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

[Tawmis]

https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=974

Tawmis! Long time no see!
It has been a couple of years since you came up with the amazing backstory of my character Maxi the foxfolk... we concluded our campaign at 20th level earlier this year, where he finally proved himself to the librarians of Candlekeep and was granted access to the knowledge he sought of his father Laren's legacy as a Paladin, and while Maxi had been hesitant up until that point, he ultimately got to learn how well he followed his father's footsteps after all. :smallsmile: I'm not the best writer, but if you're curious, you can check out more here if you'd like. Either way, it was such a fantastic journey, I truly thank you again. :smallbiggrin:
I also wanted to post to you again because the inspiration for new character ideas has totally run dry over the past few months for me, and I finally built up the courage to ask for your help once more, if you would be up to it! You may have heard about the announcement of One D&D, where playtest material is going to be published over time in preparation for the next generation of D&D... one of the newest additions that has been unveiled is the new Ardling race, the new celestial equivalent to Tieflings which have the heads of different animals.
As I mentioned, I am dry of ideas that I genuinely feel excited about, but this new race is calling my name... so I request for you to surprise me with a story that I can once again build upon. :smallsmile: I can say that because of Maxi, I really have grown attached to naive characters that have the potential to grow... and I find myself doing a lot of research on the many deities and lore of the Faerun, so I think having this character tied to the setting in some way would be really fun! Other than those suggestions, all I ask is for you to go for another class that isn't a cleric, just to shake things up! Let me know if you'd need more than this, I'd just love to hear what you come up with on your own this time around. :smallwink: Thanks again!

Awesome! Hope you enjoy it and the little bits of art thrown in along the way. :smallbiggrin:
As for the Ardling, with them seemingly being such a sudden addition you wouldn't think they'd be common like the Tiefling, but to me it seems like they're trying to make a sorta "good" version of the Tiefling who similarily are known having ancestors from the Outer Planes yet don't usually originate from them, unlike the Aasimar who I've always presumed to be actual outsiders... but who knows, it may turn out to be the other way around. I encourage you to stick with your depiction or instead write an Aasimar if you'd be more comfortable having more material to work with. :smallsmile:
If you'd like me to pick between a spellcaster or a more martial class, I'd prefer the former, but I love any character who knows a thing or two about casting spells. Thanks for asking.

Haha I getcha now :smallsmile: reading back over Aasimar as I wrote my last post I began to wonder how they will differentiate the two down the line, we will just have to wait and see. I appreciate your assuring words too, from one artist to another I'm just really shy when it comes to asking for things, but I'll be sure to keep that in mind!
As for the animal... I actually have all my d&d characters associated with one, so that admittedly may be a tough call on my part. I haven't gotten around to playing a dog, bird, or sheep character, all of which I know have their importance in the Upper Planes... maybe you'd find inspiration in using one of those? :smalltongue: I'm sure I'd have fun creating a character design around whichever you choose.

Because my own world of D&D is 101% homebrewed, I had to double back and look up Faerûn deities...
And ironically, it would be the first one in the Swordcoast Book that spoke to me...
Akadi - goddess of air
You'd mentioned perhaps a bird could be one...
And so I went with, in my eyes, the most fierce of the birds...
An Eagle.
But, you wanted someone timid, who could grow...
So I liked the idea of this fierce eagle headed person, starting off in this world as timid...
But I needed a reason...
And then it clicked.
I hope you enjoy what I've given...
As always, I'd love feedback in this thread, because it keeps it bumped and alive!
Enjoy!
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Akkaris remembered little of how he’d come to be here on Faerûn – only that his first memory was finding himself in a vortex of swirling purple mist – disoriented before crashing hard near Lake Weng – the impact had rendered him unconscious. Several hours later, when he awoke – he could scarcely recall even his own name and his memories seemed to be rapidly fading from his mind. He tried to cling to them, but it had been like trying grasp the morning mist – only small fragments remained.

He could barely recall a home – a beautiful palace with beings of stunning beauty. Had he done something wrong? Had he been banished? Or was he sent here with a purpose?

The gentle lapping of Lake Weng’s waters lulled him to sleep just a moment longer. After several hours of rest, Akkaris stood up – gathered some of his belongings that had been scattered about – his pouch, some of the contents of the pouch, and a dagger. He then went to Lake Weng’s waters and ran his hands through the water, viewing his eagle headed reflection in the rippling water; he wondered again how he’d come to be here… was it banishment… or a mission? Had something gone wrong to tamper with his memories?

Akkaris traveled south from the lake and came to a road where he’d encountered several travelers, one of them – a human name Korfinian offered Akkaris a ride to Crimmor, a walled city not too far away. Akkaris accepted the ride from the rugged human, and along the ride, Korfinian asked, “I’ve personally never seen your kind before – but I know that the aarakocra do live in the Cloud Peak Mountains just north of Crimmor.”

“You’ve heard of my kind then?” Akkaris asked.

“Heard of them, sure,” Korfinian nodded. “Plenty of stories about the aarakocra of Cloud Peak. ‘The Eagle people.’”

That would make sense, Akkaris told himself. If Cloud Peak mountain wasn’t so far away, then perhaps something had happened – and he just needed to return there – discover what had happened.

After a few, short hours, the wagon pulled up to the walled city of Crimmor and Korfinian provided his credentials and the duo were able to enter the wall city. Inside the city, at their first stop where Korfinian delivered furs, the shop keeper said, “Who is your Kenku friend?”

Korfinian turned back to see Akkaris looking at the various items in the shop, impressed by what he’d seen – and yet, also horrified to see so many skinned animals.

Korfinian shook his head, “Does it he look like a crow to you?”

The shopkeeper’s wife piped up, “I think the Kenku are actually raven?”

The shopkeeper turned to his wife, “What’s the difference?”

Korfinian shook his head, “Regardless, he doesn’t look crow or raven – clearly eagle. And Kenku – whether raven or crow – their entire body looks like the bird – him, he says his name is Akkaris – it’s just his head that’s an eagle. I think he’s one of the eagle people – the aarakocra – from Cloud Peak just north of here. Says his memories have been scrambled. Going to give him a ride to the base of Cloud Peak – and hope he can find his tribe.”

“His convocation, you mean,” the shop keeper’s wife muttered.

“His conviction?” Korfinian asked.

“Convocation,” she repeated. “That’s what a group of eagles is called. Like a pride of lions.; a murder of crows; a conspiracy of ravens.”

“Sure, whatever,” Korfinian replied as he took his payment and he and Akkaris left.

After a few more deliveries in Crimmor, they traveled north together to the base of the Cloud Peak. Korfinian pointed at the tall mountains, whose peaks were – similar to the name sake – somewhere above the clouds. “Supposedly, that’s where the eagle people dwell. I wanted to wish you good luck as this wagon cannot make it up such a perilous path.” After a heartfelt farewell, Akkaris used his own magic to summon up goodberries that Korfinian could use to ensure he does not go hungry for a while, and with that make the trek up the mountain.

It’d been difficult, strenuous, and exhausting, but after three days of going up the mountain, Akkaris crested over the thick cloud cover and gazed down from where he stood. Below, the clouds blocked out the very land he’d just climbed up from – and this did indeed remind him of home. He remembered soft clouds, like pillows, all around. Had he finally found home?

It had taken nearly three more days of climbing around the peak – when he had seen a flying humanoid – that indeed bore the resemblance to an eagle – but unlike Akkaris, it had wings. For several hours, he tried to follow where his humanoid eagle had gone – off and on spotting it in the sky. He had eventually been able to track it down and discovered, as Korinian had said – there was an entire community of these eagle people – and when they’d spotted Akkaris they flew down to him to ask him his business. When Akkaris explained what had happened, the two took him to their High Priest, Eshlin’sha.

Eshlin’sha was a female aarakocra priestess, and the “Speaker of the Sky.” She was said to be the oldest aarakocra living here on Cloud Peak, having lived well beyond her years – and though by appearance, her age showed – she somehow still reflected a youthful energy about her in how she spoke and moved. “Hello,” she said, her voice as soft and gentle as the very clouds Akkaris had just climbed through. “What has brought you here to us, child?”

Akkaris felt flushed – not because of the climb, but something about being in Eshlin’sha’s presence – he suddenly couldn’t find his words – everything he had wanted to ask, suddenly seemed foolish. He cleared his throat, “Priestess Eshlin’sha, my name is Akkaris – and I have little memory of my own past. I recall a vortex and then awakening near a lake. I could not recall if I had been sent here or cast out, and had heard of the aarakocra from a human and had hoped this was my home – and though, it resembles my home, atop of clouds, I can see I am not like you.”

Eshlin’sha smiled, “Indeed, you are different. But, I may have some of what you seek. You, as you have surmised, are not an aarakocra – but rather, what is known as an Ardling of Akadi, Mother of the Skies, Goddess of Air. That’s why the clouds looks familiar. And I sense no evil in you, young Akkaris, so you were not cast out from Akadi’s domain – as a matter of fact, I sense a strong connection to nature within you – a druid perhaps?”

Akkaris felt his body grow warm again. “I am indeed tied to the world of nature, Priestess. That is one of the few things I have retained in my memory.”

“Then, perhaps Akadi has sent you here with great purpose,” Eshlin’sha indicated, “and you must find that great purpose. But know, the world of Faerûn is rife with danger. Beware of who you trust, but if Akadi has sent you here for some purpose – you will need allies. Seek those who you can trust, and perhaps the pieces to your time here will become clearer. Far to the north are a number of settlements, such as Candlekeep, Baldur’s Gate, Waterdeep, Neverwinter, and to the furthest north, near the Spine of the World is Luskan. Perhaps more information on your purpose, or potential allies, can be found there. I wish you great luck on the path before you, young Akkaris. Akadi has placed great faith in you.”

[Tawmis]

https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... tcount=987

Need a back story for a Goliath Barbarian that goes by the name of Mordechi, i have some story points i would like included.
Location of Origin: Nation of Stone, Known as the Kingdom of Sloth.
Capitol: Akurkam
Ruler: Samonian Sont - The King of stone is a silent old man. He stays mostly to his quarters and leaves the day-to-day politics to his eldest son.
The Nation of Stone’s residents live almost solely underground. It has deep networks for its mining industry. The Nation of Stone procures the finest Gems, minerals, and ores for the rest of the Lands Above to use. As such, they have very close ties with the Nation of Fire. Other than that, they mostly stay hidden in their caves and do not venture out.
Rumor – said to be located deep under the largest mountain in the Nation of Earth. These rumors say it is a city of gold and gems. It is also known as the Lost City, as no outsider has ever seen it.
Weapon: Longsword of Stone - a weapon of legendary status that is capable of rending the winds and even severs the grip of death. The wielder of this weapon is said to be able to take on an army by themselves and come away unscathed.
Also would like some life events that caused me to go out on a quest of revenge/justice for fallen loved one. DM would like some characters from past that has had life effects please

Since I was writing for a homebrew world, I tried to keep things somewhat vague, and use the information you provided...
I covered all the bases you wanted as well, except for the Sloth part of the name.
I introduced the Prince (and gave him a name) as well as another character who has a title called "Saoi" which is essentially "The King's Hand" or their "Sage" (the one who gives the King advice on matters).
Now when you get to the end, it seems like the Saoi is the one who is responsible for the tragic event...
Or was it the Prince who set up the tragic event?
Does the Prince give the character this quest at the end for a specific reason?
Is he even telling the truth about the quest?
I left this open for interpretation for you and your DM to explore.
As always, I'd love to hear feedback in this thread as it keeps it bumped and alive!
Enjoy!
======================================================

The rhythmic sound of the pounding of chisel to stone reverberated throughout the long stretch of twisting and turning chambers; it’d been a sound that Mordechi had grown accustomed to; as most of the Goliaths who have made the Nation of Stone their home. Deep beneath the ground, the Nation of Stone stretched for miles in every direction as the primary source of exclusive gems, minerals and ores that were sold and traded to merchants on the surface world.

Because of the beauty of some of the gems and quality of the ore and minerals, the entrance to the Nation of Stone was a carefully guarded secret – few surface dwellers ever laid eyes on it; and the few that did were trusted and respected merchants that the son of the King, Areithan Sont, had come to trust and respect. Areithan’s father, Samonian Sont, was old and rarely left his chambers – and if he did, it was simply to make a quick presence, to assure the people he still lived; otherwise the King left the political duties to his son Areithan.

Areithan, who may whispered ever so softly as the “Spirit King” (knowing he truly made all the rulings and not his father, for many years – but to speak so loudly was treasonous) has gathered a number of his closest friends to celebrate another successful mining expedition that went further than any of the others had in previous years. Areithan placed his hand on Mordechi’s shoulder – the two had been friends for a long time. King Samonian had tapped Mordechi to train his son how to fight and defend himself. Areithan raised a tankard, “With thanks to this man; his strength and his courage! Not only did Mordechi lead the expedition deeper and helped discover new metals that will surely bring the kingdom far more resources; he has been a vital part of my own survival. My very own father tapped him to help teach me how to defend myself, so how could I not, in turn tap him to lead this expedition? If my father trusted Mordechi with my life, then I could not deny the wisdom of my father and ask Mordechi to lead the expedition.”

The people cheered, calling out Mordechi’s name. Mordechi felt uncomfortable; in the presence of the prince, and heir to the throne, who had been dressed in regal attire compared to Mordechi’s tattered leathers. Mordechi smiled and made his way around, greeting various goliaths who had reached out to meet him and ask him of the expedition – gaining the details of what Mordechi fought in the depths of the darkness; all the while as Mordechi spoke, his eyes were on the exit, slowly easing his way out of the party, heaving a deep sigh of relief as he managed to finally squeeze out the door. Though Mordechi, like those who called the Nation of Stone their home; being used to enclosed spaces, despite the goliath’s size, was something they adapted to. It was not that there’d been so many people clustered around Mordechi that bothered him; it was just that the people who lived in the Capital city, Akurkam, were far more elegantly dressed and better spoken than Mordechi. He’d always felt out of place when he needed to travel into the capital.

Inside the capital of Akurkam, a goliath named Nathair Bréagadóir, approached the prince and whispered, “You are foolish to give so much praise to the simpleton.”

Areithan turned to face Nathair and sneered, “And you are foolish to call your prince, foolish, Nathair. My father selected you as his Saoi, and I respect my father’s choice – but know, when I sit on the throne, you will no longer be the voice that whispers advice to me. I will select a new Saoi to represent the voice and knowledge.”

Nathair seemed as if he was about to say something, then smiled, like a snake who has just seen an unaware mouse and bowed deeply, “I meant no offense, my prince. Only that, the glory should go to you, as well. You are the one who selected the expedition team. By giving glory and honor to others, the perception is that they are great – or perhaps, and incorrectly so, I might add – greater than the king. People tonight will remember Mordechi’s name because of how you celebrated him. Tonight will not be about the achievement you helped be a success.”

“Your words are poison, Nathair,” Areithan growled. “Now be gone from my sight before I forget how I honor my father.”

It’d taken Mordechi nearly an hour to get home. Mordechi lived outside of the capital in a region known as Fíor Chloch – often times called ‘The Outer Stone.’ As he approached his home, there was an unusual stillness to the home. He heard no sounds as he approached his home; nor was there any smoke from the furnace and chimney, which was also unusual. “Grá Fíor,” he called out, expected his beautiful, red headed wife, who was nearly as strong and tall as he was, to come bursting from the home. When she did not – nor did she answer, Mordechi dropped his equipment, as well as the mushrooms and vegetables he’d picked up on the market before leaving Akurkam and rushed inside and was greeted by a sight that stole his breath. He could not even cry out – he slide next to his wife’s lifeless body – her vacant eyes stared upward, her blue lips locked in a sign of fear. The dry blood that had pooled around her body had come from a single stab wound to her abdomen. He held her close and wept – and he tried to make sense of it.

She was strong. She could not have been over taken. And the stab to the front of her abdomen with no signs of a struggle indicated she knew her attacked. They had entered the home as the guise of a friend and betrayed her in her own home. This was not a robbery, this was murder.

The distance Mordechi covered running, nonstop back to Akurkam where he plowed through the people in the streets until he reached the Courtyard, and he kicked down the doors – where the party celebrating the expedition was still going on. Areithan saw what looked to be dried blood on Mordechi’s leathers and stood, “Mordechi, were you attacked outside the capital?”

Mordechi growled, “My wife has been murdered.”

