Havor was born a half elf in a wood elf village. He was constantly abused by his mother and those around him. He wished they were all dead. Then one day it happened, a fire erupted in his house with his mother inside, they all blamed Havor and threw him in a prison in the under dark. There he met his first teacher Drakiss. He was a thief and assassin and tought him the ways of being a rogue. He had a plan to escape, but it was only for one man. He saved Havors life that day, and Havor will repay him. After he escaped he found a peaceful farm village where he spent three years there. He turned sixteen when war broke out and his adoptive parents were killed, along with his step brother. Only two brothers remained, and he promised them that if they ever needed him, he would be there. After time he grew to be twenty six when he might a women named Zowe. Eventually they got engaged, they were both assassins and owned a drug cartel. But after a long battle with a superoir race known as the Eldrazi, She Died. Now havor lives a life zipping across the multiverse, doing an unknown mans deads. As time passes he does not age. Now he is in a plane were he foind a new party that he is starting to grow quite fond of. I wonder what will Happen.
So I recently made an incredibly absurd character that I fell in love with, and feel the compulsive need to share.
The Life of Ann Mayring:
So Ann started her life off as the daughter of a very poor carpenter and seamstress in the seaside village of Bluepearl, where she spent her childhood wandering about the rocky beaches and eroded cliffs. In order to help support her family, she would sell sea shells by the sea shore. Sea shells and any other neat trinkets she could find within the rocks. One day she made a grand discovery, an entire plesiosaur fossil. This greatly excited the young Ann, she had made a major discovery at age 12, sparking her interest in life and biology. While to poor to get a formal education outside of reading and writing, she would dissect oceanic animals that washed up on the shores and read up on latest scientific and magical theory by borrowing books from couriers on their way from the larger port towns to the great library of the capital. She eventually knew enough to publish an essay about her plesiosaur and went to submit it to the Great University in hopes of a scholarship for a better education. However, her hopes and dreams were ruined when a professor she had requested the help of stole her work and thoroughly discredited her. This ruined her reputation to the poin of people in her home town actively harassing her. Nobody would believe her, saying that there’s no way that a eighteen year old girl could possibly Ben trusted over a noteworthy professor. This drove Ann to become a recluse, never leaving the safety of her home and devoting herself to her private studies. However, when the plesiosaur fossil was to be publicly revealed three years later, she broke into the museum and performed an occult ritual. Unbeknownst to all, she had dedicated her self exile to the study of necromancy, and raised the skeletal remains of the plesiosaur back from the dead, and slaughtering the professor who ruined her life. After this she’s ran off and into the sea with her new undead companion, raising an army of undead primal creatures, becoming a pirate queen.
TL;DR Little girl becomes Victorian Dinosaur Necromancer Pirate Queen by age 21 because college is expensive and people are jerks.
this is actually partially based off of the real life paleontologist Mary Anning, who basically gave life to the entire branch of science known as paleontology herself.
Thonwil was raised in the East Rift, a shelf on the side of Underchasm, between the surface and the Underdark. His unique affinity for the divine powers emanating from the Dwarven deity Berronar Truesilver caused him to be taken from his parents at the age of 7 and raised in the Araufaern Caurak, the Abbey of Earth-hearth, a great subterranean fortress atop a low plateau that dominates the eastern reaches of the Firecaverns of the Deep Realm. There he delved into both his studies and his devotion. He fully embraced the Order's vows of Service, Honesty and Sacrifice as his path. Service - Thou shalt place the needs of others above thine own needs as befits a Holy Cleric. Honesty - Thou shalt speak no word that is untrue nor fail to speak any needsome truth. Sacrifice - Thou shalt not take, except that which is freely given, and shall give to all, even to the giving of thine own blood. These vows do not come naturally to Thonwil. He is devoted to striving to BECOME that which he has vowed to be. He is now heading out into the reaches to take the final steps of his spiritual journey towards becoming a high priest of his deity. Can he live out his calling in the wilds and among the faithless and broken? As he travels, he sees himself as an overseer and protector of all dwarves and a beacon of righteousness and truth to the world at large. He has found a group of adventurers that he feels comfortable with. Their variety and personalities are a perfect test for his vows and his newly growing abilities. He is determined to live out his oaths of Service, Honesty and Sacrifice among these rough and broken people. He might even be beginning to like them. . .
My father was a great man, he made marvelous toys for me as a child. Inventions that would have left others entirely baffled as to how they functioned as they did. Some were entirely mechanical, but others had a spark of magic burning within them that made for something truly extraordinary. Dolls that would dance and sing, never once repeating the same song. I don't know know where their songs came from but the variations seemed endless.
But this caused others to desire his skills for other reasons. He was approached by groups looking to tap into his genius for their projects. But when their intentions began to turn unexpectedly twisted he refused to help them. They did not take kindly to his decision. We left home that night and never looked back. He began to teach me some of what he knew, but he did not know how little time he would have to hone my skills.
Before I knew it he disappeared. One night he was there, the next I was left with his notebook that he had never allowed to leave his side. But no father, not even a message. I couldn't even understand what was written in the book. It was written in celestial letters but I just couldn't seem to get the letters to stop moving. Every time I looked away they seemed to rearrange themselves on the page. After months of traveling and working as a repairer and a tinker and other odd jobs I finally found something I could understand.
It came to me almost like a revelation new ways to manipulate magic. Like I had known these things the whole time but I just couldn't wrap my mind around them. Like just one piece was missing from the puzzle and now it was filled in and I could see the picture. This small glimpse of the deeper facets of magic faded quickly but some parts of it stuck with me. I made it my life's goal to discover what my father had known and to find out if he had written this. Maybe once I knew all this I would be able to discover what had become of my father, and who or what had taken him.
For now I will pursue my destiny, there is no chance that this was unintentional. I am meant for something wonderful and I will take it in my grasp. Regardless of what it takes.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Where words fail, swords prevail. Where blood is spilled, my cup is filled" -Cartaphilus
"I have found the answer to the meaning of life. You ask me what the answer is? You already know what the answer to life is. You fear it more than the strike of a viper, the ravages of disease, the ire of a lover. The answer is always death. But death is a gentle mistress with a sweet embrace, and you owe her a debt of restitution. Life is not a gift, it is a loan."
So I came accross DnD a few days ago and after a lot of searching and youtubing I made a character. his name is orcillion (or kill eon) my world of warcraft orc name haha. hes an Orog Orc hea 8'3 600lb and 42 years of age. this is my first time ever doing a backstory so constructive criticism would be great.
A bellowing gutteral roar exploaded inside the arena," RAHHHRR" then "SNAP". The once flailing body was now limp and dangly. It had been to easy, no human could stand up against such a monstrous foe. You release your grip from the now corpses neck and it fell to the dirt floor with a thud. The crowd erupts in a booming cheer and applause, you gaze up to the crowd above and with sun glaring in your eyes you shout, "Is this all that you have? is there none among you worthy enough to be a challenge?" The crowd keeps cheering unable to hear what your saying, they came for death and death was served. You walk across the dirt arena towards the giant metal gates, the stench of piss, mead and blood heavy in the air. Atleast the pay was good, 40 gold peices for a few minutes work. And it will be spent in just as few.
You have been fighting in the arena for as many years as you can remember. Even as a young orc you were a mighty foe, dismembering humans in the ring. Later as you grew you became a legend of that very same ring, being victorious over man, elf, dwarf, minotaur and any other manner of beast or being that opposed you. Each battle scar a story. But as you sit at the grimey wooden bar that smells of grog and sweat you take a swig of mead and wonder if this is it. Is this the pinnacle of your legacy. The greatest fighter ever to step foot into the arena destined to die of old age. With a chuckle to yourself you think, no i can do much greater then this. You chug the last of your mead and slam the heavy metal mug down on the bar, you flip a coin to the barman and go to head out the door. The barman responds "See you tomorrow Orc" to which you reply "We will see, we will see".
As you step out the door into the wet boggy street, the stench of humans lingering in the air and you hear a ferocious roar, everyone is running about in a panick and screaming as they look towards the sky. You tilt your gaze up and notice a dragon flying over head. This was a rare sight indeed, and as it flew by you could see the scales reflecting the light of the sun making it look otherworldly, Loosing sight of it as it entered the mountains you smile and say to yourself excitedly "Now theres a worthy challenge".
My wife created a story for a 16 year old Drunken Master Monk with a CN alignment. Her character's name is Penapae Cinderoot.
I was born in Waymoot, a small village just south of Eveningingstar. I had a loving mother, and a kind father, who would take me to get sweets every Sunday morning. I hadn’t a care in the world, and everything was perfect; until it wasn’t. On the day of my fourth birthday fire rained down from the sky, women and children screamed and cried. I looked through my window and watched as men bled and cursed as they died, slaughtered by our neighbours. I was scared, and I couldn’t find my parents, my house was awash in smoke. I heard my mother scream my name as I grabbed my dark wood doll. I ran towards her voice as my father swept me up in his arms, already holding onto my mothers’ hand. We rushed out the back door as I watched my childhood friend be slaughtered by the carpenter. My mother screamed as she was ripped from my father’s hand by two masked men. My father turned and started running to her, but it was too late. I can still hear her last words, “Run. Keep Penapae safe. My love; my light.” My father hesitated, and I screamed and cried for my mama. A man reached for me, but he missed, grabbing my doll by the foot instead as the priest grabbed him and threw him to the side. With tears in his eyes, my father turned and ran towards Kings’ Forest, a guttural and pained scream coming from his lips, as if he was the one who’s heart had been sliced open. That is when I saw the face of the man who had murdered my mother. The baker.
I held my doll as I cried myself to sleep in my fathers’ arms. I do not recall when my father found the others of my village, but I remember the fear I felt as I looked for the baker. As I scanned the faces of the ragged survivors, I suddenly discovered that I was surrounded only by the Ghostwise Halflings of my village. I asked my papa what happened to the others, and he mumbled something about a wretched war. I looked into my papas’ eyes and asked him if mama was coming back; his eyes turned dark and he told me to hush. I sat against a tree and stroked my doll’s hair, when I noticed that her foot was gone, ripped from her body just as my mother had been ripped from my life. A month had past as we walked through the Kings Forest to rebuild our homes and lives. The remaining men and women from our village began rebuilding, and eventually we settled into our new normal, and we could finally grieve for those we had lost. My father seemed awash in tears, and he began to drink day and night. A teacher had survived, so the men built a school for the few children who remained. At first, there were 15 children, but one died from injuries on the fifth day, and another had died from an illness. There was a day that I did not want to school, but my father shouted and said I must. I cried and said I was too sad; I missed my mama. His eyes turned dark again, just like that first day in the forest, and he said to not talk about my mama again. I sobbed, and I begged him to change his mind; he hit me so hard that I flew across the room and the lights went dark. When I awoke again, I saw the scowl on his face as he took another swig from his ale. After that, it seemed as though hitting me was his next favourite thing to do, after drinking his ale. I do not want to dwell on the horrors that occurred in that wretched house, as the man that looked like my father continued to inflict an unending pain to my soul and my body. This man was not my father. He had dark eyes and an eternal scowl upon his face. My father once had happy eyes, which were illuminated by his everlasting goofy grin. One spring morning, on my mother’s birthday, my father got particularly drunk. He said that ever since I turned nine I resembled my mother too much, I smiled at this thought. This seemed to send him into a blind rage as he beat me half to death. It was then that I swore I would leave. Four days later I was strong enough to stand, so I tenderly picked up my doll and a few essential supplies as my father slept off his latest drinking binge. I walked through the door without ever looking back.
