I'm brand new to dnd lore but i figured a GOD can manifest itself anyway it pleases. The Fiend has access to fire based spells and in the theme of the jungle book/near medieval times, fire was a huge threat to human settlements so this cat god empowered one of its own with fire to threaten those that poached its own kind. "Fiend" is just a name as far as I am concerned and don't see why a god could not impose those gifts upon its thrall.
RAW, it's a demon or devil.
That being said, if you're DM is going for it, more power to you. WotC set this game up for loose lore (as long as it isn't league, I guess). Also, your patron doesn't HAVE to be a god. That's up to you and your DM. Cool concept. I think it's a great theme.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
DM: Are you sure?
Wizard: Yes. I cast the Wish spell and I wish that everybody loves me!
DM: You transform into an irresistible, magnificent feast. It was so great, all who participated in devouring you tell of the joy they felt with tears in their eyes and all who hear the tale only feel sorrow that they weren't there to eat.
Imagine a group of cultists, specifically a group of conjuration & divination wizards, attempting to seek out power from beyond the known Planes of existence...they are so focused on finding magic beyond what is known, they attempt to siphon power from the Far Realms (having heard rumor that the infamous Halaster Blackcloak had accomplished something similar in the Undermountain).
In doing so, they inadvertently touch upon a being known as a Great Old One...a Black Star of tremendous cosmic power, beyond mortal comprehension. As they attempt to trap a portion of it's evil power in a bizarre ritual, they do not realize that they are, in fact, taking power from a Great Old One, and are driven insane by its mere presence. In an explosion of arcane energy, the wizard cultists are flung into random extraplanar portals, teleported across the Forgotten Realms, their collective psyches scrambled...except for one, who barely maintains his sanity.
You would THINK that this remaining wizard would be the warlock...but no!
You see, they DID manage to trap a portion of The Great Old One's power...but by touching the minds of the wizards, combined with coming to the Mortal Plane, the bit of The Black Star's power actually became a living, breathing being...but because it does not understand mortal thoughts or a human form, it instead manifested as a changeling, as it lacks an identity or alignment.
Separated from The Great Old One, this changeling does not understand who it is, and barely understand where it came from...the first thing it sees is this gibbering cultist, still in shock.
"What is this?! What are you?!" the wizard rambles, pointing at the changeling.
The changeling ponders this, and responds telepathically. "What am...I?"
Alarmed by the intrusion into his thoughts, the wizard says, "You are not...this is not right! You are not supposed to be here! Where is the power...?!"
The changeling does not understand the shock or disappointment of the wizard, still focused on the first question. Again, with more force, the changeling telepathically asks:
"WHAT AM !?"
Shaken by this psychic command, the wizard huddles close to himself. "You are...uh...an anomaly," he answers feebly. "An...error with our ritual. A mistake."
The changeling tilts its head, not comprehending the words, but detecting the disappointment in the wizards emotions.
"I am...mistake?" the changeling repeats, experiencing a tinge of sadness.
The wizard clears his throat, realizing this unknown being speaking into his mind might be dangerous. "Not a mistake, per se!" he squeaks. "You are...different. A living thing, but not like us. You are...odd."
The changeling considers this. "I am...odd?"
The wizard tentatively nods his head in agreement.
"Not like you..." the changeling says, thinking deeply.
Instinctively, the changeling then turns its form into that of the wizards...a younger man, with dark hair, brown eyes. The wizard sees this, and his jaw drops open.
"Not like you," the changeling repeats, speaking with it's mouth for the first time. "Odd."
The wizard, already shaken by the ritual, finally snaps, going insane as this changeling turns into his own appearance. Not able to handle it, laughing like a maniac, the wizard tears another hole in the fabric of reality, and hurls through it to some unknown place, leaving the changeling alone.
The changeling, beginning to form its own thoughts and personality, absently shrugs, and grabs a spare cloak from inside the lab, and continues on, eager to explore this unusual place, already forgetting the strange wizard.
Besides, it is already satisfied with its new name...
Odd.
...the Changeling.
This was an exciting new warlock idea...that the changeling was, in essence, a part of The Great Old One. It fit with the concept that these Great Old Ones didn't really comprehend the way we think, and that they essentially stumble through the world.
Odd the Changeling understands that there is some force intertwined with his being, essentially a cosmic star that watches him distantly. Vaguely, this Great Old One is some Elder Evil, a malevolent dark star that seeks madness and misfortune...but because Odd the Changeling is only a small fragment of this Great Old One, he has his own separate consciousness, and is able to tap into this dark, cosmic power.
Though he does not know the true nature of this power, he seeks to understand it. And so, he seeks out those wizards that have been driven mad by their ritual, to read their thoughts and memories to understand The Great Old One they had contacted. He also seeks the knowledge to contain this potential threat, as he grows to like this world filled with mortals.
---
"But do ye 'ave a name, you silly creature?" said Lyria Adagio, eyeballing the pale changeling with black hair.
"I...am Odd," declared Odd, staring back at the female dwarf with his black, pupil-less eyes.
Lyria nodded, seeming to understand that his name was more than just a title. "And do ye have a last name, then?"
Odd thought about that for a moment. "...Anomaly?" he said, remembering the other word that peculiar wizard had used.
"Odd...Anomaly," Lyria said, almost musically. "That fits."
"In more ways than one," snorted Vincent.
---
Odd Anomaly was given his last name by some travelling companions he stumbled across in his travels...a group of performers, known as Lady Fortune's Performance Troupe. Led by a tiefling manager named Fortune..."Miss" Fortune...Odd Anomaly formed fast friendships with the rest of the troupe...especially Lyria Adagio, a dwarven Zealot Barbarian, and Vincent Gratio, a half-elf Swashbuckler Rogue (these are actual characters I've played, at least partially).
