I really like these kinds of threads and I didn't see one in this forum yet, so I'm making one!
Tell us about your warlock! As much or as little detail as you like. What was their life like before their pact? Are they a faithful servant of an eldritch being, or are they utterly confused by who or what they've stumbled upon?
What is their tool of choice: tome, blade, chain, or something else? Do others know they're a warlock, or do they keep it close to the chest?
My Warforged doesn't have a memory of the long wars, but came to consciousness (again?) after some time of inactivity, buried under a city of debris. He made a bargain with the entitiy that communicated with him, vowing to destroy undead and desiring to learn more about the short-lived biologicals. His Patron is the Hexblade, and his pact is of the Tome. His first and constant invocation is Mask of Many Faces, and he always appears as a human male (so far).
I feel like I've posted about this boy a lot, but why not again.
So he once lived in the ocean, minding his own business as a crab. He wasn't any different from any of the other crabs, and just as smart. He suddenly gained thoughts and knowledge, along with some powers out of nowhere. He had decided to use his limited knowledge to learn, even though he didn't know any languages. He went to the land, and found out he could telepathically communicate with things, and learned about names. He decided to call himself Crabperticus Lastname. Also, in the far realms was Cthulhu, who gave the random crab forbidden knowledge of worlds beyond the normal person's grasp. He did it for reasons people wouldn't understand, or maybe just out of curiosity and boredom.
Just looked at his character sheet to. He's a tome warlock, because I don't like chain much, and he can't really do much with blade, almost all his stats are negative.
Just made my first character, and had some trouble developing the pact/ patron Having a lot of fun developing him and getting into the role play. Half-Elf named Crick, at second level we had an encounter with 2 half orges, 3 crossbowmen and an alchemist. - I got chopped by a half orge and then caught a bottle of Alchemist's Fire, 5 times I went to zero hp , everytime our druid's unicorn totem brought me up, the recurring 1d4 damage dropped me again and we were pretty bloody no one could get to me. Scary making death saving throws, if I caught a 1 I would be fully dead. After the encounter I wrote an experience for Cricj, still pretty rough but helped firm up the pact. The patron is still loose but something Shall or Raven queen. I will be choosing and flavouring with Shadow spells - at the end the new eyes have Devil's sight.
Crick woke from what seemed a nightmare. Last moments of fighting for his life against a monster of a creature with Ash at his side taking more than her share of the licks. Underestimating his opponent cost him dearly, at the time it had seemed that it would cost him his life.That beastly swing from his opponent decimated him, reeling from the brute force had left him vulnerable to the spray of vile chemical concoction that glanced off his ally, the Triton in the fray.He stood wavering for a moment before blacking out from the pain.
Unconscious Crick floated in a hellish landscape, on fire as he drifted gently like a falling autumn leaf, he couldn't tell if that pain was real or imagined, and was so constant that it began to dull as he felt tired. Then like a parent pulling their child back from a boiling pot on the hearth he was yanked back out of the dream and back into the battle, again standing before the half-ogre. Suddenly the flames engulfing his arm flared and burst anew, sending him back to the warm embrace like the beckoning of a lover.
Plucked again, hurled back into what seemed reality it was becoming more difficult to tell if he was dead and in a circle of hell. The Half-ogre towered above him, his allies looking worse for wear and beaten back, the fire raged and again Crick felt himself collapse. Off in the distance he could hear shouting and the clash of weapons and armor, or was it close? He felt helpless, defeated, useless, weak. He despised himself in that moment.
A beacon of light pierced through the pitch darkness and flames of shadow, the glow was emigrating from a galloping creature, a steed, a horned animal. The unicorn did not break pace but galloped around Crick, snatching up his cloak and chain shirt as easy as a child would pickup a doll, in a swift motion, she tossed him onto her back and charged back into the black with a ferocious majesty.When they approach the light, Crick was opening his eyes to the dim light of the cave, blood and corpses were strewn about. His friends would be alright, without him. He closed his eyes as the fire overtook him again, he was ready to die.
Again he fell, but differently, the fire was gone, as an afterthought, he almost missed it, the pain was his last connection to the physical. Now he only felt dull and empty.He fell though what felt like a pool of water, but there was no splash, no bubbles, only a thick pressure and gently swirling wisps of shadow against the darkness.
A voice whispered, polite but uninterested, friendly yet distant. A familiar voice, a cloaked figure he had gambled with in a tavern. They had started with wagers of coin, but as the candles burned low they wagered ideas and riddles. Crick could not recall their face, it shifted in his memory, had it been a scarred mercenary, an old hag, a dashing noble, a buxom harlot, an ordinary peasant, a queen? All he could remember that there was a bet, and he had won. A contract was struck between them. It seemed farcical at the time but he had enjoyed the evening and the company and did not put much stock in the arrangement. Before parting ways Under the crescent moon on the first eve of winter they clasped forearms to seal the deal. Crick was surprised when the strangers grip chilled him to the bone.
The memory was always just beneath the surface, but the details elusive, the shape of the patrons grip black on his arm like a tattoo. He was no longer sure he had one the bet that night. He had power, but also a master.This was the voice that called to him now, sweetly, with a gentle reprimand.
Crick had been ignoring his Patron, the waning of his powers and they recurring cold grip that grasped his forearm. And now the reckoning was at hand. Preying on his doubt, his ambition and his loyalty to his new friends, the Shadows held all the cards. Crick vowed to heed the warnings and to carry out any requests of his master, to be returned from the Shadowfell, imbued with his former powers. To renew the pledge a sacrifice was demanded. Willing and sincere, Crick lowered himself to one knee, slowly reached to his face with his hands, pressed his fingers into the sockets around his eyes and wrenched them out for being blind to his role as a warlock, and failing to see his role as beholden to his masters whims. He closed the lids to where his eyes and once been and offered them out in his hands. Unsure if this would be acceptable, Crick humbled himself. The darkness around him was unchanged, still pitch black with a swirl of shadows moving separately and as one, as wind, as flame as figures and beasts. After an eternity, he felt the shadow presence consume him. The eyes were gone and he was back in the cave, he found that he was still kneeling and rose. In silence he walked to the hulking form of his foe, he could feel the thirst of the shadows for blood, he could hear them whisper just beyond the flickering light of the torches. His boots slickly with blood had become matted with dust crossing the cavern floor, he placed on boot up on the back the half ogre and began to hack at its neck, giving deep gashes as we worked through the spine, sending up spray and spatter with each strike. After five cuts the head was separated from the mound of carcass adjacent. Five cuts, one for each time he had fallen in the battle. He picked up the head and made his way back to his friends. Bloodied and bruised he was grinning slightly. His face was recognizable but his eyes had changed. The pupils were dark grey, and maybe it was the torchlight, but the colour seemed to shift slowly, like dark clouds passing in front of the moon on a winter night. And then he said, "thanks for not letting me die."
Kilrash Argenthrix White Dragonborn Great Old One, Pact of the Blade
Kilrash's lived a pretty simple life until his father's ship failed to return from a regular fishing trip. His mother died of grief shortly after, leaving the twelve-year old to look after his five-year old sister. He learned how to handle money and how to steal when the food ran out. When a cleric came to take them to an orphanage, Kilrash acted on instinct, bundling up his sister and taking to the streets. After a few months he was exhausted, half-starved and plagued with nightmares.
Eventually the nightmares shifted to dreams of a giant creature devouring his fears. When he wished it were that easy, a voice spoke, offering strength for service. He accepted in a heartbeat. With the Night Serpent's gifts, Kilrash learns how to charm and con his way to what he wants, and how to kill when words aren't enough. In return, he does everything She asks of him. So long as he can provide for his sister and keep her safe, he is the Serpent's most loyal servant.
Flowing hair of the color of rubies, one eye green and the other pitch-black, velvety pink-red skin, black recurve horns, large bat-like wings and a red, pointy tail: Mograine Faust seldom showed her true appearance. The Tiefling would rather use her eldritch powers to disguise herself as a more common human, female or male as the situation dictates.
She's a Warlock of the Hexblade patron, and her arcane research led her to stipulate a Pact of the Tome with an unkown entity; her patron is either the Raven Queen (or maybe one of her underlings), or someone who's closer to her: the Iron Maiden, consort of the Iron Duke Dispater, with whom one of her ancestors (still to be outlined) made a pact centuries ago, forever changing his/her bloodline.
Mograine uses her guile, her acting prowess and her powers to obtain informations and strategic advantage, but when push comes to shove she dons breastplate, battle gear and shield, and her Eldritch Blast is capable of moving foes around on the battlefield, usually right into a well-placed area of effect spell.
She's currently working with the Zhentarim of the cosmopolitan city of Waterdeep: she aims to further her arcane knowledge and to experience both the underworld and more mundane life, and those experiences will be told and shared with her patron, who apparently is fond both of the minutiae of human life, and of the scheming and the machinations going about in the city of Waterdeep.
Great old one warlock pact of the chain/Tome (depending on the campaign)
Rhogar was born in a southern cold mountainous continent along with his tribe of dragonborn and lizard folk. His life was somewhat normal, but like any life, a grand change is bound to happen. He grew 57 winters, fathering 6 children and 3 grand children however his body was growing weary and breathing became harder for him as even though he was a white dragonborn, with every breath his throat almost froze from the inside.
One day, he went out to secure food along with his young grand children to teach them how to set traps and hunt. During the hunt, an abnormally large and mutated looking direwolf lunged at them and in desperation Rhogar had used himself as a bait to lure the monster away and give his grand children a chance to escape. The chase went through a a snowy area and the chase ended when the monstrous wolf lunged at him tumbling both of them into a crevasse, to Rhogar's luck, the creature's size got it stuck but as for him his body slipped through being constantly slammed from one wall to the other until he reached the bottom of it losing consciousness.