Areithan cast Nathair, who seemed to slink further back into the shadows. Areithan turned his attention back towards Mordechi. “Come, we must speak.”

Together Mordechi and Areithan walked, though Mordechi could barely contain the rage that swelled in his body. Areithan cast nervous glances towards the barbarian as they walked. “I know you’re upset and rightfully so, friend, but perhaps there is something to be done.” He escorted Mordechi into the Great Library – and walked down several rows of neatly organized books before making a hard right and pulling out a dusty tome and taking it to the large table. He placed the fragile book on the table and carefully opened the leather bound cover, turning the crumbling pages gently, until he reached a section that spoke of a legendary weapon – The Longsword of Stone.

“This,” Areithan explained, “is why so few outsiders are permitted in the Nation of Stone. Long ago, the first smith of the Nation of Stone, found a unique metal and forged the Longsword of Stone – this legendary weapon was used to battle the Illithid that dwell this far down – and according to the first warrior who wielded it, could sever the grip of death – and allow the one using it to march into the oncoming army of the enemy and emerge victorious, barely scathed! This weapon – could bring her back. However, this weapon was stolen by a surface dweller over two hundred years ago and has been lost to us. But a weapon of such power and magnitude, and even weight, can’t stay hidden for long. We’ve just never sent anyone after it because the common people do not know it was stolen from us. If you ventured out, found it – it could bring back your wife – or at the very least, perhaps reveal the one who is responsible.”

Mordechi looked at the drawing of the weapon, then without saying a word, marched out of the room, leaving Areithan in the library alone, or so he thought… in the darkness, Nathair watched.

[Tawmis]

https://forums.giantitp.com/showthread. ... st25589757

Name: Orwan Dromlu
Gender: Male
Race: Fallen Aasimar
Class: Zealot Barbarian
Background: Knight of Solamnia
Trait: My comrades-in-arms are my family. I'll do whatever it takes to keep them safe.
Influenced by dark powers in his youth, caused him to fall.
Found salvation with the knights of Solamnia
Devoted to the ideals of the nature god Habbakuk

This was interesting – and a challenge – to write because in Dragonlance, there has not been any form of Aasimar or Tieflings. So trying to conceive the idea of an Aasimar in Dragonlance took some headspinning to how to make it all tie together. Because Aasimar come from “angelic-like” bloodlines, and there are really no angels in the Kyrnn setting! But I think I found a way around it (and you and your DM can choose to ignore my explanation and just go with it was angelic in nature!) Once I had that idea down, everything else just rolled...
Hope you enjoy! As I said, you can take what I use as the Aasimar "cause" or go with what's explained, as being just a vision and interpreted that way...
I'd love feedback in this thread, as it keeps it bumped and alive!
=========================================================

It’s difficult – growing up, knowing you’re different than everyone else. No matter how much you struggle to be like everyone else, the effort only makes you stand out further. That has been my entire life – growing up, knowing I was different than everyone else; and everyone around me could sense it. Something inside of me flowed differently – I don’t mean my blood, but something else – something in my blood perhaps.

Growing up in Solamnia made life even worse; my father was Jaridus Greyrose, and a member of the Knights of the Crown, with the title of Warden of the Crown. My father was well respected, well known for his courage, so when eyes were cast upon me, expecting the same behavior – something in me pulled me away from it. I feel like I didn’t fit.

The night I was to be inducted into the Knighthood, during the Festival of Knights, I answered a call that yearned within me – and that had meant running away. I knew this would bring shame to my family, because I would be marked courage, and so to, would my father be marked as having a cowardice son. But I did not feel like I belonged in the Knights.

I wandered for days… which then turned into weeks… that then turned into months. I was aimlessly wandering – and it was not until I noticed the temperature had dropped drastically that I stopped and pulled my cloak close. I had reached The Icewall Glacier. It was at that moment I realized I was not alone and drew my sword.

Six men, led by a woman with striking black hair that seemed to absorb the light, and eyes so blue they almost seemed colorless and devoid of light as well. “What is a Knight of Solamnia doing so far south?” the woman asked, her voice was soothing, as if she were a serpent luring me into ease.

“I am no Knight of Solamnia,” I corrected, tilting my sword, “this is my father’s blade.”

“Have you come so far south, because you are running away from something or running to something,” the woman asked.

“Both,” I replied. “I am no Knight. So I have gone on my own to seek my own path.”

“Then perhaps it is not coincidence that you’ve come here,” the woman said, gesturing behind her. “Those who follow me call me Nathaira. Like you, each of us was running from something to find something… Perhaps we are just what you were looking for.” A smile spread across Nathaira’s soft, red, lips, and though she was a strikingly beautiful woman; there was something about her that continued to remind me of how she was like a serpent. I sheathed my sword and said, “If you will have me for a day, at least, I would like to learn more about you and your people, Nathaira.”

She extended her hand to me, which I took – and immediately seemed to feel something drain from me, but that somehow compelled me to her. The day I asked for was spent in her small cabin, having my every need and whim fulfilled. She was a beautiful woman, who – each time she stepped away from me – I craved her more than the last. One night, as she lay next to me, the warmth of her ample bosom pressed against my arm, her hand tracing symbols on my chest, she whispered, “There is so much light inside of you.”

At the time, I had not known what she meant – now, I believe I do.

Nathaira led men who were ferocious fighters and loyal to her; they called themselves barbarians; my father would have called them savages. Similar to the other men who were fiercely loyal to Nathaira, I too became loyal to her – and her lover. In order to survive the harsh conditions, we all learned to live in the cold with minimal things, including food and water; and when things were desperate, we raiding some of the traders traveling near the borders of Icewall.

It’d been during one of those raids, where there’d been several guards, well-armed and far better trained than the others who had come through; our reputation for raiding the wagons had grown, so people hired better protection. I heard Nathaira call out to me to unleash the shadows within me. I knew not what she said – until she ran down and put herself in harm’s way – then I felt the shadows and darkness in me, as soft and velvety as Nathaira’s hair, coiled around my soul like a snake waiting to strike – suddenly my eyes turned into pulls of blackness, and two skeletal, ghostly, flightless wings sprung out from my back – and these hardened warriors suddenly gazed up at me in fear and trembled, most of them fleeing, screaming into the nearby woods.

I collapsed to the ground, but the other barbarians were able to defeat the guards and rob the wagons, dragging me along with them. Back at Nathaira’s hut, I laid on the bed, still trying to understand what had happened. I propped myself on one arm and looked to Nathaira. “What happened to me down there?”

“The power,” she smiled. “I sensed it the moment I saw you. I could feel it, as you approached. Light that swirled in a storm of grey. It took only giving you your desires, and whispering my words to shape the grey into black and spread it through you until it devoured the light.”

“Have I been… made evil?” I asked.

“What is evil? Those, such as the Knights of Solamnia, see Takhisis as evil; while those, who worship Takhisis see the Knights of Solamnia evil,” Nathaira smirked, her black hair swirling in such a way, that it was hypnotizing, like gazing into a starless sky, that you could somehow tell was still moving.

I suddenly blinked my eyes and quickly backed away. “Are you an agent of Takhisis, Nathaira?”

“At one time, I was,” she openly admitted. “But I grew tired of seeking to please her every need. So I left, ran away – searching for who I was to be. Sound familiar? I came here, found these savages, and quickly convinced them to follow me. I became their Takhisis, if you will.” She smiled. “You should rest,” and as I gazed into her blue, somehow colorless eyes, I was compelled to obey, and suddenly against my own will, my eyes closed.

My dream began with her blue colorless eyes, swirling in the darkness that was her hair. One eye changed, ever so slightly – turning into Solinari, the Moon of White; the other eye, filled with blood, and turned into Lunitari, the Red Moon – and somewhere in the hidden darkness, I knew another eye watched – Nuitari, the Shadow Moon.

The moons set, and the sun rose; and there, in the blazing sun stood a man with silver eyes, wearing long, blue-grey robes – similar to the priests who followed Habbakuk. He approached me, a sad look in his eyes. “I did not mean to abandon you,” the man said. In the sunlight, I could swear his skin glistened like steel. “I know you sensed how you had felt different inside. It’s true. As the woman said, you were full of blessed light. Habbakuk blessed many of the Knights who took part in the War of the Lance, and as such – these powerful blessings often manifested themselves generations later in unexpected ways. You bloodline comes from one of the Knights from the War against the dragons, the age that Huma led the Knights of Solamnia.”

“Who are you? Are you Habbakuk?” I asked, hearing my own voice echo, as if speaking into a chamber.

“Me?” the man seemed to flush. “You flatter me. No, my name is Manainn Airgid, but I am one of Habbakuk’s most loyal. I sensed the darkness you released. The woman, though no longer an agent of Takhisis herself, she is an agent of evil. Those who server who were all seduced, just as you were, placed under the charms of not her words or beauty, but her magic, for she is much more than what she appears to be.”

The man with the silvery skin paused, “May the Light of the Truth, lighten your burden, and help you reclaim the light.”

I suddenly sat up and looked around. Nathaira smiled at me – but the smile faded. She knew something had changed in me. Quickly I grabbed my shirt and my father’s sword and strapped it to my waist. “You said you would never pick up that sword again, unless you planned to go home. You don’t plan to go home, do you?”

I could feel her claws, slithering at the base of my skull, and I shook her words away. “I am going home.”

“They will never accept you, and what you’ve done, who you’ve become,” she warned.

“Then I will face my fate,” I said, realizing in that moment, how much I had sounded like my father.

She didn’t try to stop me – nor did she send her men to stop me. She watched me ride away on one of the many horses that we’d stolen from the various raids. I rode back home, hardly stopping, and rushed to my father’s home, kneeling before him – awaiting my punishment as I offered up my sword to him.

He did not yell or scold me. Instead he stood and placed his hand on my shoulder and said, “Rise, son. You are in your own home and do not need to kneel before me, I am your father, not your king.” He paused to look at what I was wearing, “Though, I might ask you to shower – and change out of these savage’s clothes.”

“I have brought shame and disgrace to the family, father,” I said, my voice trembling.

“Some shame, some disgrace,” he admitted as he tugged at his mustache. “But perhaps, I as your father have done the same? I failed to see how you were struggling; thought that if you became a knight you would set yourself right.”

“I have committed crimes, father,” I cried.

I saw my father stiffen. “Murder?”

“No, I killed no innocents, but I robbed many,” I confessed.

“Speak to me what you remember,” he said, resuming his pace. “I will send compensations, even if it costs my entire estate. These crimes, son, will prevent you from ever becoming a Knight. But,” he placed his hand on my shoulder, “I see you’ve keep yourself busy. You look strong as an ox.”

“I’ve learned to fight like the savages,” I whispered. “I came back because someone named Manainn Airgid visited me in a dream.”

My father stiffened again and turned his head ever so slightly, “Manainn Airgid, you said?”

“Yes,” I nodded. “Do you know him father?”

My father looked away – and seemed to pause for a long moment before saying, “Let us just say I know of him.”

“I know I can never be the son you wanted,” I confessed, “a Knight of Solamnia, but perhaps I can fight alongside them?”

My father smiled, “Perhaps.”

Two weeks later, I waited outside as my father plead my case to the Circle of the Knights. They seemed vehemently against the idea of me ever sharing a battlefield with the Knights, until my father mention Manainn Airgid’s name. Then the Knights hushed, and the arguing turned to whispers. My father came out several hours later, explaining the Knights would be honored for me to fight alongside of them.


========================
Side Notes:

When I wrote this - I envisioned Nathaira as a female dragon, who has polymorphed herself into human form to hide from Takhisis' eyes; primarily a red dragon (the fire = the passion).
And if it's not clear, Manainn Airgid is envisioned as a Silver Dragon - and a rather old one at that, who was perhaps around when Human was around.
Fun Notes - "Nathair" is Serpent in Irish (just added an "a" at the end to feminize it for a name)
"Manainn Airgid" stands for "Silver Mane" in Irish.

[Tawmis]

https://forums.giantitp.com/showthread. ... st25589757

Name Kronk BlodOsken
Race Half Orc
Class - Fighter level 1 (will be Echo Knight). Will dip 2 levels into Barbarian at 7/8
Gender - Male
I have this idea that my echo Knight is a childhood imaginary friend (called Mac). Then level 3 it begins to manifest into an echo I can control.
Lowest stat is Charisma, and I have very high starting str and dex.
Dm made homebrew campaign and I picked this area to grow up
Town name: Bespin
Population: 18,000
Majority Race: Half Orcs
Government: Autocracy – Single rule given to one Hereditary
Key Personnel: King Zludmir
Known for: Creation of weapons and city siege weapons
Also, been asked for this info from my dm. Any suggestions are welcome!
3 character motives, what strives them to act the way they do
3 personal relationships from your characters past
1 short term goal
1 long term goal
Many thanks in advance!

For your background, based on the idea that the primary city you come from is primarily known for their creation of weapons and city siege weapons – I wanted to look at D&D and see what would fit best – and I found that Clan Crafter seemed to fit best; it would seem logical that you would come from a family that’s involved in the creation of these weapons/city siege weapons.

From there I glanced at some of the suggested traits, ideals, bonds, and flaws to get an idea for a personality.

PERSONALITY TRAITS - I always want to know how things work and what makes people tick.
IDEALS - Community. It is the duty of all civilized people to strengthen the bonds of community and the security of civilization. (Lawful)
BONDS - I created a great work for someone, and then found them unworthy to receive it. I’m still looking for someone worthy.
FLAWS - I’ll do anything to get my hands on something rare or priceless.

Then going back to the idea of the Echo Knight – and then the Imaginary Friend being the Echo… Looking at the Echo Knight it’s traditionally an Echo of yourself… and then an idea came along. This may be a little darker than normal, and if it is – I can definitely rewrite something a little more light hearted if you’d like.

At any rate, comment in the thread – and let me know (good, bad, whatever!)
==========================

My stein fell from my hands, for what seemed to be eternity, before I heard it crash on the floor; the sound of metal clanking against the wooden floor, ale spilling across my boot. I stared at my father, my mouth agape…

Sixteen years ago…

The first time I saw him, I was roughly five years old. I’d been playing with several wooden toys that one of my father’s friends had forged from some of the spare wood from the latest siege weapon that they’d been working on when I glanced up and looked in the full length mirror. A light, shimmering figure was behind me – but when I turned, there was nothing there.

This continued to happen for weeks, and when I finally told my parents, and my father explained that it was probably my imaginary friend – and many young children have such imaginary friends. So, while I was in a room alone, I would call out to this mysterious figure which I named “Mac” and ask if it would like to play with me. Sometimes, I would roll the ball across the room – and to my surprise, the ball would roll back. My father dismissed such things as the houses were not exactly built on stable ground and many of the houses were slanted; or that a breeze had caught the ball and rolled it back. But I had a feeling it was my imaginary friend, Mac, somehow playing with me.

Three years later, when I was eight years old, I stopped playing with Mac, but I could somehow always feel he was around me. I also became more observant of my surroundings and noticed that my mother, Tragoi’deach BlodOsken always had a distant gaze. I had seen it too, when I was younger, but my father always dismissed it that she was tired and that she’d worked hard; but now, being eight, she rarely did much around the house; she did not work the yard on weapons and city siege weapons like everyone else had. She’d mostly simply stayed home, and the times she took part of the hunt, she had always looked as if she were some walking dead, shambling along.

“Is she sick father? Should we get the priests here to look at her?” I asked.

“The priests have already come and done all they could,” my father said, placing a firm hand on my shoulder.

Ten years later, mother’s condition never improved or got worse. Sometimes, when I spoke to her she would smile and speak directly to me; other times, she would run her hand down my check, but her gaze was somewhere behind me, as if she were talking to an imaginary friend. By this age, I was now recruited into working with the siege weapons. It was grueling work that relentless taxed my body’s endurance each and every day. I grew stronger with the passing weeks, but the work seemed to become increasingly more difficult to match that strength. Despite the daily grind, the effort, the dirt, the cuts, this was where I established a community – a sense of not just how things connect in the siege engine, but the connections I had made with others. This was my sense of normalcy, this community. Going back home, seeing my mother how she was – so, unraveled, and disconnected, disjointed – took me away from the sense of ease I felt when I worked the siege yard. My father saw it in me, so during our downtime, he showed me how to forge weapons, the division he’d been working on. Over the months, I learned my father’s craft, using my strength to pound the steel. It had taken a few attempts, but I finally forged a sword I was proud of – one that Dorcha Trodaire came and purchased from my father, far beneath the value of the blade – but our family had been suffering, since my mother was not working any of the fields, like other mothers were; and her declining health made matters worse. Dorcha was someone who was foul mouthed and showed little honor; she pushed her way through the rakes in the King’s army by her loud mouth, more than her skill; and her brandishing a weapon that had my signature engraved on it, sickened me.