I lost track of the days as I wandered through Kings Forest, I eventually ran out of food and water and I was left drinking the dew off plants, and eating the bark from the trees. I ran out of medicine and my wounds began to fester. I miraculously stumbled upon some wild aloe, which I recognized from one of my lessons. I used the leaves as a bandage for my wounds and continued on my journey. One day, I was shivering from the downpour and I desperately sought shelter, when I stumbled upon a hut and I thanked the Heavens. I cautiously entered the shambled hut and the floor creaked beneath my feet. I turned to close the door when suddenly a man appeared where I had just stood, and he stared down into my soul. I cried out and tried to slip past him, he swayed and stumbled as he gracefully pushed me aside and slammed the door shut. I was baffled by his movements; I had never seen such a graceful drunkard. I trembled as this giant of a man sat me on his bed; fearful of what he would do next. He lit a candle and recoiled as he peeled off my aloe leaves. He reached for a medical kit and began expertly tending to my wounds. As he worked on my injuries, I took in my surroundings and noticed that everything was very minimalistic. He had a bed, a table, supplies, a few kegs, and the room was littered with empty mugs. The strangest thing of all were the two red ribbons, which had been lovingly folded and placed in a display case. Before I could ask him about the ribbons, he mumbled something that I couldn’t quite hear, and he shoved a dirty rag in my mouth. He grabbed my arm with two hands and pulled with a such a force that my shoulder made a loud pop, and the pain faded into a dull throb. He gave me some of his ale and then promptly left the hut. I looked at the ale skeptically, as this is was the toxin that had stolen my father from me. I quickly downed the ale and went to sleep; after all, how bad can ale be if my father loved it more than he loved me? The graceful drunkard never spoke to me, but he continued to tend to my wounds and nurse me back to health with broth and bits of bread. He gave me ale whenever the pain was too great for me to sleep. As time went on I became stronger and more curious of my surroundings. I asked many questions, none of which were answered. One day the graceful drunkard returned from a trip and handed me two of my own ribbons; they were a forest green which closely resembled the colour of King’s Forest. I gratefully accepted his gift, as the heat was making my hair stick to the back of my neck. I reached to put one of the ribbons in my hair when the drunkard burst of laughing, as if he had never seen such a humorous sight. I scowled as I looked down at the ribbon, unsure of his expectations. When he took out his own lovingly folded ribbons and expertly wrapped them around each first. I clumsily copied his actions, when I had finished he motioned for me to follow him; grabbing some more ale before he left the hut. We walked for roughly twenty minutes before we reached a clearing in the forest. The graceful drunkard gave me some of his ale and he quickly emptied his own glass, I quickly followed suite; the ale was starting to grow on me. As the drunkard smiled and swayed, he stumbled a little towards me. I reached to brace him when suddenly he swept his feet under mine and braced his arm against my chest, which caused me to flip onto my back. I cried out, baffled. Had he really nursed me back to health, only to kill me himself? The graceful drunkard gestured to me and said, “Stop me. Like you should have stopped the person who did this to you.” I trained with the graceful drunkard for fourteen hours a day, everyday, for four years. I never learned his name, but I grew to trust him with my life. I continued to call him the graceful drunkard because the name seemed so fitting. His movements were jerky, unpredictable, and he was constantly swaying and stumbling like a drunkard, but he was also as graceful as a swan. His strikes were precise and carefully executed. One night he told me the story of how he ended up in this hut. He was a highly trained monk, the best martial artist Cormyr had ever seen. That is, until the day his entire village was slaughtered by the drow while he was meditating in the Monastery in the next town over. He found the bodies of his wife and infant daughter, but he never found the body of his seven-year-old son. How could the Gods exist if they allow so many innocents in villages to be slain? He ran to the forest after the massacre of his village, much like I had with my father. There he lived a life of seclusion, only going into town to purchase ale. On the winter of my thirteenth year the graceful drunk returned from a week-long trip; he drank more than I ever saw him drink before. The next morning, I awoke to him staring at me, had he been watching me in my sleep? He gave me a flimsy coat and told me to follow him. The look in his eyes made me feel as though we would not return to this hut, so I grabbed my doll and hand wraps before leaving the hut. This time, I looked back. This old hut might not look like anything special, but it was the first place I felt safe since the night my mother was murdered. We walked for eleven days, stopping only once when the blizzard obstructed our view. The graceful drunkard kept looking at me with a strange look, which was a combination of hope, sadness, and regret. I had never seen such a look before, but I knew better than to ask, since I knew my question would by answered by a stony stare. I wish I had asked; perhaps I could have avoided my fate, which truly was worse than death. For when we arrived at our destination, we were surrounded by drow. The man looked at me and said the words that shattered my faith in people and the Gods, “I’m sorry.” The drow grabbed at me, but I fought them off expertly, as I had been taught. The drow told the graceful drunkard that he would not get his son if I could not be tamed. The drunkard stumbled and spun in a clumsy twirl. I cried out and dropped my ribbon. I had seen that move before. It was the only move I had never learned to overcome. He gracefully swept my feet off the ground, spun me around, and flipped me over so my head smashed into a rock. When I opened my eyes, I was underground surrounded by malnourished slaves. I frantically looked for my doll, when a child no more than ten said, “You better hope you never see your doll again.” In response to my baffled face she leaned in and whispered, “When you’re bad, they beat you with it. It’s a great way to ruin all your good memories.”
The Underdark was an abyss of pain and suffering. We worked until our hands bled and we collapsed, and then we worked some more. Sometimes they forgot to feed us and give us water. When they did feed us, they would give us uncooked bats. When they were bored they would throw insignificant morsels of their bread into the pit and laugh as we scrambled and fought over the food. I never gave them the satisfaction, after all; I would surely kill anyone who stood in my way. Instead I stared at them, unwilling to lose the last shred of my dignity. The master slaver met my stare and shouted for everyone to stop; I continued to stare him down. He descended the stairs and took me in as he approached me. He looked around the room and laughed at me, then he said, “Are our scraps not good enough for you girl? Think the rest of these slaves are beneath you?” I refused to back down; I had seen worse. The master slaver stopped laughing and raised his voice, “I asked you a question girl. Speak when spoken to.” I looked up at him and said, “No. I’m not any better than them. But I’m sure as hell better than you.” His face filled with rage and he squeezed my arms, the slavers laughed, and the other slaves slunk down in fear. He beckoned to another drow and spoke to him in Undercommon. Little did he know, I had learned their language in these few short months. I overhead him say, “It’s time to show this miscreant a memento from her past. Bring it. We do this in front of them all.” I remembered what the girl had said about my doll; the mere thought of my mother’s memory being defiled in this way made me shudder. The master drow grabbed me by my hair and pulled me to the middle of the room. There he said, “Beg for mercy like the pathetic weakling you are.” I tried to fight him off, but after months of being malnourished and dehydrated I succumbed to weakness, and the clumsiness was no longer an act. The other slaver kneeled down as he presented the master drow with my doll. He spread his arms open and shouted, “Defiance does not go unpunished in the Underdark.” He struck me in the face with my doll; I cried out. I grabbed my doll as he attempted to strike me again. This infuriated him. He tugged on my doll until her hand was ripped from her body. He beat on me until I begged for his mercy, unable to endure anymore; and then he beat me some more. For in the Underdark, they never broke you until you were broken; they broke you until you were shattered. Some tiny peace of me was still unbroken, and I hung onto that part of me for dear life. Perhaps this master slaver saw this spark in me, because the beatings never stopped; at least, not until I killed him. I endured this hell for three more years. During this time, I secretly ate bugs and moss to rebuild my strength. I worked extra hard in the mines in order to rebuild my muscle, and I filed my doll’s hand until it was sharp enough to piece skin. Based on the markings I had made on the cave wall, I believe I had just turned sixteen a few days ago. That was it. I was done; I refused to spend another day in this prison. I spoke to one of the slavers in Undercommon, and I told him something that would certainly get me a private audience with the master slaver. His face went awash, he shouted, and he dragged me by my hair to the master slaver’s chambers. As soon as he closed the door behind us I lunged towards the slaver, he reached out to stop me, but I expertly swept my foot under his and used my arm to flip him onto his back. A move the traitorous graceful drunkard had taught me. I quickly grabbed his head and bashed it into the ground. The master slaver rose, grabbed my doll and rushed over to me. I pretended to quake in fear, stumble and trip. He smiled, thinking he had just won. Ask he reached down to me I grabbed his arms, lifted my legs to his pelvis, and I threw him into the door that was behind me. I grabbed my doll from him before he could recover, and I went into a blind rage as I beat him with it. I am pretty sure that I finished him off when I stuck my sharpened doll’s hand into his neck. I walked over to his table and downed a bottle of wine. I stumbled through the halls and clumsily, yet gracefully, slaughtered any drow that stood in my way. I fought my way into the light, into the fresh air; and away from the pits of despair. Now it is time for my revenge; now I will be the inflictor of pain.
Okay, I'm going to try some of this first-person action that's going around.
Hey there, name's Johaan. Johaan Copperkettle. You like my playing? I was in a band, y'know. We would've called ourselves 'Johaan and the Johaans,' but our drummer was named Marko, so that was a bust.
My story? Dunno why you want to know that, but I might as well tell you. I'm no bard, but it's important to tell stories, y'know?
Are you comfy? Okay, here we go.
I was born into a human family, but I knew I was different. Hell, I wouldn't be wearing this veil if it wasn't for my starry eyes. See that? Completely black with little flecks of white. My mum used to say it was because I was destined for greatness, but the only greatness I wanted was to be a great musician. Guess I got that, in a way.
Things were pretty great until I turned seven. Found my dad in the forest covered in wounds that seemed to leak with black smoke. Once I was done vomiting, I noticed this brass orb etched with runes on the ground. I picked it up and ran home. When I told mum, she cried for days.
Folks in town didn't say much to us, but I knew they blamed us for the death. It was a few months after that that we moved away to the outskirts of some city...Wolfshire, I think it was. People there were nice enough, for city folk.
Woah, hey, I don't mean any offense by that, I'm just more of a village guy.
Where was I? Oh, right. There was this one guy who really welcomed my mum into the community. Got her set up with a job and helped get me into the local school, but he started getting weird. He was staring at our home at wierd hours, asking me questions about my mum that I honestly didn't want to talk about...and then he burst through our door, demanding payment for everything he'd done. As he grabbed her wrists and began to push her, I screamed and a plume of flame just...appeared. I'm no sorcerer, but whatever I did turned him to ash.
That's when the city guard burst in. Seeing a pile of ash where a man was moments ago, they dragged us to court. I'll say this for Wolfshire: they process crimes quickly. When they asked who killed the guy, she took the blame. Even though she explained why he died, she never told them that I was responsible. For the second time in my life, I felt gut-wrenching grief as my mum was carted away to some island prison somewhere and I got stuffed into an overcrowded orphanage. It was...bloody hells, what was it called? Oh, right. Golden Hope Orphanage. There's good kids there, if you're looking to settle down and adopt. Most everyone there tried to make me happy, but I just couldn't find happiness. The only thing that got me to 'meh' was looking up at the stars. Ever looked up at the stars on a clear night? It's beautiful.
Things kept going like that for a year or so, until my new parents found me. Logo and Drusilla Copperkettle, a pair visiting from Cutter's Hollow came in, took one look at me and adopted me on the spot. Drusilla was one of the first people to call my eyes beautiful since I'd lost my parents.
They tried to make me smile, but nothing worked until Logo started playing his lute. He was a minstrel back in the day. When I heard his music, I felt a vibration of joy. Just a little one, but it was there. As they renovated their house to suit me better, I not only learned how to play, but how to smile. It wasn't long after that that I met the other Johaan, Johanna and Marko. What'd I tell ya? So close to being 'Johaan and the Johaans.'
After that, things were pretty great. Cutter's Hollow has clear skies most nights, so stargazing is easy and since Drusilla worked in the good tavern, my band had regular gigs. That all changed when this wizard blew into town. He started causing trouble, so I told him to stop. I tried to call upon whatever fire I'd summoned before, but all I got was teleported three days away. Luckily, I'd been watching the stars enough to find my way back. I was so hungry and mad that when I got back, I punched that jerk right in the face!
Turns out that in the time I'd been gone, the wizard had cast some major enchantments on the town and had everyone in his thrall. Yup. I got carted off and thrown into a prison far off. It was there that I stopped looking up at the stars. I kind of just went through the motions of being alive. Thanks to that damn wizard, nobody ever came to visit me from Cutter's Hollow, but there was a guy called Magnus who was visiting an old adventuring buddy who never learned to shut up. When he heard my story and the name of the wizard, he worked tirelessly to get me released. A party was gathered, asses were kicked and the biggest dang party you ever did see was thrown.
That night, I looked up at the stars like I used to. This time, though, I talked. I asked that endless expanse why all these terrible things kept happening. Didn't expect a response. This creature, a Kirin kind of swirled into existence and stood by me. 'Poor child,' she said, 'I should have been with you. No more shall this be. On this day, you receive your inheritance.'
So yep, that's how an orphan boy from the sticks became a celestial warlock. It's not your conventional story to be sure, but the world's an odd place, wouldn't you agree?
Davros's mother and father had a history of practicing the dark arts. He was conceived as part of a ritual and has been haunted by a shadowy apparition every since he was born. This apparition is visible only to him when he sees his reflection. When he was little he talked to it like his imaginary friend. Most people just thought he was talking to his reflection.
Davros never knew his parents, because they died a year after his birth in a fire in his nursery. Priests of Kelemvor took him in and raised him in their stead.
Davros has a strong suspicion that this apparition is connected in some way to the Shadowfell. However, he has no idea what it wants, and it is always there haunting him. Davros has spent his life searching for answers about this mysterious entity and training with his priesthood to fight dark beings connected to the Shadowfell while in pursuit of those answers. However, the priests have not been able to exorcise it. What could it be? A ghost? An omen?
When he was Just a hatching he was separated from his family. A church took him in and raised him, despite the concern from some of the community.
When he was old enough he took up the title of cleric of life, wanting to help those in need.
Still quite young and excitable. Loves shiny.things but would cast them away in a heart beat if his deity wild it, which he calls his deity Mr. Life, being a little to naive too adventure alone.
