Put a lot of effort in to your narrative and want to share it with people? Throw it over, we'd love to read it!
Here's my black dragonborn, warlock (hexblade), Tarmasis: (Players in my campaign, please don't read this) ;P
Tarmasis the black dragonborn, (born 17 Deepwinter - 1461 DR, Year of Three Goddesses Blessing) was once a proud member of Clan Verthicha Hesjing. He spent his years in the mountains of Tymanther hunting beside his people and creating strong ties with family and loved ones.
On the third moon of Kythorn, 1481 DR, Tarmasis stood on watch protecting the walls of his village from unknown intruders. The night was quiet other than the light banter he and Willfire, a tiefling of similar age, shared to pass the time. Suddenly out of nowhere a series of horrid blood-curdling screams came from inside the village walls, the two turned to see a white blur tearing through buildings and rending flesh and bone from familiar forms. His village was under attack and already, in an instant, so many had died. He rushed in to combat with his longsword overhead and fought until the last of his people fell. Surrounded in the corpses of his loved ones he struck the final blow upon the unknown creature, ripping the skull from its head in vengeance.
The night grew silent once more. Wounded, near death and crushed of spirit knowing all he had was lost, Tarmasis fled the bloodied husk that was once his home, never to return again. His face and half his torso torn and severed but his legs and mind still intact. Afraid to be seen by civilization, he spent the following six years in seclusion, traveling the Plaguelands, hiding from hideous mutated creatures and forgotten pilgrims, occasionally finding the misjudged comfort of shelter in the ruined city of Ormpetarr.
The years melted away as the dragonborn grew in power with his dedication to survive the horrid lands; all that were familiar to him. This natural tenant to explore places unfit for most people lead him deep in to a soft glowing cave of blue light. Before him, illuminated by cerulean glow, a large steel sword lay rested upon a rock slab. Eager to loot this prized gem he lifted it from the cold stone. A loud ringing vibrated through his mind and before him, an entity of unimaginable horror appeared. Paralyzed by fear, he stared down the devil, the unknown depths of his mind tapping in to insanity with every lingering second...until darkness.
Tarmasis opened his eyes. He stood surrounded in the same familiar vault of cavernous rock, but the comforting blue glow had diminished and fled, in its place a cacophony of rot and decay. Where there was light, there is now shadow. In front of him the same figure from before, staring strictly with piercing eyes, no clear intent to remove its gaze from the paralytic dragonborn.
What felt like an hour passed with unmoving hostility and fear, Tarmasis found the strength to step forward and approach this being. "I am nothing to you! What do you want from me?!" With no hesitation the entity responded in broken whispers, "Black dragon, who hath survived the Plaguelands, who slayed the quaggoth, brought to me by fate. I know you. Clanless, broken and alone. Seeking purpose. Take this light, the last gift of Shar. With it you will find new strength and once again return to the world of the living." The entity reached out with long fingers and hovering in his withered palm a cerulean blue flame. With nothing to lose, without hesitation, the dragonborn lurched forward and reached for the mysterious source of power.
In an instant, the air felt clear, the walls once again breathing with moss and morning dew. He had returned to his world and his old scars now healed. The entity was gone, and in its place still lay the gnarled, unsound sword. Tarmasis lifted it, weightlessly, from the ground and heard a familiar voice echo in his head, "Black dragon. I will be your hand and guide you. Listen when I whisper. Feed me when I hunger. Together we will finish what she started."
Two years passed, the black dragon and his mysterious sword traveled across Faerun with new invigorated health; cutting down those unworthy of life, who threatened settlements similar to that of his lost home, confident to never let history repeat itself.
In a warm tavern bed upon the border of the fabled Sword Coast, a restless night threw itself over the dragonborn, like stagnant pond water it sank painfully into his pores. He saw the world being destroyed by cold choking fumes, lightning storms, waves of acid, and horrible fire. It climaxed with ten evil eyes glaring down at him from the darkness. As he awoke, a familiar whisper entered his ears, wishing him towards the small town of Greenest. Without question there he traveled, another path he must take upon command of his strange dark passenger he vowed his life to so long ago.
Here is the backstory for my wizard character. I haven't played with him yet, but that's mostly because I DM all the time.
In his earlier years of life, Taonos was infatuated by the idea of becoming a powerful wizard. His life in the city was fairly easy-going, although not luxurious. His father, Albin Greywind, ran a moderately successful carpentry business in the city. Taonos and his younger brother Corthas always got along, running around the city with their other friends, enjoying life. At the age of 16, Taonos was accepted into the college of magic in the city where he lived. The Arch-Mage of the college, Grenendale, took a personal interest in him, believing him to be able to become his successor one day.
After about half a decade of learning the basics of wizardry and magic, Grenendale invited Taonos along on an expedition into an ancient temple that had recently been uncovered. The architecture of the temple was unique and who made it was unknown, but Grenendale had been doing research on an ancient civilization that he suspected once ruled in this region. The expedition revealed little about the ancient civilization, aside from an ancient tome bearing a mark that resembles a bone-like claw with three talons. Grenendale was secretive about the book, revealing almost no information about it to Taonos. For many more years, Taonos continued to learn under his master, becoming more and more proficient in the ways of magic. But, as the years passed, Grenendale became erratic and started to descend into madness.
One day, Taonos entered his master's office to check in on him, but found him hunched over the book with a crazed look on his face. Taonos tried to help his master, but Grenendale attacked him. After a short fight, Taonos had no choice but to vitally injure his master. As Grenendale was nearing death, he had a moment of clarity, grabbing Taonos and speaking only two words, "stop him". He then handed Taonos the tome and died. Taonos ran from the city, afraid that he was to be blamed for his master's murder. Taonos now travels the land, searching for answers about what happened to his master.