Odd Anomaly is particularly fond of Lyria...she is a barbarian, but also a singer (she often sings in combat...she was a bouncer for a band "Vicious Mockery", before becoming their singer, after foiling an assassination attempt on their drummer, ironically arranged by the previous singer...lots of band drama!). She actually teaches Odd how to perform music, and thus Odd multiclasses into Bard.
As both a Warlock and a Bard, he chooses the College of Lore, in order to gather more knowledge of magic...and having a fascination with stories and music. Truly, Lyria taught him about the beauty of the world. Fascinated with words, he sometimes will telepathically narrate things around him, irritating his companions.
Which is why Odd Anomaly won't stop until he prevents the Elder Evils from interfering with the Prime Material Plane. He seeks to use his knowledge to protect his new home.
The "Haunted One" background reflects his dark observer, the Black Star that watches from the edge of the Far Realm. If Odd Anomaly grows angry, he uses some of that dark power, making him scared of himself, sometimes..."Magical Secrets" serving as forbidden eldritch knowledge like "Evard's Black Tentacles" and "Mental Prison".
His enemies are cultists that make Pacts with Elder Evils, and other "aberrations" like himself that hurt innocents...Beholders, Mind Flayers & Oozes, to name a few...
He is, of course, Chaotic Neutral...he lacks conventional understanding of laws or boundaries because of his alien nature, but he is protective of those he considers allies...leaning more towards the "good" side of neutral.
I have to say...this is perhaps my favorite character concept yet...a fun character to roleplay...an interesting backstory...an interesting race...and a personal story, with a potentially hugely evil "boss" villain...a strange dude with a big heart!
Druidcraft, Eldritch Blast, Minor Illusion [Green-flame Blade @ lvl 4]
Spells:
Cause Fear, Sleep
Invocations
lvl 2 - Aspect of the Moon, Book of Ancient Secrets (Find Familiar, Unseen Servant)
Feats
lvl 4 - Magic Initiate (Bard)
Cantrips: Message, Vicious Mockery; 1st Level: Healing Word
Backstory
The promise of an ages old pact, made by a long-dead ancestor, was repaid when you were born. Your hooves, pointed ears, and antler nubs said you were something different. Something unnatural. From that day forward, your family was viewed with suspicion and veiled hostility. When the monster came, it’s reaction to you didn’t help. Having killed dozens of innocent townsfolk, it saw you trying to get other children to safely, ran over to you, examined you, let loose an unholy roar, and stalked out of the village and disappeared into the countryside. That moment changed the veiled hostility of the villagers to open hate and violence. As the sun set, the mob arrived outside your home. Your father and brothers fought bravely to protect you and your mother, but only managed to buy enough time for the two of you to escape.
Days later, hungry, disheveled, and exhausted, the two of you were discovered, hiding in a rough, abandoned cabin, deep in the woods. Fortunately, the couple who found you bore you no ill will, and took both of you in. They became your new family. As you grew, you learned that your new family were members of The Silver Circle, a secret society of druids and shape shifters. They knew of the creature that had visited your town, but not where it came from, or who sent it.
Weeks before your 7th birthday, you started having strange dreams. Visited by all manner of fey creatures, you learned of the pact, and of the ‘blessing’ handed down to your family. The visit by the Damh (pronounced ‘Dav') himself went about as well as can be expected. The ancient, and unbelievably haughty archfey, under the impression that his gift had been taken as the blessing it was intended to be, arrived ready for a birthday celebration, and was instead confronted by a confused, hurt, and raging little girl who had no interest in hearing what the fey had to say. By the end of the encounter, your mother, and the rest of their new family witnessed the powerful, near god-like, son of Titania and Oberon apologizing to, and promising to make things right for, an exhausted, and screamed-out child.
You have not seen Damh since, but 4 years later, your teachers began arriving.
Basically the short version is: Ages ago, an powerful arch-fey promised a human a great boon for some task done. As the fey are immortal, time has little meaning to them, and the person to whom the boon was promised is long dead and forgotten. But, always true to their word, this archfey did grant the boon. To the unwitting family. In the form of a fey-touched child. One able to live among both the mortal realm and the fey-wild without hindrance, giving the family a permanent link to the power of the fey. (A great boon indeed.) In his reckless arrogance, this fey presumed his gift would be understood for what it was, when he revealed himself, and he would garner great praise from the family. Instead, he was confronted by the truth straight from the mouth of a hurt and confused child. The gift had 'spoiled' with age, and had instead caused the family grave harm. To fulfill the promise, that wrong must be set right. So arranged to gift the child with a true taste of fey magic, sending tutors to the girl to teach her.
The cost of her 'pact' is both trivial and important. She must keep the arch-fey informed of her studies an how she uses her gift. To that end, she was given a sending stone, a small crystal that glows faintly under the light of the moon, attuned to one kept by of one of the fey lord's historians, tasked with recording every detail uttered. The fey lord shall review these records to determine when the debt has been repaid. He will, of course do exactly as he has promised. ...Eventually.
My goal was to create a combination of a fallen hero that is also seeking redemption but has a monkey on his back, not drugs but an malevolent sword that requires to be constantly fed blood and souls.
My inspiration was Elric of Melniboné from the Michael Moorecock series, Lord Soth from the Dragon Lance and Ravenloft books, and Doc Holiday from the American old west and the movie Tombstone.
Name: Pelleus the Cursed Archetype: Hexblade Pact: Pact of the Blade Race: Human Alignment: Neutral Good Background: Agent of the Masked Lords (special background reward for DDOPEN2018) Patron: the Hexblade Soulmourn
The Tragedy of Pelleus the Cursed
Pelleus was a paladin of Torm and was put in charge of protecting priests of Torm as they conducted a ritual to entomb an evil magical sword named Soulmourn on the grounds of a fortified monastery. Meanwhile an orc hoard was attacking the monastery to reclaim the sword of evil. On the same grounds of the Monastery also lived Pelleus's wife and children which the Church of Torm promised to protect.
