SHP Forums

http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsing ... tcount=187

___1st____
Name: Venali Zyldan (He doesn't know if his last name is really his, it is just what his mentor has given him, more on that later)
Race: Half-Elf (subrace is flexible)
Background: Urchin
Class: Paladin/Hexblade (eventual conquest)
Personality: Once someone is a friend, they are my friend for life. Not everyone deserves a second chance. Help those in need, and prevent oppression by conquering those who do others harm.
Ideals: The weak and innocent should always be protected. Only those who are strong can guard against the darkness.
Bonds: My parents left me for reasons I don't know, but if they didn't I would never have been raised to be who I am with out my mentor, I owe him my life.
Synopsis:. He grew up on the streets of a large city, and had the potential to become a Hexblade warlock once he grew up. Instead his mentor (a noble paladin) found him and begain raising him and started to take him adventuring. Their first adventure both paladins face conflict and Venali's Hexblade potential manifested. Venali leaves on his own to continue to adventure and find his parentage.

First one done (I plan to do the second one too!) Have some things to do tonight, so it might not be till Sunday... Unless the bards pull me back.
It's always interesting writing a Hexblade... as I said in someone else's background... I've never DM'ed for anyone playing a Hexblade... nor have I ever played one myself.
So I always fear I might be getting something wrong because I am not familiar with the class enough to be feel like I always get it right...
That said, I managed to write something - and had some fun with the supporting cast... and, doing one of those things where I make a reference to someone else's backstory I'd written here (the Order that the Paladin is from; as well as the bit about dogs...)
As always, please tell me if I was close to the mark... what you liked or didn't ... what fit and what didn't...
With Hexblades... I always worry!
That said - enjoy!
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I slumped against the wall, extending my arm, with my copper cup, hoping someone would offer me coin and take pity on me.

Instead a wagon rolled by, the wooden wheel hitting the puddle of mud just right so that it splashed over my hand, chest and cup. I wiped some of the specks of mud that had managed to land on my face as well and peered into the dented copper cup. It had captured a fair amount of the mud.

Such was the story of my life.

When I was five years old, my parents abandoned me here in the Southern Ward of Waterdeep. I was so young, I don’t even remember my last name – it wasn’t important, really, because in some cultures a last name means something. In the Southern Ward of Waterdeep, where the poor lived, you were lucky if someone remembered your first name, unless it was to accuse you of stealing.

A metal boot came to stand before me and I looked up and saw a man, adorned in full platemail, looking down at me. The man – a Paladin by the looks of the crest on his breastplate and shield – brought the wagon he’d been escorting (the same one that splashed mud on me) to a halt.

“Listen, I will move,” I sighed, having gotten used to Paladins and city guards patrolling the streets and “making the vermin of Southern Ward go into hiding.” I pushed against the wall and stood, placing my copper cup into my belt pouch. I pulled my hair back and tied it in a knot.

“A Half-Elf,” the Paladin commented, seeing my ears, but noting my facial hair.

The top of my hand always itched when I was nervous and this was no exception. I began itching my hand as I looked at the Paladin. I rolled my eyes, “Is there a problem with that?”

The Paladin smirked. “What’s your name, boy?”

“Venali,” I answered. “Is there a reason you’re asking me this?”

Ignoring my question, the Paladin with long, golden hair and a beard streaked with grey asked, “What’s your surname Venali?”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged.

“Are you being smart with me?” the Paladin asked, raising a golden eyebrow.

“No,” I answered truthfully. “I’ve lived on the streets for thirteen years. I was abandoned by my parents at the age of five. I barely remember their faces; let alone what my surname was.”

“I believe the gods have put me in your path for a reason, Venali Zyldan,” he said, sizing me up and down.

“Zyldan?” I asked, unsure what that had meant.

“It means ‘the night without moon’,” the Paladin explained. “It’s a surname we use for those like you, who have been abandoned and do not know their true last name. My name is Jore Stormslight. And I am with the Order known as the Shield of Faith. I sense something in you. Something that needs saving.” He extended his hand to me. “Are you willing to take a chance on me, if I am willing to take a chance on you?”

I nodded my head, and took his hand. I wasn’t sure what I was in for, to be honest. But if it got me off the streets and feed for one day, I would take that chance.

He helped me onto the back of the wagon, where I saw they were escorting a shipment of weapons. The wagon pulled through the Southern Ward of Waterdeep and made its way to the Castle Ward of Waterdeep. The difference had been night and day. Here the streets were clean, people were jovial, markets lined the streets with vendors selling everything you could possibly imagine.

Jore Stormslight took me into his home, introduced me to his wife, who was a very kind woman. She immediately treated me as if I were her son. She cleared a room for me, fed me, and gave me clothes to fit me that were clean.

Jore began teaching me how to fight, how to use a sword, how to use a shield, the benefits of armor. First it was leather armor, then chainmail, and then came the platemail. He helped shape my body into muscle, once I was fed properly rather than rotting away as I had been deprived of food and water.

“Remember,” he would say, with thrusts of his sword, that I was forced to parry wearing platemail, that weighed more than I did. “Not everyone deserves a second chance,” he said. “There will be those that may betray you. But do not keep your heart so guarded that you let none inside. A true friend will be a friend for life. Someone you can count on to be next to you, in that last fight, you know you will both perish in.”

During another lesson where I was forced to learn to use a sword, while he parried my (admittedly feeble) lunges, he had instilled in me, “No matter what, help those that are in need. Help prevent anyone from being oppressed by challenging those that would harm others. There are those – much like yourself when I first met you – that are weak and innocent and need in protection. Only those who are strong, forged into weapons, can guard against the approaching darkness.”

For weeks he taught me how to fight. He built up my tolerance and constitution so that wearing platemail was still awkward to move in; I was no longer winded after taking ten steps.

“I think you’re ready to join the Order,” he smiled after months of this.

“You want me to become a Paladin?” I asked, shocked. I had thought this was all to simply teach me how to defend myself, and once I was ready he would put me back out on the streets, better prepared to live out there.

“I think the light of the god needs to fill your soul,” Jore Stormslight smiled. “Once it does, you will be one of the Shield of Faith. Who knows,” he smiled, “you might even get assigned a canine.”

“I thought the canines were only assigned to high ranking commanders,” I asked, having read up on the Order, after Jore’s wife, Bellanna Stormstrike spent all my free time, learning how to read and write. She was surprised how quickly I had picked it up. She often said it was “magic.”

“That was the way long ago,” Jore smiled, as he stroked his beard. “These days it’s the canines that select us.”

“Is it true that they’re enchanted,” I asked, curiously.

“If you believe the stories,” Jore smiled broadly.

“Do you?” I shrugged my shoulders.

“If you need to ask, then you’ve not been paying attention,” he chuckled. “Yes,” he finally said, as I stared at him blankly. “I do believe.”

We prepared our saddles and Jore kissed his wife goodbye, and I hugged Bellanna. Tears brimmed in my eyes, saying farewell to her. I’d never truly had a family – not one I remembered anyway. But Jore and Bellanna showed me nothing but the purest sense of love and family. The feeling I felt in my heart, missing her before I had even left was a sensation I’d never experienced.

The ride to the Cliffs of Judgement was one that would be a two week journey, with several stops in cities and towns along the way. It was the fifth night, as we were riding past a small forest called ‘The Shadow Wood’ where we had been ambushed by Orcs; the Red Eye Orcs; the ancient enemies of the Shield of Faith. Jore was off of his horse and fighting without a moment’s hesitation, but it’s true what they say. You can practice for weeks, but when the time comes to fight, my entire body froze. As I watched Jore fight more orcs than he could possibly win against, the top of my hand began to burn. I itched it so furiously that I drew blood and that’s when I noticed a small green pulsating crystal embedded in the top of my hand.

“I can help you,” a voice whispered inside my mind. “Accept my help and I can save you and your precious friend.”

“Yes!” I shouted.

Suddenly energy, black and vicious, swirling with purple, encased my body and flew from my hands, emitting a dark and powerful blast that struck the Red Eye Orcs, sending them reeling back. The surprise had been enough for Jore to regain his footing and slay several of them, forcing the six others to flee.

Jore wiped the blood from his eyes. “What was that?” he asked.

I looked at my hands. “I,” I stammered, “I don’t know.” I looked at Jore frightened, and I could see concern in his eyes. Is that what he had sensed in me? Is that why he said the god’s light needed to fill my soul? Had he sensed this unusual darkness in me? Is this why my family abandoned me at a young age? The itching of my hand made sense now. This thing was lurking, waiting, and whenever I was in danger it itched, as if wanting to be set free to help me. But what was it? Was it evil? Good?

I began to break down and cry as I collapsed to my knees. “I need to find out what… who I am…” I said to Jore.

He set a grim look on his face, and placed his hand on my shoulder. “I understand. Remember what I taught you. Let the Light be your guide. Come back when you’re ready. You are always welcome back home.”

Home.

I had one. And now I was going to leave it behind, abandon it, like my parents had abandoned me, and in a weird twist of fate, so that I could find the ones who abandoned me originally…

http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsing ... tcount=191

AH0098;24041264 wrote: _____2nd______
Name: Tolfan Folkor
Race: Forest Gnome
Class: Wizard- Illusionist
Background: Courtier
Personality Nothing can shake my optimistic attitude. I would rather make a new friend than a new enemy. I don't pay attention to the risks in a situation. Never tell me the odds.
Ideals: Independence. I am a free spirit--no one tells me what to do. Community. We have to take care of each other, because no one else is going to do it.
Bonds: I am driven for adventure and will seek it out at all costs. Life is too short to worry about long term plans. It should be filled with as much activity as possible.
Synopsis:. Spent some time wandering, was even in the Feywild for a bit. He had to leave there because he offended some fae. He may or may not be hunted, but he will do anything to never go back into the Feywild.

Second one complete! This was kind of fun. Never DM'ed anyone through the Feywild (or had a character go through it!)
So I imagined a world, where everything is far more intense - from the colors of the world, to the people and the way they reacted.
I think I found a fun way that would have introduced Tolfan to the Feywild, and how he'd have such knowledge...
And the Satyr queen was based on this image that I found, while trying to find a way to think how a female Satyr might look.
As always, please let me know what you like or didn't like - what works, what didn't!
I welcome all feedback!
Enjoy!
=====================================


In many regards, Tolfan Folkor was like every other Forest Gnome, being inherently capable of tampering with magic by creating minor illusions. He took great pleasure in using illusions to frighten the Red Eye Orcs who frequently ventured into the Forest of Lethyr, even though the forest was also vigorously protected by Druids, Rangers, and even Treants.

Tolfan had developed a strong friendship with one of those Treants named Stonebark. Stonebark was several thousand years old and moved slowly. He had told Tolfan one of his favorite things to do was gather other Treants and constantly shift their movement, ever slowly, so that those who were not welcomed were confused by the ever moving terrain, believing the forest to be haunted.

“So you’re over a thousand cycles old,” Tolfan remarked in awe, sitting on one of Stonebark’s branches as the Treant slowly made his way through the woods. “You must have seen so many things in your lifetime.”

“Indeed,” Stonebark’s voice sounded like an old tree creaking in the wind. “I remember the Fey.”

“The Fey,” Tolfan remarked, amazed. The Fey, though some still existed throughout the world, there had been a time that the Fey ran wild throughout the world, before one day, retreating back to their realm when they found this one to be too hostile. “What was that like?” Tolfan asked.

“Chaos,” Stonebark’s wooden features slowly shaped into a smile, as he recalled the pixies, the sprites, the satyrs, and other magical creatures that had run wild through the Forest of Lethyr. “I welcomed their assistance against troublesome invaders, but their magic often created more chaos… they’re fickle and volatile.”

Several Pixies and Sprites still populated the Forest of Lethyr, but they were contained into tiny pockets of areas in the woods. Tolfan remembered the first time he encountered pixies and had managed to befriend them. They were opposed to any form of violence. Tolfan made one mistake later, and quickly learned the difference between pixies, and their fey cousins, the sprites, who were willing to commit acts of violence, if they felt threatened. Having heard, what he thought was pixies, Tolfan sprang into their area, only to be attacked by a flutter of sprites.

“What is their realm like?” Tolfan asked the ancient Treant.

“The Feywild,” Stonebark replied, “is a place of sheer chaos. As volatile as those that inhabit it, it is an echo of this world, with the land itself drenched in magic. I believe because that magic is constantly flowing in the Feywild, it creates an intoxicating effect, like when humans consume more alcohol than their body is capable of withstanding, they become intoxicated. And those intoxicated humans often become emotional, either crying for no reason, or seeking to fight someone for the smallest slight they feel has been committed against them. Now,” Stonebark smiled, “imagine those intoxicated humans were all magic casters. That, my friend, is the Feywild.”

Tolfan had taken an interest in learning to do more with his illusions and the idea of an entire land drenched in magic seemed like the ideal place to go and learn how to channel it. The Fey excelled at using illusions to toy with anyone they pleased. Perhaps one of them could teach him how to master the art of becoming an illusionist even better than his current teacher, a fellow Forest Gnome named Gorbin Doodlecast.

“How does one get to and from the Feywild?” I asked.

“There are portals in most forests,” Stonebark replied, “so that the Fey can come back and forth. Often times, the Fey who stay in this world, return to the Fey for brief stints. I don’t know if it’s to recharge their magic or perhaps just to return home and see their family… before getting sick of dealing with the madness and returning back here.”

“Is there a portal in these woods?” I asked. “I imagine there must be as I know there are pixies, sprites and even a small band of satyr that live in these woods. And with the Druids and Rangers, along with your kind, protecting it, it seems like there would be.”

“Indeed there is,” Stonebark smiled. “But I cannot tell you where it is.”

“Cannot or will not?” Tolfan asked with a coy smile.

“Both,” Stonebark said matter-of-factly.

Tolfan nodded. “I understand, my old friend.”

But Tolfan suspected he knew where the entrance was. There was a tree, much larger than any of the others in the Forest of Lethyr directly in the center of the woods. It’s where the Druids always gathered for their meetings. Tolfan suspected the tree was so large because it was a magical doorway between this world and the Feywild.

