This is the backstory I just cooked up for Orpheus, a Fallen Aasimar Sorcerer. Let me know what you think!
Orpheus was born in a small village on the outskirts of the empire in the home of the local healer. It was clear from an early age that he was not entirely of the Prime Material Plane, and his parents, Aegrus and Cerise, did what they could to instill a sense of humility in him. It didn’t hurt that they were one of the poorest members of the village. Despite his economic standing, Orpheus always found it easy to make friends with other children in his village. His best friend, Ve, made a reputation for themselves as tricksters. Orpheus impressed her with his abilities, making food taste like grass, startling other children with terrifying images of monsters, and producing innumerable smells from thin air. Though the other children enjoyed playing with him, some parents were apprehensive of the otherworldly child. “That boy is going to get someone hurt someday,” they said, but Ve and Orpheus paid no mind.
As he grew in stature and mental capacity, Orpheus heard a voice within him through his dreams speaking an uncommon language that felt oddly familiar. It introduced itself to him at his young age as Mykiel, his angelic guide and offered to take him under his wing. Orpheus was ecstatic. It was serendipitous! Finally, someone (or something) that understood his powers and help him control them! Finally, a friend he could share an entire language with! He was quick to listen with each opportunity. In his dreams, Mykiel would regale him with tales of heroes long past, heroes that were not so different in origin from the two of them. He felt great pride in his heritage and was excited by the adventures he was sure to have with Ve and Mykiel by his side.
With each passing year, Orpheus became more daring with the mischievous uses of his powers. He prided himself on never once causing actual harm, though Mykiel warned him of the consequences of his carelessness. “But nothing’s ever happened,” Orpheus reassured himself. Of course, his luck would soon run out.
One day at the age of 12, he had discovered a new ability: generating fire. He and Ve would venture to the nearest stream to practice cooking fish as they swam by. The potential of this was confounding! There was no limit to how this could help the villagers (and probably mess with them a little bit). By the time they had returned to the village, it was time to eat. Ve’s father asked Orpheus to stay for supper. After all, he was about as close to them as he could without being a relative. As Ve’s father struggled to build a flame for the cooking pot in their home, Orpheus saw his opportunity and shot a bolt of fire towards the kindling. But his control over his newly discovered power was undeveloped, and instead lit the container of oil near the stove.
The fire spread faster than he could have ever anticipated. The oil burst in every direction, splashing onto Ve’s father and cornering Ve in their house. Orpheus could only think to run and call for help. None of the villagers could muster the courage to enter the inferno. None, of course, but Orpheus’ mother Cerise. A strong woman with strong morals, she had done her best to lead her son by example. “Be what they need you to be,” she said, time and time again. Upon seeing her rush to the scene with cloth covering her skin, he told her, tears blurring his eyes, “She’s still in there, please, mama…” She placed her hands on his shoulders. “Stay right here. Stay right here,” she said with a kiss on his forehead. “I’ll be back.” Wrapping herself with the cloth, she quickly disappeared into the inferno. Not but seconds later, the home of his closest friend collapsed into a pile of cinders. There was no sign of his mother or Ve.
Orpheus’ father, Aegrus, arrived in time to see his son standing in front of the still-burning wreckage.
“Where is your mother?”
Nothing could reach him. He felt emptiness where there was once light.
“Orpheus, where is your mother?”
The tears on his son’s face had answered him the first time. The gravity began to sink in. The burden of his child’s power had cost him everything. He turned on his son.
“What have you done? You took her from me! You took her from me!”
Turning back to the wreckage, he dropped to his knees.
“I have no son.”
Since that fateful day, Orpheus has tried to find work to distract himself from self-hate. Bouncing from place to place, living off of discarded scraps and whatever he could find, he happened upon a brewer that saw his pain and potential. Initially hired as a simple laborer-turned apprentice, Orpheus learned the trade well enough to enter his master’s guild. He had been living a simple life and was successfully wallowing in self-pity, until the wrong party showed up. Eight dwarves, all thoroughly sloshed, barged into the already packed taproom and began drumming up a ruckus, harassing the women and demanding fights with the men. Upon being given a polite warning by the unusually attractive bartender, the leader of the troupe decided to call his bluff. Orpheus felt the rage build up in him like bile. Black, spectral wings sprouted forth from his back. His eyes turned black. The inhabitants of the bar filed out rapidly. His otherworldly nature revealed, Orpheus has set out to find a path through the darkness.
Here's my backstory for Ordonden, a Hill Dwarf Cleric...
Ordonden was born and spent much of his childhood in the foothills of the Nether Mountains southeast of Sundabar, between The High Forest and the mountains. His parents were part of a settlement group that left Sundabar on rumors of a rich vein of platinum ore in the southern part of the mountains. For years the settlement was successful in mining the platinum and selling it in Sundabar. Life was good and Ordonden had a normal childhood exploring the mountains, and the nearby forest. But he seemed to have somewhat of an unlucky tendency. When climbing a tree, a branch would suddenly break underfoot, or when exploring a cave in the mountains he would get lost and spend days trying to find a way out. These hazards and hardships only toughened his body and tempered his spirit, but they also gave him a jaded view of the world. As Ordonden was coming of age to begin working in the mine strange happenings began to occur in the settlement. Crops would unexpectedly fail, livestock died, feuds erupted between longtime friends. People were nervous, but dwarves are a stubborn race, and they plodded on. One day in the mines, there was a terrible accident, and a cave in killed many of the miners including Ordonden’s father. Miraculously (for what seemed like the first time in his life) Ordonden survived the accident, in fact he was the only survivor. But what seemed like a blessing was actually a terrible curse. The villagers blamed Ordonden for the cave in. The anger and frustration the villagers felt with their plight was focused like a scorching ray at Ordonden. Fearing for his life, he fled the settlement into the forest to the south.
He wandered the forest for many years living on his own, and occasionally spending time in Elven villages. It was in one of these villages, Celandar, that he met Mildantis, a high priest of Tymora, goddess of good fortune. Mildantis and Ordonden became fast friends because he was the first Elf Ordonden met that actually liked Ale. One night, over a tall pint, Ordonden recounted his haunted past to Mildantis. He listened carefully, and upon hearing the story Mildantis realized the likely cause of Ordonden’s unhappy circumstances. The tragedy of the doomed settlement near the mountains was its proximity to Hellgate Dell, the long-forgotten remains of the Hellgate Keep. The Keep was the site where numerous demons had been summoned in the past. And although the keep was warded, it is believed that to this day, Beshaba, goddess of misfortune, has a strong presence in the area. So much so, that unwary travelers who pass through the region have been known to experience sudden bouts of bad luck. The next day Mildantis performed a Commune with Tymora to ascertain to what extent Ordonden was touched by the evil goddess. Much to their dismay, the taint was deep, and Mildantis was not powerful enough to remove the taint. However, he gave Ordonden a rare coin of Tymora that grants its bearer incredible luck and good fortune. For Ordonden however, this effect simply offset the touch of Beshaba.
Ordonden spent many more years in Celandar, even joining the church and becoming a priest of Tymora in gratitude for Mildantis’ gift. However, his condition was depressing despite having the coin. He still felt a sense of guilt about the cave in and the death of his father. He fell into cycles of heavy drinking. Eventually Mildantis, fearing for his friend’s safety, suggested he go back to the settlement to warn the others to leave and alleviate his guilt. Ordonden set off and travelled back to the settlement but was unable to find it. It was as if the cursed settlement was now lost to its fate. Feeling even more guilty, and unable to return to face his friend, Ordonden headed south, vowing to help people in unfortunate situations, and spread the good fortune of Tymora as best he could. But he was always aware of the coin he wore around his neck, never revealing it to anyone, and never taking it off. For he knew, that should he ever lose it, the wave of bad luck and misfortune the coin held at bay, would sweep him and those around him to it to an unhappy demise.
Here's the backstory for my character Bram Blade the 2nd, a Dhampir* Rogue
*Half Human, Half Vampire
Bram Blade was born to a vampire named Draven Blade and a human named Amelia Dimoz. Draven was a vampire struggling to keep his humanity when he had fallen in love with Amelia, for he believed her kindness would make a good anchor. Amelia's brother, Ven, was wary of Draven and believed he would succumb to his vampirism, and had left due to Amelia's determination to prove him wrong. But Draven could no longer suppress his thirst and ended up killing one of the villagers nearby. But Draven, out of love for his kin, left them in order to keep them safe.
Bram was only an infant when this happened, and Amelia was heartbroken. But she pushed forward, and raised Bram as best she could. She taught him to read and write, fed him, and kept him hidden from the village. Finally, she taught him that deep down, people are good. When Bram was around 10 years old, he began to sneak into the village and learn as much as he could. He kept this up for about 4 years, learning to hide and sneak through town. But one day the village's huntsman spotted Bram, reminded of the murder so many years ago. He followed him back to Amelia's cabin, prepared to take his life. Amelia intervened, pleading for the huntsman's mercy, and he took out his axe and embed it in her heart. The huntsman, horrified by his crime, ran.
Bram buried his mother and remained at her grave for a while when his uncle Ven arrived. Seeing Bram had been orphaned, Ven took him in and brought him to the city of Neverwinter. It was there that Ven taught him how to be a rogue. Ven took Bram on several odd jobs and escapades for about 6 years, when Bram learned that not only was the huntsman that killed his mother still alive, but he had built himself a lodge in a nearby forest. Ven urged Bram not to take revenge, but Bram refused and left to to kill the huntsman. When he had finally discovered the huntsman, they engaged in a brief skirmish that left the huntsman at Bram's mercy. Bram was about to kill him when he remembered Amelia's teachings.He spared the huntsman, and left with a new mission: To prove himself a hero.
I feel like sharing some more, so here's Aramil Goldleaf, a character who will probably never see the light of day unless a lot of my other characters die.
To understand Aramil's story, you need to start with his parents: a fierce fighter named Rose and a haughty wizard named L'faen. The pair had been brought together because L'faen's party needed extra muscle for a raid on a red dragon's keep. To say that they didn't get along at first would be an understatement. He thought she was an uncivilized brute and Rose believed that the rod up his butt had a rod up its butt.
However, their icy relationship began to warm as they journeyed towards the keep. They weren't friends by any stretch of the imagination, but they had at least learned to work together. When the dragon killed the rest of their party, they managed to avenge them, but they were done. No more adventuring. After loading up as much loot as they could carry onto their cart, they left the keep behind them and settled in the village of Riverstead. In their shared grief, they came to love one another, got married and had a son, who they named Faen. Later, they had twin boys named Bryn and Del (who Aramil calls Wingus and Dingus) and a daughter named Lily. When Faen came of age, he chose the name Aramil for himself.
When he was young, Aramil came across his brothers being bullied by some older youths. The older half elf squared his shoulders. Nobody picked on his brothers but him! He lost the fight, but his brothers managed to patch him up after the bullies left. When his mum appeared, she remarked that he was brave to take on the bullies, but his form was terrible. From that day on, Aramil trained with Rose to become a better fighter.
Aramil was perfectly content to remain in Riverstead, working in his parent's combined armour and jewellery store some days, training with his mum on others and listening to visiting adventurers in the local tavern on others. He even had time to attend school in between all that. L'faen tried to teach him some magic, but it was a fruitless venture. As much as he tried, Aramil just couldn't do magic...yet. His days were busy to be sure, but it was his life and he liked it.
Of course, Aramil will never be an adventurer if his life is perfect, right? Well, one day a Shoosuva escaped from its gnoll pack and began running amok in Riverstead. Aramil wanted to fight, but his parents insisted that he take his siblings to the great hall, where they would be somewhat protected. On the way, a second demon appeared and leapt between Aramil and his younger siblings. As it raised its stinger at the younger ones, Aramil leapt in front of the creature, shield raised. The stinger pierced the shield without problem and plunged into Aramil's arm, filling him with deadly poison. The last thing that the half-elf saw as his vision blurred was his father, blazing towards him like a flaming meteor.
The next day, when Aramil came to, he found that he had a fantastic new scar on his arm and his hair had turned from brown to a kind of silvery colour. Upon facing his mortality and realizing that he hadn't seen much of the world, he told his family that he wanted to journey out and see what was there. His parents were against it at first, but they eventually relented.
These days, Aramil travels the land with a smile on his face and an eye for opportunity. Can anything stop him? Probably, but he hasn't met it yet!
Here's the backstory for Ogguimash the Masher, my loud-mouthed Paldain in the Coliseum of Conquest (if you're active in that thread or the Glory, please don't read this. I promise I'll try to develop him at some point in there, but I'm not the strongest at roleplaying . . .):
Ogguimash was the child of a powerful drow weapons master and an orc slave. The drow just needed an outlet, and the lowly orc provided one. Ogguimash was abused by the drow as a child because of his orcish heritage, and cast out to try and cover up the weapon master's affair. He was taken by a sadistic priestess who ran countless tests on him, seeking to find out any oddities he might have inherited from his odd parentage. His mother was, unbeknownst to him, executed not long after he was cast out. After 10 long years of tests and experiments, the priestess finally fell prey to the savage competition among the drow hierarchy, and Og managed to escape in the chaos, vowing revenge on the cruel drow who had tortured him. He lived in the Underdark for a long time, even journeying in the Shadowfell for a time, before making his way to the surface. He managed to find a post as a caravan guard there, and on a rest stop in a small village first discovered the word of Helm. Ogguimash decided to become a paladin of Helm, killing threats that lesser fighters could not. As a result of his odd bloodline and his experience with the Shadowfell, he occasionally notices odd occurrences happening around him, such as shadows animating, lights dimming, or the temperature dropping.
And here are some of my thoughts/notes on him:
Most of my rationale behind is backstory was I wanted to break the trope of half-orcs being half human, half orc. While I think it's assumed that they are, I don't believe they have to be, and I haven't seen many who aren't. From there, it was a question of what the other race should be. The reason I chose drow was because I was making him into a sort of darker character, despite his jovial facade and bravado. I don't know many races that have darker potential then the drow, so it seemed the natural choice, especially considered the virulent racism in their society against the "lower" races (orcs, hobgoblins, etc. (although also any not drow)).
