and truth be told, I don’t care who or what I was before. This new life, as a Monk, as a Dragonborn of peace, is my new life. This is who I am now.

But there is a lingering shadow, always behind me, as to who I was; what I was. And I can’t help that one day, that past is going to catch up to me and I won’t like what I learn about who I was before…

https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=949

Originally Posted by Samayu wrote: OK, here's one...
Stereotypical elf loves nature (and needs a stereotypical pretty elf name). She sets out to explore more of the world beyond her home forests, though she remains in the wilderness for the most part. Somewhere along the way, she is killed, but comes back to life. She then becomes a paladin, and will take the Oath of the Ancients. At this point, she takes a more active role in protecting the light and nature, and sets out to find a place where she is needed. Twist: she comes back through reincarnation, and as a dwarf. This dwarfness should prompt some fun roleplaying down the road, mainly because she (still) doesn't like dwarves, but it seems incidental to this part of the story.
So first, how did she die, and what was it about that encounter that made her resolve to take this oath? Second, how was she revived? The obvious answer is a druid (level 9+), but were they also involved in that fateful encounter somehow?
Paladins who swear the Oath of the Ancients cast their lot with the side of the light in the cosmic struggle against darkness because they love the beautiful and life-giving things of the world. Tenets: Kindle the Light. Shelter the Light. Preserve Your Own Light. Be the Light.

I wrote this for the Forgotten Realms setting (but obviously can be adjusted for homebrew worlds, with just name changes. Here’s a reference to the map I used: https://media.wizards.com/2015/image...ap_HighRes.jpg )

As soon as I saw this one - I started writing, not wanting to plan anything out - just to see where my mind would take me.
Just to get it done as quick as possible as a bonus challenge.
I actually like how this turned out.
Would love to hear ANY feedback you have - good or bad!
Enjoy!
=========================================

The wind blew gently through the auburn curls of Ravensky Evermoon as she watched from the treetops of the western end of The Lurkwood, a band of humans exiting the woods. She’d been trailing them since their departure from Mithral Hall. They’d left Mithral Hall after trading wares – such as leathers – to the dwarves, in exchange for weapons.

She’d not been a fan of humans – they spread everywhere, like a disease – tearing down resources, murdering animals – rather than learning to respect nature. Nor was she a fan of the dwarves – while less destructive than humans, in how they lived – dwarves were the primary forgers of the very weapons that spilled so much blood in the many wars that have ravaged the land.

After ensuring that the traveling humans reached the road – she followed for a short while, seeing that they were traveling north to Mirabar, by the looks of things.

This had been her life now, for countless years. As one of the patrols for her people that lived in The Lurkwood – ironic, she realized long ago – about how she lurked about, following those who entered The Lurkwood. The humor of it was not lost on her.

It’d been such a night – similar to the night above – where things would, however, take a drastic turn. A male human wizard, with brown hair and green eyes; along with a dwarf cleric – one of Moradin’s clerics – a Sonnlinor – who was a female, with auburn hair, similar to Ravensky’s – but as she ran, her curls bounced like flames licking the air; and finally, a half-elf female, who appeared to be a druid – because she ran with a wolf by her side. They were being chased by a small band of orcs. The orcs still looked fresh, while the human, dwarf and half-elf looked worse for the wear – cut and bleeding, they were barely staying ahead of the orcs.

“Turn,” Ravensky muttered beneath her breath, watching from the tree line. The last thing she’d wanted was these three running into the Lurkwood – and with them, bringing the company of blood thirsty orcs to potentially damage the woods. Orcs, in her minds, were just like humans – a disease, that spread across the land, with little regard to anything other than spreading their numbers.

However, the trio fleeing from the orcs were not turning. She could hear the wizard shouting, though he was clearly out of breath, “We will find cover in the woods.” Ravensky knocked an arrow and aimed it before the fleeing trio – considering firing a warning shot to deter them from entering the woods – but something stayed her hand – she could almost feel a hand on her shoulder – but no one was there.

As the trio crashed into the woods, with shrubs and branches cutting at their exposed flesh – Ravensky turned and watched as the band of orcs did nothing to slow down. She snarled and gave chase through the treetops – and saw that the fleeing trio had run right into the small Avenesta Lake – a clearing, and were now in the open – and too winded to run further. They simply turned and faced their pursuers knowing that they would die here.

As the orcs burst into the clearing – they cheered and raised their weapons in victory. It had been a glorious hunt and their prey had given them a good chase – but the hunt had come to an end – they would severe the heads of the trio, rip out their teeth for necklaces, and put their heads on a spike that would be boldly displayed on the front lines of the orc camp.

As one of the orcs – howled and began charging – the sound of the wind making a quick snapping sound could be heard – and the orc’s body jolted and he fell forward; an arrow through his chest. The trio looked amongst one another – none had a bow and arrow – even the orcs were confused – unsure how their companion had been killed. None of the trio had pulled out any weapons.

Ravensky leaped down from the trees. “<Turn around now. My clan is in the trees. Leave now, and you live. Stay here a moment longer, we rain down arrows on you and your kind.>”

“What is she speaking?” Elias, the human wizard asked, in a hushed whisper.

“Near as I can tell,” Ellaranna Hammerstone, the dwarven cleric whispered back, “some form of Orcish. But it sounds older. Outdated, almost.”