For two weeks, Tolfan packed a dinner and sat, hiding in the bushes, using his own ability to shape a minor illusion to make it appear he was one with the bushes. He patiently waited. He “attended” two of the Druid meetings by waiting and hiding, as they spoke of the rising threat of the Red Eye Orcs and possibly forming an alliance with a group of Paladins known as the Shield of Faith. Then it finally happened, several hours before sunrise, a flutter of pixies approached the tree and whispered some words of magic, and the very roots of the tree lifted up, and formed a portal inside of it. The pixies entered, and almost immediately the portal began to close behind them. Tolfan burst into a sprint and wasn’t entirely sure he was going to make it (and had to admit the idea began to cross his mind – what if only half of his body made it when the portal closed?)

With one giant leap, he pushed his way just as the portal closed on his bag of food. When he landed with a gentle thud, he looked at his hand and saw that the straps of his food bag had been severed. So, somewhere on the other side, there was a bag of food sitting next to the large tree and here he was in the Feywild, without food. Not ideal, but life was too short not to be full of adventure. This was just one more adventure that he would, ideally, somehow survive.

Stonebark was right, however. It was like a thousand needles piercing his feet, as he felt the magic rush through his body. For a moment he thought he might have bitten into a “Pixie Mushroom” because everything in the Feywild was overly vibrant in colors. Purples were so deep, with a thousand different hues swirling all at one time, the blues varied from soft to deep, dark, ocean blues. It was almost painful to see anything.

And that’s why Tolfan never saw the centaurs, with the net, who were riding up on him.

“A Forest Gnome!” he heard, just before he was ensnared with a net. The next sensation was a prick in his neck. He saw a Sprite fluttering away and knew immediately, he’d been hit with one of their arrows that tended to put… people… to… sleep…


Tolfan opened his eyes and saw he was sitting before a beautiful Satyr woman. “What business do you have in the Feywild, Forest Gnome?” she asked.

Tolfan tried to focus but the sleep effect was still beating through his blood, making it increasingly difficult to focus, despite his best efforts. She was a Satyr with hair, so red and vibrant, with a million shades of amber, burgundy, cerise, cinnamon, claret, copper, and crimson, on each strand of hair. She had a very womanly shape for her upper torso, and rather ample breasts that were barely covered and restrained by veins and leaves. Small deer-like antlers sprung from the top of her head. Her bottom torso was covered in a dress woven together by leaves, and her hooved legs were covered, down to the ankles. She was beautiful.

“I want to learn how to better master illusions to help defend the Forest of Lethyr, where I live,” he answered, though he felt his words were slurring together. “You’re beautiful,” he found himself blurting out, though he wasn’t sure why he was confessing that.

The other Fey who had gathered, let out a gasp. Tolfan looked around him and realized for the first time that there were actually others in the room. He had been so focused on her.

Eliysa Deerrunner silenced the room with one gesture. “Begone, leave us!”

Tolfan got up to leave. “Not you!” she snapped. “The others.”

Quickly, the other Fey left the chamber.

Eliysa Deerrunner approached Tolfan. “Do you truly find me beautiful, mortal?”

“I do,” he admitted. Damn that sprite poison. It was made not only to render someone unconscious, but also force them to speak the truth.

“Then I have a proposition for you,” she said, leaning very close to Tolfan’s face. “I will teach more about how to master the art of illusions, but you will be a slave for my pleasure.”

This seemed like a wonderful bargain. Learn magic and be at the “mercy” of a beautiful Fae queen’s sexual urges! “I agree!” he slurred.

While the first few days were wonderful, it became clear to Tolfan, especially after the poison had begun to wear off, what he had gotten himself into. Her thirst was insatiable. She did not regard him as a person, but rather a possession, a toy. If he could not perform, because they had just performed a short moment ago, she became extremely volatile and emotional, and, truthfully, unbearable. Her endless thirst for pleasure, Tolfan began to realize, wasn’t always so much about pleasing her, as it was torturing him through pleasure, and attempting to break him.

It was three weeks of this, until Tolfan made the bold move of making an escape. He had been locked in a room the entire three weeks, and could not leave. But when one of the Satyr’s came to deliver him food, because the Queen would need him to be “ready for tonight” he grabbed the knife from the tray and put it to the Satyr’s throat and demanded to be taken to a portal. Using an illusion he was able to disguise himself and the Satyr, who led him to a portal. The Satyr muttered the words and the portal opened, but the Satyr warned him, “The Queen will not be pleased that you escaped. She will take it as a slight that you did not love her. This slight will not go unpunished.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Tolfan said and jumped through the portal.

Unfortunately this portal was one that was not in the wood, and also seemingly hanging in the air, and Tolfan fell and landed with a loud thump into the hot desert sands below. He looked up, spitting sand out of his mouth and wondered where he had landed…

http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsing ... tcount=192

Jaryn;24041734 wrote:Hello again! So I have got slightly distracted from a bard (which will come later) by a wood elf druid who has got stuck in my head.
So this elf lived in a small village in a forest and was raised to be generally distrustful of non-elves, like most of his kind. Unusually, even amongst his community, he saw many spirits of the forest as a youth and was often found off by himself playing with pixies or sprites.
He joined an order of land druids to learn more about the forest, and then went deep into the heart of it in solitude. While here he underwent a change, gaining a great deal of serenity and feeling more of a connection with other races. What bought him out was a visit from an archfey that revealed a great evil that he needed to go and destroy.
Would love to see what you make of this!
Also good luck with work and travel

Hah! This was another one I was able to "tie in" with another person's background (I literally just wrote in this thread). The "Tawmis-Verse" strings continue to connect to one another!
As always, please leave feedback - good or bad, I want to hear what you liked or didn't like, what worked or didn't work!
Enjoy!
===============================================

I have lived in the Forest of Lethyr all of my life surrounded by my kind who swears the outside world is full of great evil and that no one but our own kind is to be trusted.

My name is Ellator Skyhaven and I am a Wood Elf. The Druids, along with Rangers and Treants kept the forest safe from those who would come in and seek to do harm to others, or even the land itself. Despite the suspicion my tribe – The Order of Oak - invoked upon all of their children to never trust others who are not a part of the tribe, I had managed to meet a friend forest gnome named Tolfan Folkor who then in turn, introduced me to an ancient Treant named Stonebark.

Tolfan was the one who taught me the difference between Pixies and Sprites when I was younger, when we would sit on Stonebark’s branches as he walked around the woods, patrolling them, looking for danger. The greatest threats always seemed to be the Red Eye Orcs, a clan of malicious, brutal and vicious murderers that made repeated attempts to gain entrance into the Forest of Lethyr.

One day, Tolfan disappeared. I had asked Stonebark if he had seen him and the old Treant explained that it was unusual that he’d not heard from Tolfan in over a week. When I asked the Pixies and Sprites, neither had seen him either (although the Pixies were a lot more forthcoming with information than the Sprites; the Sprites seemed pleased at the notion Tolfan was gone. I always wondered what he’d done to upset them so much?)

I knew Varus Orcslayer, one of the human rangers that patrolled the edges of Lethyr, looking for more Red Eye Orcs to send to their god. When I asked him to look for signs of Tolfan, there had been none he could find – and that was highly unusual because Varus was one of the greatest Rangers I knew.

When my parents discovered I had been meeting with Tolfan, pixies, sprites, and Varus, they were furious. They believed I would be corrupted by influences outside the Order. Despite the fact that the Order of Oak met with other Druids at the center of the woods, where a giant tree towered above the others, the Order of Oak was always leery of any advice or information given to them from others of the Druidic Order, especially human druids. Humans were too short lived, rarely weighed out the consequences of actions, whereas the Order of Oak were all Wood Elves, who lived long lives, thought things through and did not brashly run into dangerous situations without heavy consideration from every angle. This often put them at odds, with the human druids claiming that all this waiting would come back on us for taking too long to take action.

One night, I sat at the center of the forest, in front of the great tree, by myself. I was a Wood Elf, raised to not trust anyone by the Order of Oak, but at the same time, I had met others outside the Order who had treated me with compassion, love and friendship. I felt as if I was being torn in half by what the Order expected out of me and what my heart wanted from me.

I crossed my legs as I sat in front of the great tree, closed my eyes, rested my hands on my legs and sought guidance. The sounds of the forest filled my ears, and the scents of every flower and leaf seemed to enter my nose. I could taste the fresh water on my tongue and my skin tingled with magic.

That’s when a portal opened and one of the Fey stepped through.

“Good,” the Satyr said, “a mortal. Listen to me. The Red Eye Orcs seek to gain entrance to the woods, because they have a powerful Warlock leader name Oragin Doomhammer who seeks to gain entrance into the Feywild, and open a portal and siphon the magic from it and into himself. He’s found an ancient relic which will allow him to do this. He is not near Lethyr yet, but he is coming… and if he accomplishes this, he will be able to bring Gruumsh into the world. I need not tell you what that would do. Go forward, find allies, and stop Oragin at any cost.”

“But my family,” I began.

“They will be dead if Oragin accomplishes his mission,” the Satyr said.

That night, I returned home, gathered what few belongings I had, and did not take the time to tell my mother, father and two sisters goodbye, because they would have tried to stop me. I know they would have. But when I find others that can help me put an end to Oragin, I will come home, and ask them to forgive me.

http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsing ... tcount=195

Originally Posted by Barebarian View Post
I've got another request for when you've got the spare time! I'm not CERTAIN that these girls will see use but I want to flesh out the backstory of Lilly's life in the harem, I've messaged my DM and she liked the concept so much that I think she'd appreciate some characters written out for it. She had nothing but praise for your writing by the way!
Oh and by the way! When you have the time to reply to my pm, I've got some pics I'm considering for Utsukushi-sa!
Okay here goes:
Two female human warriors, one with read hair and one with white, both in their early 30s. The red haired woman is named Furea,and has 1 level of bard, 1 of fighter and 1 of monk, and the white haired woman is named Kosai, and has 2 levels of fighter and 1 of monk. Furea was a dancing girl before she was a warrior, and when she became a warrior she met Kosai, the lowest daughter of a noble family who, seeing potential in her natural strong and flexible frame, personally tutored Furea in archery, martial arts and the ways of the sword and spears. Once they were deployed, they found themselves working directly beneath Senshi in the field. As time grew on, with wartime promotions and short-staffing being what they are, they caught Senshi's eye, in more ways than one. Gradually they began serving him in increasingly...intimate, capacities, and 'working directly beneath Senshi' started having more meanings than one might think. Once the war was over, Senshi spoke to each of their families and formally made them his concubines.
This was over 12 years ago, and since then they've lived in peace, born half a dozen children each, and long ago put aside all thoughts of future violence, having found true happiness and love.
However, after a shocking night raid on the house of their master, his youngest and newest concubine was found missing! The only clue was the claim from one of the other concubines that the girls mother had burst into the harem that same night, along with some man, leaving no evidence but a blood trail.
Now, the two of them seek to find Lily, and find answers.
The problem is I don't really know why, I want them to have some sort of friendship with Lily I guess? I want them to have a really personal reason for going after her, they wouldn't WANT to normally, they're not soldiers anymore and they have kids to take care of. Maybe Senshi is worried about Lily and they wanted to make him happy again? Maybe they know what the Pheonix on her fathers chest meant? I leave it in your hands! Also I haven't given a great deal of thought to their personalities, but I do have picture inspirations for them!

It's interesting writing a background for a background character's background character...? Wait. Does that make sense?
So this was kind of fun, exploring more of the culture...
I realized we know your character's name is "Autumn Lily" - and in the background that's the name she changed it to...
But we never knew her original name (since you never told me, and I never wrote it in)...
So her name makes a debut here as "Aki-Yuri" which literally translates to "Autumn Lilly"...!
Had some fun going a little more into Senshi's head/life and his acts of kindness...
And as for the reason these two leave to search for Autumn... that came in the writing of this piece...

Anyway, enjoy!
===============================================
Hailing from the small town of Dansa located on an island by the same name, the young Furea lived on the streets with no memory of who her mother was. Her earliest memories were stealing for food at the young age of five, and living in the alleyways, seeking shelter from the frequent torrential rainstorms that frequently pounded the small island.

By the age of sixteen, Furea had developed into a young woman who did whatever it took to survive. When she met an older gentleman named Tanoshima-seru (though most simply called him “Tano”), he offered her a position in his establishment called ‘Silk and Lace.’ It was an exotic dancers club for many of the men of Dansa who went there seeking company for a night. Furea accepted the position, but it was not for exotic dancing, rather to clean the dishes and collect the plates from tables as the men watched the dancers. This exposed Furea to the worse in men, who often slapped her on her end, or pinched her, giving her knowing winks. But working her gave her a place to stay upstairs when the club closed for the night. There was no bed, but it was a room with four walls and a roof over it. She slept on the wooden floor when she could, trying to shut out the sounds of the dancers that accepted money for a night’s company. But the ladies who danced were not all bad; when the nights were slow, or after the establishment had closed up, they would teach her how to dance and move her body in exotic manners, with the notion that she would one day become a dancer herself here.

Each of them had the same story, that Tanoshima-seru found them on the streets, offered them a place to stay. Then would say they were indebted to him and that they would need to work off their debt by dancing and earning money through those dancing; and quicker still if they sold their bodies for an evening to willing men.

A young man had caught Furea’s attention one night, and when their eyes locked, it was clear that he was looking at her. He approached her and introduced himself as Kyuseishu. He was tall, slender, five o’clock stubble with a perfect tone. When Kyuseishu had asked her out, Tanoshima-seru approached and explained that Furea had been living “rent free” in his establishment and it would cost Kyuseishu greatly to take her. Furea was taken aback as she had thought that the work she had done was paying for the rent of the bare room which she had been staying in, but honor bound to not speak up against her “gracious” host, she kept silent. Kyuseishu accepted this and explained he would travel north and get the “Gem of the Spider Queen.”

The small town of Dansa sat on the southern point of the island. It was said, to the north, a large temple now reclaimed by the dense jungle was the home of a Jorogumo. The Jorogumo were spiders that, after four hundred years would weave themselves into their own webs and emerge as a beautiful woman. The women would then seek out males to court and lure them back to their temple, only to devour them and lay eggs inside the corpses of the men, for their spiderlings to eat.