The book that Taonos bears calls to him in his mind, urging him to open it. Taonos has resisted thus far, but curiosity is starting to get the better of him.
Newly born Hexblade Warlock, not fully fleshed out yet, but here's the general idea:
Dorston grew up hearing the stories of his great-grandfather, a powerful warrior, capable of magic and incredible deeds, and his mighty, talking sword, Dawnshine. For some reason the family was nonetheless living in a humble village, with Dorston's father working as a smith, repairing pots and horse irons, sometimes the breastplate of a passing adventurer or expertly sharpening the swords of the roaming guards of the region. Dorston didn't mind the quiet life, but the legends of his ancestor always tickled his mind. It comes to no surprise, then, that when he heard a clear voice in his head, while admiring the suit of armour and the scabbarded sword of his great-grandfather, he listened carefully. The voice would tell him that it was none other than Dawnshine speaking to him, that the time had come once again for one of his lineage to take up arms against the forces of evil and corruption, all he had to do was accept the power Dawnshine could grant him, and free it from the scabbard it was sealed into. Without thinking too much, Dorston did just that, and released the sword, which started floating in mid air in front of him. The pact was struck, the sword offered the young power, but not itself, flying away to an unknown location.
After that, Dorston started feeling strange, more and more every day, until the sword spoke again in his mind, and urged him to prepare for travel and adventure: a great destiny awaited him as its blessed vassal. And so it was that he departed his parent's home, with simple equipment and little training, and ventured in the large world, with the voice of a talking, blessed sword as his guide.
For several years now Dorston has been the willing servant of Dawnshine, and everything seems go pretty well for him, even though the shape and looks of some of the incredible powers he has obtained seems strange, he has no doubt, he is sure inside of him that he was destined to be this: a Paladin.
Unfortunately, nothing could be farther from the truth, as Dawnshine is nothing more than a ruse, a fake personality of an otherwise twisted and cursed entity residing the sword Dorston freed, and that is now using the young man to gather knowledge and regain strength, until such a time as he will no longer need him.
This guy is convinced 100% that he is serving a celestial entity, and that he is at all effects a Paladin. He has not seen nor met a real paladin ever in his life and only heard stories. He is so convinced, that he would still defend his "paladinicity" even when confronted with proof that his powers are all but those of a paladin.
Here's my half-orc Druid/Barbarian. He was pulled up to join a group playing the Lost Mines of Phandelver right before they entered the Cragmaw Hideout.
Kuligall was born into a nomadic orc clan that traveled the wilds of the north. From a young age, he always had an affinity with nature in general, and animals more specifically. The clans' resident druid took him under her wing after she found him talking with animals, and started teaching him what she knew.
But this life could not last for long.
A group of cultists that worshiped a primordial evil had poisoned the local water supply, causing all of the clan members to fall into an enchanted sleep... All that is, except for the druid and her apprentice, since they had some resistance to the posion.
The cultists came into the camp, gathering everyone they could find into a ritual circle that they carved out, and then they started chanting. A dark portal opened overhead as the druids watched, helpless to do a thing since the poison had the side effect of blocking off the flow of all magic. Tendrils of dark energies flowed out from the portal, tethering to all present, orc and cultist alike, with a larger tendril being attached to the young Kuligall.
As the life could be seen being drained from all present, The young half-orc could hear a deep, resonant voice echoing inside of his mind, telling him how it was going to take control of his body and bring a reign of terror down on the world like it had never known before.
At this moment, something snapped inside of the youngling, and he ripped the tendril asunder, not noticing as some squirmed into his forehead. All of this left him alone with his dead clansmen and enemies.He did not know, though, that the snapped tendril had left a portion of the old one in his mind, just waiting for the time that it could take over and be free...
Since then, he has traveled south from the frozen northlands that stretch further than the furthest dale's, and has recently heard of a clan of goblins that have been ambushing people near Neverwinter, and has decided that he shall pay this clan a 'visit'...
Put a lot of effort in to your narrative and want to share it with people? Throw it over, we'd love to read it!
Here's mine:
Tarmasis, the black dragonborn, didn't know his parents, he was abandoned at birth, thrown in to the Underchasm. Somehow he survived the perilous terrain with no memories before the age of six, when he left his unforgiving nightmare of a dark and twisted home.
From what he can recall, his childhood was spent secluded in the plaguelands, hiding from hideous mutated creatures and forgotten pilgrims, occasionally finding the comfort of food and drink in the small city of Ormpetarr.
The years melted away as the dragonborn grew in power with his dedication to survive the horrid lands; all that were familiar to him. This natural tenant to explore places unfit for most people, lead him deep in to a soft glowing cave of blue light. Before him, illuminated by cerulean glow, yet hidden in shadow, an entity of unimaginable horror. Paralyzed by fear, he stared down the demon, the unknown depths of his mind tapping in to insanity with every lingering second...until darkness.
Tarmasis opened his eyes. Thundering flames soured past his vision, malevolent winged beings flocked over sharp red peaks on the horizon. He saw a landscape before him, as though he was flying. His vision near-impossible to focus on as his senses overcame with the horrid form of shrieking babble in his ears, impossible to comprehend. Deeper within the screams the sound of heavy chains chuckled like a torrent of rain upon his skull.
What felt like mere moments passed as he awoke once again in the cave, still touched upon by blue light, yet no sign of the demon. Only cold lonely stone walls remained. His head pounding with memories of his recent travels beyond. He held thoughts that were not his own, memories of countless lifetimes, thousands of voices from the past, now living inside of him. His eyes now shone a blue flame with a freshly cut spiraled scar upon his forehead.