Piaogabriel - Yes this character is most definitely going to have a hard time trusting her adventuring buddies.
My wife created these flaws for her:
- I struggle to trust people because the only person I ever trusted betrayed me.
- I am easily enraged whenever I witness someone harming a defenseless person/creature
- I have an addiction (alcoholic)
Excellent backstory. She is going to be very driven - with a fairly single purpose. Should bring up some inter-party conflict, I'm sure, as piaogabriel said.
Here is the backstory for my conflicted Dragon born Paladin.
VarKesh had the silver spoon in his mouth at birth. He never lacked anything. He was trained as a paladin as soon as he took his first step. His mother passed at an early age and when it came to his training, his father walked the line between cruel and passionate and he did it well. "There was not much time for tenderness in a world full of evil" he always said. VarKesh knew his father cared for him and that was enough for him. The monotony of training quickly took his innocence and began to harden his senses and grind his conscience. He would do what had to be done to survive, protect his clan, and to preserve what he fought for. It wasn't until his father passed that he realized how much of his identity was tied up in him. All the money in the world was available to him and yet he had nothing. Many Paladins sought deities after their paladin training was complete and the most popular was Lathander. Being slightly too young to officially join the "Order of the Morning Lord" VarKesh talked the priests into allowing him to "shadow" the order and learn what he could. When his order was ambushed by a dragon cult, he watched in envy as his men cut them down. Something inside him burned to join in, but he knew if he did, the order would never initiate him. The fight turned, however, when fire licked across the ground killing 4 of his men instantly as a red dragon joined the fight. Forgetting the repercussions of his actions, VarKesh threw himself into the fight as the dragon landed with the intent of biting another of his men in half. With the dragon's head stretched out to bite, VarKesh took the giant blade of one of his fallen brothers and cleaved the head off. The fight turned quickly after that and the men cleaned up the rest of the cult. Instead of ostracizing him, the order initiated him. With the help of the order, he took the barbed head crest of the slain red dragon and fashioned it into a greataxe fit for a warrior king. In it was imbued with the fury and rage of the dragon. It fueled VarKesh's will and ironed out his fear and hesitation. "Temper" is what he called it. He quickly grew through the ranks of Lathander's order with Temper pulling him threw swaths of foes in reckless abandonment of his own safety; something that began to be apparent in his troops under him. It seemed every battle he would be farther and farther ahead of his men cutting a wedge in front of him where no-one could follow. His men began to hesitate during the fight, wondering if his rage would abandon them completely. In the end, only one man remained loyal and stood by his side through whatever he put them in. His name was VarKesh. The man who's name he would later take. Together they became unstoppable, testing fate as they would fling themselves into more and more dangerous fights with the light of Lathander and the fury of Temper securing their lives every time. He didn't realize the glaring truth that the order of Lathander had had enough. He didn't heed the warnings of the Leaders and even the dreams Lathander Himself gave him in his restless dreams. It was this way until one day where everything finally broke. Here is the story...
"The light breaks" He stammered to himself pulling the charred armor over his scales and cinching the leather bands tight, "Light cannot hide itself. It shines so bright in the darkness that even a near blind man can follow it to the source. VarKesh was a fool to flaunt it. Once the hordes of Tiamat saw that source, there was no end to the onslaught. We fought for days with no sleep piling up corpses in heaps like cord wood ready for a fire. We were promised the light would always shine for us; that Lathander would always bask us in His resplendent glory giving us almost insurmountable power. We were wrong. Once His boon left, our wounds closed much slower and the blood stayed on the ground after it left our bodies. The swords and arrows came much faster and the sting was much more agonizing. I saw then what the light truly was. A trap. Bait, like a mouse for a cat. I found myself stranded from my Deity in the valley of darkness with the hordes licking their lips. VarKesh fell in 3 pieces before he could even make sense of what befell him. There wasn't time to stop and ask why Lathander had left His chosen to fend for himself in his most dire of need. I didn't have the luxury to curse at the heavens for this act of betrayal. I had to make a choice. As the light faded, I saw darkness consume the once gleaming, swirling clouds till only wind could be heard above. I saw as the blanket of shadow closed in on me, flanking me as I stood surrounded by hundreds on all sides; pinpointed like a single bulls eye on a 10 acre game of darts. I had only time enough to make one decision. If the darkness truly was all I had left, I would put it to the test. Clenching my fists, kneeling and biting down hard I hissed though my intersecting teeth a challenge to Tiamat. A boast for the patron Dragon mother. Even with her imprisoned this thousand years, Her sickness can still affect the mortal realm in some manner and I knew ancients were far to self-indulged to let a boast go unnoticed. "Tiamat! You usurper to the origin throne of dragons! How many of your children must I pile up today? Enough to finally meet you eye to eye you bloated snake?" I waited for two eternities as the darkness finally halted and the blades of the dragon cultists seemed to stop inches from my face. Slowly the shadows went from blacks and grays to shades of deep midnight blue, almost seeming to groan in contempt of the unnatural alteration. A thousand hisses slowly grew in sound over the painful silence. "A "bloated God" would need not to prove itself to another morsel." A visage of seven impossibly large blue heads snaked out from the mist to get a better look at me. If I were graced with even 2 more feet, I would not stand as tall as a single tooth. Tiamat had come. "You are too small to even eat creatively, mortal" She taunted. I made luck my master as I took my blood soaked helmet off and tossed it aside and thrusted my sword into the mound of enemies where I now stood. "Make an example of me to your dogs, then! I don't play games!" The quip seemed to hit all seven heads differently and each seemed to laugh its own unique way, the blue mist escaping from their mouths with sparks skittering through it like spiders in a web. The combination hurt my ears. “I will honor the pact I made with Lathander this day mortal. What’s left of my army will remain intact and in turn, you will live to make another hill of whatever you see fit." Six heads turned and pushed back into the blue curtain leaving just the one left. “Know this mortal, I will dream of the day when my prison fails and our paths meet in person." With that, a pulse hit me in the chest and I fell down the heap of corpses until I hit the ground hard. When I lifted my gaze again, she was gone. I sat there silently as the army threaded around me as if I was a leper not fit to acknowledge. I hated that more. I was a fool to trust Lathander. I was nothing more than a convenience, and when He tired of me, I and those I love paid the price. VarKesh in particular. I pushed off my holy shoulder pauldrons Lathander Himself christened me with and stood; the light flickering out of my eyes......... I will continue to search for the light, but I will find little comfort in what I have to do now once I find it. An unfamiliar chill crawls up my legs, wraps around my waist and bleeds through my chest into my heart. “I will keep it contained for now. Truly there is no power in the light. The darkness will always overtake it. As the gleam of Lathander leaves my eyes and goes black, there is a single spark of blue.
Years passed since Lathander's glory left him and he was spared destruction. Lo longer does he trust the "Order." No longer does he rely on the light to save him. It is his own strength now. Him and him alone. When he heard tales of chromatic dragons gathering, he went off in search of the blue's. A journey where he met the young sorcerer Saet. Against his better judgement, he agreed to accompany him to the Sword Coast. As time went on, Saet went from an inconvenience to just another body to throw in front of the arrows and swords. There were times, Saet would make him laugh, but he would never know it. He felt no need to build any relationship with anyone. Everyone will either betray you, or die. However, having someone's voice to brush some of the voices in his head away started to appeal to him. He would endure this "friendship" long enough to get to the blue dragons. He hated them the worst. The way he sees it, if he could rid the world of the blue dragons, that would be a good start. A start to the eventual end game: Finding Tiamat in her prison and finishing the fight once and for all...
Here is the backstory for a Santa Claus/Saint Nick inspired character! A Kalashtar Druid (Circle of Dreams)
"I remember my first night of winter. The gentle drift of snowflakes on the porch of my parents small farmhouse. The refreshing breeze upon my rosy cheeks. It would be some time before I learned to walk and speak, but despite my infancy, I can still see it all so clearly in my mind.
I think it must have been at that moment, when I was visited by the Old Saint. The following spring and summer offered such bounty to my parents and their land that they reveled in the riches that would sustain them until they passed away of old age. It was a miracle to be sure. But I always felt a sense of accomplishment, an emotion that had no basis, but that whenever my parents would exclaim with joy at their bountiful harvest, year after year, I felt a warmth within me and a sense of pride.
It wouldn't be until I left home that I noticed my difference from others my age. I could feel the flow of the wild, the winds from above and the roar of tides, before they even came to be. Animals rustling in the brush sounded like the chatter of a tavern and most of all, the hearts of those around me swelled in strong waves of emotions that I would feel for days. When my friends were sad, I too was sad. And I felt compelled, as if by some force to relieve them of their despair.
With each passing year, I became more and more aware of the spirit within me. Us Kalashtar are known for being close with the spirits of dreams, but this spirit was wise and guiding. It was a beacon, one that would lead me to those in need, no matter how small their plea.
It was my 30th winter when I was visited by the others. "Old Saint Nichol" they called to me. 4 individuals, all bound in heavy red coats. A Dwarf, a Human an Elf and a Gnome. They called themselves the Saints Clause. And their ideals, their duty to those less fortunate. They told me I was to be the builder, the foundation of the Clause.
My wife and I were devastated when we discovered we could not conceive. I stopped working on buildings and masonry and started an Orphanage. Building toys with my tools for the children we took in. The old saint within me swelled with joy as we pulled children off the streets and into our home, as it watched them grow and lead fortunate lives. Yet, soon, my wife would grow old and weary, and I would not. Despite the wrinkles on my face, and the color of my hair, my body retained a vigor of youth. The Old Saint would not let me go. And despite my joy and pride of bringing these children into a more bright world, the loss of my beloved would weigh on me for the rest of my life. I felt an emptiness that the Clause could not fill.
The Orphanage would last 65 years. Fewer and fewer children were orphaned these days, partly due to my wife and I raising them to be good natured and kind to others. But one mid-winters day, an old familiar face returned. I could tell who she was the moment she walked in. One of the orphans my wife and I had raised! She was much older now, and quickly her children and grandchildren came rushing into my home, all calling me Grandpapi Nichol. I cried. I wept. I laughed.
I was given a gift, and with it, I intend to gift others with joy and blessings. It's what my wife would have wanted. I've closed up shop and now travel the lands, helping the less fortunate and bringing joy and happiness. Each passing winter, filling me with a strength and wisdom to fulfill my Clause."
Here is the backstory for Allora Dakari, my Drow (Szarkai) Cleric (Life Domain)/Warlock (the Celestial)
Nedylene Armgo is the 7th born daughter to Matron mother Mez'Barris Armgo of the Menzoberranzan house, Barrison Del'Armgo. Nedylene is a Szarkai, an albino drow. As an albino, she has alabaster-white skin, small fangs, and a lack of hair, but otherwise appears as an ordinary drow in all other respects. Ironically, this means she resembles many of the surface elves, could pass as one, and not be suspected as drow. Because of this, Nedylene has been trained basically from birth until adulthood to be a spy.
Upon reaching her first century in age, Nedylene was sent to the surface where she was given the cover name of Allora Dakari and planted as a sleeper agent within the ranks of the church of Corellon Larethian in the city of Waterdeep. Nedylene was tasked as an information gather, collecting all kinds of information regarding Waterdeep, the church of Corellon Larethian, and anything else she thought relevant. This went on for months, into years, into decades.
It was during this time when she met the first real love of her life, a high elf, Sylas Kenlylund. Sylas was one of the highest ranking priest within the church. He was also head of the Waterdeep's branch of the Fellowship of the Forgotten Flower, an order dedicated to the recovery of lost elven relics from long-abandoned realms. Nedylene was told to get closer to him no matter what it took. So she joined the order and over the years she started to have feelings for him. She fought those feelings because she was drow and he was a surface elf and it went against everything she knew. She fought and fought but as the years went on and the two of them grew closer, they became inseparable.
As their relationship grew her passion for the drow and the life she knew began to wane. She was actually beginning to listen to the gospel of the church and became confused and frustrated with the feelings she had developed. It had been decades since she had even seen another drow. And so when one showed up with orders for her to kill Sylas she was at a loss of what to do. She knew she had to kill him in order to remain in Lolth's favor but she also knew that she loved Sylas. She went back and forth with the decision that she must make and after days of struggling she knew who her allegiances belonged to. When the drow messenger returned demanding to know why Sylas was still alive, Nedylene stabbed him in the chest and whispered in his ear, "because I love him".
She decide to tell Sylas everything knowing that she may lose him but knew he needed to know. Sylas told her he didn't care and that she wasn't the same person she was when she first came to the surface. He loved her and knew she loved him. He could tell that Lolth was no longer a part of her life and that she had fully given herself to Corellon Larethian, even if she didn't know it yet. While she was explaining everything to Sylas, she failed to notice the other drow who had snuck in. He attacked Sylas and Nedylene. The drow killed Sylas almost instantly but not before Nedylene was able to get a killing blow on the drow. Kneeling over Sylas's body, she prayed to Lolth for help but no answer came. Crying over the love of her life an idea came to her. She cried out to Corellon Larethian and to her surprise he answered. She cried to him swearing any pact she could to save Sylas's life. As the golden energy left her hands and into Sylas's body, his eyes opening to find hers, it was at this moment she knew she was no longer a servant of Lolth. She was a child of Corellon Larethian.