After some time, he regained consciousness and saw himself in a dark cave with little light seeping in. In there his entire body shivered as he heard a deep breathing, close to him. As he looked closely with barely any light a large creature. His mind spiraled in chaos as it attempted to understand what he was looking at but he averted his eyes away from the form of that thing that was with him. He tried to run despite his body's heavy injuries away in fear but the cave he was in was small and with no otherwise to go other than to climb upwards which seemed impossible to him. He stayed panicked for a long time before realizing the entity with him hadn't moved, and the only thing he was hearing was it's labored breathing.
For a while, he stayed in a corner unable to look at what was with him and not able to lave the place, however as the time passed he grew weaker and soon after hunger crept up to him, It was at that moment that he decided the only to survive is to wait for help. The time was passing and hope was slowly fading away as there were no sign of and even he was slowly losing his body to hunger and his breathing was slowly becoming more painful, he was slowly giving up to hunger and perhaps the only option he had was to feed on the creature with whatever effort he had. He closed his eyes and approached the creature and closed his mind as his body did whatever necessary to survive despite the creatures pain. After sometime he felt his body regaining strength but his mind was starting to hear voices and see things and colors like he never seen before, attaining Eldritch knowledge and how to use powers that will only increase as he lives. He suddenly found himself wondering in a place he doesn't recognize with no recollection of how he ended up there which his journey begins...
Appearance:
Rhogar currently looks like an old hunchbacked pale looking dragonborn with raggedy winter clothing on top of his barely white scaled body. His eyes look sunken and almost blind. His body looks is bit muscular and oddly disfigured tail with tendril like beard and a long white hair in between two horns pointing back. His snout is similar that to a white dragon but his mouth, some had grew in strange places within his mouth. What probably stands the most is that his arms, in scaleless area, look semi transparent.
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Born under the watch of something from the furthest corners of the far realms.... It knows all.... it sees all... and it asks: "What is it that you want to see?"... and my answer is... ALL"
Heh. I have a warlock I've never gotten a chance to play for more than one game at a run, but who is probably my favorite character I've ever built. I'll put her core Origin Story in spoilers below because it's long and nobody wants to read more'n a couple of paragraphs, but I built her to subvert a lot of the usual warlock expectations while still being both a powerful fighter and a very interesting character to run.
Memory Female Tiefling Archfey Warlock, Pact of the Chain
Despite her species, Memory has nothing to do with fiends or the Hells - her infernal appearance/heritage is important only in that it made her more interesting to the capricious archfey that took her and held her in thrall for years. Taken from the Prime Material in her youth, Memory and her lost sister were split from each other, and Memory became a trophy of the archfey huntsman Syndariel. She served as a toy and decorative memento of the Prime Material for quite some time, before one of Syndariel's rivals - an archfey known to Memory only as the Laughing Lord - contacted her and gave her the knowledge and arcane power she needed to escape. When she did so, and embarrassed the Laughing Lord's rival in the process, she was informed that she had done well, and there would be more work, more power, and more rewards for her in the future.
She took the name 'Memory' because it was all she escaped the Feywild with, and because she refuses to give it up. Memory lives for the day she can try and find her lost sister again, and the day where she can visit exceedingly vicious vengeance upon Master Syndariel. In the interim she travels, begrudgingly doing the Laughing Lord's bidding and seeking the power, resources, connections and influence she needs to have her vengeance.
In play, Memory is neither a powerful blasty Eldritch Artillerist nor a conniving social manipulator. Instead she functions more as a magical thief and infiltrator, with a spell selection and invocations meant to enhance her ability to get to anywhere she needs to be and both move and act covertly. She's accompanied by Winterbreeze, a watcher spirit that typically takes the form of a sprite. Winterbreeze is almost alwys invisible, and Memory herself is almost always concealed by her Mask of Many Faces to avoid the attention and discrimination that her devilish features attract. She (and I) have actually constructed a few different complete personas, faces with names and histories that Memory assumes whenever she needs to present a specific facade to the world...but she's in her element in the darkness, putting rogues to shame and finding her way to treasure in need of a new owner and lives that have passed their expiration date.
I love her so much. God I wish I could give her the game she deserves. Q_Q
"When I was a young girl, I had a different name. A different life. My sister and I were urchins on the streets, both cursed with the devil's blood, neither of us cared for by the family that had birthed us. We got by on scrounging, a bit of thieving, and the meager pity of a handful of slightly less hard-hearted townsfolk. Up until the day my sister started to blossom, and Master Borsival the wine mogul started to fancy her."
"We had seen the way Master Borsival looked at other girls...seen the bruises on those who succumbed to his gifts, heard the stories of how he plied his favorites with his special spiced wines until they couldn't go a day without a taste. We wanted none of it. The city of Elturel lay two week's travel to the east, a place of light and goodness. We'd never before dared to risk the journey, dangerous as it was...but we'd never before had to hide from a powerful and influential merchant lord, either. My sister and I decided to risk it, amassing what little in the way of supplies we could and stealing away during the night."
"We never made it to Elturel."
"Four days out, we saw lights in the woods as we huddled together, shivering for warmth. They were beautiful...enchanting. We followed the lights, leaving behind the road and our little campsite, and chased the flickering wisps through the woods. How stupid we were. We wandered until we found a ring of flowers and pretty little mushrooms, at the center of a clearing beneath the moon's full light. The moss within that ring looked so inviting, and we were so tired...we thought nothing of laying down within it for a nap."
"You doubtless know what happened next, at least in spirit."
"When we awoke, we were elsewhere. We were bereft of our things, our clothes, and we wore chains of forged silver. The Masters had found us, caught in their trap, and they had taken a fancy to our devilish appearance. We were exotic toys to them, and they treated us as such. Master Syndariel took me, won my 'service' in a game with his peers. Master Aeferyn took my sister. I never saw her again."
"I don't know how many years I served Master Syndariel, save that it was enough that I grew from girl to woman. The Master was not kind. He did not care for hurting me, as some of his kind did, but he made it clear to me that I was nothing but an amusing pet and decoration to him. I had no status, no standing - I was less to him than one of his hunting hounds. I was to be seen when he wished it, and I was to be absent when he did not. I was to speak only when the Master wished me to say something, and only then to say what it was he wished to hear. Master Syndariel took some small pride in teaching me to sing, to play the little mandolin he let me use when he wished to hear it, but I was little more than an exotic music box for him. A red-skinned curiosity from the Material Plane, to be displayed when it amused him and cast aside when he was through."
"I never thought to escape. I dreamed of it, I craved it, I yearned for it...but Master Syndariel was far more powerful than I could ever hope to become. He knew where I was, and often I swore he knew my thoughts directly. I could no more escape him than a mouse could escape the hawk. Only when the Laughing Lord spoke to me from afar did escape seem real. The Laughing Lord offered me power, and more - he offered me knowledge. Knowledge of the secret ways and means of Master Syndariel's estate, how to slip away from his watchful guardians, bait away his hounds. The Laughing Lord taught me how the fairy rings worked, and he sent to me a single stone he told me would open the rings and allow me to flee. He gave me the gift of a drop of his own power, to ensure I could make the stone work. He guided me, and I used the wisdom he gave me to slip away."
"Only once did I ask the Laughing Lord about my sister. He laughed, and told me that those who concerned themselves with the fates of others did not succeed in escaping the Feywild. He told me that if I desired to find her then I should stay, and do so without his guidance. I...did not ask again."
"I stole away from Master Syndariel's lands, and I found a fairy ring. I used the Laughing Lord's stone, and I opened a gate back to the Prime Material plane. I escaped. I left the Feywild behind, left the accursed silver chains the Master had held me with, left behind his callousness and the petty cruelty of his court. I left my sister behind. And I discovered, shortly after I left that horrible place, that I had returned over a hundred and seventy years after the Masters had captured us."
"The Laughing Lord's voice did not disappear. The earring he gave me, that I might speak to him and him to me, remained in my ear. I cannot remove it, nor allow it to be removed. He told me that I'd done well, that Master Syndariel was furious at the loss of his prized mortal devil, and the Laughing Lord was delighted at his rival's misfortune. And now that I was free, returned to my home, there would be more. The Laughing Lord had given me power and freedom - and he expected me to repay his generosity."
"I took the name Memory, because it was all I had when I emerged from the Feywild. Memory of the years of abuse. Memory of the capricious cruelty of its inhabitants. Memory of the petty, selfish desires of the long-dead man who'd driven me into servitude. And memory of my sister, my only living family, still trapped within that horrible place."
"I took the name Memory because that is what I have left. Because it is my most precious possession. And because I will never give it up. I will not forget. I will not forgive. The Laughing Lord gave me power, and though he does not keep me in his court he expects servitude of me the same way Master Syndariel did. He expects me to be his agent in the Prime Material, doing his work, finding treasures for him and hunting those who displease him."
"I will serve because I must. I will learn. I will grow. One day, I will return. I will find Master Syndariel and I will burn the eyes from his head, that he can never see beautiful things again. I will pour acid in his ears, that he will never again enjoy the sound of music. I will gouge the tongue from his mouth, that he might never again savor his banquets. I will kill his hounds in front of him, drag him to the Prime Material where he can age and die, and I will nail him to the meadow he stole my sister and I from with stakes of cold iron so he can rot there."
"Then I will find my sister, or what's become of her. I will bring her out of that place, or I will find what remains of her and allow her proper, final rest. When that is done, I will present these deeds to the Laughing Lord, and I will tell him that if he ever speaks to me again, he will be next."