Many years passed, with greater understanding of his visions. The ramblings clearer in translation, commanding him to retrieve lost relics and shrines to the Chained God, in aim to free him from his shackles.
Tarmasis can now be found lurking the most forgotten temples with his ever growing disciples, in aim to tear the very threads of existence asunder.
Nice one! I like that he could knowingly go basically either way.
Here is the backstory for my wizard character. I haven't played with him yet, but that's mostly because I DM all the time.
In his earlier years of life, Taonos was infatuated by the idea of becoming a powerful wizard. His life in the city was fairly easy-going, although not luxurious. His father, Albin Greywind, ran a moderately successful carpentry business in the city. Taonos and his younger brother Corthas always got along, running around the city with their other friends, enjoying life. At the age of 16, Taonos was accepted into the college of magic in the city where he lived. The Arch-Mage of the college, Grenendale, took a personal interest in him, believing him to be able to become his successor one day.
After about half a decade of learning the basics of wizardry and magic, Grenendale invited Taonos along on an expedition into an ancient temple that had recently been uncovered. The architecture of the temple was unique and who made it was unknown, but Grenendale had been doing research on an ancient civilization that he suspected once ruled in this region. The expedition revealed little about the ancient civilization, aside from an ancient tome bearing a mark that resembles a bone-like claw with three talons. Grenendale was secretive about the book, revealing almost no information about it to Taonos. For many more years, Taonos continued to learn under his master, becoming more and more proficient in the ways of magic. But, as the years passed, Grenendale became erratic and started to descend into madness.
One day, Taonos entered his master's office to check in on him, but found him hunched over the book with a crazed look on his face. Taonos tried to help his master, but Grenendale attacked him. After a short fight, Taonos had no choice but to vitally injure his master. As Grenendale was nearing death, he had a moment of clarity, grabbing Taonos and speaking only two words, "stop him". He then handed Taonos the tome and died. Taonos ran from the city, afraid that he was to be blamed for his master's murder. Taonos now travels the land, searching for answers about what happened to his master.
The book that Taonos bears calls to him in his mind, urging him to open it. Taonos has resisted thus far, but curiosity is starting to get the better of him.
Interesting and somewhat unconventional.
I like the use you have made of the typical "seeker of knowledge" quality of the Wizard and made it a dilemma.
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Born in Italy, moved a bunch, living in Spain, my heart always belonged to Roleplaying Games
Here's my half-orc Druid/Barbarian. He was pulled up to join a group playing the Lost Mines of Phandelver right before they entered the Cragmaw Hideout.
Kuligall was born into a nomadic orc clan that traveled the wilds of the north. From a young age, he always had an affinity with nature in general, and animals more specifically. The clans' resident druid took him under her wing after she found him talking with animals, and started teaching him what she knew.
But this life could not last for long.
A group of cultists that worshiped a primordial evil had poisoned the local water supply, causing all of the clan members to fall into an enchanted sleep... All that is, except for the druid and her apprentice, since they had some resistance to the posion.
The cultists came into the camp, gathering everyone they could find into a ritual circle that they carved out, and then they started chanting. A dark portal opened overhead as the druids watched, helpless to do a thing since the poison had the side effect of blocking off the flow of all magic. Tendrils of dark energies flowed out from the portal, tethering to all present, orc and cultist alike, with a larger tendril being attached to the young Kuligall.
As the life could be seen being drained from all present, The young half-orc could hear a deep, resonant voice echoing inside of his mind, telling him how it was going to take control of his body and bring a reign of terror down on the world like it had never known before.
At this moment, something snapped inside of the youngling, and he ripped the tendril asunder, not noticing as some squirmed into his forehead. All of this left him alone with his dead clansmen and enemies.He did not know, though, that the snapped tendril had left a portion of the old one in his mind, just waiting for the time that it could take over and be free...
Since then, he has traveled south from the frozen northlands that stretch further than the furthest dale's, and has recently heard of a clan of goblins that have been ambushing people near Neverwinter, and has decided that he shall pay this clan a 'visit'...
I had never really thought of a Druid/Barbarian dual-class, but it makes good sense.
The back story is intriguing, and opens to a lot of possibilities.
I like how basically all of us are making our characters either knowingly or unknowingly potential sources of disasters and destruction ;)
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Born in Italy, moved a bunch, living in Spain, my heart always belonged to Roleplaying Games
here's a second character that i made based off of a friend of mine thats really into the Drizzt novels. Her name is Azalea Do'Urden, a level 2 Rouge/Ranger
Azalea was born in the Underdark to the sister of Zaknafein Do'Urden, Chandra Do'Urden. When Chandra was a little girl, her brother instilled in her the same ideals that were passed on to Drizzt, which Chandra then passed on to her daughter.
Azalea was trained in the art of assassination and spying from a young age, being sent to take out rival Dark elves and upstart duergar clan heads. In the process of these missions, she discovered a secret passage that led straight to the surface. She followed it up to the top, and there saw the surface world or the first time.
She found the grand expanse of sky to be exhilarating, and the trees were all new to her, as she wandered through the forest glade she had surfaced in. Reluctantly, she headed back into the deeps, promising to find that tunnel again. Several years later, when she was 17, she told her mother about the tunnel, which was when her mother revealed a shocking truth- She was not pure drow. Her father had been a slave that House Do'Urden had captured on a surface raid, and whom Chandra had fallen in love with.
Pulling out a small set of gear, Azalea's mother handed it over, along with a set of directions that would lead her daughter to a place of training. And, in doing so, Chandra gave her blessing for her daughter to leave for the surface, knowing full and well that it may cost them both their lives.