Currently playing in: Quest for the Shunned City, Coliseum of Conquest, DragonDenn's Dragonlords, Shipwrecked on Fugue, Tomb of Annihilation, Razor's Lost Mine of Phandelver, The Lost Kenku & One Grung Above
Currently DMing: Princes of the Apocalypse, Out of the Abyss, Coliseum of Conquest—The Arena (Sometimes)
Here's the backstory of the Tiefling Hexblade Warlock I'm playing now. Our GM has done a good job so far weaving this into game play (only level 3 so far)
Ashkara'a - or, just Ash...
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 trying to to get money honestly, which was nearly impossible because of her demonic appearance, miserable self-loathing, and righteous indignation. Left alone, she spent her time practicing with weapons, stealing, and picking locks. As a last resort, in her 16th 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 moreso to her ultimate benefactor, the Raven Queen. He wanted her to kill on the Queen's behalf. Kill those that were truly maleficent. 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, communicating with her criminal network, 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 for a while, and the handle would get a deep reddish tint. She was beholden 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 the emptiness of her miserable past, and the equally lonely existence she sees before her. Her sword craves blood. Her body seeks alcohol. Her soul, on the other hand, seeks redemption.
The blood - and the alcohol - are much closer at hand.
This is my Human Cleric that I made for my mate's ToA run. The idea was to make a Cleric who thinks he has no affiliation with a God but still has healing powers. Lucian is also a PC. Thanks for reading!
Sir Dexter Conrad Arthur David Abe Hugh Nolife IV, or simply Dexter the Dashing of House Nolife, is too important to talk to you. However, he has allowed some information to be known to commoners.
Born in to a rich family of 12, Dexter was the 6th born. He had 2 sisters and 9 brothers, all who were interested in a variety of things. During his childhood, Dexter learnt Elvish and Gnomish from all the visits that his family received from the creatures. His parents, Cornholio Nolife and Cassandra Nolife, raised Dexter to be a kind and loving man. Dexter was a natural with the ladies, thanks to his sister Danielle, the next child born in the family. Dexter experimented from a young age with a variety of races. Despite these experiences going nowhere, his family donned his nickname, Dexter the Dashing. However, Dexter discovered a magical power one day, and his head blew to an extraordinary size. He discovered that he could heal anything he touched, and people celebrated him as a powerful being. Dexter’s proudest use of his powers were to save a royal. Unknown to Dexter at the time, he came across a man in the street, severely wounded. Dexter healed the man, who revealed himself to be the King’s son. The effect of this good deed granted Dexter the honor of being named a sir. As a result of this, Dexter became very egotistical and believed himself to be above others. Unbeknownst to Dexter, a powerful God had selected him to do good in the world, and thus granted him powers.
The house butler, Lucian Greyhare, was the only person that Dexter considered equal to him. Perhaps he was even above, a fact that Dexter would never admit. When Dexter was a child, he was playing in the woods surrounding his family’s grand mansion, when a pack of wolves attacked him. Lucian, then a poacher, saved Dexter from the pack of wolves. As a result of this, Lucian was hired to work for the Nolife family, and he remained close to Dexter. On the day of his father’s death, Dexter was granted a powerful family heirloom: a light hammer that he lovingly named Compassion. Despite Dexter’s big head, he felt that he needed to shine his glory elsewhere. To fulfill his burning desire, Dexter created a list that, once completed, would make him the perfect human. Asking Lucian to accompany him, the two set out to faraway lands, looking to represent the Nolife name in a glorious way.
I haven't got much in the way of lengthy stories. Mostly I feel like those can get in the way of effective RP, when the story is evolving. I do have a few hooks though. So!
My selkie barmaid, Brea, who moonlights (excuse me) as a thief and forger to help her partner keep her lighthouse from being bought out by a guild of mages that really, only want to help make everything more efficient, definitely not for anything else. She's not held to her partner, nor to any of her professions, but understands the necessity of the lighthouse and the honest, unbridled kindness that her partner shows to all living things. Also, beds are more comfortable than rocks.
My goliath barbarian, Minakoui (or Mina if she's feeling generous), who's searching for her exiled father, the tribal chief: an upstart had usurped the throne through a contest won by trickery, and cast him out. The upstart was found out and exiled himself, but by then dear old dad was long gone. Mina was probably the best pick for the task anyway: it's her father, and she's one of the more renowned pathfinders and trackers of the tribe.
My deer centaur (cervitaur?) druid Alawenu, an herbalist/babysitter/exasperated older sibling who befriended a nearby group of gnomes in her precious bits of time away from prancing fawns with scuffed knees and elbows. The gnomes taught her to paint, and also to be a better forest guardian after watching her stop a group of clear-cutters by kicking their teeth in.
My minotaur fighter Byron (not his real name, but close to it), whose herd petitioned a lord for food and water during a severe, widespread drought, subsequently getting wrangled into providing taxes and guards for the lord. Byron was completely unaware of the politics of what he saw as a calf, however, associating the town's guard solely with seemingly selfless deliveries of aid. When it came time to choose who would be sent for the town's guard, Byron volunteered. He remains impossibly optimistic, annoyingly cheerful and detail-oriented, and good-hearted, despite contrasting sharply with other guards, and doggedly upholds what he understands to be the law. Also, he knits. (a variant of Carrot from the Night Watch, but fluffy :v)
And probably the most fully fleshed out one:
Leah is blinded by direct sunlight, but loves the ocean and rivers by dusk, dawn and night. Her mother was a drow that gave up on the prospect of ever clawing her way up the drow's social ladder (rightly or wrongly, and she's got a variety of reasons) and decided to escape. She vastly underestimated the surface world, and probably wouldn't have survived had she not been found by a nearby troupe of bards. Cautious and spiteful at first, her mother warmed eventually, and had a child with the one who had become her chief advocate. Eventually, afraid of the scrutiny of the law, some of the troupe decided that the drow and her child must leave. Leah's father balked at abandoning them both, and broke with the troupe when it became apparent that there was no swaying the majority of them. Leah remembers the troupe vaguely, but mostly remembers the time after they left, when she grew up on the seaside.
Her father played a nearby town for money, and they got a bit of charity from local temples, but her mother kept a very, very low profile, teaching her daughter various relatively-innocuous talents while at home. Leah took to magic and dance especially well, and was eventually convinced/allowed to come into town to dance as part of a performance. The townspeople caught on quick, and after a few trips they began hurling invective (and more solid things) at the half-drow and her father. Hurt and confused, Leah returned to her favorite places on the beach and delta in search of solace.
While sulking (or meditating--the two are close), she crossed paths with priestesses of a river goddess, with whom she returned to a small riverside shrine. At first only hanging around the shrine, she later began puttering around their temple. She would come early in the morning and leave late at night, at first sitting in the garden but later helping the priestesses with mundane tasks. After much internal debate (of which she is completely oblivious), she was eventually approached by the head of the temple and offered a position as an acolyte, cementing her as a devotee.
Really really really shallow character story so far - just half-hashed out ideas straight from my head to the paper.
15, Street urchin, brought up by a smuggler (named Clay, human rogue bard, smuggler. Died at 32. Male, 5’11”, dark brown hair, amber skin, lean, brown eyed, medium tone voice) who named Tsim, taught him how to live and how to make use of his abilities as a Changeling to help Clay with his work. Was like an older brother/father to Tsim. Clay loved music, and he sang Tsim songs while playing on the dulcimer and/or lute. He then taught Tsim how to play those instruments and finally gave Tsim his lute, that he had gotten from his father and never sold, once Tsim had surpassed him in playing ability. “Just like my father did to me,” he said. However Tsim never played in front of anyone but Clay and himself. Clay died when Tsim was 12. Tsim took over Clay’s work, which was bringing black market merchandise from shops to homes without being seen, because the rich receivers of the merchandise were usually socially elevated and being seen with members of the lower class would give them bad PR. Clay told Tsim, “I know it’s not right. But we have to live somehow.” Their smuggling consisted of acrobatics, stealth, and concealment. Tsim had a few minorly developed personas that he used to conceal himself in plain sight already when Clay died. But whenever he met his receiver or his benefactor after Clay died, he always shaped into Clay, with his persona, for neither the benefactors nor the receivers knew that Clay died.
Story of Clay’s death:
Clay was on a smuggling mission but once the receiver received the package instead of giving Clay the money he stabbed Clay and put his body into the trash. Tsim found it that very day, for he and Clay usually slept near the city dump. He then gave his benefactor his own money instead of the receiver’s (which he didn’t have) so that the benefactor would continue to give Clay (really Tsim) jobs and therefore money. But Tsim never knew who killed Clay, for Clay never told him the specifics of any of his jobs except for the ones he gave to Tsim. “It’s better only one of us knows, kid.”
Why Tsim stopped smuggling:
When Tsim was almost 15 he had a job and he went to the house of the receiver, and at first sight of Tsim (looking like Clay), the receiver said, “... You’re dead!” and shut the door, from this Tsim knew he had encountered Clay’s killer. However, Tsim had not the chance to kill him, for he left the city the next day, and Tsim was fired from his smuggling job, because he had not delivered the package and had scared away the recipient, “one of my best customers!”.
Clay in short: cross between Han Solo and Gurney Halleck.
That is honestly not all that shallow, it has some interesting quirks for you to play into, the drift between Clay and Tsim personalities and mannerisms (if you want to go that far). Also it gives the DM some interesting plot hoks to sink their teeth into should they choose to. You're doing a great job with it to me.
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"Where words fail, swords prevail. Where blood is spilled, my cup is filled" -Cartaphilus
"I have found the answer to the meaning of life. You ask me what the answer is? You already know what the answer to life is. You fear it more than the strike of a viper, the ravages of disease, the ire of a lover. The answer is always death. But death is a gentle mistress with a sweet embrace, and you owe her a debt of restitution. Life is not a gift, it is a loan."
Luizzen Daevossz was born to a Human male, Everard, and a drow female adventurer, Ledrasa Daevossz, and was the youngest of three brothers. While his two older brothers had no big issues growing up, sometime around Luiizzen's 6th birthday, Ledrasa became increasingly paranoid and angry. She made Everard into her slave, and would beat Luizzen mercilessly. When Everard died (when Luizzen was about 10), Ledrasa just became even more violent, taking it out on Luizzen. From then, Luizzen became her slave. He was sworn to never talk about what happened to his older brothers when they visited. After about 10 years of this, and at the brink of death himself, Luizzen managed to run away into the mountains. He knew his mother would be looking for him, and he pleaded desperately into the ether for anyone that would listen to him. "Give me strength!", he cried. "Give me power! I have to kill my mother before she kills me!"
At those words, a voice entered his mind. "I will do what you ask...for a price", said the voice; a roll of parchment and an inked quill appeared at his feet from inky smoke. It said that Luizzen would be granted power - it didn't specify what kind - and in return, Luizzen would work for someone named Malfeek. He would be required to give to Malfeek at least one magical item each year. Other terms may be imposed as this Malfeek saw fit.
But Luizzen didn't care. It was power. He signed the bargain, and the parchment twisted and tore and smoked and wrought, in his hand, until it was a sickening, twisted, and gnarled glaive. Luizzen felt magic coarse through his body, and set out to kill his mother, Malfeek whispering in his ear all the way.
At which point he intersects with the party. Campaign conceits meant he wouldn't be able to achieve his goal right away, so he's content to stick with them while he waits.
Luizzen Daevossz was born to a Human male, Everard, and a drow female adventurer, Ledrasa Daevossz, and was the youngest of three brothers. While his two older brothers had no big issues growing up, sometime around Luiizzen's 6th birthday, Ledrasa became increasingly paranoid and angry. She made Everard into her slave, and would beat Luizzen mercilessly. When Everard died (when Luizzen was about 10), Ledrasa just became even more violent, taking it out on Luizzen. From then, Luizzen became her slave. He was sworn to never talk about what happened to his older brothers when they visited. After about 10 years of this, and at the brink of death himself, Luizzen managed to run away into the mountains. He knew his mother would be looking for him, and he pleaded desperately into the ether for anyone that would listen to him. "Give me strength!", he cried. "Give me power! I have to kill my mother before she kills me!"
At those words, a voice entered his mind. "I will do what you ask...for a price", said the voice; a roll of parchment and an inked quill appeared at his feet from inky smoke. It said that Luizzen would be granted power - it didn't specify what kind - and in return, Luizzen would work for someone named Malfeek. He would be required to give to Malfeek at least one magical item each year. Other terms may be imposed as this Malfeek saw fit.
But Luizzen didn't care. It was power. He signed the bargain, and the parchment twisted and tore and smoked and wrought, in his hand, until it was a sickening, twisted, and gnarled glaive. Luizzen felt magic coarse through his body, and set out to kill his mother, Malfeek whispering in his ear all the way.
At which point he intersects with the party. Campaign conceits meant he wouldn't be able to achieve his goal right away, so he's content to stick with them while he waits.
Nice. Gives your GM the opportunity to bring your mother, and Malfeek, into the storyline...
Exactly. I love warlocks because they are walking talking plot hooks. DM wants us to find a magic weapon? "Your patron decrees blah". I personally have ideas for mom's motivation, but I'm happy to leave it up to my DM, as well.
That said, our party is basically a bunch of glorified murder hobos, so who knows if we'll ever even get there.
Here is mine, for my Goliath Hexblade. The Outcast
I was born to a herd of Goliath's that made their home in the snowy tundra north east of the Alabaster Sierras. We were a migratory herd that preferred the colder clime of the tundra to the more mountainous regions of Tal'dorei.
As I was forced out into this world and my skin came into contact with the frosty air of our current surroundings and rather than taking on the pallid grey that marked the rest of my herd mine took on an icy blue hue with my eyes going to a solid blue to match. This was also the first time I felt the presence within me and heard the voice that no other could hear, it uttered only one word... Become.
From birth I was treated with mistrust and disdain, an outcast in a herd of outsiders, even my mother did not want to care for me. I was left to fend for myself relying on the scraps and good nature of the herd, which was sparse.
Years passed and no matter what I did or feats I achieved I gained no respect or trust from my Kin. I was not as strong as others of my age, unable to wield the large cumbersome weapons my herd often took hunting, yet another reason for others to hate me, to make fun, to shun me. I had no one I could call a friend, but with the presence within, I never felt alone.