May I introduce to you Lady Belisara of Ohn-Sedt, a most refined tiefling heiress, Arcane Trickster Rogue and Warlock of the Archfey, living embodiment of the ancient proverb "Be gay, do crimes"
Charmed, I'm sure. Oh, don't mind the scowling face in the mirror, isn't she lovely? My wife is, hm. Well, I've temporarily forbidden her from shifting planes because I did really want to speak with you, this interview is an excellent opportunity for me, but she is... overprotective, you see, and I really didn't want to see you turned to stone or some other silly thing because you asked a question that made me cry, and - oh, stop it, darling!
...
I do apologize, I'm sure your hair will grow back soon. Anyway, where do I begin?
The beginning you say? Well, let's see. Do you want my beginning, or the very beginning? Mine, yes. All right.
I was born in the manor on my family's estate just outside the village of Ohn-Sedt. Thankfully for my poor mother, my horns appeared as I grew - at my birth, they had thought perhaps I had been absolved of her family sin, you see, but obviously that is not the case. My hair is all my father's fault - I've never met a single being who had more trouble containing theirs than he and I have had. I just let mine grow free, now - fangs and horns and curly black hair do lend me an exciting witchy flair that I simply love to play up. My horns are just like my mother's though; rite of the Ram, you know.
Right, right. Mine was an astonishingly happy childhood. My dearest friend Akariel and I had such exciting adventures together, though in hindsight perhaps we ought not have toyed with the river spirits as much as we did; they could have drowned us both and then I wouldn't be here speaking with you! Unbeknownst to me my poor father was under such pressure for my whole life however; he'd married a tiefling and even his righteous, god-fearing family tradition couldn't wash out the stain of Mother's heritage.
So of course they sent me to the temple school. I was meant to be a cleric, you see. A priestess of light and other such things. I was doing so well. But then I returned home for a holiday. There was a disaster - they still don't know what it really was - and it utterly destroyed our village. Flattened it. I called for help from - well, it doesn't matter so much which god, does it? No help came. Akariel was going to die, and...
Well. There she was. I had seen her, as a child, near the river. She came to me then. She took my hand as the life was fading from my dearest friend and asked if I would like her to save him. What was I supposed to say? I accepted.
And then she vanished. Akariel was alive. I was alive. And we started over.
I was Lady of Ohn-Sedt now, but there was nothing left. So we made do. Akariel taught me a few tricks, I learned a few more from, hm, borrowed spell tomes. I've always had quick hands, you see. We fit in so well with the upper crust, they pitied us so for our misfortune, and so it was quite easy to make more than a comfortable living. I think I'll leave it at that, for now.
...Yes, my love, I'm getting there. I know you're sorry for leaving me alone, it's all in the past now.
Among my borrowed possessions there came to be a looking glass. And through this looking glass I saw her. The longer I looked, the more real she became, and the less real I became, or the more real we both became? No, don't look at the mirror, she might take that as an invitation!
No, I jest. She's really quite fascinated by the mortal rite of marriage and takes her vows so seriously I can scarcely breathe when I think of it. The love of a fey lady is so precious, so dear, but it's all-consuming. There's no room for anything else.
...I'm feeling quite tired, do mind if we continue this conversation another time?
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Can we please stop debating philosophy with the dapper crab?"
This is my barbarian war-forged. I have an actual mini for him, but i like how he is turning out. This takes place in Eberron fyi
Spark was made for war. That's all he knew. As soon as he was off of the assembly line, he was sent to patrol. With his halberd, short sword and shield, he had everything he needed. He loved his life, fighting along side brethren made of metal, he was home for all he was concerned... until he started to hear their screams. In their marching, his commanding officer had found a group of young rebels hiding in a small hut. He watched as they were quickly cut down... and something broke. He couldn't stop hearing their screams. Not just the children, but from everyone. After just a few days, he started losing time. It got worse and worse and he became more and more aggressive until, during one of his episodes, he lashed out and cut down three of his companions. He killed another two before he was subdued and sent back to be "fixed". He met a kind tinkerer and engineer who outfitted a collar for him. It suppressed the emotions and screams and turned him back into his old self... only feeling base needs. Happiness and sadness were still there, but ignorable. He experienced no more lost time in the next three years, and spent those years aboard a transport vessel piloting one of the many airships that dominated the sky. He was... not happy... but content. Until one day, as they were flying over the vast ocean, there was a blast of purple energy that rocketed out of the ocean and through the ship. Something came over Spark. Something powerful, and he struck down the captain of the ship before taking control of it. He barely remembers screaming as the massive ship plummeted into the ocean... where he fell unconscious, to awake just as a second unfortunate group of shipwrecked people found their way to his ship... who were these people and if they were here for the ship... they'd better be willing to die for it.
Here is a one I want to play. This is a half elf monk, whose name is Izander.
I sat beside a small gravestone that consisted of a small tree with the engraving of T.F. carved into its bark and a small bouquet of flowers that were freshly picked. I sighed softly as I thought about my history and what brought me to be here.
*one year ago*
I could feel my knuckles ache... feel the blood and sweat dripping onto the floor, the sound mixing with the screams and cheers of the crowd around me, yelling out bets on if i would get up... I could just... stay down... rest, let the orcs club do the rest of the work... but I have to get food for Tiela... without me to fight she wouldn't get the food she would need... and then she would have to fight. I won't have her do that... never...
*flashback fifteen years*
One half breed was bad enough for an established high elf like my father... but two... that was too many. Despite how much my mother pleaded, begged and cried, there was nothing that could sway my father of throwing us to the streets to hide his shame. After two weeks, we were starving... We were "taken in" by a friendly man. At first he was nice. He clothed us, gave us shelter and food... which was quickly eaten. And just as quickly, we found ourselves quickly falling asleep... We woke up in a cage. Blind and bound with rope. After a couple minutes of screaming, my vision was restored to see my sister beside me, still unconscious, and the same man leering down at me before he started telling me how things were going to be... I'd work... do whatever I was told, and so would my sister. She would stay down here, in a bed, and be taken care of as long as I was obedient. After years of physical labor, I was put in my first fight... against another child my size, but crazed and eager to gut me with the knife he had clutched in his hands. I don't remember a lot from that fight... just those eyes. I must have won... because in a week, I had another fight... then another... then another.
*one year ago*
I collapsed in my small, rickety bed and curled up in pain, shuddering. I had just finished tending to my own wounds and started to fall asleep when I heard the banging and shouting. I was too tired to move as I heard men break in, followed by shouting and the clanging of metal on metal. I was too tired to resist as a man in a set of dark brown military garb picked me up and carried me outside to a patty wagon full of different people. I wasn't too tired to scream when I heard the same man talk to another in a hushed voice, describing one of many bodies they discovered thrown outside the city limits... A young half elf child who fit the description of my sister, who was found dead, beaten in much the same fashion as me, in an alley close to here.
"The upbringing that can be found in my scars, and the ancestry I bear in my blood, bring great significance to my current placement in this gigantic world.
My father, who went by the name of Krual, the rival but also close brother of the Black Skulls' chieftain. The Black Skulls resided in the eastern mountains, where the voices of animal growls and great war chants would become one with the chilly wind. Our tribe was high in the snowy mountains, as we are the strongest and most-advanced tribe in Havar. My father was the largest in the tribe, save for the ruler of our stronghold, as Krual stood at seven foot four. My father was an orog, as I recently discovered through skimming about family records that he was an exile from a tribe in the dark labyrinths of natural cobblestone that was the Spider's Break.
I know very little about my mother, Geirlaug, as her stories were insufficient in quantity and content. I do recall that she was a Viking, and she stumbled across the tribe when traveling through the mountains. She managed to gain the trust of the chieftain, as well as his band of a thousand orcs, by protecting the tribe from elven fire when those folk had the audacity to attack. I have nothing against elves, but their decisions can be cowardly, and I can feel the rage of Gruumsh boil my blood and pound on my brain whenever I come across one who gives me a momentary look of disgust.
Krual and Geirlaug eloped without the tribe's knowing during one of the harshest winters the tribe had faced. Geirlaug left the tribe so that no one save for her and Krual would know. They felt the others of my tribe would find me to be unwelcome. When I was born, the chieftain, who went by the name of Gor'lack, came to find my father, and he witnessed my creation. He informed the two that he would help raise me, and that if I proved myself to be worthy at the right age, I would move into the tribe.
I spent my first twelve years raised across from the tribe in a different section of the mountains known as Crestridge. My father, whose heart was turned to stone by gruesome combat and a harsh upbringing, slowly managed to feel love towards me.
However... This would not last.
One day, about the time I was halfway through my fourth year alive in Havar, the tribe decided to invade a fort beside the human castle. The invasion went awry. Krual attempted to save the chieftain, who was trapped in a section of the fort that was engulfed by the mighty strike of fire. Krual managed to get the chieftain out, but not himself. The ruins of the building collapsed on top of him, and this...
This was the largest scar I had to bear, but not on my body, but on my mind.
About the time I turned twelve, almost a full adult, the chieftain visited the camp we set up in Crestridge, and he was ecstatic to find I had become his equal or even his superior in terms of strength and build. After three hours and half of a fourth, the sun retreated behind the world, and I was brought to the tribe. The chieftain introduced me to the others, and the orcs, surprisingly, were amazed by me. However, maybe I was not the first half-orc to be proven worthy... But the second.
I witnessed a female orc amid the others, the same age as me. Her name was Gora, and she must have dissected me, as my heart went to herself. A mane of midnight black hair like my own, and a gorgeous face even human or elven lords would admire and seek, were hers. She, alongside myself, proved to be some of the more-powerful members of the tribe, and within the next two years we spent in the tribe, we were alongside one another for the entirety of it.
A calling must have come to the two of us, as we desired to leave the tribe to find a place in the world of humans. Upon our initial departure from the tribe, we separated. I was met with reactions of horror and violence from other humans due to my size, as I stood at exactly seven feet tall at the time, and orc heritage. I wondered why this had to happen, and I realized something.
Gruumsh maybe was initially good in heart, but the other gods mocked and made a fool of him, as he seeked peace for his race, and he could not have it. He taught his orcs to fight the other races and destroy them because, despite what they would do, whether they were good people or not, they would be discriminated. Now, the orc race was falling behind in evolution. The other races were developing faster and in a more-sophisticated manner. They could experience peace with one another... So why not have the orcs do the same?
I realized why I left the tribe just then. I wanted to build my strength and show that the orcs deserved love and respect."
Salmacis Verdun is a character that is making her debut in 5th ed, normally in 1st ed (AD&D not basic).
She isn't much different other then she is level 5/5 (Fighter/Thief) in that one and a few years older and a few pounds lighter (and has another child)- oh and is the strongest Halfling in the World. This background will touch on that one since the other one hasn't started yet.
Anyways, Salmacis was born in an unimportant Tallfellow village (5th ed doesn't have Tallfellows, for those who don't know, they were slightly taller and a bit more elf like) and got married to a Halfling- a lightfoot, named Georgio Verdun, who was 15 years her senior. They left the village of Sackville because all the houses were too high for Georgio's tastes and he wanted to live by the sea, which they did, in a tiny village called Fishtown. There they settled into family life, having 4 chidren (Oakley, Viktor, Rosalia and Theodore) and the two building a little home in a small tree on the beach. She learned to cook better and in a few years her troubled sister, Ceres came to live with them.
After another child, Annabelle, Salmacis would go on her biggest adventure yet, nearly dying several times and coming face to face with strange things such as mindflayers, corrupted evil dwarves, strange magics, the undead and scores of trolls! She, in a lapse of judgement, soon after drinking a potion of fire giant strength, drank a healing potion and now, is the strongest halfling in the world, proclaiming herself "Princess of the Universe" among other things. Prior to this she often told tall tales (a good thief never lets one know where they come from) though this change made her all but abandon her thief ways, exchanging her light armour and trident for full plate and a massive sword. Any box or lock that needed opening she would simply smash it!
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
To post a comment, please login or register a new account.
My character is havor.
Havor was born a half elf in a wood elf village. He was constantly abused by his mother and those around him. He wished they were all dead. Then one day it happened, a fire erupted in his house with his mother inside, they all blamed Havor and threw him in a prison in the under dark. There he met his first teacher Drakiss. He was a thief and assassin and tought him the ways of being a rogue. He had a plan to escape, but it was only for one man. He saved Havors life that day, and Havor will repay him. After he escaped he found a peaceful farm village where he spent three years there. He turned sixteen when war broke out and his adoptive parents were killed, along with his step brother. Only two brothers remained, and he promised them that if they ever needed him, he would be there. After time he grew to be twenty six when he might a women named Zowe. Eventually they got engaged, they were both assassins and owned a drug cartel. But after a long battle with a superoir race known as the Eldrazi, She Died. Now havor lives a life zipping across the multiverse, doing an unknown mans deads. As time passes he does not age. Now he is in a plane were he foind a new party that he is starting to grow quite fond of. I wonder what will Happen.