Azalea left, and quickly found herself at the tunnel. Once she exited, she breathed a breath of fresh air, only to discover that a band of orcs and goblins had taken over the glade. Quickly putting them to rest, the young rouge left, following the very same path her cousin before her had. Within a year, she had found the place of safety and training her father had mentioned, and now, 11 years later, she has set out for her first mission for a group know as The Harpers...
my Halfling wizard is not very fleshed out yet. So far i know that he is a traveling magician, except he actually uses magic sometimes. He also has a top hat. A TOP HAT.
my Halfling wizard is not very fleshed out yet. So far i know that he is a traveling magician, except he actually uses magic sometimes. He also has a top hat. A TOP HAT.
oh god! *laughs myself to death* does he also own a lot of property and wear a monocle? lol
I was the right-hand-man of Aerael de Lacosta, leader of the Rising Suns, as we battled against the tyrannical reign of Emperor Bulgariss for the Kingdom of Trussika. During a particularly difficult campaign I, along with a dozen villagers of Greenhope I was helping to escape, was ambushed by a force of fifty imperial soldiers.
Carrying little but a simple shield and my grandfather’s rapier, I stood against them, holding them off for as long as I could. I cut down nearly two dozen of them, but had significant wounds for my troubles. I expected that this would be the end for me.
As I was run through by what I had assumed was a fatal blow, a beam of pure sunlight blazed down from the sky. Through thepiercing glare of this blinding light, as I was enveloped into it, I saw the face of an angel of the goddess of purity. She told me that my time was not yet, and that there was work yet to do. She gave me only a single admonition - to persevere.
Thus restored, I found my wounds healed, and my mind clear as I returned to myself, with a circle of scorched earth surrounding my feet. The soldiers, astonished at the sudden display of godly power, had stepped back, yet still had their weapons at the ready.
I watched in fascination as, at my very will, my grandfather’s sword enveloped in radiant fire, white tongues of flame licking up the blade with a piercing glow. The blade had been transformed into that blade of legend, the Radiant Ambulai.
The soldiers steeled themselves, but I could see the fear in their eyes, battling with their unjust orders to take the village. With a sudden smile on my face, I taunted them with brazen confidence - “Come on.”
I am no paladin. I took no oath nor vow, and I do not know for what purpose I carry the Ambulai, but I have wielded it in the pursuit of justice from that day forward. Owing to our victories as we continued to battle the imperials, I was dubbed as the Hand of Ambulai, a title of which I hope to remain worthy.
I love the stuff you guys are posting. Lots of creative talent in here! :)
Here's the backstory for my aarakocra monk, Talon Swiftbeak:
Born atop a vast floating mountain in the Elemental Plane of Air, a child of the aarakocra tribe Zaar Tikani, Talon was raised as a warrior of peace. He spent his childhood meditating and defending his tribe from the earth elementals that recurrently held great threat to his people.
One still night, perched upon the highest peak, of the highest rock, in isolated meditation, his mind found itself in eternal darkness. Confused and trapped for what seemed like eternity; time, life, his surroundings stolen from him. Talon witnessed a holy vision of infinity itself. As if no time passed, he awoke from his haunting stupor, barely unable to comprehend this unnerving journey beyond the skyless valleys of reality itself.
He gazed upon his homeland with emotional paralysis. All that he knew, that he loved, was now meaningless and numb to him. It was not time that was stolen from him, in this mysterious vision, it was his spirit.
A few monotonous moons passed. No longer feeling connection to his home and family, upon reaching adulthood at age 3, he attempted to end his life. One last breath, he plummeted through the layers of fog that blanketed the unknown world beneath. Falling...falling...darkness.
Talon awoke. An endless, alien panorama before him. He found himself alive in the continent of Kara-Tur, Eastern Faerun of the material plane.
A year passed in isolation, terrified of sinking back in to the infinite abyss, he stayed far from the familiar practice of meditation. One warm dawn, a human traveler discovered the lost aarakocra and convinced him to find home at a nearby monastery. Over six months, Talon rediscovered himself training under the guidance of monks in the ways of ki.
Talon's life of adventuring began with an introduction to The Harpers. This coincidental meeting, by one of the faction's operatives, found him leaving the monastery and traveling by sea to the metropolis of Neverwinter.
Regained with purpose, Talon found friendship with a local band of pirates, The Dirty Hand, traveling the seas as their lookout in search for answers to his haunted past. Perhaps with further dedication to his craft, and these strange allies in a foreign world, may he find the maladjusted God who's fateful vision plundered him from the skies.
My first D&D character, Petrichor, blue dragonborn warlock:
Petrichor, previously known by a different name, grew up in a large city under a powerful and wealthy family. He trained to be a wizard in his young years, excelling in potential even beyond his tutors, though this potential squandered through his fascination with a unknown entity that haunted his dreams.
This mysterious force became an obsession to him; it spoke whispers that had no face, it showed him horrific images that held no meaning.
In fascinated fear he ran from his city, his family and even his name; he became poor and unknown. In time, Petrichor was born from the ashes of his past, the dreams still as vivid as his youth yet their mysteries still withheld from him.
If there was one thing his lifetime of exiled searching brought him, it was the knowledge that the deeper he delved in to his alien nightmares the more powerful he became.
My first D&D character, Petrichor, blue dragonborn warlock:
Petrichor, previously known by a different name, grew up in a large city under a powerful and wealthy family. He trained to be a wizard in his young years, excelling in potential even beyond his tutors, though this potential squandered through his fascination with a unknown entity that haunted his dreams.
This mysterious force became an obsession to him; it spoke whispers that had no face, it showed him horrific images that held no meaning.