Present day, age of twenty one, my mother had passed away three weeks ago, but I felt no grief; only relief, for her pain had finally come to an end. Some nights, I had felt guilty that I felt no grief, but I’d watched her – she had been dead to me, as far as I was concerned, for most of my life. I had no memories of my mother where she laughed.

I had just gotten back from the siege yard, cut, bruised and bleeding, but proud of the latest siege weapon we’d finished. I stared at myself in the full length mirror and laughed. There was no mark anywhere that was not covered in dirt, grime or blood. Quickly I washed off, and the steam built up in the room so that the mirror had fogged up. After washing off, I wiped the mirror away – and to my surprise saw my reflection staring back at me – but it did not move as I did. I moved my hand, my reflection did not. I seemed to place its hand on the mirror as if trapped on the other side. In wide eyed wonder, I whispered, “Mac?” And the reflection on the other side noded.

I stumbled backwards out of the room, falling through the door – my single, terrifying thought, that I was going mad, and that perhaps whatever sickness and madness that claimed my mother, had been passed down to me. My father, despite his age, rushed to my side and helped me up.

“What is it? What has you so pale?” he asked, looking around to see if there was a venomous serpent or something that had slithered into the house.

“I saw my reflection in the mirror,” I stammered.

My father laughed. “Boy, you gave me a fright! I’d be scared of your ugly mug too,” he joked.

“No father,” I added, quickly. “My reflection wasn’t mine… I mean… it was me, but it didn’t move as I did… father, I asked if it was Mac… and it nodded it’s head… but this is the first time I saw it… and it looked just like me.”

My father’s face paled. “Son, I need you to sit down for what I am about to tell you.”

He entered the kitchen and filled a stein of ale for me and handed it to me - but I was too shaken to drink.

I stammered backwards, nearly falling over my bed before sitting down.

He took a deep breath. “When you were born, there were complications.”

“What kind of complications?” I asked.

“You were not alone,” he said.

“I wasn’t – what?” I asked.

“Son, you had a twin brother,” he explained.

“That’s a lie, I had no twin, I had no siblings! I was the only child between you and mother,” I screamed.

“No, son,” my father said, placing his hand firmly on my shoulder. “There was a twin; however, only you survived the birth. I believe this ‘Mac’ that you see is an echo of your twin – a manifestation that is bonded to you, created by your time in the womb. As if you absorbed his soul into yourself in order to save him…”

My stein fell from my hands, for what seemed to be eternity, before I heard it crash on the floor; the sound of metal clanking against the wooden floor, ale spilling across my boot. I stared at my father, my mouth agape…

[Tawmis]

https://forums.giantitp.com/showthread. ... st25596668

Jhyn Velasir (Male, early 20s)
Earth Genasi Rune Knight Fighter
He just hit level 3 in a Curse of Strahd campaign and I only have a little bit of his backstory figured out, hoping for some help.
Jhyn set out to find a cure for some unknown disease afflicting his mother. I like the idea that it's not actually a disease, but the result of a great sin or broken promise his family made years ago - maybe to a Dao Genie or a deity. He's after a cure that doesn't really exist and will have to embrace what his lineage did as it's already in his blood. I'd love to completely reflavor the "Giant" concept for Rune Knights.
Thank you in advance for any ideas!

This was fun to write.
So I flavored (it's pretty light) the "Giant" thing as not so much Giant Strength - but you can call on the Earth around you to empower you.
So everything is based on being channeled to the Earth (I envisioned, as you will see, the mother as a Herbalist/Druid type) who wants to show her son how to respect the Earth. Because of what she shows him - and how someone (big background villain for your DM to use if they so want to!) has definitely done something to not respect the Earth, and yes, it's a Dao.
I hope you enjoy - and I'd love feedback in this thread as it helps keep it bumped and alive.
=========================


Twenty six years ago…

Domhana Velasir was beautiful and quite sought after by many, but she was already wed and bound to Cloch, whom she loved deeply – but, had not yet been able to bear a child for him. She moved through the city of Cathair na Cruinne as quietly as she could, but her shapely figure often caught the attention of others who watched her with great interest. She eventually reached the largest structure in the town and bowed to the guards, who after a quick exchange of words allowed her passage.

She quietly walked through the halls, noticing hundreds of servants cleaning – one, even cleaning up right behind her, cleaning each step she took, to ensure dirt was not being tracked through the hall. She eventually reached the main chamber where she bowed before a Dao, who sat cross-legged on his comfortable pillows and stared down at her.

She bowed her head, “Great Gealladh Dorcha, I come to ask a favor of you.”

The Dao looked down at her, from his elevated position, “As many do. What is it you want?” he sneered, as a servant continued to feed him grapes.

“I have been without the ability to provide my husband a child,” Domhana said. “I had hoped you could somehow help?”

“Well, you are attractive,” Gealladh remarked, “for one of your kind. I suppose I could lay with you and plant a seed in you.”

Domhana flushed red, though still bowed; Gealladh could not see her expression. “You are magnificent and attractive,” she lied, “but I had hoped that you could use magic so that when I lay with my own husband, my body would fertilize his seed.”

There was a long silence; and Domhana knew this was a risk. Gealladh was powerful – but his ego was as fragile as a stone hawk’s egg. After a long awkward moment passed, he leaned forward. “I can make this happen. But I will ask you to give me what you value the most, sometime in the future. Should you refuse, the magic I infuse within your body, will turn on you and rather than make all that is within you bloom; it would devour you and bring you illness and death. I will ask only once for whatever it is that I want at that time, and should you refuse, you will accept this punishment?”

Without hestitation, Domhana smiled, “Yes, I accept.”

Gealladh Dorcha chuckled, “Then let it be.” Grabbing a large wand he kept by his side, he spoke the words of enchantment – and blue energy streaked from its tip and enveloped Domhana. Her body surged with pain then pleasure, as she collapsed to the ground, winded. She struggled to stand back upon her feet and bowed to the Dao.

“You are forever powerful,” she said, ensuring to continue to do what she could to inflate his ego. “None dare stand against you.”

“None,” he said with a grin. “Or they are punished severely.”

Three years later…

The mid-wife smiled at Domhana, “He’s a boy. And healthy as can be.” Cloch sat next to his exhausted wife, pride beaming in his eyes; not only for the son who wailed in his wife’s arms, but for the sheer strength and love his wife showed for both child and husband.

Five years later…

“Where has father gone?” Jhyn asked.

“Your father fights for Gealladh Dorcha, the Dao who rules this city,” Domhana explained. “And you too must grow up to be a strong fighter like your father, so that you too can help defend Gealladh Dorcha and this city we call home - Cathair na Cruinne.”

“Who does father fight against?” Jhyn inquired.

“Many enemies,” his mother explained, running her hand across her son’s youthful features. “There are Stone Giants, other Dao, dwarves – the enemies of Gealladh Dorcha are many.”

“But I don’t want to fight,” her son smiled. “I want to hope for peace.”

“That’s good and fine to hope for peace,” his mother replied. “However, if you do not show you’re a worthy fighter – to be fit among Gealladh Dorcha’s army – this means, competing against your closest friends – the alternative is far worse.” She took her son’s hand and they walked for an hour across a brutal landscape before coming to a large vast pit, with rows of other Earth Genasi changed at the ankles, working relentlessly, whipped and beaten by Earth Elementals, who never tired, whenever the Earth Genasi and other humanoids slowed down.

“What is that?” Jhyn asked.

“A slave pit, a mining slave pit,” she corrected. “They mine for Gealladh Dorcha. The earth is full of riches and Gealladh Dorcha will reap it all.”

“That does not seem good,” her son commented, looking down horrified.

“In truth, it is not,” his mother replied, her voice aching deeply. The vast, gaping hole was a festering wound the world could not heal from. “But this is why you must learn to fight. I will teach you how to respect the Earth and become a warrior like your father.”

Three years later, at the age of eight, Domhana got news that her husband had perished in the battle he’d been taken away to. She was heartbroken but knew she had to be strong for her son, who looked up to her.

Day in and day out, she trained her son.

“Listen to the Earth,” she said, “you can draw great power from it. When you speak to it, it will listen.”

“Like talk to it?” her son asked. “I’ve seen you talk to the flowers in the gardens.”

“Yes,” she smiled, “you can talk to it. But more importantly, bind it to you. Write the words you beckon and ask the Earth. The Earth is the center – beneath it fire, above it rain and lightning. Understand that you are a part of that – and you channel and harvest such energies. You can use it - so long as it's at your feet to gain immense strength!”

She etched the signs on the ground and showed her son what each could do when properly used.

Over the years, mother and son grew inseparable.

Then the knock came at the door.

Domhana opened the door and saw two of Gealladh Dorcha’s Generals.

One of them handed her a parchment and she unrolled it. Her eyes were open in wide horror. She threw the parchment down. “No. He’s a fighter, like his father before him. He is destined for Gealladh Dorcha’s army not the slave pits.”

One of the Generals nodded, “I understand your concern. However, Gealladh Dorcha has observed your son and believes that his strength and endurance would be better suited for the slave pits. Will you give him to us now or refuse Gealladh Dorcha’s generous offer of working the slave pits in his greatness’ name?”

She knew – nineteen years ago, she’d made a deal with Gealladh Dorcha and the time had come. She had expected that her training with her son would have eventually led to her son being called to fight with the army not the slave pits. She looked down then looked at the Generals and said, “Sadly, I must refuse this generous offer. Please have Gealladh Dorcha consider the army instead.”

The Generals looked sad. “I am sorry you feel that way.” They pulled a rune stone and broke it in front of her, and in that moment, Domhana doubled over in pain, immediately her body attacked itself – every organ was on fire – her body ached and burned – going from hot to cold her vision blurred as the Generals closed the door and left her inside clutching at the air.

When Jhyn returned from being with his friends and found his mother collapsed on the floor, he immediately called for the Herbalists – who took Domhana, but even after weeks could not tell what afflicted her. She seemed to come in and out of consciousness, almost always so confused she could scarcely remember her own name – or the name of her son – or, at times, which hurt Jhyn the most – that she even had a son.

“Some disease afflicts her,” one of the herbalists remarked. “Some disease from some dark place. We can not yet tell what it is. But we have heard of such curses and diseases from a land known as Barovia…”

[Tawmis]

https://forums.giantitp.com/showthread. ... st25603926

I have a harengon artificer 1 chronourgy wizard 2 whose basic idea was : a basic new student learning chronomancy in a school of wizardry, he botched a supposedly simple experiment in his Time travel class and was flung into the very distant past or future. He is now looking for signs of which way he needs to travel when he finally masters the principles from the classes he still remembers. Sort of an angry intellectual type who would definitely get in a fist fight over someone insisting that his equation was wrong.

This was fun! I don't think I've written any Harengon backgrounds!
And to have fun with the time thing - I introduced an NPC for your character to encounter (when they get back to their time, should the DM care to) - and used an Elf NPC to show the time shunt backwards, which was a lot of fun to do.
I'd love to hear your thoughts in this thread as it keeps it bumped and alive, and allows others to potentially see it and request stuff.
That said, one with the show....
=====================

Head pounding. Ears ringing.

Slowly I open one eye and realize I am flat on my back – and not only that, the school’s ceiling seems to have disappeared – because above me is nothing by open air, the moon, and twinkling stars. Slowly I rise and realize my entire body aches with pain. Turning my head to look around, pain rides on the fridges of every nerve in my body. It doesn’t take long to realize that nothing looks familiar.

Rising to my feet and brushing myself off (these robes have seen better days!), I fix my ears which feel broken – but they’re not. Listening with my rabbit ears, I don’t hear any sounds. Picking up my staff which survived whatever has happened to me, I use it to lean on for a moment as I walk to the edge of the forest and out of the clearing. When I reach the edge, I gaze back to where I was – and realize there is a large clearing – and where I landed was right in the center of it. Had I done that? Had I created that clearing?

Think. Think back. What happened before I just woke up?

That damn human – Arrigus Silvermind.

“We don’t like your kind here, rabbit,” Arrigus growled.

“I understand your simple mind, Arrigus,” I chuckled maliciously as a retort, “but what I am is a Harengon. Similar in appearance, yes, to what you humans call rabbits; however, rabbits are not bi-pedal. That means to walk on two feet if that was too complicated.”

Arrigus was a student, around the same year as me, but hateful towards anything that wasn’t human. He had tolerance for elves; there’d been a female he seemed drawn to, named Laggatha Kirandia. He seemed to tolerate dwarves as well. It was anything else beyond that – halflings, Tieflings, Tabaxi… anything that didn’t look close to human. The dislike of halflings came from – apparently he’d run into one who swindled him out of coin, so he thinks all halflings are swindlers. He’s arrogant, hateful, but he is also very good at what he does – he’s intelligent, and that makes him dangerous.

His dislike for me, became more than just the fact that “I didn’t look human” – his constant focus on toying with me had drawn sympathy from Laggatha, who was also a mage, so this fueled his jealousy that she would give me so much attention and make sure that I was OK after Arrigus had done whatever prank he’d done to try and get me to leave the school. While I had no romantic interest in Laggatha, as Arrigus did, she became a good friend and she and I would often talk for hours; usually about the magic we were learning, but sometimes about home. She was interested in my home, in the Feywild, where I’d originally come from – and how vastly different and wild it was compared to here.

Here.

I am not even sure where “here” is right now.

As I wandered through the woods, I eventually stumbled into ruins. As I examined the ruins, I could see writing – an older language, ancient. Thankfully, my interest in manipulating the time stream had made me a good study in some areas in history and I quickly realized – these were the Karse ruins located in the High Forest.

How was I here?

I was in Neverwinter – hundreds of miles to the West in the Tower of Wizardry.

Well, good thing I am in High Forest – that means, northwest of here was The Grandfather Tree which Laggatha had told me about in one of our many talks. Her people, the Wood Elves of High Forest, regarded it as a holy area and would often go there to seek peace and guidance. If I could find one of her people there, they might be able to better help me. At the very least, a Satyr, which Laggatha said were also common there, to help get me back to Neverwinter quicker than walking.

It took four days, and constantly climbing up trees, to see the Grandfather Tree peeking out, miles above the other trees, to ensure I was still headed in the right direction. When I finally reached the Grandfather Tree, it was everything Laggatha had said and more. It was breathtaking to behold; and fortune had finally favored me – I spotted a young female elf kneeling. I approached her and patiently waited for her prayer to be completed. As she rose and turned to see me – my breath caught in my throat.

She smiled. “Can I help you, harengon?”

“Sorry,” I quickly apologized and was thankful that my fur hid the flushing red of my skin. “You bear a striking resemblance to a friend of mine,” I finally managed to say. “You must be her younger sister. You look so much alike. Laggatha, do you know her?”

She looked at me puzzled. “I am Laggatha, but I do not know you.”

I stared at her for a moment, waiting for her to laugh and say she was joking. This was clearly Laggatha’s sister – though, admittedly, she never spoke of a sister – only a brother. “Come on. You’re Laggatha Kirandia’s sister! She, admittedly never spoke of you – only of her brother – so I don’t know your name.” I extended my hand, a human and elf tradition I’d picked up.

The young elf maiden drew her hand back. “I’m sorry, but I am Laggatha Kirandia. And I promise you, this is no jest – I know not who you are.”

“Come on,” I insisted, putting my hand back at my side. “You know that smug, arrogant, human, Arrigus Silvermind. From the school?”

“I know not this human, or what school you speak of,” she said, taking a step back.

“The Tower of Wizardry, in Neverwinter,” I said, shaking my head, growing tired of the ruse.

At this, she paled and almost looked ghostly. “How did you know? That is why I am here praying. I have longed to go to Neverwinter, to the Tower of Wizardry, to hone the magic I feel in my body. That is why I was here tonight, seeking prayers and guidance, so that my father could see how truly and deeply I want this.”

Now it was me who felt my knees buckle. Even as I collapsed, the young elf maiden dropped her things to try and catch me.

“Do you feel ill, harengon?” she asked, concerned, reaching into her pouches for medicine.