“Where did she come from,”Fallean Oakstrider, the half-elf druid asked. “I’d heard of rumors of Elves in these woods… but never knew it to be true. They never showed themselves.”

The orc barked back an assortment of insults, then charged forward – axe in hand, urging the others to follow – and after a moment of not seeing their leader not get buried in arrows – they followed, shouting and cheering, and swinging their weapons wildly in the air.

Ravensky turned to the trio, “If you have anything left in you – now is the time.” Then she turned back and began rapidly firing arrows. Elias, the wizard unleashed a wave of magic missile; while Ellaranna blessed Ravensky, and Fallean summoned spikes from the very ground to lunge forward – through the orc’s feet – who howled in furious pain.

Ravensky saw the leader – in immense pain – throw his axe. Ravensky had fired a shot and struck him in the throat – but the axe was already flying – and she could see in slow motion – that it was headed for the dwarf cleric, who was tending to the half-elf druid, who’d been hit in the arm by a thrown axe – unaware her own life was about to come to a tragic end.

Without thinking – and not even sure why – something in Ravensky – something she felt – she leapt in front of the axe – and felt it bite deep into her chest. She collapsed to the ground – but didn’t really feel it. She was just noticing that it was getting increasingly more difficult to breathe. When Ellaranna turned and saw blood pouring from Ravensky’s gaping wound in her chest – her expression couldn’t mask the horror.

Ellaranna kneeled down and grabbed Ravensky’s hand. “Why did you do that?”

Ravensky smiled, blood trickled out of her mouth as she wheezed, “It felt like the right thing to do…”

She smiled – then died – darkness washing over her.

A moment later? Hours later? What happened to time?

She was awakened with a start.

KLANG! KLANG! KLANG!

The sound of something being struck repeatedly and with such force.

“What’s this now?” a gruff voice asked.

In the coals of his forge was a gleaming gem. He reached into the searing flames as the fires parted for him. He picked up the searing diamond with no ill effects to himself. “Well,” he said, somewhat confused. “You’re out of place aren’t you? You shouldn’t be here? How did you get here? This isn’t your home. What’s this now. I see. I see.”

Where was she? What was she seeing? Why couldn’t she talk? Who was this – dwarf? – talking to? Where was she?

“Sacrificed herself? For you? Are you sure? That doesn’t seem like their kind. But she did? Well. I guess, I can make an exception. Yes. Have your friend cast, I will see to it she’s returned.”

Ravensky tried to speak again – to ask who this dwarf next to the anvil, wielding a massive hammer, three times his size, that he seemed so capable of wielding. But she couldn’t talk. And suddenly she realized – and she wasn’t sure how this was possible – she was the diamond?

And the voice – she could barely make it out. It’d been the dwarf woman – the cleric – who was speaking to this dwarf.

Then she heard the faint sound of the half-elf. She was casting something…

Then she felt as if something had violently pulled her through an impossibly small hole and thrown her down.

White light burned her eyes.

“How do you think she’s going to take the news?” Elias asked as he stroked the campfire.

“Hopefully good,” Fallean whispered. “If she doesn’t – remember, Ellaranna – it was your prayer, your idea.”

“It will be fine,” Ellaranna smiled.

Ravensky sat up – her whole body ached. Everything from the tiniest strand of hair on her head to her finger nails. “The orcs?” she asked, surprised she could talk – but noted her voice sounded different – undoubtedly still recovering.

“Gone,” Elllaranna replied. “After, you… did what you did. It was as if the very woods helped us – they began attacking the orcs.”

“The treants,” Ravensky whispered. “They revealed themselves to you?”

“They did,” Fallean nodded. “I never knew elves and treants were in these woods.”

“It’s how we liked it,” Ravensky said, as she slowly sat up. She felt off. Undoubtedly because he near brush with death. “Thank you for saving me,” she said, looking to the dwarf cleric.

“It wasn’t me,” Ellaranna explained. “It was Fall,” she pointed to the half-elf druid. “And my name is Ella. That over there is Elias. I wanted to thank you for saving my life.”

Ravensky ran her hand through her hair as she walked over to the lake to wash her face.

However.

It was a female dwarven face that stared back at her.

She turned to face the trio.

Then fainted.

“I don’t think she’s going to take kindly to her reincarnation form,” Fallean sighed.

It’d taken weeks for Ravensky to accept what she’d become – and it took Ella, explaining every day – how she prayed to her god, Moradin for advice – and how she had used the last of her energy healing Fell, from the wound – but Fell still had magical energy in her – and reincarnated her.

Fell traveled with Ravensky for months after, and Ravensky accepted her role as a Paladin of Moradin – embracing her connection to nature – and the Oath of the Ancients.

https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=953

Originally Posted by Itsfrank wrote: Hello. It looks like you are hard at work with all of these stories. I have a request please! My character is a Scourge Aasimar Divine Sorcerer/Crown Paladin. His childhood life was modest but lovely with pleasant family and friends. He had an innate ability to use his magic for helping others or random arcane tricks. But the world started finding the plague and he joined with a group of healers to help out everywhere as much as he could. I made a post about this group of healers like a month ago.
Oh his name Levrun d'Marc

http://dnd5e.wikidot.com/aasimar
http://dnd5e.wikidot.com/sorcerer:divine-soul
http://dnd5e.wikidot.com/paladin:crown

This was fun to write. I like letting the characters tell the story for me. I just write what happens in my head.
For the footnote for (1) - I wasn't sure which Cantrip you were going to take - so I went with one. You could easily change it and say that was a situational thing, and you end up learning a new cantrip for your actual character creation. And the footnote for (2) - I don't know what level your character will be - but I used it as foreshadowing the Aasimar Scourge ability to emit light and the Divine Sorcerer ability to sprout angelic wings.
Hope you enjoyed it - would love to hear any comments you have (thoughts, good or bad) - as it helps keep the thread bumped and alive and lets me know how well I did at meeting your expectations.
Enjoy!
===========================

I knew I was different, even when I was young.