The orc hoard was not able to stop the ritual as it was well defended but Pelleus's family was left vulnerable to the attack since both Pelleus and the Monastery defenses were focused on defending the ritual. Not the priests or Torm protected Pelleus's family causing them to perish in the attack.
In rage Pelleus killed the priests of Torm he had sworn to protect, and demanded to the sky, to Torm to tell him why wasn't his family protected? In response Torm the god of duty and sacrifice manifested himself in front of Pelleus, pickling him up throwing him into the same pit as the evil sword was cast into.
During Pelleus’s fall into the pit, Torm also cursed him to live a long life in darkness and suffering. And told Pelleus his family resides with Torm in the afterlife and would have been eventually resurrected, but since Pelleus committed heinous crimes and lost his faith he will never see his family in heaven or on Faerûn. even if he should die, since Pelleus's soul has been blackened with his crimes , his soul would be sent to the Nine Hells for his deeds if he should ever die.
In the darkness Pelleus fell seemingly for hours, eventually landing upon rocks and bones, but he did not die. His body broken and weak lived on, and that's when he knew his death would never come easily and that Torm would be true to his word. But still Pelleus called out into the darkness for forgiveness. But in the darkness of the pit Torm did not answer only a whispering feminine voice replied, it sounded like the voice of his dead wife but Pelleus knew it was Soulmourn, the sword spoke to Pelleus and told him,
“Torm took away everything, and he was powerless without Soulmourn and Soulmourn was powerless without a wielder”, she promised to grant Pelleus power so he could escape and return to the surface where they could find a way together to met out their revenge upon Torm and his followers. Pelleus still full of anger at Torm struck a deal with the demonic sword and a pact was made. The Sword empowered Pelleus with baleful magic and together they tunneled slowly through the earth finding a way out of imprisonment.
After years of wandering the Underdark, Pelleus eventually regretted his actions and decisions he tried to cast away the sword, but the sword would always return to him. The sword could also compel Pelleus to murder anyone without reason. Pelleus tried to commit suicide but because of a combination of Torm's curse and the deal struck with Soulmourn he cannot be easily released from being a wielder of the hex blade. He eventually found his way to Skullport under Waterdeep where he has worked as an agent of the masked lords for some time, trying his best to rectify his wrongs with good deeds, but never truly able to find peace or escape from the malevolent will of Soulmourn.
Soulmourn needs to feed regularly on the blood and souls of mortals, Pelleus must choose who those people are as the wielder of the sword. But if he fails in his bargain, the sword will choose for him, often killing innocent mortals.
Pelleus tries his best to hide his pain and anger of his situation. Trying to appear friendly and help those in need, but he often appears to be sick and weak as a side effect of Torms curse. Which also results in him seeking escape in drink, gambling and temporary companionship. For this reason many just assume he is a typical adventurer or mercenary until he must wield Soulmourn to satisfy its hunger for blood and souls.
We are playing in an Eberron Campaing Setting where we created the rules before the Wayfinder's. My Character is a Witch Hunter of the Silver Flame so all the spells are light/fire based and all of them shine with a White - Silver Light to reflect it. He is twin brother with another Witch devoted to the Night Queen who disappeared when they were children.
It's an One-Eyed old man in a combination between Solomon Kane - Van Helsing - Geralt (he has swords of different materials) . I have his long story written but only in spanish. This is a summary:
He was man enjoying women and wine. He spent almost all his free time when he was young in they. One day a demonic beast attacked the village where he was living and because he was so tired and drunk, lost his left eye and his beloved girlfriend was killed. That night when he was sleeping, he dreamed with a light and a voice that said him to travel up to Flamekeep to visit the Voice of the flame. He followed the voice, left all behind and became devoted to the Silver Flame hunting and tracking demons, undead and aberrations in order to kill them all
Patron: His father, a Solar in the service of Pelor (Celestial)
Pact of the Chain, Normally a celestial Sprite
Myron's mother, Enthy was a cleric of Pelor who on an adventure met with his father, a powerful solar in Pelor's service. They got to chatting about how awesome Pelor is, and one thing led to another and nine months later, Myron was born. His mother left the adventuring life to raise him. Her old party members would drop by from time to time, but mostly she was with Myron and occasionally the Paladin guard left to guard this potent Aasimar.
Enthy never placed expectations on Myron where he could see. She raised him to worship Pelor as she had, and she did hope she'd follow in her footsteps, or maybe joint the Paladin guard, but whatever happened, Enthy wanted that to be Myron's choice. The Paladin guard however were not as passive. When Enthy eventually put her foot down and threatened to dismiss them entirely, cutting off their access to the powerful Aasimar that was her son, they cut her down. Myron fled to one of her old party members who rallied the group and struck back in vengeance. Myron, who was 12 at the time, was enraged. This was his mother, his mother who had given everything for Pelor, and that god would allow her to be killed by his other followers?!
That was when the little voice in Myron's head that he'd always thought of as his conscious first seriously disagreed with him. As his thoughts grew angrier, this voice begged him to let go of the anger. He refused. as soon as he was old enough he started pedaling his Aasimar healing abilities to local nobles and other gullible rubes. He had fallen, using his abilities only when it would profit him. His once lustrous coppery red hair turned black, and his blue eyes faded to obsidian. All of this came to a head when he healed a particularly grateful noble's child who had been hurt in a hunting accident. it didn't take much, just his natural healing ability and a little of the medicine his mother had taught him. And he had enough gold to buy out a bar... which is what he did. Bottle after bottle was downed. Myron died of alcohol poisoning.
as his soul hung in the void waiting for the raven queen to usher him on, as he did what most beings did pleading and begging for more time in the most disgraceful manner, a light shone in the black void. the Raven Queen turn to this light with slightly less annoyance than with the young man she was here to collect.
"May I speak with my son, My Lady?" came the deep rich voice. It was a voice Myron had never heard.
The Raven queen nodded, and stepped back, not leaving, but giving them room to speak.