In fascinated fear he ran from his city, his family and even his name; he became poor and unknown. In time, Petrichor was born from the ashes of his past, the dreams still as vivid as his youth yet their mysteries still withheld from him.
If there was one thing his lifetime of exiled searching brought him, it was the knowledge that the deeper he delved in to his alien nightmares the more powerful he became.
I have a Character that i made for my girlfriend that might match well with your monk.
(do note, i only use this picture while i have someone make me my own)
I know her background leaves much to be desired.
Name: Azalea Do'Urden
Race: Half-elf (drow, but leans more towards her human parentage, besides the ears)
Class: Rouge (will be becoming an assassin and Ranger Hunter archetype)
Alignment: CN
Prefered weapons: Dual daggers, rapier, longbow
Age: 21
Role: Scout/DPS
Background: Criminal
Azalea was born in the Underdark to the sister of Zaknafein Do'Urden, Chandra Do'Urden. When Chandra was a little girl, her brother instilled in her the same ideals that were passed on to Drizzt, which Chandra then passed on to her daughter.
Azalea was trained in the art of assassination and spying from a young age, being sent to take out rival Dark elves and upstart duergar clan heads. In the process of these missions, she discovered a secret passage that led straight to the surface. She followed it up to the top, and there saw the surface world or the first time.
She found the grand expanse of sky to be exhillirating, and the trees were all new to her, as she wandered through the forest glade she had surfaced in. Reluctantly, she headed back into the deeps, promising to find that tunnel again. Several years later, when she was 17, she told her mother about the tunnel, which was when her mother revealed a shocking truth- She was not pure drow. Her father had been a slave that House Do'Urden had captured on a surface raid, and whom Chandra had fallen in love with.
Pulling out a small set of gear, Azalea's mother handed it over, along with a set of directions that would lead her daughter to a place of training. And, in doing so, Chandra gave her blessing for her daughter to leave for the surface, knowing full and well that it may cost them both their lives.
Azalea left, and quickly found herself at the tunnel. Once she exited, she breathed a breath of fresh air, only to discover that a band of orcs and goblins had taken over the glade. Quickly putting them to rest, The young rouge left, following the very same path her cousin before her had. Within a year, she had found the place of safety and training her father had mentioned, and now, 11 years later, she has set out for her first mission for a group know as The Harpers, headed for parts unknown!
Captured by (Orcs?) but not tasty enough to eat, NüUg was enslaved and forced to compete in a couple of death matches for the entertainment of Many-Arrows Orc tribes (as well as eat their terrible food). Though small, NüUg's scrappy fighting style kept him alive long enough for him to prove his true value outside the pits: cooking up many a fallen beast as tasty alternatives to eating ‘Dwarf'.
Freed from the pits, NüUg now travels the lands as an adventurer, seeking rare and wonderful culinary ingredients. And Ale.
@GalacticSamurai dude, the illustration you use are amazing! Where do they come from??
I usually snatch art from the internet and paint over it. I'm not selling it or marking it as my own, so there shouldn't be any issues. The only people who ever see it are some friends around a table ya know?
Put a lot of effort in to your narrative and want to share it with people? Throw it over, we'd love to read it!
Here's my black dragonborn, warlock (hexblade), Tarmasis:
(Players in my campaign, please don't read this) ;P
Tarmasis the black dragonborn, (born 17 Deepwinter - 1461 DR, Year of Three Goddesses Blessing) was once a proud member of Clan Verthicha Hesjing. He spent his years in the mountains of Tymanther hunting beside his people and creating strong ties with family and loved ones.
On the third moon of Kythorn, 1481 DR, Tarmasis stood on watch protecting the walls of his village from unknown intruders. The night was quiet other than the light banter he and Willfire, a tiefling of similar age, shared to pass the time. Suddenly out of nowhere a series of horrid blood-curdling screams came from inside the village walls, the two turned to see a white blur tearing through buildings and rending flesh and bone from familiar forms. His village was under attack and already, in an instant, so many had died. He rushed in to combat with his longsword overhead and fought until the last of his people fell. Surrounded in the corpses of his loved ones he struck the final blow upon the unknown creature, ripping the skull from its head in vengeance.
The night grew silent once more. Wounded, near death and crushed of spirit knowing all he had was lost, Tarmasis fled the bloodied husk that was once his home, never to return again. His face and half his torso torn and severed but his legs and mind still intact. Afraid to be seen by civilization, he spent the following six years in seclusion, traveling the Plaguelands, hiding from hideous mutated creatures and forgotten pilgrims, occasionally finding the misjudged comfort of shelter in the ruined city of Ormpetarr.
The years melted away as the dragonborn grew in power with his dedication to survive the horrid lands; all that were familiar to him. This natural tenant to explore places unfit for most people lead him deep in to a soft glowing cave of blue light. Before him, illuminated by cerulean glow, a large steel sword lay rested upon a rock slab. Eager to loot this prized gem he lifted it from the cold stone. A loud ringing vibrated through his mind and before him, an entity of unimaginable horror appeared. Paralyzed by fear, he stared down the devil, the unknown depths of his mind tapping in to insanity with every lingering second...until darkness.
Tarmasis opened his eyes. He stood surrounded in the same familiar vault of cavernous rock, but the comforting blue glow had diminished and fled, in its place a cacophony of rot and decay. Where there was light, there is now shadow. In front of him the same figure from before, staring strictly with piercing eyes, no clear intent to remove its gaze from the paralytic dragonborn.