Two weeks later and Kyuseishu never returned and Furea assumed that he had fallen victim to the Jorogumo of the north. On the third week, to the exact day and moment, a massive earthquake off the shore rattled the entire island. Without warning the beach waters suddenly receded deep into the ocean and a massive tsunami washed over Dansa and erased it from existence.

Furea awoke, clinging to a board, her last memory the voices of the dancers screaming as the Silk and Lace building was crushed as easily as one might step on an ant. She looked around her and all she could see was open ocean in every direction. In some area, the shattered remains of Dansa floated around her, including corpses, which to her dismay were being fed on by sharks. She climbed on top of the board she had been clinging to and waited to die.

To her surprise, on the second day, voices could be heard. She opened her eyes and saw a large merchant ship approaching. She sat up on the board and flailed her hands, her voice already too far gone to yell for help. Through some miracle the crew aboard the Suncutter saw her and managed to rescue her.

Onboard the ship, she was tended to many, but one by the name of Kosai checked on her the most frequently. As Furea was nursed back to health, she learned that Kosai, with her long, flowing hair, womanly figure, and ample chest, all of which reminded Furea of the exotic dancers, was actually the lowest daughter of a nearby noble company. Senshi, a noble and great warrior of the country called Tengoku, had called on the noble families to send him their women to help farm and their sons to help fight in the war against the Order of the Red Phoenix. Kosai was to work the farms until the war was over, and then, perhaps she could return home.

On the ship, once Furea had regained her strength, Kosai could see that she had a strong and shapely body. Kosai, already familiar in the ways of fighting, but forbidden to do so, because she was a woman began to teach Furea the basics of self-defense and sword use. When the ship arrived at Tengoku, each of them was brought to Senshi’s farmlands, which was enormous. He was kind enough to share his food and his workers with others so that no one, especially the families of warriors who were fighting the Order of the Red Phoenix would go hungry. They paid Kosai’s family additional coin for the use of Furea, who Kosai had introduced as “her little cousin.”

It was three years of working in the fields, and despite the manual labor, Senshi’s people were kind to them all, providing them all furnished rooms, elegant baths, all of which were new to Furea. When the battles had subsided, and it seemed the Order of the Red Phoenix, Senshi returned home. As agreed, each would be allowed to return home, but so honorable and kind was Senshi that he stood at the docking port and greeted and thanked each of the one thousand people he had employed. However, Kosai (and to some degree, Furea) caught his eye. He stopped them and asked if they had enjoyed their time here. Both had agreed (especially Furea who had never known such an elaborate life). Kosai was ready to return home, but Furea had no home, so she accepted Senshi’s offer to “stay longer.” Kosai could not let her “little cousin” remain behind, so she too agreed.

Both of them had become concubines for Senshi, who, if he was known for treating his workers kindly, treated his mistresses as if they were goddesses. Although it was not love that had drawn them to remain, it had developed as stronger emotions the more time he spent with them. This was their lives for twelve years, and several children later. One day, Aki-Yuri was introduced to them as another, much younger concubine. She was the sole daughter of Utsukushi-sa. Utsukushi-sa was a concubine of Senshi’s best friend, Meiyo and Aki-Yuri (though she just typically went by Aki or Yuri) was now old enough to become a concubine. Senshi had taken a liking to her beauty and both Furea and Kosai could see why. The beauty of Senshi was that he treated all of his women equally, each was specialized in their own ways, and each had something Senshi was looking for in them.

The three of them formed a strong friendship often exploring one another’s bodies just as much as they explored Senshi’s. Furea, as a dancer taught Aki the ability to use her body to please Senshi, while Kosai taught Aki how to improve her endurance as well as defend herself if the time ever came.

The day had finally come when Aki-Yuri’s mother burst into Senshi’s house covered in blood, screaming for her. When Aki-Yuri ran to her mother she was both relieved and horrified that the blood all over her mother was not her own. Her mother only repeated, “You must run. You must leave. Hide. Never come back! Do not let him find you!”

There were sounds coming from behind her – and then a man, adorned in Samurai armor, with a Red Phoenix symbol adorned on his chest kicked down the door. Aki-Yuri’s mother looked at him, then over to her, and whispered, “Forgive me.” And with one violent shove, pushed her out the window where she fell two stories into the bushes.

Kosai had run up to the man to try and fight him but he shoved her aside and charged up the stairs and ran his blade through Utsukushi-sa. The woman shouted, “Run!” through the window as the man in the armor yelled, “Where is my daughter?”

The man, seeing the broken window knew it must have been his daughter that went through the window and began charging down the stairs. Kosai rushed to Utsukushi-sa’s side, where the woman smiled at her and said, “Please… keep my daughter safe…”

Kosai looked at Furea as the woman breathed her last breath. There were sounds of more fighting as Kosai and Furea made their way down the stairs. It was just not the single man in the Order of the Red Phoenix armor, there were others and Senshi and his guards were fighting them.

“Are we just going to leave him?” Furea asked, somewhat frightened.

“A woman died asking us to keep her daughter safe,” Kosai said, drawing her katana. “We will honor her wish by finding Aki-Yuri and keeping her safe from the Order of the Red Phoenix…”

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Great Dragon;24046464 wrote:Greetings!
I might have one for ya; I’m curious as to what you would do.
I have an NPC that am I leaving open to become a PC for my gaming group. No class yet.
Here is what I’ve got, feel free to change anything except Race and Gender.
Setting the Scene: LMoP. Conyberry village, north of Wyvern Tor.

Dydrun Reltat Hobgoblin (male) LE
Background: Soldier
Flaw: Trusting of Higher Authority.

Str 13 Dex 12 Con 12 Int 10 Wis 10 Cha 09
IC “I still have vivid dreams of that day. The 2 hour march into the Abandoned Village was nothing.

Lieutenant Halbid had the 20 of us set up camp in the most intact Hut, where were would rest while waiting for nightfall. Two of us (I never did get their names) were assigned Patrol Duty, and we relaxed. Less than an hour later an attack came from the least expected direction:

The west wall was breached by the largest male Half-Orc I have ever seen! Nearly seven feet tall, and wearing Full Plate better than what our Warlord has! Taking four strides into the room he speaks a Spell Command Phrase and a wave of sound blasts forth from him, knocking four of the others against the far wall, where they can barely stand from their wounds.

Us grunts do our best against the wave of Ten Intruders, but Halbid takes poison to escape capture, and I am the only one left. After a brief Interview (and a broken finger) I tell them all I know. But, instead of killing me, as I had expected, they instead offer me a position within their own paramilitary organization. Not seeing any kind welcome back at the Fortification, I agree.

My only fear is that KuntarSpell finds out my location with his far seeing magical Eye….”

OoC: Dydrun is now the House Guard of The Bleeding Hearts Hero Guild, based in the mansion just East of Phandalin.

The New Hobgoblin Warlord Gurkak Bonebreaker #5, has successfully constructed within 3 days (with the Master Mage Ithek “KuntarSpell” (Hobgoblin M) and some of his higher Students casting multiple Wall of Stone spells) a new Stone Fortification named "Krud Keep" about two miles away from Tor itself. This Outpost is a bold move on Gurkak’s part, and Ithek is looking forward to being able to expand his spellbook with the easy access to the nearby (former) trade route. These Hobgoblins are a close knit group, and (mostly) trust each other.

If it make/s anyone feel any better - there is a Hobgoblin Kingdom i(Empire) in the Underdark: that I have yet to sit down and work on....

Normally, I put Player shenanigans in my Ancient Realms thread located in World Building.

I dug deep as to why this Hobgoblin would "betray" his people... And realized it had to go back...
Back to something that would have impacted him... changed his view... You still have him as Lawful Evil...
But have him leaving the Hobgoblins and joining others...
So I sort of left the idea in there that there's still "Hobgoblin" to him and his intentions...
Please leave feedback! I thrive on it!
Enjoy!
==================================

I scarcely remember much of my childhood; there’s only tiny pieces of it that I can recall. Sometimes there are things I see, or even hear, that might trigger a forgotten memory.

My family, my tribe, we were always moving. Always on the march. My father was a soldier of The Black Tide, an army of Hobgoblins organized under Darauk Warcutter. Darauk’s true surname had been Dornthyme, but Hobgoblin culture, when you take leadership and have proven yourself, you adopt your own title that becomes your new surname.

Darauk had enslaved several goblins to be his whipping boys, and the grunt force to fetch him things, clean the camps, and scout ahead. A goblin lost to a trap was nowhere near as vital as losing one of his own trusted soldiers. Darauk had also managed to gain two Bugbears as bodyguards, after helping them fight several would-be adventurers.

Darauk took every opportunity to flex his might and his will upon those around him, and with his Bugbear bodyguards, Ou’rius and Ka’larm, few dared oppose him. Darauk also enjoyed torture to the extreme, such as female prisoners that they captured, of any race, were taken to please Darauk in his tent. Most did not leave alive. They were the lucky ones. Those he let go, had a vacant stare in their eyes, as if their soul had left their body, and their mind had not yet realized that they were already dead.

Most saw his actions as dishonorable, both to his name, the army, and even Hobgoblins as a whole. Those who silently questioned him wondered how Maglubiyet, our god of war and rulership, could let such things go for so long, and wondered if he was fighting with Nomog-Geaya, the god of war and authority, somewhere in the heavens.

The dishonor Darauk had brought to us all finally caught up to him when he was found one morning with white foam around his mouth and nose. Another Hobgoblin, Uirentar Poelar took ownership for the action, and he was killed for killing Darauk in such a dishonorable way. All Hobgoblins kept poison with them; in the event we were captured we could take the poison and ascend to the gods, rather than betray our kind to the enemy. Krukar Vornkal demanded that he become the next ruler, but Kukar was so loyal to Darauk that we all knew we would see the same thing happen. My father had then stepped up and challenged Krukar for the sake of the people.

Krukar was lower in command in the Black Tide, where as my father had been an Officer, and very aware of Krukar’s drunken debauchery and behavior. My father, far more skilled at the blade, than Krukar’s desperate lunges, allowed my father to sidestep and inflict what most would consider non-lethal damage. My father did not want to kill Krukar, he only sought to defeat him battle. However, the more my father did this, the more furious Krukar became. In the end, my father was forced to decapitate Krukar when he would not accept my father’s multiple offers to surrender.

My father taught The Black Tide to be respectful, even to other races. When he would ambush a caravan, he would demand gold from the men and women, but demanded his soldiers to never touch or harm a woman or child, unless they became hostile first. The goblins were still foot soldiers, but they were not sent to the deaths for his amusement, as Darauk had often done. My father even forced Ou’rius and Ka’larm, Darauk’s former bodyguards to do most of the heavy lifting, when the warband would move, and if he ever caught them abusing anyone – including the goblins – he whipped them. They got caught about sixteen times, before they learned their lesson, their backs furless from the scar tissue that marked them for their foolishness.

My father led the Black Tide for thirteen long years, longer than most lived in the status of leadership. By this time, I had become one of my father’s soldiers, but he showed me no favoritism. As a new soldier I marched and charged in the front lines, until I survived a few of the battles we had engaged in against orcs that patrolled the areas, and eventually worked my way up the ranks.

Naturally, the day came when my own father’s time came to an end. Our Clan crossed paths with a Hobgoblin Warlord name Gurkak Bonebreaker. During the honorable meeting, Gurkak extended his hand to take my father’s and as he did so he stabbed my father with his other hand using a pearl dagger. And like that, our clan fell under his control.

One of his most trusted men, Lieutenant Halbid, took over the division I was a part of. I had no love for Gurkak, nor Halbid, as all I could see was the cowardly way Gurkak had killed my father… But Gurkak’s army was significantly larger than the Black Tide and any attempt to fight them would have resulted in lives lost. To ensure he kept control, Gurkak introduced Ithek “KuntarSpell” who was said to be a messenger of Maglubiyet himself, and displayed powers of great magic.

Gurkak and Ithek left a few days later to attend to “other matters of great importance” and left the army in charge with Urkor Dalunpor, a Hobgoblin loyal to Gurkak, who had most noticeably lost his eye in one of the battles against the orcs.

I dreamed of the day of finding a way to kill Gurkak, not only because he had killed my father, but he had done so in such a cowardly way, using his massive army to ensure no one dared confront him. But if Ithek was truly a messenger of Maglubiyet, would I be striking against my own god?

It was those thoughts I had been lost in, during a time we were scouting an area with Lieutenant Halbid, and had found an abandoned village where we had made camp for the night. My thoughts were shattered, just as the western wall had been, as a male Half-Orc, taller than I’d ever seen, adorned in full platemail began cleaving through my comrades, invoking some unknown spell that sent us all to the ground. We gathered our weapons, most of us so ill prepared we did not even have armor on, so the fight was brutal and short and Halbid had taken poison to end his own life to avoid capture. I had the poison on the tip of my tongue, but hesitated. I couldn’t see dying for Gurkak. Also if I died, I could never come back for him.

The poison was slapped away from my hand and I was captured. My hatred for Gurkak fueled me as they questioned me, I provided them with the answers they sought. I had done so, so willingly that they believed I was lying to them and broke my finger to inflict pain upon me. They pressed upon the broken bones and questioned me again, and I gave the same answers.

They believed it then. That I had been telling the truth.

They saw how I had fought, the last to stand in my battalion, and rather than kill me, offered me a position in theirs. At first I was used to translate answers from other captured prisoners, but soon I moved up the ranks, to become trusted as one of their soldiers.

There is a fear in the back of my mind, that perhaps the messenger of Maglubiyet, Ithek, might one day learn of my betrayal and seek me out. Even so, that might bring Gurkak to me and allow me to challenge him for leadership of his new army and bring peace to my people and form an alliance with my new allies.

I would be the greatest warchief my people had ever seen.

For now, for today, I am a House Guard for the Bleeding Hearts Hero Guild based in the mansion just East of Phandalin.

But I have a vision.