I placed my hand on hers and whispered, “I’ve gone back in time.” I gazed into her eyes horrified. Somehow, something Arrigus had done – I am sure of it – because the spell to simply reverse an orange back to a seed, as the class assignment was a simple one – Arrigus must have tampered with my spell book, so when I spoke the words, it broke the spell – thrusting me back in time.

I stood up and brushed myself off again. “I… need to go,” and quickly I grabbed my things and ran.

I needed to find a way to get back to my time – and teach Arrigus a lesson, once and for all.

[Tawmis]

https://forums.giantitp.com/showthread. ... st25610822

Name: Listens-to-Wind
Gender: Male... though I'm not against the idea of him being her during some of the seasons if it makes for more interesting background.
Race: Eladrin
Class: (Samurai) Fighter... more like Shiere knight, but samurai is one of the closest available archetype both mechanically and thematically.
Background: Urban Bounty Hunter
Notes: Served as a honor guard to a powerful fay noble, but was forced to sacrifice his own honor in order to save his liege from a certain faux pas and therefore was exiled from the Feywild. Once in the mortal realm he found his livelihood as a bounty hunter. I'd love to see some interesting fay twist on the otherwise done to death ronin story, but fail to come up with it myself.

Phew - sorry for the delay. Was in Summit meetings at work all week and mentally wiped out every day of every night.
So for this - I know you wanted something different than the "dishonored Samurai/Knight" feel - so I did something along those lines, but with a twist, which was easy to do with the Feywild type setting...
For the enemy of the start of the story, I wanted an evil Fey creature of some kind – and I thought of the Verdant Prince (which was a monster in 3e, that has not yet been ported over to 5e). But since it’s just for the background (your DM could come up with NPC stats if they so desired to use him as a part of the campaign down the line) – but for you (or your DM) – here’s information about the standard Verdant prince:
https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Verdant_prince
Kathnick is based off of Katheryn Winnick (as the name suggests, and if you’ve read some of the other backgrounds, I have referenced her as well – I simply think she’s one of the most beautiful women in this world today – fell in love with her from the moment I saw her in Vikings: https://m.media-amazon.com/images/M/MV5 ... X1000_.jpg )
As always, I'd love to hear feedback in the thread - good or bad! - it all helps me improve! (So I know what I am doing right or wrong!)
And it helps keep the thread alive for others to see it!
As always! Enjoy!
===========================================

It is a tangled web; weaved by spiders so ancient, they’ve been long forgotten.

I speak of the story of Eragus – or, what most simply call, Oakheart, the Treant – and the archfey dryad, Kathnick. There are stories that Eragus was a human warrior that Kathnick had fallen in love with; and in order to save him, transferred his soul into a tree, creating Oakheart. Yet, there are stories that it was Oakheart, who found Kathnick, and bonded her to him, in order to save her life. The truth is only known to them; and they never speak of it. As perhaps one of the oldest of the Treants in the Feywild, Oakheart rose up and became Lord Oakheart, Speaker of the Woods. His roots were said to touch all the corners of the Feywild, where he could hear the whispers of friends and enemies alike.

My name is Listens-to-Wind, and I am an Eladrin. Eladrin, like myself, are in many ways; like the Elves of the core world; however, we are native to the Feywild, a land of emotion, magic, and breath taking beauty. The people of my kind can often adopt and change, taking on the aspects of the four seasons – Winter, cold, often cruel; Spring, full of life and hope; Summer, bold, energetic; and Autumn, full of peace and goodwill.

As an Honor Guard, to Lord Oakheart, I found myself most frequently taking in the aspects of Summer in order to ensure I was ready to protect Lord Oakheart at a moment’s notice. They Feywild was ripe with as much danger as it was beautiful; and two such great dangers was a green hag by the name of Ukloosha Sakrinala – who despised the sheer beauty Kathnick possessed; and there was a verdant prince by the name of Cath’mar, who despised Oakheart for reasons unknown; but many believed he too had deep feelings for Kathnick.

In truth, most who saw Kathnick, fell under her charms. Her blond hair that flowed around her, looked as if the rays of the sun itself had blessed the locks of her hair. Her piercing blue eyes were like the soft ripples of a welcoming lake. Her lips were full, and never quite smiling, yet never frowning either; somewhere in the middle. Her body was curved proportionately and when she walked, it was like the wind through the trees, how she swayed with each step.

The green hag, Ukloosha Sakrinala, though dangerous because of her ancient powers she’d gathered over the centuries; she had mostly been threats and minor attacks against Lord Oakheart and Queen Kathnick; such as sending yeth hound to attack and disturb celebrations. The larger threat was Cath’mar who often tricked adventurers who had come into the Feywild, by tricking them to do his bidding; and any who broke the ‘Oath Bond’ of any verdant prince would be greeted with a death so excruciating that carrying out the oath was the only option.

Tonight was the Celebration of Summer Awakening; the first day of Summer in the Feywild. It’s true that in the Feywild, there is always a celebration – emotions in the Feywild were always far more amplified than the Core World. As such, as I patrolled the area, I expected Yeth Hounds again, or perhaps Ukloosha would send Redcaps – gnomes, that required murdering to survive.

I walked along side Kathnick as she walked through the palace hall. She cast her soft blue eyes towards me, “Do you have anyone, Listens-to-Wind?”

“Me, my lady?” I asked, startled by the question. “I do not,” I finally said, gathering myself together. “My life has always been being an Honor Guard for you, and Lord Oakheart.” Despite the warmth of the summer day, there was a chill that surrounded Kathnick; she seemed to step closer to me, to absorb some of the warmth which my body naturally gave off in this Summer form.

As we continued down the hall, she said, “I have loved Lord Oakheart all of my life,” she confessed. “However, like the sun and moon, we are forever apart often; only some days and nights, when there is an eclipse, does it feel like we are together. He is busy with the Court, as the Speaker of the Woods, and when he is not here – because he is the one I am bound to – I grow increasingly weaker, until he is home again. But even when he is home, his large form can not walk through these halls as you and I do. When there are celebrations inside, his form can not enter – so I always try to make the celebrations outside, so I can be with him.”

“I am sorry, my Queen,” I stumbled over my words, folding my hands behind my back, “words and comfort are not my specialty. I can only say that at least tonight’s festivities are outside, so you can be by Lord Oakheart’s side.”

She smiled, “I taste great change in the wind.”

I nodded, “Summer is a time of change, like any season.”

“When the suns burn their brightest, and the fire warms the land,” she said in a haunting voice.

Once outside of the Palace, where the Celebration of Summer Awakening was taking place, I bowed to Queen Kathnick and made my way to Lord Oakheart. Inside the Celebration of Summer Awakening there were centaur dressed in elegant downs, Satyr that were dancing and playing music, pixies and sprites fluttering all about, and fairy dragons shifting through their colors; as well as other Eladrin, Elves, and fey-folk.

When I reached Lord Oakheart, his deep, rumbling voice asked of me, “How is the Queen?”

“She misses you greatly, my lord,” I answered with a deep bow.

“As I her,” Lord Oakheart, the gigantic treant groaned.

“Here she is now, my lord,” I said and excused myself as Queen Kathnick approached.

As I patrolled the borders of the festival listening for either the howl of the yeth hounds or the clamoring heavy footfall of redcaps; Queen Kathnick’s words rang in my ear again - When the suns burn their brightest, and the fire warms the land.

What had she meant? There’d been rumors that she could glimpse the future through abstract symbols as an Archfey. Had she seen something? Was it a warning?

That’s when I heard a commotion that broke me out of my thoughts, and I saw several humans emerge from the edge of the forests – and the one, adorned in green robes – hands glowing – I knew then what she had meant. Quickly I drew my blade and raced across the open field, shoving patrons aside with great force – but it was too late.

The human in green robes had cast his spell – and a fireball centered on Lord Oakheart struck – and Lord Oakheart’s ancient limbs were engulfed in flames – and the entire land shook – roots burst through the floor, erupting, and throwing me off balance, so that I crashed into a centaur, then a Satyr, before falling on the ground. I tried to regain my footing, but roots were still erupting from the ground. I managed to get my footing finally, and as I ran towards the attackers, so focused on them – I never saw the run away wagon that slammed into me and brought me into darkness.

When I awoke, the commotion had been over. Lord Oakheart’s flames had been extinguished but he had suffered grievously – and Treants, especially as ancient as Lord Oakheart took a long time to heal; as normal magics would not work on them – it required the nourishment of the land to heal Treants as ancient as Lord Oakheart.

Queen Kathnick stood on a pedestal. “Bring me Listen-to-Wind!” I was helped to my feet and kneeled before the Queen. “I am sorry, my Queen. I was on the other side of the festivities.”

“You had a sworn duty to Lord Oakheart and I to protect us,” the Queen shouted furiously. “You failed. Your Lord is grievously wounded – and only the quick actions of the patrons of this party was he saved and the fires extinguished. The attackers mentioned Cath’mar by name.”

“I will hunt him down,” I vowed. “He has gone too far, this time.”

“You will do no such thing,” she snarled. “You are banished from the Feyworld to the Core World. Gather your things and leave tonight. The portal of banishment will be opened for you.”

I remained kneeled and looked up in shock and horror.

That night as I gathered my things, the door opened and Queen Kathnick entered.

“My Queen,” I began, in my attempt to apologize again.

She placed her finger on my lips. “Know this. I am not truly angry at you. That was for everyone else. I will take care of Cath’mar. I need you to go to the Core World – track down those who did this. This is why I truly banished you. Our vow is to leave the mortals alone – but this is too much. I need you to find them – and bring them back to me – dead or alive.”

“I understand,” I bowed. Now I see why she’d asked me if I had anyone. She had had a vision; she knew something like this was coming – and the weapon she was going to send to the Core World would need to be someone who had no connections to anyone else in the Feywild. I strapped on my weapon and bowed as the portal was opened before me…

[Tawmis]

https://forums.giantitp.com/showthread. ... st25610822

Hello TAWMIS,
I really enjoyed the write up you did for me a short bit ago, I'm now looking to join an online group and would like a good backstory to help get me in. I'm starting with this as a baseline: SHORT-TEMPERED HUMAN WARLOCK FROM THE ENDLESS WASTES WHO USED TO WORK AS A TAVERN BOUNCER

From this I've got the following start:

• Human (Djinni Warlock)
• I made an enemy of an adventurer: I dared to suggest he and his friends were getting to drunk and out of hand at the tavern. They used spells to prevent me from subduing them, my strength alone wasn't a match for their spells. I was left impressed and defeated. I now am wary of confronting the adventurers here.
• I made a pack with a Djinn
• How I became a warlock..... While working the Tavern working as a bouncer, I unwittingly tell a Genie "I wish I could be like those adventurers that stop in all the time with their large sums of money, tales of treasure and glory, and Ability with Magic and strength of arm. I'd trade this life for a good adventure, and the ability to use spell and my club against the monsters of the realm!"
  The Genie accepts the offer and grants magic powers in exchange for 2 years service.
  PERSONALITY TRAITS
• I can stare down a hell hound without flinching.
• I face problems head-on. A simple, direct solution is the best path to success.
• I enjoy being strong and like breaking things.
  IDEALS
• Might. In life as in war, the stronger force wins. (Evil)
  BONDS
• I have two years to experience the Adventures as a Warlock of my Djini patron. Before returning.
  FLAWS
• I’d rather eat my armor than admit when I’m wrong.
• Short tempered

My plan is to go straight Warlock pact of blade....He will be a larger fella with intimidation and a short temper. I need help with the story of becoming a Warlock and maybe some expansion on the confrontation with Adventurers that left me so impressed.

========
You didn’t give your character a name, so I provided one (which naturally can be changed). But because I was looking for a desert type feel (I don’t have any Middle Eastern type music) so I went to my “Hell on Wheels” soundtrack (which by the way – if anyone is reading this – you need to watch that show, it was on AMC). So I combined the main actor’s name to name your character (Ansount – from Anson Mount). There is a “human” who is introduced as “Almukhalis Alkhafiu” which is Arabic for “Hidden Savior.” That will become clear why. A town mentioned is called “Manzil Muhatam” which means “Broken Home” in Arabic. The “Ghatlyn” brothers are a reference to the “Gatlin brothers” mentioned in Kenny Roger’s “Coward of the County” song. “Bhekee” is also a reference to said song. I also make a reference to “hearing a pin drop” also a reference to that song. (Yeah, I pull from everywhere for inspiration) More fun stuff – “Sahir” is “Wizard” in Arabic, “Muharib” is Warrior, and “Muhtal” is Rogue. You will see why that comes up. And “Muqadam Alraghabat” means “Wish Giver” in Arabic.


The Endless Waste.

Gazing at it, from a distant mountain, or high up in the trees; you might think it’s beautiful. It appeared, in all honesty, to be made of waves of sand, frozen in time, spanning further than any ocean.

However, much like the ocean, the Endless Waste was full of danger; a sand storm could throw you in every direction, ripping away your possession, burying you beneath mounds of sand, tearing your flesh away – and should you survive, the landscape has so drastically changed that if you lost your compass in the sand storm, there was a good chance that death through dehydration would be claiming you soon.

But it wasn’t just the sandstorms that made the Endless Waste as dangerous as it was… it was also the roving animals, all of which, like anyone who walked the Endless Waste, was parched and starving – often fighting to the death, just to have its next meal – that included ankhegs, giant sand worms, the dreaded gold-death beetles, and of course, blue dragons.

As if that were not enough, there were ample amount of roaming nomads and tribes, who were cannibals, feeding on other humanoids as a source of food and drink; believing devouring such flesh empowers them.

So why risk one’s life and venture into the Endless Wastes?

Temples. Hundreds of temples now lie buried beneath the tons of grains of sand, that the occasional sandstorm reveals; and there’s countless treasure, adventure, and often death to be found.

My name is Ansount – and I am a bouncer at the Watering Hole, an established bar in an unestablished town deep in the endless wastes. The owner of the Watering Hole, a human, much like myself named Almukhalis Alkhafiu – but most simply refer to him as “Khalis” – found me, face down, in the Endless Wastes, the only survivors of a traveling caravan. The rest of the caravan had been blown apart by the sandstorm – when I regained consciousness, he showed me what happened – bodies were buried, part of them sticking out from the tidal wave of sand dunes. He’d asked me where I was headed, and I said I was simply getting away from “home.” He had looked me up and down and asked what I had been doing on the caravan – and I explained I was hired to protect it. He laughed at me. Said I could fight off the beasts and nomads, but every man and woman is at the mercy of nature. He ran his hands up and down my cut and tattered arms and nodded.

“You are strong,” he acknowledged with a nod of his head. “I could have use for someone like you.”

When I asked what he’d meant – he explained he was headed for Manzil Muhatam – a town that was barely standing, and that he’d wanted to open a tavern there. I asked why he would open a tavern there if it was barely a town – and he said because there was none there, and he said – and I quote – “seems like good business sense.”

Gazing all around me, and seeing battered pieces of the caravan buried beneath the sands, like moments frozen in time, in tidal waves made of millions of grains of sand – I truly knew I had no other choice than to at least travel with him to Manzil Muhatam.

Our voyage to Manzil Muhatam wasn’t without danger; we’d encounter a band of roaming goblins, and Khalis was impressed by my bravado and direct approach to slaying the goblins, rather than trying to sneak around them or waiting for them to pass. Khalis smiled at me as I searched the last goblin’s corpse. “It’d seem, yet again, I’ve made a good business decision in employing your services.”

I won’t lie; whenever Khalis was around, I enjoyed displaying my strength, personality and my short temper. There was nothing sexual between what I felt when Khalis was around; it felt more like a son trying to show his father everything he could do so that his father would be proud of him. I always wanted to make sure Khalis was proud of me; I am not sure if it’s because he saved my life (he could have easily pocketed me and left me to perish in the dunes), or if it was because he was an older gentleman; and woe to those who would dare insult Khalis’ honor; most were left in desperate healing by the time I was through with them.

That was until one fateful night, where everything in my life changed.

Three brothers had come in; they were known as the Ghatlyn brothers – each one of the three were different: Sahir Ghatlyn was a wizard of some kind; Muharib Ghatlyn was a warrior – carried a long sword he swore was magical; and there was Muhtal Ghatlyn who was born as a small person, standing no more than three feet tall, unlike his other two brothers who stood six feet and a half.

Muhtal was the most dangerous of the three; at his height he was always caused trouble wherever he could, to simply prove that his height was not an issue – and in one way, he was a reflection of myself – in that he, like me, had a very, very, very short fuse.