My mother, bless her heart, had always told me I’d been blessed by the angels. I just didn’t realize how close to the truth she had been. For all intents and purposes, I looked… normal, for lack of a better word. But there was something inside of me that made me feel different.

Though no one in my family was a practiced Mage of any kind, early on – I could feel it at my fingertips, some form of magical energy crackling inside of me, yearning to be awakened.

When I was sixteen – that yearning magic inside of me came out.

I’d been with my best friend, Allarias. We were both walking back to his house from the market when we saw grey smoke swirling into the air coming from the general direction of his home. We both quickened our pace and as we rounded the corner, we could see his home was on fire. His mother and father were outside crying – Allarias’ sister was nowhere to be seen. It was clear she was still trapped inside the burning home. Without even giving it a second thought, both Allarias and I dropped the groceries from the market and ran inside.

The smoke was everywhere – but it was the searing heat that made it difficult to get too far. Beams of wood had fallen and crackled with orange and red flame. We could hear Allarias’ sister crying just beyond the beams of burning wood. There was no way to get to her in the next room – the way the beams fell, with the fire… and so, I knew I had to just reach out and grab the beam, burn myself and yank it out of the way.

I expected to be burned – but that’s not what happened. The flame, in a five foot cube, simply extinguished itself, allowing us to get through. (1) We quickly grabbed Allarias’ sister, Mellana, and bolted out of the home, just as it crumbled behind us. The family embraced one another while I stared at my hands. How had I not gotten burned? Did I snuff the flames? Was it something done by the gods?

For several weeks, I relived that fire in my dreams; night after night. I couldn’t tell if I was supposed to be learning something from my dreams or if it’d simply been because it was subconsciously still on my mind – wondering how the fire had been extinguished.

The repeating of the dream-memory eventually ceased – but when I turned eighteen, it returned. But it was different.

Allarias and I had been approaching his home, just like we originally had been – but the fire on his home changed. It wasn’t orange and red flames consuming his house, it was a black mass – it looked like thousands of insects. And as we approached – these insects – or whatever it was – reacted to our approach. They rapidly surrounded us – and I watched Allarias die a horrible death of disease and plague – but, for myself – my eyes lit up, and a light burst from my eyes, mouth and finger tips as angelic wings suddenly sprouted from my back – driving the darkness back. (2)

As I looked around, in my dream – I could see the people, the land, the world itself was sick from some plague that swept over the world.

When I suddenly awakened from the nightmare – everything inside me changed.

I felt a calling not only in my heart – but at the very core of my soul – and what my mother had said – about being blessed by angels – I realized – was not as far from the truth as I might have believed. I could feel the urging of a god speaking to my soul and I would answer the call.

https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=959

Tiduszx;25451712 wrote:Hi Tawmis! I was trying to create a backstory for a Dwarven Paladin Oathbreaker ala Jamie Lannister from game of thrones to explain breaking his oath , but not as dramatic as killing a King! And I'm just having so much trouble and a hard time to get this one going.
Any help, ideas, would be appreciated. He would probably be leaning towards neutral to good.... And def some chaotic since he is breaking his oath after all.
Jaxd Bloodforge. He's witty, pragmatic, and sometimes cynical. A charming rake, often does questionable things, but usually in service to his family or some perceived greater good. He is a willing practitioner of intimidation, and violence – but never without cause. Somewhere inside him are knightly principles and inclinations that he’s long since suppressed in reaction to a cruel and arbitrary world. At least, that’s his view. Thank you!

All right - sorry about that! Life is unusually (well, for the last two years, perhaps I should change that to "usually") chaotic.
I wrote something - I didn't get too much into his personality.
But tried to write a solid way and reason as to he'd go from Standard Paladin down to an Oathbreaker.
Hope you enjoy - I'd love to hear any comments or feedback you have (good or bad) in this thread as it keeps it bumped and alive!
=============================================

The Bloodforge Clan has long served the Lighthammer Royal Family who has sat on the throne for generations. For as many generations as the Lighthammer family has sat on that throne, the Bloodforge Clan has brought a son or daughter into the world, who has heard the calling of our god and creator, with the message to always protect the throne – and the Lighthammer family.

For all these generations, the Bloodforge Clan has been tied to the Lighthammer royal family, like two hands clasped together, fingers interlocked and fitting perfectly.

Like those before me, I’d sworn my allegiance to the Lighthammer family, and most recently to the kind and just, Rarek Lighthammer, against all enemies, foreign and domestic. The most common enemy were the Stonespear Goblin clan – who often led raids against the gates of Thouridin, home of the Dwarves. Cutting down goblins in defense of Lighthammer, and the Kingdom of Thouridin was never a problem.