One I will make come true.

http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsing ... tcount=218

BloodSnake'sCha;24050932 wrote:Hello, I am can't think on how to continue my character story so I am asking for your help you magnificent and awesome writer that help people on the internet
Unfortunately I was only able to write the body on my character backstory.
She is a TN(True Natural) Protector Asimar that grow in the Shadowfell(how can you not make it into a TN character).
She fight close to her enemies with a wand for the strong ones and hand crossbow for the weak ones(She have Crossbow Expert).
She is heavily armored: +1 shield, fluffed as a buckler and Half-Plate with other bigger shield on the back for the look.
Personality Traits:
I love a good insult, even one directed at me.
I change my mood or my mind as quickly as I change key in a song.
Ideals:
Honesty. Art should reflect the soul; it should come from within and reveal who we really are. (Any)
Bonds:
I would do anything for the other members of my old troupe.
Flaws:
I’ll do anything to win fame and renown.
Shadow Sorcerer Quirks:
When you are asleep, you don’t appear to breathe (though you must still breathe to survive).
You barely bleed, even when badly injured.
He name is Shir Ko'ev(Translated to Hurting Song).
She is a Gladiator Shadow Sorcerer 5/Hexblade 2(a blessing from the Raven Queen).
You have trouble remembering that living creatures and corpses should be treated differently.
That is what I have:
She was a young Asimar that was sold to shader-kai(and sent to the shadow plane) and show great talent in performance. They trained her in the way of battle and showmanship and how to control the shadows of their plane by stuffing shadows into her.
She was a very good gladiator, got her masters a lot of prestige.
In her last fight the Raven Queen was watching. And she won with a great performance.
This great fight(with selected warriors, the Raven Queen was watching after all) bought her her freedom. She got a tattoo of the queen symbol on her tongue and got her blessing from her clerics(The 2 hexblade levels)
She joined some wizards on their way to the material plane in order to gain glory for herself in the name of the queen.

I enjoyed writing this... Like I said previously about the Feywild, I have never DMed or played in a game that's touched the Feywild or Shadowfell...
So it was enjoyable to take a walk through the Shadowfell in these backgrounds, since I've touched the Feywild in previous ones...
I did what I've been doing lately and tied your background to an existing one I did before...
But they operate independently, very easily, obviously! I have been enjoying tying backgrounds together to make it all seem like one world where all of these backgrounds are happening.
It's like an extra challenge for me; especially when it provides a reason for a character to do something!
That said, please let me know if I did all right! Give me ANY feedback - good or bad - it all helps me!
Enjoy!
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Childhood is an interesting thing. It’s a time of innocence and discovery, of love and laughter. My mother loved me endlessly, but there were nights, I could hear her speaking to my father, about being concerned about the “unwanted attention my bloodline” might bring upon them.

I always felt different than the other children in our village.

But the age of ten I finally began to understand why I felt different – and the concerns my mother had voiced. I began glowing one night during an energetic game of Karikus and when I had jumped for the ball my feet took off the ground and I began to glide across the crowd. The other kids immediately became frightened as did their parents.

It wasn’t long after that things got uncomfortable for my parents and they had decided to pack up and leave. Two nights of being on the road, my father saw, what appeared to be some Elves tending to an injured deer. Bringing the wagon to a halt, my father stepped off of the wagon and in that moment learned that these were not normal elves.

As they stood, their skin was grey and colorless and they had no pupils in their eyes. They ran their sword through my father and put an arrow through my mother’s back as she reached back to try to tell me to run. That’s when they approached the wagon and spoke in a language I’d never heard of before and threw a magical net over me that instantly made me feel as if my life had been drained from me.

When I woke up, everything felt different. The world was bleak, grey and colorless; there were only shades of grey. For weeks, months, I couldn’t tell how long to be honest, with no sun in sight, I was beat and abused. By the age of sixteen I was bought sold and traded too many times to count, and found myself thrown into a Gladiator ring, where I was trained through brute force, how to use crossbow by one of the Shadar-kai, the people who murdered my mother and father.

There was no room for emotion here. You could not be upset or be happy. You simply existed and accepted that tonight might be your final night. The amount of abuse I suffered at the hands of the Shadar-kai had broken any hope I had in me.

Because I was a female Aasimir they assumed I could not fight, so they focused on teaching me how to use a crossbow so that I could be a marksman from a distance. I learned to channel the magic that was in my veins – I wondered, as I discovered this new ability in me – is that the bloodline that my mother feared? I had thought, once I learned I was an Aasimir that that had been what she had meant… but this magic in me that coursed through my veins… it came from somewhere else. It was ancient, but certainly not angelic.

The life of a Gladiator was typically a short one. It simply took a bad day, one small mistake, and your “career” was over – resulting in death. Somehow, I had thrived as a Gladiator, bringing great attention and reward to my Shadar-kai master, Kayjun’tar.

After what I assume to roughly be a year of this, Kayjun’tar told me that I had one final fight left. He had earned so much money and attention that he no longer needed me, and that if I could win this final fight, it would mean my freedom.

What Kayjun’tar did not tell me was that the people I would be fighting in the ring would all be against me, and I would have no one on my side. The odds were stacked against me and I realized, what he had meant by “earning my freedom” was not intended as to go free but to meet an honorable death.

When the combat had started, the other five were slowly approaching me. They knew that my advantage was distance since I focused primary in the other gladiator combat tournaments using a crossbow. What some of them did not know was the magic that coursed in my veins that seemed to be surging stronger than ever before. I closed my eyes and smiled. When my eyes flew open again they burned with white light and wings sprouted from my back made of light and energy.

Light. Something that was not common in the Shadowfell and it surprised the attackers as much as it had the onlookers or even my keeper, Kayjun’tar. Gliding into the air, I unleashed a bolt of black magic that struck two of my opponents down. Two well placed crossbow bolts to the eyes of two others dropped them down. As I slowly landed back on the ground, the one in the middle, flanked by four of his dead comrades stared at me. With murderous intent he charged forward and I waited for the last minute to step aside as he thrust his sword carelessly forward and with the full might of my strength brought my fist directly into his throat using his own momentum to crush it so that he collapsed to the ground and died a slow and painful death.

The crowd was stunned in silence.

The gate opened and I expected another army of gladiators to rush into the ring, more prepared than the last, to put an end to me. Instead, a woman adorned in black armor with a red raven on his chest entered the gladiator ring.

I immediately dropped to one knee, as I recognized her immediately as Teenar Un’thrull, the High Cleric of the Raven Queen. She, like the others, was one of the Shadar-kai. She came to stand in front of me, and her hollow voice whispered, “Rise, Aasimir.”

I left my crossbow on the ground and rose to my feet. “You slayed five of the Raven Queen’s men,” she said, her voice void of any emotion. “You were supposed to die tonight, Aasimir. You bring great shame to Kayjun’tar, your master.”

An odd silence hung between us for several minutes before she finally said, “The Raven Queen is pleased with your performance tonight. Come child, kiss the lips of the Raven Queen’s Chosen, and know her gift.”

Oddly, I placed my lips to Teenar’s on mine and felt a sting in my mouth. I stepped back shocked, expected that I had been poisoned. Instead I felt more energy and magic coursing through me. “The Raven Queen has a mission for you, Shir Ko'ev. It would seem an ancient weapon from an old enemy of the Raven Queen has resurfaced. The Raven Queen seeks to get it before it falls into the hands of her enemy once again. Nev Van’shir, an ancient vampire turned by Strahd Von Zarovich was given a blade called Bloodthirst, which allows Strahd to constantly be fed, so long as the blade tastes blood. The Raven Queen would like this weapon, so that we can reverse its magic, and see if there might be a way to killed Strahd. Several wizards will be escorting you back to the Prime Material Plane. Find this dagger and call upon us when the blade has been recovered…”

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AH0098;24052014 wrote: Name: Berrian Haladar
Race: High Elf
Class: Wizard - Bladesinger
Background: Port City Noble
Personality:I'm privileged and I know it, but that doesn't mean I can't do good on my own. I want adventure and independence but will always be a philanthropist when I can. I am interested in learning more about all the races of Toril.
Ideals: I want to follow in my Father's steps as a Bladesinger, Philanthropist, Entrepreneur, and Elf. I will prove my father wrong, no matter how long it takes.
Bonds: Someone I loved died because of a mistake I made. That will never happen again.
Flaws: Prideful, surprisingly lacks caution
Notes:. Forgotten Realms Setting, I didn't determine if he is a Sun Elf or Moon Elf. I also didn't determine what city he is from.

First one done!
I enjoyed writing this one... It's funny you had a Bladesinger... I was just posting about a friend who played an Elven Bladesinger in 2nd Edition.
Since you didn't know if you wanted to go Sun Elf or Moon Elf, I went with Sun Elf... mostly because that provided me more of a challenge.
Moon Elves apparently tend to be the more Common Elf... So I wanted to challenge myself.
If in the end you want to go Moon Elf, let me know, and with some tweaks I can rewrite it.
Hopefully you enjoy!
Please, as always, leave feedback!
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The Children of Corellon; that’s what we called ourselves.

Long ago, during an event called The Retreat, where there had been a mass migration of Elves from Faerûn to Evermeet, leaving many of the woodlands defenseless. Elves created Green Warders which were living bushes, specifically designed to guard the secrets and tombs of the Elves, and not to shed blood. But the Elves knew that there were those that would burn down the woods to learn the Secret of the Elves, especially since the land was being left defenseless, so Elves trained and became Bladesingers, learning the art of war and magic, woven together. The Bladesingers were the second line of defense in the event anything tried to get passed the docile Green Warders.

One of those families that remained behind was the Haladar.

My family.

When the Elves returned to Faerûn, those who had stayed behind to fight the onslaught of Orcs and other such enemies that rose in power were rewarded with status. For generations the Haladar trained at becoming Bladesingers, most often in the Cat Family – using swords to employ as a part of our abilities in both melee and arcane. It required learning to make the weapon an extension of who you are, as well as using it to weave spells, and become the focus of everything you do, granting you supernatural speed, agility and focus.

When I was fifteen years old, I felt the rebellious streak to do the opposite of what my father told me at every turn. One of those things was to avoid going to avoid The Ruins of Navashar. Legend had it that the Ruins were haunted and marked with great sadness. The origin of the Ruins was a mystery upon itself as not even the Elders were aware who lived in the Ruins that sat at the southern end of the woods. I had convinced my best friend, Bryne Thorncoat, to come with me to the Ruins of Navashar. It was a week trek, a week of our parents not knowing where we had gone. We’d teach them to miss us and show them that we were more important than all of their political meetings they insisted on having about “the world beyond the woods.”

When the Ruins of Navashar came into view; the sight alone was unnerving. The Ruins sat on top of a hill, in the middle of a massive clearing. There were no woods, no grass, no birds, no rabbits, and no signs of life. Stepping into the clearing, I couldn’t tell if it was my imagination that was getting to me, or just the general grip of fear clutching at my heart.

Each step into the clearing felt as if invisible hands were pushing us backwards, and my heart, mind and soul all wanted to let it happen. Instead we continued forward until Bryne put his hand on my shoulder, “Berrian, I think this is a bad idea. There’s something unnatural here.”

“Don’t worry,” I said, pushing down my own fear, and notion of accepting Bryne’s words and running for my life. “We will be fine. Whatever is here is not real. Rumors. Stories.”

“I can feel it,” Bryne persisted. Bryne came from a long family of Priests, all of whom were greatly appreciated. Like me, there was an unusual burden placed on us to follow our parents and be exact copies of them, like generations before them, rather than be individuals.

It felt like it took an hour to move sixty feet, neither of us had the courage to climb the hill and get closer to the ruins, so we made a camp at the base of the hill with the intent to examine the Ruins in daylight – where we could see everything more clearly.

I awoke to a shivering sensation. I pulled my blankets tightly around me, but nothing seemed to stop the chill of the cold that seemed ready to shatter my bones. I opened one of my eyes just barely to see if it had snowed or something and saw Bryne sitting straight up.

“Bryne?” I asked, as I slowly pulled myself up. Then I saw he was staring at the tent’s entrance. There was, from what I could tell, fighting the fuzz in my eyes, a woman there. Her tattered dress fluttered in the chilly night. “My lady?” I asked, I tilted the lantern towards her and let out a gasp. Her face was white and colorless, her eyes were deep, soulless sockets, her mouth agape, her once, long golden locks of hair swaying in the wind, her Elven ears torn and tattered. She unleashed a wail like I’ve never heard before that frightened me so much I dropped the lantern and scrambled out of the tent, running blindly. I couldn’t tell if I ran for hours or days but when I finally stopped I collapsed to the ground drained of breath and feeling as if I had been drained of life itself. “Bryne…” I called out before lapsing into unconsciousness.

When I awoke I don’t know how much time had passed, but my stomach was furiously hungry. I looked all around for Bryne, but there was no sign of him. Fearfully I made my way back to the Ruins of Navashar and reached the edge of the clearing. I could still see our tent, partially burned, at the base of the hill. I tried to see if Bryne was there, perhaps looking for me, but again, there was no sign. Daylight granted me some courage to move closer, but just as before, as soon as I stepped into the clearing, my heart felt as if it were being squeezed. I finally reached the tent and opened the flap.

My heart broke.

Bryne was sitting there, the same position I had seen him the night I awoke. A look of horror forever etched on his face. His body still had color but his soul… his soul was gone. I placed my hands over his eyes and closed them.

I let out a million tears, and never stopped crying, as I took him and placed him over my shoulder, and for one week, carried him back home, where I had to give the tragic news of his death.

From that day on my shame never left me. I trained relentlessly with my father to become a Bladesinger. Perhaps had I taken the time to be like my father, to be a warrior, a fighter, versed in magic and melee, I could have saved Byrne’s life. I could have done something. I could have made a difference. And Byrne would still be here, rather than his parents, his sister, and his two brothers, mourning a terrible, needless loss. I could hear his voice, telling me that we should go back. That he sensed something.

No one knew where the Ruins of Navashar had come from. They all knew to simply leave it. One day, I told my father, I want to travel to the world beyond the woods. I want to find out the origin of the Ruins of Navashar. I wanted to put an end to whatever curse was there, even if that meant associating with outsiders.