So I recently made an incredibly absurd character that I fell in love with, and feel the compulsive need to share.
The Life of Ann Mayring:
So Ann started her life off as the daughter of a very poor carpenter and seamstress in the seaside village of Bluepearl, where she spent her childhood wandering about the rocky beaches and eroded cliffs. In order to help support her family, she would sell sea shells by the sea shore. Sea shells and any other neat trinkets she could find within the rocks. One day she made a grand discovery, an entire plesiosaur fossil. This greatly excited the young Ann, she had made a major discovery at age 12, sparking her interest in life and biology. While to poor to get a formal education outside of reading and writing, she would dissect oceanic animals that washed up on the shores and read up on latest scientific and magical theory by borrowing books from couriers on their way from the larger port towns to the great library of the capital. She eventually knew enough to publish an essay about her plesiosaur and went to submit it to the Great University in hopes of a scholarship for a better education. However, her hopes and dreams were ruined when a professor she had requested the help of stole her work and thoroughly discredited her. This ruined her reputation to the poin of people in her home town actively harassing her. Nobody would believe her, saying that there’s no way that a eighteen year old girl could possibly Ben trusted over a noteworthy professor. This drove Ann to become a recluse, never leaving the safety of her home and devoting herself to her private studies. However, when the plesiosaur fossil was to be publicly revealed three years later, she broke into the museum and performed an occult ritual. Unbeknownst to all, she had dedicated her self exile to the study of necromancy, and raised the skeletal remains of the plesiosaur back from the dead, and slaughtering the professor who ruined her life. After this she’s ran off and into the sea with her new undead companion, raising an army of undead primal creatures, becoming a pirate queen.
TL;DR Little girl becomes Victorian Dinosaur Necromancer Pirate Queen by age 21 because college is expensive and people are jerks.
this is actually partially based off of the real life paleontologist Mary Anning, who basically gave life to the entire branch of science known as paleontology herself.
Thonwil, a Dwarven Life Cleric.
Thonwil was raised in the East Rift, a shelf on the side of Underchasm, between the surface and the Underdark. His unique affinity for the divine powers emanating from the Dwarven deity Berronar Truesilver caused him to be taken from his parents at the age of 7 and raised in the Araufaern Caurak, the Abbey of Earth-hearth, a great subterranean fortress atop a low plateau that dominates the eastern reaches of the Firecaverns of the Deep Realm. There he delved into both his studies and his devotion. He fully embraced the Order's vows of Service, Honesty and Sacrifice as his path. Service - Thou shalt place the needs of others above thine own needs as befits a Holy Cleric. Honesty - Thou shalt speak no word that is untrue nor fail to speak any needsome truth. Sacrifice - Thou shalt not take, except that which is freely given, and shall give to all, even to the giving of thine own blood. These vows do not come naturally to Thonwil. He is devoted to striving to BECOME that which he has vowed to be. He is now heading out into the reaches to take the final steps of his spiritual journey towards becoming a high priest of his deity. Can he live out his calling in the wilds and among the faithless and broken? As he travels, he sees himself as an overseer and protector of all dwarves and a beacon of righteousness and truth to the world at large. He has found a group of adventurers that he feels comfortable with. Their variety and personalities are a perfect test for his vows and his newly growing abilities. He is determined to live out his oaths of Service, Honesty and Sacrifice among these rough and broken people. He might even be beginning to like them. . .
Lorimira Gimlen
Rock Gnome, Wizard School of Invention
My father was a great man, he made marvelous toys for me as a child. Inventions that would have left others entirely baffled as to how they functioned as they did. Some were entirely mechanical, but others had a spark of magic burning within them that made for something truly extraordinary. Dolls that would dance and sing, never once repeating the same song. I don't know know where their songs came from but the variations seemed endless.
But this caused others to desire his skills for other reasons. He was approached by groups looking to tap into his genius for their projects. But when their intentions began to turn unexpectedly twisted he refused to help them. They did not take kindly to his decision. We left home that night and never looked back. He began to teach me some of what he knew, but he did not know how little time he would have to hone my skills.
Before I knew it he disappeared. One night he was there, the next I was left with his notebook that he had never allowed to leave his side. But no father, not even a message. I couldn't even understand what was written in the book. It was written in celestial letters but I just couldn't seem to get the letters to stop moving. Every time I looked away they seemed to rearrange themselves on the page. After months of traveling and working as a repairer and a tinker and other odd jobs I finally found something I could understand.
It came to me almost like a revelation new ways to manipulate magic. Like I had known these things the whole time but I just couldn't wrap my mind around them. Like just one piece was missing from the puzzle and now it was filled in and I could see the picture. This small glimpse of the deeper facets of magic faded quickly but some parts of it stuck with me. I made it my life's goal to discover what my father had known and to find out if he had written this. Maybe once I knew all this I would be able to discover what had become of my father, and who or what had taken him.
For now I will pursue my destiny, there is no chance that this was unintentional. I am meant for something wonderful and I will take it in my grasp. Regardless of what it takes.
"Where words fail, swords prevail. Where blood is spilled, my cup is filled" -Cartaphilus
"I have found the answer to the meaning of life. You ask me what the answer is? You already know what the answer to life is. You fear it more than the strike of a viper, the ravages of disease, the ire of a lover. The answer is always death. But death is a gentle mistress with a sweet embrace, and you owe her a debt of restitution. Life is not a gift, it is a loan."
So I came accross DnD a few days ago and after a lot of searching and youtubing I made a character. his name is orcillion (or kill eon) my world of warcraft orc name haha. hes an Orog Orc hea 8'3 600lb and 42 years of age. this is my first time ever doing a backstory so constructive criticism would be great.
A bellowing gutteral roar exploaded inside the arena," RAHHHRR" then "SNAP". The once flailing body was now limp and dangly. It had been to easy, no human could stand up against such a monstrous foe. You release your grip from the now corpses neck and it fell to the dirt floor with a thud. The crowd erupts in a booming cheer and applause, you gaze up to the crowd above and with sun glaring in your eyes you shout, "Is this all that you have? is there none among you worthy enough to be a challenge?" The crowd keeps cheering unable to hear what your saying, they came for death and death was served. You walk across the dirt arena towards the giant metal gates, the stench of piss, mead and blood heavy in the air. Atleast the pay was good, 40 gold peices for a few minutes work. And it will be spent in just as few.
You have been fighting in the arena for as many years as you can remember. Even as a young orc you were a mighty foe, dismembering humans in the ring. Later as you grew you became a legend of that very same ring, being victorious over man, elf, dwarf, minotaur and any other manner of beast or being that opposed you. Each battle scar a story. But as you sit at the grimey wooden bar that smells of grog and sweat you take a swig of mead and wonder if this is it. Is this the pinnacle of your legacy. The greatest fighter ever to step foot into the arena destined to die of old age. With a chuckle to yourself you think, no i can do much greater then this. You chug the last of your mead and slam the heavy metal mug down on the bar, you flip a coin to the barman and go to head out the door. The barman responds "See you tomorrow Orc" to which you reply "We will see, we will see".
As you step out the door into the wet boggy street, the stench of humans lingering in the air and you hear a ferocious roar, everyone is running about in a panick and screaming as they look towards the sky. You tilt your gaze up and notice a dragon flying over head. This was a rare sight indeed, and as it flew by you could see the scales reflecting the light of the sun making it look otherworldly, Loosing sight of it as it entered the mountains you smile and say to yourself excitedly "Now theres a worthy challenge".
My wife created a story for a 16 year old Drunken Master Monk with a CN alignment. Her character's name is Penapae Cinderoot.
I was born in Waymoot, a small village just south of Eveningingstar. I had a loving mother, and a kind father, who would take me to get sweets every Sunday morning. I hadn’t a care in the world, and everything was perfect; until it wasn’t. On the day of my fourth birthday fire rained down from the sky, women and children screamed and cried. I looked through my window and watched as men bled and cursed as they died, slaughtered by our neighbours. I was scared, and I couldn’t find my parents, my house was awash in smoke. I heard my mother scream my name as I grabbed my dark wood doll. I ran towards her voice as my father swept me up in his arms, already holding onto my mothers’ hand. We rushed out the back door as I watched my childhood friend be slaughtered by the carpenter. My mother screamed as she was ripped from my father’s hand by two masked men. My father turned and started running to her, but it was too late. I can still hear her last words, “Run. Keep Penapae safe. My love; my light.” My father hesitated, and I screamed and cried for my mama. A man reached for me, but he missed, grabbing my doll by the foot instead as the priest grabbed him and threw him to the side. With tears in his eyes, my father turned and ran towards Kings’ Forest, a guttural and pained scream coming from his lips, as if he was the one who’s heart had been sliced open. That is when I saw the face of the man who had murdered my mother. The baker.
I held my doll as I cried myself to sleep in my fathers’ arms. I do not recall when my father found the others of my village, but I remember the fear I felt as I looked for the baker. As I scanned the faces of the ragged survivors, I suddenly discovered that I was surrounded only by the Ghostwise Halflings of my village. I asked my papa what happened to the others, and he mumbled something about a wretched war. I looked into my papas’ eyes and asked him if mama was coming back; his eyes turned dark and he told me to hush. I sat against a tree and stroked my doll’s hair, when I noticed that her foot was gone, ripped from her body just as my mother had been ripped from my life. A month had past as we walked through the Kings Forest to rebuild our homes and lives. The remaining men and women from our village began rebuilding, and eventually we settled into our new normal, and we could finally grieve for those we had lost. My father seemed awash in tears, and he began to drink day and night. A teacher had survived, so the men built a school for the few children who remained. At first, there were 15 children, but one died from injuries on the fifth day, and another had died from an illness. There was a day that I did not want to school, but my father shouted and said I must. I cried and said I was too sad; I missed my mama. His eyes turned dark again, just like that first day in the forest, and he said to not talk about my mama again. I sobbed, and I begged him to change his mind; he hit me so hard that I flew across the room and the lights went dark. When I awoke again, I saw the scowl on his face as he took another swig from his ale. After that, it seemed as though hitting me was his next favourite thing to do, after drinking his ale. I do not want to dwell on the horrors that occurred in that wretched house, as the man that looked like my father continued to inflict an unending pain to my soul and my body. This man was not my father. He had dark eyes and an eternal scowl upon his face. My father once had happy eyes, which were illuminated by his everlasting goofy grin. One spring morning, on my mother’s birthday, my father got particularly drunk. He said that ever since I turned nine I resembled my mother too much, I smiled at this thought. This seemed to send him into a blind rage as he beat me half to death. It was then that I swore I would leave. Four days later I was strong enough to stand, so I tenderly picked up my doll and a few essential supplies as my father slept off his latest drinking binge. I walked through the door without ever looking back.