Myron looked upon the celestial being with conflicting emotions. Desperation to not die, but a burning rage at him.
"I don't blame you for your anger at me," the Solar began. "You have lead a hard life. But I am disappointed in you."
"Sorry, losing your mother has a tendency to cause that," Myron spat back. "If only there had been some sort of GOD who could have protected her!"
"She is so ashamed of you. She still loves you, but your selfishness SHAMES HER! You were meant for so much more. You were supposed to be a champion of Pelor unrivaled by any."
"Now, I'm just another c-corpse in the street," Myron countered, looking away, but he terror obvious.
"Or, you can be his vassal," replies the Solar. Myron whips his head around.
"I will repair you, send you back, even give you more power... but from now on you serve Pelor."
"As... as a cleric? or a Paladin?" Myron asked.
"No, they are trusted by Pelor... you will serve him as his agent. But you are not trusted."
Myron looked down. "Fine, as long as I don't die."
and with that Myron woke up from where he'd lay in the gutter, a bit of his own vomit staining him. He had only a moment to revel in his survival, and to imagine his conversation had only been a dream when he felt a burn in his chest, like a branding iron on his skin. He screamed out as he pulled down his shirt. there on his chest, just over his heart, light shown as the skin blistered and scarred. When all was said and done and he had a chance to examine the brand he recognized it. it was a character in Celestial. It's meaning was clear and confirmed that his conversation and bargain had been all too real. The character over his heart meant "Debt".
a cursed man of noble blood haunted by a demonic spirit that is bound to his blade. the creature is the demon-bound soul of an ancestor none in hs family ever talked about, Lord Ezrequr Rayne Blacknail I. the result is a capricious patron that varies between two personalities, a cold, distant master and an evil incarnate that tempts him towards damnation. his family had a history of practicing the dark arts, an occupation that ended in disaster when his heretical human father, Lazarus Blacknail III awakened some sort of latent evil hidden in his bloodline. they were never seen again. the only family member he ever felt solace with was his druidic sister, who also fled after his family's death. he now spends most of his time wandering from city to city, town to town, village to village, always keeping a low profile. his substance abuse usually gets him kicked out of most establishments, which grates on him because of his noble upbringing. during his travels he has killed many and brought as many evils into this world as the evils he has banished. he found himself in the village of Daggerford where he met the first people that you could consider friends, a human oath of devotion paladin, a goliath totem warrior barbarian, and a lightfoot halfling college of blades bard.
Barnabas was a cleric of Lathander, but after losing his god's favor, he found a warlock patron who replicated Lathander's divine spells with none of the moral restrictions. In my Forgotten Realms campaign, he's become Dawnmaster of a temple of Lathander but is faking the whole thing in order to gain political power. When not putting on airs, he's smuggling exotic goods, abusing the female clergy, and doing everything a self-absorbed neutral evil character would do with too much authority.
Level 4 Rolled Stats, 8,15,16,13,14,14 ( had great rolls)
Name: Scarazerios
LANGUAGES
Common, Goblin, Infernal, Orc
Archetype: The Fiend
Pact: Pact of the Tome [
Lightning Lure(Cantrip)
Toll the Dead(Cantrip)
Vicious Mockery(Cantrip)
Race: Human
Alignment: Neutral evil
Gender: Female
Background: Sage, Researcher
Personality Quirk: Will burn books she has already read
Cantrips:
Create Bonfire
Eldritch Blast
Infestation
Warlock
Feats: Magic Initiate (Wizard)
Control Flames(Cantrip)
Mold Earth(Cantrip)
Magic Missile(1st)
Spells,
Armor of Agathys
Warlock
Arms of Hadar
Warlock
Hellish Rebuke
Warlock
Hex
Warlock
Suggestion
Warlock
Eldritch Invocation
Agonizing Blast & Devil’s Sight
Backstory Scarazerios never had any intent of being pact bound, nor did she desire to travel the world, sleeping outside, or delving into caves and ruins. She was content spending her days in a massive library, reading and transcribing great works before they could be ravaged by time. Sadly for the thirty six year old bookworm, that was not her fate. The library she was assigned to was near the border of her homeland,which posed no problem for near a decade. Over the years small raids turned into skirmishes, those turned into near constant battles, until it reached a fever pitch, the border city Nuntioon became home to an elongated pitched siege The Library of Nuntioon was neigh impenetrable fortress unto itself,and all but the lower cloisters had been converted to a barracks. War brings out the darkest in all people, the remaining female sages were relegated to "stress" relief of the soldiers. many of the women broke, taking their own lives, those too timid to do it themselves turned to Scarazerios, who with a cold compassion snuffed out their lives Nearly a year of endless battle before the enemy forced breached the fortress like library, with their defenses broken, The enemy Commander declared "let the slaughter begin!" As the enemy forces cut their way through what forces remained, heading deep into the final cloister of the building, they readied themselves for what was assumed to be a fortified force held inside. However upon breaking the doors off the hinges, they came face to face with single woman,clutching a single book with an obsessed fervor. Laughter rang loud,it ended abruptly as the Commander spoke." no gold, no slaves, just one wench, past her prime, and useless paper, Burn it, leave her to burn with it" As he turned his back, a single Wizard stepped forward, casting a wall of fire at the doorway, trapping her, dooming her to burn to death. Seemingly accepting her fate, she walked, head slunk down, towards the massive tome that sat upon the lone table.