I developed the ability to speak earlier than my herdsmen however I had no reason to speak to anyone. I often found myself sitting and listening from afar as any attempt to move closer or join in was met with hushed whispers and stopped conversation. This suited me as I learned and heard much when others thought they were alone. But he was always with me.
I call the presence within me a he, but I cannot be sure, I have never asked. Maybe I should one day.
This went on for many years, until the day of my task giving. Every child within the herd is given a task to complete, to mark their journey from childhood into adulthood. There was much discussion leading up to my task giving as many within the herd believed that I should not be given such, however even the elders dared not go against the traditions of the herd. I was to be allowed to mature into adulthood.
My task was simple, go down into the Alabaster Sierras and survive for 5 days and 5 nights.So simple or so I thought.
And into the Alabaster Sierras I went. I packed light, this was a test to see if I could survive in the harsh landscapes we often call our home. I had enough food for one night, a light spear, a backpack and a rough hide to use as shelter at night. Everything else I had to find on the journey.
The first night was easy, I had the provisions I brought, water was provided from an ice cold stream I found one the way. During the second day however I realized that this was not going to be a simple task.
I had followed the stream down until it became a raging river, keeping close as fresh water is key to survival. I was however out of food, and hunting was not a skill I excelled at.
It was then that I felt the presence shift, a voice in the back of my mind, no voice isn't right, a compulsion in the back of my mind made me pick up a smooth stone from the river bed and focus on it. I spent the best part of an hour focusing on this stone with no understanding of why. That was until I felt a spark of energy within me, apart from the presence but connected to it. This energy flowed out through my fingers and into the pebble, transforming it from a dull lifeless pebble and into an icy blue translucent gemstone with a misty swirl of activity beneath its surface. I was overcome with a feeling of satisfaction, but this feeling did not originate from within myself.
A second compulsion then came upon me, I whirled around and raised the gem in my hand pointing at a nearby deer that had come out of the surroundings to drink at the water. I reached for the same spark of energy and used the gem as a focal point. A sickening ray of intense energy sped out from the gem towards the deer, felling it instantly. It’s once life filled eyes now dull and blank, judging me from beyond the veil, but I had to survive, I had to live and I had to grow into an adult.
The next few days passed without an issue, using my new found power I was able to hunt with ease.
However on the 5th day as I was preparing to head back to the herd I stumbled upon something other than beast to hunt. Shortly after dawn as I was preparing to pack up camp, the presence within made me aware that I was no longer alone!
Turning around I notice a short Goliath, which I later found out to be called a human, leaning against a rock watching my every move. I knew to be wary but I was unsure of his intent. The human reached down towards his weapon, seeing this I swiftly raised the gem and let loose a blast of energy. This human must have been sickly, this single blast dropped him in an instant, his eyes taking on the same dull qualities of the deer I killed on my first day in the forest.
Looking over my kill, I took the armor which seem to be made of some sort of leather stitched together. I also took the two curved swords that hung at his belt. He had nothing else of use so I left him where he lay, packed up and headed back towards my herd. I was confident that this would at last ensure I would be accepted as one of the herd. However somewhere in the back of my mind I knew that this would never be, but I could not yet give up on that hope.
That night as I slept I was visited with strange dreams, depicting rituals being said over my newly acquired swords. When I awoke the words and rituals were still emblazoned within my mind, so I thought I would try it out. Taking the ice blue gem out from within my armor I laid it against the pommel of one of the curved swords, sat down in front and started muttering the words I heard as I slept.
Again I felt a draw of energy from that spark within me leaching out towards the gem. As I completed the phrases I had heard in my dream the gem glowed brightly, brighter than I had ever seen it glow before, so bright that I had to shield my eyes for fear of going blind. When I allowed myself to glance back at the gem and sword I had found they had become one, the gem now neatly set within the pommel of the sword. Again I felt another wave of satisfaction flow through, but not from, me.
The next morning I woke, and every morning since, I follow the same ritual that joined the gem to the sword, each time the gem glows brightly but now not so blindingly bright. It took me another day and night to get back to the entrance of the valley that marked the location of my encamped herd. I crested the hill to head down towards the camp, to tell the herd elders of my success and show them the spoils of my kills and completion of my task.
However the valley was empty, the herd had moved on, leaving me behind.
I camped there for several days hoping that I was mistaken, hoping that someone would come back for me and that this was just a simple mistake. That hope however dwindled and disappeared as I realized that this had been their plan all along. They had planned for me not to survive my task and even if I did they moved to ensure I could not return to the herd.
It took me several days further for me to turn that despair, hopeless and empty feeling into a resolute purpose. Learning my lesson I vowed not to trust anyone, relying only on my skill and wits to provide what I need. So I began my journey back down into the Alabaster Sierras, and started wandering...
...and I am still wandering to this day. But at least I'm not alone!
Hey errybuddy! First post on Beyond, just made a character for my first game as a player (usually DM a small group of friends).
After experimenting with a few ideas, I fell in love with the concept of a cowardly, Gnomish pirate, Ribbels Dunben...
Born an only child to a lower-class family of humble lumberjacks and carpenters, Ribbels Dunben was raised in the quiet forest village of Gnormandy. His childhood was almost entirely ordinary, making a few close friends, learning the family trade and becoming attuned to the ways of the surrounding woods and the myriad of creatures that dwell within it.
Perhaps a product of his relatively dull upbringing and the consistently peaceful ebb-and-flow of forest life, Ribbels had always yearned for more. He dreamed of the sea, fantasizing about the untold riches that waited beyond it for any adventurer brave (or savvy) enough to claim them.
As the fickle winds of fate would have it, Ribbels was not the only member of clan Dunben to feel the salty sirens call of the ocean. His eldest cousin and closest childhood friend, the playful and mischievous Saldri Blopkis "Chuggler" Dunben, worked as a deck hand on board a Gnomish merchant vessel named the 'Lillin'. Saldri, traditionally a male Gnomish name, was a source of much childhood teasing but became a fact which she wore with fierce pride as the most boisterous, charismatic person in the room. At Ribbels' pleading and pestering, using that innate persuasiveness she had deftly wielded as a child to get her own way, Saldri managed to charm the gruff, old captain into finding him work aboard the Lillin as an extra deck hand.
Years passed, and with each successful trading run, shipboard emergency and drunken night of revelries, his bonds with Saldri and the rest of the crew grew stronger and stronger. He had found a new family upon the waves, and enough adventure to sustain him until the end.
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As is the way of the universe, such seemingly good fortune would one day become the catalyst for the darkest defining chapter of Ribbels' life...
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A great and terrible war had broken out between the Crown and the Empire. Using their monarchical powers of state, the Crown conscripted the Lillin and her crew as a troop transport, effectively dragging both Ribbels and Saldri, but peaceful gnomes of the forest, into the vicious and bloody conflict. They were to join the Crown's Auxiliary Logistical Forces immediately, refusing on penalty of death. Naturally, the captain and crew acquiesced to the demand and joined the 12th Transport Corps based out of the bustling port city of Holmglen.
One fateful night, nearing the climax of an otherwise smooth mission to deploy the Crown's entire 4th light infantry division under cover of darkness to the ailing front lines, the Lillin and her convoy were set upon by tens of Imperial naval frigates, a small fleet sent to intercept any reinforcements and cut off Crown supply lines to the front. The escorting sloops (chosen for their stealthier profile) put up as valiant a fight as they could against the overwhelming numbers and firepower brought to bear by the Imperial navy, but they were soon bypassed and the hodge-podge mix of conscripted merchant and dedicated transport ships were set upon and boarded.
As the frenzied fighting raged above-decks between the brave men of the Crown's 4th and the invading Imperial marines, Ribbels and Saldri hid below-decks with the rest of the civilian crew, praying to whomever or whatever deity would or could deliver them from certain slaughter. Saldri and Ribbels clutched each-other tightly, quaking in sheer terror within the dimly lit belly of their home, the unsinkable Lillin.
The Crown's soldiers were completely outmatched by the marines' superior training in naval close-quarters-combat. As the 4th fought valiantly to the last and the final man fell, the sounds of carnage above decks went ghostly quiet, save the haunting moans and fevered screams of the dying. The crew barricaded the upper doors with everything they could find but alas, it was not enough to stop the Imperial marines from breaching the lower decks.
They came from above, magically cutting through cargo lattice and decking alike, dropping down into the belly of the ship with a practiced military efficiency. Caught completely by surprise, the crew didn't stand a snowball's chance in the fire plane.
As his new family fell around him one by one, Ribbels, fueled by utter animal terror, did the one thing both families new and old had drilled into him to never, ever do. He shook off Saldri's fear-frozen grasp and pushed her away, sprinting towards a porthole and diving through it, leaving poor Saldri behind, abandoning his very blood to certain death. As Ribbels leapt through the porthole, his small, gnomish stature allowing easy passage, he looked back and locked eyes with a desperate and confused Saldri. No sooner had he looked, Saldri's kind, violet eyes went as wide as twin moons as cold, Imperial steel exploded violently from her chest, pierced from behind by a giant, grizzly-looking marine covered in a feral webbing of scars and a tapestry of grotesque tattoos.
Saldri's frozen expression of fear and betrayal was the last thing Ribbels would see before plunging head-first into the icy coastal waters, the apocalyptic tableaux of family, foe, gore and betrayal burning itself into his mind with the agonizing ferocity of a thousand bursting stars...
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Tortured by unending guilt and unable to ever face his people again having left his own blood to die, Ribbels now bumbles through his days as a pirate and a scoundrel.
Immersing himself in the seedier aspects of society, he seeks an increasingly inordinate amount of coin, ale and adventure through devious means with which to drown his demons, each one wearing the twisted visage of sweet Saldri's ever more accusing face...
This is My Changeling Flux's backstory. Explanations at the end. Enjoy.
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Lana A.K.A Flux was born of her Changeling mother, Fan and her Werewolf father, Horrux. Fan had been living amongst Horrux’s pack for over a year, before Lana was born. Fan preferred to be in her wolven form with her mate, but little Lana, while comfortable in her natural hybrid form, was constantly trying out new ways to look and manipulate herself. Their pack was nomadic, travelling the forests of the western region of the continent and sticking close to the mountain ranges when possible. She was able to meet many friends of the pack on their journey, including her favorites; an ornery, but surprisingly gentle Ogre, named Roffa, and a caravanning tribe of Tabaxi merchants that frequented a major road along the pack’s route. They saw many terrains, but perpetual winter was her world for most of her early life. Often times, they awoke in a world of snow. These were her favorite times. She always tried to be awake first and leave the first trail of footprints in the snow. It would be made by several different kinds of feet, which amused her to no end. She quickly became fascinated watching the Alchemists of the pack work their magicks during any time their nomadic group stopped for a time and would do so as much as possible.
Her father disapproved of this pastime and instead tried to encourage her to embrace life’s natural state, without a thought to changing it. He spoke to her for long hours of his past journeys and friends he had made. Her mother would hold her and watch him speak with her heart shining from her eyes. She secretly hoped she would grow to love someone with the all-consuming love with which her mother loved her father.
Her mother’s past remained a mystery, but Lana knew that something dark lurked there, for Fan would often wake in a fright and wake them both to leave even before the rest of the pack had finished their morning tribunal. She was always agitated and extremely frightful on the nights of the full moon before Lana’s first shift, when the pack would run together as wolves and leave the two alone. Lana distracted her mother as best she could, by showing off all the forms she could take and was sometimes even treated by her mother showing her a few as well. Seeing her mother as a Hag was always good for a laugh.
And so her life passed in this mostly peaceful state of constant adventure, surrounded by the love of the pack and her parents. In the fall of her twelfth year, her mother’s belly, which she had noticed was getting rounder, suddenly began to swell rapidly and she was ecstatic to realize she would soon be an older sibling. She imagined great fun teaching her new family member everything she knew. It was not to be…
A freak, early blizzard blew into existence and they were too far from any of their pre-established camping grounds to hope to make it before conditions turned deadly. In desperation, pack runners went out in all directions looking for suitable shelter. One returned with news of a large cave occupied by a single Dwarf. The pack went to the cave.
The fiery haired Dwarf, whose name was Coppertuft, refused to let the freezing pack inside. Enraged at his callus dismissal of her family, little Lana ran to the head of the pack and transformed into a Bugbear, the most fearsome creature she yet knew and roared at him. Coppertuft titled his head, studying her. He then withdrew from his pocket a glowing orb. Terrified for her daughter’s safety, Fan rushed to her side, her form slipping back to her true one. Lana returned to her true form as well, watching the magician with frightened eyes as her father came to embrace them both, snarling in defiance. Coppertuft blinked at them and used the magic to dispel a previously unseen barrier at the cave’s entrance. Silently, he beckoned them inside.
The shivering pack gratefully rushed into the surprising warmth of the cave and the dwarven magician retired to sit amongst his belongings against one wall of the cave. After a while, Lana curiously approached the silently brooding magic wielder to inqure as to why the sight of her had changed his mind. After a few moments of heavy silence, the Dwarf quietly begins to spin a tale of two lovers and the life they had hoped to share, before forces beyond their control had wrenched them apart. His love had also been a Changeling and, after her death, he had never thought he would see another. To see two at once, one even carrying a third and living the life he had hoped to have for her had rocked him to his core. His anger and bitterness seemed lesser in the light of his grief.
Lana shed her first tears for a stranger and sat silently with the dwarf for the rest of the night, keeping vigil and mourning the loss of someone precious that she had never known. Sometime toward morning, she slipped into sleep. When she awoke, Coppertuft was gone. Where he had sat was a tiny, metallic bird. When she touched it, she saw in her mind an image of a younger, happier Coppertuft and a slender, fair-haired Dwarven maid. They were holding each other and laughing happily. A feeling of sadness entered her heart and she knew she would never see Coppertuft again.
For three days, the pack is trapped in the cave as the freak blizzard rages on. They watch apprehensively as the snow grows deeper and deeper. Their food begins to run low. The males of the pack begin to forgo meals as a desperate hunting party trudges out into the deadly storm. They do not return. Lana learns true hunger for the first time in her life as she refuses to eat, instead passing along her food to her ever weakening mother. Fan, heavily pregnant, was fading fast. The babe in her womb seemed to be draining her like a leech. She fell into a slumber and did not wake.
