I’ve already showed this character on this thread, but now I’m wondering wether to play him as a bard or a rogue at level one:
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. Adventure......
I'd probably say rogue, since most of his backstory deals with certain criminal elements. You could probably use the entertainer background to get lute proficiency and the option to play for free room and board. There is also the option to go for a bard with the criminal background, but I'd go for the former myself.
So this character I've made up pulls initially from the Dungeon Fighter Online character called 'Slayer' a human with a demon possessed left arm. I've named him Naumrith.
Whether by chance or by fate, in his youth, Naumriths family line carried a blood curse that awoke in him in his mid teens. The young boy was possessed by some devilish entity that had first taken the lives of his parents, then moved on to trying to break into other homes. The villagers had seen the gruesome display and guard quickly came to subdue what they had been informed was a rampaging demon. The guards ended up knocking out the boy after trapping him back in the home he had initially burst from. Naumrith awoke in a jail cell still covered in the blood of his parents, the guards informed him of his rampage, and the loss of his parents. The towns blacksmith, a self proclaimed miracle worker, had combined his efforts with a high ranking church official who had learned of this curse and felt sympathy for the boy and fashioned a special kind of shackle for the boy to seal the demonic power to a single spot, Naumrith's left arm. In the time it took to fashion the device the guards took shifts in watching over the boy, and during that time he only ever had one visitor. A little Tiefling girl who was curious over how the curse worked, how it could be controlled, the effects over the body, and even if she could harness it for herself. Being a child she was easily dismissed by the adults, who argued that Naumrith should just be disposed of, or that once the binding was complete, the limb should be removed. It took Naumrith time to mourn, there was no one to care for him, so he did so himself, some villagers offered minor charity to the boy to which he accepted gratefully. Others gave him a wide berth, believing what had happened to him was somehow infectious.
It wasn't entirely easy but Naumrith had always been durable, able to push himself further than most others. It was now he thought that it was because of this curse that was why he was able to endure the physical aspects of life. Mentally, he was scared, a child in panic, how long would it take until the curse grew too powerful for the bonds? what would the effects be if the bindings came loose, or even were removed? Would this end up killing him, or anyone else if he continued to live? After some time though, the same girl who had visited him before, now came to him. She was still curious, she wanted to see everything with her own eyes, she wanted to see the "real" him. Naumrith wouldn't have time to react before she began to attack him. This was the first real fight he had been in, and after the first hit was dealt, the arm reacted nearly on its own. striking the girl down and even disarming the knife in her hand. There was a will in this limb, it had protected him, but it also twitched, and would fight against the bindings when he rested and plagued his dreams in the night.
The years passed on, Naumrith left the shadowed remains of his home, and took up residence in an 'Adventurers Guild'. People of many religions, races, and creeds passed though, Naumrith had applied to work for the establishment, creating rudimentary maps, and taking on missions hunting the local fauna and exploring the area for monsters roaming the area. Even after being admitted into the guild some people still had doubts, Naumriths single handed weapon skills were thought to be the spitting image of some war like demon. The mages who passed through had taught him how to harness the magical properties within the infernal limb leading to an even wider range of abilities. Though the possessed arm could not perform more delicate tasks, it held the greater strength and power.
The girl, now grown into a woman had her own dealing with the Adventurers guild, using it as a front to employ, those who had a "less than lawful" outlook on life. She still had her eye on him, the power in him, she disregarded the human, she wanted the demon. Multiple times she had tried seducing him, making promises of greater things to come, even saying she would take the curse from him and set him free. Naumrith knew better though, either out of fear, or some kind of greed, he rejected her each time but, she never truly gave up. On their first meeting as peers, she admitted she craved his power and seeing him lock it away, scared of it, unwilling to let it go free and unrestrained disappointed her. Naumrith knew she wouldn't chase after him, but she would never let him go either, not until she had that power. As they parted ways The woman gave him an offer: "Should you ever need the help of me, or my 'employees', we will assist you however we can, but there will be a price, be it information, escorts, or... entertainment." With that she left, a flirtatious smile across her lips and a flick of her tail.
Naumrith, still under the employment of the Adventurers guild takes jobs from passersby, lending an extra hand or blade when needed, recording information on creatures and the effects of elemental spells on them, and Even practicing with masters and new comers alike. The back of his mind may think of his lifespan as a candle burning as both ends, but he has the resolve to persevere to the very end of it all.
I created this character a while ago for a friends campaign but I never got to play him due to cancelations and life
I also haven't had a chance to refine any his story so it may be hard to follow but I hope you enjoy
"Gentleman" a title that Jay Winters gave himself at the age of 23 a little after he finished his training at the monastery. Jay was blessed at birth by the heavens imbuing him with divine energy this was a sign of a good future for Silver Winter (The city were Jay was raised). Jay did, in fact, seem to bring good fortune to Silver Winter. The crops that the farmers grew with the help of some of the local druids, gave the largest yield they have ever seen. The mines seemed to have doubled in the amount of silver that they were producing. And crime while still there seemed to have dropped. Everything couldn't have been better and this rang true... for a time. Silver Winter was so renowned for its wealth that the criminals from other areas flocked to it. Silver Winter was caught almost completely defenseless due to the relative peace.
The town was pillaged, the fields were salted, and the weather became more and more violent as the siege progressed. After the slaughter was finished the townsfolk mourned for there dead but The townsfolk at first only mourned there dead then some started to murmur how could this happen and then like a match a fire started to form in the hearts of the common folk. Every villager started to siege the castle searching for the accursed blessed child. His father ended up having to drop him out the window landing safely on a tree down below. Jay only remembers some screams and running for what felt like a whole day. He ended up finding a temple to which he entered as quietly as possible. Bread, soup, and something sweet, these are what jay was smelling. Then he heard movement and it was moving right toward him all he could do was stay still and hope whoever it was didn't notice him. The figure stood over him not looking upset rather giving him a big smile (with which was missing some teeth). This man became like an adoptive grandpa teaching him, feeding him (Desert was always served every other day it seems that old man Duru has a sweet tooth or rather did since he seems to be missing most of them) and raising him (he was 12 when he started to take care of him). He is now a man at the age of 24 his training finished and his mind is set to the future.
this is the backstory for my fighter Daichi , something tells me there is going to be a lot of fun and great story telling with this ends most of the other players don't know this character backstory. I'm sorry the story is rough so here it is.
Daichi's father Tatsuo married his mother Mara after his first wife had died. My father did not marry my mother out of love but for power and money, my mother’s parents were well off merchants who had money and influence in Taldorei, however they were not blind to what my father wanted. So, in their wills they left everything to my mother and her children. My father was not pleased when he found out. As the 10th child and the 7 son in my family I knew my place from an early age if I didn’t realize then I did the fall I turned ten, my mother and I and a few retainers had gone out in to the countryside, for what I dont remember now, But what I do remember is the band of goblins that attacked us, while the goblins were driven off by the retainers it was not before one had attacked me and cut me up badly. When I came too I was back home in my bed my mother was crying, When I went to call out to her my mouth would not open because my whole face was bandage up and I could not Speak. A healer told me that I had been hurt in a goblin attack, she asked me if I remember the attack I nodded my head yes, I realize my father was in the room, but he did not look at me while looking out the window he asked the healer how long it would take for me to heal she answered back that it would take some weeks before the wounds would heal on their own, and with that my father left my room. After a few weeks the first part of the bandages came off so I could talk and eat better food but the left side of my face was still bandaged up my younger brother Sora and his twin sister Nishi would come and visit and talk with me in my room while I was healing, the only other person to come and see was my mother and the healer, My father never came after that last time. After the weeks went by the time for the bandages to come off all the way finally came I was so glad to be out of them, but then I noticed my face felt weird, So I went and found a looking glass and found on my face there were three long red scars running from just below the hair line down to my jaw. My life as I had known it was over, for the next seven years I was ignored in everything except my training. I had found out that my father had planned that on my 12 birthday to announce my betrothal to some landowner daughter but after the attack and my scars he said no one wanted to have their daughter marry me. By the time I turned 18 I was a true warrior and was in command of a small group of retainers of about 30 in number, One day word came that a group of 30 goblins were in the hills outside of town I was ordered to track down the goblins and kill them, So off we went after a few hours we found the goblins and we attack them just when it looked like we were about to drive off and or kill them all my scouts reported that there was a war band of goblins hundreds coming right for us. In the end I went up with 30 men I came back with 2, I don’t know how many goblins we killed that day there just were so many. After my return my father was not pleased with me, in his eyes I had failed him again in some way. Times were hard and money was tight and I was the 7 of 8 sons I was badly scarred I had let my men get killed in a battle in which I had no way of knowing what was going to happen, so two years later I left to seek my fortune in the world So at 20 years of age I am now on my own. My younger brother Sora tried to come with me I told him he needed to look after mother and his twin sister. He asked for me to shoot with bows one more time with him before I left and so we did, He will be a great archer some day he has long passed me by already
****, ****, ****! Bell cursed soundlessly as he ducked into a darkened alley and tried to quiet his heavy panting. The watchman ran past, blowing his whistle, so others would soon come join him. Best thing now was to clear out. Bell cursed his bad luck and his inattention to his surroundings. He’d become so absorbed in picking the heavy door lock that he hadn’t noticed the unscheduled arrival of a night watchman. Both of them had been startled and Bell’s quick reflexes saved him as he reacted first and bolted. Still, his nerves were shot and he wouldn’t get another try at that door anytime soon, now that he’d been clocked. Time to slink home and practice picking some tumblers until his hands stopped shaking. Shit. He’d almost had that bloody lock.