Scarazerios, had spent her life reading, but not once did she open this massive tome, it was the whole reason this library was built, the whole reason near a thousand men had died defending, waiting for reinforcement that never came. She thought to herself, was all this pain worth it, as the flames licked closer. Flinging the Book open, she saw it was written wholly in the language of demons, albeit an archaic version on Infernal. Smoke began to fill her lungs, flames licked at her skin, and hideous laughter tore at her from beyond the fire. Flipping page after page, it seemed to the very end, she simply yelled out a sentence " Pfdd py zmrafqm hydd, rahid kdaav, f tidd zmy dajyr"
Instantly she vanished, pulled into a hellscape,slamming full force into contorting ground, as she stood, with her gaze falling upon a terrible fiend, she exhaled, lettting out all the smoke that had been trapped in her lungs. "ph qav!" came out of the maw of the fairly humanoid monster. Scarazerios, ran towards the fiend, arms open, and near fully exposed, upon reaching it she simply embraced it, as if it was knight in shinning armor, kissing it on its face. This did not end when the three arms of the fiend returned this embrace, digging into her flesh, marring it demonic burns, and scars. Seconds later she stood alone, on a road outside of Kraedia, the capital city of a kingdom on the other side of the world.
Strangely, she felt whole, she felt complete,a fiendish vigor pulsed though her body, heightened by the desire for more power. Alone on a road, in a foreign land she heard the voice of the fiend she met, she intrinsically knew the infernal language he spoke with "I am now your source, feed me well, and we shall grow, what Mine is also yours,None have ever been worthy, none have brought the sweet smoke of letters as you have, i've rewarded you, altered your entire life from birth to what would of been your death, i have enjoyed walking in you, using your flesh, but it is yours again, until your next death"
Ear piecing screams escaped her mouth, as new memories of five timelines pulled themselves into the forefront of her mind, she was a Killer, as rapist, a swindler and deceiver, every desire she had ever even thought about, her patron had lived for her. In everyone, her obsessive personality came to the forefront.
RAW, it's a demon or devil.
That being said, if you're DM is going for it, more power to you. WotC set this game up for loose lore (as long as it isn't league, I guess). Also, your patron doesn't HAVE to be a god. That's up to you and your DM. Cool concept. I think it's a great theme.
DM: Are you sure?
Wizard: Yes. I cast the Wish spell and I wish that everybody loves me!
DM: You transform into an irresistible, magnificent feast. It was so great, all who participated in devouring you tell of the joy they felt with tears in their eyes and all who hear the tale only feel sorrow that they weren't there to eat.
So, for something different...
Imagine a group of cultists, specifically a group of conjuration & divination wizards, attempting to seek out power from beyond the known Planes of existence...they are so focused on finding magic beyond what is known, they attempt to siphon power from the Far Realms (having heard rumor that the infamous Halaster Blackcloak had accomplished something similar in the Undermountain).
In doing so, they inadvertently touch upon a being known as a Great Old One...a Black Star of tremendous cosmic power, beyond mortal comprehension. As they attempt to trap a portion of it's evil power in a bizarre ritual, they do not realize that they are, in fact, taking power from a Great Old One, and are driven insane by its mere presence. In an explosion of arcane energy, the wizard cultists are flung into random extraplanar portals, teleported across the Forgotten Realms, their collective psyches scrambled...except for one, who barely maintains his sanity.
You would THINK that this remaining wizard would be the warlock...but no!
You see, they DID manage to trap a portion of The Great Old One's power...but by touching the minds of the wizards, combined with coming to the Mortal Plane, the bit of The Black Star's power actually became a living, breathing being...but because it does not understand mortal thoughts or a human form, it instead manifested as a changeling, as it lacks an identity or alignment.
Separated from The Great Old One, this changeling does not understand who it is, and barely understand where it came from...the first thing it sees is this gibbering cultist, still in shock.
"What is this?! What are you?!" the wizard rambles, pointing at the changeling.
The changeling ponders this, and responds telepathically. "What am...I?"
Alarmed by the intrusion into his thoughts, the wizard says, "You are not...this is not right! You are not supposed to be here! Where is the power...?!"
The changeling does not understand the shock or disappointment of the wizard, still focused on the first question. Again, with more force, the changeling telepathically asks:
"WHAT AM !?"
Shaken by this psychic command, the wizard huddles close to himself. "You are...uh...an anomaly," he answers feebly. "An...error with our ritual. A mistake."
The changeling tilts its head, not comprehending the words, but detecting the disappointment in the wizards emotions.
"I am...mistake?" the changeling repeats, experiencing a tinge of sadness.
The wizard clears his throat, realizing this unknown being speaking into his mind might be dangerous. "Not a mistake, per se!" he squeaks. "You are...different. A living thing, but not like us. You are...odd."
The changeling considers this. "I am...odd?"
The wizard tentatively nods his head in agreement.
"Not like you..." the changeling says, thinking deeply.
Instinctively, the changeling then turns its form into that of the wizards...a younger man, with dark hair, brown eyes. The wizard sees this, and his jaw drops open.
"Not like you," the changeling repeats, speaking with it's mouth for the first time. "Odd."
The wizard, already shaken by the ritual, finally snaps, going insane as this changeling turns into his own appearance. Not able to handle it, laughing like a maniac, the wizard tears another hole in the fabric of reality, and hurls through it to some unknown place, leaving the changeling alone.
The changeling, beginning to form its own thoughts and personality, absently shrugs, and grabs a spare cloak from inside the lab, and continues on, eager to explore this unusual place, already forgetting the strange wizard.
Besides, it is already satisfied with its new name...
Odd.
...the Changeling.
This was an exciting new warlock idea...that the changeling was, in essence, a part of The Great Old One. It fit with the concept that these Great Old Ones didn't really comprehend the way we think, and that they essentially stumble through the world.
Odd the Changeling understands that there is some force intertwined with his being, essentially a cosmic star that watches him distantly. Vaguely, this Great Old One is some Elder Evil, a malevolent dark star that seeks madness and misfortune...but because Odd the Changeling is only a small fragment of this Great Old One, he has his own separate consciousness, and is able to tap into this dark, cosmic power.
Though he does not know the true nature of this power, he seeks to understand it. And so, he seeks out those wizards that have been driven mad by their ritual, to read their thoughts and memories to understand The Great Old One they had contacted. He also seeks the knowledge to contain this potential threat, as he grows to like this world filled with mortals.