But that wasn’t Rarek Lighthammer’s sole enemy. As the king of Thouridin, the young king had many enemies – many would did not see a youthful king on the throne as what Thouridin needed – one such vocal family was the Skygem clan, primarily Orikar – who took every opportunity to try and discredit Rarek and his abilities.

It was such an enemy that would change my life forever. I was reporting to duty in the throne room, checking with Rarek, when I saw Tenianie, his younger sister, weeping at his feet.

“What’s going on?” I asked as I approached the throne.

Rarek’s face was grave, as if he’d aged many years in a single moment, looking haggard and helpless.

Seeing his expression, I asked again, more firmly, my hand to the hilt of my blade. “I beg you, king, what has happened?”

“It’s Orikar Skygem,” Rarek replied.

Tenianie turned to face me, her right eye was black and blue and she showed signs of being badly beaten. “He dare lay a hand on royalty!” I growled, now my hand firmly gripping the hilt of my blade.

“He did more than beat her,” Rarek whispered.

It took a moment for it to sink in – to understand what he meant.

“This can not go unpunished,” I growled.

“I agree,” Rarek stood up. “But what I am about to ask of you is not to bring him in to punish him by the law. I want the gods to punish him. Do you understand what I ask of you?”

I bowed my head. “I understand.”

“You also understand, you must flee, and make it seem as if this was your choice,” Rarek said.

“I do.”

I spun on my heel and walked over to the Iron Cauldron where I observe Orikar celebrating as if nothing were wrong. I considered stepping inside the Iron Cauldron, but the tavern was full of patrons. I did not want to make him any kind of martyr where witness would see what I’ve done. No. I wanted him to die alone. With only me there.

I carried on to his home and waited in the dark. I didn’t wait for long before he stumbled into the house. He fumbled for candle light, muttering how the king would be too cowardly to take action and that he could use it to further discredit Rarek.

Just as he light a candle, the light glistened off my blade. He stumbled backwards startled. “Jaxd, what are you doing in my home.”

“I am a servant of the Lighthammer clan,” I said as I stepped forward. He scrambled for a weapon. “The Light is the just – and shines on those who sin. The hammer is the justice that reigns down. You have been found guilty for the assault on Lady Tenianie, and the judgement is death.” I grabbed Orikar by the scruff of his shirt and pulled him onto my blade, so that he and I were touching noses – and I watched the life ebb from his eyes as he gasped for breath. I also felt the light in me die, and everything about me changed, as I knew it would.

I threw his body off my sword, and wiped a goblin blade I’d been carrying, wiping it in his blood and tossed it aside. I put a cowl on and quietly walked out of his home and the Thouridin empire.

For generations, my family has been the sword and shield to the Lighthammer Royal family.

May my son or daughter, who comes after me, forgive me.

https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=961

MisterD;25460098 wrote: Character's name is Sebastian Thorn. He is a male Human (Variant). Dresses well, open and friendly. He is a Fighter but does not look like a fighter or introduce himself as one. He is a traveling Gambler that hooks up with adventurers for fun and protection (Uses darts re-flavored as Playing cards and a Shield re-flavored as a heavy cloak like you see fencers use). He makes sure that person he is gambling with can afford to loose his coin without getting in trouble (wife sent him to shop/pay rest) or upset ("I want my money back") so willing to play for winner buys a round of drinks for the players.
He plays for the interaction and fun. Winning is just a bonus to him.
Thank you/

So I envisioned a very ... western like theme.
So first, I started with listening to the "Hell On Wheels" theme (incredible show) to get my brain thinking that way. Get some visuals in my head.
Then, once I had some ideas - I threw on "The Mandalorian" theme (from Season One) - and let my mind and hands tell the story.
This was the result.
Would love to hear your thoughts or feedback - good or bad.
===========================

As the sand blew through the hot, arid, air – my eyes could make out a sign hanging over the town’s entrance – and it seemed to be appropriately named - “Dunespring.”

As my horse, Starfall – named for her black hair, with white streaks that looked like falling stars captured on her body, forever frozen in time – trotted ever so gently through the sandy street, I noticed several people met my gaze, and quickly turned away, scuttling quickly away.

I slid off Starfall and tied her to the post outside a small establishment called The Horned Owl. “Wait here,” I said, rubbing the muzzle of her nose. Truth be told, I didn’t even have to tie Starfall up – but I did so, so no one thought she had broken loose and tried to capture her.

As I approached this establishment’s double doors, a man sat outside, on a chair that looked as if it’d been worn down by the harsh, arid winds and sand. “What’s wrong with you, old man?” I asked, just as I placed my hand on the door.

He shook his head. He seemed as if he didn’t want to talk, so I shrugged and began to enter when he suddenly said, “Ethenia sent me out to purchase some feed for our cattle… but we’re so low on money, I thought I could take it… maybe gamble some of it, and earn more… I was up for a few hands, and I was feeling lucky, so I went all in… and that’s when I lost it all.”

“So there are card players in here?” I asked my curiosity piqued. Truth of the matter, it was no coincidence that I came here to Dunespring. In the previous town I was in, I had been gambling with several people – because, well, if I had to say I had one love – I’d say it was Starfall – but gambling, gambling was definitely a very, very, very close second. Not that I’d ever confess that to Starfall. In that town – a small town, similar to this one called Everglade – they mentioned some great gamblers in Dunespring. So I came here to test my skill.