What I need is a look-out, he groused, a top-notch partner. Fat chance finding someone reliable around here, he thought dismally a few nights later, as he sat down with his drinking buddies in their local haunt, The Winged Mouse. He surveyed his four shoddy companions in the dim light of the dingy basement establishment. Buffoons, goons, grifters and scoundrels, all lousy with bravado but lacking any hint of talent. Bell had aspirations. Burglary, that’s where it’s at: a job with finesse; build a reputation; invited into a guild to be proud of; run the bloody guild, why not, he was going to be the best. Bell sighed loudly, looked up at the human flotsam at his table and ordered the fish stew. The sounds of audible gasps in response filled him with grim satisfaction. The fish stew was key to his plan. As was this large tankard of ale.
Bell was sick of these braggarts. His father bragged day and night. About the old days. Mephistopheles - what a pretentious dick - could spin a yarn. He was a cake-eater too, a real ladies’ man. Had a talent for insinuating himself into fine company and turning everything to ruin. He ran with a traveling roadshow for a bit, pretending to be a vampire and scaring the ladies into a moist state of distress. Loved telling stories about those days, especially to Bell’s mother. He’d sneak out at night and rob those yokels dry, the way he told it. The townsfolk would even wave him goodbye in relief the next day, they were too scared of the mythical vampire to challenge him. Afraid they’d be personally exsanguinated and their loved ones turned into puppets and playthings. Good times. Bad times was the bum rap their fine family name of Moloch had suffered a few generations back. Bell’s father clung to that injustice like a fighting dog to a bone. What an insufferable ass.
Later that night, Bell was out on the street, in disguise, a homeless drunk, too revolting and unsteady for anyone to willingly get near him. And hidden within his cloak was something unspeakable: a hard-earned bag of sick, bursting at the seams. A gift from the fish stew. Part of his brilliant plan. He had learned a valuable lesson from that run in with the watchman: he needed an alibi for why he was out at night and up against a disused basement doorway. No one thinks twice about a useless old drunk.
Tonight was the night for his big job. He’d been practicing on an identical lock for weeks. What a find it had been, when he stumbled upon a twin to that rare, ancient lock. No one but him was perceptive enough to recognize the twin or clever enough to hit on the idea of training on it. The lock itself was a marvel. A real diabolical contraption. Probably the toughest lock in the city. The defining achievement of an old master, no doubt. Soon to be Bell’s little Sheba, ha! Discovering a second lock of the same make had felt like fate and swelled his confidence and inspired him to step up and take the job in the first place. Oh, the looks of surprise and respect he’d get from the guild-men get when he, a lowly freelancer, returned with the prize: some rare, dusty old book, coveted by a nefarious rival willing to pay handsomely. Just waiting for him to snatch from the other side of that neglected side entrance.
Bell grinned. And then he’d have some real scratch to throw around. His funds were at low tide but by tomorrow night he’d be king of the pub. Coin enough to buy some quality leathers and a good sword to strut with. But most importantly, coin to pay for fencing lessons, finally, from the most celebrated instructor in this benighted city. Nothing but the best for Bell. Still, shame he got spotted the other night and had to lay off his practice sessions before he’d cracked that frigid tease, but never mind that. Bell heard the drums of glory playing for him.
Perhaps he hadn’t picked the best night, Bell reflected without real interest. He had, after all, earlier puked up his unsavory dinner, which while anticipated, had become more urgent and uncontrolled than he’d have liked. And he did drink that huge tankard of ale. Two, actually, if you counted the tankard he nicked off of Larry, after Larry got distracted getting into a fight that Bell talked him into starting with some other idiot. And he also drank, he supposed, a good portion of the tankard he had otherwise poured over the heavy, ratty cloak he was now wearing. His bowels squirmed in knots. They’d started rebelling shortly after he finished the large bowl to astonished stares and exclamations that he’d lost his mind. Only chumps and madmen order the fish stew. Well, too late now to bow out, he was never going to eat that again. So there it was. Time to pick a lock.
Bell shuffled down the street, not pausing when he turned the corner, and wandered with drunken exaggeration to the top of the basement stairs before tumbling down them. Bell suffered a moment of panic when he realized he had overdone the theatrics a bit and accidentally burst the puke bag he’d been cradling. He’d planned to pour it fastidiously over the stairs, but was now soaking in a puddle of offal instead. By Cthulhu’s sweaty nipple, the fishy stench was overpowering! Well, ****, other than his now constant gagging, at least he was going fully in character, like a real pro. He pulled down his pants and started in on a mighty piss at the bottom of the stairwell.
Bless the heavenly dragons, Ddraig and Albion both, that felt good. But too effective, maybe. He’d been holding that piss for hours. Wanted plenty on hand for the job. But if there was a drain down here, it wasn’t working. His cloak and boots were sopping in the pool he’d made. Looking down, his stomach turned seismically and he abruptly barfed onto his shoes. At the same time, he was confronted with the unmistakable sensation of shitting his pants. Bloody typical. Catching his breath with determination, he surveyed the situation. He had detected no life on the quiet street above. The building looming before him was dark and empty. The stairwell he was lurking in was now a foul congregation of vapors. And before him was the door. Bell squinted blearily. And there was the heavy, old lock. A twin, aged harder and weathered rougher than the other, but a twin nonetheless, to his recent obsession. Hello lovely, let’s dance. Bell wobbled over to the door on unsteady legs.
Time stopped, the night went still and nothing existed in his world but the tools in his hands and the sounds he was coaxing from springs and pins within that keyhole. And then it came, a turn and a click. He’d done it, by all the dark gods! Awareness to his surroundings rushed back in and he heard footsteps approaching on the street above, close and closing. A watchman, no doubt in this neighborhood. No time to duck inside! The gig would be up if he was spotted entering. Time, then, to test his luck with his disguise. Would the suspicious watchman realize he was in the presence of a brilliant burglar, in the midst of his greatest caper? Would he choose to test the security of the now unlocked door? Bell grinned, gagged noisily, and grinned again. Time to roll the dice.
The child of an Elvish mother and Human father, from my conception I was already seen as an abomination to the Mithral Elves my mother lived among. My father a scoundrel of a man left my mother to raise me a half-breed by herself. At my birth I was given a name I have no recollection of and have no need for because of the Elves who saw me as an outcast within their village. Eventually they forced my mother to take her young-ling to the nearest city to find solace among the humans whom they’ve rejected. Because of this I am left with the only vivid memory of my mother; after a burdensome journey, her hands reached out onto my shoulders, tears in her eyes, kissed me on the forehead and turned from me disappearing into the night to the direction we ventured from. Leaving me to the starry sky and unfamiliar surrounding, alone.
Left in a city I knew nothing about, encompassed by a species I also knew nothing of, orphaned. As a child to survive I soon took to thievery, pick-pocketing and stealing food and drink from market vendors setup in the alley ways and streets of the city. I adapted to this life, thriving from this lifestyle it became second nature.
Eventually I caught the eye of a thieves guild and was approached by the guilds second in command Xixis who asked me to join their guild The Ebonhawke. Hesitant with my answer I mustered up the decision to join these thieves who welcomed me because of my abilities. Any other child would’ve said no but having this been the first time I wasn’t looked at strangely or criticized because of my bloodlines, and also having no desire to seek out my mother or the village that cast me out and abandoned me, I joined without any doubt in mind.
A young boy raised by the Thieves Code and conduct, I climbed through the ranks quickly having the experience that seasoned my talents through the couple of years before my invitation. I earned the respect of my guild solidifying my place among them and attained the nickname Húrin which means Strong Heart. Not long after acquiring the nickname I began using it as if it were mine own since birth.
Two Years later I finally refined my skills as a scout rather than thief still having the respect of the guild, well at least the important members of Ebonhawke. While still remembering my training as a thief prior to my decision. I also developed my own ideals and ethics: Honor among thieves, steal to survive, trust needs to be earned and is not easy to be obtained, authority is an obstacle I can overcome, there’s nothing I can be forced into, Don’t kill if you Don’t have to, And the most important of all I will always be an outcast.
These thieves have earned my respect and admiration, something not easy to come by and I can’t tell if it will happen again. I owe my life to Xixis because he gave me a chance at life rather than leaving me to survive as a lowly pickpocket. I was also granted a place in the High-Ranks only the most honored members are chosen to be a part of. Risking my life to obtain treasures found inside dungeons and various places, I will do anything for family. This is the only world I know of, and life I have.
My boy Rufus is only twenty years old, but he's already had three brushes with fate. Two of them were good fortune. The third one... well that's more complicated.
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Rufus was born the seventh son of a seventh son, which was very lucky. That’s what everyone told him as a child, although he never felt all that lucky growing up. Life was hard for Rufus and his peasant family. His father was a farmer and his mother told fortunes for money. She was quite good at it, too. She had built a reputation for herself that stretched far beyond the confines of the small mountain village where the family lived. At twelve years old, Rufus was already larger than the other children. His father expected he’d grow up to be a strong farmer.
A nobleman came one day from the great city to have his fortune read by Rufus’ mother. His reading was very good and as he chatted idly with her in front of their hut waiting for his carriage to be prepared, they watched Rufus play fighting with the other children. The nobleman saw potential in the child and, in a moment of generosity, offered to take Rufus with him to the city and train him as a guard. Rufus’ mother didn’t think twice about this rare offer. Within minutes, she had packed his meager possessions into a knapsack and Rufus was waving goodbye from a seat in the wagon heading out of the village.
In the city, Rufus learned quickly that hard work reaped rewards. His mentor was strict but fair and never cruel. Rufus came up through his teenage years and joined the ranks of the city guard. When war broke out, Rufus enlisted to serve as a soldier of the crown. Fortune smiled upon him once more and he was placed under the command of a sergeant who also saw his potential and trained him well in the ways of martial combat. By the age of twenty, Rufus was a combat veteran and a fighter of some accolade.