They would recognize me as a Bladesinger. They would see I was a Sun Elf. They would know who I am and help me.

After all, I am a Child of Corellon; at least, that’s what I tell myself.

http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsing ... tcount=221

AH0098;24052014 wrote: 2nd
Name: Davlan Fallenleaf
Race: Ghostwise Halfling
Class: Druid - Moon most likely
Background: Faction Agent - Emerald Enclave
Personality: I believe in the balance of the natural world. I arrive to help those in need, and struggle to hold myself back at times for the sake of Balance.
Ideals: Protecting the natural Balance is the most important thing in life. If we let our natural world deteriorate, then where will anyone live?
Bonds: I would lay down my life for the people I served with. The balance of my home has been thrown off, I must find out why. I am leaving my family behind, to make things better no matter how much it hurts.
Flaws:
Notes: Travelling from the Chondalwood Forest.

This is the second time someone has asked me to write a Ghostwise Halfling... they're interesting because they're so reclusive...
So finding a reason to adventure to "the land beyond the woods" always, to me, has to be a strong, compelling reason...
And being a Druid... naturally, the use of Treants (if you've seen me and Druids on here, Treants are a thing I enjoy using)...
So a Treant becomes a reason to go out and adventure...
Side note, look at the Treant's name when you get there - and reverse it. Had some fun with that.
As always, please give me any and all feedback! What you like, what you loved, what you thought was all right, and what you hated!
Enjoy!
========================================
The Emerald Enclave was always thought to be composed of druids, because of the emblem.

Truth be told, the Emerald Enclave was one of the few organizations that care about the world in general. In times of distress, one might see Druids fighting alongside Northland Barbarians, to help defend a town from a band of Marauding Ogres.

As a Ghostwise Halfling, I, like the others of my Clan, are reclusive. We rarely ventured beyond the Chondalwood Forest, but quite a few of us were members of the Emerald Enclave. This called on us to leave Chondalwood Forest from time to time, to assist nearby towns against those who seek to do harm to the Balance.

The most common threat however, was from humans, who continued to try and encroach on our land. Many of them were loggers or poachers, tearing down the woods and killing exotic animals that found sanctuary in the Chondalwood Forest.

As I stare into the eyes of a human being choked by murder-vines after he had murdered a young fawn for the sheer sport of it, I wonder how far I would go to preserve the balance. His face turning blue, I simply continued to callously stare into his eyes. “I am going to watch you die,” I hissed in his ear. “The fawn never knew you were there. You killed her when she was still young. She never had a chance to survive. And for what? Sport? There’s no meat on her bones to use as food. Her fur is too small to use to skin.” The human’s eyes begin to roll back, his tongue swollen and lisping to one side of his mouth. He is mere moments from death when I snap my fingers and the murder-vines release their hold. He’s left on the ground choking and gasping for breath. I draw my dagger and slice it across his face, truth be told, I don’t even care if I cut out his eye. If it happens, that’s just extra pleasure. “I’ve marked you,” I continued to growl, “And if I see you anywhere – and I mean anywhere – near these woods again, they will be feasting on your bones.” Behind me, three hungry wolves growled, their thirst expression reflected in his fear-filled eyes.

The human got up and began running towards the exit of the woods when he was suddenly snatched up by a tree and had his back snapped and then thrown out onto the path, discarded like a broken toy.

“Toorg,” I sigh, “if you kill the humans how are they supposed to pass the message not to come in the woods anymore?”

Toorg, one of the younger Treants of Chondalwood Forest slowly turned to face me. “If they think,” his voice creaked like an old wooden stair, “the woods are haunted they won’t come in here. I thought someone who is a Ghost,” he emphasized, “wise, would understand that.” The treant scooped up the slain baby fawn, “Tynealla did not deserve this death. She was young.”

I itched my head, “You’re right, she did not deserve that death. And while the human’s actions were indeed brutal and uncalled for, if we had let him live, he could have warned others to not come here. Now someone on a wagon will eventually come down that road and find him dead. They may send in a search party looking for what killed him.”

“Then we kill them too,” Toorg seemed to smile.

“Why are you so bloodthirsty lately?” I asked as I walked towards him. “These last few weeks you have been acting strangely. For that matter, many of the Treants have. Your kind has been bickering with the Druidic Order that we’ve been too passive and that the world beyond the woods grows ever more violent and that we must meet them with the same violence.”

“As a druid, do you not care about the Balance,” Toorg asked.

“More than anything,” I replied.

“If the world outside becomes more violent, so must we,” he said as his roots began digging a grave for Tynealla.

“I don’t think that’s how the Balance works,” I answered, placing my hands on my hips. “If we become just as violent as they do we are not better than them. As they get more violent, if we do, they will also meet and surpass our violence, which in your theory means we need to get more violent as well.”

“The Balance,” he said matter-of-factly.

On the next full moon, the Order gathered in the Grove of Silversprings.

There was the typical bickering between Druids about territory and actions to be taken, and I waited, patiently I might add, for a break in the discussion before I asked, “Has anyone else notice that the Treants are behaving strangely?”

Spur Twostep, a Satyr Druid, looked over at me. “What do you mean… strangely?”

“They’re all bloodthirsty,” I replied. “I thought it was just one or two – but even a young Treant I’ve known all of my life has become increasingly violent. Two weeks ago he snapped a human’s spine in half and threw him out on the traveled path as ‘a warning sign’ to others. I’ve seen other Treants behaving in similar ways. They’ve spilled more blood in these woods than any human has in the last six months. Something has changed in these woods. I have not been able to figure it out, but I believe there’s an infection of some kind.”

There was rumbling among the others, and finally, Tor Delaron stepped up, “I’ve noticed the same behavior.” After him, it was like a landslide. Everyone began to confess their concerns over the Treants and their behavior. It wasn’t until the next Full Moon when we gathered together again, that we all concluded, there was nothing we could find that was causing this.

The Ghostwise are not the type to go to the world beyond the woods; but enduring another month of Toorg’s violence was more than enough to weigh my heart down so much that I told my family first, before telling my Order, that I wanted to go to the land beyond the woods… I wanted to see if there was information out there, someone who might know what’s happening… and how to restore Balance in my homeland once again…

http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsing ... tcount=222

Avista;24055072 wrote:I have a character for you to write a backstory for!
Name: Shalendra Valsys (Female)
Race: Wood Elf
Class: Ranger - Beast Master
Fighting Style: Two-weapon OR Archery (undecided, likely two-weapon)
Favored Enemy: Humanoids: Humans and one other undecided (depending on campaign setting)
Animal Companion: Panther
Rough Outline of Backstory:
My character comes from a sacred Elven Forest/City that shuns outsiders. She hates the defilers of nature, aka humans, and helps preserve the integrity of the forest. For some reason she must leave her Elven homeland.
Let me see what you can come up with. I look forward to it!

Done!
Because it's become a thing I do (lovingly called "The Tawmis-Verse" by folks in this thread!) I was able to "loosely" connect yours to another person's origin that I just wrote! So you can read that one too and get a "piece" of your own history (explains the Treants and the Druid Council).
Other than that, I had fun writing this... even the tragic piece of survival on both sides...
Please leave feedback! What you love, what you hate, anything! I thrive on feedback of any kind!
Enjoy!
============================================


Humans.

They’re wretched and wasteful, with their short lives compared to that of an Elf, they had so little regard for tomorrow, always living in the moment of now. They would decimate a forest, without considering the impact to the world, to the plants, to the wildlife, raping the land and robbing these people and animals of their homes.

I wasn’t always this vengeful. From the moment I was born, I can almost swear I heard my father warning me about the ways of “The Men Beyond The Woods” or his favorite slur, “the round ears.” Living in Chondalwood Forest, I was surrounded by Ghostwise Halflings, Satyr, Treants, and other tribes of Elves, all of which called Chondalwood Forest home. They all told me about the evils of Humans, and I refused to listen to it. Humans could not be as evil as everyone seemed to make them out to be.

All of these stories always involved Male Humans doing these horrible things, so I wanted to know how Female Humans were.

At the age of sixteen, I got my answer. My father was a Druid and taught me how to live off the land and track people and animals in the woods. While my father focused on the Balance of Nature using Magic, I wanted to be more direct in the event it came to a fight. I learned how to use not one, but two swords, in the event I was ever disarmed. My father was not pleased with me since he did not think it was right for women to be using weapons and getting so close and upfront in fights. This is the first I had heard him make such statements, so I think it had more to do with the fact that I was placing myself in danger.

My father knows how to say things so it sounds like one thing but he means something else.

The snapping sound of a twig snapped me back to reality.

I was busy tracking what appeared to be a thin human who had somehow gotten around the Treants in the Northern Border, which was no easy feat. The Treants were almost impossible to see when they were sitting still unless you knew what to look for. But something had made the Treants more violent the last few months. I had heard my father at the Druid’s Council arguing about the Treants after a Ghostwise Halfling had brought up the observation. When Tor Delaron, someone whom my father knew and respected, spoke up, it was a landslide of other voices now all agreeing that they’d seen the same thing. There was a good chance whatever was impacting the Treants was making them restless and easier to spot.

Then I saw her – a human woman! She was wearing a cloak that shimmered, making her difficult to see. But there she was with a bow and arrow in hand. I saw her pull the string back and my eyes followed where the arrow was pointed – and there, in a small cave was a black panther on her side allowing her cubs to drink from her nipples.

“No!” I shouted, but it was already too late. The sound of my voice had alerted the panther mother, who lifted her head, just in time to get an arrow in her throat. I rushed out from my hiding place and tackled the human woman and shoved my dagger through her right hand. “What have you done?” I growled.

The woman screamed in pain as my dagger pierced her hand and pinned it to the ground. “I am so sorry,” she cried, “my children – they’re starving. They don’t feed us at the shelter! I was desperate!”

“Look!” I violently turned her head, not even caring if I snapped her neck in the process and made her look at the panther she’d slain. “Look! She has three cubs! Three cubs that now – like your children – will starve because of you!”

“I wouldn’t have hurt the cubs,” she cried as I pulled out my dagger. She held her hand to her bleeding palm.

“Wouldn’t have hurt them? Wouldn’t have hurt them? You’ve doomed them by killing their mother! You would be merciful if you did kill them at this point!” I was foaming at the mouth, beyond furious. I placed the dagger against her throat, so close, applying so much pressure, that it cut and began to bleed. “I should kill you – I should kill you and let your children starve and die! It would only be perfect! It would be the Balance!”

I jumped off the woman and pointed, “Get out. Get out of my sight. If I ever see you again, in these woods or out there in the world, I do not care if your children are watching, I will kill you. So run. Run far away. And pray our paths do not ever cross again.”

As the woman ran north, I shouted, “Stop! Go this way!” and pointed to the west. If she kept running North she would run into the Treants who had been blood thirsty. Perhaps that’s what she deserved, honestly. I turned my gaze to the slain panther and her cubs. I reached down and picked up all three cubs and returned home.

My father was furious with me and scolded me saying that I should not have revealed myself. Neither should I have taken the cubs. I should have let nature decide their fate. I told my father that Nature had decided their fate by putting me there. Two of the cubs died within two weeks, the third, and the runt of the litter however survived. She treated me like her mother and rubbed against me and purred wildly. I named her Skyshadow, because of her crystal blue eyes and dark fur.

Despite my searing hatred of humans, I realize it comes from an ignorance of not knowing how their world works. My name is Shalendra Valsys, and with my best friend, Skyshadow, I will go out to the world beyond the woods and learn about this strange world…

http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsing ... tcount=226

Great Dragon;24053718 wrote:And now, for a Flight of - - Sci-fi!

A Sith Wookiee !!!
With a dual set of Lightsaber Claws!!!
Need to look up Racial Ability adjustments.
High Str + Con; Low Wis + Cha. (10 min)
Everything else a little above Average.
Still respects other Wookiees, but no other Races. (This is before Wookiees are slaves)
Has embraced the Dark Side (Racial Rage plus Force Rage) to become the most powerful Wookiee, ever.
Sadly, that's the extent of what I came up with.
I need a deeper reason why this guy would accept training from a Human Sith Lord.
Not a huge rush.

Because I am horrible at SciFi - I managed to ditch most of the SciFi elements of it and keep it almost "fantasy" oriented.
I dug deep with some Star Wars lore that allowed me to do some "foreshadowing"...
But in case one is not aware of the beasts and such, I have characters mention it... So it doesn't take a hardcore Star Wars fan to know it.
Anyway... Enjoy!
Please let me know your thoughts, especially since this is Star Wars, where I have run (and played) in the games, but never really wrote anything for it...
==================================
Kashyyyk was a beautiful planet, full of towering treetops and endless amounts of animals and plants. Most commonly known for being the home Wookiees, they lived in treehouses that spiraled up the massive trees. The ground level of Kashyyyk was full of untamed and often extremely violent and lethal animals and plants, which is why Wookies took to living in the trees above it all.

But for one of the Wookie’s greatest enemies, Trandoshans who worshiped their goddess, the Scorekeeper, this was a wonderful means of scoring jagannath points. Jagannath points were earned by committing acts of violence, usually involved in hunting and capture (and more often than not, killing) a target, which led many Trandoshans to take up bounty hunting. But for those Trandoshans who did not have the means to travel far, coming to Kashyyyk and hunting the wide variety of animals was the next best thing, especially if a Wookiee could be killed. A Wookiee’s pelt was worth quite a few jagannath points.

Skorm, and his brother, Journ, were here for that very reason. Skorm was taller than his brother, Journ, and the hue of his skin a deeper red color, while Journ was yellow-orange in tint. As Trandoshans, they were large, bipedal reptilian humanoids from the planet Trandosha, which shared the Mytaranor solar system as Kashyyyk, and as such developed a long hatred between Trandoshans and Wookiees.

Several moons ago, while hunting down Terentatek, Skorm had unwittingly saved a Wookiee from the vicious creature. Terentatek were large, brutish creatures covered in spines, similar to viciously known and feared rancors; they were however smaller than them. Terentateks hunted individuals sensitive to the Force to feed on their blood, according to legend. Using their highly poisonous tusks and claws in combat, they were known for their viciousness, and thus highly valuable for jagannath points.