---
"But do ye 'ave a name, you silly creature?" said Lyria Adagio, eyeballing the pale changeling with black hair.
"I...am Odd," declared Odd, staring back at the female dwarf with his black, pupil-less eyes.
Lyria nodded, seeming to understand that his name was more than just a title. "And do ye have a last name, then?"
Odd thought about that for a moment. "...Anomaly?" he said, remembering the other word that peculiar wizard had used.
"Odd...Anomaly," Lyria said, almost musically. "That fits."
"In more ways than one," snorted Vincent.
---
Odd Anomaly was given his last name by some travelling companions he stumbled across in his travels...a group of performers, known as Lady Fortune's Performance Troupe. Led by a tiefling manager named Fortune..."Miss" Fortune...Odd Anomaly formed fast friendships with the rest of the troupe...especially Lyria Adagio, a dwarven Zealot Barbarian, and Vincent Gratio, a half-elf Swashbuckler Rogue (these are actual characters I've played, at least partially).
Odd Anomaly is particularly fond of Lyria...she is a barbarian, but also a singer (she often sings in combat...she was a bouncer for a band "Vicious Mockery", before becoming their singer, after foiling an assassination attempt on their drummer, ironically arranged by the previous singer...lots of band drama!). She actually teaches Odd how to perform music, and thus Odd multiclasses into Bard.
As both a Warlock and a Bard, he chooses the College of Lore, in order to gather more knowledge of magic...and having a fascination with stories and music. Truly, Lyria taught him about the beauty of the world. Fascinated with words, he sometimes will telepathically narrate things around him, irritating his companions.
Which is why Odd Anomaly won't stop until he prevents the Elder Evils from interfering with the Prime Material Plane. He seeks to use his knowledge to protect his new home.
The "Haunted One" background reflects his dark observer, the Black Star that watches from the edge of the Far Realm. If Odd Anomaly grows angry, he uses some of that dark power, making him scared of himself, sometimes..."Magical Secrets" serving as forbidden eldritch knowledge like "Evard's Black Tentacles" and "Mental Prison".
His enemies are cultists that make Pacts with Elder Evils, and other "aberrations" like himself that hurt innocents...Beholders, Mind Flayers & Oozes, to name a few...
He is, of course, Chaotic Neutral...he lacks conventional understanding of laws or boundaries because of his alien nature, but he is protective of those he considers allies...leaning more towards the "good" side of neutral.
I have to say...this is perhaps my favorite character concept yet...a fun character to roleplay...an interesting backstory...an interesting race...and a personal story, with a potentially hugely evil "boss" villain...a strange dude with a big heart!
Name: Selure
Basically the short version is:
Ages ago, an powerful arch-fey promised a human a great boon for some task done. As the fey are immortal, time has little meaning to them, and the person to whom the boon was promised is long dead and forgotten. But, always true to their word, this archfey did grant the boon. To the unwitting family. In the form of a fey-touched child. One able to live among both the mortal realm and the fey-wild without hindrance, giving the family a permanent link to the power of the fey. (A great boon indeed.) In his reckless arrogance, this fey presumed his gift would be understood for what it was, when he revealed himself, and he would garner great praise from the family. Instead, he was confronted by the truth straight from the mouth of a hurt and confused child. The gift had 'spoiled' with age, and had instead caused the family grave harm. To fulfill the promise, that wrong must be set right. So arranged to gift the child with a true taste of fey magic, sending tutors to the girl to teach her.
The cost of her 'pact' is both trivial and important. She must keep the arch-fey informed of her studies an how she uses her gift. To that end, she was given a sending stone, a small crystal that glows faintly under the light of the moon, attuned to one kept by of one of the fey lord's historians, tasked with recording every detail uttered. The fey lord shall review these records to determine when the debt has been repaid. He will, of course do exactly as he has promised.
...Eventually.
My goal was to create a combination of a fallen hero that is also seeking redemption but has a monkey on his back, not drugs but an malevolent sword that requires to be constantly fed blood and souls.
My inspiration was Elric of Melniboné from the Michael Moorecock series, Lord Soth from the Dragon Lance and Ravenloft books, and Doc Holiday from the American old west and the movie Tombstone.
Name: Pelleus the Cursed
Archetype: Hexblade
Pact: Pact of the Blade
Race: Human
Alignment: Neutral Good
Background: Agent of the Masked Lords (special background reward for DDOPEN2018)
Patron: the Hexblade Soulmourn
The Tragedy of Pelleus the Cursed
Pelleus was a paladin of Torm and was put in charge of protecting priests of Torm as they conducted a ritual to entomb an evil magical sword named Soulmourn on the grounds of a fortified monastery. Meanwhile an orc hoard was attacking the monastery to reclaim the sword of evil. On the same grounds of the Monastery also lived Pelleus's wife and children which the Church of Torm promised to protect.
The orc hoard was not able to stop the ritual as it was well defended but Pelleus's family was left vulnerable to the attack since both Pelleus and the Monastery defenses were focused on defending the ritual. Not the priests or Torm protected Pelleus's family causing them to perish in the attack.
In rage Pelleus killed the priests of Torm he had sworn to protect, and demanded to the sky, to Torm to tell him why wasn't his family protected? In response Torm the god of duty and sacrifice manifested himself in front of Pelleus, pickling him up throwing him into the same pit as the evil sword was cast into.
During Pelleus’s fall into the pit, Torm also cursed him to live a long life in darkness and suffering. And told Pelleus his family resides with Torm in the afterlife and would have been eventually resurrected, but since Pelleus committed heinous crimes and lost his faith he will never see his family in heaven or on Faerûn. even if he should die, since Pelleus's soul has been blackened with his crimes , his soul would be sent to the Nine Hells for his deeds if he should ever die.