The man had said there was – a small group at the round table in the back. I thanked him for the knowledge and went inside, approached the bar that was being tended to a stout female dwarf with fiery red hair and a personality that the establishment could barely contain. I watched the table, and saw who looked to be the best of the best. I smiled, paid for my drink and approached the table.

“What’s the buy in?” I asked, as I pulled up a seat.

They exchanged glances, before the one who looked to be the leader of this motley crew, looked at me and said, “One hundred gold.”

I put five hundred down. “Does that cover it?”

They looked at the coin then up to me. “Aye, that will cover it.”

“Good,” I smiled. “I’d heard some great things about you guys, from some folks in Everglade.”

It took two hands to see – which is what I normally do – lose a few hands, look for some tells – but after two hands, the human – the leader of this bunch – with his black hair and green eyes. He wasn’t a skilled player. Not by any stretch of the imagination. What he was, however, was a skilled cheater. I saw him reach under the table, and very deftly pull another card, and swap it for one he’d been dealt. I took my set of cards from the hand, and with a quick flick of my wrist, threw my card so that it had barely nicked the human’s neck – drawing blood. He scooched his chair back, “What the Hades was that?”

I stood and kicked over the table, revealing the mechanical device he’d used to swap cards that he attached to the bottom of the table. As he held his bleeding neck, he growled something. I smiled and said, “That first card was a warning, trust me, you don’t want to fight me. How about we keep playing – and we play fair and square?” I had my other cards still in my hands and one of his men went for his dagger – but with a flick of my wrist, another card flew striking the man’s hand – and the card cut deep into his hand so that he was forced to drop the dagger.

“I wasn’t kidding. I have three more cards in my hand. I can kill all four of you with just these three cards, if you want to keep testing me because I always have an ace up my sleeve. Or,” I said, “we put these cards back – deal a fresh hand, and start this game clean. You can even keep all the money you had at the start of the new game.”

The human leader nodded his head, and the table was flipped back over and the card shuffler beneath the table removed. We played another sixty two hands – and by then, I’d wiped all four of them clean of their money.

I didn’t cheat to win. I never have to. As I said, I love to gamble. It’s never been about winning.

As I collected the gold and walked out, the old man had still been there – afraid to return home to his wife, Ethenia. I placed the pouch containing all of my winnings in his old, wrinkled, and blistered hands, keeping none of it to myself and said, “Never gamble what you can’t afford, old man. Now go on, get what you need, go home – and take care of your wife, your kids, your farm.”

I untied Starfall and slid onto the saddle. The four humans came out of the Horned Owl and watched me as I tipped my hat to them and smiled, “Thanks for everything.” And I threw one final card that stuck into the door between them.

It was the Ace of Spades.

I wrote this one for someone over on the D&D Beyond forums.
https://www.dndbeyond.com/forums/d-d-be ... ?comment=6

Rampagingdruid wrote: Hello I rolled a wood elf druid with the outlander background and her traits are she once ran 25 miles without stopping to warn her clan of an approaching orc horde, and she'd do it again if she had to. And her bond is she will bring terrible wrath down on the evildoers who destroyed her homeland. And I made her flaw she is slow to trust members of other races, tribes, and societies. But I don't know how to make her backstory based on this.
JName: Gilwynn Rainshower

A cool breeze came down from the nearby mountains of Frostmourn and crept through the Haverin Woods this morning, but Gilwynn Rainshower welcomed the chilling breeze as it wrapped around her body like a spiritual lover. The cold had always made her feel alive – everything was brisk and sharp, her breath came with a gentle mist, like the stories of the dragons of ice she’d heard about in the numerous legends told by her clan. One story in particular of an Ancient White Dragon named Kasilla, who was once so large – that the goddess of all wood elves, descended from the heavens to stop the threat that Kasilla posed. Naturally the goddess won and when Kasilla fell, she impacted so hard she was incased in stone – creating the Frostmourn Mountains, and that’s where the constant cold from the mountains comes from – at least, according to legend.

Gilwynn Rainshower loved that story – and all of those legends she’d heard so much about. There was something about them – that moved her inside. She longed for herself to have such grand adventures, despite the repeated protests of her parents and clan members warning her that the world beyond the woods was violent and dangerous; they’d warned her how the humans spread like vermin all across the land, with little regard for anything; the dwarves were selfish and thought of nothing but war, hidden from nature, making their weapons and armor. There were creatures such as ogres and goblins; but none more hated that the Orcs of the land. The orcs, the stories said were once human, twisted by their selfish greed to become the monsters they became – hating everything, craving it all for themselves, at the cost of destruction if need be – if they couldn’t have it, no one could.

On this brisk morning, Gilwynn Rainshower – the “Dreamer” as the clan often called her, with her head in the clouds – had wandered quite far from the clan, lost in her thoughts and dreams, thinking of all these legends and stories, wondering which ones were true and which were fabrications of the truth, when she realized she’d come to the edge of the Haverin Woods. She was now, gazing at Frostmourn Mountains – and her body suddenly did not welcome the chilling breeze. Something suddenly felt very wrong – and that’s when she’d heard it. The howl descending from the mountains she’d been hearing had covered something else – another sound – rhythmic drumming. She turned around to face back where her home was – and twisting and churning into the air was a tornado of ash and smoke – and her heart sank.

She sprinted back as quickly as she could – her body had begged her to stop and breath – her lungs were ablaze like the fires she had just seen. Her eyes streaked with tears.