When Skorm had tracked the Terentatek and attacked, he’d not seen that the beast was already engaged in combat with a Wookiee. The beast seeing that it was potentially outnumbered fled, leaving Skorm and the Wookiee to fight. The Wookiee already full of adrenaline from fighting the Terentatek, had managed to best Skorm, knocking his blaster from his clawed hand. Instead of killing Skorm however, the Wookiee raised its hands and howled, and quickly fled. That had greatly impacted Skorm’s jagannath points in the eyes of the Scorekeeper and the only way to earn those points back was to slay the one who insulted you, and thus removed all your points. But Skorm knew that one on one, Wookiees were physically stronger, and so he convinced his brother to come with him, dragging Journ with him, who had been in the middle of hunting Wyyyschokk, which were giant spiders that made their homes in Kashyyyk, preying on anything that entered its web, whether flesh or steel.

“{Why would a Wookiee be fighting a Terentatek anyway?}” Journ asked in their native tongue of Dorn. Anyone else who did not speak the language it would have sounded like an angry serpent.

“{The Wookiee was probably hunting for food,}” Skorm replied, “{and came across the Terentatek, thinking he could kill the thing. Wookiees are fools. But we need to find that fool,}” Skorm growled, thinking how he had lost all of the points he’d acquired and would never be able to regain them unless he killed the Wookiee.

Trandoshans spent their lives hunting, tracking and killing, and once Skorm retraced his steps to where he had originally encountered the Terentatek and the Wookiee, he was able to begin looking at the way the plants were bent, and see the bent portions and know roughly how long ago the plant’s base had been snapped. Through that he could retrace the fight, exclude any recent passage through the area and narrow down which way the Wookiee had gone.

Tracking the footprints to a large tree, Skorm and Journ looked up and saw a Wookiee hut above them. Strapping their weapons to their back, they pulled out equipment that specifically allowed them to thrust blades into the tree and assist them with climbing such trees in their pursuit of hunting down and killing Wookiees.

They reached the large hut and gained entrance and quickly drew their weapons. Despite the primitive nature of the huts, it was made so that it wrapped around the tree and was extremely large, moving up and down, alongside the tree.

Both Skorm and Journ finally found the Wookiee who had their back turned to them, tending to one of the Wookiee children. There was no honor code in killing Wookiees when it came to Trandoshans – it was merely, “By any means necessary.” Skorm took aim in his scope, a toothy grin spread across his reptilian features as he pulled the trigger.

Just before hitting the Wookiee, the blast suddenly veered upwards. The Wookie turned and saw the familiar face of Skorm and howled in fury that the Trandoshan had returned. Still recovering from the notion that he had somehow missed the Wookiee, Skorm did not get his weapon up in time before the Wookiee was on top of him, strangling him.

Journ seeing his brother being strangled, raised his weapon, but suddenly felt a shove that slammed him against the wall, knocking the weapon from out of his hand. The Wookiee did not even notice as he continued to crush Skorm’s throat. Skorm reached into his coat and pulled out a vibro-blade which he plunged into the Wookiee’s stomach. The Wookiee howled in pain and dropped Skorm. Skorm pulled up his blaster, but the Wookiee grabbed Skorm by the arm and ripped it off effortlessly. Green blood splashed into the room as Skorm howled in furious pain. Trandoshans had the ability to regenerate, albeit slowly, but only if he survived.

Skorm grabbed his blaster with the other hand, and feebly tried to pull it up. But the Wookiee reached down and with a quick snap, broke Skorm’s neck. Skorm’s lifelessly body collapsed to the ground. By this time, Journ was back on his feet and aimed his blaster, and fired – and once again, the blast veered off at the last moment. This time he saw why.

A human holding a red lightsaber was standing between him and the Wookiee. With a gesture of his hand, Journ flew out the window and screamed as he fell to what one might assume was his death, sixty feet below.

The human turned and the Wookiee grabbed him by the throat.

The human dropped his lightsaber and raised his hands as he choked out the words, “I mean you no harm, Wookiee.”

The Wookiee threw the human down on the ground, still furious about the Trandoshans and the stab wound. The human rubbed his throat, “It would seem I saved your life, Wookiee, not once, but twice from those Trandoshans. I believe your people have a thing called a life debt…”

The Wookiee howled angrily towards the human. “Yes,” the human nodded, “I am sure you could have taken care of it yourself. Both times the Trandoshans were going to hit you when you weren’t looking.”

The Wookiee growled again.

“Why am I here?” The human picked up the lightsaber and attached it to his belt. “Is it not obvious?”

The Wookiee made an assortment of sounds.

“You,” the human paused, “you really don’t know, do you?” He chuckled. “Interesting. You moved away from your people because of the constant attacks by Terentatek down below. You left with your family. Your mate was killed and now you have only your daughter to remember her by.” He made himself comfortable. “You do know that Terentatek feed on the blood of those who are Force Sensitive?”

The Wookiee made a series of dubious grunts and growls.

“This is why the Terentatek are drawn to you,” the human explained.

The Wookiee shook his head.

“Come with me. I can show you the way,” the human offered.

The Wookiee growled.

“Your daughter? I will see to it personally that she is well taken care of,” the human smiled beneath his dark cowl.

There was a long moment, but the Wookiee finally agreed. The man stood up, “Excellent. Now allow me to show you something… this is going to hurt…”

The human closed his eyes and reached out – the Wookiee howled in pain as his claws were forcibly pulled out of his fingers so that they were six to eight inches long, drenched in blood. The human smiled as the Wookiee grew furious and the blood on his claws changed, and began to glow.

“Give in to the anger,” the human whispered. “Feel the fury. Become the weapon.”

When the Wookiee finally looked up, each of his claws was glowing like miniature lightsabers.

“Yes,” the human smiled. “With weapons like that, I have a new name for you. Maul.”

http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsing ... tcount=236

Jaryn;24056435 wrote:Have been doing a little more work on this character. Hope I haven't been too prescriptive - go with where the Muse takes you, and if it means changing any of this up in the name of a good story, please feel free! Particularly the history parts.
Varis Evenwood, half-elf bard entertainer
Str 8 Dex 16 Con 14 Int 10 Wis 12 Cha 16
Skills: Perception, Persuasion, Performance, Deception, Insight, Stealth, Acrobatics
Some history and character notes:

• Born into a troupe of traveling players, and became their star attraction as he grew older
• Got used to helping 'liberate' payment when people renaged on their contracts
• Performances caught the attention of a master bard who took him on and taught him properly
• Now a journeyman travelling the road for himself
• Can be sharp tongued and speak truth to power, even when it's unwanted - in the case of some nobles this can be a dangerous pursuit
• Overwhelmingly curious and will risk anything to find out about a lost piece of lore or the truth behind a legend
• Takes a real joy in songs of healing - particularly for children and animals
• Soaks up local gossip and rumours wherever he travels
• Despite a sense of mischief, he will stand up for those who can't protect themselves - regardless of how much trouble it lands him in!

I really enjoyed writing this one...
Because you gave me a lot of clues as to what you wanted, it really helped define him in my head.
I admit to listening to Pirates of the Caribbean soundtrack to capture the "playful" feeling of the character.
I also took the opportunity to do another "Tawmis-Verse" tie in, though very, very brief - more about Davlan Fallenleaf
Hopefully I got what you wanted! I try to cover (or mention) each of your listed items!
Enjoy!
====================================================

My father, Prynin Evenwood, was a handsome individual. A Sun Elf with bronze colored skin and hair that seemed to be forged in wisps of gold and eyes of pure silver, he was quite exotic looking to anyone who wasn’t used to seeing a Sun Elf.

My mother was a human, beautiful in her own right. With long, black, curly hair, a slim figure, with marble white skin and deep green eyes, she was, in many ways very different than my father. She was a singer of a traveling troupe called “The Ascension.” The troupe included several dancers, actors, and a small band, all of which she managed.

My mother and father crossed paths one night while she was performing. She had been singing one of her favorite songs; a ballad called “The Setting Sun” when her eyes met his. Everything about that song seemed to be about him, from talking about “his golden skin” down to “the sunset on your golden locks.” Her breath was stolen, and for the first time in her career, she found herself fumbling over the words.

My father had been just as drawn to her. From most of his travels, exploring the land, he had seen humans as short sighted individuals, too rushed in getting things done, rather than enjoying the beauty of things. This had been the first time that my father had seen someone so lost in their music that the rest of the world could have been burning down, and she would not have cared. She would have kept singing to keep the world calm around her, he felt.

They had shared one night of passion, that night that would eventually lead to my birth. My father stayed with my mother for almost a year, traveling with her, until the day came that a patrol of other Sun Elves, seeking out my father came and pulled him aside and delivered some kind of news. My father came back and told my mother that he would come back for me, but some matters have come up back home that he must attend to. I was three when he left and that was sixteen years ago.

In those sixteen years, however, the troupe had become my family in every sense of the word. It didn’t matter if I was with “Mad” Miech’ten the actor, or “Fabulous” Felina the tight-rope walker, or “The Serpent” Seelina, the dancer – each of them treated me as their son, helping my mother raise me and teaching me each of their skills.

I became a skilled dancer, tight rope walker, actor, singer, and performer in general. I would even mix some of these by acting while walking on the tight rope.

My family filled me with so much confidence, that I became quite the speaker, and very charismatic but not arrogant. I could smile at a woman and without saying a word, hear her catch her breath, as I bowed and kissed her hand. My mother used to tell me I picked up that charm from my father, but I could see it when my mother performed, though she still loved and missed my father, when she sang, her eyes would lock with various men, and she would flirt through her songs and dance, simply because she was naturally charming.

One day, while on the tight rope playing my lute for the crowd, a man caught my attention as he seemed to be eying me with an unusual amount of interest. When I was done performing he approached me and smiled, “You’re quite skilled, boy.”

“Thank you,” I bowed. “I owe it all to my family.”

It took my mother approaching us to realize who the man was. My mother bowed, “Jawn O’livia,” she awed. “What can I do for you?”

Jawn was one of the most well respected and known bards, all throughout the land. His music was legendary, as were the tales he spun. “I am looking to take on an apprentice,” Jawn said, matter-of-factly. “My bones are getting old. Soon, my last song will come, and I will walk the final road. I’ve searched a very long time for someone who would be suitable. Then rumors and stories about you and your son reached these old ears and I knew I had to come see for myself. I am glad to see that my sources were quite correct. Would you allow me to select your son as my apprentice?”

My mother looked at me, “He is old enough to choose. Varis?”

It would be odd after all this time to leave my family. What if my father came back? Would my mother send word to me? But the opportunity to train with Jawn hardly seemed like something I should pass up. He’s never trained anyone because he’s never found anyone worthy. I looked at my mother and she knew my answer. We did one last performance that night together, with Jawn as a special guest, and the crowd roared with joy.

I traveled and trained with Jawn for two years. Once, while performing in front of Royalty, they had made a remark about Jawn’s age, and my tongue got loose, and I spoke about how the King himself looked so old that the gods only kept him alive, because they considered him an ancient treasure. That landed me in jail for a day, until Jawn was able to talk the King into releasing me. Jawn has helped me curve my tongue, when needed, but also showed me, how, during an attack by a small band of orcs, using my tongue to lash insults at them was causing them to get so angry that they would make mistakes, and eventually allowed both Jawn and I to defeat them, without even laying a hand on them. They eventually got so mad that they ran away, furious.

Jawn also taught me to pay attention to rumors and stories, because everything I hear has a great chance at being based on some fraction of truth, no matter how outlandish it might sound, and that as a Bard, I would want to find out more about these stories; as there will be nights where the best way to get a free room is by going to an Inn and telling a great story, so much so that the Inn Keeper gives you a place to stay for the night, for free.

One day, Jawn told me that my journey would begin on my own now and that his time to leave had come. The next morning he was gone. I assume to walk the final road, as he told my mother. So for several weeks I traveled the road by myself, earning my keep by using the skills taught by my family and by Jawn.

Which leads us to today. One of my favorite things to do was find orphanages and sing and perform for them. Children who have no family, no mother, and no father – these were the ones that pulled at my heart strings the most. So every time I come to a new city, a new town, it’s always the first thing I look for. If I can make their lives brighter, if just for a moment, then I feel like my heart is full.

I was performing at Lliira’s Haven when three humans kicked down the door and demanded payment for “protection.”

“You’ve made a mistake today,” I said, setting my lute down.

“Who’s this clown?” One of the men laughed, shoving one of the female workers to the ground. “You hire someone to try and stop us?”

“No one has hired me,” I said, cranking my neck. “I am here for the children.”

“You can have the children, we’re here for the gold,” the second one laughed.

“I came here to bring hope, only to see you three steal from those who have nothing,” I snarled. “I am giving you one chance – just one chance – to realize you’ve made a mistake, and turn around and leave. Reflect on your lives. Change your ways. Forever.”

“Oh, we got ourselves a tough guy over here?” the third human said, cracking his knuckles.

I will do this with minimal bloodshed. I glanced around the room quickly. “Kids, please go to that corner over there. I am going to settle this.”

The first human lunged at me, and I picked up my guitar and smashed it across his head. He was dazed, and quickly I grabbed some of the strings and wrapped it around his throat. He began choking as I braced myself behind him.

Here comes the second one. Blindly charging behind me, I kick off the first one and grab one of the wooden beams above. The second collides into the first. I drop down on the second with a knee to the back of his head, which rattles his brain. I look up at the third one and smile. He roars and charges me also – none of them, thankfully – brought weapons, thinking there was only women here and no one to put up a fight. I pull a dagger from my boot and throw it at his inner thigh. He stops and howls in pain as I grab the chair I was sitting on when I was performing and bring it across his face. Solid oak. He stands there looking at me, as if too ignorant to realize he’s been knocked out, before collapsing.

The kids cheer loudly.

One of the women approaches me, “But they will come back. More furious than before!”

“Don’t worry,” I smiled. “I will take care of it.”