In the darkness Pelleus fell seemingly for hours, eventually landing upon rocks and bones, but he did not die. His body broken and weak lived on, and that's when he knew his death would never come easily and that Torm would be true to his word. But still Pelleus called out into the darkness for forgiveness. But in the darkness of the pit Torm did not answer only a whispering feminine voice replied, it sounded like the voice of his dead wife but Pelleus knew it was Soulmourn, the sword spoke to Pelleus and told him,
“Torm took away everything, and he was powerless without Soulmourn and Soulmourn was powerless without a wielder”, she promised to grant Pelleus power so he could escape and return to the surface where they could find a way together to met out their revenge upon Torm and his followers. Pelleus still full of anger at Torm struck a deal with the demonic sword and a pact was made. The Sword empowered Pelleus with baleful magic and together they tunneled slowly through the earth finding a way out of imprisonment.
After years of wandering the Underdark, Pelleus eventually regretted his actions and decisions he tried to cast away the sword, but the sword would always return to him. The sword could also compel Pelleus to murder anyone without reason. Pelleus tried to commit suicide but because of a combination of Torm's curse and the deal struck with Soulmourn he cannot be easily released from being a wielder of the hex blade. He eventually found his way to Skullport under Waterdeep where he has worked as an agent of the masked lords for some time, trying his best to rectify his wrongs with good deeds, but never truly able to find peace or escape from the malevolent will of Soulmourn.
Soulmourn needs to feed regularly on the blood and souls of mortals, Pelleus must choose who those people are as the wielder of the sword. But if he fails in his bargain, the sword will choose for him, often killing innocent mortals.
Pelleus tries his best to hide his pain and anger of his situation. Trying to appear friendly and help those in need, but he often appears to be sick and weak as a side effect of Torms curse. Which also results in him seeking escape in drink, gambling and temporary companionship. For this reason many just assume he is a typical adventurer or mercenary until he must wield Soulmourn to satisfy its hunger for blood and souls.
Name: Simon Bell
Race: Half Elf
Level: 7
Gender: Male
Background: Haunted One
Patron: The Silver Flame
Pact: Pact of the Blade
Pact Weapon: Scimitar
Spells:
Cantrips: Blade Ward, Create Bonfire, Green-Flame Blade, Light, Sacred Flame
2nd Level: Flaming Sphere, Lesser Restoration, Mirror Image
3rd Level: Daylight, Remove Curse
4th Level: Banishment, Guardian of Faith, Wall of Fire
Invocations:
Improved Pact Weapon, Thristing Blade, Armor of Shadows
We are playing in an Eberron Campaing Setting where we created the rules before the Wayfinder's. My Character is a Witch Hunter of the Silver Flame so all the spells are light/fire based and all of them shine with a White - Silver Light to reflect it. He is twin brother with another Witch devoted to the Night Queen who disappeared when they were children.
It's an One-Eyed old man in a combination between Solomon Kane - Van Helsing - Geralt (he has swords of different materials) . I have his long story written but only in spanish. This is a summary:
He was man enjoying women and wine. He spent almost all his free time when he was young in they. One day a demonic beast attacked the village where he was living and because he was so tired and drunk, lost his left eye and his beloved girlfriend was killed. That night when he was sleeping, he dreamed with a light and a voice that said him to travel up to Flamekeep to visit the Voice of the flame. He followed the voice, left all behind and became devoted to the Silver Flame hunting and tracking demons, undead and aberrations in order to kill them all
Myron Sunchylde
Race: Fallen Aasimar
Patron: His father, a Solar in the service of Pelor (Celestial)
Pact of the Chain, Normally a celestial Sprite
Myron's mother, Enthy was a cleric of Pelor who on an adventure met with his father, a powerful solar in Pelor's service. They got to chatting about how awesome Pelor is, and one thing led to another and nine months later, Myron was born. His mother left the adventuring life to raise him. Her old party members would drop by from time to time, but mostly she was with Myron and occasionally the Paladin guard left to guard this potent Aasimar.
Enthy never placed expectations on Myron where he could see. She raised him to worship Pelor as she had, and she did hope she'd follow in her footsteps, or maybe joint the Paladin guard, but whatever happened, Enthy wanted that to be Myron's choice. The Paladin guard however were not as passive. When Enthy eventually put her foot down and threatened to dismiss them entirely, cutting off their access to the powerful Aasimar that was her son, they cut her down. Myron fled to one of her old party members who rallied the group and struck back in vengeance. Myron, who was 12 at the time, was enraged. This was his mother, his mother who had given everything for Pelor, and that god would allow her to be killed by his other followers?!
That was when the little voice in Myron's head that he'd always thought of as his conscious first seriously disagreed with him. As his thoughts grew angrier, this voice begged him to let go of the anger. He refused. as soon as he was old enough he started pedaling his Aasimar healing abilities to local nobles and other gullible rubes. He had fallen, using his abilities only when it would profit him. His once lustrous coppery red hair turned black, and his blue eyes faded to obsidian. All of this came to a head when he healed a particularly grateful noble's child who had been hurt in a hunting accident. it didn't take much, just his natural healing ability and a little of the medicine his mother had taught him. And he had enough gold to buy out a bar... which is what he did. Bottle after bottle was downed. Myron died of alcohol poisoning.
as his soul hung in the void waiting for the raven queen to usher him on, as he did what most beings did pleading and begging for more time in the most disgraceful manner, a light shone in the black void. the Raven Queen turn to this light with slightly less annoyance than with the young man she was here to collect.
"May I speak with my son, My Lady?" came the deep rich voice. It was a voice Myron had never heard.
The Raven queen nodded, and stepped back, not leaving, but giving them room to speak.
Myron looked upon the celestial being with conflicting emotions. Desperation to not die, but a burning rage at him.
"I don't blame you for your anger at me," the Solar began. "You have lead a hard life. But I am disappointed in you."
"Sorry, losing your mother has a tendency to cause that," Myron spat back. "If only there had been some sort of GOD who could have protected her!"