I lost track of the days as I wandered through Kings Forest, I eventually ran out of food and water and I was left drinking the dew off plants, and eating the bark from the trees. I ran out of medicine and my wounds began to fester. I miraculously stumbled upon some wild aloe, which I recognized from one of my lessons. I used the leaves as a bandage for my wounds and continued on my journey. One day, I was shivering from the downpour and I desperately sought shelter, when I stumbled upon a hut and I thanked the Heavens. I cautiously entered the shambled hut and the floor creaked beneath my feet. I turned to close the door when suddenly a man appeared where I had just stood, and he stared down into my soul. I cried out and tried to slip past him, he swayed and stumbled as he gracefully pushed me aside and slammed the door shut. I was baffled by his movements; I had never seen such a graceful drunkard. I trembled as this giant of a man sat me on his bed; fearful of what he would do next. He lit a candle and recoiled as he peeled off my aloe leaves. He reached for a medical kit and began expertly tending to my wounds. As he worked on my injuries, I took in my surroundings and noticed that everything was very minimalistic. He had a bed, a table, supplies, a few kegs, and the room was littered with empty mugs. The strangest thing of all were the two red ribbons, which had been lovingly folded and placed in a display case. Before I could ask him about the ribbons, he mumbled something that I couldn’t quite hear, and he shoved a dirty rag in my mouth. He grabbed my arm with two hands and pulled with a such a force that my shoulder made a loud pop, and the pain faded into a dull throb. He gave me some of his ale and then promptly left the hut. I looked at the ale skeptically, as this is was the toxin that had stolen my father from me. I quickly downed the ale and went to sleep; after all, how bad can ale be if my father loved it more than he loved me? The graceful drunkard never spoke to me, but he continued to tend to my wounds and nurse me back to health with broth and bits of bread. He gave me ale whenever the pain was too great for me to sleep. As time went on I became stronger and more curious of my surroundings. I asked many questions, none of which were answered. One day the graceful drunkard returned from a trip and handed me two of my own ribbons; they were a forest green which closely resembled the colour of King’s Forest. I gratefully accepted his gift, as the heat was making my hair stick to the back of my neck. I reached to put one of the ribbons in my hair when the drunkard burst of laughing, as if he had never seen such a humorous sight. I scowled as I looked down at the ribbon, unsure of his expectations. When he took out his own lovingly folded ribbons and expertly wrapped them around each first. I clumsily copied his actions, when I had finished he motioned for me to follow him; grabbing some more ale before he left the hut. We walked for roughly twenty minutes before we reached a clearing in the forest. The graceful drunkard gave me some of his ale and he quickly emptied his own glass, I quickly followed suite; the ale was starting to grow on me. As the drunkard smiled and swayed, he stumbled a little towards me. I reached to brace him when suddenly he swept his feet under mine and braced his arm against my chest, which caused me to flip onto my back. I cried out, baffled. Had he really nursed me back to health, only to kill me himself? The graceful drunkard gestured to me and said, “Stop me. Like you should have stopped the person who did this to you.” I trained with the graceful drunkard for fourteen hours a day, everyday, for four years. I never learned his name, but I grew to trust him with my life. I continued to call him the graceful drunkard because the name seemed so fitting. His movements were jerky, unpredictable, and he was constantly swaying and stumbling like a drunkard, but he was also as graceful as a swan. His strikes were precise and carefully executed. One night he told me the story of how he ended up in this hut. He was a highly trained monk, the best martial artist Cormyr had ever seen. That is, until the day his entire village was slaughtered by the drow while he was meditating in the Monastery in the next town over. He found the bodies of his wife and infant daughter, but he never found the body of his seven-year-old son. How could the Gods exist if they allow so many innocents in villages to be slain? He ran to the forest after the massacre of his village, much like I had with my father. There he lived a life of seclusion, only going into town to purchase ale. On the winter of my thirteenth year the graceful drunk returned from a week-long trip; he drank more than I ever saw him drink before. The next morning, I awoke to him staring at me, had he been watching me in my sleep? He gave me a flimsy coat and told me to follow him. The look in his eyes made me feel as though we would not return to this hut, so I grabbed my doll and hand wraps before leaving the hut. This time, I looked back. This old hut might not look like anything special, but it was the first place I felt safe since the night my mother was murdered. We walked for eleven days, stopping only once when the blizzard obstructed our view. The graceful drunkard kept looking at me with a strange look, which was a combination of hope, sadness, and regret. I had never seen such a look before, but I knew better than to ask, since I knew my question would by answered by a stony stare. I wish I had asked; perhaps I could have avoided my fate, which truly was worse than death. For when we arrived at our destination, we were surrounded by drow. The man looked at me and said the words that shattered my faith in people and the Gods, “I’m sorry.” The drow grabbed at me, but I fought them off expertly, as I had been taught. The drow told the graceful drunkard that he would not get his son if I could not be tamed. The drunkard stumbled and spun in a clumsy twirl. I cried out and dropped my ribbon. I had seen that move before. It was the only move I had never learned to overcome. He gracefully swept my feet off the ground, spun me around, and flipped me over so my head smashed into a rock. When I opened my eyes, I was underground surrounded by malnourished slaves. I frantically looked for my doll, when a child no more than ten said, “You better hope you never see your doll again.” In response to my baffled face she leaned in and whispered, “When you’re bad, they beat you with it. It’s a great way to ruin all your good memories.”
The Underdark was an abyss of pain and suffering. We worked until our hands bled and we collapsed, and then we worked some more. Sometimes they forgot to feed us and give us water. When they did feed us, they would give us uncooked bats. When they were bored they would throw insignificant morsels of their bread into the pit and laugh as we scrambled and fought over the food. I never gave them the satisfaction, after all; I would surely kill anyone who stood in my way. Instead I stared at them, unwilling to lose the last shred of my dignity. The master slaver met my stare and shouted for everyone to stop; I continued to stare him down. He descended the stairs and took me in as he approached me. He looked around the room and laughed at me, then he said, “Are our scraps not good enough for you girl? Think the rest of these slaves are beneath you?” I refused to back down; I had seen worse. The master slaver stopped laughing and raised his voice, “I asked you a question girl. Speak when spoken to.” I looked up at him and said, “No. I’m not any better than them. But I’m sure as hell better than you.” His face filled with rage and he squeezed my arms, the slavers laughed, and the other slaves slunk down in fear. He beckoned to another drow and spoke to him in Undercommon. Little did he know, I had learned their language in these few short months. I overhead him say, “It’s time to show this miscreant a memento from her past. Bring it. We do this in front of them all.” I remembered what the girl had said about my doll; the mere thought of my mother’s memory being defiled in this way made me shudder. The master drow grabbed me by my hair and pulled me to the middle of the room. There he said, “Beg for mercy like the pathetic weakling you are.” I tried to fight him off, but after months of being malnourished and dehydrated I succumbed to weakness, and the clumsiness was no longer an act. The other slaver kneeled down as he presented the master drow with my doll. He spread his arms open and shouted, “Defiance does not go unpunished in the Underdark.” He struck me in the face with my doll; I cried out. I grabbed my doll as he attempted to strike me again. This infuriated him. He tugged on my doll until her hand was ripped from her body. He beat on me until I begged for his mercy, unable to endure anymore; and then he beat me some more. For in the Underdark, they never broke you until you were broken; they broke you until you were shattered. Some tiny peace of me was still unbroken, and I hung onto that part of me for dear life. Perhaps this master slaver saw this spark in me, because the beatings never stopped; at least, not until I killed him. I endured this hell for three more years. During this time, I secretly ate bugs and moss to rebuild my strength. I worked extra hard in the mines in order to rebuild my muscle, and I filed my doll’s hand until it was sharp enough to piece skin. Based on the markings I had made on the cave wall, I believe I had just turned sixteen a few days ago. That was it. I was done; I refused to spend another day in this prison. I spoke to one of the slavers in Undercommon, and I told him something that would certainly get me a private audience with the master slaver. His face went awash, he shouted, and he dragged me by my hair to the master slaver’s chambers. As soon as he closed the door behind us I lunged towards the slaver, he reached out to stop me, but I expertly swept my foot under his and used my arm to flip him onto his back. A move the traitorous graceful drunkard had taught me. I quickly grabbed his head and bashed it into the ground. The master slaver rose, grabbed my doll and rushed over to me. I pretended to quake in fear, stumble and trip. He smiled, thinking he had just won. Ask he reached down to me I grabbed his arms, lifted my legs to his pelvis, and I threw him into the door that was behind me. I grabbed my doll from him before he could recover, and I went into a blind rage as I beat him with it. I am pretty sure that I finished him off when I stuck my sharpened doll’s hand into his neck. I walked over to his table and downed a bottle of wine. I stumbled through the halls and clumsily, yet gracefully, slaughtered any drow that stood in my way. I fought my way into the light, into the fresh air; and away from the pits of despair. Now it is time for my revenge; now I will be the inflictor of pain.
Wow - Tom116 - that's an awesomely detailed, horrifyingly sad back story! Not sure she'll ever trust any of her adventuring buddies, or vice versa?
Okay, I'm going to try some of this first-person action that's going around.
Hey there, name's Johaan. Johaan Copperkettle. You like my playing? I was in a band, y'know. We would've called ourselves 'Johaan and the Johaans,' but our drummer was named Marko, so that was a bust.
My story? Dunno why you want to know that, but I might as well tell you. I'm no bard, but it's important to tell stories, y'know?
Are you comfy? Okay, here we go.
I was born into a human family, but I knew I was different. Hell, I wouldn't be wearing this veil if it wasn't for my starry eyes. See that? Completely black with little flecks of white. My mum used to say it was because I was destined for greatness, but the only greatness I wanted was to be a great musician. Guess I got that, in a way.
Things were pretty great until I turned seven. Found my dad in the forest covered in wounds that seemed to leak with black smoke. Once I was done vomiting, I noticed this brass orb etched with runes on the ground. I picked it up and ran home. When I told mum, she cried for days.
Folks in town didn't say much to us, but I knew they blamed us for the death. It was a few months after that that we moved away to the outskirts of some city...Wolfshire, I think it was. People there were nice enough, for city folk.
Woah, hey, I don't mean any offense by that, I'm just more of a village guy.
Where was I? Oh, right. There was this one guy who really welcomed my mum into the community. Got her set up with a job and helped get me into the local school, but he started getting weird. He was staring at our home at wierd hours, asking me questions about my mum that I honestly didn't want to talk about...and then he burst through our door, demanding payment for everything he'd done. As he grabbed her wrists and began to push her, I screamed and a plume of flame just...appeared. I'm no sorcerer, but whatever I did turned him to ash.
That's when the city guard burst in. Seeing a pile of ash where a man was moments ago, they dragged us to court. I'll say this for Wolfshire: they process crimes quickly. When they asked who killed the guy, she took the blame. Even though she explained why he died, she never told them that I was responsible. For the second time in my life, I felt gut-wrenching grief as my mum was carted away to some island prison somewhere and I got stuffed into an overcrowded orphanage. It was...bloody hells, what was it called? Oh, right. Golden Hope Orphanage. There's good kids there, if you're looking to settle down and adopt. Most everyone there tried to make me happy, but I just couldn't find happiness. The only thing that got me to 'meh' was looking up at the stars. Ever looked up at the stars on a clear night? It's beautiful.
Things kept going like that for a year or so, until my new parents found me. Logo and Drusilla Copperkettle, a pair visiting from Cutter's Hollow came in, took one look at me and adopted me on the spot. Drusilla was one of the first people to call my eyes beautiful since I'd lost my parents.
They tried to make me smile, but nothing worked until Logo started playing his lute. He was a minstrel back in the day. When I heard his music, I felt a vibration of joy. Just a little one, but it was there. As they renovated their house to suit me better, I not only learned how to play, but how to smile. It wasn't long after that that I met the other Johaan, Johanna and Marko. What'd I tell ya? So close to being 'Johaan and the Johaans.'
After that, things were pretty great. Cutter's Hollow has clear skies most nights, so stargazing is easy and since Drusilla worked in the good tavern, my band had regular gigs. That all changed when this wizard blew into town. He started causing trouble, so I told him to stop. I tried to call upon whatever fire I'd summoned before, but all I got was teleported three days away. Luckily, I'd been watching the stars enough to find my way back. I was so hungry and mad that when I got back, I punched that jerk right in the face!
Turns out that in the time I'd been gone, the wizard had cast some major enchantments on the town and had everyone in his thrall. Yup. I got carted off and thrown into a prison far off. It was there that I stopped looking up at the stars. I kind of just went through the motions of being alive. Thanks to that damn wizard, nobody ever came to visit me from Cutter's Hollow, but there was a guy called Magnus who was visiting an old adventuring buddy who never learned to shut up. When he heard my story and the name of the wizard, he worked tirelessly to get me released. A party was gathered, asses were kicked and the biggest dang party you ever did see was thrown.
That night, I looked up at the stars like I used to. This time, though, I talked. I asked that endless expanse why all these terrible things kept happening. Didn't expect a response. This creature, a Kirin kind of swirled into existence and stood by me. 'Poor child,' she said, 'I should have been with you. No more shall this be. On this day, you receive your inheritance.'
So yep, that's how an orphan boy from the sticks became a celestial warlock. It's not your conventional story to be sure, but the world's an odd place, wouldn't you agree?
Piaogabriel - Yes this character is most definitely going to have a hard time trusting her adventuring buddies.
My wife created these flaws for her:
- I struggle to trust people because the only person I ever trusted betrayed me.
- I am easily enraged whenever I witness someone harming a defenseless person/creature
- I have an addiction (alcoholic)
Davros
Conquest Paladin / Hexblade
Davros's mother and father had a history of practicing the dark arts. He was conceived as part of a ritual and has been haunted by a shadowy apparition every since he was born. This apparition is visible only to him when he sees his reflection. When he was little he talked to it like his imaginary friend. Most people just thought he was talking to his reflection.
Davros never knew his parents, because they died a year after his birth in a fire in his nursery. Priests of Kelemvor took him in and raised him in their stead.
Davros has a strong suspicion that this apparition is connected in some way to the Shadowfell. However, he has no idea what it wants, and it is always there haunting him. Davros has spent his life searching for answers about this mysterious entity and training with his priesthood to fight dark beings connected to the Shadowfell while in pursuit of those answers. However, the priests have not been able to exorcise it. What could it be? A ghost? An omen?
Token Image: https://i.pinimg.com/originals/01/6d/bb/016dbbaeb3965ba217c9e1efd1153693.png
Feature Requests || Homebrew FAQ || Pricing FAQ || Hardcovers FAQ || Snippet Codes || Tooltips
DDB Guides & FAQs, Class Guides, Character Builds, Game Guides, Useful Websites, and WOTC Resources
Grinds the kolbald cleric.