The magic weavers of the pack knew little of complex healing magicks. Nonetheless, in light of Horrux’ pleas for aide and her own desperate cries for help, they each and every one tried to find a solution. All failed. Their only hope was that the storm would break.
Early in the morning on the seventh day of their entrapment, her mother passed in her fitful sleep. Lana had been tenaciously fighting her own hunger driven exhaustion to watch over her. She did not at first realize that her mother had stopped breathing. When she did, she had no chance to react.
A huge thundering sounded from outside. The cave around her began to quake. Her nearly comatose pack mates were waking with cries of fright. Chunks of rock began dislodging from the ceiling to fall crashing onto the weary werewolves. With a feeble flicker, the already dying fire went out. Hunger clouded her thoughts, but she knew one thing for certain; If they stayed, they would all die.
Her father, upon waking and noticing the deathly stillness of his mate, went limp. Tears rolled down his face as he crawled the few feet over the trembling rock floor to take her still body in his arms. He laid a hand over her swollen belly and began to sob. Desperately, she tried to pull him away. For all intents and purposes, she did not exist to him on that moment it seemed. Lana felt… nothing.
Her heart seemed to have been removed from her chest and in its absence was a void. When the rest of the pack began to finally fight their way out into the snow, she followed. She did not look back, even when the sound of the cave’s collapse reached their sensitive ears over the howling wind. The land continued to roil and their only hope of survival was to run further away from the mountains. Only when she reached the trees did she dare look back. All she saw was snow and rock. Her family was gone. A deep bellowing, followed by more tremors and blasts of sound had her looking up.
There, in a rocky valley between two mountaintops, were two of the largest creatures she ever seen. They attacked each other with hammers larger than houses and struck blows with fists only slightly smaller. She felt as if she were watching a battle of the gods. How long she stood watching these colossal beings battle, she did not know. She did not notice when her limbs began to go numb and when she did notice, she could not find it in her to care.
Her family had been collateral damage of beings she had no knowledge of. Her pack was gone, scattered to the storm. Where would she go? What would she do? She couldn’t think anymore. Hunger, exhaustion, grief and the cold was too much for her to fight all at once. She could barely keep her eyes open. Maybe if she closed her eyes for only a moment she would be able to think again. Maybe when she awoke, she would find it all to be some horrible dream.
She was lying on the snow before she had even formed the thought of doing so. Somehow, the cold was less now. The sharp, icy ground beneath her face didn’t hurt at all. Nothing hurt anymore. She closed her eyes…
The next thing she knew was pain. Horrible, soul wrenching, unbearable pain. She tried to lash out against it, but was held down by a grip of iron. The pain was so intense that her eyes could not even focus past the spots and her tears. She could not remember a singe for to try and help herself escape the unknown trap that had her. Even her wolf seemed to have run from the agony. Voices murmured around her, but she could not make them out. Something hot and liquid was forced into her mouth. She tried to fight it, but it was either swallow or drown. She swallowed, feeling the strange substance flow down her throat in a molten line. It took four swallows for the container to be empty and she took a ragged, choking breath as soon as she was able.
Moments later, the pain faded and her body went heavy. Try as she might, she could not even begin to fight as sleep dragged her under once again. The last sound the heard was the tapping of a small, gonging drum.
When she next awoke, it was to almost complete darkness. Her body was heavy and she could not move. She immediately panicked and tried to escape, only to discover she was swaddled in furs and blankets and a small, aromatic cloth had been over her eyes.
She was greeted by two of the strangest creatures she had ever seen; an Aarakocra and a Genasi. The Aarakocra, named Cheek, was a slender beauty with feathers a blending of snow, steel and ebony markings. The Genasi, named Cinder, had skin like powdered ash and hair that shifted and glowed like smoldering embers ready to burst into flame at any moment. The unlikely pair were on a journey together, though their goal was not revealed.
Their current semi-permanent camp was a well hidden, low slung hut, protected by barriers again the cold and anyone trying to intrude. Cinder had apparently sent out an Arcane Eye to try to discover the source of the earlier tremors and had seen her. The wizard had immediately gone to her aide while Cheek had begun to brew potions of warmth and healing. She had been very close to death and the two had been hard pressed to save her. Without her lycanthropy regeneration, she most likely would have woken a few body parts lighter.
Lana could not find it in her to care and her apathy apparently concerned her rescuers, who had already decided that the little Changeling would be in their care until the spring thaws. Upon learning of the demise of her family, Cinder seemed overcome with strong emotions and Cheek revealed in a whisper that the Genasi’s family had met a similar fate. From that moment on, Lana felt more connected to the strange elemental and the two would often sit and have long talks while Cheek quietly tinkered with one project or another.
For some reason, the little Changeling found it hard to think about the loss of her family and pack and even began to shy away from her own name. One night, she revealed this thought to the pair and together, they decided to combine the old name Lana, with the names of her parents. The result was Flux, which amused the two resuers with its double meaning. And so, Lana was laid to rest with her family and Flux was born.
As the long fall days passed into the darkness of winter, Flux felt a restlessness settle over her. She had never been so still for so long. Her two rescuers seemed reluctant to let her wander far alone and even made sure she was wearing charms and other protective items when she went to burn off energy as a wolf.
One night, Cheek was working on a potion and Flux was intently watching her. Cinder suggested that Flux might make for a good little assistant and Cheek agreed. Flux found herself much happier as her mind was pulled into the endless possibilities that Alchemy provided. She recalled her earlier fascinating with the art, the one her father had disapproved of, but nothing was there to stop her now. If she had been allowed to study magic, maybe she would have been able to save her mother and sibling. The thought burned like a star where her heart had been.
Winter eventually bled to Spring and, despite their earlier intentions, the Genasi and Aarokocra found themselves unwilling to leave the tiny hut and the little orphaned Flux. They decided to stay a little longer and Flux happily continued to train under Cheek and would occasionally accompany Cinder when she went to purchase more supplies.
She learned quickly that she must hide her changing. Whereas before, she was unabashed to shift in front of anyone, she found herself wanting to keep her ability secret. She was encouraged in this by Cinder and Cheek and was also warned that her lycanthropy, while not a problem with the two of them, was widely misunderstood, feared, and even hated by the general populous.
Flux understood and, as days passed, she began to rely more and more on the forms that she had learned. A few in particular, grew in depth so that they almost became their own person. Once, when she was playing as an Ogre, she came across a hunting party in the woods, comprised of humans. While hiding and watching, she was discovered by the human children. Instead of raising an alarm, they seemed to want to play and she delightedly agreed. It became a pastime for the short while that the hunting party was in the area. The children called her Ugga and she used the name forever more when she was in this skin. Ugga was a friend to all.
In adopting new mannerisms, she found she could understand more about her own emotions. Her own apathy was overridden by a plethora of personalities. Cheek and Cinder were oftentimes hard pressed to keep up with them all. They answered her questions with patience and affection. The days were never dull.
Almost before they had realized it, three years had come and gone. Flux was now a young woman and Cinder and Cheek realized with reluctance that it was time to move on. The Changeling was sad to see them go, but had gathered that it was not in their power to take her where they were going. Sadly, she lost the second family she had ever known. They did not leave her bereft, however. They left her a pack that contained a large sum of gold, clothing, books, and a few rare reagents so that she could continue her study of alchemy.
For the first time in her life, she found herself alone. At first, the freedom to do as she wished was frightening and her first few nights were spent fitfully. After those first few days though, she found herself reveling in the alone time. She could assume any of her personas she wished and approach anyone she desired. She made it a game.
One persona in particular, a Wood Elf that went simply by Plick, was one she used often when she needed supplies. Plick became well known in one town in particular for posting up and unabashedly staring at people who passed. Since she did so in an obviously benign way, it usually went uncontested, even if it was strange. She made friends at a bar there, though never once consumed a drop of alcohol, and was often seen talking with one drunkard or another and listening to his past deeds or current problems. The bartenders looked forward to seeing her, especially when one or another drunk got rowdy, because she seemed to have a knack for getting to the root of the problem and talking them down, usually by distracting them with some unknown fact beforehand to throw them off.
Another of her favorites was a Half Orc named Parsh that inadvertently made friends with a lonely Orcish fighter, named Barg. Barg was a crowd favorite at a fighting ring nearby and she would often go to cheer him on. She loved to see a good fight and his showmanship was always a treat for her to see. They became friends after one day when he was a participant in three grueling fights and she bought him a drink to commemorate his victories. He seemed fond of her company and told her many things about his homeland in the west. When the fighting ring was closed after a new local law was passed against gambling, he made plans to head home. In a surprise gesture, he asked her to return home with him and to be his wife. Part of her wanted to say yes, but in her heart, she knew that she could never permanently leave her forest home. He left the next day. She did not go to see him off.
For a time after that, she stayed in the forest. Life was simpler as a wolf running free. She lived off the land, stopping only to tinker and pursue her studies. Part of her hoped to run across a member of her old pack. She never did, but her ever growing knowledge of alchemy kept her happy.
Some years later, she decided that life had to be more than what she was doing. She decided it was time for her to return to civilization. On a whim, she decided to go for a larger city. There was bound to be much more to see and to learn with more people to study and talk to. New faces were always a treat and new knowledge would always be welcome.
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So. I didn't know that Werewolves had to be evil before i wrote this story. She has since been scrapped from the campaign I am In for just this reason. When I first wrote it, I also assumed that Changelings were immune to diseases that altered their true forms, like Vapirism or Lycanthropy. The DM informed me that that was not the case and rolled a percentage die to see if I was a werewolf; I failed the roll. The parts of her story were she is a lycanthrope, instead of just a changeling living with her were father and changeling mother (who I also assumed was immune, cause changeling) were added in after that fact. And then the DM found a text saying that all were wolves were evil and instead of changing this character idea, I just plan on putting her in a drawer for the future, when wolves don't have to be evil.
Created this one for a one shot that didn't happen but plan on using it in another that we are going to do, or as a backup for our main campaign, which is why some things are left vague to fit the story he is thrown into.
Varikelos - Kalashtar - Shadow Sorcerer - Haunted One Background.
He has both his Quori dream spirit and another spirit from the Shadowfell guiding him. I plan on letting the DM surprise me on if the Shadowfell spirit is evil or just happens to disagree with the Quori at times on what is best for the character.
In his community as a child he was viewed with some suspicion but no one outright treated him poorly since he seemed like a good kid even if he was a bit creepy. He left as soon as he was old enough to learn to harness his powers or banish the dark spirit from him if necessary.
He meets the other PCs wherever he gets introduced due to the odd occurrence of both spirits agreeing for once on where he needs to be.
I liked some of the quirks that the shadow sorcerer entry in the book suggested so I went with those. Hearts beats once per minute Doesn't bleed much even when heavily injured. Shadows sometimes leak from his wounds instead.
My character is a half-orc barbarian named Urokk. He has quite a lengthy description.
Born from an orc warrior named Rhorog and a half-Goliath Viking named Geirlaug, Urokk was born and raised differently than most orcs, having a touch of human blood to him. Rhorog, Urokk's father, passed when Urokk was only four years old in the Orc War started by the gods. Geirlaug, Urokk's mother, became an ally of the orc tribe from where Urokk was raised, the Black Skulls, and fell in love with Rhorog due to his strength and bravery (and his muscles, of course). Geirlaug raised Urokk differently than most orcs would be raised, as she chose to bond with her child and educate him, meanwhile almost all other orc children would be made to become brutal killers with no signs of mercy or love.
Due to how Urokk was raised, he developed a sense of high intelligence and power that allowed him to become an incredible military commander under the chief, Shamog. Urokk befriended Shamog at the age of twelve (sixteen in orc years), as Shamog was amazed by Urokk's generosity and strength, easily defeating Shamog at any drinking or wrestling contests. Sadly, two years after their friendship developed, Urokk had to face off against Shamog in an arena battle to become chieftain of the Black Skulls. Urokk became victorious, and although he wanted to show mercy, he had to decapitate his friend to finalize his role as chieftain, which made Urokk shed a tear hidden away by his iron helmet.
Urokk quickly advanced the Black Skulls tribe to a human-level of technology and reasoning, advocating for the breeding of intelligent half-orcs and by introducing the orcs to: agriculture, siege weapons, archery towers, and wolf riders, albeit with some controversy but a dominant amount of praise. However, there was one accomplishment he desired to reach but he had yet to achieve; a political union of the humans and orcs. The death of his father in the Orc War inspired him to reach the goal of uniting the human kingdoms and the orc tribes. After putting his second-in-command in charge until he returned, he left for the respected city of Hawthorne, to speak with the king and possibly form a peace treaty. (This is where my Homebrew quest will start.)
Here is some other information I could not put in:
Urokk has a half-orc wife named Shuu'ra, who possesses a similar level of cunning and power as her husband, being one of the greatest warriors in the Black Skulls tribe. The two are a loving couple, as Shuu'ra is quick to supporting Urokk. Shuu'ra, at the moment of Urokk's departure, is holding onto an unborn child.
Urokk has a pet Warg named Eye Gouger. Eye Gouger's name is due to the fact that she lost her left eye in a fight with a gnoll, a fate that allowed her to be blessed by orc shamans because her fate left a similar scar on her to that of the orc god, Gruumsh.
I hope you like my character. I spent a while fleshing him out, as I have been playing this character in other games for years. Please note that I am a level 1 player. If there are any mistakes I made with this character, such as giving too much or too little backstory, or if I could make any improvements, please let me know. Thank you!
By the way, would 6'10 or 7'0 be too tall for a half-orc?
Shiva grew up alone. She never knew why her parents abandoned her on the streets of Sharn, but the reason quickly dwindled in importance as she tried to survive. Her only vague memories of the people who birthed her were fleeting images of shouting and glowing eyes. All the people at the orphanage would tell her was that she was found on the steps in a blood-streaked blanket. Unbeknownst to her, she was a part of a kalashtar bloodline, and her mother’s death shortly after her abandonment led to the quori binding itself to her. However, she knew nothing of this, and her mind tried to reject it, leading her to be plagued with headaches, visions, and dreams her entire life. Because of this, she was never adopted, and eventually grew too old to stay at the orphanage any longer.
Shiva wound up on the streets, where her headaches and visions meant she barely survived. However, that was the same place she realized she could perform feats of magic similar to those she saw the students at Morgrave practicing-the magic came to her far easier than it did to magewrights, and it didn’t require hours of reading either. She slowly practiced her abilities, honing them into an art.