I stack them into my wagon, tied up by the clothes line that the orphanage used to dry their clothes and brought them out to the woods and tied them up together.

I poured honey on them as they screamed at me.

I sat down and began to play a song that my mother said my father used to sing; something about summoning animals. I kindly explained that soon bears would come and want the honey and see them as something in the way of their honey and attack them.

They didn’t believe me until the first bear showed up.

“I said I’d only give you one chance,” I packed my guitar and began to leave. “Enjoy being lunch for the bear.”

“Stop!” the begged. “Please! We can change! I swear!”

“You will work for the orphanage, properly protecting them from people like you,” I said calmly as the bear began to get closer. “You will return everything you’ve stolen from them.”

They agreed and I cut them free.

I looked at the bear and smiled.

“Thank you, Davlan,” I said, as a Halfling emerged from being the bear. Davlan Fallenleaf was a Ghostwise Halfling I had met a few days ago. We had traveled together in the same direction and were parting ways in the town. After the fight, I found him again in the town to ask for a favor for him to summon a bear and keep it controlled, to scare some thugs.

Davlan agreed, simply because it was worth it to see three tough men wet their trousers.

From there, Davlan and I parted ways again, and I continued on the road again... Nothing like being on the road again…

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Godrocks911;24056820 wrote:I am used do Star Wars Saga 3.5E, this is my first 5E D&D game. I am having a doozy of a time trying to formulate my backstory.
Varis Talltree, a male wood elf -
He grew in a small village in the middle of the forests of the Forgotten Realms. His village was not anti- magic, just inherently a non magical place, basically native american. His parents of consider it taboo to make any mention of anything Druid related. Everyone lived of of the land, if one had to killed an animal, it was only for food never for sport. When any life is to be taken, the person taking that life would pray to Silvanus, god of wild Nature that the life force would return to the primal essence nature. He spent most day trained rigorously with the longbow, and slipping in and out of the shadows. Around a month before Varis' 100th name day, things started to get strange. he noticed that when he finished his daily meditation, the vegetation around him was more grown, lush, healthy than when he began. not to mention the wild life being less edge around him. "Everything changed when the fire nation attacked", JK, but really. on Varis' 100th Name day Elementals mercilessly destroyed the village and the forest there in. Amongst the chaos of the fray Varis blacked out, only to awake in some old Ruins with a bow by his side, the likes of which he has never seen before.
I know, cleshay right.
my GM dropped me a magical bow and its description read:
Not Long ago after your family and entire village were decimated by a powerful elemental released by an unknown mage. You awoke one morning to find this bow laying beside you. It seems to be magical it creates arrows of energy when you pull back the bow string. You traveled to the large city of Neverwinter to see if you could learn more about it. You were directed to speak with the old sage that runs the Great Library in Neverwinter. He saw the bow and a look of horror passed across his face and he pointed to the Bow and called it The Gom Jabbar then demanded you leave, to the point that he threatened your life. So all you know is its magical and its name is Gom Jabbar

A few things; clearly your DM is a fan of the DUNGEONS & DRAGONS cartoon...?
The energy bow is right from the cartoon in the 80's... and by the sounds of it, since you're not a Druid (I assume?), but are honed to Nature (and use a longbow), it sounds like the Class you're headed for is Ranger. Which is what Hank, from the D&D Cartoon was "Classified" as. So naturally, the visions I have your character have of the man on the Nightmare is none other than Venger from the D&D Cartoon. You mentioned that your DM said some wizard does the attack on your town... So he can use the idea that the vision is true (it's someone who looks like Venger), or you were having premonitions (glimpses into the future) of an attack that was coming (but like dreams, they often don't make a lot of sense... so the dream could have been foretelling the Wizard's attack, who perhaps doesn't look like Venger). It's just I couldn't help making a reference... And then when the man at the Great Library in Neverwinter calls the weapon "the poison of magic" - that's a reference to the weapon's name your DM gave the energy bow... because in DUNE "Gom Jabbar" is a type of poison. So I have no idea if your DM intentionally named it that.
I did use some Forgotten Realms history - so the Retreat to Evermeet is described here. And information on the Spellplague is here. Not at all necessary to know - only linking it for your personal information (since you had mentioned D&D is not normally your thing!)

ALLLLLLLL of that said, you need to know NONE of the above of what I just mentioned to enjoy your character background I wrote!
As always, feel free to use, not use, change it up, etc! I'd just love feedback if you have any!
Enjoy!
===================================================

I’ve never understood why my parents and the entire village for that matter seemed to be against Druids, despite living in a similar nature to them. For example, we lived off the land; only killed an animal for food, never for sport; and those we were forced to kill, we prayed to Silvanus, The Oak Father, better known as the God of Nature, to take their spirit and return their soul to the primal essence of nature, to be reborn, but that’s how life was in Crestford.

When I was sixteen I began to look into the history of our village, curious why we had turned away from magic. Turns out, several decades ago, the founders of the village I called home, had left the Llewyrrwood, now known as Neverwinter Wood. It turns out there was something called The Retreat, in which almost all of the elves fled to Evermeet. After the events of the Spellplague, not only did Elves return to Llewyrrwood, which by then had taken the name Neverwinter Wood, but an abundance of Fey from their ancestral home also returned and a war broke out with the Dark Fey. So much chaos and magic was thrown around that the founders of Crestford decided to leave and turn their backs on Druids and magic, as it was clearly something that could not be controlled.

Even in Crestford, I always felt out of place. The friendships I forged were often short lived, as people found me unusual. I spoke of weird dreams I began having at the age of twenty one, where I saw what looked to be a man, with a horn on the side of his head, riding a black, flying horse, with fire in its eyes and on its hooves. When I shared my dream with my parents, they took me to the Elder, who performed some ritual to “drive away the dark spirit” in me. Whatever he’d done, it stopped the visions from coming.

For about twenty nine years; on my fiftieth celebration, the vision came back. Rather than share this with my parents again, I kept it to myself. I struggled with holding a normal conversation with people, which made me an outcast among my own people. I learned to be alone, practicing day in and day out how to better myself with a longbow. I would hunt animals, without killing them, just to see if I could track them and get as close as I could to them. There wasn’t much more I could do when no one cared to be my friend.

I eventually began to even feel a rift between me and my family. My older brother often asked me what was wrong when he caught me gazing out into the heavens. He’d say my eyes were vacant as if my spirit were on a journey without my body.

Several months before the mark of my turn of one hundred seasons, I had been out hunting alone, as I always did, not for sport or food, simply to test my skill when a gorgeous elf stepped out from inside of a tree. “This is your favorite spot,” he said, scaring off the two deer I had been following. “The animals always come here, don’t they? You think it’s because there is plenty to eat?” He seemed to be reading my mind. “That’s amusing.” He smiled and looked at me, and I found I couldn’t move, react, or even speak. “Did you ever wonder if perhaps they came because of you? That to them, they were playing a game of tag with you?” He shook his head, and it seemed as if miniature stars fell from his hair. “No, your people have told you otherwise, haven’t they? They’ve closed the door. But you; you’re different. You feel it in you, don’t you? You know that’s what truly makes you different than them. You,” his expression changed to one of great sadness, “you will need to be strong in the coming months. Know that I wish things could be different. But Fate, I cannot change. Destiny is coming for you, and it will be at a cost. You will feel lost in the woods of your future, but know, just as you have always done, you will find the path again. I do wish it could be different,” he said solemnly as he turned around and walked back into the tree.

As soon as he was gone, I collapsed to the ground, finally able to move, breathe, and even talk. I ran up to the tree he had appeared from and vanished to, but there was nothing different about the tree. It looked and felt like every other tree in the forest.

“What had I just witness?” I asked no one but myself. Was I losing my mind? I sat down and took a deep breath to clear my head. Breathe in, breathe out; breathe in, breathe out. I took one more deep breath and opened my eyes and was started to see the deer who had run off were sitting right next to me, and the grass all around me had grown.

I jumped to my feet, “What’s going on?” I found myself talking to myself. The deer slowly got up, not even startled by my movement and looked at me as if trying to mentally explain what was happening. I ran back to Crestford, desperate to tell my parents, but as soon as I barged in the door, they gave me a knowing look and I decided to keep it a secret. For the next few months, each time I sat in the glade, the animals came to me and sat with me.

On the day that marked the turning of one hundred seasons, my peaceful time at the glade had been interrupted by the sounds of explosions and screams. The animals around me quickly scampered away as I grabbed my bow and ran back towards Crestford. As I reached Crestford all I saw was something that appeared to be a giant fire elemental of some kind. There was an explosion that sent me flying backwards. I heard a disgusting crunching sound, which I knew was my head making contact with a rock on the floor before blacking out.

When I awoke, I expected to be near Crestford, but I awoke in stone ruins that I did not recognize. Next to me was my bow, which I picked up – and immediately noticed that something was different. It wasn’t my bow as I had assumed. This one was different – plain in design – one thing seemed off. It was missing a bow string. When I heard a crackle behind me, I instinctively spun and pulled on where the bow string should have been and was surprised to see an energy string and arrow appear. It startled me so much I released my hold and shot the energy arrow into the air, which sent the squirrel who had made the sound scurrying away.

It took me several days, but it turned out, despite not being familiar with the Ruins, I was still in the same woods and eventually found my way back to Crestford. The entire village had been decimated. The fires were out, but the buildings were still smoldering. I found the bodies of my mother and father in the house; my brother was found just outside, but there was no sign of my sister. Unfortunately, because of the fires and whatever else marched through Crestford, tracking her would be impossible, especially if she did escape, as I had hoped, and was looking not to be tracked by whatever attacked Crestford. I spent several days trying to find signs of my sister, but there was none to be found; even most of the animals of the woods seemed to have fled. I needed to find some answers as to what might have happened, and perhaps information on this energy bow.

Having read the history of Crestford, I knew – if I was still near my home – that the city of Neverwinter was a major city, with wizards, clerics, and all kinds that could potentially help me identity this bow and the creature or creatures that destroyed Crestford and murdered my family.

Upon reaching Neverwinter, I learned of the Great Library, where I approached a human, ancient by the looks of it and explained what happened at Crestford. He offered a number of possibilities and explained that there had been a series of similar attacks all across the land, as if some sorcerer or wizard or warlock was in search of something or someone.

When I showed the human my bow, he suddenly reeled back, “The poison of magic! Gom Jabbar! Gom Jabbar!” He pointed, “Get that out of here! Begone! Begone before I ring the alarm and have you arrested and taken away forever!”

I had tried to ask what he was afraid of – what he had meant – but he turned and rang the alarm. I was forced to flee.

I’ve spent days now, surviving off the land, wondering if I would find anyone who might understand what’s happening…

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Holiday Warlock;24051485 wrote:Salutations! I have an idea that I'm a little unsure about. I've got an idea for a druid that failed wizard school. He is from a old wizarding family and is kind of very bad at wizard magic. The worst thing about it for him though, is the way that his family just assumes that if he just tried harder he'd be good at it. I'm just not sure about name or why he became a druid or anything quite like that, so I'd quite appreciate it if you could help.

All I needed was the Race (which I got from you via Private Message), because I already had an idea how to make this all work...
As someone who loves animals, the idea of a failing wizard, and how you might become a Druid was very easy to me...
I essentially wrote what my ideal life, in a fantasy world would probably be like...!
As always, I'd love feedback!
What you liked, what you hated, what worked, what didn't! Please let me know!
Otherwise, enjoy!
===============================================
I twiddled my fingers and waiting for the big fireball; even a spark at this point, but just like always, nothing happened.

My name is Daryus Sunborn and I come from a very long bloodline of Wizards. My father, Airuk, threw his arms up in frustration. “You’re not even trying! You’re just saying the words without feeling them! You don’t just read a spell book! The words you read are an extension of who you are! You’re not reading the spell book to children gathered around your feet, you’re trying to manipulate the very magical fabric that twists and turns in the air around you!”

Matters at home seemed to get worse, when my younger brother, five years younger than me, named Ayron, began showing signs of shaping magic. At first, it was horrible living at home. Everything was, “See, if your younger brother can do it, so can you!” Eventually, when I still wasn’t showing signs of being able to control magic, my father stopped giving me any attention at all – both positive or negative, and soon I just faded from his mind entirely.

I would spend days away from home, just being in the nearby woods and come home after I had run out of food, just to see if my father missed me. He never did. He never took notice that I was gone. My mother at least took notice that I smelled as if I had not showered in days. Being alienated by my father, and even my mother to some degree, made it so making friends was difficult. I was socially awkward when I tried to talk to people, quickly running out of things to say, and just standing there in mutual silence as they looked for a way to get away from me.

I began spending more and more time alone, walking in the woods, away from people, who I didn’t understand and who didn’t seem to understand me. I found more comfort in the song of the woods, listening to the birds singing, the insects chirping, as the squirrels racing on the branches above me.

One night, while I sat in the glade, surrounded by animals, I heard screams coming from the direction of my village. I quickly stood to my feet and raced to the edge of the clearing where I could see the Poison Blade Brigade – a tribe of green skinned forest goblins – was attacking the town. My heart raced in my chest when suddenly, on each side of me stood a bear, a bobcat and several other animals. I felt a nudge behind me, and the moose that had been standing close to me, seemed to be gesturing to me to get on its back.

I did so, and grasped tightly to its antlers and yelled for an attack. Not only had the animals next to me rushing out with me, but bursting from the treetops, hummingbirds flew like arrows, and rabbits and squirrels jumped from the brush, dodging and weaving the attacks that eventually turned in our direction.

In the middle of casting a spell, my father had been struck by an arrow and spun around. My younger brother had tried to remember the spells, but the fighting had disrupted his thoughts, making it impossible for him to concentrate. I brought the moose between the goblins near my family and it reared up, bringing its hooves crushing the skull of the two of the goblins. The hummingbird were hitting them and moving away quicker than the goblins could react, sometimes blinding them with strikes to their eyes, while the rabbits and squirrels bit deep with their small fangs; bears and bobcats shredding through the goblins that were too dumb to flee.

It took almost an hour, but the battle had been won. My father stood, staring at me on the back of a moose. “Son?” he muttered.