It was when I saw Muhtal run his hands up Bhekee’s dress and laugh, as she batted him away. Bhekee was a Tiefling who had stumbled into Manzil Muhatam more dead than alive and managed to crawl into the Watering Hole, desperate to be hydrated. Khalis offered her drink and helped nurse her back to health, and here she remained; because like me, she’d been escaping whatever was back at “home.” Being a Tiefling, Bhekee was often harassed, because of her demonic appearance, or that she was someone who was interested in bedding everyone, simply because she was – quite honestly – very beautiful. But I’d taken it upon myself to be Bhekee’s guardian, so when I grabbed Muhtal’s arm you could have heard a pin drop.

“Muhtal, why don’t you and your brothers cash out for the night, and head back to your own place,” I growled. “You’ve definitely had more than enough.”

“Do you even know who I am?” he snapped back; naturally I knew who he was, just as he knew who I was. “I’ve murdered people for less. You dare even touch me? You?”

“I am about to do more than just touch you,” I snapped back, feeling that short fuse in me suddenly ignite. “I asked once. I won’t ask again.”

Bhekee shook her head, pleading, “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it, Ansount.”

Muhtal slid his hand back up the back side of her dress and I saw her flinch; her eyes told another story. He sneered and looked at me, “You heard her. It’s fine.” Then he said the next few words with such emphasis, “She. Likes. It.”

And then it happened – the explosion in my mind. The fuse had reached the base. I drew my hand back and with as much force as my muscled arms could – and brought my clenched fist crashing down against the bridge of Muhtal’s nose. I felt it break beneath the force of my punch – and I waited for him to get up and attack me – but he’d been laid out cold.

However, in the moment of my fury – I’d forgotten it wasn’t just him. Barely in time, a sword swung – nearly cutting my throat wide open; the swing had not been an attempt to decapitate me, but rather cut my throat open so I died a slow death, choking on my own blood. I’d barely managed to avoid it, only because of the silence in the tavern – the sound of swinging steel through the air was all too familiar to me.

Muharib was swinging his blade wildly at me, furious I’d struck his brother. I managed to pick up a wooden chair and use it as a shield against his wild swings; and I managed to get his sword caught between the legs of the chair – and with an attempt to yank it from his hands – instead the wooden chair cut in half as if the blade were made of something thinner than air. It was when I heard the spidery words of magic – that I saw Sahir’s hands glow and suddenly I was pinned against a wall.

Bhekee cried out as Sahir approached. “I should let my brother cut you from between your legs up to your throat. But I want to be the one to kill you.” Sahir began chanting words of magic as his hands glowed – but it was Khalis’ voice which boomed louder than I’d ever heard it.

“You will do no such thing.”

Muharib and Sahir turned and saw Khalis. I am not sure what they saw, but they kneeled down and picked up Muhtal and quietly left the bar, hissing a threat to me as Sahir released me.

Khalis approached me and helped me up. “You look no worse for the wear,” he said, brushing me off. “I guess that’s something else you can’t fight.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“When we first met, I said your weapon can kill the beasts and men of these lands, but it can not fight nature when she rains her fury down,” Khalis explained as he walked with me back to the bar. “Magic. That is something else you can not always just swing your weapon at. Magic, like the spear can be used both up close or from a distance, making it very dangerous.”

Bhekee approached me and thanked me, and with a hug, I dismissed her to tell the patrons that everything was all right. I turned back to Khalis. “I wish I’d learned magic. So I could have understood what Sahir was casting and do something about it.”

“Magic takes great time and much studying,” Khalis chuckled, “and no offense my friend,” he added, “you do not look to be the type that studies.”

“I just want to be able to do it,” I laughed, “without all the studying.”

Khalis grinned; and there was a glint in his eyes like I’d never seen – and in that moment, I wondered if that’s what the Ghatlyn brothers saw – something behind Khalis’ eyes. “There is such a way,” he whispered. “There are those who, unlike Sahir, do not take the years of study – instead they make pacts with demons and the like – who bestow them powers.”

I laughed, “That sounds like it would require some studying too, as I know nothing about demons. All I know is how to fight.” I shook my head, “I wish I could be like those three – and others who come in here all the time – with large sums of money, with all their tales of glory and treasure! I would love to have my strength by also the power that Sahir possess! I’d trade this life for a good adventure, with magic and my club, to crush those who would stand before my goals!”

“Tell me again,” Khalis said, extending his hand. “But take my hand.”

Feeling this was odd, I reluctantly took his hand and said, “I wish I could be like those adventurers who have come in here – spinning tales of glory and fame – using magic and might – together – slaying the beasts before them.”

And I saw it again – Khalis’ eyes glinted – but this time, literally flickered – and suddenly the blood in my body was fire and ice; one chasing the other, then reversing through my body – and in the reflection I saw my own eyes glow like Khalis’ – and in that moment I saw Khalis, for a brief moment, not as the human who had saved me – but his true form, a Djinni.

“I have given you that which you wished for,” he whispered. “But you must keep my secret safe and never speak of what I truly am; you are not the only one who has fled from home. But now I need you to do something for me. Use that which I have given you – venture forth and listen to the winds – and see if you hear of anyone who is tracking down my true name - Muqadam Alraghabat. If you hear of it, you must let me know immediately. My power is connected to you for two years; you shall be able to channel magic through the bond we share. Go now.”

“But the tavern?” I asked.

Just then, a large human, battered chainmail, cut and bruised stumbled in, hands reaching out, “Need… water…”

“It would seem a business opportunity has presented itself,” Khalis smiled.

[Tawmis]

https://forums.giantitp.com/showthread. ... st25667737

Would like a story for my new half elf warlock, his name is Aziz, he is the son of Aladdin, so he is a prince but still has his dad's and grandfather's bloodline of thieves so he still has the urge to steal and kinda want him to be kleptomaniac and a pathological liar. I also kind of want to work in a lion king reference with Aziz getting into some trouble and Aladdin has to come to save him and ends up dying. he has a flying carpet and a pet racoon, that also enjoys stealing.

So I see, Aziz was a evil human in the Aladdin cartoon series; but also he was apparently a main character in "Descendants" who was cut, and was to be Aladdin's and Jasmine's son - so clearly the one you are referencing I assume? I leaned VERY deep into the Aladdin feel, having fun with Bandit (the raccoon) as I named him (you can change it, but I think it fit the story and the character concept you had) - and the villain's name should be an obvious play on words too...
I enjoyed this and it certainly turned out longer than I thought. Even fit the Lion King reference in...
============================================

The relentless sun beat down on the arid desert as Aladdin stepped out onto the balcony where he saw his son, Aziz. “You should come inside son,” Aladdin said, folding his arms in front of his chest. “It’s a blistering hot day today.”

“I am waiting for Bandit to return,” Aziz said, standing and looking over the railing – a bright smile that could compare to the very sun that warmed the land, stretched across his features as Bandit, a furry, and sand covered raccoon emerged over the edge with an apple in his mouth.

Aladdin shook his head, “You know, just because the raccoon has a mask does not mean you have to call him Bandit and train him to steal.” Aziz picked up the Bandit who wrapped himself around Aziz’s neck.

Aziz looked at his father, “Why not? Isn’t that how you got all of this? Whatever happened to the genie? You never told me. And you always promise ‘next time.’”

Aladdin’s already tanned face turned red beneath the tan. “I’ll tell you next time. That was in the past,” Aladdin huffed. “You are too much like me,” he puffed. “Entirely too defiant and too wise cracking for your own good! Now come inside, your mother won’t stop talking about how you’re going to get a horrible sunburn out here. It’s far hotter than it has been in a very long time. The winds blow stronger than they have, bringing the heat and jagged sand crystals that bite at the flesh like tiny insects.”

Aziz heaved a deep sigh and said, “Come on, Bandit. “ Bandit, the raccoon, mimicked Aziz’s sigh. As Aziz passed his father, Aladdin shoved them into the doorway. Bandit, Aladdin could have sworn, stuck his tongue out at Aladdin, but then began cleaning its paw; so he wasn’t sure if he was seeing things.

Aziz had dinner at the table, which could have served thirty people with how long it was; and he and Bandit sat on one side (despite his mother’s protest of having Bandit at the table; as Bandit insisted on cleaning everything in the water bowl that was placed in front of him). Servants conveyed messages back and forth between son and parents on opposite sides of the table.

That night, as Aziz lay in bed – Bandit began making excited sounds as he pressed his tiny, blackened, furry paws against the window. Aziz got up from bed, and leaned his head forward, his bleary eyes trying to see into the night. Bandit grabbed a clump of Aziz’s hair and yanked so that Aziz’s forehead hit the window with a resounding ‘thud!’ This caused Aziz to shake his head and scowl at Bandit, who seemed to be pointing outside. Aziz looked outside and the night was clear with the moon’s white light piercing the dark blue sky of night. Aziz scowled again at Bandit. “Did you wake me up because of the full moon?”

Bandit yanked on Aziz’s hair and slammed his forehead into the window again with another resounding ‘thud!’ Aziz rubbed his forehead, “Stop that!” Bandit pointed again out the window.

This time as Aziz looked out his jaw fell open.

“Is that … a pyramid?” The tip of a pyramid was visible under the moon’s piercing light; a pyramid that had been unearthed due to the wind. Aziz looked at Bandit. “Do you think father… do you think father put the genie in that pyramid and had it magically buried?”

Bandit’s glittering eyes was all Aziz needed to see. Aziz put on his dress clothes and quietly opened the window with Bandit leaping on his shoulder as he descended the wooden trellis. He knew he couldn’t get any of the horses; they’d report to his father he was out at night.

Unbeknownst to Aziz, however, he was already being watched; but not by the Royal Guard, or his father; bur rather his father’s assistant, Hou’phar. “Well, well, well,” Hou’phar smiled, “it would seem the prince has sought adventure on his own.” Hou’phar slid into his black robes and closed his own door behind him, trailing Prince Aziz.

It took an hour to reach the pyramid; it’d seemed so much closer – and the entire time Aziz wondered if his father had already stumbled into his room and noticed he was gone. He kept looking over his shoulder waiting for the bells to sound; but they hadn’t. More of the pyramid had revealed itself – now Aziz could clearly see a sealed door. He approached it and much like his father before him, Aziz had some practice with stealing and being a thief – but he could see no way to open the door. There was no locking mechanism; just an indentation – and if there was anything he learned about indentations is that you don’t just stick your hand in it, unless you know what it is.

Bandit was on Aziz’s shoulder, looking from Aziz to the indentation. Aziz shook his head, as he extended his arm, “I am not putting my hand on that thing,” and as he extended his arm, Bandit ran along his arm, and his own tiny, furry hands stretched out. “This is the worse idea, ever. If I get electrocuted or polymorphed into a sheep, I am going to be seriously upset at you.” Aziz closed his eyes, took a deep breath and slammed his hand into the indentation and at first nothing happened – until a whirring sound from within grew louder and the doors opened. “Welcome home, Lord Aladdin,” a voice from the shadows called out.

Aziz’s eyes were wide. “It thinks I am my father,” he whispered. Bandit scurried down Aziz’s body and began to sniff around. Aziz made his way into a large room and his eyes were immediately drawn to a lamp that hovered in the center above a pedestal. Aziz made his way to it, whispering to himself, “The genie’s lamp…”

Just then behind him, the pyramid rumbled. “Intruder detected,” it boomed – the pyramid shook with such force, that the ground split wide. Aziz was worried it’d been him, but suddenly tumbling out of the shadow, he saw Hou’phar. Puzzled, Aziz asked, “What are you doing here?”

Hou’phar kept his dagger behind his back, and lied, “Oh, my sweetest prince, I saw you walking the night. I’d only hoped to keep an eye on you and keep you safe.”

“Why wouldn’t you tell my father?” Aziz asked taking a step back, closer to the levitating lamp.

“My prince has never trusted me,” Hou’phar said as he took a step closer. “I wanted to keep you safe tonight, my prince and tell you tomorrow in secrecy how I knew you’d gone out; and that you would see I did not tell your father.”

Suddenly the pyramid boomed, “Welcome home, Lord Aladdin.”

“What?” Aziz looked around.

Hou’phar knew what that had meant. He spun around and saw Aladdin charging him. “Beware my son, he has a dagger! He knew only you and I could open the pyramid! He meant to kill you and take the genie for himself.”

“You’re too wise,” Hou’phar growled as he and Aladdin struggled; they tumbled and rolled, near the edge of the large crevice that opened. Hou’phar stabbed Aladdin on the hand, forcing him to release Hou’phar who kicked Aladdin who rolled down sliding over the crevice. Aladdin grabbed the edge as his body slid over. Hou’phar came to stand next to Aladdin who gripped on for his life. “Toss me the lamp boy, or I step on your father’s hand and send him plunging into eternal darkness.”

“Don’t do it, Aziz,” his father called out. “If you do, he will kill me anyway and he will have the power of the genie’s magic behind him.”

“But father,” Aziz began.

“For once in your life, Aziz,” Aladdin called out, “listen to me. Let me make it easy,” and with that he released his hold and slipped into the darkness of the crevice never even screaming.

Hou’phar sighed, “I hated your father, so righteous. Now, give me the lamp boy. You’re not getting out of this alive, otherwise. Give me the lamp and I let you and your mother run away free, if you promise to never return.”

At that moment, Bandit bit Hou’phrar in the ankle, who screamed and released his dagger which fell into the same eternal darkness that Aziz’s father had plunged himself into. Bandit proceeded to run up Hou’phar’s body and leapt from his head, throwing Hou’phar off balance; and unlike Aziz’s father, Hou’phar plunged into the eternal darkness screaming.

Aziz leapt forward and caught Bandit’s tiny arms and pulled him over the edge.

Bandit scurried up to his shoulder as Aziz turned towards the floating lamp and wrapped his hands around it. A djinni emerged and whispered, “I am sorry about your father, Aziz. I saw it all from the lamp. But, there may yet be something we can do about it. Promise yourself to me, and become my Warlock, and perhaps together, we may yet one day rescue your father from his fate…”

Aziz looked at the crevice, “I thought he died…”

“No,” the djinni replied. “This entire pyramid is mystical – he’s fallen into the Astral Plane. Where, I am not certain. But he’s somewhere out there – it will take some time to relocate where he’s landed. In the meantime, there’s much for you and I to do as we bond.”

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

So I've got this great idea for a circle of stars warforged druid. His name is Relic (Rel) maybe because that's what the first druids who met him in the forest called him. He was a relic of the battles passed. But that's all I've really got, I figure he's neutral good and trying to find his way back into the new world. Would appreciate anything you can come up with. Happy holidays!

I've never played a Warforge - ever. Nor have I had any in any campaigns I run (don't really fit my world yet), nor in any campaigns I've played in, ironically.
But through this thread, I've written quite a few Warforged origins - and since I am so vastly unfamiliar with them I always worry if I got it right.
I enjoy writing them - because there's a sense of mystery to the characters always.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy the story!
Would love to hear any feedback - good or bad! It helps me grow, also keeps the thread bumped and alive.
Enjoy!
====

“Don’t you see!” The Tiefling paced back and forth, his hands behind his back. “For so long, we have used the power of the sun to harness power into these Warforged creations. But I think I’ve figured it out – you see, the constellations – they have meaning. Look, there,” he shoved his companions head towards the telescope. “Do you see the pattern in the sky? The horse? The dragon? The spear?”

His companion, rubbing the socket of his eye as he pulled back, “I suppose.”

The Tiefling sighed, glaring at his human companion. “The stars – the cosmos – the very gods dwell there. What if we could harness such power? Such secrets into this Warforged? We can finally turn the tide of this war that has ripping our world apart.”

“I don’t know Erikkus,” the human, named Kres said, scratching his head. “I think this war is all but over and we’re just too ignorant to see it; we believe that somehow we will overcome.”

“I have spent my entire life being questioned,” Erikkus’ eyes flared, “just because of how I look. I spent my entire life striving to prove myself. Some might think I’ve gone mad in my quest,” he admitted, allowing the flare in his eyes to simmer down. “I’ve seen it even in your own eyes, Kres – my best friend throughout my childhood – how, in recent weeks you look at me with concern.”

“It’s just you’ve spent so much time invested in this,” Kres’ eyes drifted to the hollow Warforged, “thing. Each day the Anzi army has closed its hold around our country, the noose ever tighter. Soon we will have no escape, no air. We should just abandon the country and flee and hope that we survive.”

“I can’t ask you to stay, Kres,” Erikkus said, his voice low. “But you can’t ask me to leave.”