One day, Shiva had a headache coming on, but saw a young man getting mugged on the way to her hiding place. For some reason, she decided to help, sending three magic missiles at the muggers and scaring them off. To her surprise, her headache abated. After that, she realized when she helped people, her headaches and visions eased. She became somewhat of a “good samaritan” of the streets, helping others and assisting those in need. And so she continued through life, doing her best to survive day to day. At this point, she will occasionally become so desperate to alleviate her headaches that she will actively try to stop others from providing assistance in order to alleviate her own pain.
Thought this was an interesting take on a Divine Soul Sorcerer, with her getting her abilities from the quori bound to her rather than a divine entity.
This is the backstory I just cooked up for Orpheus, a Fallen Aasimar Sorcerer. Let me know what you think!
Orpheus was born in a small village on the outskirts of the empire in the home of the local healer. It was clear from an early age that he was not entirely of the Prime Material Plane, and his parents, Aegrus and Cerise, did what they could to instill a sense of humility in him. It didn’t hurt that they were one of the poorest members of the village. Despite his economic standing, Orpheus always found it easy to make friends with other children in his village. His best friend, Ve, made a reputation for themselves as tricksters. Orpheus impressed her with his abilities, making food taste like grass, startling other children with terrifying images of monsters, and producing innumerable smells from thin air. Though the other children enjoyed playing with him, some parents were apprehensive of the otherworldly child. “That boy is going to get someone hurt someday,” they said, but Ve and Orpheus paid no mind.
As he grew in stature and mental capacity, Orpheus heard a voice within him through his dreams speaking an uncommon language that felt oddly familiar. It introduced itself to him at his young age as Mykiel, his angelic guide and offered to take him under his wing. Orpheus was ecstatic. It was serendipitous! Finally, someone (or something) that understood his powers and help him control them! Finally, a friend he could share an entire language with! He was quick to listen with each opportunity. In his dreams, Mykiel would regale him with tales of heroes long past, heroes that were not so different in origin from the two of them. He felt great pride in his heritage and was excited by the adventures he was sure to have with Ve and Mykiel by his side.
With each passing year, Orpheus became more daring with the mischievous uses of his powers. He prided himself on never once causing actual harm, though Mykiel warned him of the consequences of his carelessness. “But nothing’s ever happened,” Orpheus reassured himself. Of course, his luck would soon run out.
One day at the age of 12, he had discovered a new ability: generating fire. He and Ve would venture to the nearest stream to practice cooking fish as they swam by. The potential of this was confounding! There was no limit to how this could help the villagers (and probably mess with them a little bit). By the time they had returned to the village, it was time to eat. Ve’s father asked Orpheus to stay for supper. After all, he was about as close to them as he could without being a relative. As Ve’s father struggled to build a flame for the cooking pot in their home, Orpheus saw his opportunity and shot a bolt of fire towards the kindling. But his control over his newly discovered power was undeveloped, and instead lit the container of oil near the stove.
The fire spread faster than he could have ever anticipated. The oil burst in every direction, splashing onto Ve’s father and cornering Ve in their house. Orpheus could only think to run and call for help. None of the villagers could muster the courage to enter the inferno. None, of course, but Orpheus’ mother Cerise. A strong woman with strong morals, she had done her best to lead her son by example. “Be what they need you to be,” she said, time and time again. Upon seeing her rush to the scene with cloth covering her skin, he told her, tears blurring his eyes, “She’s still in there, please, mama…” She placed her hands on his shoulders. “Stay right here. Stay right here,” she said with a kiss on his forehead. “I’ll be back.” Wrapping herself with the cloth, she quickly disappeared into the inferno. Not but seconds later, the home of his closest friend collapsed into a pile of cinders. There was no sign of his mother or Ve.
Orpheus’ father, Aegrus, arrived in time to see his son standing in front of the still-burning wreckage.
“Where is your mother?”
Nothing could reach him. He felt emptiness where there was once light.
“Orpheus, where is your mother?”
The tears on his son’s face had answered him the first time. The gravity began to sink in. The burden of his child’s power had cost him everything. He turned on his son.
“What have you done? You took her from me! You took her from me!”
Turning back to the wreckage, he dropped to his knees.
“I have no son.”
Since that fateful day, Orpheus has tried to find work to distract himself from self-hate. Bouncing from place to place, living off of discarded scraps and whatever he could find, he happened upon a brewer that saw his pain and potential. Initially hired as a simple laborer-turned apprentice, Orpheus learned the trade well enough to enter his master’s guild. He had been living a simple life and was successfully wallowing in self-pity, until the wrong party showed up. Eight dwarves, all thoroughly sloshed, barged into the already packed taproom and began drumming up a ruckus, harassing the women and demanding fights with the men. Upon being given a polite warning by the unusually attractive bartender, the leader of the troupe decided to call his bluff. Orpheus felt the rage build up in him like bile. Black, spectral wings sprouted forth from his back. His eyes turned black. The inhabitants of the bar filed out rapidly. His otherworldly nature revealed, Orpheus has set out to find a path through the darkness.
Here's my backstory for Ordonden, a Hill Dwarf Cleric...
Ordonden was born and spent much of his childhood in the foothills of the Nether Mountains southeast of Sundabar, between The High Forest and the mountains. His parents were part of a settlement group that left Sundabar on rumors of a rich vein of platinum ore in the southern part of the mountains. For years the settlement was successful in mining the platinum and selling it in Sundabar. Life was good and Ordonden had a normal childhood exploring the mountains, and the nearby forest. But he seemed to have somewhat of an unlucky tendency. When climbing a tree, a branch would suddenly break underfoot, or when exploring a cave in the mountains he would get lost and spend days trying to find a way out. These hazards and hardships only toughened his body and tempered his spirit, but they also gave him a jaded view of the world. As Ordonden was coming of age to begin working in the mine strange happenings began to occur in the settlement. Crops would unexpectedly fail, livestock died, feuds erupted between longtime friends. People were nervous, but dwarves are a stubborn race, and they plodded on. One day in the mines, there was a terrible accident, and a cave in killed many of the miners including Ordonden’s father. Miraculously (for what seemed like the first time in his life) Ordonden survived the accident, in fact he was the only survivor. But what seemed like a blessing was actually a terrible curse. The villagers blamed Ordonden for the cave in. The anger and frustration the villagers felt with their plight was focused like a scorching ray at Ordonden. Fearing for his life, he fled the settlement into the forest to the south.
He wandered the forest for many years living on his own, and occasionally spending time in Elven villages. It was in one of these villages, Celandar, that he met Mildantis, a high priest of Tymora, goddess of good fortune. Mildantis and Ordonden became fast friends because he was the first Elf Ordonden met that actually liked Ale. One night, over a tall pint, Ordonden recounted his haunted past to Mildantis. He listened carefully, and upon hearing the story Mildantis realized the likely cause of Ordonden’s unhappy circumstances. The tragedy of the doomed settlement near the mountains was its proximity to Hellgate Dell, the long-forgotten remains of the Hellgate Keep. The Keep was the site where numerous demons had been summoned in the past. And although the keep was warded, it is believed that to this day, Beshaba, goddess of misfortune, has a strong presence in the area. So much so, that unwary travelers who pass through the region have been known to experience sudden bouts of bad luck. The next day Mildantis performed a Commune with Tymora to ascertain to what extent Ordonden was touched by the evil goddess. Much to their dismay, the taint was deep, and Mildantis was not powerful enough to remove the taint. However, he gave Ordonden a rare coin of Tymora that grants its bearer incredible luck and good fortune. For Ordonden however, this effect simply offset the touch of Beshaba.
Ordonden spent many more years in Celandar, even joining the church and becoming a priest of Tymora in gratitude for Mildantis’ gift. However, his condition was depressing despite having the coin. He still felt a sense of guilt about the cave in and the death of his father. He fell into cycles of heavy drinking. Eventually Mildantis, fearing for his friend’s safety, suggested he go back to the settlement to warn the others to leave and alleviate his guilt. Ordonden set off and travelled back to the settlement but was unable to find it. It was as if the cursed settlement was now lost to its fate. Feeling even more guilty, and unable to return to face his friend, Ordonden headed south, vowing to help people in unfortunate situations, and spread the good fortune of Tymora as best he could. But he was always aware of the coin he wore around his neck, never revealing it to anyone, and never taking it off. For he knew, that should he ever lose it, the wave of bad luck and misfortune the coin held at bay, would sweep him and those around him to it to an unhappy demise.
Here's the backstory for my character Bram Blade the 2nd, a Dhampir* Rogue
*Half Human, Half Vampire
Bram Blade was born to a vampire named Draven Blade and a human named Amelia Dimoz. Draven was a vampire struggling to keep his humanity when he had fallen in love with Amelia, for he believed her kindness would make a good anchor. Amelia's brother, Ven, was wary of Draven and believed he would succumb to his vampirism, and had left due to Amelia's determination to prove him wrong. But Draven could no longer suppress his thirst and ended up killing one of the villagers nearby. But Draven, out of love for his kin, left them in order to keep them safe.
Bram was only an infant when this happened, and Amelia was heartbroken. But she pushed forward, and raised Bram as best she could. She taught him to read and write, fed him, and kept him hidden from the village. Finally, she taught him that deep down, people are good. When Bram was around 10 years old, he began to sneak into the village and learn as much as he could. He kept this up for about 4 years, learning to hide and sneak through town. But one day the village's huntsman spotted Bram, reminded of the murder so many years ago. He followed him back to Amelia's cabin, prepared to take his life. Amelia intervened, pleading for the huntsman's mercy, and he took out his axe and embed it in her heart. The huntsman, horrified by his crime, ran.
Bram buried his mother and remained at her grave for a while when his uncle Ven arrived. Seeing Bram had been orphaned, Ven took him in and brought him to the city of Neverwinter. It was there that Ven taught him how to be a rogue. Ven took Bram on several odd jobs and escapades for about 6 years, when Bram learned that not only was the huntsman that killed his mother still alive, but he had built himself a lodge in a nearby forest. Ven urged Bram not to take revenge, but Bram refused and left to to kill the huntsman. When he had finally discovered the huntsman, they engaged in a brief skirmish that left the huntsman at Bram's mercy. Bram was about to kill him when he remembered Amelia's teachings.He spared the huntsman, and left with a new mission: To prove himself a hero.
I feel like sharing some more, so here's Aramil Goldleaf, a character who will probably never see the light of day unless a lot of my other characters die.
To understand Aramil's story, you need to start with his parents: a fierce fighter named Rose and a haughty wizard named L'faen. The pair had been brought together because L'faen's party needed extra muscle for a raid on a red dragon's keep. To say that they didn't get along at first would be an understatement. He thought she was an uncivilized brute and Rose believed that the rod up his butt had a rod up its butt.
However, their icy relationship began to warm as they journeyed towards the keep. They weren't friends by any stretch of the imagination, but they had at least learned to work together. When the dragon killed the rest of their party, they managed to avenge them, but they were done. No more adventuring. After loading up as much loot as they could carry onto their cart, they left the keep behind them and settled in the village of Riverstead. In their shared grief, they came to love one another, got married and had a son, who they named Faen. Later, they had twin boys named Bryn and Del (who Aramil calls Wingus and Dingus) and a daughter named Lily. When Faen came of age, he chose the name Aramil for himself.
When he was young, Aramil came across his brothers being bullied by some older youths. The older half elf squared his shoulders. Nobody picked on his brothers but him! He lost the fight, but his brothers managed to patch him up after the bullies left. When his mum appeared, she remarked that he was brave to take on the bullies, but his form was terrible. From that day on, Aramil trained with Rose to become a better fighter.
Aramil was perfectly content to remain in Riverstead, working in his parent's combined armour and jewellery store some days, training with his mum on others and listening to visiting adventurers in the local tavern on others. He even had time to attend school in between all that. L'faen tried to teach him some magic, but it was a fruitless venture. As much as he tried, Aramil just couldn't do magic...yet. His days were busy to be sure, but it was his life and he liked it.
Of course, Aramil will never be an adventurer if his life is perfect, right? Well, one day a Shoosuva escaped from its gnoll pack and began running amok in Riverstead. Aramil wanted to fight, but his parents insisted that he take his siblings to the great hall, where they would be somewhat protected. On the way, a second demon appeared and leapt between Aramil and his younger siblings. As it raised its stinger at the younger ones, Aramil leapt in front of the creature, shield raised. The stinger pierced the shield without problem and plunged into Aramil's arm, filling him with deadly poison. The last thing that the half-elf saw as his vision blurred was his father, blazing towards him like a flaming meteor.
The next day, when Aramil came to, he found that he had a fantastic new scar on his arm and his hair had turned from brown to a kind of silvery colour. Upon facing his mortality and realizing that he hadn't seen much of the world, he told his family that he wanted to journey out and see what was there. His parents were against it at first, but they eventually relented.
These days, Aramil travels the land with a smile on his face and an eye for opportunity. Can anything stop him? Probably, but he hasn't met it yet!
Here's the backstory for Ogguimash the Masher, my loud-mouthed Paldain in the Coliseum of Conquest (if you're active in that thread or the Glory, please don't read this. I promise I'll try to develop him at some point in there, but I'm not the strongest at roleplaying . . .):
Ogguimash was the child of a powerful drow weapons master and an orc slave. The drow just needed an outlet, and the lowly orc provided one. Ogguimash was abused by the drow as a child because of his orcish heritage, and cast out to try and cover up the weapon master's affair. He was taken by a sadistic priestess who ran countless tests on him, seeking to find out any oddities he might have inherited from his odd parentage. His mother was, unbeknownst to him, executed not long after he was cast out. After 10 long years of tests and experiments, the priestess finally fell prey to the savage competition among the drow hierarchy, and Og managed to escape in the chaos, vowing revenge on the cruel drow who had tortured him. He lived in the Underdark for a long time, even journeying in the Shadowfell for a time, before making his way to the surface. He managed to find a post as a caravan guard there, and on a rest stop in a small village first discovered the word of Helm. Ogguimash decided to become a paladin of Helm, killing threats that lesser fighters could not. As a result of his odd bloodline and his experience with the Shadowfell, he occasionally notices odd occurrences happening around him, such as shadows animating, lights dimming, or the temperature dropping.