"She is so ashamed of you. She still loves you, but your selfishness SHAMES HER! You were meant for so much more. You were supposed to be a champion of Pelor unrivaled by any."
"Now, I'm just another c-corpse in the street," Myron countered, looking away, but he terror obvious.
"Or, you can be his vassal," replies the Solar. Myron whips his head around.
"I will repair you, send you back, even give you more power... but from now on you serve Pelor."
"As... as a cleric? or a Paladin?" Myron asked.
"No, they are trusted by Pelor... you will serve him as his agent. But you are not trusted."
Myron looked down. "Fine, as long as I don't die."
and with that Myron woke up from where he'd lay in the gutter, a bit of his own vomit staining him. He had only a moment to revel in his survival, and to imagine his conversation had only been a dream when he felt a burn in his chest, like a branding iron on his skin. He screamed out as he pulled down his shirt. there on his chest, just over his heart, light shown as the skin blistered and scarred. When all was said and done and he had a chance to examine the brand he recognized it. it was a character in Celestial. It's meaning was clear and confirmed that his conversation and bargain had been all too real. The character over his heart meant "Debt".
Cralumin Blacknail
3rd lvl Hexblade - pact of the blade
half-elf
abilities 10 14 13 16 10 16, respectively
chaotic neutral
a cursed man of noble blood haunted by a demonic spirit that is bound to his blade. the creature is the demon-bound soul of an ancestor none in hs family ever talked about, Lord Ezrequr Rayne Blacknail I. the result is a capricious patron that varies between two personalities, a cold, distant master and an evil incarnate that tempts him towards damnation. his family had a history of practicing the dark arts, an occupation that ended in disaster when his heretical human father, Lazarus Blacknail III awakened some sort of latent evil hidden in his bloodline. they were never seen again. the only family member he ever felt solace with was his druidic sister, who also fled after his family's death. he now spends most of his time wandering from city to city, town to town, village to village, always keeping a low profile. his substance abuse usually gets him kicked out of most establishments, which grates on him because of his noble upbringing. during his travels he has killed many and brought as many evils into this world as the evils he has banished. he found himself in the village of Daggerford where he met the first people that you could consider friends, a human oath of devotion paladin, a goliath totem warrior barbarian, and a lightfoot halfling college of blades bard.
currently playing Curse of Strahd.
Barnabas was a cleric of Lathander, but after losing his god's favor, he found a warlock patron who replicated Lathander's divine spells with none of the moral restrictions. In my Forgotten Realms campaign, he's become Dawnmaster of a temple of Lathander but is faking the whole thing in order to gain political power. When not putting on airs, he's smuggling exotic goods, abusing the female clergy, and doing everything a self-absorbed neutral evil character would do with too much authority.
"The Epic Level Handbook wasn't that bad, guys.
Guys, pls."
Level 4
Rolled Stats, 8,15,16,13,14,14 ( had great rolls)
Name: Scarazerios
Scarazerios never had any intent of being pact bound, nor did she desire to travel the world, sleeping outside, or delving into caves and ruins. She was content spending her days in a massive library, reading and transcribing great works before they could be ravaged by time. Sadly for the thirty six year old bookworm, that was not her fate.
The library she was assigned to was near the border of her homeland,which posed no problem for near a decade. Over the years small raids turned into skirmishes, those turned into near constant battles, until it reached a fever pitch, the border city Nuntioon became home to an elongated pitched siege
The Library of Nuntioon was neigh impenetrable fortress unto itself,and all but the lower cloisters had been converted to a barracks. War brings out the darkest in all people, the remaining female sages were relegated to "stress" relief of the soldiers. many of the women broke, taking their own lives, those too timid to do it themselves turned to Scarazerios, who with a cold compassion snuffed out their lives
Nearly a year of endless battle before the enemy forced breached the fortress like library, with their defenses broken, The enemy Commander declared "let the slaughter begin!"
As the enemy forces cut their way through what forces remained, heading deep into the final cloister of the building, they readied themselves for what was assumed to be a fortified force held inside. However upon breaking the doors off the hinges, they came face to face with single woman,clutching a single book with an obsessed fervor. Laughter rang loud,it ended abruptly as the Commander spoke." no gold, no slaves, just one wench, past her prime, and useless paper, Burn it, leave her to burn with it"
As he turned his back, a single Wizard stepped forward, casting a wall of fire at the doorway, trapping her, dooming her to burn to death.
Seemingly accepting her fate, she walked, head slunk down, towards the massive tome that sat upon the lone table.
" Pfdd py zmrafqm hydd, rahid kdaav, f tidd zmy dajyr"
Instantly she vanished, pulled into a hellscape,slamming full force into contorting ground, as she stood, with her gaze falling upon a terrible fiend, she exhaled, lettting out all the smoke that had been trapped in her lungs. "ph qav!" came out of the maw of the fairly humanoid monster. Scarazerios, ran towards the fiend, arms open, and near fully exposed, upon reaching it she simply embraced it, as if it was knight in shinning armor, kissing it on its face. This did not end when the three arms of the fiend returned this embrace, digging into her flesh, marring it demonic burns, and scars.
Seconds later she stood alone, on a road outside of Kraedia, the capital city of a kingdom on the other side of the world.
Strangely, she felt whole, she felt complete,a fiendish vigor pulsed though her body, heightened by the desire for more power. Alone on a road, in a foreign land she heard the voice of the fiend she met, she intrinsically knew the infernal language he spoke with "I am now your source, feed me well, and we shall grow, what Mine is also yours,None have ever been worthy, none have brought the sweet smoke of letters as you have, i've rewarded you, altered your entire life from birth to what would of been your death, i have enjoyed walking in you, using your flesh, but it is yours again, until your next death"
Ear piecing screams escaped her mouth, as new memories of five timelines pulled themselves into the forefront of her mind, she was a Killer, as rapist, a swindler and deceiver, every desire she had ever even thought about, her patron had lived for her. In everyone, her obsessive personality came to the forefront.