What felt like an hour passed with unmoving hostility and fear, Tarmasis found the strength to step forward and approach this being. "I am nothing to you! What do you want from me?!" With no hesitation the entity responded in broken whispers, "Black dragon, who hath survived the Plaguelands, who slayed the quaggoth, brought to me by fate. I know you. Clanless, broken and alone. Seeking purpose. Take this light, the last gift of Shar. With it you will find new strength and once again return to the world of the living." The entity reached out with long fingers and hovering in his withered palm a cerulean blue flame. With nothing to lose, without hesitation, the dragonborn lurched forward and reached for the mysterious source of power.
In an instant, the air felt clear, the walls once again breathing with moss and morning dew. He had returned to his world and his old scars now healed. The entity was gone, and in its place still lay the gnarled, unsound sword. Tarmasis lifted it, weightlessly, from the ground and heard a familiar voice echo in his head, "Black dragon. I will be your hand and guide you. Listen when I whisper. Feed me when I hunger. Together we will finish what she started."
Two years passed, the black dragon and his mysterious sword traveled across Faerun with new invigorated health; cutting down those unworthy of life, who threatened settlements similar to that of his lost home, confident to never let history repeat itself.
In a warm tavern bed upon the border of the fabled Sword Coast, a restless night threw itself over the dragonborn, like stagnant pond water it sank painfully into his pores. He saw the world being destroyed by cold choking fumes, lightning storms, waves of acid, and horrible fire. It climaxed with ten evil eyes glaring down at him from the darkness. As he awoke, a familiar whisper entered his ears, wishing him towards the small town of Greenest. Without question there he traveled, another path he must take upon command of his strange dark passenger he vowed his life to so long ago.
(art by Jack Kaiser)
3D Artist - www.charliepharis.com
Here is the backstory for my wizard character. I haven't played with him yet, but that's mostly because I DM all the time.
In his earlier years of life, Taonos was infatuated by the idea of becoming a powerful wizard. His life in the city was fairly easy-going, although not luxurious. His father, Albin Greywind, ran a moderately successful carpentry business in the city. Taonos and his younger brother Corthas always got along, running around the city with their other friends, enjoying life. At the age of 16, Taonos was accepted into the college of magic in the city where he lived. The Arch-Mage of the college, Grenendale, took a personal interest in him, believing him to be able to become his successor one day.
After about half a decade of learning the basics of wizardry and magic, Grenendale invited Taonos along on an expedition into an ancient temple that had recently been uncovered. The architecture of the temple was unique and who made it was unknown, but Grenendale had been doing research on an ancient civilization that he suspected once ruled in this region. The expedition revealed little about the ancient civilization, aside from an ancient tome bearing a mark that resembles a bone-like claw with three talons. Grenendale was secretive about the book, revealing almost no information about it to Taonos. For many more years, Taonos continued to learn under his master, becoming more and more proficient in the ways of magic. But, as the years passed, Grenendale became erratic and started to descend into madness.
One day, Taonos entered his master's office to check in on him, but found him hunched over the book with a crazed look on his face. Taonos tried to help his master, but Grenendale attacked him. After a short fight, Taonos had no choice but to vitally injure his master. As Grenendale was nearing death, he had a moment of clarity, grabbing Taonos and speaking only two words, "stop him". He then handed Taonos the tome and died. Taonos ran from the city, afraid that he was to be blamed for his master's murder. Taonos now travels the land, searching for answers about what happened to his master.
The book that Taonos bears calls to him in his mind, urging him to open it. Taonos has resisted thus far, but curiosity is starting to get the better of him.
A surprise, to be sure, but a welcome one.
Newly born Hexblade Warlock, not fully fleshed out yet, but here's the general idea:
Dorston grew up hearing the stories of his great-grandfather, a powerful warrior, capable of magic and incredible deeds, and his mighty, talking sword, Dawnshine. For some reason the family was nonetheless living in a humble village, with Dorston's father working as a smith, repairing pots and horse irons, sometimes the breastplate of a passing adventurer or expertly sharpening the swords of the roaming guards of the region.
Dorston didn't mind the quiet life, but the legends of his ancestor always tickled his mind. It comes to no surprise, then, that when he heard a clear voice in his head, while admiring the suit of armour and the scabbarded sword of his great-grandfather, he listened carefully.
The voice would tell him that it was none other than Dawnshine speaking to him, that the time had come once again for one of his lineage to take up arms against the forces of evil and corruption, all he had to do was accept the power Dawnshine could grant him, and free it from the scabbard it was sealed into.
Without thinking too much, Dorston did just that, and released the sword, which started floating in mid air in front of him. The pact was struck, the sword offered the young power, but not itself, flying away to an unknown location.
After that, Dorston started feeling strange, more and more every day, until the sword spoke again in his mind, and urged him to prepare for travel and adventure: a great destiny awaited him as its blessed vassal. And so it was that he departed his parent's home, with simple equipment and little training, and ventured in the large world, with the voice of a talking, blessed sword as his guide.
For several years now Dorston has been the willing servant of Dawnshine, and everything seems go pretty well for him, even though the shape and looks of some of the incredible powers he has obtained seems strange, he has no doubt, he is sure inside of him that he was destined to be this: a Paladin.
Unfortunately, nothing could be farther from the truth, as Dawnshine is nothing more than a ruse, a fake personality of an otherwise twisted and cursed entity residing the sword Dorston freed, and that is now using the young man to gather knowledge and regain strength, until such a time as he will no longer need him.
This guy is convinced 100% that he is serving a celestial entity, and that he is at all effects a Paladin. He has not seen nor met a real paladin ever in his life and only heard stories. He is so convinced, that he would still defend his "paladinicity" even when confronted with proof that his powers are all but those of a paladin.