And here are some of my thoughts/notes on him:
Most of my rationale behind is backstory was I wanted to break the trope of half-orcs being half human, half orc. While I think it's assumed that they are, I don't believe they have to be, and I haven't seen many who aren't. From there, it was a question of what the other race should be. The reason I chose drow was because I was making him into a sort of darker character, despite his jovial facade and bravado. I don't know many races that have darker potential then the drow, so it seemed the natural choice, especially considered the virulent racism in their society against the "lower" races (orcs, hobgoblins, etc. (although also any not drow)).
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Class Guides: Barbarian, Rogue, Sorcerer, Bard General Guides: PvP
Currently playing in: Quest for the Shunned City, Coliseum of Conquest, DragonDenn's Dragonlords, Shipwrecked on Fugue, Tomb of Annihilation, Razor's Lost Mine of Phandelver, The Lost Kenku & One Grung Above
Currently DMing: Princes of the Apocalypse, Out of the Abyss, Coliseum of Conquest—The Arena (Sometimes)
Here's the backstory of the Tiefling Hexblade Warlock I'm playing now. Our GM has done a good job so far weaving this into game play (only level 3 so far)
Ashkara'a - or, just Ash...
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 trying to to get money honestly, which was nearly impossible because of her demonic appearance, miserable self-loathing, and righteous indignation. Left alone, she spent her time practicing with weapons, stealing, and picking locks. As a last resort, in her 16th 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 moreso to her ultimate benefactor, the Raven Queen. He wanted her to kill on the Queen's behalf. Kill those that were truly maleficent. 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, communicating with her criminal network, 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 for a while, and the handle would get a deep reddish tint. She was beholden 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 the emptiness of her miserable past, and the equally lonely existence she sees before her. Her sword craves blood. Her body seeks alcohol. Her soul, on the other hand, seeks redemption.
The blood - and the alcohol - are much closer at hand.
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This is my Human Cleric that I made for my mate's ToA run. The idea was to make a Cleric who thinks he has no affiliation with a God but still has healing powers. Lucian is also a PC. Thanks for reading!
Sir Dexter Conrad Arthur David Abe Hugh Nolife IV, or simply Dexter the Dashing of House Nolife, is too important to talk to you. However, he has allowed some information to be known to commoners.
Born in to a rich family of 12, Dexter was the 6th born. He had 2 sisters and 9 brothers, all who were interested in a variety of things. During his childhood, Dexter learnt Elvish and Gnomish from all the visits that his family received from the creatures. His parents, Cornholio Nolife and Cassandra Nolife, raised Dexter to be a kind and loving man. Dexter was a natural with the ladies, thanks to his sister Danielle, the next child born in the family. Dexter experimented from a young age with a variety of races. Despite these experiences going nowhere, his family donned his nickname, Dexter the Dashing. However, Dexter discovered a magical power one day, and his head blew to an extraordinary size. He discovered that he could heal anything he touched, and people celebrated him as a powerful being. Dexter’s proudest use of his powers were to save a royal. Unknown to Dexter at the time, he came across a man in the street, severely wounded. Dexter healed the man, who revealed himself to be the King’s son. The effect of this good deed granted Dexter the honor of being named a sir. As a result of this, Dexter became very egotistical and believed himself to be above others. Unbeknownst to Dexter, a powerful God had selected him to do good in the world, and thus granted him powers.
The house butler, Lucian Greyhare, was the only person that Dexter considered equal to him. Perhaps he was even above, a fact that Dexter would never admit. When Dexter was a child, he was playing in the woods surrounding his family’s grand mansion, when a pack of wolves attacked him. Lucian, then a poacher, saved Dexter from the pack of wolves. As a result of this, Lucian was hired to work for the Nolife family, and he remained close to Dexter. On the day of his father’s death, Dexter was granted a powerful family heirloom: a light hammer that he lovingly named Compassion. Despite Dexter’s big head, he felt that he needed to shine his glory elsewhere. To fulfill his burning desire, Dexter created a list that, once completed, would make him the perfect human. Asking Lucian to accompany him, the two set out to faraway lands, looking to represent the Nolife name in a glorious way.
I haven't got much in the way of lengthy stories. Mostly I feel like those can get in the way of effective RP, when the story is evolving. I do have a few hooks though. So!
My selkie barmaid, Brea, who moonlights (excuse me) as a thief and forger to help her partner keep her lighthouse from being bought out by a guild of mages that really, only want to help make everything more efficient, definitely not for anything else. She's not held to her partner, nor to any of her professions, but understands the necessity of the lighthouse and the honest, unbridled kindness that her partner shows to all living things. Also, beds are more comfortable than rocks.
My goliath barbarian, Minakoui (or Mina if she's feeling generous), who's searching for her exiled father, the tribal chief: an upstart had usurped the throne through a contest won by trickery, and cast him out. The upstart was found out and exiled himself, but by then dear old dad was long gone. Mina was probably the best pick for the task anyway: it's her father, and she's one of the more renowned pathfinders and trackers of the tribe.
My deer centaur (cervitaur?) druid Alawenu, an herbalist/babysitter/exasperated older sibling who befriended a nearby group of gnomes in her precious bits of time away from prancing fawns with scuffed knees and elbows. The gnomes taught her to paint, and also to be a better forest guardian after watching her stop a group of clear-cutters by kicking their teeth in.
My minotaur fighter Byron (not his real name, but close to it), whose herd petitioned a lord for food and water during a severe, widespread drought, subsequently getting wrangled into providing taxes and guards for the lord. Byron was completely unaware of the politics of what he saw as a calf, however, associating the town's guard solely with seemingly selfless deliveries of aid. When it came time to choose who would be sent for the town's guard, Byron volunteered. He remains impossibly optimistic, annoyingly cheerful and detail-oriented, and good-hearted, despite contrasting sharply with other guards, and doggedly upholds what he understands to be the law. Also, he knits. (a variant of Carrot from the Night Watch, but fluffy :v)
And probably the most fully fleshed out one:
Leah is blinded by direct sunlight, but loves the ocean and rivers by dusk, dawn and night. Her mother was a drow that gave up on the prospect of ever clawing her way up the drow's social ladder (rightly or wrongly, and she's got a variety of reasons) and decided to escape. She vastly underestimated the surface world, and probably wouldn't have survived had she not been found by a nearby troupe of bards. Cautious and spiteful at first, her mother warmed eventually, and had a child with the one who had become her chief advocate. Eventually, afraid of the scrutiny of the law, some of the troupe decided that the drow and her child must leave. Leah's father balked at abandoning them both, and broke with the troupe when it became apparent that there was no swaying the majority of them. Leah remembers the troupe vaguely, but mostly remembers the time after they left, when she grew up on the seaside.
Her father played a nearby town for money, and they got a bit of charity from local temples, but her mother kept a very, very low profile, teaching her daughter various relatively-innocuous talents while at home. Leah took to magic and dance especially well, and was eventually convinced/allowed to come into town to dance as part of a performance. The townspeople caught on quick, and after a few trips they began hurling invective (and more solid things) at the half-drow and her father. Hurt and confused, Leah returned to her favorite places on the beach and delta in search of solace.
While sulking (or meditating--the two are close), she crossed paths with priestesses of a river goddess, with whom she returned to a small riverside shrine. At first only hanging around the shrine, she later began puttering around their temple. She would come early in the morning and leave late at night, at first sitting in the garden but later helping the priestesses with mundane tasks. After much internal debate (of which she is completely oblivious), she was eventually approached by the head of the temple and offered a position as an acolyte, cementing her as a devotee.
Really really really shallow character story so far - just half-hashed out ideas straight from my head to the paper.
15, Street urchin, brought up by a smuggler (named Clay, human rogue bard, smuggler. Died at 32. Male, 5’11”, dark brown hair, amber skin, lean, brown eyed, medium tone voice) who named Tsim, taught him how to live and how to make use of his abilities as a Changeling to help Clay with his work. Was like an older brother/father to Tsim. Clay loved music, and he sang Tsim songs while playing on the dulcimer and/or lute. He then taught Tsim how to play those instruments and finally gave Tsim his lute, that he had gotten from his father and never sold, once Tsim had surpassed him in playing ability. “Just like my father did to me,” he said. However Tsim never played in front of anyone but Clay and himself. Clay died when Tsim was 12. Tsim took over Clay’s work, which was bringing black market merchandise from shops to homes without being seen, because the rich receivers of the merchandise were usually socially elevated and being seen with members of the lower class would give them bad PR. Clay told Tsim, “I know it’s not right. But we have to live somehow.” Their smuggling consisted of acrobatics, stealth, and concealment. Tsim had a few minorly developed personas that he used to conceal himself in plain sight already when Clay died. But whenever he met his receiver or his benefactor after Clay died, he always shaped into Clay, with his persona, for neither the benefactors nor the receivers knew that Clay died.
Story of Clay’s death:
Clay was on a smuggling mission but once the receiver received the package instead of giving Clay the money he stabbed Clay and put his body into the trash. Tsim found it that very day, for he and Clay usually slept near the city dump. He then gave his benefactor his own money instead of the receiver’s (which he didn’t have) so that the benefactor would continue to give Clay (really Tsim) jobs and therefore money. But Tsim never knew who killed Clay, for Clay never told him the specifics of any of his jobs except for the ones he gave to Tsim. “It’s better only one of us knows, kid.”
Why Tsim stopped smuggling:
When Tsim was almost 15 he had a job and he went to the house of the receiver, and at first sight of Tsim (looking like Clay), the receiver said, “... You’re dead!” and shut the door, from this Tsim knew he had encountered Clay’s killer. However, Tsim had not the chance to kill him, for he left the city the next day, and Tsim was fired from his smuggling job, because he had not delivered the package and had scared away the recipient, “one of my best customers!”.
Clay in short: cross between Han Solo and Gurney Halleck.
- Tsvi
That is honestly not all that shallow, it has some interesting quirks for you to play into, the drift between Clay and Tsim personalities and mannerisms (if you want to go that far). Also it gives the DM some interesting plot hoks to sink their teeth into should they choose to. You're doing a great job with it to me.
"Where words fail, swords prevail. Where blood is spilled, my cup is filled" -Cartaphilus
"I have found the answer to the meaning of life. You ask me what the answer is? You already know what the answer to life is. You fear it more than the strike of a viper, the ravages of disease, the ire of a lover. The answer is always death. But death is a gentle mistress with a sweet embrace, and you owe her a debt of restitution. Life is not a gift, it is a loan."
My Half-Drow Hexblade Warlock
Luizzen Daevossz was born to a Human male, Everard, and a drow female adventurer, Ledrasa Daevossz, and was the youngest of three brothers. While his two older brothers had no big issues growing up, sometime around Luiizzen's 6th birthday, Ledrasa became increasingly paranoid and angry. She made Everard into her slave, and would beat Luizzen mercilessly. When Everard died (when Luizzen was about 10), Ledrasa just became even more violent, taking it out on Luizzen. From then, Luizzen became her slave. He was sworn to never talk about what happened to his older brothers when they visited. After about 10 years of this, and at the brink of death himself, Luizzen managed to run away into the mountains. He knew his mother would be looking for him, and he pleaded desperately into the ether for anyone that would listen to him. "Give me strength!", he cried. "Give me power! I have to kill my mother before she kills me!"
At those words, a voice entered his mind. "I will do what you ask...for a price", said the voice; a roll of parchment and an inked quill appeared at his feet from inky smoke. It said that Luizzen would be granted power - it didn't specify what kind - and in return, Luizzen would work for someone named Malfeek. He would be required to give to Malfeek at least one magical item each year. Other terms may be imposed as this Malfeek saw fit.
But Luizzen didn't care. It was power. He signed the bargain, and the parchment twisted and tore and smoked and wrought, in his hand, until it was a sickening, twisted, and gnarled glaive. Luizzen felt magic coarse through his body, and set out to kill his mother, Malfeek whispering in his ear all the way.
At which point he intersects with the party. Campaign conceits meant he wouldn't be able to achieve his goal right away, so he's content to stick with them while he waits.
Thanks.
- Tsvi
Nice. Gives your GM the opportunity to bring your mother, and Malfeek, into the storyline...
Exactly. I love warlocks because they are walking talking plot hooks. DM wants us to find a magic weapon? "Your patron decrees blah". I personally have ideas for mom's motivation, but I'm happy to leave it up to my DM, as well.
That said, our party is basically a bunch of glorified murder hobos, so who knows if we'll ever even get there.
Here is mine, for my Goliath Hexblade. The Outcast
I was born to a herd of Goliath's that made their home in the snowy tundra north east of the Alabaster Sierras. We were a migratory herd that preferred the colder clime of the tundra to the more mountainous regions of Tal'dorei.
As I was forced out into this world and my skin came into contact with the frosty air of our current surroundings and rather than taking on the pallid grey that marked the rest of my herd mine took on an icy blue hue with my eyes going to a solid blue to match. This was also the first time I felt the presence within me and heard the voice that no other could hear, it uttered only one word... Become.
From birth I was treated with mistrust and disdain, an outcast in a herd of outsiders, even my mother did not want to care for me. I was left to fend for myself relying on the scraps and good nature of the herd, which was sparse.
Years passed and no matter what I did or feats I achieved I gained no respect or trust from my Kin. I was not as strong as others of my age, unable to wield the large cumbersome weapons my herd often took hunting, yet another reason for others to hate me, to make fun, to shun me. I had no one I could call a friend, but with the presence within, I never felt alone.
I developed the ability to speak earlier than my herdsmen however I had no reason to speak to anyone. I often found myself sitting and listening from afar as any attempt to move closer or join in was met with hushed whispers and stopped conversation. This suited me as I learned and heard much when others thought they were alone. But he was always with me.
I call the presence within me a he, but I cannot be sure, I have never asked. Maybe I should one day.
This went on for many years, until the day of my task giving. Every child within the herd is given a task to complete, to mark their journey from childhood into adulthood. There was much discussion leading up to my task giving as many within the herd believed that I should not be given such, however even the elders dared not go against the traditions of the herd. I was to be allowed to mature into adulthood.
My task was simple, go down into the Alabaster Sierras and survive for 5 days and 5 nights.So simple or so I thought.