"I am Memory. I will never forget what was done to me and my family. And I will never allow those who wronged us to forget what they have done, either."
Halavor Half Elven, 7th level. His mother was a moon elf who rebelled and married a human. What Halavor doesn't know: his mother is half Eladrin herself. We are working out that plot line. His grandfather did not approve the marriage, but loved his grandson. So, they would walk in the woods together at night. What Halavor doesn't know it's that those walks took him into the Feywild and back. This helped connect Halavor with his Fey ancestry and took the feat of the same name.
He is pact of the tome, and his patron is ... Maybe... Sehanine, acting as an Archfey. We say maybe because we're not sure. It could be an interlocutor , and communication occurs primarily through his Grimoire. Every magical being or item is recorded in his Grimoire, as part of the pact. But the name Sehanine, both goddess and patron, is burnt in his Grimoire and his mind.
Magic suffuses Halavor, and certain distinct "Feywild" additions have come to his appearance. Every spell with a vocal component is spoken in Eladrin. (Fwiw: I use Tolkien's Quenya as a stand in for Eladrin and I say the words as I cast the spell). His eyes glow sapphire blue when using Eldritch Sight. Ray of frost likewise emerges as cold blue beams from his eyes. He uses an Eladrin tarot deck when he casts augury. His skin is increasingly a silvery blue and his Eldritch blast looks like two silvery trees with blue leaves. As he delves deeper into magic, and immerses himself in the knowledge of the Feywild, will he harness its creative power, or will Halavor become lost to the Fey forever?
Mechanically she's a Half-Elf (base) which I reflavoured with Eladrin traits playing as a Divine Soul Sorc/Celestial Chainlock. It provides a lot of off healing, some blastier spells, and a lot of great flavour.
See, her patron? That's also her sorcerous origin parent. I flavoured it as Morwel, Queen of the Stars because I really didn't have a lot to go on, but w/e.
She made the pact because as far as she knows, her father has been kidnapped by Morwel and is being held in the Court itself. She doesn't know why, but she was given the option to work for Morwel and guarantee her fathers safety so she took it. It leaves her ambivalent towards her patron.
She gets dream visions and meetings with Morwel as well as a lower level celestial being. For her pet, she gets a pseudodragon that I am pretty sure is also just the lower level celestial being tasked with watching over her??
Personalitywise, she was raised on the edge of the woods, a bit far out and away from civilization, just her, the woods and her dad. She's a little iffy with cities, completely useless around pretty and attractive people and clearly in over her head most of the time. Due to her Eladrin heritage, she can get seriously pissed off and honestly, since I'm generally very reserved with my feelings I try to just... feel things when I'm playing her more than usual.
I've had a couple pieces commissioned for her because she's honestly my favourite character I've ever played.
I’m currently waiting for my friend to begin his session where I will play as a warlock for the first time.
A bounty hunter named Braden won an egg in a card game & believed it was a pseudodragon egg. After a few weeks the egg hatched & reviled what was actually a baby white Dragonborn. Instead of a pet he had someone to pass one his skills to, he named the baby Thexan.
As years went by & Thexan got older, others were added to Braden hunting crew. Mako a human rogue(arcane trickster), and Jory an orc that acted as Bradens muscle & security for his safehouses. Throughout their time together they brought in more gold, Bradens reputation grew, and Mako & Jory fell in love, married & have a half-Orc son they named Evan.
When Thexan turned 15, Braden decided it was time for him to retire & help him earn his own rep as a bounty hunter. A few years passed and Thexan had earned a small name for himself in the world. Braden decided to add his name to a competition that would have his name etched as one of the greatest bounty hunters in the world, The Great Hunt.
To get him in the Great Hunt, they had to either have his skills acknowledge by the warrior religion in their world or get a sponsorship from one of the worlds crime family’s, their only option was the latter because joining the religion would take too long.
But when Thexans mentors, Braden & Jory were murdered by a former member of the religious warriors, aGoliath named Tarro Blood. Thexan decided to continue the hunt without Mako since she had to care for her child.
So he took up Bradens long sword in his memory & prayed to any god that was listening to help him by giving him power to take revenge on Tarro Blood. (This is how the pact with his patron was formed)
I just finished my campaign where we (basically) hit level 20 and "retired." I played Ash, a Tiefling Hexblade 17 / Rogue 3 Swashbuckler. My DM was pretty generous with her pact weapon - he granted it the Finesse property, so I could get Sneak Attack damage. And, whenever I killed with it, I could regain a spell slot. So yeah, she used that weapon above all. We defeated an Ancient White Dragon, and with that thing's horde, we could have wiped out the economy of the Sword Coast.
Backstory: Born and raised in the ghetto of a mid-sized town, she feels guilt and remorse for (thinking that she) caused the deaths of the mother and little brother at a young age. She spent her youth on the streets, trying to to get money honestly, which was nearly impossible because of her demonic appearance, miserable self-loathing, and righteous indignation. Left alone, in and out of orphanages and derelict buildings, she spent her time practicing with weapons, stealing, and picking locks. As a last resort, in her 15th year, she resorted to taking a contract from a shady old man to kill someone who had wronged him. When she cornered her quarry, she was quaking with fear. She was about to turn and run, shattered by fear and rage at herself, when a soothing chill calmed her. Her focus cleared, her pulse slowed, and as her target tried to beg for his miserable life, she knew in her heart that he was guilty, and a terrible person. So she killed him.
And passed out. When she awoke, it was dark, misty and cold. Towers of rocks and skeletal trees faded in and out of her poor vision. A misty shadow started to form in front of her, and she was afraid anew. The man-shaped shadow spoke in her mind, in Infernal. He offered her his guidance, in return for her allegiance. To him, but more so to her ultimate benefactor, the Raven Queen. She was supposed to kill on the Queen's behalf. Kill those that had somehow cheated death, or send her a particular soul that's in some inscrutable way interesting to her. Each miserable soul she dispatched to the Shadowfell would give the Queen more power, and she might share that power with her fledgling recruit. With another sharp chill, she collapsed, asleep.
When she awoke again, there was a beautiful Katana in front of her. It's blade was dull ashy gray, and the handle was wrapped with a black, leathery material. Several days had passed, and she was far from home.
She has spent the following 4 or 5 years wandering from villages to cities, staying in a town until the even the shadiest tavern would refuse to serve her. She communicates with her criminal network, especially the thin, pale Baltar, preferring to take murder contracts. Whenever she felt a slight coolness in the handle of her Katana, she was given the confidence to carry it out, feeling in her soul that the target deserved to die. Rarely, the handle would get very warm, and in her discomfort, she would call it off. Even if she needed the gold. As years passed, a wellspring of mystical energy grew, and she could cast spells.
Shadows would seek her out on occasion, and her powers and abilities would grow. Black ravens sometimes appeared at her killsites, and she grew to seek them out. She began to call her sword ShadowReaver. She spent time with it, whispering to it, sharing her memories and nightmares. After she killed with it, the blade would darken to the deepest black for a while, and the handle would get a deep reddish tint. She was connected to it, and in some way, it was connected to her.
Over the handful of years she has been engaged in her blade pact, she has struggled with her mistakes and emptiness of her miserable past, and the equally lonely existence she sees before her. Her sword craves blood. Her damaged psyche wants alcohol. Her soul, on the other hand, seeks redemption. The blood - and the alcohol - are much closer at hand.
She was a lot of fun to play. As I said, ShadowReaver got more powerful as she gained levels, eventually becoming +1, regaining spell slots when she killed with it, and at about level 14 (after we ventured into the Shadowfell,) it granted her the Maddening Hex invocation, and started talking to her. Prior to that, it would occasionally just get cold, indicating that she needed to kill something nearby. She was quite reckless, which was also fun to play. Swashbuckler enabled her to hit harder, and evade without opportunity attacks.
Several of our party decided to start businesses in Phandalin, which was our "home base." Our drunken monk started a bar, the Paladin ran the town guard and jail, the druid helped after most of the town's farms got burned in an attack. Ash decided to start a brothel, by convincing the manager and employees of a "bakery" in Neverwinter to relocate to Phandalin. Her goal was to make sure those girls were safe and well cared for. She would destroy anyone who even implied they might do them harm.
I never really used Hex, instead using Hexblade's Curse to activate the invocation bonuses. That saved spell slots for AoE spells and Smites. Took the PotB trifecta of Eldritch Smite, Thirsting Blade, and Lifedrinker. She did have Devil's Sight, and racial Darkness, but I think I only used that combo once - Devil's Sight helped in a couple of other cases, especially in the Shadowfell, and casting Hunger of Hadar. There were several times where she was able to stack Crits with Smites and SA damage, and deal 100+ points of damage a round. Can't do that spamming EB.
When we "retired" she decided to start a school in Phandalin, and an orphanage in the city of her birth, Teziir. Also, she made sure that the girls in the bakery would never want for gold. In one trip to Hell, she became the warden of an Infernal Prison for a couple hours. She decided to go back there, kill whomever was running it now, and spend a few years running that prison.
Mine is Zorro, the Dark Elf Hexblade chainlock, level 7, ascent into avernus. He is about 5’11 and has long white hair, wields a long sword and shield (with ravens carved on them). His patron is the Raven Queen, she rescued him in his escape from the underdark and the influence of the spiderqueen. He is chaotic good, and uses a sprite as his familiar. He has become a heart seeker for the Raven Queen. The sprite allows him tell the emotional state and alignments other beings to guide him in who to trust. His sword has a stock on it which he uses as a gunblade, firing eldritch blasts at range and smites in close combat.
His goal is to find Zauriel’s long sword and wield it save her or destroy her, and raise the city from hell.