The third time fortune took note of Rufus, the result was not so kind. He was captured in battle and taken prisoner. He was locked in a cave along with several other prisoners and abandoned when the tide of war turned against his captors. Left for dead and starving, Rufus was the last survivor in that cave and faced a terrible situation. In his desperation, he prayed to any god who would listen and bring him mercy. His prayers were answered by someone else.
A deep voice from the darkness offered him a bargain. Not only would it give him the means to escape, but also to get revenge on those who captured him and left him for dead. The voice assured Rufus that the price for this power would not have to be paid until the day he died. A beautiful dark steel longsword appeared before him and the voice bade him to wield it and strike down the locked door sealing shut the cave. Rufus took the sword and the contract was sealed. The blade felt good in his hand, though he felt a yearning hunger within it.
Now Rufus controls a powerful weapon and he knows his days are numbered. Rufus is not an evil man, but he is practical and driven by dark forces within. He understands that the power he holds can be used to accomplish great things. His mother’s magic is present in him as well, though not much developed. He hopes to see his family again some day and he would very much like to return to the city and visit his aging mentor as well.
This is Lyscinda, Seeker of Hidden Truths (last name forgotten). A LE Cleric, Death Domain who worships Lovitar the Maiden of Pain. She feels she is doing the "right " thing for the world much like a medieval inquisitor. She is no murder hobo. She follows the laws, and punishes the guilty.
I like to keep it short and to leave certain characters or elements open ended for any future hooks for the DM in a campaign. I went a little dark on this one.
Life was hard from the beginning for her. Lyscinda, was born into slums and poverty in a large city to a small unloving family. Her older brother and abusive parents did not want her and mistreated her often. At the age of 8 she was sold into slavery to a local crime lord and his guild, The Iron Spike, for a small bag of coin. She was given the job of cleaning the bloodied floors and whatever "mess" the guild would create in gathering information of its rival guilds in their Room of Answers. While cleaning and doing the chores of her masters, she would watch the interrogations on occasion. It was there she had first learned that there is pain in truth and truth in pain. Daghul, the interrogator known as the Seeker of Hidden Truths, saw her interest. He became fond of his new servant and took her under his wing as an apprentice. He taught her of the teachings of Lovitar and his ways of The Three "Eyes" that see all (insight, investigation, intimidation) and to become a Seeker of Hidden Truths. Growing up she had learned many things from him as a mentor and a father figure. 7 Years pass until one day an unknown new rival guild infiltrated the Iron Spike, killing all of its members. During the slaughter, mortally wounded Daghul ushered her through an escape tunnel out of the fray, never to be seen again.
She took refuge in the only place left for her, the Church of Lovitar. On her journey, she felt as if she was led to the church steps by some higher power. It was there on the steps, the sisters revealed to her that pain tests all, and she had been tested and deemed worthy by the Mercy of Lovitar. During her vocation, the other sisters saw her as different from the others and a zealot in her views but she embraced the teachings and trials. When it became time for the Rite of Pain and Purity, (a ritual that involved followers dancing on glass, thorns and barbed-wire while being whipped by higher-level Loviatans), she had performed unflinchingly completing the bloody ritual. Now as a Sister of the Lash, she ventures out in the world for the Maiden to show she is devout and through her own suffering, may she be granted the strength of spirit and deliver true pleasure to the hardy and the true. To go forth on a Crusade of Pain for all who deserve it most and who would be most hurt by it.
Traits:
• I respect and see worth in those that have suffered "in the light of Lovitar" through pain, battle, betrayal or heartbreak.
• I am incredibly slow to trust. Those who seem the fairest often have the most to hide.
• Secretly seeks a family of any kind to replace the ones she has lost or never really had.
• I will do whatever it takes in any situation.
• Sadist and Masochist
• Abstains from all drugs and alcohol.
• To be pure and virginal or abstinent
• Repents and prays by flagellating herself (1d4 self-inflicted injuries/day)
• Pain to all those who deserve it most
• To cross me is to suffer
Appearance: She is a fairly attractive, 5'8", 27 year old woman with a stern look and a cold stare. She always wears a nun's habit of some kind that hides her long red hair. Her religious vestments are in either all red or all white with red accents over leather armor in similar colors. The vestments and armor have openings in the back and shoulders to allow her to flagellate herself during prayer. Her back and shoulders are quite scarred and sometimes left bloody and unbandaged to show the Maiden her faith.
I’ve always loved inquisitor characters and those who do unconventional things out of a sense of fairness and duty. Pardon me for tooting my own horn, but you may want to have a look at my homebrew Inquisitor background. It might fit Lyscinda pretty well.
NG Ranger Hunter with a background as a Cook (really more of a Cook with Ranger abilities) with Alchemy skill
Gus Snoggleshitz, born the son of a human bread baker, had loving parents and a happy childhood. He had worked in the bakery helping his family as far back as he could remember. Early on in his childhood, he had found that he had a palette for finer foods and soon realized his parents were not the best of cooks. Bored of simple bread and a love for food, he set out on his own. To appear more dashing and upscale, he got his ears fixed (to look more elven) and changed his name to Brand Barleyblaze to begin his search for the spice of life. He began honing his craft by working in as many greasy spoon eateries to fine dining restaurants as possible to learn about the many different cuisines of the land, until one day, he finally got his dream job. He became the Ovenmaster in the premiere 5 Star Zeppelin rated restaurant LUMINAIRE, that was renown for serving signature dishes of exotic, rare and magical beasts. It was there he found his calling and created recipes that quickly became well known throughout the realm. Some of his Specials were:
General Koe's Fried Hippogriff and Waffles (with a Killer Bee honey drizzle)
Chimera Triple Delight (Curried Goat, Seared Lion, Dragon in a Miso Glaze plated together)
Bulette Soup dumplings in a phosphorescent mushroom broth.
Fig and Owlbear Meatpie
Giant Frog Leg Flambe
One night, his signature dish recipe book was somehow stolen by an older well respected rival restaurant RUBYSPOON. Soon after, they were making their own versions of his creations and claiming them to be their own. Rumors spread quickly that he had stolen their recipes! This had created an uproar amongst the nobles and royalty where the food critics had only fueled the controversy.
His reputation was ruined and was reluctantly fired from his job in order to save face for the restaurant so they would not loose any more of their business and their established clientele.
After some time and much thought, he realized it was time for a Plan B in life and to open a fine dining restaurant of his own! But in order to do that, he would need significant funds, supplies and ingredients. He remembered one of his contacts were the band of adventurers that were under contract with LUMINAIRE to supply the Specials of the Day. Knowing his talent and feeling bad for him, they had referred him to look into The School of Hunting and Gathering of the Unbeaten Path. So he enrolled in the school to be able to hunt down the needed creatures or "ingredients" for his new restaurant and to raise enough gold to create the most glorious restaurant ever. Recently graduated, Brand now looks to explore the world to look for the most exotic delectable monsters and to eat them.
Recipes currently looking to complete for his future line of Adventuring products:
Happy Family- 3 exotic meats that complement each other (maybe one aquatic to complement the others)
Troll jerky - for healing properties
Troll gum - Troll spit possibly mixed with a Blight tree sap, for extended healing regeneration
Shambling Salad with Goodberries (resistances and filling too!)
Here is the backstory for Liluth Eveningfall, a half drow Rogue.
Liluth Eveningfall was born in the Underdark to a human man and a Drow mother. Throughout her life she learned that Lolth was as cruel a god as they come. And she perfectly okay with that. As ten years time passed, Liluth trained as a rogue until she felt that she could be useful elsewhere. That was until a battle broke out and her parents were killed. Using her stealth, she slipped away into the darkness during the confusion of battle, evading both hobgoblin and human alike.
With nothing except her shortsword and short bow, she ventured out to the lands above. As hunger found her, she came upon a band of bandits who took her in and used her for her certain... skills if you will. After assassinating the leader of the bandits and earning a few coin from the second in command of the bandits, she found herself in chains, imprisoned as a suspected spy-- her accuser, the same bandit that hired her to perform the deed. As luck, even bad luck, would have it, the camp of her new captors was overran by a horde of humanoid troops. Once again trading one form of bondage for another, she and the human bandit rebels were tied hand and leg to each other and were marched for days and days across the countryside bound for a destination that brought fear to her fellow captives. Determined to win her freedom no matter the risk, she waited until the darkest hour of night before slipping free of her bonds, ambushing a lone guard and stealing a cloak, rations, her weapons and tools, and then fleeing into the wide wilderness.
Although lost with no sense of direction, the former Bandit Kingdoms, Liluth wandered until she found another group of humans - wretched refugees by the looks of them - moving along a rough trail. Noticing few women in the group and feeling safer in that knowledge, Liluth wrapped her cloak tightly around her and slowly worked her way into the midst of the refugee group. Approaching what appears to be a large and wide river, Liluth boarded a ship and wondered what her next step will be on this wondrous and unexpected journey.
I have a backstory for my amnestic pirate Dragonborn who is a barbarian
Dark Wing used to be an orphan. The town he came from called Crymatian and it dispised Dragonborn's so he was beaten up and if no one adopted him he would be hanged as entertainment. Unluckily no one adopted him (he was 16 at the time) After that he wakes up at the age of 40 and he can't remember 34 years of his life all he knows is that he was a pirate
I tend to get really, really invested in the characters in my stories, but I also tend to make them go through a lot of suffering as well. Probably because I'm pretty new to the DnD format... This is one of my character's backstories, Aeon Medani, the Warmind Eternal. I'll probably post my others in another time.