And into the Alabaster Sierras I went. I packed light, this was a test to see if I could survive in the harsh landscapes we often call our home. I had enough food for one night, a light spear, a backpack and a rough hide to use as shelter at night. Everything else I had to find on the journey.
The first night was easy, I had the provisions I brought, water was provided from an ice cold stream I found one the way. During the second day however I realized that this was not going to be a simple task.
I had followed the stream down until it became a raging river, keeping close as fresh water is key to survival. I was however out of food, and hunting was not a skill I excelled at.
It was then that I felt the presence shift, a voice in the back of my mind, no voice isn't right, a compulsion in the back of my mind made me pick up a smooth stone from the river bed and focus on it. I spent the best part of an hour focusing on this stone with no understanding of why. That was until I felt a spark of energy within me, apart from the presence but connected to it. This energy flowed out through my fingers and into the pebble, transforming it from a dull lifeless pebble and into an icy blue translucent gemstone with a misty swirl of activity beneath its surface. I was overcome with a feeling of satisfaction, but this feeling did not originate from within myself.
A second compulsion then came upon me, I whirled around and raised the gem in my hand pointing at a nearby deer that had come out of the surroundings to drink at the water. I reached for the same spark of energy and used the gem as a focal point. A sickening ray of intense energy sped out from the gem towards the deer, felling it instantly. It’s once life filled eyes now dull and blank, judging me from beyond the veil, but I had to survive, I had to live and I had to grow into an adult.
The next few days passed without an issue, using my new found power I was able to hunt with ease.
However on the 5th day as I was preparing to head back to the herd I stumbled upon something other than beast to hunt. Shortly after dawn as I was preparing to pack up camp, the presence within made me aware that I was no longer alone!
Turning around I notice a short Goliath, which I later found out to be called a human, leaning against a rock watching my every move. I knew to be wary but I was unsure of his intent. The human reached down towards his weapon, seeing this I swiftly raised the gem and let loose a blast of energy. This human must have been sickly, this single blast dropped him in an instant, his eyes taking on the same dull qualities of the deer I killed on my first day in the forest.
Looking over my kill, I took the armor which seem to be made of some sort of leather stitched together. I also took the two curved swords that hung at his belt. He had nothing else of use so I left him where he lay, packed up and headed back towards my herd. I was confident that this would at last ensure I would be accepted as one of the herd. However somewhere in the back of my mind I knew that this would never be, but I could not yet give up on that hope.
That night as I slept I was visited with strange dreams, depicting rituals being said over my newly acquired swords. When I awoke the words and rituals were still emblazoned within my mind, so I thought I would try it out. Taking the ice blue gem out from within my armor I laid it against the pommel of one of the curved swords, sat down in front and started muttering the words I heard as I slept.
Again I felt a draw of energy from that spark within me leaching out towards the gem. As I completed the phrases I had heard in my dream the gem glowed brightly, brighter than I had ever seen it glow before, so bright that I had to shield my eyes for fear of going blind. When I allowed myself to glance back at the gem and sword I had found they had become one, the gem now neatly set within the pommel of the sword. Again I felt another wave of satisfaction flow through, but not from, me.
The next morning I woke, and every morning since, I follow the same ritual that joined the gem to the sword, each time the gem glows brightly but now not so blindingly bright. It took me another day and night to get back to the entrance of the valley that marked the location of my encamped herd. I crested the hill to head down towards the camp, to tell the herd elders of my success and show them the spoils of my kills and completion of my task.
However the valley was empty, the herd had moved on, leaving me behind.
I camped there for several days hoping that I was mistaken, hoping that someone would come back for me and that this was just a simple mistake. That hope however dwindled and disappeared as I realized that this had been their plan all along. They had planned for me not to survive my task and even if I did they moved to ensure I could not return to the herd.
It took me several days further for me to turn that despair, hopeless and empty feeling into a resolute purpose. Learning my lesson I vowed not to trust anyone, relying only on my skill and wits to provide what I need. So I began my journey back down into the Alabaster Sierras, and started wandering...
...and I am still wandering to this day. But at least I'm not alone!
Hey errybuddy! First post on Beyond, just made a character for my first game as a player (usually DM a small group of friends).
After experimenting with a few ideas, I fell in love with the concept of a cowardly, Gnomish pirate, Ribbels Dunben...
Born an only child to a lower-class family of humble lumberjacks and carpenters, Ribbels Dunben was raised in the quiet forest village of Gnormandy. His childhood was almost entirely ordinary, making a few close friends, learning the family trade and becoming attuned to the ways of the surrounding woods and the myriad of creatures that dwell within it.
Perhaps a product of his relatively dull upbringing and the consistently peaceful ebb-and-flow of forest life, Ribbels had always yearned for more. He dreamed of the sea, fantasizing about the untold riches that waited beyond it for any adventurer brave (or savvy) enough to claim them.
As the fickle winds of fate would have it, Ribbels was not the only member of clan Dunben to feel the salty sirens call of the ocean. His eldest cousin and closest childhood friend, the playful and mischievous Saldri Blopkis "Chuggler" Dunben, worked as a deck hand on board a Gnomish merchant vessel named the 'Lillin'. Saldri, traditionally a male Gnomish name, was a source of much childhood teasing but became a fact which she wore with fierce pride as the most boisterous, charismatic person in the room. At Ribbels' pleading and pestering, using that innate persuasiveness she had deftly wielded as a child to get her own way, Saldri managed to charm the gruff, old captain into finding him work aboard the Lillin as an extra deck hand.
Years passed, and with each successful trading run, shipboard emergency and drunken night of revelries, his bonds with Saldri and the rest of the crew grew stronger and stronger. He had found a new family upon the waves, and enough adventure to sustain him until the end.
----
As is the way of the universe, such seemingly good fortune would one day become the catalyst for the darkest defining chapter of Ribbels' life...
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A great and terrible war had broken out between the Crown and the Empire. Using their monarchical powers of state, the Crown conscripted the Lillin and her crew as a troop transport, effectively dragging both Ribbels and Saldri, but peaceful gnomes of the forest, into the vicious and bloody conflict. They were to join the Crown's Auxiliary Logistical Forces immediately, refusing on penalty of death. Naturally, the captain and crew acquiesced to the demand and joined the 12th Transport Corps based out of the bustling port city of Holmglen.
One fateful night, nearing the climax of an otherwise smooth mission to deploy the Crown's entire 4th light infantry division under cover of darkness to the ailing front lines, the Lillin and her convoy were set upon by tens of Imperial naval frigates, a small fleet sent to intercept any reinforcements and cut off Crown supply lines to the front. The escorting sloops (chosen for their stealthier profile) put up as valiant a fight as they could against the overwhelming numbers and firepower brought to bear by the Imperial navy, but they were soon bypassed and the hodge-podge mix of conscripted merchant and dedicated transport ships were set upon and boarded.
As the frenzied fighting raged above-decks between the brave men of the Crown's 4th and the invading Imperial marines, Ribbels and Saldri hid below-decks with the rest of the civilian crew, praying to whomever or whatever deity would or could deliver them from certain slaughter. Saldri and Ribbels clutched each-other tightly, quaking in sheer terror within the dimly lit belly of their home, the unsinkable Lillin.
The Crown's soldiers were completely outmatched by the marines' superior training in naval close-quarters-combat. As the 4th fought valiantly to the last and the final man fell, the sounds of carnage above decks went ghostly quiet, save the haunting moans and fevered screams of the dying. The crew barricaded the upper doors with everything they could find but alas, it was not enough to stop the Imperial marines from breaching the lower decks.
They came from above, magically cutting through cargo lattice and decking alike, dropping down into the belly of the ship with a practiced military efficiency. Caught completely by surprise, the crew didn't stand a snowball's chance in the fire plane.
As his new family fell around him one by one, Ribbels, fueled by utter animal terror, did the one thing both families new and old had drilled into him to never, ever do. He shook off Saldri's fear-frozen grasp and pushed her away, sprinting towards a porthole and diving through it, leaving poor Saldri behind, abandoning his very blood to certain death. As Ribbels leapt through the porthole, his small, gnomish stature allowing easy passage, he looked back and locked eyes with a desperate and confused Saldri. No sooner had he looked, Saldri's kind, violet eyes went as wide as twin moons as cold, Imperial steel exploded violently from her chest, pierced from behind by a giant, grizzly-looking marine covered in a feral webbing of scars and a tapestry of grotesque tattoos.
Saldri's frozen expression of fear and betrayal was the last thing Ribbels would see before plunging head-first into the icy coastal waters, the apocalyptic tableaux of family, foe, gore and betrayal burning itself into his mind with the agonizing ferocity of a thousand bursting stars...
----
Tortured by unending guilt and unable to ever face his people again having left his own blood to die, Ribbels now bumbles through his days as a pirate and a scoundrel.
Immersing himself in the seedier aspects of society, he seeks an increasingly inordinate amount of coin, ale and adventure through devious means with which to drown his demons, each one wearing the twisted visage of sweet Saldri's ever more accusing face...
This is My Changeling Flux's backstory. Explanations at the end. Enjoy.
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Lana A.K.A Flux was born of her Changeling mother, Fan and her Werewolf father, Horrux. Fan had been living amongst Horrux’s pack for over a year, before Lana was born. Fan preferred to be in her wolven form with her mate, but little Lana, while comfortable in her natural hybrid form, was constantly trying out new ways to look and manipulate herself. Their pack was nomadic, travelling the forests of the western region of the continent and sticking close to the mountain ranges when possible. She was able to meet many friends of the pack on their journey, including her favorites; an ornery, but surprisingly gentle Ogre, named Roffa, and a caravanning tribe of Tabaxi merchants that frequented a major road along the pack’s route. They saw many terrains, but perpetual winter was her world for most of her early life. Often times, they awoke in a world of snow. These were her favorite times. She always tried to be awake first and leave the first trail of footprints in the snow. It would be made by several different kinds of feet, which amused her to no end. She quickly became fascinated watching the Alchemists of the pack work their magicks during any time their nomadic group stopped for a time and would do so as much as possible.
Her father disapproved of this pastime and instead tried to encourage her to embrace life’s natural state, without a thought to changing it. He spoke to her for long hours of his past journeys and friends he had made. Her mother would hold her and watch him speak with her heart shining from her eyes. She secretly hoped she would grow to love someone with the all-consuming love with which her mother loved her father.
Her mother’s past remained a mystery, but Lana knew that something dark lurked there, for Fan would often wake in a fright and wake them both to leave even before the rest of the pack had finished their morning tribunal. She was always agitated and extremely frightful on the nights of the full moon before Lana’s first shift, when the pack would run together as wolves and leave the two alone. Lana distracted her mother as best she could, by showing off all the forms she could take and was sometimes even treated by her mother showing her a few as well. Seeing her mother as a Hag was always good for a laugh.
And so her life passed in this mostly peaceful state of constant adventure, surrounded by the love of the pack and her parents. In the fall of her twelfth year, her mother’s belly, which she had noticed was getting rounder, suddenly began to swell rapidly and she was ecstatic to realize she would soon be an older sibling. She imagined great fun teaching her new family member everything she knew. It was not to be…
A freak, early blizzard blew into existence and they were too far from any of their pre-established camping grounds to hope to make it before conditions turned deadly. In desperation, pack runners went out in all directions looking for suitable shelter. One returned with news of a large cave occupied by a single Dwarf. The pack went to the cave.
The fiery haired Dwarf, whose name was Coppertuft, refused to let the freezing pack inside. Enraged at his callus dismissal of her family, little Lana ran to the head of the pack and transformed into a Bugbear, the most fearsome creature she yet knew and roared at him. Coppertuft titled his head, studying her. He then withdrew from his pocket a glowing orb. Terrified for her daughter’s safety, Fan rushed to her side, her form slipping back to her true one. Lana returned to her true form as well, watching the magician with frightened eyes as her father came to embrace them both, snarling in defiance. Coppertuft blinked at them and used the magic to dispel a previously unseen barrier at the cave’s entrance. Silently, he beckoned them inside.
The shivering pack gratefully rushed into the surprising warmth of the cave and the dwarven magician retired to sit amongst his belongings against one wall of the cave. After a while, Lana curiously approached the silently brooding magic wielder to inqure as to why the sight of her had changed his mind. After a few moments of heavy silence, the Dwarf quietly begins to spin a tale of two lovers and the life they had hoped to share, before forces beyond their control had wrenched them apart. His love had also been a Changeling and, after her death, he had never thought he would see another. To see two at once, one even carrying a third and living the life he had hoped to have for her had rocked him to his core. His anger and bitterness seemed lesser in the light of his grief.
Lana shed her first tears for a stranger and sat silently with the dwarf for the rest of the night, keeping vigil and mourning the loss of someone precious that she had never known. Sometime toward morning, she slipped into sleep. When she awoke, Coppertuft was gone. Where he had sat was a tiny, metallic bird. When she touched it, she saw in her mind an image of a younger, happier Coppertuft and a slender, fair-haired Dwarven maid. They were holding each other and laughing happily. A feeling of sadness entered her heart and she knew she would never see Coppertuft again.
For three days, the pack is trapped in the cave as the freak blizzard rages on. They watch apprehensively as the snow grows deeper and deeper. Their food begins to run low. The males of the pack begin to forgo meals as a desperate hunting party trudges out into the deadly storm. They do not return. Lana learns true hunger for the first time in her life as she refuses to eat, instead passing along her food to her ever weakening mother. Fan, heavily pregnant, was fading fast. The babe in her womb seemed to be draining her like a leech. She fell into a slumber and did not wake.
The magic weavers of the pack knew little of complex healing magicks. Nonetheless, in light of Horrux’ pleas for aide and her own desperate cries for help, they each and every one tried to find a solution. All failed. Their only hope was that the storm would break.
Early in the morning on the seventh day of their entrapment, her mother passed in her fitful sleep. Lana had been tenaciously fighting her own hunger driven exhaustion to watch over her. She did not at first realize that her mother had stopped breathing. When she did, she had no chance to react.
A huge thundering sounded from outside. The cave around her began to quake. Her nearly comatose pack mates were waking with cries of fright. Chunks of rock began dislodging from the ceiling to fall crashing onto the weary werewolves. With a feeble flicker, the already dying fire went out. Hunger clouded her thoughts, but she knew one thing for certain; If they stayed, they would all die.