By the time she’d arrived, it was already too late. Bodies were strewn about everywhere – mostly people from her clan – but the others, she recognized them. She’d seen them when she had been on scouting missions with the others – they were orcs.

She screamed for family – friends – but the only call that was returned to her was the sound of crackling wood as it continued to burn.

She’d spent the next six nights, recovering what bodies she could. She cared very little for the idea that the orcs might return. Each day she got up – rummaged through the charred ruins of her clan’s home and brought the next body to the Great Tree, where she dug another grave next to the tree’s massive roots, so that they souls could venture back into the giant tree – and find life again.

On the seventh day, when she found all she could find – she gathered what little supplies had survived the orc’s attack and began walking west. She could not survive here alone for long – she needed to find something – someone… but who could she trust?

All that fear, pumping in her veins, from the countless stories her clan had told her before…

Could she trust anyone? Would she find allies? Could she trust someone – long enough – to help her get revenge against the orcs?

Is that what he clan would want? To seek revenge? Become so blood driven?

Did it matter what they wanted? Perhaps it was time to find out what she wanted…

https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=964

sonicthegoody wrote: Roscoe Tosscobble
Ghostwise Halfling
Druid, Male, Lawful Good, Faithless
Traits:
I refuse to become a victim, and I will not allow others to be victimized.
Ideals:
I refuse to become a victim, and I will not allow others to be victimized.
Bonds:
I would sacrifice my life and my soul to protect the innocent.
Flaws:
I talk to spirits that no one else can see.
Thank you

The Roscoe name made me think of Dukes of Hazzard, so there's quite a bit of humor...
I focused mostly on the faithless portion, because I thought that'd be a fun aspect...
The spirit ties in near the end, hopefully the name I've given is a reference (spelling is different) that you get...
Would love to hear feedback in this thread if you liked it, hated it, whatever - it helps keep the thread bumped and alive!
As always, enjoy!
=============================

“This has got to be the worse idea you’ve ever dragged me into, Roscoe!” His name is Barackus – he, like me, is a Ghostwise Halfling – I tend to simply call him “Ruckus” because all he really seems to do is complain. At the moment, we’re both running for our lives – and admittedly, maybe this time he was right – maybe this was a bad idea.

I’d heard about this cult – The Cult of Amron Sha – believers of some ancient demon who attained “godhood” who were doing some worship not far from the hills we call home. I thought that I could go over there – explain to them that “dedicating their lives to a spiritual being” was a waste of time – and that the gods, they’re really nothing more than perhaps giants in the heavens with inflated egos.

They did not appreciate my feedback about this Amron Sha, and actually took great offense to my words of wisdom and warning. Barackus and I had managed to get a good lead on the cult members – mostly human (why are humans so gullible?) and were now hiding up in the trees. I could see Barackus about twenty feet away in a different tree and reached out telepathically to say, “Everything’s going to be just fine. They won’t even think to look in the trees. They’ll search for a little while and they will depart. If this mighty Amron Sha was so great he would ‘grant them vision’ to be smart enough to look up.” I chuckled to myself, as if on que, one of the cult members was just below, near my tree. I snickered to myself, and covered my mouth with my hands – but that quickly changed, when suddenly – I heard a loud “Crack!” – and the branch I had so proudly perched myself on – gave way and I tumbled thirty feet to the ground and managed to get the wind knocked out of my lungs.

I assure you, it’s a rather horrible sensation. In a valiant attempt Barackus leapt out of the tree he was in, dagger in hand – but fell about three feet short – and got the wind knocked out of him as well. We were both dragged back to the cult who claimed that Amron Sha had delivered us to them to be the next great sacrifice. (From my own studies, that didn’t tend to go well for souls who were sacrificed – not that I believe in any form of purgatory – but rather, self-preservation was the bigger picture here). I wasn’t sure if it was because I was still recovering from the wind being pounded out of my lungs or if I was going crazy – but standing among the cultists was a translucent blueish looking man who said, “Tell them that Amon Sha demands a larger sacrifice – that the small people are not a worthy challenge – a bear, not far from here – has made a den. Just north. That would be a worthy challenge.”

I’m clearly going crazy. These cultists have spiked something in me to make me hallucinate. The leader began to chant, “Amron Sha, drinker of souls, renderer of the heavens, greatest of all the beasts – we give you these two sacrifices!”

“I’d do it pretty quick, these guys don’t have a long ritual,” the translucent man said.

“Wait!” I shouted. “Do you think Amon Sha would be pleased with sacrificing myself and my friend? No! I’ve heard great and powerful things about Amron Sha – he would want something bigger. You, yes – you who are the leader – to skin a bear and wear it on your head as a trophy of your power – and Amron Sha’s protection! To the north, a bear has made a den – a large bear, larger than any that I’ve seen!”

“The small one speaks true,” one of the cultists nodded.

“Should we kill these two just for fun?” another asked.

“Tell them they should not because you are gifted with the knowledge of Amron Sha’s powers. You can spread the word,” the translucent man explained.

“Would you kill a messenger of Amron Sha?” I shouted. “I who know his powers, and came here to deliver this new message? I have seen the error of my ways,” I lied.

“We shall let them go and hunt this bear to the north! Go, small messenger of Amron Sha and spread the word of his terror!” the leader cut us loose.