Kres heaved a deep sigh. “I am in this until the end.”

Together Erikkus and Kres worked relentlessly, often forgoing sleep, as the sounds of the every approaching war drew nearer. Finally, as Erikkus clicked the final gear into place, aligning the Warforged’s internal telescope to the heavens; its eyes flared open.

At the same moment, the Anzi army burst through the doors. The Warforged gained sentience just in time to see Kres murdered by an assassin, repeatedly stabbed in the neck, blood spraying the walls. The Warforged turn and saw a large fighter had grabbed Erikkus and snapped his neck. Erikkus’ life faded from his eyes as he gazed at the Warforged who was now alive. “Enemy detected,” was the last thing Erikkus heard before his own life ebbed away finally.

The screams of the Anzi army could be heard as bones snapped, body parts were torn from limb to limb as the Warforged, awakened and powered by the Cosmos, marched forward from Erikkus’ small lab and into the small village he’d taken refuge in so many years ago. The Warforged proceeded to march through and decimate without mercy or remorse, any who bore the symbol of the Anzi army. The Warforged’s actions proceeded to inspire the people of the hamlet, who had once been fleeing, now turned and used farming equipment to turn on the Anzi. The inspiration grew, spreading out from this hamlet, as people followed the Warforged, fighting alongside him.

The story of the Warforged’s actions were such that when he appeared on the battlefield, the die hard Anzi army often broke rank and fled.

Sixteen years after the bloodiest war had begun; it finally came to end in the woods, at Ciorcal Cloiche – a small forested area with spiraling stones formed in a circle. Here, the Warforged, designed to fight the Anzi army, had finally shut down – it’s primary goal accomplished. It slumbered against one of the large stones, and did what mortals often did – it “fell asleep.”

Over the years that passed, nature reclaimed the area, the stones covered in spiraling vines, which also embraced and encased the Warforged, until one day, several druids who had come to this area, drawn by some sense of power – believing it to be the circle of stones – discovered the Warforged. Prying it from the endless vines, they could see that the markings and damage on it showed it’d been from ages long gone.

As the night sky, the moon shining brightly, the stars glittering in the heavens, celestial symbols powered the ancient Warforged who awakened – the star chart that had been embedded into its hands showing connecting lines.

One of the druids looked at the awakened Warforged. “What do you call yourself, my friend?”

The Warforged recalled its ancient memory – it’d been so long, they were like small fragments – pieces of a star chart that were missing. “I have no name,” the Warforged replied. “My creator perished before I was given a name.”

“Judging by the markings, you’ve been around for a long time,” the second druid commented. “You’re like a relic.”

“Relic,” the Warforged replied. “I shall take the name Relic, if that is what I am.”

“Or just Rel for short,” the first druid said.

Relic nodded. “I would like that.”

=======

Need help fleshing out a potential NPC.
A Bard, probably a human, but also contemplating a longer life spanned race.
One renowned as a font of inspiration for tales well versed in the politics and history of the land, and a possible quest giver. His knowledge and storytelling have left him in demand (of the appropriate amount to be involved in the campaign when they meet him and growing as they grow)
From humble beginnings as a story teller, he grew as a performer and learns the lay of the land and its history as he travels. He seems to be involved as that character that's there for all the big events of his time in a Forest Gump kind of way.
Is he better off as almost a random encounter character? One that shows up here and there over a campaign, or an in a singular place for an arc of a campaign?
I wanted to be able to include you in my future campaign as I'll probably be using your writings for a few characters. So I'll probably be sticking with the name Tawmis as I doubt my players have read this site. And if they have hopefully they recognize your inspiration and writings in my world.

Hah! Flattery will get you everywhere...!
I had fun writing this one.
The characters mentioned are either my characters, or the names of characters from my own campaign, which was fun to do.
This was a lot of fun, and hopefully gives fuel to how you can use, Tawmis the Bard...!
I'd love to hear comments, as always!
It helps me (and it lets me know it got read!) but also keeps the thread bumped and alive!
Enjoy!
========

The firewood crackled, sending small flecks of ash and flame ever dancing, spiraling upward before burning out completely. Shadows danced around them, weaving in and out of the woods, creating varying expressions on each of their faces.

“What did you say your name was bard?” the Dragonborn fighter asked as the flames reflected off his damaged chainmail armor.

A human figure, adorned in forest and dirt colored robes with a lute strapped to his back and a large, leather bound book with small rubies adorned down the spine. “Tawmis,” the human bard said, as he pulled back his cowl with his other hand. “I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”

“I can’t say that I have,” the Dragonborn growled.

“Easy now, Silver,” the female elf, clearly a cleric by the symbol she wore on her chest, said as she placed her hand on the Dragonborn’s arm. “My name Asilia. This over here,” she gestured to the Dragonborn, “is Silver. Next to him is our halfling friend, Morobunce.”

Morobunce extended his hand to Tawmis.

“I wouldn’t shake his hand,” Asilia smiled. “Not unless you enjoy traveling a little lighter,” she winked. Morobunce smiled coyly. “Next to Moro is Dalmarius,” she gestured to the elf who kept to the deep shadows of his cloak – a wizard, by the looks of it, with the staff he was holding. Despite the shadows his cloak provided, one thing was also clear – he was no ‘elf’ but rather a Drow. It’s no wonder he kept his features hidden. The Drow have a bad history among many. “The grumpy one over there,” Asilia gestured to the dwarf sitting slightly apart from the others, “is Karnstone of the Northwind.” Northwind, home of the barbarians; also explains why he was sitting away from the fire – he was used to the cold winds that pierce the flesh. “And lastly,” Asilia rounded up the group, “is Pallus, our resident forest gnome.”

“And druid,” Tawmis remarked, noticing Pallus’ leafy attire. Pallus blushed and hid deeper into the greenery.

“So what can we do for you, bard,” Asilia asked. It was becoming more and more clear that she was the obvious leader.

“Well,” Tawmis replied as he sat himself between Asilia and Silver, and as far away from Morobunce as he could be. “I’ve been on the road for weeks now. My feet are blistered. I was looking to make camp when I spotted your campfire.”

“I told you it was too bright,” remarked Dalmarius from beneath his cowl.

Tawmis smiled towards Dalmarius then looked back at Asilia. She was breathtakingly beautiful; but then Tawmis found most female elves tended to have that effect on him. He cleared his throat and his thoughts, “As I was saying – been traveling for weeks, tired, and saw your campfire. When I got close I saw you looked like a trust worthy bunch.” His eyes lingered on Morobunce, as if to say, “Well, except maybe you.” He smiled and continued, “And I thought to myself, ‘Self, there’s safety in numbers and these folk look mighty nice!’”

“You’re welcome to share our campfire,” Asilia remarked, “and rest with us tonight.”

“Would this be a good time to mention that the giant spiders further back,” Tawmis smiles, “I am sure you saw them – well, I ran into them and had to drop some of my bags because they were stuck in the webs. Well, one of the said bags I left behind had my food in it.”

“We’re not giving him any of our food,” Silver growled. “It took us along time to gather these rations.”

Asilia laughed, “We have more than enough. Here, have some of this,” as she handed Tawmis some dried meat.

“Well, the least he could do is pay us for it,” Morobunce chimed in.

“Well, I would,” Tawmis replied, between chewing on the dried meat. “But there were some bandits, just before the spiders…”

“Then what benefit are ye to us tonight, except fer takin’ our food an’ ramblin’ like the north wind?” Karnstone growled from off to the side. “Certainly no good in a fight, if ye be runnin’ from spiders an’ brigands.”

“I could pay you in something that is far more valuable than coin,” Tawmis said, taking the last bite of dried meat and throwing the crumpled paper into the fire pit which sent flames flickering high, and more ash and smoke.

“Stop that,” Dalmarius growled, his dark features more present in the flash of the flames.

“I have stories,” Tawmis replied. “Hundreds of them. Heard about the one where the wife sold the soul of her daughter so that her husband might live? How about the one about the sacred blood of Frostmane – Karnstone, you are probably familiar with that one? There’s one about a Drow Paladin who turned her back on her people to save a couple who’d been slaves? You ever heard of Sureena Pyre’sin, Dalmarius?”

Tawmis continued to skim over the hundreds of stories he was aware of; some he’d admitted had become far more fabricated over the years; some he claimed he was there, but as the great actor he was known for across the land (though the party exchanged confused glances), he claimed to be there but took on another name. He even claimed he was there when a Warforged was assigned to protect a very special princess; and that’s how he’d gotten his foot into the courts.

As he wrapped up one of his many stories, which seemed to zigzag and interact with a number of other stories, he took a deep breath. “So, as you can see. I’ve been around. I’ve met some astounding people. Learned so much along my travels! Even being here, speaking with you all, I’ve learned a thing or two. I take every meeting with me forward. Because, I’ve told a hundred stories. But the best one is yet to be told. That’s your story.”

[Tawmis]

Same thread as above.

Happy holidays! Hopefully this thread is still going. I've never yet requested a background, but have had a good time reading a bunch of those already written. So this will be my first time offering opportunity for a background (I hesitate to say request as this one is a little......different.)

=================
Name: Duke Reginald Morris
Race: Human
Sex: Male
Age: late 50s
Setting: Dragonlance (for the newly released published adventure)
Background (Mechanical): Mage of High Sorcery
Class: Necromancer
Subclass: Book of Undead Divination
Description: tall, frail looking, but stout of bearing (low strength, high con); Pale skin, thin white hair, clean shaven; he is a genuinely good person, but very quirky; not anti-social, but definitely socially-awkward; He was working as a mortician before Mages found him; hates his title, but can't escape it; Member of the Order of the White Robes
Goal: There's a war going on. Perhaps I can learn from the dead to help the living.
NOTES: I'm more than willing to change just about any part of this if it helps make a more compelling (and fun!) character at the game table.

It was interesting trying to find a way to tie something like "Necromancy" to the Order of the White Robes...
But as I began to write this... Duke Reginald Morris began to tell his own story for me...
And made it very easy.
This one flowed very naturally from me, probably because of my love of Dragonlance.
I'd love to hear your thoughts (even if you hate it! Tell me!)
Comments help me grow and also keep the thread alive.
Enjoy!
=====

Just east of Kalaman lay Hinterlund where Duke Reginald Morris made his living as a mortician. As he paced around the mortuary, his pale skin and thin, white hair, almost making him look as if he should be one of the dead, he muttered to himself. “The rumors of war,” he said, shaking his head. “This room will soon be full of many more.” He leaned down and looked at the corpse of an old, male human who had died of natural causes. “I never mind it, when someone has lived out their entire life like you have, Crandon. But it’s when someone’s life is cut short,” he stood up and looked over at another; a young man, murdered in the night. He walked over and placed his hand on the corpse’s chest. “You, Herick; you never truly got to live to see your potential. Soon this room will be full of others like you. Young men who march off to this war they say is brewing and get cut down in their youth.”

Duke Reginald Morris placed his hand on Herick’s cold chest and closed his eyes. “I can’t expect to hear all of their stories,” Duke muttered to himself, “but yours, I can hear.” In his mind’s eye he could see Herick walking and then heard the young man’s voice. He opened his eyes and could see a shimmering, ghostly figure of Herick standing in front of him. “What happened to me?”

“I need you to tell me,” Duke Reginald Morris replied. “I need you to remember.”

“I’m dead,” Herick’s phantom suddenly realized.

“Yes, I am sorry, Herick. They found your body by the Firemoon farm,” Duke Reginald Morris explained.

Duke Reginald Morris came from a long line of morticians. His father, grandfather, and great grandfather were all morticians; and beginning with his great grandfather, had kept a tome of their findings and passed it down each time. It was tattered and beaten; and like his father and grandfather before him, each of them possessed this ability to tap into something.

This not only made them sought after morticians – not that morticians were often sought after – but they often brought a sense of peace to those who’d lost a loved one, because they were able to communicate with the spirits and pass the message on to those who had lost a loved one.

“Firemoon farm,” Herick’s haunting voice recalled. “I had gone there to meet Dharla. Something… someone…”

“Think back,” Duke Reginald Morris whispered. “You can see everything – you are not restricted by your own eyes. What do you see? Turn around.”

The phantom of Herick turned around in the mortuary, but his movement was reflected in his memory as well. “Tiberius,” Herick whispered. “He stabbed me from behind. Why?”

It’s as Duke Reginald Morris had suspected; Tiberius had longed for the hand of Dharla for many years, but Herick was the one she’d longed for. He was kind and generous and spoke poetry; while Tiberius was rude, crass, and demanding of her, expecting that she would love him for his youthful, strong, frame and the money his family had.

“When I first sensed your power,” a second voice said, startling Duke Reginald Morris and snapping his mind from the spell. He spun around and saw a youthful human, long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail similar to how many of the Knights of Solamnia had worn their hair; but this was no Knight. This youthful, young man wore white robes and leaned on a staff – a Mage of High Sorcery. “I thought perhaps you were a follower of Chemosh, the evil god of the undead; and I thought that you and I would battle one another.” He smiled at Duke Reginald Morris and said, “I am glad to see I am wrong. The necromancy you use; it’s not to raise large armies of undead, but to bring peace to the dead and to the loved ones who must bury their dead. Your heart shines with light rather than shadow. But where there is light, there is always shadow – for light always casts darkness, but darkness can exist without light. I need to know when the war comes – and it is coming – that you will not be overcome by the shadow.”

“Who are you?” Duke Reginald Morris asked.

“Pardon me,” the white robed mage nodded. “My name is Pyter, and I am, as you might guess, one of the Order of the White Robes. I was passing through when I sensed an energy – and I followed it to you. I would like to extend an offer to come to the Tower of High Sorcery to take the Test that every Wizard should take.”

“I am not interested,” Duke Reginald Morris brushed off the offer.

“What if I told you, that you – and your unique ability – would be a great asset in the war that is brewing,” Pyter explained. “Your uncanny ability to speak with the dead the way you do could make a difference on the battlefield.”

“Battlefield? Look at me, I am fifty years old, I am too old to see battle,” Duke Reginald Morris scoffed.

“You will see it,” Pyter said more firmly. “Whether it’s out there, trying to make a difference,” he continued, “or trapped in a corner, in this mortuary, surrounded by piles of bodies from the people who live here in Hinterland; before they come here and then there’s no one left to bury the dead.”

Duke Reginald Morris sighed.

He grabbed his family tome and looked at Pyter. “Lead the damn way.”

[Tawmis]

Same thread.

Name: Galausitha Iswis Walthufnja Riqisis (->Language Nerd who likes to troll<-)
Gender: Male
Race: VHuman
Class: Divine Soul Sorcerer 1/Warlock (Genie, Dao) 2
Background: Custom
Setting: Wildemount
Notes: Member of a somewhat established clan that the DM will mostly develop. They're not-so-bright people serving Ioun. Their living aasimar ancestor betrayed them after he built a base somewhere, looted the clan's treasury, and began to kidnap a few clansmen. This is vaguely known by Galausitha although he does not know his ancestor's motives or goals.
What I'm looking for is an interesting personality and personal history for Galausitha and a connection to a ranger buddy named Finny. Bonus points if Galausitha's personality is easy to roleplay. Thank you so much for your help and happy holidays!

I always find it difficult to write for DM specific stuff, when I am not aware of what their plans are - because I don't know what I might write that might conflict with their plans or development.
So I kept it pretty simple... but at the same time it was a lot of fun.
You didn't name the Assimar ancestor - so since I used him in this story to allude to his thief I gave him the name "Saimaar" (which is basically just all the letters of 'Aasimar' scrambled to spell a name).
I did manage to introduce Finny and tie him to the story (if Finny is a player in the game, they may want to review this too, as I allude that your character and his have been friends for awhile)
The shard of glass is eluding to the Divine Soul, when you see it; and I explain how the Genie portion comes into it, as well.
As always I'd love to hear what you liked or disliked - and what may work or not work for your DM's campaign, if you have that info.
Enjoy!
===================

Forjar hammered away ever so gently at the glass decoration he’d just pulled out of the furnace; it’d been tradition to offer Ioun, the goddess of knowledge, an annual gift at the ioun stone in the center of town. Gifts would have to be from a trade the person was skilled at so that Ioun could accept the gifts and read the knowledge and care that was put into it.

“You’ve been at this for weeks, Forjar,” Galausitha sighed.