Her father, upon waking and noticing the deathly stillness of his mate, went limp. Tears rolled down his face as he crawled the few feet over the trembling rock floor to take her still body in his arms. He laid a hand over her swollen belly and began to sob. Desperately, she tried to pull him away. For all intents and purposes, she did not exist to him on that moment it seemed. Lana felt… nothing.
Her heart seemed to have been removed from her chest and in its absence was a void. When the rest of the pack began to finally fight their way out into the snow, she followed. She did not look back, even when the sound of the cave’s collapse reached their sensitive ears over the howling wind. The land continued to roil and their only hope of survival was to run further away from the mountains. Only when she reached the trees did she dare look back. All she saw was snow and rock. Her family was gone. A deep bellowing, followed by more tremors and blasts of sound had her looking up.
There, in a rocky valley between two mountaintops, were two of the largest creatures she ever seen. They attacked each other with hammers larger than houses and struck blows with fists only slightly smaller. She felt as if she were watching a battle of the gods. How long she stood watching these colossal beings battle, she did not know. She did not notice when her limbs began to go numb and when she did notice, she could not find it in her to care.
Her family had been collateral damage of beings she had no knowledge of. Her pack was gone, scattered to the storm. Where would she go? What would she do? She couldn’t think anymore. Hunger, exhaustion, grief and the cold was too much for her to fight all at once. She could barely keep her eyes open. Maybe if she closed her eyes for only a moment she would be able to think again. Maybe when she awoke, she would find it all to be some horrible dream.
She was lying on the snow before she had even formed the thought of doing so. Somehow, the cold was less now. The sharp, icy ground beneath her face didn’t hurt at all. Nothing hurt anymore. She closed her eyes…
The next thing she knew was pain. Horrible, soul wrenching, unbearable pain. She tried to lash out against it, but was held down by a grip of iron. The pain was so intense that her eyes could not even focus past the spots and her tears. She could not remember a singe for to try and help herself escape the unknown trap that had her. Even her wolf seemed to have run from the agony. Voices murmured around her, but she could not make them out. Something hot and liquid was forced into her mouth. She tried to fight it, but it was either swallow or drown. She swallowed, feeling the strange substance flow down her throat in a molten line. It took four swallows for the container to be empty and she took a ragged, choking breath as soon as she was able.
Moments later, the pain faded and her body went heavy. Try as she might, she could not even begin to fight as sleep dragged her under once again. The last sound the heard was the tapping of a small, gonging drum.
When she next awoke, it was to almost complete darkness. Her body was heavy and she could not move. She immediately panicked and tried to escape, only to discover she was swaddled in furs and blankets and a small, aromatic cloth had been over her eyes.
She was greeted by two of the strangest creatures she had ever seen; an Aarakocra and a Genasi. The Aarakocra, named Cheek, was a slender beauty with feathers a blending of snow, steel and ebony markings. The Genasi, named Cinder, had skin like powdered ash and hair that shifted and glowed like smoldering embers ready to burst into flame at any moment. The unlikely pair were on a journey together, though their goal was not revealed.
Their current semi-permanent camp was a well hidden, low slung hut, protected by barriers again the cold and anyone trying to intrude. Cinder had apparently sent out an Arcane Eye to try to discover the source of the earlier tremors and had seen her. The wizard had immediately gone to her aide while Cheek had begun to brew potions of warmth and healing. She had been very close to death and the two had been hard pressed to save her. Without her lycanthropy regeneration, she most likely would have woken a few body parts lighter.
Lana could not find it in her to care and her apathy apparently concerned her rescuers, who had already decided that the little Changeling would be in their care until the spring thaws. Upon learning of the demise of her family, Cinder seemed overcome with strong emotions and Cheek revealed in a whisper that the Genasi’s family had met a similar fate. From that moment on, Lana felt more connected to the strange elemental and the two would often sit and have long talks while Cheek quietly tinkered with one project or another.
For some reason, the little Changeling found it hard to think about the loss of her family and pack and even began to shy away from her own name. One night, she revealed this thought to the pair and together, they decided to combine the old name Lana, with the names of her parents. The result was Flux, which amused the two resuers with its double meaning. And so, Lana was laid to rest with her family and Flux was born.
As the long fall days passed into the darkness of winter, Flux felt a restlessness settle over her. She had never been so still for so long. Her two rescuers seemed reluctant to let her wander far alone and even made sure she was wearing charms and other protective items when she went to burn off energy as a wolf.
One night, Cheek was working on a potion and Flux was intently watching her. Cinder suggested that Flux might make for a good little assistant and Cheek agreed. Flux found herself much happier as her mind was pulled into the endless possibilities that Alchemy provided. She recalled her earlier fascinating with the art, the one her father had disapproved of, but nothing was there to stop her now. If she had been allowed to study magic, maybe she would have been able to save her mother and sibling. The thought burned like a star where her heart had been.
Winter eventually bled to Spring and, despite their earlier intentions, the Genasi and Aarokocra found themselves unwilling to leave the tiny hut and the little orphaned Flux. They decided to stay a little longer and Flux happily continued to train under Cheek and would occasionally accompany Cinder when she went to purchase more supplies.
She learned quickly that she must hide her changing. Whereas before, she was unabashed to shift in front of anyone, she found herself wanting to keep her ability secret. She was encouraged in this by Cinder and Cheek and was also warned that her lycanthropy, while not a problem with the two of them, was widely misunderstood, feared, and even hated by the general populous.
Flux understood and, as days passed, she began to rely more and more on the forms that she had learned. A few in particular, grew in depth so that they almost became their own person. Once, when she was playing as an Ogre, she came across a hunting party in the woods, comprised of humans. While hiding and watching, she was discovered by the human children. Instead of raising an alarm, they seemed to want to play and she delightedly agreed. It became a pastime for the short while that the hunting party was in the area. The children called her Ugga and she used the name forever more when she was in this skin. Ugga was a friend to all.
In adopting new mannerisms, she found she could understand more about her own emotions. Her own apathy was overridden by a plethora of personalities. Cheek and Cinder were oftentimes hard pressed to keep up with them all. They answered her questions with patience and affection. The days were never dull.
Almost before they had realized it, three years had come and gone. Flux was now a young woman and Cinder and Cheek realized with reluctance that it was time to move on. The Changeling was sad to see them go, but had gathered that it was not in their power to take her where they were going. Sadly, she lost the second family she had ever known. They did not leave her bereft, however. They left her a pack that contained a large sum of gold, clothing, books, and a few rare reagents so that she could continue her study of alchemy.
For the first time in her life, she found herself alone. At first, the freedom to do as she wished was frightening and her first few nights were spent fitfully. After those first few days though, she found herself reveling in the alone time. She could assume any of her personas she wished and approach anyone she desired. She made it a game.
One persona in particular, a Wood Elf that went simply by Plick, was one she used often when she needed supplies. Plick became well known in one town in particular for posting up and unabashedly staring at people who passed. Since she did so in an obviously benign way, it usually went uncontested, even if it was strange. She made friends at a bar there, though never once consumed a drop of alcohol, and was often seen talking with one drunkard or another and listening to his past deeds or current problems. The bartenders looked forward to seeing her, especially when one or another drunk got rowdy, because she seemed to have a knack for getting to the root of the problem and talking them down, usually by distracting them with some unknown fact beforehand to throw them off.
Another of her favorites was a Half Orc named Parsh that inadvertently made friends with a lonely Orcish fighter, named Barg. Barg was a crowd favorite at a fighting ring nearby and she would often go to cheer him on. She loved to see a good fight and his showmanship was always a treat for her to see. They became friends after one day when he was a participant in three grueling fights and she bought him a drink to commemorate his victories. He seemed fond of her company and told her many things about his homeland in the west. When the fighting ring was closed after a new local law was passed against gambling, he made plans to head home. In a surprise gesture, he asked her to return home with him and to be his wife. Part of her wanted to say yes, but in her heart, she knew that she could never permanently leave her forest home. He left the next day. She did not go to see him off.
For a time after that, she stayed in the forest. Life was simpler as a wolf running free. She lived off the land, stopping only to tinker and pursue her studies. Part of her hoped to run across a member of her old pack. She never did, but her ever growing knowledge of alchemy kept her happy.
Some years later, she decided that life had to be more than what she was doing. She decided it was time for her to return to civilization. On a whim, she decided to go for a larger city. There was bound to be much more to see and to learn with more people to study and talk to. New faces were always a treat and new knowledge would always be welcome.
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So. I didn't know that Werewolves had to be evil before i wrote this story. She has since been scrapped from the campaign I am In for just this reason. When I first wrote it, I also assumed that Changelings were immune to diseases that altered their true forms, like Vapirism or Lycanthropy. The DM informed me that that was not the case and rolled a percentage die to see if I was a werewolf; I failed the roll. The parts of her story were she is a lycanthrope, instead of just a changeling living with her were father and changeling mother (who I also assumed was immune, cause changeling) were added in after that fact. And then the DM found a text saying that all were wolves were evil and instead of changing this character idea, I just plan on putting her in a drawer for the future, when wolves don't have to be evil.
Created this one for a one shot that didn't happen but plan on using it in another that we are going to do, or as a backup for our main campaign, which is why some things are left vague to fit the story he is thrown into.
Varikelos - Kalashtar - Shadow Sorcerer - Haunted One Background.
He has both his Quori dream spirit and another spirit from the Shadowfell guiding him.
I plan on letting the DM surprise me on if the Shadowfell spirit is evil or just happens to disagree with the Quori at times on what is best for the character.
In his community as a child he was viewed with some suspicion but no one outright treated him poorly since he seemed like a good kid even if he was a bit creepy.
He left as soon as he was old enough to learn to harness his powers or banish the dark spirit from him if necessary.
He meets the other PCs wherever he gets introduced due to the odd occurrence of both spirits agreeing for once on where he needs to be.
I liked some of the quirks that the shadow sorcerer entry in the book suggested so I went with those.
Hearts beats once per minute
Doesn't bleed much even when heavily injured. Shadows sometimes leak from his wounds instead.
My character is a half-orc barbarian named Urokk. He has quite a lengthy description.
Born from an orc warrior named Rhorog and a half-Goliath Viking named Geirlaug, Urokk was born and raised differently than most orcs, having a touch of human blood to him. Rhorog, Urokk's father, passed when Urokk was only four years old in the Orc War started by the gods. Geirlaug, Urokk's mother, became an ally of the orc tribe from where Urokk was raised, the Black Skulls, and fell in love with Rhorog due to his strength and bravery (and his muscles, of course). Geirlaug raised Urokk differently than most orcs would be raised, as she chose to bond with her child and educate him, meanwhile almost all other orc children would be made to become brutal killers with no signs of mercy or love.
Due to how Urokk was raised, he developed a sense of high intelligence and power that allowed him to become an incredible military commander under the chief, Shamog. Urokk befriended Shamog at the age of twelve (sixteen in orc years), as Shamog was amazed by Urokk's generosity and strength, easily defeating Shamog at any drinking or wrestling contests. Sadly, two years after their friendship developed, Urokk had to face off against Shamog in an arena battle to become chieftain of the Black Skulls. Urokk became victorious, and although he wanted to show mercy, he had to decapitate his friend to finalize his role as chieftain, which made Urokk shed a tear hidden away by his iron helmet.
Urokk quickly advanced the Black Skulls tribe to a human-level of technology and reasoning, advocating for the breeding of intelligent half-orcs and by introducing the orcs to: agriculture, siege weapons, archery towers, and wolf riders, albeit with some controversy but a dominant amount of praise. However, there was one accomplishment he desired to reach but he had yet to achieve; a political union of the humans and orcs. The death of his father in the Orc War inspired him to reach the goal of uniting the human kingdoms and the orc tribes. After putting his second-in-command in charge until he returned, he left for the respected city of Hawthorne, to speak with the king and possibly form a peace treaty. (This is where my Homebrew quest will start.)
Here is some other information I could not put in:
I hope you like my character. I spent a while fleshing him out, as I have been playing this character in other games for years. Please note that I am a level 1 player. If there are any mistakes I made with this character, such as giving too much or too little backstory, or if I could make any improvements, please let me know. Thank you!
By the way, would 6'10 or 7'0 be too tall for a half-orc?
This is Shiva, my Kalashtar Divine Soul Sorcerer.
Shiva grew up alone. She never knew why her parents abandoned her on the streets of Sharn, but the reason quickly dwindled in importance as she tried to survive. Her only vague memories of the people who birthed her were fleeting images of shouting and glowing eyes. All the people at the orphanage would tell her was that she was found on the steps in a blood-streaked blanket. Unbeknownst to her, she was a part of a kalashtar bloodline, and her mother’s death shortly after her abandonment led to the quori binding itself to her. However, she knew nothing of this, and her mind tried to reject it, leading her to be plagued with headaches, visions, and dreams her entire life. Because of this, she was never adopted, and eventually grew too old to stay at the orphanage any longer.
Shiva wound up on the streets, where her headaches and visions meant she barely survived. However, that was the same place she realized she could perform feats of magic similar to those she saw the students at Morgrave practicing-the magic came to her far easier than it did to magewrights, and it didn’t require hours of reading either. She slowly practiced her abilities, honing them into an art.
One day, Shiva had a headache coming on, but saw a young man getting mugged on the way to her hiding place. For some reason, she decided to help, sending three magic missiles at the muggers and scaring them off. To her surprise, her headache abated. After that, she realized when she helped people, her headaches and visions eased. She became somewhat of a “good samaritan” of the streets, helping others and assisting those in need. And so she continued through life, doing her best to survive day to day. At this point, she will occasionally become so desperate to alleviate her headaches that she will actively try to stop others from providing assistance in order to alleviate her own pain.
Thought this was an interesting take on a Divine Soul Sorcerer, with her getting her abilities from the quori bound to her rather than a divine entity.
Stella Diamant, Human Rogue 17 (Swashbuckler), The Exploits of Misfit Company
Kat, Medtech, Cyberpunk: Red
Shi, Changeling Bard 4 (College of Spirits), Tyrant's Grasp
Dani, Human Artificer 9 (Armorer), Skulls and Starships
DM, Project Point (Teams Scimitar and Longsword)
Everything Else!