War Child

Most children remember the taste of sweets or the sound of their mother’s voice; you remember the rhythmic clack-clack-clack of wooden practice swords and the smell of oiled leather. You were five years old when the recruiters—or perhaps the press-gangers—took you. You weren't a child to them; you were "Raw Material."

Your childhood was measured in miles marched and calories rationed. The survival techniques weren't academic; they were the difference between waking up in a frozen ditch or dying of exposure before the sun rose. You learned early that your comrades were your only family, but they were also your potential executioners. The law of the camp was simple: Victory or Silence.

The turning point came at age ten. To "blood" the young recruits, the commanders staged a spectacle. They threw you into a sand-filled pit against men who were shells of themselves—prisoners of war kept in dehydration for forty-eight hours. They were desperate, crazed, and fighting for a single cup of water.

You weren't fighting monsters; you were fighting the dying. That day, you learned that war wasn't about glory or banners—it was about who was left standing when the dust settled. You survived not because you were the strongest, but because you were the most efficient. You became a "standing soldier" before you even hit your growth spurt.

For eight years, you were a ghost in the ranks of the national army. You fought in border skirmishes and suppressed rebellions, a perfect, unthinking weapon. Then came the mundane tragedy: a muddy trench, a heavy pack, and a sickening pop in your left ankle.

In a "normal" army, you’d be given a crutch and a week of rest. In yours, a sprained ankle was a malfunction. You were no longer "Raw Material"; you were "Waste Product." Expecting a blade to the throat, you were instead met with something colder: indifference. They stripped you of your official gear, tossed a few copper pieces at your feet, and left you at a crossroads while the column marched on.

It took a year for the ligaments to knit back together. You spent that year in a daze, working odd jobs for a village blacksmith, watching people live lives that didn't involve killing for rations.

Now, your ankle is strong again. The army is gone, but the training remains. You don’t know how to be a civilian, and you refuse to be a slave to a crown again. You’ve taken up the life of an adventurer—not because you love the thrill, but because the battlefield is the only place that feels like home, and this time, you’re the one holding the leash.

Skill Proficiencies: Athletics, Intimidation

Tool Proficiencies: One type of gaming set, vehicles (land)

Equipment: An insignia of rank, a trophy taken from a fallen enemy (a dagger, broken blade, or piece of a banner), a set of bone dice or deck of cards, a set of common clothes, and a pouch containing 10 gp

Suggested Characteristics

The horrors of war combined with the rigid discipline of military service leave their mark on all soldiers, shaping their ideals, creating strong bonds, and often leaving them scarred and vulnerable to fear, shame, and hatred.

d8	Personality Trait
1	I’m always polite and respectful.
2	I’m haunted by memories of war. I can’t get the images of violence out of my mind.
3	I’ve lost too many friends, and I’m slow to make new ones.
4	I’m full of inspiring and cautionary tales from my military experience relevant to almost every combat situation.
5	I can stare down a hell hound without flinching.
6	I enjoy being strong and like breaking things.
7	I have a crude sense of humor.
8	I face problems head-on. A simple, direct solution is the best path to success.

d6	Ideal
1	Greater Good. Our lot is to lay down our lives in defense of others. (Good)
2	Responsibility. I do what I must and obey just authority. (Lawful)
3	Independence. When people follow orders blindly, they embrace a kind of tyranny. (Chaotic)
4	Might. In life as in war, the stronger force wins. (Evil)
5	Live and Let Live. Ideals aren’t worth killing over or going to war for. (Neutral)
6	Nation. My city, nation, or people are all that matter. (Any)

d6	Bond
1	I would still lay down my life for the people I served with.
2	Someone saved my life on the battlefield. To this day, I will never leave a friend behind.
3	My honor is my life.
4	I’ll never forget the crushing defeat my company suffered or the enemies who dealt it.
5	Those who fight beside me are those worth dying for.
6	I fight for those who cannot fight for themselves.

d6	Flaw
1	The monstrous enemy we faced in battle still leaves me quivering with fear.
2	I have little respect for anyone who is not a proven warrior.
3	I made a terrible mistake in battle that cost many lives—and I would do anything to keep that mistake secret.
4	My hatred of my enemies is blind and unreasoning.
5	I obey the law, even if the law causes misery.
6	I’d rather eat my armor than admit when I’m wrong.