Aeon Medani, Warmind Eternal
Aeon was a young fledgling half-elf whose family was travelling to a nearby sea port. However, the ship was captured by Tempus warlyons who proposed a deal. In exchange for their lives, they had to give up their brightest mind to become the one of the first warminds. Warminds were slaves put into a stasis for several centuries while their mind was subjugated to a simulant world called the simulacrum that forced warminds to fight legions upon legions of enemies through hundreds of different conditions, all to research the art of war and combat. Every time they died, they would simply be revived, forced to fight again and again. This was a fate worse than death, worse than thousands of deaths.
Despite this, Aeon volunteered but the warlyons broke the deal, simply slaughtering the entire ship after Aeon was secured. Being a prodigy of sorts, Aeon's capacity to wage war within the simulacrum proved so effective at drawing up strategies that many other warminds were subjugated. However, after centuries of battle Aeon eventually started to become smart enough to break the spell, and escaped the grasps of the warlyons. He had lost much of the knowledge within the simulacrum, and knew little of the outside world.
After wandering a few days within a nearby forest, he was taken under the wing of House Dace, but so as not to bring the wrath of his pursuers down upon them, Aeon quickly left after learning some knowledge and collecting some gear. Despite his efforts, however, his pursuers also descended upon House Dace and completely annihilated them, leaving no survivors.
So you can understand why Aeon is struggling for a reason to live. He's lost all that he knew, all the allies he had gained, and he had just escaped a world of endless battle into a world hundreds of years later than what he is familiar with. Much of what he has known has all faded into history books and all the while he has to evade the capture of his restless tormentors. None of it has really been his fault either, and his enemies are too powerful to deal with at any present rate.
He tries to keep up appearances. He hadn't aged at all since his capture, and he looks like a young, spritely teenager who has had a nice, caring household and a peaceful life. He appreciates colorful pebbles and quiet naps under a shade in summer. He hates grapes with seeds in them but don't mind if they're the green ones. If he can, he leaves milk out in plates so that stray cats have something to drink. He knows how to find berries in the wilds and gets angry at raisins in choc-chip cookies.
But in times where he is alone, he cries over his family insignia, the only symbol of the old world and his family he belonged to. When he is sleeping he is haunted by the memories of the simulacrum, leading to inadvertent self-harming behavior. When he is in battle, sometimes he wishes that the next blow will guide him back to where the rest of his family awaits for him.
Alrighty, it's time for another backstory of mine: Roan Whittaker, a half-elf wild magic sorcerer. Be warned, this one gets a little dark.
Roan doesn't remember much about his parents, other than the money that they received when he was taken away.
He thought that he was going somewhere nice.
He was wrong.
For the next few years, the young half-elf was traded between many owners as a slave. Sometimes he was beaten, sometimes he was given his own corner to sleep in. All the while, he felt like something was wrong with his situation, but he didn't know what it was or how to fix it. His waking life was a reminder that he was a slave, just as the brand on his right arm told others.
That all changed when an eccentric gnome named Burgell Boddynock Doublelook Nim Turen Nackle (Master Boddynock to his employees) saw the potential in the thin, shy boy, who was growing into a thin, shy teenager. With a rapid promotion from garden slave to house servant, Roan began to believe that he was more than what others said he was. In fact, he was one of the first in the manor to learn that Burgell was going to free all of his slaves - even him! Sure, he didn't know what freedom meant exactly, but the idea interested him.
Unfortunately, that day didn't come soon enough. After a great deal of drinking and gambling with a business associate (one that Roan had never really liked) Burgell accidentally lost Roan in what should have been a winning hand. All the work that the gnome had done building up the half-elf's confidence and self-worth were worn down with beatings and beratings for even minor infractions.
But it wasn't all bad. During this dark time, Roan found a small mouse, who he named Whiskers. He shared his meager scraps with the creature, who seemed glad for the company. If Roan's master noticed the creature, he didn't mention it.
Some time later, Roan and his master journeyed with a merchant's wagon train, where Roan grew close to a woman who wore a purple ribbon in her hair. After talking with him, the woman told him that he wasn't as worthless as his master claimed and left him stunned after kissing him on the cheek. He was quickly snapped out of his stupor by his master, who declared that they were leaving the merchants behind for reasons that he never told Roan.
As Roan made dinner that night, he accidentally spilled some wine. Ordinarily, he would expect to be told off, but something in the air sent his master into a blind rage. As he yelled, Whiskers tried to make an escape, but the man grabbed the mouse and prepared to crush it while beating Roan.
'No!' Roan yelled. As he thrust his hand out to try and save his little friend, a blob of acid formed and flew into his master's face. As the man fell to the ground, he let go of Whiskers and screamed in agony, then stopped.
After more panicking than should be possible for one man, Roan began to collect himself. After taking as much as he could into his backpack, Roan ran away, hoping that anyone who found the body would assume that he died in some terrible accident.
When he reached the nearest town, Roan exchanged what he could for new clothes and did his best to remain hidden. Even now, he is terrified of chains and compulsively makes sure he keeps his right arm covered so that nobody learns the truth.
Magnar is a Northman of the Moonshae Isles located west from the Sword Coast. His grandfather, Ulfar, served Grunnarch the Red during the Darkwalker War which turned into a great family dishonor when it was revealed that Grunnarch the Red had secretly been the dark demigod Kazgaroth the Beast. When the war ended many of the northmen sank into depression and despair as they felt the blow to their honor ever keenly. Magnar’s father was, like many northmen, both a fisherman and an opportunistic raider but he too felt a deep revulsion for his peoples servitude to the Beast. It ate away at Skuld Ulfarson for years and gradually he spent more and more time at sea.
At home Magnar grew into an unusually strong young man. He disliked learning and often could be found wandering the woods or spending time with the local druids and bards. For most lessons Magnar could not be counted on to sit still but for the lyre he would play for hours. He never felt the need for an audience as often as not he would sit alone along the shoreline and play to the wind. One young druid, Mogh, took a special interest in Magnar and spent time teaching him about the land, the Earth Mother, and the many other gods of Faerun. Magnar took interest in this and learned the language of the primordial elemental spirits from his druid friend.
The other northmen of Magnar’s village assumed that Magnar would become a druid or bard. There was just something about the thoughtful young man that spoke of a higher purpose. Then one day the raiders came and changed Magnar forever.
Their ships and armor were covered with the image of a demonic kraken, all tentacles with many eyes and spikes. The raiders slaughtered the villagers only keeping a few alive for slaves or sacrifices. Magnar fought as best he could but he was still young and these were hardened warriors. Eventually one warrior came before Magnar in the chaos. The warrior removed his tentacled helm to reveal Skuld Ulfarson, Magnar’s father!
“Son,” Skuld began, “the deep sea has shown me the truth of things. There is no honor. No glory. Not unless you serve the Deep Ones. Not unless you give yourself to them completely.” To Magnar’s horror his father’s eyes were totally black. Dead eyes like a horrific doll.
His horror quickly turned to rage as he looked around and saw the slaughter of his village, his friends, and the remains of his family. With his father standing before him Magnar began to burn with anger. How could his father have done this? What honor could this bring to anyone?
The wind around the battlefield picked up. At first it stirred the ashes and embers. Then it began whipping the trees and waves. Then it became so fierce that the combatants paused looking around themselves disbelievingly. Magnar heard the wind. It was the same wind he played his lyre for so many times. The same wind he had learned to speak with. He could sense another presence behind the wind. It was like a raging storm giving direction to the wind. It wanted to destroy these raiders. Magnar agreed and asked that it do so. He spread his arms out wide and called to the wind and the lightning and the thunder. It crashed down on the demonic raiders. A stroke of lightning shattered one of their ships. A shock of thunder laid several warriors low. The wind whipped them from the ground and slammed them back to the earth.
The raiders fled from the village. Some ran into the sea and drowned. Some ran off along the coast. Skuld shrank back from the rage in Magnar’s face, climbed into his ship and ordered the men to retreat. The battle was over but at great cost. Between the raiders and the storm the entire village had been destroyed. Buildings were reduced to piles of splinters, most ships in the harbor had burned and sunk and the very few survivors bleakly searched among the debris for loved ones.
This is where Magnar earned the nickname the Thunderer. The few survivors called him that. In the days and weeks that followed Magnar spent even more time alone with the wind. He felt the presence behind the wind even more strongly. He now realized that it was Talos the Storm Lord the deity of storms and destruction. The god had heard Magnar’s playing and it soothed him. Magnar listened to the wind and it spoke to him. Talos was pleased with Magnar’s sacrifice of music and offered Magnar the potential power to take revenge on those who destroyed his village.
This one is a possible replacement for a Hexblade 4, so kinda thinking a balanced melee/caster. Inspired by a recent story coming out of Sweden. Not sure about which pact to take next level.
It all began at a cold lake in the wilderness, on a family trip to the countryside. She was in her 8th year, and that was when her whole life changed.
While she loved her mother, father, and sister, she really had never thought of much else. She loved playing, dancing, and reading. She just assumed she would grow up, and in a few years, she would probably try teaching, maybe become a dancer, or bake bread like her mom. Maybe a nice boy would want to marry her. They certainly gazed at her radiant blonde hair, and soft golden eyes, and blushed. She loved to play with her big sister, Emilia, but she was spending more time with boys, which seemed like a waste of time. Her father, Rasmus, a great warrior, spent time training horses, since he lost an arm in a far-off battle. She doted on him, and tried to gather the little pearls of wisdom that he unwittingly cast about from his life in battle.