Born in Italy, moved a bunch, living in Spain, my heart always belonged to Roleplaying Games
Here's my half-orc Druid/Barbarian. He was pulled up to join a group playing the Lost Mines of Phandelver right before they entered the Cragmaw Hideout.
Kuligall was born into a nomadic orc clan that traveled the wilds of the north. From a young age, he always had an affinity with nature in general, and animals more specifically. The clans' resident druid took him under her wing after she found him talking with animals, and started teaching him what she knew.
But this life could not last for long.
A group of cultists that worshiped a primordial evil had poisoned the local water supply, causing all of the clan members to fall into an enchanted sleep... All that is, except for the druid and her apprentice, since they had some resistance to the posion.
The cultists came into the camp, gathering everyone they could find into a ritual circle that they carved out, and then they started chanting. A dark portal opened overhead as the druids watched, helpless to do a thing since the poison had the side effect of blocking off the flow of all magic. Tendrils of dark energies flowed out from the portal, tethering to all present, orc and cultist alike, with a larger tendril being attached to the young Kuligall.
As the life could be seen being drained from all present, The young half-orc could hear a deep, resonant voice echoing inside of his mind, telling him how it was going to take control of his body and bring a reign of terror down on the world like it had never known before.
At this moment, something snapped inside of the youngling, and he ripped the tendril asunder, not noticing as some squirmed into his forehead. All of this left him alone with his dead clansmen and enemies.He did not know, though, that the snapped tendril had left a portion of the old one in his mind, just waiting for the time that it could take over and be free...
Since then, he has traveled south from the frozen northlands that stretch further than the furthest dale's, and has recently heard of a clan of goblins that have been ambushing people near Neverwinter, and has decided that he shall pay this clan a 'visit'...
Born in Italy, moved a bunch, living in Spain, my heart always belonged to Roleplaying Games
Born in Italy, moved a bunch, living in Spain, my heart always belonged to Roleplaying Games
I like how basically all of us are making our characters either knowingly or unknowingly potential sources of disasters and destruction ;)
Born in Italy, moved a bunch, living in Spain, my heart always belonged to Roleplaying Games
here's a second character that i made based off of a friend of mine thats really into the Drizzt novels. Her name is Azalea Do'Urden, a level 2 Rouge/Ranger
Azalea was born in the Underdark to the sister of Zaknafein Do'Urden, Chandra Do'Urden. When Chandra was a little girl, her brother instilled in her the same ideals that were passed on to Drizzt, which Chandra then passed on to her daughter.
Azalea was trained in the art of assassination and spying from a young age, being sent to take out rival Dark elves and upstart duergar clan heads. In the process of these missions, she discovered a secret passage that led straight to the surface. She followed it up to the top, and there saw the surface world or the first time.
She found the grand expanse of sky to be exhilarating, and the trees were all new to her, as she wandered through the forest glade she had surfaced in. Reluctantly, she headed back into the deeps, promising to find that tunnel again. Several years later, when she was 17, she told her mother about the tunnel, which was when her mother revealed a shocking truth- She was not pure drow. Her father had been a slave that House Do'Urden had captured on a surface raid, and whom Chandra had fallen in love with.
Pulling out a small set of gear, Azalea's mother handed it over, along with a set of directions that would lead her daughter to a place of training. And, in doing so, Chandra gave her blessing for her daughter to leave for the surface, knowing full and well that it may cost them both their lives.
Azalea left, and quickly found herself at the tunnel. Once she exited, she breathed a breath of fresh air, only to discover that a band of orcs and goblins had taken over the glade. Quickly putting them to rest, the young rouge left, following the very same path her cousin before her had. Within a year, she had found the place of safety and training her father had mentioned, and now, 11 years later, she has set out for her first mission for a group know as The Harpers...
my Halfling wizard is not very fleshed out yet. So far i know that he is a traveling magician, except he actually uses magic sometimes. He also has a top hat. A TOP HAT.
I am trying to get a monocle. We need to buy equipment still.
Born in Italy, moved a bunch, living in Spain, my heart always belonged to Roleplaying Games
if he's an older gentleman with a beard change that beard to a mustache! LMAO
Sairen, the Hand of Ambulai
I was the right-hand-man of Aerael de Lacosta, leader of the Rising Suns, as we battled against the tyrannical reign of Emperor Bulgariss for the Kingdom of Trussika. During a particularly difficult campaign I, along with a dozen villagers of Greenhope I was helping to escape, was ambushed by a force of fifty imperial soldiers.
Carrying little but a simple shield and my grandfather’s rapier, I stood against them, holding them off for as long as I could. I cut down nearly two dozen of them, but had significant wounds for my troubles. I expected that this would be the end for me.
As I was run through by what I had assumed was a fatal blow, a beam of pure sunlight blazed down from the sky. Through the piercing glare of this blinding light, as I was enveloped into it, I saw the face of an angel of the goddess of purity. She told me that my time was not yet, and that there was work yet to do. She gave me only a single admonition - to persevere.
Thus restored, I found my wounds healed, and my mind clear as I returned to myself, with a circle of scorched earth surrounding my feet. The soldiers, astonished at the sudden display of godly power, had stepped back, yet still had their weapons at the ready.
I watched in fascination as, at my very will, my grandfather’s sword enveloped in radiant fire, white tongues of flame licking up the blade with a piercing glow. The blade had been transformed into that blade of legend, the Radiant Ambulai.
The soldiers steeled themselves, but I could see the fear in their eyes, battling with their unjust orders to take the village. With a sudden smile on my face, I taunted them with brazen confidence - “Come on.”