It’d been the first time he’d called me “son” in over ten years.

“I think I know why,” I began to explain “I could never summon magic the way you do. I come from the same bloodline, but I don’t have what it takes to be a wizard, because my heart was never in it. Nature is what I have always been close to, father. People,” I shrugged, “I don’t understand. But animals,” I stroke the rough mane of the moose, “them, I can understand. My place isn’t here. Not anymore. It never was. I was born from you, but I was never truly a part of you. My heart, my soul, they’re a part of this land. I see that now. My journey takes me elsewhere.”

I slid off the moose and hugged my family farewell. It’d been the first time that I’d seen my father cry. Ever.

“I’m sorry,” I heard him whisper, as he hugged me tighter than he ever has. “I pushed you too hard. I never gave you a chance to be who you wanted to be. I hope you can forgive me.”

“You showed me who I was meant to be,” I said as I stepped back and climbed the moose again. “Maybe there was an easier way, but the roads we take are sometimes the most difficult, and those are the ones where we are truly rewarded. Farewell, father.”

I rode away on the back of the moose back into the woods, near the glade, where an elf, adorned in green had been waiting. “Said farewell to your family, then?”

“I did,” I replied, somewhat shocked. “And you are…?”

“Yes, apologies,” the elf chuckled. “Like you, I am not accustomed to people. My name is Evarys Treehammer, and I am the one who is going to teach you about how to become a proper Druid.”

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Falcos;24058695 wrote:Ooh boy, can we request multiple at one? I've got a bunch of proto-ideas that I want written up.
But for now, my first one:
Tortle Druid of Dreams, named Madbloom. Really, really old, cranky, has plants growing on shell because is so old.
Thank you in advance!

I have never played (or DMed) a Tortle character...
So this was fun to look up, read up on, and find a way to tie him to the Druid school of Dreams...
I think I found a fun way to do it, and hopefully it works with what you have in mind!
(Regardless, I had way too much fun developing his character... and his "friend" who we meet early on...)
Please give feedback - whether you liked it, loved it, it works, doesn't work - let me know!
Feedback is what I thrive on when I do these; and it also helps keep the thread alive!
Enjoy!
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“Come meet the Dreamweaver she said,” Madbloom, a Tortle strolling down the path sighed. “She’s really nice, she said!” Tortle stopped and shook his fist. “Oh, she was nice all right! Nice and tricky!”

Tortles like Madbloom were intelligent, turtle-like humanoids who walked on two feet, capable of making and using weapons. All Tortles felt the sense of “The Pull of the Tide” which was an urge to go about and explore the world far and wide, and return perhaps, months or even many years after leaving their homes, with stories of what they’d learned. It was when Madbloom had felt “The Pull of the Tide” that a Selkie – a water fey that could shape shift from human to seal – had come to him. It was a Selkie he knew named Suntide. She was beautiful, with her large brown eyes, and hair as golden as the sunset, for which she had been named…

“Come meet the Dreamweaver,” Suntide smiled, leaning on a rock and glancing up playfully at Madbloom. “She’s heard of your kind, but in all her years, has never seen one of you.”

“Well,” Madbloom shrugged, “I am not sure I am the best representation of my people. There are many who have traveled the world, seen more, have wonderful stories!”

“The Dreamweaver does not want to hear stories,” Suntide giggled. “She just wants to meet one of you. I told her I knew one! A wonderfully nice Tortle, I told her! You wouldn’t deny me? Make me appear as a liar to the Dreamweaver?”

“I mean,” Madbloom sighed, “no, I don’t want to make you look like a liar,” he had begun to say, finding an excuse to not go, but Suntide cut him off.

“She’s really nice!” Suntide pulled herself up onto the rocks. Her bare body glistened in the setting sun.

“Yes, well,” Madbloom looked away, “I will never get used to that.”

“What?” she looked down and realized her nude body had made him feel odd. “But you do not wear clothes under your shell, right? It’s just your shell you wear.”

“Yes, it’s just that,” Madbloom thought about it. Suntide watched with intense curiosity before Madbloom finally shrugged. “You’re right.”

“So you will go meet the Dreamweaver!” Suntide began to clap excitedly.

“Wait! No! That’s not what I said!” Madbloom began, but Suntide had already dived into the ocean and swam away.

“What have I gotten myself into? It’ll be nice,” Madbloom huffed, “once I leave for the Pull of the Tide to be free of that crazy Selkie.”

“Are you ready?” Suntide’s voice was directly behind him.

Madbloom screamed – or what passed for a scream from a Tortle – which sounded more like a squeaky door slowly creaking open.

Suntide giggled as Madbloom shot her a knowing, scolding look.

“I can hold my breath underwater,” Madbloom began, just then Suntide threw a small vial at him, that he remarkably managed to catch before it shattered on the jagged rocks at his feet. He held up the vial of blue liquid. “What’s this?”

“Drink it!” Suntide smiled broadly.

“You expect me to drink something a fey just hands me from the ocean?” Madbloom eyed her again.

She returned his gaze, her beautiful smile never cracking.

Madbloom’s giant eyes fluttered. “Fine. Fine.” He muttered a series of words and sentences better not left heard by Suntide and popped the top off of the vial and took a drink. Immediately his body felt energized as if he could run for days without needing to slow down.

Suntide extended her hand and Madbloom took hers into his and in that moment, they were moving like a lightning bolt through the skies – piercing the darkest tides of the oceans – down deeper than Madbloom ever thought possible.

They came to a screeching halt before a large, aquatic cave. Several Mermen and Nixie’s patrolled the outside, some mounted on Hippocampus; magnificent aquatic animals with a torso of a horse, whose hooves were fins; and their lower body that of a great fish.

Suntide whispered, “Come,” and Madbloom didn’t even think to wonder how he could still hear her underwater. She led Madbloom by the hand, past several Mermen guards who eyed them as they swam by, hands on their weapons. Eventually they entered a large chamber with a golden seat, decorated in an assortment of sea treasure and shells. Upon it sat the most beautiful humanoid Madbloom had ever seen. She appeared to be an Elf, by the looks of her, with her thin frame, full eyes and pointed ears. But how could she be breathing underwater?

“She’s a Nymph,” Suntide said, as if reading Madbloom’s mind. “She is the Dreamweaver.”

Adapt at being underwater for brief stints, Madbloom let his body sink to the floor where he could properly bow before her. The Dreamweaver smiled, “You are honorable and humble,” her voice sounded like a choir of angels. “You feel the pull of the world beyond now, do you not?”

“The Pull of the Tide,” Madbloom nodded, “that’s what my people call it. The tide pulls you out into the ocean of the world to swim in it, see it, and learn from it.”

“The world beyond is bleeding,” the Dreamweaver said, the emphasis of her voice so sad, even Madbloom felt his own heart plummet. “There is war; greed; savagery; brutality; murder; chaos; all of which has done one thing to so many… especially the children…”

“What is that?” Madbloom raised his head.

“They’ve lost their dreams,” Dreamweaver replied. “So many simply seek to survive the day, and lie in fear at night, with no time to sleep, no time to dream of a better life, or even a better world. What if you, on your travels during the pull of the tide, could help change that? Would you?”

“I would,” Madbloom agreed, “the idea that the world outside is full of such sadness, such a loss of hope… I would want to change it. Especially for the children; the children need a reason to get up, to hope, to dream.”

The Dreamweaver smiled. “I could see it in your heart. Your kind always passing tales to their young so that your young can go forward, charged with the knowledge you’ve passed down. Let me show you the world, when there’s nothing left,” she touched Madbloom’s left hand and visions of a land, decimated by war, the soil drenched in blood, filled his eyes. “Now let me show you how we can make it right,” then she touched Madbloom’s right arm. The vision reversed itself, and the people spoke to one another, laughed, enjoyed each other’s company, and the once crimson fields were now rows of apple fields, ripe with hope.

“You now have seen it, the dark,” she held up her left hand, “and the light,” she showed her right hand. “You now share a connection with me. There is one thing I failed to mention, my life force is tied to yours, so long as I live, you will age, very, very, very slowly.”

That was over two hundred years ago.

Madbloom has seen generations of Tortles come and go, though having none of his own (suspecting that the Fey Magic he was tied to had something to do with that). He enjoyed his life at first, spreading cheer and love, but as he continued to age, seeing generations die when he was barely aging had begun to wear on him. He was well beyond “old” for a Tortle, so much so that plants now grew on his shell and a hummingbird (which he tried to say he disliked) named “Dart” had made a nest on his shell. It would leave for weeks on end, but Dart always found her way back to Madbloom. He even wondered if it was somehow Suntide…

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evilspacecow;24059273 wrote:Getting ready to play a new character tonight and could use help with a background.
Male Half-Elf
Hexblade/Pact of the Blade Warlock
He is very weak so maybe did the warlock thing to be stronger. Going to at least start with no armor (Mage Armor) and using a shield and a staff, that I use as a walking stick.

Another Hexblade! You people love your Hexblades! I've never DMed for one or played one! So I always worry if I am writing it correctly!
Naturally, any changes can be made to make it fit better (or just completely disregarded if it doesn't fit what you want!)
For me, I HOPE I get something the requestor wants - but I also enjoy the aspect of the "one hour" writing challenge I present myself with!
There's a little thing in this thread called "The Tawmis Verse" where I tie people's origins to others I've written...
And yours way the perfect one to tie to Baraks the Tiefling!
His origin is not needed (since he only plays a very small part), but by reading his, you can see how they tie together! And it "expands" on yours in a way.
Regardless! Please let me know if you like it, hate, love, can use it, can't use, can use part of it!
I thrive on feedback - it sedates my hunger and keeps this thread alive!
Enjoy!
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Waterdeep is one of the largest cities of all Faerûn, but like any person, there were pieces to it; the arms that had their hands in everything, the legs that kept everything moving, the heart of the city in the center, the mind, where all the politicians sat; and then there were the eyes. The eyes of Waterdeep were blind and so too were the people.

Most walked by the entrance to the Southern Ward of Waterdeep and immediately cast their vision in the opposite direction as if some horror might turn them to stone if they were to peer into the depths of the Southern Ward of Waterdeep. Truth be told, the Southern Ward was where the “poor people” would live; most commonly what were affectionately called “the undesirables and half-breeds.”

Not only did the Southern Ward home those living well below poverty, but it was also home to unusual folks of Faerûn – the “half-breeds” such as Half-Orcs, Tieflings, and yes, even Half-Elves. I was one of those “half-breeds”, a Half-Elf named Erintor Greenhaven.

My life has the same tragic tale you might expect. My mother, Allana Greenhaven was here for diplomatic purposes when she was abducted by Wererats who call the sewers of Waterdeep their home. They demanded a ransom for her safe return and when it was paid, they did not release her; instead they kept her for months, subjecting her to abuse and punishment. One of those rat-bastards would eventually become my father, getting my mother pregnant. When she learned she was pregnant she made repeated attempts to escape, but would always get caught again, because the sewers were a maze. But what they did not know was that my mother was marking the tunnels each time she tried to escape so she would know next time, which one might be a dead end. One week before I was born, she managed to outwit and escape the Wererats, surfacing out of one of the sewer grates in the Southern Ward where some kind people took her in. She gave birth to me and died a few short hours later from malnourishment.

That malnourishment led to me growing up weak and frail. The people who raised me kept the secret that my father was a Wererat from me until I turned eighteen seasons; when they finally told me that they believe, according to my mother’s rambles of madness, when she had first escaped, that she had gotten away from Wererats. I now wake up, every morning, wondering if my father’s cursed blood has passed down to me. The full moon has come and gone, several times now, and so far I’ve not changed.

But because I was so weak and frail, I was often picked on in the Southern Ward where fighting for your food was a way of surviving. One night, while running from some boys who had hoped to rob me of what little I had, I stepped into what passed as a Church in the Southern Ward. It was, to my surprise, primarily Tieflings, which was a startling sight. I felt as if I had run from bullies and stepped into the plane of Hades. On the wall was a painting of a female, demon, looking woman, with six arms and a serpentine body.

A Tiefling placed his hand on my shoulder as he looked back at the bullies who hesitated at the Church’s entrance. “My name is Barakas. Welcome to the Church of Mythia. You, my friend, are safe here from the likes of them.”

At first, this was merely a place of shelter, but listening to Barakas speak of Mythia, and about how, despite her appearance, like Tieflings, she hoped to bring good to the world, and show that appearances are never the way to judge one.

That was the first night. I returned to the Church of Mythia every week, and especially on the full moon, where it was said Mythia’s eyes were on us all, passing judgement, to ensure we were doing what she asked of us.

There was a religious organization in the Southern Ward known as “The Pillar of Light” who also thought the full moon was sacred; but they believed it was their holy god (they followed a number of them), shining the light through the darkness to show them where evil was.

One night, while the Pillar of Light had been chanting outside the Church about the “devil’s fools” that we were (reminding me so much of the bullies who had tried to tell me how to live my life, and threaten me with violence and fear), I heard a woman’s voice.

“The storm is brewing,” she said to me directly. “I will need weapons to vanquish those that would stand against me. You have run all of your life. You have been weak all of your life. Open your soul to me, I will make you strong, I will make you my weapon.”

It was Mythia! It had to be! I closed my eyes and imagined my chest being ripped open, but there was no pain – only peace – as one of Mythia’s demon claws squeezed my heart. With a gasp I opened my eyes and felt more alive than I had ever. “The process is complete.”

We had been celebrating the eighteenth season of Baraka’s turning when the Pillar of Light suddenly attacked the Church throwing fire; claiming that they would burn it down and send it, flames and all, back to the planes of Hades. My breath left me, and my eyes rolled to the back of my head, as my hand stopped on the hilt of a scimitar, like the one Mythia used. Next to me, I could see Baraka in the same trance as we moved, like the hands of the six armed Mythia, striking at those around us. The Pillar of Light was forced to flee, having never seen us fight back. When it was done I collapsed to the floor and looked at Barakas.

“We have been blessed,” he smiled.

I smiled back. I would stand against those who would seek to drive me back.

I am weak. I am frail.

But what I will never be again is afraid.