“And you would be wise to get starting on whatever gift you plan on giving Ioun at the ioun stone ceremony, Galausitha,” the dwarf muttered. Forjar, like all dwarves, enjoyed his time at the forge; but unlike other dwarves, who thrived on crafting steel weapons, Forjar enjoyed forging glass. His work was well respected and loved, and people clamored around him hoping he would have the time to create a beautifully colored window for them.

“I’ll think of something,” Galausitha shrugged.

“Think of something? Lad had ye not even given it any thought?” Forjar paused, perhaps for the first time in weeks, and looked at Galausitha, mouth agape. “It’s a wonder that Ioun hasn’t struck ye down yet, lad.” With that Forjar gave another gentle hit of the hammer and a small, fragmented piece of glass flew and struck Galausitha in the neck. It was so small that it’d barely been noticeable and Galausitha tapped his neck, thinking that an insect had bitten him. “Just ‘cause ye got some kind of divine linage or some nonsense,” Forjar continued to shape the glass, “ye think ye can sit on your duff until some divine insight comes to yer mind.”

Finny, a good friend to Galausitha, laughed. Finny was unlike both Forjar and Galausitha, because Finny didn’t enjoy his time inside the small hamlet, and would much rather spend his time wandering around the woods and living off the land. The only time he truly came inside the hamlet was to try and convince Galausitha to head out into the wild with him.

Finny threw the piece of wheat he’d been chewing on at Galausitha’s forehead. Galausitha looked at his friend and Finny gestured with a jerk of his head that it was time to go. Galausitha nodded and looked at his dwarven friend, “We will be back later, Forjar.”

“Well ye know where I will be,” Forjar grumbled as he smoothed one of the edges of glass; there’d been a small chip he hadn’t noticed.

As Finny and Galausitha walked through the woods, Galausitha muttered, “I really should get to starting on something for the Ioun Stone Ceremony.” He looked at Finny, “Have you already started something?”

Finny shrugged, “Just going to make something from the woods… like carve something out of a branch or something.” Galausitha sighed. Galausitha had no idea what they would do for the ceremony.

“Maybe we can go to the Ioun Stone Circle and see what others have put there?” Galausitha shrugged. “Maybe I can get inspiration from that?”

As Finny and Galausitha approached the Ioun Stone Circle, they could hear someone’s voice; and they sounded angry. Finny placed his hand on Galausitha’s arm. “We shouldn’t go forward,” he whispered. “It could be bandits.”

Galausitha looked at his friend, “Sounds like only one person. What if they’re robbing the offerings at the Ioun Stone?”

Finny shook his head and whispered, “It’s not worth it. Let’s turn around. And if you want to check, we should double back and see if we can get others to come with us.”

Galausitha nodded. “I will wait here. If they leave I will come get you. In the meantime, you go back and fetch others.” Finny quietly snuck away, heading back for the hamlet as quickly as possible. Galausitha edged forward and unfortunately snapped a twig beneath his foot. A hand suddenly thrust through the brush and pulled him out of the shadows. When Galausitha’s eyes focused he saw his living ancestor, Saimaar. “What are you doing here?”

Saimaar looked furious and frustrated. “Do you know where it is?”

“Where what is?” Galausitha asked, genuinely confused.

“Don’t toy with me, Galausitha,” Saimaar growled. “I know it’s here. I can feel it.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Galausitha replied.

“Worthless whelp,” Saimaar growled and threw Galausitha into the largest Ioun Stone, which he struck with such force, that it cracked the stone as Galausitha’s head slammed against it. Galausitha saw Saimaar rummaging through some of the offers that had already been placed before darkness, and Galausitha assumed, death took him.

However, Galausitha awoke to see the offerings scattered about. He rubbed his head and felt the moist blood from the wound; he looked at his hand in bewilderment and then looked at the large Ioun stone he’d been thrown against. An odd mist seeped from the stone. Galausitha tried to quickly crawl away, but the head wound had left him dizzy, so as he stood he nearly collapsed almost instantly. He turned, dreading the end – for what he assumed was a second time – as the mist continued to grow.

It took the form of a misty, rock looking form as it looked down at Galausitha. “You, mortal have freed me from my prison,” the Dao said, his voice booming. “But I can see that in doing so, your wounds are fatal and you will die shortly. For your service of freeing me, I shall bestow one boon upon thee – I shall spare your life. But, I am still weak – and need you to do things for me until I can regain my true power. Will you accept my offer to save your life at the cost of serving me?”

Galausitha, though his mind was blurry, and he could feel the swelling in his brain, was of clear enough mind to know he had no desire to die so young. “I accept your offer,” he said.

“Good,” the Dao said and vanished at the same moment Galausitha lost consciousness again.

He was awakened by Finny, who was surrounded by others, all looking at Galausitha curiously. When they asked what had happened – Galausitha could scarcely remember, realizing that the last thing he remembered was being thrown against the large Ioun stone – and what happened after – he wasn’t entirely sure if it was real or some fevered dream. But who had thrown him? His mind felt like puzzle pieces that had been scattered all around. There were pieces – some of which he could see – but it wasn’t clear.

====

Name: Babidi
Gender: Male
Race: Fairy
age: (23)
Class: Warlock (Archfey) 1 (support)
Background: Courtier
Setting: own
Description: He was working as a clerk in some courts before the recent events.
I know who my parents are/were. (My parents mysteriously disappeared dead/kidnapped by Chitine)
I was born in a house of the fey plane.
Siblings: 2 (I'm the oldest sibling).
we were raised by: my grandparents.
lifestyle: modest(neither rich nor poor).
abode : village near the forest.
easy to make friends and loved being around people.
I was ensnared in my patron’s' schemes after accidentally stepping through a portal.
Fleeing from the Chitine (I almost died, I have ugly scars all over my body, I lost my ear), falling unconscious after going through the portal. A dwarf (Menegroth) found me and took me to a tavern (where I met the goddess Anewin - goddess of taverns) and there the goddess found out about my existence, and made me a tavern steward.
Now at the services of the goddess of taverns.
Goal: During my time working at Anewin's taverns, I discovered that I have a "talent" for creating exotic foods, but not everything is easy, to make them I need exotic spices.

I was confused at first - because when I saw "fairy" I was like, "Great! Not done a fairy background yet!"
Then I saw Menegroth - and I immediately recognized that as Tolkien.
So I kept reading - and saw "Anewin" and wondered if it was a take on Arwen, also from Lord of the Rings?
Regardless, I assumed it was your own setting as you noted and went from there.
I focused on how your character has the unique recipes thing and built backwards from there.
There's some fun in the dialogue and the way that it's written, because Fairies and the Fey just beg for some silliness.
The Archfey I mentioned is one from my own campaign (Solas Asdorcha) who - ironically - was a Pixie who ascended into Archfey status. So naturally you can change the name if you want.
But here it is - hope you enjoy it.
As always, I'd love to hear feedback - what you liked or didn't like or both - because first time (I think?) writing a fairy background in this thread.
Enjoy!
============

Mortals always talk about how the Fey Realm is full of beauty and magic; and everything is to the extremes – colors are more vibrant, the skies are purple, fairy dragons flutter about in every tree. Admittedly, all of that is essentially true.

Namely how everything in the Fey Realm is in “extremes.” My name is Babidi, and I have the good fortune of working for Solas Asdorcha – who, as an Archfey – has a lot of mortals and other beings across the multiverse who call out to her for favors. You know who has to keep track of these favors, so that she can call on them for an exchange, or simply answer or ignore them? Me.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s an enjoyable job. I am lucky that Solas Asdorcha noticed me and offered me such a position in her High Court. But while others get to mingle and dance at these festivities in the Fey Realm that Solas Asdorcha often celebrated, I was in an office, sorting through requests – since Mortals rarely understand how often the Fey simply enjoy celebrating anything. Three clouds in the morning sky? That calls for a celebration of the “Tri-Clouds.” I’d like to say I am exaggerating, but I’m not.

But Solas Asdorcha was gracious; she kept my family and I safe. Her only real demand is that her employees never leave the realm – or they become true servants to her rather than employees of her. Which, over all, wasn’t a bad deal at all; after all why would anyone leave this fantastic realm?

For me, life was pretty normal. I was raised by my grandparents, and I had two other siblings (though I was the oldest among them). My grandfather told me about how my mother had gone missing in the Dorchadas Caverns – and my father, fearing for her safety when she hadn’t returned in two hours – went after her. Neither of them were heard from again. My father believes that the Chitine captured them. The Chitine, here, thrived on capturing Fairies such as myself and parents. They rip our wings out, my grandfather said, and harness the natural magic in our bodies to complete dark rituals.

My grandmother always told me how my mother had a special talent for making exotic food and when one day I finally asked just why my mother ventured into the Dorchadas Caverns if she knew it was home to the dreaded Chitine, my grandmother sighed and said, “Because only inside the Dorchadas Caverns do Shrieker mushrooms as well as the purplish mushroom known as violet fungus. My grandmother explained that the inside of the cap of a shrieker contains special nutrients that add incredible flavor when applied to food and that, despite the dangers a shrieker mushroom possessed by emitting such a loud alarm, my mother had said they were worth the risk. The violet fungus, my grandmother explained, was used to break down the material – because if it was cooked, the fungus’ ability to break down things could be harvested. It was almost like digestive oil if carefully applied could break down materials. My grandmother laughed and told me a story how it reminded her of how when my father had encountered a rust monster.

Over the years I became increasingly curious about the Dorchadas Caverns and trying to harvest these mysterious mushrooms my mother had once harvested. One night, on the way to my simple home from a long night (some of these nights seem eternal in length, I am telling you!) working for Solas Asdorcha, after sorting out a number of requests from a gnome wizard named Dango, I paused as I looked to the west where the Dorchadas Caverns were – embedded into the side of Greystone. I heaved a deep sigh and told myself I’d just take a quick look inside. Just a few steps in. Just to see if I could see any of these mushrooms.

I trekked westward and made my way up the Greystone Mountain, where I finally reached the mouth of the cave – and what I say mouth of the cave – I literally mean mouth of the cave. The entrance had jagged rocks on the top and bottom that seemed to represent teeth. Coming out from the cave was an unnatural coldness; as if the peaks of Greystone’s snow covered caps somehow channeled themselves all the way from the top to exit through this horrible looking mouth.

I stepped inside, and the coldness seemed to double in intensity. Waiting for my eyes to adjust to the unnatural darkness, I could see no mushrooms of any kind; just cold, stone, rocks. It’d be a wonder that any grew in here with the amount of cold that rattled my bones. I fluttered inside a little further; a little further; a little further. Before I knew it, when I turned around I could no longer see the mouth of the cave behind me – but up ahead, I saw a faint purple glow. The violet fungus, which means the shriekers should be close by as well. I inched ever closer, my eyes scanning the bleak caverns for any sign of trouble…

However, being inexperienced as I was, I wasn’t aware that the Chitine could scale walls. I was a fly in the spider’s web, and before I knew it, six Chitine had descended upon me and captured me. For days, I was tortured at the expense of the Chitine’s pleasures. They’d cut me up, crushed my wings, and cut off a piece of my ear as a part of some ritual. As I lay in their cage, death lingering over me in the form of a woman with a spidery torso in my fevered state, I suddenly heard a loud, gruff yell in what mortals called The Common Tongue. I could barely force myself to sit up – but when I did, I was surprised. It was a Dwarf who was using a Warhammer to smash his way through the Chitine.

“Back!” I heard him shout as he crushed the skull of a Chitine beneath his mighty weapon. “Back to the Hell hole of your spider queen! Let her know you failed! You shall have no dwarf tonight!” He proceeded to crush through several Chitine, when he reached the cage I was imprisoned in and smashed it with his hammer. “Run, boy,” I heard him say, as he pointed down a passage. “Run that way and don’t stop. Don’t stop for nothing. I will be right behind you.”

I didn’t hesitate; I stumbled out of the cage and tried to fly, but my broken wings could not bear the weight of my body, so I crawled as fast as I could, hearing the dwarf behind me continue the fight against my Chitine captures. I was certain that perhaps my grandparents had perhaps employed the services of this dwarf to see if I was alive; after all, why else would he be here?

After what seemed an eternity, I saw a light, but my eyes were so badly beaten and swollen, I could scarcely make out what it was – I could be running headlong into the maw of a red dragon about to breathe fire – but at this point, anything would have been better than being a prisoner of the Chitine.

I stepped through the light and fell for what seemed to be hours and in that moment thought I’d gone too far and run off the ledge; but the landing was soft, like landing on cotton covered clouds. A loud thud resounded next to me and I looked through my swollen vision and saw the dwarf. “Damn bastard got away from me,” he growled. He looked at me and picked me up. “You look pretty bad. Let me take you somewhere to get some healing.” Along the way – I assumed he was taking me back to my grandparents who would undoubtedly have a thing or two to say about me going inside those dreaded caverns – the dwarf introduced himself as “Menegroth.”

We arrived at a tavern, much to my surprise – where immediately I felt a sense of ease like I’d never felt before. He introduced me to one of the most beautiful women I’d ever met – named “Anewin “ who claimed to be the goddess of the taverns. I wasn’t sure if that was a self-proclaimed title (was she an excellent bartender?) initially – but I’d come to find, that she was in fact, an actual goddess. With her help, and her mixture of drinks, I was quickly on the road to recovery. My wings were functioning once more, but my body still bore the scars from the Chitine torture and my ear was still gone; but I was alive.

Anewin offered me a position at her tavern, which I gladly accepted. Three weeks into it, I thought about my grandparents – when suddenly a familiar voice entered my head. “There you are, my pet. You ran off through a different portal. Do you not remember our deal? Now I need to hire a replacement for you here in the Keep. But now you’re a servant to me.”

The voice belonged to my former employee, the Archfey, Solas Asdorcha.

[Tawmis]

https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... count=1016

A stray dog ate my cat. I fell into such sadness that I made a deal with an ancient deity, Cthulhu, to gain enough power to avenge my cat. I now search for that mutt, so i may take my revenge. Wanna do the rest? could be funny for my level 8 warlock

You didn't tell me what race the warlock was... what kind of warlock... or a name...
But I rolled with it because I am always up for a challenge to my creativity.
Since ye mentioned Cthulhu, I added some other Cthulhu elements (the Sky Wolf and the God of Knowledge) - Kahzara is all made up, however.
Hopefully you enjoy how it's written and to explain how your Warlock eventually gave his service to Cthulhu...
As always I'd love to hear feedback - good or bad, what you liked or didn't.
Especially for this one because it is SO very different than what I normally do.
Also, it keeps the thread bumped and alive.
Enjoy!
============================


All of my life I’ve been told cats have nine lives.

The truth is that is a complete lie.

The fabrication of this myth came about when mischievous demigod by the name of Kahzara who bore a Ring of Rebirth on each finger, faced off against the dread sky wolf, Mh'ithrha. In his feline form, Kahzara promised Mh'ithrha that he could not be killed; and the sky wolf, confident that he could kill anything, accepted Kahzara’s offer in feline form. The two battled, and as expected, Mh'ithrha killed Kahzara quickly. However, the first ring triggered, and Kahzara to Mh'ithrha’s surprise, was reborn. So the Sky Wolf killed Kahzara again; and then again; and then again – killing Kahzara a total of eight times, before Kahzara said, “Admit it, sky wolf. I cannot be killed.” The Sky Wolf, growled and cursed the feline and banished him back to the realm of mortals.

Mh'ithrha, the Sky Wolf, bestowed the urge for all canines in the world to hunt and kill all felines they ever met. However, Yog-Sothoth, the god of knowledge, whom Mh'ithrha had frequently battled, had taken witness to the battle between his enemy and the demigod, Kahzara – and knew that Mh'ithrha would be furious. Yog-Sothoth could not bestow immortality to the cats of the world, but he bestowed upon them great senses, to see in the dark and to be agile, and claws to defend, and to climb, to escape Mh'ithrha’s kind on the mortal world.

I share all of this because this story is a part of who I am – and why I became the way that I am. You see, I had this cat – I can’t remember when I first got it – it seems as if my mother had it before me, and my mother before her – but it was probably just cats of the same litter. However, there was a day, I’d been enjoying my time with my orange tabby, Feoil Mharbh, when suddenly a dog had leaped over the fence and bore its fangs. Feoil Mharbh’s fur was instantly up and claws and fangs came out. I stepped between Feoil Mharbh and this stray dog. I’d thought the dog had come for Feoil Mharbh – but the way the dog’s red eyes followed me as I moved. This was no normal dog – this was some magical beast sent not to kill my beloved cat – but sent to kill me. But why?