I love this unconventional build I’ve come up with.
Lian Shiar was a genius. He was a master of not only alchemy and enchanting, two of the most common Eleven trades, but was a master inventor and craftsman, rivaling the most talented Dwarves and Gnomes. Lian’s masterpiece project was to create an intelligent, synthetic, magical, mechanical, lifeform using Warforged technology. He called his creation a Synthetic Elf. His early experiments were little more than mindless golems... but as he learned more his Synthetic Elves got more intelligent, more articulate, more lifelike, and far more powerful.
While attempting a new way of powering his 7th Synthetic Elf he forged a pact with a Celestial being. Intrigued by Lian’s experiment the Celestial imbued the lifeless automotan with divine power and brought it to life. The 7th elf was... different. While 1 through 6 were serious, stoic, and showed little emotion, 7 was friendly and very emotive, almost childlike in it’s personality. Lian wondered if his attempt to make his creation more limber and light weight by using saplings for wood contributed to this. Number 7 was by far his most life like creation yet... but still not the perfect creation Lian strives for, so it too was a failure like the ones before. With this latest failed attempt he’d hit a road block in his experiments. Lian spent a few days studying his newest creation and taking notes. Then one morning he approached Number 7 saying “Stay here, I will return soon”. Number 7 watched as his creator... his father, walked out the door with a large traveling bag slung across his back.
Number 7 stayed in the same spot for a full month... waiting for his/her fathers return before suddenly experiencing a new feeling... impatience. 7 decided to pass some time by tidying Lian’s home and workshop. Surly coming home to a clean home would please his father. While straightening up some papers he/she found a piece of parchment with a diagram that looked just like him/her. The diagram was labeled SE-VII. “Sevii?” the naive machine thought “Oh! That must be my name!” And so Sevii continued cleaning, and learned of how Lian was trying to create a lifelike synthetic being, and how Sevii was close, but not perfect. “That must be why he left” Sevii thought “But what if... I became perfect? What if I improved? Then father would be happy! Then he’d return!”. Unfortunately the less than perceptive automaton never discovered his/her creators hidden collection of notes, detailing his previous experiments. Sevii simply assumed he was unique, and one of a kind. Not the 7th in a long line of “failed” experiments. And so Sevii set about gathering some things from around the home, having no idea what he/she would need for a trip, packed a small bag and was soon out the door, stepping into the world that he/she had never seen. The Celestial that had helped give Sevii life watched curiously. The little puppet was displaying far more autonomy than she thought it would. What would happen if she helped it along? And so she appeared before Sevii, bathed in radiant blue light. Only her silhouetted humanoid form and wings visible to the automaton. “I shall watch over you curious one... but in return you must do your best to do good for this realm. Impress me and prove you are worthy of the life I gave to you.” And with that the image of the Celestial faded. Sevii’s eyes were wide. “What was that?” The machine thought for a bit. His/her mind was filled with knowledge, it was all information not learned, but written into his/her very being by some unknown magic. The only thing that Sevii could compare the woman who appeared before him to was a fairy. “A blue fairy? *gasp* Maybe she can make me real!!!” And with that Sevii set out on his/her journey. Hoping to please the Blue Fairy, for if Sevii did surley she would be able to make Sevii perfect and Sevii’s father would return and be happy with him/her.
I always have serious Warlocks that have to jump through hoops for their patron so I made a fun one for a campaign I'm currently in.
Thialt grew up on Point, a small fishing village it was frequented by sailors, and adventurers. A small population of a hundred locals. Up until age 10 Thialt enjoyed reading and playing with the other kids.
Thialt spent his teenage years bouncing from job to job barely making money, always working hard like his parents suggested. He enjoyed a few of them, he enjoyed cooking at the local tavern, he also enjoyed working in the library, if you can all it that as it was just a bookshelf in the local town hall, as he became older and needed to make more money he needed more skilled jobs. At age 16 Thialt left the island and headed to a nearby port town, catching a lift with one of the local fishermen. He said his farewells and left. His father gave him a green belt and a leather pouch to take with him.
At Thialt arrived in Grimdel and got a job in the local tavern where he cooked and cleaned. One night a customer of the bar got particularly violent and Thialt wondered what if he came back, he gathered what little he saved up and bought a dagger and sheath, which he attached to his belt. While working in the tavern Thialt realised he had quite the silver tongue or “the gift of the gab” as his Orcish bar keep would refer to is as. Thialt was barely scraping by and after about a year of working at the tavern Thialt saw a notice that he would have to jump at. “Freelance sell swords wanted” Thialt saw this as his opportunity to make some real money.
After a few months after he turned 17 Thialt was in a tavern in Port Balifor he ended up bumping into an attractive man in a nice suit wearing an expensive amulet and ring. Thialt spent the night drinking with this man who called himself Pelle. Pelle seemed to enjoy Thialt’s attitude and how he never asked Pelle to buy him a drink all night and even offered to buy Pelle a few rounds. Thialt bumped into Pelle in when ever he was back in Port Balifor after about a year of knowing each other Pelle introduced himself to Thialt as an Incubus who was collecting souls for an Arch-devil. Thialt seemed not to mind Pelle’s real side and offered up a plan. “No one is more willing to trade their soul than a dying mortal” Thialt stated with confidence and told Pelle if Thialt had a way to contact him after Thialt’s group spilled some blood he could summon Pelle to collect souls. Pelle agreed and thanks to Thialt collected more souls than before and compensated Thialt with money, which they would go on to spend on long nights in taverns drinking the bars dry together.
About six months after turning 19 Thialt was in a skirmish with another Merc group and Thialt became mortally wounded. As he lay dying on the ground after the fighting stopped, he summoned Pelle. Pelle walked around leisurely collecting souls of the dying making deals and trades. That’s when Pelle came upon Thialt dying on the ground. Pelle begged Thialt to make a pact with him, become his Warlock so that Thialt may recover and survive, initially Thialt refused saying it wasn’t fair to put his friend through that. Pelle argued that if Thialt died anything could happen but if he was Pelle’s Warlock when he did die at least he would return to Hell with Pelle were Pelle could protect him, Thialt agreed. After recovering he stayed with Eltnaihl for another few months where he would travel as a free lance to have some more fun.
Thialt has a chain engraved onto his right arm that only he, Pelle, and any other of Pelle’s Warlocks can see. Thialt can use to summon Pelle, and Pelle can use to control Thialt not that he ever has a need to do that. The two remained friends however with his new abilities Thialt only kept working as a mercenary to upkeep his new lifestyle of moving from place to place and living free and happy. Thialt knows he’s going to Hell, but this doesn’t bother him as his “owner” is his best friend leading to a non-chalant approach to his own life.
All Pelle’s Warlocks have the same arm chain as Thialt. All Pelle’s Warlocks can see each other’s chain so they can discreetly help each other if they had to.
mine is termerity, a tiefling warlock, pact of the tome, fiend patron.
i had a lot of fun coming up with a ridiculous backstory for her: she was a street performer (using a fiddle) for several years, but could never get magic through her music. so she decided to challenge one of fierna's underlings to a fiddle-off. she won (because backstory) and got fiendish magic with no debts to fierna.
i haven't played her yet, but she's for an upcoming oneshot, so she's starting at level four.
this'll actually be my first time as a player; i've been dming for about a year.
I just made one for a game that's starting in a few days. It's supposed to be a dark setting where the undead have suddenly risen en mass and things have gone to full-on zombie apocalypse.
Griss- Tiefliing, Fiendish Patron, Pact of the Tome
Griss has spent most of her life living on the streets, begging, sneaking, and stealing to survive. She never knew her mother. However, for years she's had a powerful balor who calls himself Pyre whispering in her head. Pyre claims to be her father, though whether his relationship to her is that direct or something from generations ago, Griss doesn't know.
Any time she has done wrong- he praises her. Every theft, every lie, every act of vengeance. She hates this and tries to ignore it (and his suggestions) as much as possible. He's also been trying to convince her to accept a pact and "embrace the full power of her blood."
Then came the day when the dead rose from their graves to slaughter the living. Seeing her friends ripped apart, only to rise as undead horrors themselves, she finally did the one thing she swore she'd never do and accepted her father's offer. In an instant, a thick tome bound in black iron, filled with unholy words penned in blood was in her hands. Her head was filled with arcane knowledge, and she put that knowledge to use, burning undead creatures to ash. With a whip that smells of ash, a "proper" weapon for her, according to her father, she now stalks the land, seeking to burn all the undead she can. She finds that she enjoys this task very much.
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Find your own truth, choose your enemies carefully, and never deal with a dragon.
"Canon" is what's factual to D&D lore. "Cannon" is what you're going to be shot with if you keep getting the word wrong.
Zariel Tiefling, Dark Knight( Vengeance paladin3/Hexblade 5) PotB.
A fallen Knight, that after political schemes and court affairs, had his Adoptive Father, who was a Knight Commander, framed and executed for High Treason, he had to flee, but swore to one day come back and Avenge his Father and expose the true schemers.
Joined a Mercenary band, where he used his Warrior expertise to earn his keep, one day during an escort mission, his party and the merchants where attacked by Ogres, they managed to drive most of them and kill a couple, but one got Kain's arm, and ate it, Kain took the grotesque thing's Head.
After been healed but still missing an arm, he quited been a mercenary, and drowned his misery in alcohol, he was a mess.
A friend of his Mercenary days found him, and forced him to quite drinking and tried to make him join the Flaming Fists company in Baldur's Gates with him.
He gave him the adress of a knowed Artificer, that was a bit excentric, but it was his last ditch effort to get back into the Warrior he once was.