I am no paladin. I took no oath nor vow, and I do not know for what purpose I carry the Ambulai, but I have wielded it in the pursuit of justice from that day forward. Owing to our victories as we continued to battle the imperials, I was dubbed as the Hand of Ambulai, a title of which I hope to remain worthy.
I love the stuff you guys are posting. Lots of creative talent in here! :)
Here's the backstory for my aarakocra monk, Talon Swiftbeak:
Born atop a vast floating mountain in the Elemental Plane of Air, a child of the aarakocra tribe Zaar Tikani, Talon was raised as a warrior of peace. He spent his childhood meditating and defending his tribe from the earth elementals that recurrently held great threat to his people.
One still night, perched upon the highest peak, of the highest rock, in isolated meditation, his mind found itself in eternal darkness. Confused and trapped for what seemed like eternity; time, life, his surroundings stolen from him. Talon witnessed a holy vision of infinity itself. As if no time passed, he awoke from his haunting stupor, barely unable to comprehend this unnerving journey beyond the skyless valleys of reality itself.
He gazed upon his homeland with emotional paralysis. All that he knew, that he loved, was now meaningless and numb to him. It was not time that was stolen from him, in this mysterious vision, it was his spirit.
A few monotonous moons passed. No longer feeling connection to his home and family, upon reaching adulthood at age 3, he attempted to end his life. One last breath, he plummeted through the layers of fog that blanketed the unknown world beneath. Falling...falling...darkness.
Talon awoke. An endless, alien panorama before him. He found himself alive in the continent of Kara-Tur, Eastern Faerun of the material plane.
A year passed in isolation, terrified of sinking back in to the infinite abyss, he stayed far from the familiar practice of meditation. One warm dawn, a human traveler discovered the lost aarakocra and convinced him to find home at a nearby monastery. Over six months, Talon rediscovered himself training under the guidance of monks in the ways of ki.
Talon's life of adventuring began with an introduction to The Harpers. This coincidental meeting, by one of the faction's operatives, found him leaving the monastery and traveling by sea to the metropolis of Neverwinter.
Regained with purpose, Talon found friendship with a local band of pirates, The Dirty Hand, traveling the seas as their lookout in search for answers to his haunted past. Perhaps with further dedication to his craft, and these strange allies in a foreign world, may he find the maladjusted God who's fateful vision plundered him from the skies.
3D Artist - www.charliepharis.com
My first D&D character, Petrichor, blue dragonborn warlock:
Petrichor, previously known by a different name, grew up in a large city under a powerful and wealthy family. He trained to be a wizard in his young years, excelling in potential even beyond his tutors, though this potential squandered through his fascination with a unknown entity that haunted his dreams.
This mysterious force became an obsession to him; it spoke whispers that had no face, it showed him horrific images that held no meaning.
In fascinated fear he ran from his city, his family and even his name; he became poor and unknown. In time, Petrichor was born from the ashes of his past, the dreams still as vivid as his youth yet their mysteries still withheld from him.
If there was one thing his lifetime of exiled searching brought him, it was the knowledge that the deeper he delved in to his alien nightmares the more powerful he became.
3D Artist - www.charliepharis.com
@GalacticSamurai dude, the illustration you use are amazing! Where do they come from??
Born in Italy, moved a bunch, living in Spain, my heart always belonged to Roleplaying Games
Name: Azalea Do'Urden
Race: Half-elf (drow, but leans more towards her human parentage, besides the ears)
Class: Rouge (will be becoming an assassin and Ranger Hunter archetype)
Alignment: CN
Prefered weapons: Dual daggers, rapier, longbow
Age: 21
Role: Scout/DPS
Background: Criminal
Azalea was born in the Underdark to the sister of Zaknafein Do'Urden, Chandra Do'Urden. When Chandra was a little girl, her brother instilled in her the same ideals that were passed on to Drizzt, which Chandra then passed on to her daughter.
Azalea was trained in the art of assassination and spying from a young age, being sent to take out rival Dark elves and upstart duergar clan heads. In the process of these missions, she discovered a secret passage that led straight to the surface. She followed it up to the top, and there saw the surface world or the first time.
She found the grand expanse of sky to be exhillirating, and the trees were all new to her, as she wandered through the forest glade she had surfaced in. Reluctantly, she headed back into the deeps, promising to find that tunnel again. Several years later, when she was 17, she told her mother about the tunnel, which was when her mother revealed a shocking truth- She was not pure drow. Her father had been a slave that House Do'Urden had captured on a surface raid, and whom Chandra had fallen in love with.
Pulling out a small set of gear, Azalea's mother handed it over, along with a set of directions that would lead her daughter to a place of training. And, in doing so, Chandra gave her blessing for her daughter to leave for the surface, knowing full and well that it may cost them both their lives.
Azalea left, and quickly found herself at the tunnel. Once she exited, she breathed a breath of fresh air, only to discover that a band of orcs and goblins had taken over the glade. Quickly putting them to rest, The young rouge left, following the very same path her cousin before her had. Within a year, she had found the place of safety and training her father had mentioned, and now, 11 years later, she has set out for her first mission for a group know as The Harpers, headed for parts unknown!
My first character in 5E toon - Dwarf / Rogue :
Captured by (Orcs?) but not tasty enough to eat, NüUg was enslaved and forced to compete in a couple of death matches for the entertainment of Many-Arrows Orc tribes (as well as eat their terrible food). Though small, NüUg's scrappy fighting style kept him alive long enough for him to prove his true value outside the pits: cooking up many a fallen beast as tasty alternatives to eating ‘Dwarf'.
Freed from the pits, NüUg now travels the lands as an adventurer, seeking rare and wonderful culinary ingredients. And Ale.
3D Artist - www.charliepharis.com