At the lake, her sister was helping Mom, and Dad was trying – and failing – to catch any fish with his net. He was complaining about not being able to use a fish pole anymore, and saying a few unsavory things as he stumbled a bit on the slippery rocks. As she played in the chilly water, she was inexplicably drawn to this one area of the water. The water was calmer, a tiny bit warmer, and somehow brighter… the bottom was sandier, with less rocks. She reached around, fingers searching for she knew not what. With a tingle, she felt metal. It felt like a sword. Holding it in her palms, she removed an ancient looking, worn and rusty sword out of the water. There was another tingle, and a buzzing in her head. Her hand moved tentatively to the shoddy handle, and gripping it, the sword gleamed and brightened, razor sharp edges glinting, as if freshly honed. Instantly, she felt full of light, and a thrumming ripple pulsed out from her, stirring the waves. Testing this miraculous illusion, she took her hand off the hilt, and the sword aged a thousand years under her gaze. Regripping it, the sword returned to brilliance.
Her father was mystified by this discovery, and feared it's portent. His daughter Saga was destined to follow her father's footsteps into battle. Perhaps stranger, more mysterious encounters than he ever faced. Something about her was changing, and he feared that change. He knew he had to train her, instruct her how to fight and defend herself, and try to prepare her for her unknowable future. For several years, they trained, staying out of sight of the others in the village. She took to the training well, but it was hard for one-armed Rasmus to keep up after a while. When not training, Saga spent quite a bit of time with her sword, studying the inscriptions and detailed etchings on the blade. Most notable was the hoop-topped cross, and a soaring hawk. Too much time away from the sword, and the buzzing in her head would start to ache, and distract her from all her tasks. Her mother, Signe, hated the idea of her daughter in battle, and wouldn't allow her family to talk about it.
In her 12th year, a traveler came to the village, someone Rasmus knew. He was a soldier, one of his closest companions in battle. After many discussions, it was decided that Saga should go with Stellan, and he would train her the ways of the fighter. She fully enjoyed the weapons training, and learning the tactics and skills. But, she felt something mission, a calling ignored. The noise and pain in her head grew overwhelming. Meanwhile, she found herself performing unexpected tricks and strange happenings. She could create light before she started training, but this was different. She left Stellan, and decided to seek out her fortunes alone. Her headaches faded, and she almost immediately felt at peace.
She spent the next couple of years adventuring, honing her fighting skills, and her mystical abilities as well. She came to realize that her Patron was Isis, and she craved information about her, and sought out other followers. When traveling, she was able to make herself appear older, or younger, or even pass herself off as a young man, to avoid any undue attention from anyone who had bad intentions. And, to a casual eye, her beaten scabbard with a threadbare hilt sticking out seemed like nothing to worry about.
Until her eyes glowed golden, and she unsheathed the glittering weapon.
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I’ve already showed this character on this thread, but now I’m wondering wether to play him as a bard or a rogue at level one:
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. Adventure......
- Tsvi
I'd probably say rogue, since most of his backstory deals with certain criminal elements. You could probably use the entertainer background to get lute proficiency and the option to play for free room and board. There is also the option to go for a bard with the criminal background, but I'd go for the former myself.
Thanks!
- Tsvi
So this character I've made up pulls initially from the Dungeon Fighter Online character called 'Slayer' a human with a demon possessed left arm. I've named him Naumrith.
Whether by chance or by fate, in his youth, Naumriths family line carried a blood curse that awoke in him in his mid teens. The young boy was possessed by some devilish entity that had first taken the lives of his parents, then moved on to trying to break into other homes. The villagers had seen the gruesome display and guard quickly came to subdue what they had been informed was a rampaging demon. The guards ended up knocking out the boy after trapping him back in the home he had initially burst from. Naumrith awoke in a jail cell still covered in the blood of his parents, the guards informed him of his rampage, and the loss of his parents. The towns blacksmith, a self proclaimed miracle worker, had combined his efforts with a high ranking church official who had learned of this curse and felt sympathy for the boy and fashioned a special kind of shackle for the boy to seal the demonic power to a single spot, Naumrith's left arm. In the time it took to fashion the device the guards took shifts in watching over the boy, and during that time he only ever had one visitor. A little Tiefling girl who was curious over how the curse worked, how it could be controlled, the effects over the body, and even if she could harness it for herself. Being a child she was easily dismissed by the adults, who argued that Naumrith should just be disposed of, or that once the binding was complete, the limb should be removed. It took Naumrith time to mourn, there was no one to care for him, so he did so himself, some villagers offered minor charity to the boy to which he accepted gratefully. Others gave him a wide berth, believing what had happened to him was somehow infectious.
It wasn't entirely easy but Naumrith had always been durable, able to push himself further than most others. It was now he thought that it was because of this curse that was why he was able to endure the physical aspects of life. Mentally, he was scared, a child in panic, how long would it take until the curse grew too powerful for the bonds? what would the effects be if the bindings came loose, or even were removed? Would this end up killing him, or anyone else if he continued to live? After some time though, the same girl who had visited him before, now came to him. She was still curious, she wanted to see everything with her own eyes, she wanted to see the "real" him. Naumrith wouldn't have time to react before she began to attack him. This was the first real fight he had been in, and after the first hit was dealt, the arm reacted nearly on its own. striking the girl down and even disarming the knife in her hand. There was a will in this limb, it had protected him, but it also twitched, and would fight against the bindings when he rested and plagued his dreams in the night.
The years passed on, Naumrith left the shadowed remains of his home, and took up residence in an 'Adventurers Guild'. People of many religions, races, and creeds passed though, Naumrith had applied to work for the establishment, creating rudimentary maps, and taking on missions hunting the local fauna and exploring the area for monsters roaming the area. Even after being admitted into the guild some people still had doubts, Naumriths single handed weapon skills were thought to be the spitting image of some war like demon. The mages who passed through had taught him how to harness the magical properties within the infernal limb leading to an even wider range of abilities. Though the possessed arm could not perform more delicate tasks, it held the greater strength and power.
The girl, now grown into a woman had her own dealing with the Adventurers guild, using it as a front to employ, those who had a "less than lawful" outlook on life. She still had her eye on him, the power in him, she disregarded the human, she wanted the demon. Multiple times she had tried seducing him, making promises of greater things to come, even saying she would take the curse from him and set him free. Naumrith knew better though, either out of fear, or some kind of greed, he rejected her each time but, she never truly gave up. On their first meeting as peers, she admitted she craved his power and seeing him lock it away, scared of it, unwilling to let it go free and unrestrained disappointed her. Naumrith knew she wouldn't chase after him, but she would never let him go either, not until she had that power. As they parted ways The woman gave him an offer: "Should you ever need the help of me, or my 'employees', we will assist you however we can, but there will be a price, be it information, escorts, or... entertainment." With that she left, a flirtatious smile across her lips and a flick of her tail.
Naumrith, still under the employment of the Adventurers guild takes jobs from passersby, lending an extra hand or blade when needed, recording information on creatures and the effects of elemental spells on them, and Even practicing with masters and new comers alike. The back of his mind may think of his lifespan as a candle burning as both ends, but he has the resolve to persevere to the very end of it all.
I created this character a while ago for a friends campaign but I never got to play him due to cancelations and life
I also haven't had a chance to refine any his story so it may be hard to follow but I hope you enjoy
"Gentleman" a title that Jay Winters gave himself at the age of 23 a little after he finished his training at the monastery. Jay was blessed at birth by the heavens imbuing him with divine energy this was a sign of a good future for Silver Winter (The city were Jay was raised). Jay did, in fact, seem to bring good fortune to Silver Winter. The crops that the farmers grew with the help of some of the local druids, gave the largest yield they have ever seen. The mines seemed to have doubled in the amount of silver that they were producing. And crime while still there seemed to have dropped. Everything couldn't have been better and this rang true... for a time. Silver Winter was so renowned for its wealth that the criminals from other areas flocked to it. Silver Winter was caught almost completely defenseless due to the relative peace.
The town was pillaged, the fields were salted, and the weather became more and more violent as the siege progressed. After the slaughter was finished the townsfolk mourned for there dead but The townsfolk at first only mourned there dead then some started to murmur how could this happen and then like a match a fire started to form in the hearts of the common folk. Every villager started to siege the castle searching for the accursed blessed child. His father ended up having to drop him out the window landing safely on a tree down below. Jay only remembers some screams and running for what felt like a whole day. He ended up finding a temple to which he entered as quietly as possible. Bread, soup, and something sweet, these are what jay was smelling. Then he heard movement and it was moving right toward him all he could do was stay still and hope whoever it was didn't notice him. The figure stood over him not looking upset rather giving him a big smile (with which was missing some teeth). This man became like an adoptive grandpa teaching him, feeding him (Desert was always served every other day it seems that old man Duru has a sweet tooth or rather did since he seems to be missing most of them) and raising him (he was 12 when he started to take care of him). He is now a man at the age of 24 his training finished and his mind is set to the future.
this is the backstory for my fighter Daichi , something tells me there is going to be a lot of fun and great story telling with this ends most of the other players don't know this character backstory.
I'm sorry the story is rough so here it is.