As we left, I noticed the translucent man followed. “Can you see him?” I asked.

“Him?” Barackus looked around. “Him who?”

“The ghostly figure following us,” I replied.

Barackus spun around prepared to fight but saw nothing. “Why do you always kid around like that?”

“My name is Obbe,” the human, ghostly figured replied. “Only you can see or hear me.”

“Great,” I muttered. “Just great.”

https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=966

Mad Puppy wrote:Django Romani, Human Feytouched, Archfey Warlock (Zebilna) Male
Witchlight carnival hand
Personality Traits

• Like a nomad, I can’t settle down in one place for very long.
• Wanderlust. I prefer to take the less traveled path. (Chaotic)

Bonds

• I find magic in all its forms to be compelling. The more magical a place, the more I am drawn to it.
• I’m drawn to the Feywild and long to return there, if only for a short while.
• My freedom is my most precious possession. I’ll never let anyone take it from me again.

Flaws

• I have many vices and tend to indulge them.
• I never give away anything for free and always expect something in return.

This is for a tWbtW campaign, Basically I envision a Human who was a slave in the feywild brought there by someone from Feywild. He was rescued by his now friend an young Eladrin Elf by the name of Link....Who really was looking to save his Love from the slaver, Django was a lucky "extra". Would like for the Slaver to be an enemy who might pop up during the campaign as an antagonist, perhaps looking for his property? I wonder if a Djinni slaver is a interesting idea? not married to that thought. Link is also working in the Witchlight Carnival with Django for the past 5 years. I see a Kind of Gypsey type of character who values his freedom most. I'm struggling to write a good opening scene and explanation. Just know he is feytouched from the years as a slave in the feywild.
Thanks in advance

With the whole thing about being Fey Touched and human – made me think of another back story I had written in this thread (the story of Alek - https://forums.giantitp.com/showthread. ... st24446899 and thought it would be a fun way to make it feel that this entire universe was all connected – so that’s the reference in the first paragraph you see and allows me to lay down some foreshadowing).

This turned out to be a pretty dark story (but really, when is child abduction by hags not a dark story).
Hopefully the reference to Link's girlfriend is an obvious one (a little role reversal).
I made the Sea Hag (though technically the weakest of the hags) the most terrifying and most evil in this story.
Focusing in on her as your character's enemy.
So your DM, if they wanted (and with the theme of WbtW) could easily inject her as a villain.
I'd recommend, depending on the level, upping some of her powers and stats (to make her more powerful if she's encountered later in the game).
And for your mother's name (Nadia), it means "Hope" - because she had so much hope, and once it was taken from her, it destroyed her (you will see in the story).
The locket (the item to recover) is what protected the character until he put it in his pocket (which is why the hag could suddenly smell the fear, if that's not clear).
Hope you enjoy and I'd love to hear feedback in this thread as it keeps it bumped, alive, and going.
Enjoy!
=========================================


Nadia Romani gripped her son’s hand tightly as they passed a weeping mother putting up a “Missing” poster for her own son, Alek, who had gone missing three nights ago. “This is why,” she gave a stern tug, pulling Django along, “you listen to your mother! Do not take off the locket I’ve given you! It protects us from the eyes of the sisters in shadows.”

Django wasn’t sure why his mother was so upset, but his hand went listlessly to the locket he wore around his neck that his mother gave him longer than he could remember. He had not seen the sign that the woman had been posting, he’d only heard her weeping. Alek’s home was only a farm or two down from the home that Nadia called home – and Alek’s disappearance shook her to the core. His disappearance hadn’t been the first and most likely would not be the last. She stared down at her son, fearful that whatever it was that had been taking the children might one day find a way to pry her son’s hands from her own and steal him away.

Django was only five years old at the time. He and his mother finished their business of doing trades for various needed things and quickly made their way back home as the sun began to settle and the ever creeping darkness crawled eerily across the sky. Django’s parents were stern – his mother, more so than his father, and the disappearance of Alek had only intensified as a result.

Django finished dinner and asked to be excused to his room. His mother had not wanted to excuse him – she’d even gone as far as making him sleep in the room with her and his father, just so she could keep an eye on him – but his father came to his defense and explained that she’d been smothering the boy – and Django used their bickering to escape from the table and go to his room.

Though they had a small farm, his father’s primary skill was wood work and he’d been teaching Django the fine art of wood working. Django had managed to carve a number of things, some of which his parents were even able to use as trade for food and other supplies. Everyone had been impressed with Django’s skill at such a young age. He drew his carving blade and began to whittle away at a small piece of wood which he’d hoped to turn into a wolf. As he leaned over to whittle the finer details of the wolf’s ears, the locket swayed back and forth in front of him.

Kavi’lana stepped just beyond the edge of the forest; her purple eyes scanned the landscape in front of her – and all too familiar town. Her white hair, devoid of any color blew gently in the cold wind. Her large nose tilted upward and she took in a deep breath. She could smell fear drifting gently on the wind.

Inside, Django removed the locket and placed it inside of his pocket to prevent it from getting in the way.

At the same time, outside at the edge of town, Kavi’lana could suddenly smell it - Fear. It was so intense it was almost overwhelming. She smiled and began to slowly making her way through the shadows. She arrived at the home of Nadia Romani and moved through their farm – her stern glance silencing the family dog outside who was suddenly struck with a fear so intense – it was paralyzed in its tracks. Kavi’lana followed the scent and peered through the kitchen window, her purple eyes settling on the woman who was shouting at the man. Her concern was for their child.