When he was Just a hatching he was separated from his family. A church took him in and raised him, despite the concern from some of the community.
When he was old enough he took up the title of cleric of life, wanting to help those in need.
Still quite young and excitable. Loves shiny.things but would cast them away in a heart beat if his deity wild it, which he calls his deity Mr. Life, being a little to naive too adventure alone.
Current game- Pelegos: Coastal Chaos
Game world- Pelegos, homebrew
Role- Player
Players- (Me) Druid/bard : Flower, Dancer of Curses ------- Fighter/rouge : Blackshanks, ruffian --------Sorcereress - Melenie, prodigy
Excellent backstory. She is going to be very driven - with a fairly single purpose. Should bring up some inter-party conflict, I'm sure, as piaogabriel said.
Here is the backstory for my conflicted Dragon born Paladin.
VarKesh had the silver spoon in his mouth at birth. He never lacked anything. He was trained as a paladin as soon as he took his first step. His mother passed at an early age and when it came to his training, his father walked the line between cruel and passionate and he did it well. "There was not much time for tenderness in a world full of evil" he always said. VarKesh knew his father cared for him and that was enough for him. The monotony of training quickly took his innocence and began to harden his senses and grind his conscience. He would do what had to be done to survive, protect his clan, and to preserve what he fought for. It wasn't until his father passed that he realized how much of his identity was tied up in him. All the money in the world was available to him and yet he had nothing. Many Paladins sought deities after their paladin training was complete and the most popular was Lathander. Being slightly too young to officially join the "Order of the Morning Lord" VarKesh talked the priests into allowing him to "shadow" the order and learn what he could. When his order was ambushed by a dragon cult, he watched in envy as his men cut them down. Something inside him burned to join in, but he knew if he did, the order would never initiate him. The fight turned, however, when fire licked across the ground killing 4 of his men instantly as a red dragon joined the fight. Forgetting the repercussions of his actions, VarKesh threw himself into the fight as the dragon landed with the intent of biting another of his men in half. With the dragon's head stretched out to bite, VarKesh took the giant blade of one of his fallen brothers and cleaved the head off. The fight turned quickly after that and the men cleaned up the rest of the cult. Instead of ostracizing him, the order initiated him. With the help of the order, he took the barbed head crest of the slain red dragon and fashioned it into a greataxe fit for a warrior king. In it was imbued with the fury and rage of the dragon. It fueled VarKesh's will and ironed out his fear and hesitation. "Temper" is what he called it. He quickly grew through the ranks of Lathander's order with Temper pulling him threw swaths of foes in reckless abandonment of his own safety; something that began to be apparent in his troops under him. It seemed every battle he would be farther and farther ahead of his men cutting a wedge in front of him where no-one could follow. His men began to hesitate during the fight, wondering if his rage would abandon them completely. In the end, only one man remained loyal and stood by his side through whatever he put them in. His name was VarKesh. The man who's name he would later take. Together they became unstoppable, testing fate as they would fling themselves into more and more dangerous fights with the light of Lathander and the fury of Temper securing their lives every time. He didn't realize the glaring truth that the order of Lathander had had enough. He didn't heed the warnings of the Leaders and even the dreams Lathander Himself gave him in his restless dreams. It was this way until one day where everything finally broke. Here is the story...
"The light breaks" He stammered to himself pulling the charred armor over his scales and cinching the leather bands tight, "Light cannot hide itself. It shines so bright in the darkness that even a near blind man can follow it to the source. VarKesh was a fool to flaunt it. Once the hordes of Tiamat saw that source, there was no end to the onslaught. We fought for days with no sleep piling up corpses in heaps like cord wood ready for a fire. We were promised the light would always shine for us; that Lathander would always bask us in His resplendent glory giving us almost insurmountable power. We were wrong. Once His boon left, our wounds closed much slower and the blood stayed on the ground after it left our bodies. The swords and arrows came much faster and the sting was much more agonizing. I saw then what the light truly was. A trap. Bait, like a mouse for a cat. I found myself stranded from my Deity in the valley of darkness with the hordes licking their lips. VarKesh fell in 3 pieces before he could even make sense of what befell him. There wasn't time to stop and ask why Lathander had left His chosen to fend for himself in his most dire of need. I didn't have the luxury to curse at the heavens for this act of betrayal. I had to make a choice. As the light faded, I saw darkness consume the once gleaming, swirling clouds till only wind could be heard above. I saw as the blanket of shadow closed in on me, flanking me as I stood surrounded by hundreds on all sides; pinpointed like a single bulls eye on a 10 acre game of darts. I had only time enough to make one decision. If the darkness truly was all I had left, I would put it to the test. Clenching my fists, kneeling and biting down hard I hissed though my intersecting teeth a challenge to Tiamat. A boast for the patron Dragon mother. Even with her imprisoned this thousand years, Her sickness can still affect the mortal realm in some manner and I knew ancients were far to self-indulged to let a boast go unnoticed. "Tiamat! You usurper to the origin throne of dragons! How many of your children must I pile up today? Enough to finally meet you eye to eye you bloated snake?" I waited for two eternities as the darkness finally halted and the blades of the dragon cultists seemed to stop inches from my face. Slowly the shadows went from blacks and grays to shades of deep midnight blue, almost seeming to groan in contempt of the unnatural alteration. A thousand hisses slowly grew in sound over the painful silence. "A "bloated God" would need not to prove itself to another morsel." A visage of seven impossibly large blue heads snaked out from the mist to get a better look at me. If I were graced with even 2 more feet, I would not stand as tall as a single tooth. Tiamat had come. "You are too small to even eat creatively, mortal" She taunted. I made luck my master as I took my blood soaked helmet off and tossed it aside and thrusted my sword into the mound of enemies where I now stood. "Make an example of me to your dogs, then! I don't play games!" The quip seemed to hit all seven heads differently and each seemed to laugh its own unique way, the blue mist escaping from their mouths with sparks skittering through it like spiders in a web. The combination hurt my ears. “I will honor the pact I made with Lathander this day mortal. What’s left of my army will remain intact and in turn, you will live to make another hill of whatever you see fit." Six heads turned and pushed back into the blue curtain leaving just the one left. “Know this mortal, I will dream of the day when my prison fails and our paths meet in person." With that, a pulse hit me in the chest and I fell down the heap of corpses until I hit the ground hard. When I lifted my gaze again, she was gone. I sat there silently as the army threaded around me as if I was a leper not fit to acknowledge. I hated that more. I was a fool to trust Lathander. I was nothing more than a convenience, and when He tired of me, I and those I love paid the price. VarKesh in particular. I pushed off my holy shoulder pauldrons Lathander Himself christened me with and stood; the light flickering out of my eyes......... I will continue to search for the light, but I will find little comfort in what I have to do now once I find it. An unfamiliar chill crawls up my legs, wraps around my waist and bleeds through my chest into my heart. “I will keep it contained for now. Truly there is no power in the light. The darkness will always overtake it. As the gleam of Lathander leaves my eyes and goes black, there is a single spark of blue.
Years passed since Lathander's glory left him and he was spared destruction. Lo longer does he trust the "Order." No longer does he rely on the light to save him. It is his own strength now. Him and him alone. When he heard tales of chromatic dragons gathering, he went off in search of the blue's. A journey where he met the young sorcerer Saet. Against his better judgement, he agreed to accompany him to the Sword Coast. As time went on, Saet went from an inconvenience to just another body to throw in front of the arrows and swords. There were times, Saet would make him laugh, but he would never know it. He felt no need to build any relationship with anyone. Everyone will either betray you, or die. However, having someone's voice to brush some of the voices in his head away started to appeal to him. He would endure this "friendship" long enough to get to the blue dragons. He hated them the worst. The way he sees it, if he could rid the world of the blue dragons, that would be a good start. A start to the eventual end game: Finding Tiamat in her prison and finishing the fight once and for all...
Here is the backstory for a Santa Claus/Saint Nick inspired character! A Kalashtar Druid (Circle of Dreams)
"I remember my first night of winter. The gentle drift of snowflakes on the porch of my parents small farmhouse. The refreshing breeze upon my rosy cheeks. It would be some time before I learned to walk and speak, but despite my infancy, I can still see it all so clearly in my mind.
I think it must have been at that moment, when I was visited by the Old Saint. The following spring and summer offered such bounty to my parents and their land that they reveled in the riches that would sustain them until they passed away of old age. It was a miracle to be sure. But I always felt a sense of accomplishment, an emotion that had no basis, but that whenever my parents would exclaim with joy at their bountiful harvest, year after year, I felt a warmth within me and a sense of pride.
It wouldn't be until I left home that I noticed my difference from others my age. I could feel the flow of the wild, the winds from above and the roar of tides, before they even came to be. Animals rustling in the brush sounded like the chatter of a tavern and most of all, the hearts of those around me swelled in strong waves of emotions that I would feel for days. When my friends were sad, I too was sad. And I felt compelled, as if by some force to relieve them of their despair.
With each passing year, I became more and more aware of the spirit within me. Us Kalashtar are known for being close with the spirits of dreams, but this spirit was wise and guiding. It was a beacon, one that would lead me to those in need, no matter how small their plea.
It was my 30th winter when I was visited by the others. "Old Saint Nichol" they called to me. 4 individuals, all bound in heavy red coats. A Dwarf, a Human an Elf and a Gnome. They called themselves the Saints Clause. And their ideals, their duty to those less fortunate. They told me I was to be the builder, the foundation of the Clause.
My wife and I were devastated when we discovered we could not conceive. I stopped working on buildings and masonry and started an Orphanage. Building toys with my tools for the children we took in. The old saint within me swelled with joy as we pulled children off the streets and into our home, as it watched them grow and lead fortunate lives. Yet, soon, my wife would grow old and weary, and I would not. Despite the wrinkles on my face, and the color of my hair, my body retained a vigor of youth. The Old Saint would not let me go. And despite my joy and pride of bringing these children into a more bright world, the loss of my beloved would weigh on me for the rest of my life. I felt an emptiness that the Clause could not fill.
The Orphanage would last 65 years. Fewer and fewer children were orphaned these days, partly due to my wife and I raising them to be good natured and kind to others. But one mid-winters day, an old familiar face returned. I could tell who she was the moment she walked in. One of the orphans my wife and I had raised! She was much older now, and quickly her children and grandchildren came rushing into my home, all calling me Grandpapi Nichol. I cried. I wept. I laughed.
I was given a gift, and with it, I intend to gift others with joy and blessings. It's what my wife would have wanted. I've closed up shop and now travel the lands, helping the less fortunate and bringing joy and happiness. Each passing winter, filling me with a strength and wisdom to fulfill my Clause."
-Old Saint Nichol
Here is the backstory for Allora Dakari, my Drow (Szarkai) Cleric (Life Domain)/Warlock (the Celestial)
Nedylene Armgo is the 7th born daughter to Matron mother Mez'Barris Armgo of the Menzoberranzan house, Barrison Del'Armgo. Nedylene is a Szarkai, an albino drow. As an albino, she has alabaster-white skin, small fangs, and a lack of hair, but otherwise appears as an ordinary drow in all other respects. Ironically, this means she resembles many of the surface elves, could pass as one, and not be suspected as drow. Because of this, Nedylene has been trained basically from birth until adulthood to be a spy.
Upon reaching her first century in age, Nedylene was sent to the surface where she was given the cover name of Allora Dakari and planted as a sleeper agent within the ranks of the church of Corellon Larethian in the city of Waterdeep. Nedylene was tasked as an information gather, collecting all kinds of information regarding Waterdeep, the church of Corellon Larethian, and anything else she thought relevant. This went on for months, into years, into decades.
It was during this time when she met the first real love of her life, a high elf, Sylas Kenlylund. Sylas was one of the highest ranking priest within the church. He was also head of the Waterdeep's branch of the Fellowship of the Forgotten Flower, an order dedicated to the recovery of lost elven relics from long-abandoned realms. Nedylene was told to get closer to him no matter what it took. So she joined the order and over the years she started to have feelings for him. She fought those feelings because she was drow and he was a surface elf and it went against everything she knew. She fought and fought but as the years went on and the two of them grew closer, they became inseparable.
As their relationship grew her passion for the drow and the life she knew began to wane. She was actually beginning to listen to the gospel of the church and became confused and frustrated with the feelings she had developed. It had been decades since she had even seen another drow. And so when one showed up with orders for her to kill Sylas she was at a loss of what to do. She knew she had to kill him in order to remain in Lolth's favor but she also knew that she loved Sylas. She went back and forth with the decision that she must make and after days of struggling she knew who her allegiances belonged to. When the drow messenger returned demanding to know why Sylas was still alive, Nedylene stabbed him in the chest and whispered in his ear, "because I love him".