Daichi's father Tatsuo married his mother Mara after his first wife had died. My father did not marry my mother out of love but for power and money, my mother’s parents were well off merchants who had money and influence in Taldorei, however they were not blind to what my father wanted. So, in their wills they left everything to my mother and her children. My father was not pleased when he found out. As the 10th child and the 7 son in my family I knew my place from an early age if I didn’t realize then I did the fall I turned ten, my mother and I and a few retainers had gone out in to the countryside, for what I dont remember now, But what I do remember is the band of goblins that attacked us, while the goblins were driven off by the retainers it was not before one had attacked me and cut me up badly. When I came too I was back home in my bed my mother was crying, When I went to call out to her my mouth would not open because my whole face was bandage up and I could not Speak. A healer told me that I had been hurt in a goblin attack, she asked me if I remember the attack I nodded my head yes, I realize my father was in the room, but he did not look at me while looking out the window he asked the healer how long it would take for me to heal she answered back that it would take some weeks before the wounds would heal on their own, and with that my father left my room. After a few weeks the first part of the bandages came off so I could talk and eat better food but the left side of my face was still bandaged up my younger brother Sora and his twin sister Nishi would come and visit and talk with me in my room while I was healing, the only other person to come and see was my mother and the healer, My father never came after that last time.
After the weeks went by the time for the bandages to come off all the way finally came I was so glad to be out of them, but then I noticed my face felt weird, So I went and found a looking glass and found on my face there were three long red scars running from just below the hair line down to my jaw. My life as I had known it was over, for the next seven years I was ignored in everything except my training. I had found out that my father had planned that on my 12 birthday to announce my betrothal to some landowner daughter but after the attack and my scars he said no one wanted to have their daughter marry me. By the time I turned 18 I was a true warrior and was in command of a small group of retainers of about 30 in number, One day word came that a group of 30 goblins were in the hills outside of town I was ordered to track down the goblins and kill them, So off we went after a few hours we found the goblins and we attack them just when it looked like we were about to drive off and or kill them all my scouts reported that there was a war band of goblins hundreds coming right for us. In the end I went up with 30 men I came back with 2, I don’t know how many goblins we killed that day there just were so many. After my return my father was not pleased with me, in his eyes I had failed him again in some way. Times were hard and money was tight and I was the 7 of 8 sons I was badly scarred I had let my men get killed in a battle in which I had no way of knowing what was going to happen, so two years later I left to seek my fortune in the world So at 20 years of age I am now on my own.
My younger brother Sora tried to come with me I told him he needed to look after mother and his twin sister. He asked for me to shoot with bows one more time with him before I left and so we did, He will be a great archer some day he has long passed me by already
Beelzebub “Bell” of House Moloch
Tiefling Arcane Trickster
Warning: is vulgar.
****, ****, ****! Bell cursed soundlessly as he ducked into a darkened alley and tried to quiet his heavy panting. The watchman ran past, blowing his whistle, so others would soon come join him. Best thing now was to clear out. Bell cursed his bad luck and his inattention to his surroundings. He’d become so absorbed in picking the heavy door lock that he hadn’t noticed the unscheduled arrival of a night watchman. Both of them had been startled and Bell’s quick reflexes saved him as he reacted first and bolted. Still, his nerves were shot and he wouldn’t get another try at that door anytime soon, now that he’d been clocked. Time to slink home and practice picking some tumblers until his hands stopped shaking. Shit. He’d almost had that bloody lock.
What I need is a look-out, he groused, a top-notch partner. Fat chance finding someone reliable around here, he thought dismally a few nights later, as he sat down with his drinking buddies in their local haunt, The Winged Mouse. He surveyed his four shoddy companions in the dim light of the dingy basement establishment. Buffoons, goons, grifters and scoundrels, all lousy with bravado but lacking any hint of talent. Bell had aspirations. Burglary, that’s where it’s at: a job with finesse; build a reputation; invited into a guild to be proud of; run the bloody guild, why not, he was going to be the best. Bell sighed loudly, looked up at the human flotsam at his table and ordered the fish stew. The sounds of audible gasps in response filled him with grim satisfaction. The fish stew was key to his plan. As was this large tankard of ale.
Bell was sick of these braggarts. His father bragged day and night. About the old days. Mephistopheles - what a pretentious dick - could spin a yarn. He was a cake-eater too, a real ladies’ man. Had a talent for insinuating himself into fine company and turning everything to ruin. He ran with a traveling roadshow for a bit, pretending to be a vampire and scaring the ladies into a moist state of distress. Loved telling stories about those days, especially to Bell’s mother. He’d sneak out at night and rob those yokels dry, the way he told it. The townsfolk would even wave him goodbye in relief the next day, they were too scared of the mythical vampire to challenge him. Afraid they’d be personally exsanguinated and their loved ones turned into puppets and playthings. Good times. Bad times was the bum rap their fine family name of Moloch had suffered a few generations back. Bell’s father clung to that injustice like a fighting dog to a bone. What an insufferable ass.
Later that night, Bell was out on the street, in disguise, a homeless drunk, too revolting and unsteady for anyone to willingly get near him. And hidden within his cloak was something unspeakable: a hard-earned bag of sick, bursting at the seams. A gift from the fish stew. Part of his brilliant plan. He had learned a valuable lesson from that run in with the watchman: he needed an alibi for why he was out at night and up against a disused basement doorway. No one thinks twice about a useless old drunk.
Tonight was the night for his big job. He’d been practicing on an identical lock for weeks. What a find it had been, when he stumbled upon a twin to that rare, ancient lock. No one but him was perceptive enough to recognize the twin or clever enough to hit on the idea of training on it. The lock itself was a marvel. A real diabolical contraption. Probably the toughest lock in the city. The defining achievement of an old master, no doubt. Soon to be Bell’s little Sheba, ha! Discovering a second lock of the same make had felt like fate and swelled his confidence and inspired him to step up and take the job in the first place. Oh, the looks of surprise and respect he’d get from the guild-men get when he, a lowly freelancer, returned with the prize: some rare, dusty old book, coveted by a nefarious rival willing to pay handsomely. Just waiting for him to snatch from the other side of that neglected side entrance.
Bell grinned. And then he’d have some real scratch to throw around. His funds were at low tide but by tomorrow night he’d be king of the pub. Coin enough to buy some quality leathers and a good sword to strut with. But most importantly, coin to pay for fencing lessons, finally, from the most celebrated instructor in this benighted city. Nothing but the best for Bell. Still, shame he got spotted the other night and had to lay off his practice sessions before he’d cracked that frigid tease, but never mind that. Bell heard the drums of glory playing for him.
Perhaps he hadn’t picked the best night, Bell reflected without real interest. He had, after all, earlier puked up his unsavory dinner, which while anticipated, had become more urgent and uncontrolled than he’d have liked. And he did drink that huge tankard of ale. Two, actually, if you counted the tankard he nicked off of Larry, after Larry got distracted getting into a fight that Bell talked him into starting with some other idiot. And he also drank, he supposed, a good portion of the tankard he had otherwise poured over the heavy, ratty cloak he was now wearing. His bowels squirmed in knots. They’d started rebelling shortly after he finished the large bowl to astonished stares and exclamations that he’d lost his mind. Only chumps and madmen order the fish stew. Well, too late now to bow out, he was never going to eat that again. So there it was. Time to pick a lock.
Bell shuffled down the street, not pausing when he turned the corner, and wandered with drunken exaggeration to the top of the basement stairs before tumbling down them. Bell suffered a moment of panic when he realized he had overdone the theatrics a bit and accidentally burst the puke bag he’d been cradling. He’d planned to pour it fastidiously over the stairs, but was now soaking in a puddle of offal instead. By Cthulhu’s sweaty nipple, the fishy stench was overpowering! Well, ****, other than his now constant gagging, at least he was going fully in character, like a real pro. He pulled down his pants and started in on a mighty piss at the bottom of the stairwell.
Bless the heavenly dragons, Ddraig and Albion both, that felt good. But too effective, maybe. He’d been holding that piss for hours. Wanted plenty on hand for the job. But if there was a drain down here, it wasn’t working. His cloak and boots were sopping in the pool he’d made. Looking down, his stomach turned seismically and he abruptly barfed onto his shoes. At the same time, he was confronted with the unmistakable sensation of shitting his pants. Bloody typical. Catching his breath with determination, he surveyed the situation. He had detected no life on the quiet street above. The building looming before him was dark and empty. The stairwell he was lurking in was now a foul congregation of vapors. And before him was the door. Bell squinted blearily. And there was the heavy, old lock. A twin, aged harder and weathered rougher than the other, but a twin nonetheless, to his recent obsession. Hello lovely, let’s dance. Bell wobbled over to the door on unsteady legs.
Time stopped, the night went still and nothing existed in his world but the tools in his hands and the sounds he was coaxing from springs and pins within that keyhole. And then it came, a turn and a click. He’d done it, by all the dark gods! Awareness to his surroundings rushed back in and he heard footsteps approaching on the street above, close and closing. A watchman, no doubt in this neighborhood. No time to duck inside! The gig would be up if he was spotted entering. Time, then, to test his luck with his disguise. Would the suspicious watchman realize he was in the presence of a brilliant burglar, in the midst of his greatest caper? Would he choose to test the security of the now unlocked door? Bell grinned, gagged noisily, and grinned again. Time to roll the dice.
Thoughts on the DC?
Húrin Ebonhawke - Half-Elf Rogue:Scout
The child of an Elvish mother and Human father, from my conception I was already seen as an abomination to the Mithral Elves my mother lived among. My father a scoundrel of a man left my mother to raise me a half-breed by herself. At my birth I was given a name I have no recollection of and have no need for because of the Elves who saw me as an outcast within their village. Eventually they forced my mother to take her young-ling to the nearest city to find solace among the humans whom they’ve rejected. Because of this I am left with the only vivid memory of my mother; after a burdensome journey, her hands reached out onto my shoulders, tears in her eyes, kissed me on the forehead and turned from me disappearing into the night to the direction we ventured from. Leaving me to the starry sky and unfamiliar surrounding, alone.