A child?

Kavi’lana slowly lowered herself and continued along the outside of the farm, stepping ever so lightly as to make no sounds – until she came to another room that had been lit by a flickering lantern. She peered inside and saw a young boy whittling away at a piece of wood. Her long, disgusting nail tapped on the window which briefly startled Django. He looked at the window and saw an elderly woman peering inside. “Yes,” he said, setting down the small wooden carving.

“My boy,” the old woman whispered. “I seem to have lost my cat. I am not sure where he has gone. I last saw him running this way and your dog barked at him and frightened him. I think he ran into your shed, but I am frightened. Do you think you could help me find my cat? I can’t bare the thought of him being out here alone and frightened.”

“Let me get my father,” Django began to say.

But the old woman shook her head. “No, please. I’ve dealt with your father before. He is kind, but he has never cared for my cat. I fear he would say that the cat would be fine, but truly hope that one of the coyotes or wolves gets a hold of him.”

“I can, but I have no way to get outside,” Django shrugged, feeling that was the safe answer. “My mother would never let me out of her sight. I am surprised she’s not already in my room watching me whittle the wooden wolf I am making for my friend. If she wasn’t arguing with my father, that is.”

The old woman pressed against the very window she’d been talking to him through, and it swung open. Django was shocked – the window never opened before like that – his mother had seen to it. “Come,” the old woman extended her hand. “I will help you outside. It should only be a moment. Just to check the shed.”

Fifteen minutes later, Nadia Romani entered her son’s room, saw the open window and let out a scream that bled her throat.

The moment Django had touched the old woman’s hand – he had seen her for what she really was. Her illusion vanished, and her horrid green skin appearance became obvious as she delighted in forcibly pulling him from the window and quickly escaping. But she did not run anywhere; instead she wove her hand in some wild fashion, whispered some spidery language and they vanished into what Django would learn was the “Feywild.”

It was there, that Django became a servant to a Coven of Hags. The leader was a green hag – the one who had abducted him. Her true name was Kavi’lana – and she wore tattered leathers that looked as if they’d never been washed and the skulls of small animals such as squirrels and rabbits lined the twisted braids in her hair.

A second hag – one with deep, purple skin and small horns on her forehead, like a demon with sickly green eyes was named Va’lana – and she was a night hag and spent her time tormenting Django night after night for the sheer pleasure of injecting horrible nightmares for him to live through repeatedly. Her robes were decorated with larger skulls – humanoid skulls. Presumably the victims whom she tormented so much that they took their own lives rather than live through another nightmare.

The third was a sickly looking hag – she was far skinnier, her nails nearly a foot long, and dead black. She only wore a dressed composed of decaying seaweed and no top, her sagging breasts pale blue and the color of a corpse. She would laugh and ask Django if he wanted to drink from “mother’s breast.” She was the one who, despite from what he heard of the other two, was the weakest – but she, she was the one who frightened him the most and her name was Nela’lana and she was a Sea Hag. It was she who also discovered the locket that Django had put in his pocket and yanked it away – placing it around her own neck, so each time Django looked at it, her saw her disfigured topless body, and she would smile and once again, ask if he wanted to drink from “mother’s milk.”

Django was both relieved and sad to see he was not alone. There were several children imprisoned by these hags – ranging anywhere from his age to young teenagers. Most of them were for manual labor to be done around the hag’s coven; some where there for the hags to simply torment; some were there to fetch and mix ingredients; and some, tragically were meant to be food for the hags to devour. Django found protection in one of the elves by the name of Zeldana. Whenever the hags had come for Django, she stepped between them and bravely stood her ground.

One of the sleepless nights, she lay near Django and explained that she had a boyfriend, on “the other side” who knew what happened for her and that one day he would come for her. That day came, but it took ten years for her boyfriend named Link – who had finally managed to track down the Coven’s home and waited until all three hags had departed. Link then rushed in and grabbed Zeldana – who then grabbed Django. Several of the other children who were present also followed and escaped through a portal that Link had paid a wizard by the name of Mordak to open between the realm and the feywild.

Finally free, Link, Zeldana and Django traveled together and made their way towards his home which was months travel away. By the time they’d gotten there, he learned that his parents had left a year after his disappearance, unable to live with the memory. No one knows where they departed to, and it was in that moment, Django realized that Nela’lana still had the locket his mother had given him. With nowhere to go, Django traveled with Zeldana and Link, who then eventually found a traveling circus known as The Witchlight and became members.

Years as a slave to the Coven of hags had changed him. He yearned to return to the Feywild and find Nela’lana and recover his locket. The traveling circus provided a means to constantly be on the move, so that the hags could not find him until he was ready for them; and deep down he hoped the circus might stop in a town where he might rediscover his parents. He knew if he had any hope of defeating the Coven, he would need magic so he turned to that – as a quick means of releasing the potential. One of the tomes that the Coven has was a book on demonology by Zybilna – an archfey – and so he turned to her for power. When she asked for his reason – he explained what had happened – and how he had no time to follow the path that Marduk had recommended – becoming a wizard. He needed power faster and he could not, on his own, afford what it would cost to become a true wizard. Zybilna was amused by Django’s story and thus entered a pact with him.