The Artificer build him a prosthetic arm, that used weird tech, alchemy and Arcane, it was a mix of metal aloy and monster muscles and runes( the organic parts came from the arm of the same Ogre that ate Kain's arm, someone had conserved the thing with magic to make a trophy out of it).
He Called it the "Ogre Crusher", and he felt like he was whole again, evne though accidents can happen from time to time, since he as bearly any feeling of touch and as a hard time gauging the strength neccesary to do things, so he broke a lot of stuffs before getting used to it( wich gave him the nickname "the Crusher" amidst the Flaming Fists)
He lived for 2 years in Baldur's Gates as a mercenary and even got promoted to Sergeant, before he got news of what happened to Elturel and the waves of refugees coming with grim news of a city that vanished in the flames and in the depth of the earth.
He was put in charge of a ragtag team of "volunteers" to make the light on the last cases of murders in town, wich was attirbuted to the Cult of the Dead 3, he took it personaly when his friend who got him enlisted and helped him was killed one night by those fanatics.
Also since a night or so ago, coincidentaly when Elturel was supposedly destroyed, he started feeling a presence, something in his peripherial view, like a shadow, but each time he would try to look around to see what it was it vanished,a nd when he was alone in the dark he would hear whispers "...Soon...".
Since then he felt a kind of Fury, somekind of fire inside of him that he hasn't felt since the day he nearly was killed and gave his all to survive...
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"Normality is but an Illusion, Whats normal to the Spider, is only madness for the Fly"
I really like these kinds of threads and I didn't see one in this forum yet, so I'm making one!
Tell us about your warlock! As much or as little detail as you like. What was their life like before their pact? Are they a faithful servant of an eldritch being, or are they utterly confused by who or what they've stumbled upon?
What is their tool of choice: tome, blade, chain, or something else? Do others know they're a warlock, or do they keep it close to the chest?
My Warforged doesn't have a memory of the long wars, but came to consciousness (again?) after some time of inactivity, buried under a city of debris. He made a bargain with the entitiy that communicated with him, vowing to destroy undead and desiring to learn more about the short-lived biologicals. His Patron is the Hexblade, and his pact is of the Tome. His first and constant invocation is Mask of Many Faces, and he always appears as a human male (so far).
I feel like I've posted about this boy a lot, but why not again.
So he once lived in the ocean, minding his own business as a crab. He wasn't any different from any of the other crabs, and just as smart. He suddenly gained thoughts and knowledge, along with some powers out of nowhere. He had decided to use his limited knowledge to learn, even though he didn't know any languages. He went to the land, and found out he could telepathically communicate with things, and learned about names. He decided to call himself Crabperticus Lastname.
Also, in the far realms was Cthulhu, who gave the random crab forbidden knowledge of worlds beyond the normal person's grasp. He did it for reasons people wouldn't understand, or maybe just out of curiosity and boredom.
Just looked at his character sheet to. He's a tome warlock, because I don't like chain much, and he can't really do much with blade, almost all his stats are negative.
Also known as CrafterB and DankMemer.
Here, have some homebrew classes! Subclasses to? Why not races. Feats, feats as well. I have a lot of magic items. Lastly I got monsters, fun, fun times.
Just made my first character, and had some trouble developing the pact/ patron
Having a lot of fun developing him and getting into the role play.
Half-Elf named Crick, at second level we had an encounter with 2 half orges, 3 crossbowmen and an alchemist. - I got chopped by a half orge and then caught a bottle of Alchemist's Fire, 5 times I went to zero hp , everytime our druid's unicorn totem brought me up, the recurring 1d4 damage dropped me again and we were pretty bloody no one could get to me. Scary making death saving throws, if I caught a 1 I would be fully dead.
After the encounter I wrote an experience for Cricj, still pretty rough but helped firm up the pact. The patron is still loose but something Shall or Raven queen. I will be choosing and flavouring with Shadow spells - at the end the new eyes have Devil's sight.
Crick woke from what seemed a nightmare. Last moments of fighting for his life against a monster of a creature with Ash at his side taking more than her share of the licks. Underestimating his opponent cost him dearly, at the time it had seemed that it would cost him his life.That beastly swing from his opponent decimated him, reeling from the brute force had left him vulnerable to the spray of vile chemical concoction that glanced off his ally, the Triton in the fray.He stood wavering for a moment before blacking out from the pain.
Kilrash Argenthrix
White Dragonborn
Great Old One, Pact of the Blade
Kilrash's lived a pretty simple life until his father's ship failed to return from a regular fishing trip. His mother died of grief shortly after, leaving the twelve-year old to look after his five-year old sister. He learned how to handle money and how to steal when the food ran out. When a cleric came to take them to an orphanage, Kilrash acted on instinct, bundling up his sister and taking to the streets. After a few months he was exhausted, half-starved and plagued with nightmares.
Eventually the nightmares shifted to dreams of a giant creature devouring his fears. When he wished it were that easy, a voice spoke, offering strength for service. He accepted in a heartbeat. With the Night Serpent's gifts, Kilrash learns how to charm and con his way to what he wants, and how to kill when words aren't enough. In return, he does everything She asks of him. So long as he can provide for his sister and keep her safe, he is the Serpent's most loyal servant.
My Warlock is Vadania Stormwind, who is a half-elf with a Dark Elf Mother and a Human Father.
She is a Hexblade, Pact of the Tome with her patron being the Raven Queen herself.
She is fully aware of her bargain with the Raven Queen and is a loyal follower of her.
The Cult Of Orcus is big in our campaign and the Raven Queen uses my warlock as her weapon in the systematic destruction of the cult's followers.
May your rolls be crits and your sessions be frequent
Flowing hair of the color of rubies, one eye green and the other pitch-black, velvety pink-red skin, black recurve horns, large bat-like wings and a red, pointy tail: Mograine Faust seldom showed her true appearance. The Tiefling would rather use her eldritch powers to disguise herself as a more common human, female or male as the situation dictates.
She's a Warlock of the Hexblade patron, and her arcane research led her to stipulate a Pact of the Tome with an unkown entity; her patron is either the Raven Queen (or maybe one of her underlings), or someone who's closer to her: the Iron Maiden, consort of the Iron Duke Dispater, with whom one of her ancestors (still to be outlined) made a pact centuries ago, forever changing his/her bloodline.
Mograine uses her guile, her acting prowess and her powers to obtain informations and strategic advantage, but when push comes to shove she dons breastplate, battle gear and shield, and her Eldritch Blast is capable of moving foes around on the battlefield, usually right into a well-placed area of effect spell.
She's currently working with the Zhentarim of the cosmopolitan city of Waterdeep: she aims to further her arcane knowledge and to experience both the underworld and more mundane life, and those experiences will be told and shared with her patron, who apparently is fond both of the minutiae of human life, and of the scheming and the machinations going about in the city of Waterdeep.
Rhogar the pale one.
Great old one warlock pact of the chain/Tome (depending on the campaign)
Rhogar was born in a southern cold mountainous continent along with his tribe of dragonborn and lizard folk. His life was somewhat normal, but like any life, a grand change is bound to happen. He grew 57 winters, fathering 6 children and 3 grand children however his body was growing weary and breathing became harder for him as even though he was a white dragonborn, with every breath his throat almost froze from the inside.
One day, he went out to secure food along with his young grand children to teach them how to set traps and hunt. During the hunt, an abnormally large and mutated looking direwolf lunged at them and in desperation Rhogar had used himself as a bait to lure the monster away and give his grand children a chance to escape. The chase went through a a snowy area and the chase ended when the monstrous wolf lunged at him tumbling both of them into a crevasse, to Rhogar's luck, the creature's size got it stuck but as for him his body slipped through being constantly slammed from one wall to the other until he reached the bottom of it losing consciousness.
After some time, he regained consciousness and saw himself in a dark cave with little light seeping in. In there his entire body shivered as he heard a deep breathing, close to him. As he looked closely with barely any light a large creature. His mind spiraled in chaos as it attempted to understand what he was looking at but he averted his eyes away from the form of that thing that was with him. He tried to run despite his body's heavy injuries away in fear but the cave he was in was small and with no otherwise to go other than to climb upwards which seemed impossible to him. He stayed panicked for a long time before realizing the entity with him hadn't moved, and the only thing he was hearing was it's labored breathing.
For a while, he stayed in a corner unable to look at what was with him and not able to lave the place, however as the time passed he grew weaker and soon after hunger crept up to him, It was at that moment that he decided the only to survive is to wait for help. The time was passing and hope was slowly fading away as there were no sign of and even he was slowly losing his body to hunger and his breathing was slowly becoming more painful, he was slowly giving up to hunger and perhaps the only option he had was to feed on the creature with whatever effort he had. He closed his eyes and approached the creature and closed his mind as his body did whatever necessary to survive despite the creatures pain. After sometime he felt his body regaining strength but his mind was starting to hear voices and see things and colors like he never seen before, attaining Eldritch knowledge and how to use powers that will only increase as he lives. He suddenly found himself wondering in a place he doesn't recognize with no recollection of how he ended up there which his journey begins...
Appearance:
Rhogar currently looks like an old hunchbacked pale looking dragonborn with raggedy winter clothing on top of his barely white scaled body. His eyes look sunken and almost blind. His body looks is bit muscular and oddly disfigured tail with tendril like beard and a long white hair in between two horns pointing back. His snout is similar that to a white dragon but his mouth, some had grew in strange places within his mouth. What probably stands the most is that his arms, in scaleless area, look semi transparent.