Left in a city I knew nothing about, encompassed by a species I also knew nothing of, orphaned. As a child to survive I soon took to thievery, pick-pocketing and stealing food and drink from market vendors setup in the alley ways and streets of the city. I adapted to this life, thriving from this lifestyle it became second nature.
Eventually I caught the eye of a thieves guild and was approached by the guilds second in command Xixis who asked me to join their guild The Ebonhawke. Hesitant with my answer I mustered up the decision to join these thieves who welcomed me because of my abilities. Any other child would’ve said no but having this been the first time I wasn’t looked at strangely or criticized because of my bloodlines, and also having no desire to seek out my mother or the village that cast me out and abandoned me, I joined without any doubt in mind.
A young boy raised by the Thieves Code and conduct, I climbed through the ranks quickly having the experience that seasoned my talents through the couple of years before my invitation. I earned the respect of my guild solidifying my place among them and attained the nickname Húrin which means Strong Heart. Not long after acquiring the nickname I began using it as if it were mine own since birth.
Two Years later I finally refined my skills as a scout rather than thief still having the respect of the guild, well at least the important members of Ebonhawke. While still remembering my training as a thief prior to my decision. I also developed my own ideals and ethics: Honor among thieves, steal to survive, trust needs to be earned and is not easy to be obtained, authority is an obstacle I can overcome, there’s nothing I can be forced into, Don’t kill if you Don’t have to, And the most important of all I will always be an outcast.
These thieves have earned my respect and admiration, something not easy to come by and I can’t tell if it will happen again. I owe my life to Xixis because he gave me a chance at life rather than leaving me to survive as a lowly pickpocket. I was also granted a place in the High-Ranks only the most honored members are chosen to be a part of. Risking my life to obtain treasures found inside dungeons and various places, I will do anything for family. This is the only world I know of, and life I have.
My boy Rufus is only twenty years old, but he's already had three brushes with fate. Two of them were good fortune. The third one... well that's more complicated.
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Rufus was born the seventh son of a seventh son, which was very lucky. That’s what everyone told him as a child, although he never felt all that lucky growing up. Life was hard for Rufus and his peasant family. His father was a farmer and his mother told fortunes for money. She was quite good at it, too. She had built a reputation for herself that stretched far beyond the confines of the small mountain village where the family lived. At twelve years old, Rufus was already larger than the other children. His father expected he’d grow up to be a strong farmer.
A nobleman came one day from the great city to have his fortune read by Rufus’ mother. His reading was very good and as he chatted idly with her in front of their hut waiting for his carriage to be prepared, they watched Rufus play fighting with the other children. The nobleman saw potential in the child and, in a moment of generosity, offered to take Rufus with him to the city and train him as a guard. Rufus’ mother didn’t think twice about this rare offer. Within minutes, she had packed his meager possessions into a knapsack and Rufus was waving goodbye from a seat in the wagon heading out of the village.
In the city, Rufus learned quickly that hard work reaped rewards. His mentor was strict but fair and never cruel. Rufus came up through his teenage years and joined the ranks of the city guard. When war broke out, Rufus enlisted to serve as a soldier of the crown. Fortune smiled upon him once more and he was placed under the command of a sergeant who also saw his potential and trained him well in the ways of martial combat. By the age of twenty, Rufus was a combat veteran and a fighter of some accolade.
The third time fortune took note of Rufus, the result was not so kind. He was captured in battle and taken prisoner. He was locked in a cave along with several other prisoners and abandoned when the tide of war turned against his captors. Left for dead and starving, Rufus was the last survivor in that cave and faced a terrible situation. In his desperation, he prayed to any god who would listen and bring him mercy. His prayers were answered by someone else.
A deep voice from the darkness offered him a bargain. Not only would it give him the means to escape, but also to get revenge on those who captured him and left him for dead. The voice assured Rufus that the price for this power would not have to be paid until the day he died. A beautiful dark steel longsword appeared before him and the voice bade him to wield it and strike down the locked door sealing shut the cave. Rufus took the sword and the contract was sealed. The blade felt good in his hand, though he felt a yearning hunger within it.
Now Rufus controls a powerful weapon and he knows his days are numbered. Rufus is not an evil man, but he is practical and driven by dark forces within. He understands that the power he holds can be used to accomplish great things. His mother’s magic is present in him as well, though not much developed. He hopes to see his family again some day and he would very much like to return to the city and visit his aging mentor as well.
"Not all those who wander are lost"
This is Lyscinda, Seeker of Hidden Truths (last name forgotten). A LE Cleric, Death Domain who worships Lovitar the Maiden of Pain. She feels she is doing the "right " thing for the world much like a medieval inquisitor. She is no murder hobo. She follows the laws, and punishes the guilty.
I like to keep it short and to leave certain characters or elements open ended for any future hooks for the DM in a campaign. I went a little dark on this one.
Life was hard from the beginning for her. Lyscinda, was born into slums and poverty in a large city to a small unloving family. Her older brother and abusive parents did not want her and mistreated her often. At the age of 8 she was sold into slavery to a local crime lord and his guild, The Iron Spike, for a small bag of coin. She was given the job of cleaning the bloodied floors and whatever "mess" the guild would create in gathering information of its rival guilds in their Room of Answers. While cleaning and doing the chores of her masters, she would watch the interrogations on occasion. It was there she had first learned that there is pain in truth and truth in pain. Daghul, the interrogator known as the Seeker of Hidden Truths, saw her interest. He became fond of his new servant and took her under his wing as an apprentice. He taught her of the teachings of Lovitar and his ways of The Three "Eyes" that see all (insight, investigation, intimidation) and to become a Seeker of Hidden Truths. Growing up she had learned many things from him as a mentor and a father figure. 7 Years pass until one day an unknown new rival guild infiltrated the Iron Spike, killing all of its members. During the slaughter, mortally wounded Daghul ushered her through an escape tunnel out of the fray, never to be seen again.
She took refuge in the only place left for her, the Church of Lovitar. On her journey, she felt as if she was led to the church steps by some higher power. It was there on the steps, the sisters revealed to her that pain tests all, and she had been tested and deemed worthy by the Mercy of Lovitar. During her vocation, the other sisters saw her as different from the others and a zealot in her views but she embraced the teachings and trials. When it became time for the Rite of Pain and Purity, (a ritual that involved followers dancing on glass, thorns and barbed-wire while being whipped by higher-level Loviatans), she had performed unflinchingly completing the bloody ritual. Now as a Sister of the Lash, she ventures out in the world for the Maiden to show she is devout and through her own suffering, may she be granted the strength of spirit and deliver true pleasure to the hardy and the true. To go forth on a Crusade of Pain for all who deserve it most and who would be most hurt by it.
Traits:
• I respect and see worth in those that have suffered "in the light of Lovitar" through pain, battle, betrayal or heartbreak.
• I am incredibly slow to trust. Those who seem the fairest often have the most to hide.
• Secretly seeks a family of any kind to replace the ones she has lost or never really had.
• I will do whatever it takes in any situation.
• Sadist and Masochist
• Abstains from all drugs and alcohol.
• To be pure and virginal or abstinent
• Repents and prays by flagellating herself (1d4 self-inflicted injuries/day)
• Pain to all those who deserve it most
• To cross me is to suffer
Appearance: She is a fairly attractive, 5'8", 27 year old woman with a stern look and a cold stare. She always wears a nun's habit of some kind that hides her long red hair. Her religious vestments are in either all red or all white with red accents over leather armor in similar colors. The vestments and armor have openings in the back and shoulders to allow her to flagellate herself during prayer. Her back and shoulders are quite scarred and sometimes left bloody and unbandaged to show the Maiden her faith.
Discord: Tully#0286
I’ve always loved inquisitor characters and those who do unconventional things out of a sense of fairness and duty. Pardon me for tooting my own horn, but you may want to have a look at my homebrew Inquisitor background. It might fit Lyscinda pretty well.
"Not all those who wander are lost"
I really like your Inquisitor background!! I was going to make her a homebrew of an Interrogator but I may use yours.
Interrogater (similar to Urban Bounty Hunter)
Skill Proficiencies: Intimidate, Insight
Tool Proficiencies: Interrogation Tools (30 gp, 5 lbs.)
Feature: Ear to the ground
Discord: Tully#0286
Brand Barleyblaze
NG Ranger Hunter with a background as a Cook (really more of a Cook with Ranger abilities) with Alchemy skill
Gus Snoggleshitz, born the son of a human bread baker, had loving parents and a happy childhood. He had worked in the bakery helping his family as far back as he could remember. Early on in his childhood, he had found that he had a palette for finer foods and soon realized his parents were not the best of cooks. Bored of simple bread and a love for food, he set out on his own. To appear more dashing and upscale, he got his ears fixed (to look more elven) and changed his name to Brand Barleyblaze to begin his search for the spice of life. He began honing his craft by working in as many greasy spoon eateries to fine dining restaurants as possible to learn about the many different cuisines of the land, until one day, he finally got his dream job. He became the Ovenmaster in the premiere 5 Star Zeppelin rated restaurant LUMINAIRE, that was renown for serving signature dishes of exotic, rare and magical beasts. It was there he found his calling and created recipes that quickly became well known throughout the realm. Some of his Specials were:
General Koe's Fried Hippogriff and Waffles (with a Killer Bee honey drizzle)
Chimera Triple Delight (Curried Goat, Seared Lion, Dragon in a Miso Glaze plated together)
Bulette Soup dumplings in a phosphorescent mushroom broth.
Fig and Owlbear Meatpie
Giant Frog Leg Flambe
One night, his signature dish recipe book was somehow stolen by an older well respected rival restaurant RUBYSPOON. Soon after, they were making their own versions of his creations and claiming them to be their own. Rumors spread quickly that he had stolen their recipes! This had created an uproar amongst the nobles and royalty where the food critics had only fueled the controversy.