The dog sprang forward and instinctively I raised my arm to defend myself; but the dog’s massive maw locked onto my arm, like a dog who was fetching a stick, and his teeth bit deep into my flesh and blood sprayed my face as I let out a scream, tasting the copper of my own blood as it dripped into my mouth like bitter honey.

The dog’s massive strength was surprising as he shook me around like a ragdoll, by my arm. I felt my arm yank from my shoulder as tendons screamed to remain connected, but snapped under the strain. I screamed again, pain wracking my body with so much intensity that consciousness came and went like hot flashes. I heard Feoil Mharbh feline howl rip through the day and I saw, between the coming in and out of consciousness, as Feoil Mharbh leapt on the dog’s back, his claws extended and ripping the dog’s flesh apart – so much so that the dog finally released me it began to hemorrhage blood itself. Just before losing consciousness, I could see part of the dog’s spine exposed – as ancient enemies now battled, forgetting me as I bled severely. I looked at the pool of blood I was laying in as it poured freely from my arm like a faithful spring of crimson water.

I’m dying, I thought to myself just as I lost consciousness.

To my surprise, I didn’t die. But I woke up – days? Hours? Not sure – but it was dark now, and the pool of blood I’d been laying in was now mostly coagulated. As I stood and pulled my arm free of the dry, crimson art on the dirt, I flinched in pain again – and looked around for Feoil Mharbh, but there was no sign. As I struggled to stand, the loss of blood still making it difficult to stand straight; I put my weight against the nearby tree to help me from spiraling and crashing right back into the ground. That’s when I saw another pool of blood and Feoil Mharbh’s collar. I tried to walk over to the collar but instead stumbled, face first into the dirt and just crawled over to Feoil Mharbh’s collar. It was Feoil Mharbh’s collar… but where was Feoil Mharbh?

The minutes turned into hours… into days… into weeks… into months… and Feoil Mharbh never returned… and deeper and deeper into sadness and depression I slipped with each passing second that escaped me without Feoil Mharbh at my side…

Eventually, my mind so broken that I’d lost my friend, who died for me, I gazed into the mirror and the person staring back at me was no longer me. I was a husk of who I was – I hadn’t eaten in days – hadn’t showered. I was all but dead, save for the fact my heart still beat in my chest, as broken as it was.

That’s when I saw his tentacle reflection in the mirror. I quickly turned my head to look behind me, believing I was hallucinating at this point – but there was nothing there. But in the mirror I saw him, his eyes gazing back at me. “Cthulhu,” I whispered.

Surly I was going mad.

“If it’s revenge you seek,” his voice sounded as if each tentacle spoke at the same time, but at a slight different pitch, “give yourself to me – and together we shall seek that who took from you…”

I nodded emphatically.

And Cthulhu smiled.

[Tawmis]

https://forums.giantitp.com/showsinglep ... count=1023

Hi!
Just found this forum and I love this thread! Made an account specifically for this thread :smallbiggrin:
My character just died (RIP) and I got a session coming up real soon and I just lost my inspiration after creating it.
What I got so far is some kind of Occult Investigator in the form of a High-Elf Oathbreaker (former Oath of Crown I think. Level 5), Miran. How she broke her Oath I haven't figured out. The setting starts at a recently discovered continent of the world (homebrew setting except the deities) and she have traveled there by ship. Not sure why she left yet either. She'll be Lawful Evil and would be cool if a maybe Night/Winter deity could be involved somehow. I've picked up Arcana, Religion and Ritual Caster Wizard, since I found that fitting. Oh yea and she plays the violin.
Background: Marine
Personality Trait:
I live for the thrill of the hunt.
I’m used to the very best in life, and that’s a hard habit to break.
Ideals:
Family. Blood runs thicker than water.
Bonds:
I keep my thoughts and discoveries in a journal. My journal is my legacy.
Flaws:
Once I pick a goal, I become obsessed with it to the detriment of everything else in my life.
<3

“Perhaps one day, you can be as good as your father’s brother at this violin,” Miran’s mother, Alleena smiled.

“Please,” Miran’s father, Auzengard laughed. “Do not encourage her so. You’ve heard the stories my brother, Kallius has told us all!”

Kallius, who like the others, was a High Elf – though he behaved, Auzengard teased, “much more like a half-elf” because of his nature. Kallius had sat in a chair, leaned back, his feet pressed against the wall while he strummed at the violin. “Have I told you about the one where I encountered some adventurers who had camped out in the woods? There I was tired,” he began to play the violin, pulling the bow across the violin’s strings to emphasize the dramatic effect of his story, “having just fled – bravely, I might add! – from an infestation of giant spiders when I saw a flickering light in the forest.” Miran leaned close, her elbows resting on the floor, her palms prompting up her head.

“If this is one of those stories where you meet ‘a lady of exquisite skills’,” Miran’s mother warned, “can you please spare us?” as she gestured towards Miran, who was still very young.

“By Sune’s fiery hair, you think I have no tact?” Kallius laughed. He kneeled down and handed his violin to Miran as he’d done every time he happened to be “in the area.” He looked at her as she gazed up at him in wide eyed wonder. The sound the violin had made when it was played sounded amazing to her – and each time her uncle offered it to her to play – she did not hesitate beyond the initial shock. She took it into her hands and began to try and mimic the same notes her uncle had played, bringing the bow across the strings. Kallius immediately recognized what she was doing and gently touched her hands and said, “Place your hand here, fingers here and here. Now pull the bow across these two strings. Now slide your fingers down here, and pull across this string.” She’d done so and it had sounded very close to what he had played.

“What is that song called?” Miran asked.

“Why,” Kallius said, leaning back, placing his hands behind his head, “that’s a Kallius original. I call it the Ballad of Blood.”

“Really,” Miran’s mother flinched. “That’s a dreaded name.”

Kallius shrugged. “When I meet others on the road, and I play it faster than what I showed a moment ago, it really does seem to inspire my companions if we find ourselves in trouble. Also seems to unnerve the enemy.”

Kallius came by frequently during his travels around the world – and Miran looked forward to it each time. He’d brought her a number of trinkets and bobbles that he’d acquired through his travels, which she truly appreciated, but there was no gift better than when she could play the violin for him and his reaction as she improved each year.

Her father, Auzengard was worried that Miran was bound to follow in the steps of his brother and become a bard that traveled the lands, sang poetry and told incredible stories, but to his surprise, she followed in her father’s footsteps becoming a faithful follower of Eldath and becoming one of her most devote Paladins in the Order of the Crown. Like her father, her efforts to keep peace around the High Elf lands had forced her to combat the likes of goblins, orcs and brigands of all kinds and while she felt content, she looked forward to Kallius’ visits so she could try to impress him with her violin skills. With her mother’s approval, when Miran was not off protecting the land, she was allowed to take violin classes by a devote follower of Milil, god of poetry and song, named Amhran Silversong. Amhran was a beautiful, older high elf – her once golden locks were now streaked with grey. Her skin however, showed some age – but her eyes were as bright and youthful as the morning skies. She’d always said that it was important to keep love and song in the heart, and the body, though it may age – the heart and mind will forever be young.

She was fluent in several different instruments and taught many how to play them. Miran was in a class, full of about sixteen others, who were all there to learn the violin. One of the students paused, and looked around. Amhran looked, “Is there something wrong Branstar?”

Branstar looked around himself. “Do you not hear that? It sounds like screaming.”

Liriac, who was often quite the jokester, replied, “Listen, I know we’re not as good as Amhran, but I don’t think any of us sound like our playing is mimicking screaming.”

But in that moment – they had each heard it. Screams.

Amhran looked at her students, “Remain here.” She rushed to the door and swung it open and saw several people running towards the west. Amhran’s eyes widened as she saw a fire spreading to the west. “Stay here,” she repeated and slammed the door behind her as she left. It wasn’t long before there was the sound of metal clashing and the students opened the door and saw what appeared to be a nightmare. The entire western region of the town was ablaze and people in black armor were cutting through people regardless of gender or age.

Some students fled, some hid, Miran had fought before – she had no weapon, but she did not need any. She would defeat one of the enemies who dared attacked their city and rip the weapon from the dead body and proceed to cut down these attackers. She quickly rushed into combat, without armor on, and was able to quickly move around those in heavy armor. The attackers were brutes – slow and sluggish – more trained to do damage than be skilled with a weapon. She quickly slammed into one of them and detached their dagger from the hilt at their side and plunged the dagger between a gap in the armor allowing the blade to bite deep into their neck. They grabbed their neck in a vain attempt to stop the blood pouring from the wound before death took them. She grabbed their sword and began fighting these men, though she had no armor to protect herself. She was cut and gashed badly throughout the fight – when she noticed her own home was burning. Foregoing all else, she dashed towards her home and kicked down the door. She was immediately greeted by her mother who had, perhaps, mercifully been slain – her throat slit. She moved through the house and found her father’s corpse next – he’d put up a fight trying to defend Miran’s mother. But that’s when to her surprise, she’d found her uncle buried under a part of the wall – she’d not heard he was coming. He moaned and she quickly dropped her weapon and kneeled down to him. Immediately, she could see the life fading from his eyes. He would not be alive much longer. “Please,” she whispered, “don’t speak. Rest. Everything will be fine.”

He smiled, blood leaked from the corner of his lips. “Cult … members of… Myrkul… god of… death,” he coughed blood and the life drained from his eyes ever so quickly with each cough. “Want to… resurrect… an… ancient…” he coughed once again and the life drained from his eyes for the final time.

Despite the raging inferno around her, Miran felt the cold, wretched touch of winter, clench her heart and squeeze it with such force, she was certain that Auri, the goddess of winter herself, had chilled her. Miran picked up her uncle’s violin, whose wood had been warped by the fire. Ignoring the flames all around her, she entered her room and donned her armor, and clasped her weapon to her body. By the time she’d gone outside, most of the attackers had fled or been slain. Many asked her if she was all right as she stormed past them. The people around her struggled to gather the dead and dying all the while trying to put the inferno around them out.

Miran did not care. Each step away from home her heart grew ever colder.

By the time she’d reached the library, she could almost see the chill mist of her breath. She stormed through the door and walked through the rows and rows of books until she reached an area about the deities – and she began pouring through one of the volumes that dealt with Myrkul and his cult of fanatics. She learned that they’d had a small temple not far from the very place she called home. She slammed the book shut, walked to the stables and without asking stole a horse and rode towards the temple with little regard for her own life. As she rode through the woods, the very branches of nature tried to stop her from the path she’d set herself on – that by the time she’d breached the edge of the woods and began riding into the plains, the symbol of Eldath had been scratched so badly it was no longer recognizable.

She arrived at the temple, set against several larger hills, within two days. She dismounted and began to walk towards the temple. As she spotted two guards casually talking, she removed her violin from her shoulder and pulled the bow across the strings – her hand there, fingers there – then move – then across the other string.

The two guards, startled by the odd sound the violin had produced due to the warped wood, peered into the dark – just as lightning flashed behind Marin, creating a silhouette. “Who goes there?” they called out – but as their eyes tried to adjust to the new found darkness when the bolt of lightning vanished, they did not see or hear Miran’s footsteps rushing towards them in unison with the rolling thunder, her sword decapitating one of the men, and spraying blood onto the face of the other who stumbled back in surprise.

She leapt on the second one and demanded to know what the cult was after. Despite serving the death god, the man feared for his life – the look of frost and winter in her eyes was a coldness he could not explain. He confessed that one of the elves in her town had uncovered a map to a distant land – and supposedly there, some great power sought to be awakened.

Miran thanked him by shoving her sword through his throat. She made her back to the horse, rode to the nearest port village, and booked passage for this supposed new land…

[Tawmis]

So the latest one said they'd made an account just for me to write a story - so I thought I'd google my thread - and was shocked that people were posting about it on Reddit.




I thought that was pretty cool.

[Tawmis]

https://forums.giantitp.com/showthread. ... st25679542

Hello Tawmis, I'm starting in a couple of days a new campaign, it's set in Curse of Strahd.
My character is a Human male, a Light Cleric of Lathander. I picked the feat Magic Initiate Druid.
My background is the Haunted One from the CoS book, basically choosing the line: "An apparition that has haunted your family for generations now haunts you. You don’t know what it wants, and it won’t leave you alone".
This is the reason why I became a devout follower of the Light and wander the world smiting evil. I learned a few tricks from druids, but I worship my god and preach the word everywhere I go, even a tad too loudly sometimes.
I pictured a hint of eccentric behavior, borderline paranoid, but I'm resolute in my faith and I fear nothing. I don't want to be an adventurer before the start of the campaign; I'm pretty much an unlucky commoner with a difficult past (this bit is for DM request) that just discovered his powers. I have no idea if I'll find myself in Barovia or end up there accidentally. Hope you can spare some time for this and that what I wrote is inspiring enough. Thank you in advance!

I was eight years the first time I saw it and the sight of it nearly took twenty years from my life.

Now? I am simply used to it appearing.

My older sister and brother both claimed to have seen it also. I’d never seen it before until it came to me when I was alone.

My mother’s voice had called out from inside the cabin that I was to be the one to clean the horse stables tonight – and to make sure they were very clean – because my father would be riding one of the horses into town to apply as one of the city guards. Again.

As the stable door creaked open, it startled several bats that had taken to nesting at the top of the dark stable, and fluttered out of the door – giving me quite the start. I shook my head and looked over my shoulder, scolding my older brother that he was supposed to have cleaned the upper stables three days ago – and clearly had not – since the bats, which had lived there for weeks now, were clearly still making the barn their home. I had gone inside and saw our two horses; Thunder and Lightning, named so – because Thunder was a larger horse, whose hooves clomped loudly on the ground when he ran. He was thicker, more majestic looking if you were to judge him by size and muscle. Lightning was our female horse; she had a beautiful mane that when the moon hit it just right, seemed to be made of rainbows. She was more slender than Thunder, smaller in height too, but she had earned her name because she could out run Thunder, both in distance, and especially speed. Like their name sake, Thunder was a deep grey color, resembling storm clouds; while Lightning was almost pure white, with uncanny blue eyes.

At that moment, between Thunder and Lightning, a grey mist appeared. Startled, I fumbled backwards, foot in the bucket of water and toppled to the ground. The mist took shape and a ghostly finger pointed to me then slowly began to dissipate. My first thought was my sister was behind this – she’d been practicing magic and it would be just like her to try and scare me, but as I searched the barn there was no sign that she was here. I called out for her and heard my mother call out that she was cleaning dishes and not to be disturbed.

When I spoke with my sister and brother, they both explained they’d seen it before. First, it had come to my eldest brother – he’d seen it at the well. Each and every time – it appeared next to the well. When my sister, who was just a few years older than me, began to see it – it’d been at the edge of the woods. That, my brother explained, was when he’d stopped seeing it. My sister informed me, she’d not seen it in six days. So was it only paying a visit to one family member? What was the message it was trying to tell me?

The following day, my mother was pleasantly surprised when I offered to go to town with her. She knew something was behind the reasoning of my request; because I’d often said I’d much rather go clean the stables than go to town.

As we walked through town I saw exactly what I was looking for – a church of Lathander. I begged my mother if I could go; and she agreed, so long as I stayed there until she came back from the market to get me. I wholeheartedly agreed. I rushed into the Lathander chapel and immediately began to pray to Lathander, who was known throughout the realm as the Morninglord – but he was someone who favored those who dispelled the undead, among other things.

So I prayed to Lathander and asked how to be rid of this undead that haunted my siblings and now me. I was disappointed that I heard no majestic voice, nor did an angel descend and give me holy words I would carry forth to dispatch this spirit. As a matter of fact, I heard nothing.

Day after day, I came with my mother to town and I rushed to Lathander’s chapel and prayed. Each and every day. After weeks of no answer, I realized that perhaps Lathander did not answer me because I was just coming here for my own selfish reason – would I come here again if I’d gotten the answer on how to vanquish this visiting spirit? In my heart, I knew I would not. Lathander knew I was being selfish.

So for the next three years, I continued to come back to Lathander’s chapel and pray – not just on how to vanquish this spirit – but for the people of the world, to let Lathander he was in my heart, and I began to feel a change in me. Once I accepted the ways of Lathander, I could hear whispers of his voice speaking through magic.

I accepted my position as a Cleric of Lathander – and though the spirit continued to visit me; now even outside of the barn – I realized, perhaps it was not there to harm me – but it was giving me a message or needed my help – and perhaps it wasn’t about destroying the spirit, but finding a way to help it find peace.