Born under the watch of something from the furthest corners of the far realms.... It knows all.... it sees all... and it asks: "What is it that you want to see?"... and my answer is... ALL"
Heh. I have a warlock I've never gotten a chance to play for more than one game at a run, but who is probably my favorite character I've ever built. I'll put her core Origin Story in spoilers below because it's long and nobody wants to read more'n a couple of paragraphs, but I built her to subvert a lot of the usual warlock expectations while still being both a powerful fighter and a very interesting character to run.
Memory
Female Tiefling Archfey Warlock, Pact of the Chain
Despite her species, Memory has nothing to do with fiends or the Hells - her infernal appearance/heritage is important only in that it made her more interesting to the capricious archfey that took her and held her in thrall for years. Taken from the Prime Material in her youth, Memory and her lost sister were split from each other, and Memory became a trophy of the archfey huntsman Syndariel. She served as a toy and decorative memento of the Prime Material for quite some time, before one of Syndariel's rivals - an archfey known to Memory only as the Laughing Lord - contacted her and gave her the knowledge and arcane power she needed to escape. When she did so, and embarrassed the Laughing Lord's rival in the process, she was informed that she had done well, and there would be more work, more power, and more rewards for her in the future.
She took the name 'Memory' because it was all she escaped the Feywild with, and because she refuses to give it up. Memory lives for the day she can try and find her lost sister again, and the day where she can visit exceedingly vicious vengeance upon Master Syndariel. In the interim she travels, begrudgingly doing the Laughing Lord's bidding and seeking the power, resources, connections and influence she needs to have her vengeance.
In play, Memory is neither a powerful blasty Eldritch Artillerist nor a conniving social manipulator. Instead she functions more as a magical thief and infiltrator, with a spell selection and invocations meant to enhance her ability to get to anywhere she needs to be and both move and act covertly. She's accompanied by Winterbreeze, a watcher spirit that typically takes the form of a sprite. Winterbreeze is almost alwys invisible, and Memory herself is almost always concealed by her Mask of Many Faces to avoid the attention and discrimination that her devilish features attract. She (and I) have actually constructed a few different complete personas, faces with names and histories that Memory assumes whenever she needs to present a specific facade to the world...but she's in her element in the darkness, putting rogues to shame and finding her way to treasure in need of a new owner and lives that have passed their expiration date.
I love her so much. God I wish I could give her the game she deserves. Q_Q
"When I was a young girl, I had a different name. A different life. My sister and I were urchins on the streets, both cursed with the devil's blood, neither of us cared for by the family that had birthed us. We got by on scrounging, a bit of thieving, and the meager pity of a handful of slightly less hard-hearted townsfolk. Up until the day my sister started to blossom, and Master Borsival the wine mogul started to fancy her."
"We had seen the way Master Borsival looked at other girls...seen the bruises on those who succumbed to his gifts, heard the stories of how he plied his favorites with his special spiced wines until they couldn't go a day without a taste. We wanted none of it. The city of Elturel lay two week's travel to the east, a place of light and goodness. We'd never before dared to risk the journey, dangerous as it was...but we'd never before had to hide from a powerful and influential merchant lord, either. My sister and I decided to risk it, amassing what little in the way of supplies we could and stealing away during the night."
"We never made it to Elturel."
"Four days out, we saw lights in the woods as we huddled together, shivering for warmth. They were beautiful...enchanting. We followed the lights, leaving behind the road and our little campsite, and chased the flickering wisps through the woods. How stupid we were. We wandered until we found a ring of flowers and pretty little mushrooms, at the center of a clearing beneath the moon's full light. The moss within that ring looked so inviting, and we were so tired...we thought nothing of laying down within it for a nap."
"You doubtless know what happened next, at least in spirit."
"When we awoke, we were elsewhere. We were bereft of our things, our clothes, and we wore chains of forged silver. The Masters had found us, caught in their trap, and they had taken a fancy to our devilish appearance. We were exotic toys to them, and they treated us as such. Master Syndariel took me, won my 'service' in a game with his peers. Master Aeferyn took my sister. I never saw her again."
"I don't know how many years I served Master Syndariel, save that it was enough that I grew from girl to woman. The Master was not kind. He did not care for hurting me, as some of his kind did, but he made it clear to me that I was nothing but an amusing pet and decoration to him. I had no status, no standing - I was less to him than one of his hunting hounds. I was to be seen when he wished it, and I was to be absent when he did not. I was to speak only when the Master wished me to say something, and only then to say what it was he wished to hear. Master Syndariel took some small pride in teaching me to sing, to play the little mandolin he let me use when he wished to hear it, but I was little more than an exotic music box for him. A red-skinned curiosity from the Material Plane, to be displayed when it amused him and cast aside when he was through."
"I never thought to escape. I dreamed of it, I craved it, I yearned for it...but Master Syndariel was far more powerful than I could ever hope to become. He knew where I was, and often I swore he knew my thoughts directly. I could no more escape him than a mouse could escape the hawk. Only when the Laughing Lord spoke to me from afar did escape seem real. The Laughing Lord offered me power, and more - he offered me knowledge. Knowledge of the secret ways and means of Master Syndariel's estate, how to slip away from his watchful guardians, bait away his hounds. The Laughing Lord taught me how the fairy rings worked, and he sent to me a single stone he told me would open the rings and allow me to flee. He gave me the gift of a drop of his own power, to ensure I could make the stone work. He guided me, and I used the wisdom he gave me to slip away."
"Only once did I ask the Laughing Lord about my sister. He laughed, and told me that those who concerned themselves with the fates of others did not succeed in escaping the Feywild. He told me that if I desired to find her then I should stay, and do so without his guidance. I...did not ask again."
"I stole away from Master Syndariel's lands, and I found a fairy ring. I used the Laughing Lord's stone, and I opened a gate back to the Prime Material plane. I escaped. I left the Feywild behind, left the accursed silver chains the Master had held me with, left behind his callousness and the petty cruelty of his court. I left my sister behind. And I discovered, shortly after I left that horrible place, that I had returned over a hundred and seventy years after the Masters had captured us."
"The Laughing Lord's voice did not disappear. The earring he gave me, that I might speak to him and him to me, remained in my ear. I cannot remove it, nor allow it to be removed. He told me that I'd done well, that Master Syndariel was furious at the loss of his prized mortal devil, and the Laughing Lord was delighted at his rival's misfortune. And now that I was free, returned to my home, there would be more. The Laughing Lord had given me power and freedom - and he expected me to repay his generosity."
"I took the name Memory, because it was all I had when I emerged from the Feywild. Memory of the years of abuse. Memory of the capricious cruelty of its inhabitants. Memory of the petty, selfish desires of the long-dead man who'd driven me into servitude. And memory of my sister, my only living family, still trapped within that horrible place."
"I took the name Memory because that is what I have left. Because it is my most precious possession. And because I will never give it up. I will not forget. I will not forgive. The Laughing Lord gave me power, and though he does not keep me in his court he expects servitude of me the same way Master Syndariel did. He expects me to be his agent in the Prime Material, doing his work, finding treasures for him and hunting those who displease him."
"I will serve because I must. I will learn. I will grow. One day, I will return. I will find Master Syndariel and I will burn the eyes from his head, that he can never see beautiful things again. I will pour acid in his ears, that he will never again enjoy the sound of music. I will gouge the tongue from his mouth, that he might never again savor his banquets. I will kill his hounds in front of him, drag him to the Prime Material where he can age and die, and I will nail him to the meadow he stole my sister and I from with stakes of cold iron so he can rot there."
"Then I will find my sister, or what's become of her. I will bring her out of that place, or I will find what remains of her and allow her proper, final rest. When that is done, I will present these deeds to the Laughing Lord, and I will tell him that if he ever speaks to me again, he will be next."
"I am Memory. I will never forget what was done to me and my family. And I will never allow those who wronged us to forget what they have done, either."
Please do not contact or message me.
Halavor Half Elven, 7th level. His mother was a moon elf who rebelled and married a human. What Halavor doesn't know: his mother is half Eladrin herself. We are working out that plot line. His grandfather did not approve the marriage, but loved his grandson. So, they would walk in the woods together at night. What Halavor doesn't know it's that those walks took him into the Feywild and back. This helped connect Halavor with his Fey ancestry and took the feat of the same name.
He is pact of the tome, and his patron is ... Maybe... Sehanine, acting as an Archfey. We say maybe because we're not sure. It could be an interlocutor , and communication occurs primarily through his Grimoire. Every magical being or item is recorded in his Grimoire, as part of the pact. But the name Sehanine, both goddess and patron, is burnt in his Grimoire and his mind.
Magic suffuses Halavor, and certain distinct "Feywild" additions have come to his appearance. Every spell with a vocal component is spoken in Eladrin. (Fwiw: I use Tolkien's Quenya as a stand in for Eladrin and I say the words as I cast the spell). His eyes glow sapphire blue when using Eldritch Sight. Ray of frost likewise emerges as cold blue beams from his eyes. He uses an Eladrin tarot deck when he casts augury. His skin is increasingly a silvery blue and his Eldritch blast looks like two silvery trees with blue leaves. As he delves deeper into magic, and immerses himself in the knowledge of the Feywild, will he harness its creative power, or will Halavor become lost to the Fey forever?
May the gentle moonlinght guide you to greater wisdom
Oh she's just
the best.
Mechanically she's a Half-Elf (base) which I reflavoured with Eladrin traits playing as a Divine Soul Sorc/Celestial Chainlock. It provides a lot of off healing, some blastier spells, and a lot of great flavour.
See, her patron? That's also her sorcerous origin parent. I flavoured it as Morwel, Queen of the Stars because I really didn't have a lot to go on, but w/e.