She decide to tell Sylas everything knowing that she may lose him but knew he needed to know. Sylas told her he didn't care and that she wasn't the same person she was when she first came to the surface. He loved her and knew she loved him. He could tell that Lolth was no longer a part of her life and that she had fully given herself to Corellon Larethian, even if she didn't know it yet. While she was explaining everything to Sylas, she failed to notice the other drow who had snuck in. He attacked Sylas and Nedylene. The drow killed Sylas almost instantly but not before Nedylene was able to get a killing blow on the drow. Kneeling over Sylas's body, she prayed to Lolth for help but no answer came. Crying over the love of her life an idea came to her. She cried out to Corellon Larethian and to her surprise he answered. She cried to him swearing any pact she could to save Sylas's life. As the golden energy left her hands and into Sylas's body, his eyes opening to find hers, it was at this moment she knew she was no longer a servant of Lolth. She was a child of Corellon Larethian.
Hope you enjoyed.
May I introduce to you Lady Belisara of Ohn-Sedt, a most refined tiefling heiress, Arcane Trickster Rogue and Warlock of the Archfey, living embodiment of the ancient proverb "Be gay, do crimes"
Charmed, I'm sure. Oh, don't mind the scowling face in the mirror, isn't she lovely? My wife is, hm. Well, I've temporarily forbidden her from shifting planes because I did really want to speak with you, this interview is an excellent opportunity for me, but she is... overprotective, you see, and I really didn't want to see you turned to stone or some other silly thing because you asked a question that made me cry, and - oh, stop it, darling!
...
I do apologize, I'm sure your hair will grow back soon. Anyway, where do I begin?
The beginning you say? Well, let's see. Do you want my beginning, or the very beginning? Mine, yes. All right.
I was born in the manor on my family's estate just outside the village of Ohn-Sedt. Thankfully for my poor mother, my horns appeared as I grew - at my birth, they had thought perhaps I had been absolved of her family sin, you see, but obviously that is not the case. My hair is all my father's fault - I've never met a single being who had more trouble containing theirs than he and I have had. I just let mine grow free, now - fangs and horns and curly black hair do lend me an exciting witchy flair that I simply love to play up. My horns are just like my mother's though; rite of the Ram, you know.
Right, right. Mine was an astonishingly happy childhood. My dearest friend Akariel and I had such exciting adventures together, though in hindsight perhaps we ought not have toyed with the river spirits as much as we did; they could have drowned us both and then I wouldn't be here speaking with you! Unbeknownst to me my poor father was under such pressure for my whole life however; he'd married a tiefling and even his righteous, god-fearing family tradition couldn't wash out the stain of Mother's heritage.
So of course they sent me to the temple school. I was meant to be a cleric, you see. A priestess of light and other such things. I was doing so well. But then I returned home for a holiday. There was a disaster - they still don't know what it really was - and it utterly destroyed our village. Flattened it. I called for help from - well, it doesn't matter so much which god, does it? No help came. Akariel was going to die, and...
Well. There she was. I had seen her, as a child, near the river. She came to me then. She took my hand as the life was fading from my dearest friend and asked if I would like her to save him. What was I supposed to say? I accepted.
And then she vanished. Akariel was alive. I was alive. And we started over.
I was Lady of Ohn-Sedt now, but there was nothing left. So we made do. Akariel taught me a few tricks, I learned a few more from, hm, borrowed spell tomes. I've always had quick hands, you see. We fit in so well with the upper crust, they pitied us so for our misfortune, and so it was quite easy to make more than a comfortable living. I think I'll leave it at that, for now.
...Yes, my love, I'm getting there. I know you're sorry for leaving me alone, it's all in the past now.
Among my borrowed possessions there came to be a looking glass. And through this looking glass I saw her. The longer I looked, the more real she became, and the less real I became, or the more real we both became? No, don't look at the mirror, she might take that as an invitation!
No, I jest. She's really quite fascinated by the mortal rite of marriage and takes her vows so seriously I can scarcely breathe when I think of it. The love of a fey lady is so precious, so dear, but it's all-consuming. There's no room for anything else.
...I'm feeling quite tired, do mind if we continue this conversation another time?
"Can we please stop debating philosophy with the dapper crab?"
This is my barbarian war-forged. I have an actual mini for him, but i like how he is turning out. This takes place in Eberron fyi
Spark was made for war. That's all he knew. As soon as he was off of the assembly line, he was sent to patrol. With his halberd, short sword and shield, he had everything he needed. He loved his life, fighting along side brethren made of metal, he was home for all he was concerned... until he started to hear their screams. In their marching, his commanding officer had found a group of young rebels hiding in a small hut. He watched as they were quickly cut down... and something broke. He couldn't stop hearing their screams. Not just the children, but from everyone. After just a few days, he started losing time. It got worse and worse and he became more and more aggressive until, during one of his episodes, he lashed out and cut down three of his companions. He killed another two before he was subdued and sent back to be "fixed". He met a kind tinkerer and engineer who outfitted a collar for him. It suppressed the emotions and screams and turned him back into his old self... only feeling base needs. Happiness and sadness were still there, but ignorable. He experienced no more lost time in the next three years, and spent those years aboard a transport vessel piloting one of the many airships that dominated the sky. He was... not happy... but content. Until one day, as they were flying over the vast ocean, there was a blast of purple energy that rocketed out of the ocean and through the ship. Something came over Spark. Something powerful, and he struck down the captain of the ship before taking control of it. He barely remembers screaming as the massive ship plummeted into the ocean... where he fell unconscious, to awake just as a second unfortunate group of shipwrecked people found their way to his ship... who were these people and if they were here for the ship... they'd better be willing to die for it.
Here is a one I want to play. This is a half elf monk, whose name is Izander.
I sat beside a small gravestone that consisted of a small tree with the engraving of T.F. carved into its bark and a small bouquet of flowers that were freshly picked. I sighed softly as I thought about my history and what brought me to be here.
*one year ago*
I could feel my knuckles ache... feel the blood and sweat dripping onto the floor, the sound mixing with the screams and cheers of the crowd around me, yelling out bets on if i would get up... I could just... stay down... rest, let the orcs club do the rest of the work... but I have to get food for Tiela... without me to fight she wouldn't get the food she would need... and then she would have to fight. I won't have her do that... never...
*flashback fifteen years*
One half breed was bad enough for an established high elf like my father... but two... that was too many. Despite how much my mother pleaded, begged and cried, there was nothing that could sway my father of throwing us to the streets to hide his shame. After two weeks, we were starving... We were "taken in" by a friendly man. At first he was nice. He clothed us, gave us shelter and food... which was quickly eaten. And just as quickly, we found ourselves quickly falling asleep... We woke up in a cage. Blind and bound with rope. After a couple minutes of screaming, my vision was restored to see my sister beside me, still unconscious, and the same man leering down at me before he started telling me how things were going to be... I'd work... do whatever I was told, and so would my sister. She would stay down here, in a bed, and be taken care of as long as I was obedient. After years of physical labor, I was put in my first fight... against another child my size, but crazed and eager to gut me with the knife he had clutched in his hands. I don't remember a lot from that fight... just those eyes. I must have won... because in a week, I had another fight... then another... then another.
*one year ago*
I collapsed in my small, rickety bed and curled up in pain, shuddering. I had just finished tending to my own wounds and started to fall asleep when I heard the banging and shouting. I was too tired to move as I heard men break in, followed by shouting and the clanging of metal on metal. I was too tired to resist as a man in a set of dark brown military garb picked me up and carried me outside to a patty wagon full of different people. I wasn't too tired to scream when I heard the same man talk to another in a hushed voice, describing one of many bodies they discovered thrown outside the city limits... A young half elf child who fit the description of my sister, who was found dead, beaten in much the same fashion as me, in an alley close to here.
Here is my half-orc barbarian character, Urokk.
"The upbringing that can be found in my scars, and the ancestry I bear in my blood, bring great significance to my current placement in this gigantic world.
My father, who went by the name of Krual, the rival but also close brother of the Black Skulls' chieftain. The Black Skulls resided in the eastern mountains, where the voices of animal growls and great war chants would become one with the chilly wind. Our tribe was high in the snowy mountains, as we are the strongest and most-advanced tribe in Havar. My father was the largest in the tribe, save for the ruler of our stronghold, as Krual stood at seven foot four. My father was an orog, as I recently discovered through skimming about family records that he was an exile from a tribe in the dark labyrinths of natural cobblestone that was the Spider's Break.
I know very little about my mother, Geirlaug, as her stories were insufficient in quantity and content. I do recall that she was a Viking, and she stumbled across the tribe when traveling through the mountains. She managed to gain the trust of the chieftain, as well as his band of a thousand orcs, by protecting the tribe from elven fire when those folk had the audacity to attack. I have nothing against elves, but their decisions can be cowardly, and I can feel the rage of Gruumsh boil my blood and pound on my brain whenever I come across one who gives me a momentary look of disgust.
Krual and Geirlaug eloped without the tribe's knowing during one of the harshest winters the tribe had faced. Geirlaug left the tribe so that no one save for her and Krual would know. They felt the others of my tribe would find me to be unwelcome. When I was born, the chieftain, who went by the name of Gor'lack, came to find my father, and he witnessed my creation. He informed the two that he would help raise me, and that if I proved myself to be worthy at the right age, I would move into the tribe.
I spent my first twelve years raised across from the tribe in a different section of the mountains known as Crestridge. My father, whose heart was turned to stone by gruesome combat and a harsh upbringing, slowly managed to feel love towards me.
However... This would not last.
One day, about the time I was halfway through my fourth year alive in Havar, the tribe decided to invade a fort beside the human castle. The invasion went awry. Krual attempted to save the chieftain, who was trapped in a section of the fort that was engulfed by the mighty strike of fire. Krual managed to get the chieftain out, but not himself. The ruins of the building collapsed on top of him, and this...
This was the largest scar I had to bear, but not on my body, but on my mind.
About the time I turned twelve, almost a full adult, the chieftain visited the camp we set up in Crestridge, and he was ecstatic to find I had become his equal or even his superior in terms of strength and build. After three hours and half of a fourth, the sun retreated behind the world, and I was brought to the tribe. The chieftain introduced me to the others, and the orcs, surprisingly, were amazed by me. However, maybe I was not the first half-orc to be proven worthy... But the second.
I witnessed a female orc amid the others, the same age as me. Her name was Gora, and she must have dissected me, as my heart went to herself. A mane of midnight black hair like my own, and a gorgeous face even human or elven lords would admire and seek, were hers. She, alongside myself, proved to be some of the more-powerful members of the tribe, and within the next two years we spent in the tribe, we were alongside one another for the entirety of it.
A calling must have come to the two of us, as we desired to leave the tribe to find a place in the world of humans. Upon our initial departure from the tribe, we separated. I was met with reactions of horror and violence from other humans due to my size, as I stood at exactly seven feet tall at the time, and orc heritage. I wondered why this had to happen, and I realized something.
Gruumsh maybe was initially good in heart, but the other gods mocked and made a fool of him, as he seeked peace for his race, and he could not have it. He taught his orcs to fight the other races and destroy them because, despite what they would do, whether they were good people or not, they would be discriminated. Now, the orc race was falling behind in evolution. The other races were developing faster and in a more-sophisticated manner. They could experience peace with one another... So why not have the orcs do the same?
I realized why I left the tribe just then. I wanted to build my strength and show that the orcs deserved love and respect."
-Urokk in one of his writings.
Salmacis Verdun is a character that is making her debut in 5th ed, normally in 1st ed (AD&D not basic).
She isn't much different other then she is level 5/5 (Fighter/Thief) in that one and a few years older and a few pounds lighter (and has another child)- oh and is the strongest Halfling in the World. This background will touch on that one since the other one hasn't started yet.
Anyways, Salmacis was born in an unimportant Tallfellow village (5th ed doesn't have Tallfellows, for those who don't know, they were slightly taller and a bit more elf like) and got married to a Halfling- a lightfoot, named Georgio Verdun, who was 15 years her senior.
They left the village of Sackville because all the houses were too high for Georgio's tastes and he wanted to live by the sea, which they did, in a tiny village called Fishtown.
There they settled into family life, having 4 chidren (Oakley, Viktor, Rosalia and Theodore) and the two building a little home in a small tree on the beach.
She learned to cook better and in a few years her troubled sister, Ceres came to live with them.
After another child, Annabelle, Salmacis would go on her biggest adventure yet, nearly dying several times and coming face to face with strange things such as mindflayers, corrupted evil dwarves, strange magics, the undead and scores of trolls!
She, in a lapse of judgement, soon after drinking a potion of fire giant strength, drank a healing potion and now, is the strongest halfling in the world, proclaiming herself "Princess of the Universe" among other things.
Prior to this she often told tall tales (a good thief never lets one know where they come from) though this change made her all but abandon her thief ways, exchanging her light armour and trident for full plate and a massive sword. Any box or lock that needed opening she would simply smash it!