She made the pact because as far as she knows, her father has been kidnapped by Morwel and is being held in the Court itself. She doesn't know why, but she was given the option to work for Morwel and guarantee her fathers safety so she took it. It leaves her ambivalent towards her patron.
She gets dream visions and meetings with Morwel as well as a lower level celestial being. For her pet, she gets a pseudodragon that I am pretty sure is also just the lower level celestial being tasked with watching over her??
Personalitywise, she was raised on the edge of the woods, a bit far out and away from civilization, just her, the woods and her dad. She's a little iffy with cities, completely useless around pretty and attractive people and clearly in over her head most of the time. Due to her Eladrin heritage, she can get seriously pissed off and honestly, since I'm generally very reserved with my feelings I try to just... feel things when I'm playing her more than usual.
I've had a couple pieces commissioned for her because she's honestly my favourite character I've ever played.
I’m currently waiting for my friend to begin his session where I will play as a warlock for the first time.
A bounty hunter named Braden won an egg in a card game & believed it was a pseudodragon egg. After a few weeks the egg hatched & reviled what was actually a baby white Dragonborn. Instead of a pet he had someone to pass one his skills to, he named the baby Thexan.
As years went by & Thexan got older, others were added to Braden hunting crew. Mako a human rogue(arcane trickster), and Jory an orc that acted as Bradens muscle & security for his safehouses. Throughout their time together they brought in more gold, Bradens reputation grew, and Mako & Jory fell in love, married & have a half-Orc son they named Evan.
When Thexan turned 15, Braden decided it was time for him to retire & help him earn his own rep as a bounty hunter. A few years passed and Thexan had earned a small name for himself in the world. Braden decided to add his name to a competition that would have his name etched as one of the greatest bounty hunters in the world, The Great Hunt.
To get him in the Great Hunt, they had to either have his skills acknowledge by the warrior religion in their world or get a sponsorship from one of the worlds crime family’s, their only option was the latter because joining the religion would take too long.
But when Thexans mentors, Braden & Jory were murdered by a former member of the religious warriors, a Goliath named Tarro Blood. Thexan decided to continue the hunt without Mako since she had to care for her child.
So he took up Bradens long sword in his memory & prayed to any god that was listening to help him by giving him power to take revenge on Tarro Blood. (This is how the pact with his patron was formed)
I just finished my campaign where we (basically) hit level 20 and "retired." I played Ash, a Tiefling Hexblade 17 / Rogue 3 Swashbuckler. My DM was pretty generous with her pact weapon - he granted it the Finesse property, so I could get Sneak Attack damage. And, whenever I killed with it, I could regain a spell slot. So yeah, she used that weapon above all. We defeated an Ancient White Dragon, and with that thing's horde, we could have wiped out the economy of the Sword Coast.
Backstory:
Born and raised in the ghetto of a mid-sized town, she feels guilt and remorse for (thinking that she) caused the deaths of the mother and little brother at a young age. She spent her youth on the streets, trying to to get money honestly, which was nearly impossible because of her demonic appearance, miserable self-loathing, and righteous indignation. Left alone, in and out of orphanages and derelict buildings, she spent her time practicing with weapons, stealing, and picking locks. As a last resort, in her 15th year, she resorted to taking a contract from a shady old man to kill someone who had wronged him. When she cornered her quarry, she was quaking with fear. She was about to turn and run, shattered by fear and rage at herself, when a soothing chill calmed her. Her focus cleared, her pulse slowed, and as her target tried to beg for his miserable life, she knew in her heart that he was guilty, and a terrible person. So she killed him.
And passed out. When she awoke, it was dark, misty and cold. Towers of rocks and skeletal trees faded in and out of her poor vision. A misty shadow started to form in front of her, and she was afraid anew. The man-shaped shadow spoke in her mind, in Infernal. He offered her his guidance, in return for her allegiance. To him, but more so to her ultimate benefactor, the Raven Queen. She was supposed to kill on the Queen's behalf. Kill those that had somehow cheated death, or send her a particular soul that's in some inscrutable way interesting to her. Each miserable soul she dispatched to the Shadowfell would give the Queen more power, and she might share that power with her fledgling recruit. With another sharp chill, she collapsed, asleep.
When she awoke again, there was a beautiful Katana in front of her. It's blade was dull ashy gray, and the handle was wrapped with a black, leathery material. Several days had passed, and she was far from home.
She has spent the following 4 or 5 years wandering from villages to cities, staying in a town until the even the shadiest tavern would refuse to serve her. She communicates with her criminal network, especially the thin, pale Baltar, preferring to take murder contracts. Whenever she felt a slight coolness in the handle of her Katana, she was given the confidence to carry it out, feeling in her soul that the target deserved to die. Rarely, the handle would get very warm, and in her discomfort, she would call it off. Even if she needed the gold. As years passed, a wellspring of mystical energy grew, and she could cast spells.
Shadows would seek her out on occasion, and her powers and abilities would grow. Black ravens sometimes appeared at her killsites, and she grew to seek them out. She began to call her sword ShadowReaver. She spent time with it, whispering to it, sharing her memories and nightmares. After she killed with it, the blade would darken to the deepest black for a while, and the handle would get a deep reddish tint. She was connected to it, and in some way, it was connected to her.
Over the handful of years she has been engaged in her blade pact, she has struggled with her mistakes and emptiness of her miserable past, and the equally lonely existence she sees before her. Her sword craves blood. Her damaged psyche wants alcohol. Her soul, on the other hand, seeks redemption. The blood - and the alcohol - are much closer at hand.
She was a lot of fun to play. As I said, ShadowReaver got more powerful as she gained levels, eventually becoming +1, regaining spell slots when she killed with it, and at about level 14 (after we ventured into the Shadowfell,) it granted her the Maddening Hex invocation, and started talking to her. Prior to that, it would occasionally just get cold, indicating that she needed to kill something nearby. She was quite reckless, which was also fun to play. Swashbuckler enabled her to hit harder, and evade without opportunity attacks.
Several of our party decided to start businesses in Phandalin, which was our "home base." Our drunken monk started a bar, the Paladin ran the town guard and jail, the druid helped after most of the town's farms got burned in an attack. Ash decided to start a brothel, by convincing the manager and employees of a "bakery" in Neverwinter to relocate to Phandalin. Her goal was to make sure those girls were safe and well cared for. She would destroy anyone who even implied they might do them harm.
I never really used Hex, instead using Hexblade's Curse to activate the invocation bonuses. That saved spell slots for AoE spells and Smites. Took the PotB trifecta of Eldritch Smite, Thirsting Blade, and Lifedrinker. She did have Devil's Sight, and racial Darkness, but I think I only used that combo once - Devil's Sight helped in a couple of other cases, especially in the Shadowfell, and casting Hunger of Hadar.
There were several times where she was able to stack Crits with Smites and SA damage, and deal 100+ points of damage a round. Can't do that spamming EB.
When we "retired" she decided to start a school in Phandalin, and an orphanage in the city of her birth, Teziir. Also, she made sure that the girls in the bakery would never want for gold. In one trip to Hell, she became the warden of an Infernal Prison for a couple hours. She decided to go back there, kill whomever was running it now, and spend a few years running that prison.
A life well lived.
Mine is Zorro, the Dark Elf Hexblade chainlock, level 7, ascent into avernus. He is about 5’11 and has long white hair, wields a long sword and shield (with ravens carved on them). His patron is the Raven Queen, she rescued him in his escape from the underdark and the influence of the spiderqueen. He is chaotic good, and uses a sprite as his familiar. He has become a heart seeker for the Raven Queen. The sprite allows him tell the emotional state and alignments other beings to guide him in who to trust. His sword has a stock on it which he uses as a gunblade, firing eldritch blasts at range and smites in close combat.
His goal is to find Zauriel’s long sword and wield it save her or destroy her, and raise the city from hell.
I love this unconventional build I’ve come up with.
Sevii (Synthetic Elf 7 or SE-VII)
Lian Shiar was a genius. He was a master of not only alchemy and enchanting, two of the most common Eleven trades, but was a master inventor and craftsman, rivaling the most talented Dwarves and Gnomes. Lian’s masterpiece project was to create an intelligent, synthetic, magical, mechanical, lifeform using Warforged technology. He called his creation a Synthetic Elf. His early experiments were little more than mindless golems... but as he learned more his Synthetic Elves got more intelligent, more articulate, more lifelike, and far more powerful.
While attempting a new way of powering his 7th Synthetic Elf he forged a pact with a Celestial being. Intrigued by Lian’s experiment the Celestial imbued the lifeless automotan with divine power and brought it to life. The 7th elf was... different. While 1 through 6 were serious, stoic, and showed little emotion, 7 was friendly and very emotive, almost childlike in it’s personality. Lian wondered if his attempt to make his creation more limber and light weight by using saplings for wood contributed to this. Number 7 was by far his most life like creation yet... but still not the perfect creation Lian strives for, so it too was a failure like the ones before. With this latest failed attempt he’d hit a road block in his experiments. Lian spent a few days studying his newest creation and taking notes. Then one morning he approached Number 7 saying “Stay here, I will return soon”. Number 7 watched as his creator... his father, walked out the door with a large traveling bag slung across his back.
Number 7 stayed in the same spot for a full month... waiting for his/her fathers return before suddenly experiencing a new feeling... impatience. 7 decided to pass some time by tidying Lian’s home and workshop. Surly coming home to a clean home would please his father. While straightening up some papers he/she found a piece of parchment with a diagram that looked just like him/her. The diagram was labeled SE-VII. “Sevii?” the naive machine thought “Oh! That must be my name!” And so Sevii continued cleaning, and learned of how Lian was trying to create a lifelike synthetic being, and how Sevii was close, but not perfect. “That must be why he left” Sevii thought “But what if... I became perfect? What if I improved? Then father would be happy! Then he’d return!”. Unfortunately the less than perceptive automaton never discovered his/her creators hidden collection of notes, detailing his previous experiments. Sevii simply assumed he was unique, and one of a kind. Not the 7th in a long line of “failed” experiments. And so Sevii set about gathering some things from around the home, having no idea what he/she would need for a trip, packed a small bag and was soon out the door, stepping into the world that he/she had never seen. The Celestial that had helped give Sevii life watched curiously. The little puppet was displaying far more autonomy than she thought it would. What would happen if she helped it along? And so she appeared before Sevii, bathed in radiant blue light. Only her silhouetted humanoid form and wings visible to the automaton. “I shall watch over you curious one... but in return you must do your best to do good for this realm. Impress me and prove you are worthy of the life I gave to you.” And with that the image of the Celestial faded. Sevii’s eyes were wide. “What was that?” The machine thought for a bit. His/her mind was filled with knowledge, it was all information not learned, but written into his/her very being by some unknown magic. The only thing that Sevii could compare the woman who appeared before him to was a fairy. “A blue fairy? *gasp* Maybe she can make me real!!!” And with that Sevii set out on his/her journey. Hoping to please the Blue Fairy, for if Sevii did surley she would be able to make Sevii perfect and Sevii’s father would return and be happy with him/her.
I always have serious Warlocks that have to jump through hoops for their patron so I made a fun one for a campaign I'm currently in.
Thialt grew up on Point, a small fishing village it was frequented by sailors, and adventurers. A small population of a hundred locals. Up until age 10 Thialt enjoyed reading and playing with the other kids.
Thialt spent his teenage years bouncing from job to job barely making money, always working hard like his parents suggested. He enjoyed a few of them, he enjoyed cooking at the local tavern, he also enjoyed working in the library, if you can all it that as it was just a bookshelf in the local town hall, as he became older and needed to make more money he needed more skilled jobs. At age 16 Thialt left the island and headed to a nearby port town, catching a lift with one of the local fishermen. He said his farewells and left. His father gave him a green belt and a leather pouch to take with him.
At Thialt arrived in Grimdel and got a job in the local tavern where he cooked and cleaned. One night a customer of the bar got particularly violent and Thialt wondered what if he came back, he gathered what little he saved up and bought a dagger and sheath, which he attached to his belt. While working in the tavern Thialt realised he had quite the silver tongue or “the gift of the gab” as his Orcish bar keep would refer to is as. Thialt was barely scraping by and after about a year of working at the tavern Thialt saw a notice that he would have to jump at. “Freelance sell swords wanted” Thialt saw this as his opportunity to make some real money.
After a few months after he turned 17 Thialt was in a tavern in Port Balifor he ended up bumping into an attractive man in a nice suit wearing an expensive amulet and ring. Thialt spent the night drinking with this man who called himself Pelle. Pelle seemed to enjoy Thialt’s attitude and how he never asked Pelle to buy him a drink all night and even offered to buy Pelle a few rounds. Thialt bumped into Pelle in when ever he was back in Port Balifor after about a year of knowing each other Pelle introduced himself to Thialt as an Incubus who was collecting souls for an Arch-devil. Thialt seemed not to mind Pelle’s real side and offered up a plan. “No one is more willing to trade their soul than a dying mortal” Thialt stated with confidence and told Pelle if Thialt had a way to contact him after Thialt’s group spilled some blood he could summon Pelle to collect souls. Pelle agreed and thanks to Thialt collected more souls than before and compensated Thialt with money, which they would go on to spend on long nights in taverns drinking the bars dry together.
About six months after turning 19 Thialt was in a skirmish with another Merc group and Thialt became mortally wounded. As he lay dying on the ground after the fighting stopped, he summoned Pelle. Pelle walked around leisurely collecting souls of the dying making deals and trades. That’s when Pelle came upon Thialt dying on the ground. Pelle begged Thialt to make a pact with him, become his Warlock so that Thialt may recover and survive, initially Thialt refused saying it wasn’t fair to put his friend through that. Pelle argued that if Thialt died anything could happen but if he was Pelle’s Warlock when he did die at least he would return to Hell with Pelle were Pelle could protect him, Thialt agreed. After recovering he stayed with Eltnaihl for another few months where he would travel as a free lance to have some more fun.
Thialt has a chain engraved onto his right arm that only he, Pelle, and any other of Pelle’s Warlocks can see. Thialt can use to summon Pelle, and Pelle can use to control Thialt not that he ever has a need to do that. The two remained friends however with his new abilities Thialt only kept working as a mercenary to upkeep his new lifestyle of moving from place to place and living free and happy. Thialt knows he’s going to Hell, but this doesn’t bother him as his “owner” is his best friend leading to a non-chalant approach to his own life.
All Pelle’s Warlocks have the same arm chain as Thialt. All Pelle’s Warlocks can see each other’s chain so they can discreetly help each other if they had to.
DM - 13 years
Primary Class - Warlock (Pact of Chain)
Primary Race - Changeling
mine is termerity, a tiefling warlock, pact of the tome, fiend patron.
i had a lot of fun coming up with a ridiculous backstory for her: she was a street performer (using a fiddle) for several years, but could never get magic through her music. so she decided to challenge one of fierna's underlings to a fiddle-off. she won (because backstory) and got fiendish magic with no debts to fierna.
i haven't played her yet, but she's for an upcoming oneshot, so she's starting at level four.
this'll actually be my first time as a player; i've been dming for about a year.
Then he pulled the bow across the strings
And it made an evil hiss
And a band of demons joined in
And it sounded something like this...
I just made one for a game that's starting in a few days. It's supposed to be a dark setting where the undead have suddenly risen en mass and things have gone to full-on zombie apocalypse.
Griss- Tiefliing, Fiendish Patron, Pact of the Tome
Griss has spent most of her life living on the streets, begging, sneaking, and stealing to survive. She never knew her mother. However, for years she's had a powerful balor who calls himself Pyre whispering in her head. Pyre claims to be her father, though whether his relationship to her is that direct or something from generations ago, Griss doesn't know.
Any time she has done wrong- he praises her. Every theft, every lie, every act of vengeance. She hates this and tries to ignore it (and his suggestions) as much as possible. He's also been trying to convince her to accept a pact and "embrace the full power of her blood."
Then came the day when the dead rose from their graves to slaughter the living. Seeing her friends ripped apart, only to rise as undead horrors themselves, she finally did the one thing she swore she'd never do and accepted her father's offer. In an instant, a thick tome bound in black iron, filled with unholy words penned in blood was in her hands. Her head was filled with arcane knowledge, and she put that knowledge to use, burning undead creatures to ash. With a whip that smells of ash, a "proper" weapon for her, according to her father, she now stalks the land, seeking to burn all the undead she can. She finds that she enjoys this task very much.
Find your own truth, choose your enemies carefully, and never deal with a dragon.
"Canon" is what's factual to D&D lore. "Cannon" is what you're going to be shot with if you keep getting the word wrong.
Character i'm playing in our Avernus campaign.
Kain de Draakberg.
Zariel Tiefling, Dark Knight( Vengeance paladin3/Hexblade 5) PotB.
A fallen Knight, that after political schemes and court affairs, had his Adoptive Father, who was a Knight Commander, framed and executed for High Treason, he had to flee, but swore to one day come back and Avenge his Father and expose the true schemers.
Joined a Mercenary band, where he used his Warrior expertise to earn his keep, one day during an escort mission, his party and the merchants where attacked by Ogres, they managed to drive most of them and kill a couple, but one got Kain's arm, and ate it, Kain took the grotesque thing's Head.
After been healed but still missing an arm, he quited been a mercenary, and drowned his misery in alcohol, he was a mess.
A friend of his Mercenary days found him, and forced him to quite drinking and tried to make him join the Flaming Fists company in Baldur's Gates with him.
He gave him the adress of a knowed Artificer, that was a bit excentric, but it was his last ditch effort to get back into the Warrior he once was.
The Artificer build him a prosthetic arm, that used weird tech, alchemy and Arcane, it was a mix of metal aloy and monster muscles and runes( the organic parts came from the arm of the same Ogre that ate Kain's arm, someone had conserved the thing with magic to make a trophy out of it).
He Called it the "Ogre Crusher", and he felt like he was whole again, evne though accidents can happen from time to time, since he as bearly any feeling of touch and as a hard time gauging the strength neccesary to do things, so he broke a lot of stuffs before getting used to it( wich gave him the nickname "the Crusher" amidst the Flaming Fists)
He lived for 2 years in Baldur's Gates as a mercenary and even got promoted to Sergeant, before he got news of what happened to Elturel and the waves of refugees coming with grim news of a city that vanished in the flames and in the depth of the earth.
He was put in charge of a ragtag team of "volunteers" to make the light on the last cases of murders in town, wich was attirbuted to the Cult of the Dead 3, he took it personaly when his friend who got him enlisted and helped him was killed one night by those fanatics.
Also since a night or so ago, coincidentaly when Elturel was supposedly destroyed, he started feeling a presence, something in his peripherial view, like a shadow, but each time he would try to look around to see what it was it vanished,a nd when he was alone in the dark he would hear whispers "...Soon...".
Since then he felt a kind of Fury, somekind of fire inside of him that he hasn't felt since the day he nearly was killed and gave his all to survive...
"Normality is but an Illusion, Whats normal to the Spider, is only madness for the Fly"
Kain de Frostberg- Dark Knight - (Vengeance Pal3/ Hexblade 9), Port Mourn
Kain de Draakberg-Dark Knight lvl8-Avergreen(DitA)