His reputation was ruined and was reluctantly fired from his job in order to save face for the restaurant so they would not loose any more of their business and their established clientele.
After some time and much thought, he realized it was time for a Plan B in life and to open a fine dining restaurant of his own! But in order to do that, he would need significant funds, supplies and ingredients. He remembered one of his contacts were the band of adventurers that were under contract with LUMINAIRE to supply the Specials of the Day. Knowing his talent and feeling bad for him, they had referred him to look into The School of Hunting and Gathering of the Unbeaten Path. So he enrolled in the school to be able to hunt down the needed creatures or "ingredients" for his new restaurant and to raise enough gold to create the most glorious restaurant ever. Recently graduated, Brand now looks to explore the world to look for the most exotic delectable monsters and to eat them.
Recipes currently looking to complete for his future line of Adventuring products:
Happy Family- 3 exotic meats that complement each other (maybe one aquatic to complement the others)
Troll jerky - for healing properties
Troll gum - Troll spit possibly mixed with a Blight tree sap, for extended healing regeneration
Shambling Salad with Goodberries (resistances and filling too!)
Discord: Tully#0286
Here is the backstory for Liluth Eveningfall, a half drow Rogue.
Liluth Eveningfall was born in the Underdark to a human man and a Drow mother. Throughout her life she learned that Lolth was as cruel a god as they come. And she perfectly okay with that. As ten years time passed, Liluth trained as a rogue until she felt that she could be useful elsewhere. That was until a battle broke out and her parents were killed. Using her stealth, she slipped away into the darkness during the confusion of battle, evading both hobgoblin and human alike.
With nothing except her shortsword and short bow, she ventured out to the lands above. As hunger found her, she came upon a band of bandits who took her in and used her for her certain... skills if you will. After assassinating the leader of the bandits and earning a few coin from the second in command of the bandits, she found herself in chains, imprisoned as a suspected spy-- her accuser, the same bandit that hired her to perform the deed. As luck, even bad luck, would have it, the camp of her new captors was overran by a horde of humanoid troops. Once again trading one form of bondage for another, she and the human bandit rebels were tied hand and leg to each other and were marched for days and days across the countryside bound for a destination that brought fear to her fellow captives. Determined to win her freedom no matter the risk, she waited until the darkest hour of night before slipping free of her bonds, ambushing a lone guard and stealing a cloak, rations, her weapons and tools, and then fleeing into the wide wilderness.
Although lost with no sense of direction, the former Bandit Kingdoms, Liluth wandered until she found another group of humans - wretched refugees by the looks of them - moving along a rough trail. Noticing few women in the group and feeling safer in that knowledge, Liluth wrapped her cloak tightly around her and slowly worked her way into the midst of the refugee group. Approaching what appears to be a large and wide river, Liluth boarded a ship and wondered what her next step will be on this wondrous and unexpected journey.
I have a backstory for my amnestic pirate Dragonborn who is a barbarian
Dark Wing used to be an orphan. The town he came from called Crymatian and it dispised Dragonborn's so he was beaten up and if no one adopted him he would be hanged as entertainment. Unluckily no one adopted him (he was 16 at the time) After that he wakes up at the age of 40 and he can't remember 34 years of his life all he knows is that he was a pirate
I like the portraits bondage leather
I tend to get really, really invested in the characters in my stories, but I also tend to make them go through a lot of suffering as well. Probably because I'm pretty new to the DnD format... This is one of my character's backstories, Aeon Medani, the Warmind Eternal. I'll probably post my others in another time.
Aeon Medani, Warmind Eternal
Aeon was a young fledgling half-elf whose family was travelling to a nearby sea port. However, the ship was captured by Tempus warlyons who proposed a deal. In exchange for their lives, they had to give up their brightest mind to become the one of the first warminds. Warminds were slaves put into a stasis for several centuries while their mind was subjugated to a simulant world called the simulacrum that forced warminds to fight legions upon legions of enemies through hundreds of different conditions, all to research the art of war and combat. Every time they died, they would simply be revived, forced to fight again and again. This was a fate worse than death, worse than thousands of deaths.
Despite this, Aeon volunteered but the warlyons broke the deal, simply slaughtering the entire ship after Aeon was secured. Being a prodigy of sorts, Aeon's capacity to wage war within the simulacrum proved so effective at drawing up strategies that many other warminds were subjugated. However, after centuries of battle Aeon eventually started to become smart enough to break the spell, and escaped the grasps of the warlyons. He had lost much of the knowledge within the simulacrum, and knew little of the outside world.
After wandering a few days within a nearby forest, he was taken under the wing of House Dace, but so as not to bring the wrath of his pursuers down upon them, Aeon quickly left after learning some knowledge and collecting some gear. Despite his efforts, however, his pursuers also descended upon House Dace and completely annihilated them, leaving no survivors.
So you can understand why Aeon is struggling for a reason to live. He's lost all that he knew, all the allies he had gained, and he had just escaped a world of endless battle into a world hundreds of years later than what he is familiar with. Much of what he has known has all faded into history books and all the while he has to evade the capture of his restless tormentors. None of it has really been his fault either, and his enemies are too powerful to deal with at any present rate.
He tries to keep up appearances. He hadn't aged at all since his capture, and he looks like a young, spritely teenager who has had a nice, caring household and a peaceful life. He appreciates colorful pebbles and quiet naps under a shade in summer. He hates grapes with seeds in them but don't mind if they're the green ones. If he can, he leaves milk out in plates so that stray cats have something to drink. He knows how to find berries in the wilds and gets angry at raisins in choc-chip cookies.
But in times where he is alone, he cries over his family insignia, the only symbol of the old world and his family he belonged to. When he is sleeping he is haunted by the memories of the simulacrum, leading to inadvertent self-harming behavior. When he is in battle, sometimes he wishes that the next blow will guide him back to where the rest of his family awaits for him.
Alrighty, it's time for another backstory of mine: Roan Whittaker, a half-elf wild magic sorcerer. Be warned, this one gets a little dark.
Roan doesn't remember much about his parents, other than the money that they received when he was taken away.
He thought that he was going somewhere nice.
He was wrong.
For the next few years, the young half-elf was traded between many owners as a slave. Sometimes he was beaten, sometimes he was given his own corner to sleep in. All the while, he felt like something was wrong with his situation, but he didn't know what it was or how to fix it. His waking life was a reminder that he was a slave, just as the brand on his right arm told others.
That all changed when an eccentric gnome named Burgell Boddynock Doublelook Nim Turen Nackle (Master Boddynock to his employees) saw the potential in the thin, shy boy, who was growing into a thin, shy teenager. With a rapid promotion from garden slave to house servant, Roan began to believe that he was more than what others said he was. In fact, he was one of the first in the manor to learn that Burgell was going to free all of his slaves - even him! Sure, he didn't know what freedom meant exactly, but the idea interested him.
Unfortunately, that day didn't come soon enough. After a great deal of drinking and gambling with a business associate (one that Roan had never really liked) Burgell accidentally lost Roan in what should have been a winning hand. All the work that the gnome had done building up the half-elf's confidence and self-worth were worn down with beatings and beratings for even minor infractions.
But it wasn't all bad. During this dark time, Roan found a small mouse, who he named Whiskers. He shared his meager scraps with the creature, who seemed glad for the company. If Roan's master noticed the creature, he didn't mention it.
Some time later, Roan and his master journeyed with a merchant's wagon train, where Roan grew close to a woman who wore a purple ribbon in her hair. After talking with him, the woman told him that he wasn't as worthless as his master claimed and left him stunned after kissing him on the cheek. He was quickly snapped out of his stupor by his master, who declared that they were leaving the merchants behind for reasons that he never told Roan.
As Roan made dinner that night, he accidentally spilled some wine. Ordinarily, he would expect to be told off, but something in the air sent his master into a blind rage. As he yelled, Whiskers tried to make an escape, but the man grabbed the mouse and prepared to crush it while beating Roan.
'No!' Roan yelled. As he thrust his hand out to try and save his little friend, a blob of acid formed and flew into his master's face. As the man fell to the ground, he let go of Whiskers and screamed in agony, then stopped.
After more panicking than should be possible for one man, Roan began to collect himself. After taking as much as he could into his backpack, Roan ran away, hoping that anyone who found the body would assume that he died in some terrible accident.
When he reached the nearest town, Roan exchanged what he could for new clothes and did his best to remain hidden. Even now, he is terrified of chains and compulsively makes sure he keeps his right arm covered so that nobody learns the truth.
I rarely write up a backstory but for some reason this character spoke to me.
Magnar the Thunderer
Magnar is a Northman of the Moonshae Isles located west from the Sword Coast. His grandfather, Ulfar, served Grunnarch the Red during the Darkwalker War which turned into a great family dishonor when it was revealed that Grunnarch the Red had secretly been the dark demigod Kazgaroth the Beast. When the war ended many of the northmen sank into depression and despair as they felt the blow to their honor ever keenly. Magnar’s father was, like many northmen, both a fisherman and an opportunistic raider but he too felt a deep revulsion for his peoples servitude to the Beast. It ate away at Skuld Ulfarson for years and gradually he spent more and more time at sea.
At home Magnar grew into an unusually strong young man. He disliked learning and often could be found wandering the woods or spending time with the local druids and bards. For most lessons Magnar could not be counted on to sit still but for the lyre he would play for hours. He never felt the need for an audience as often as not he would sit alone along the shoreline and play to the wind. One young druid, Mogh, took a special interest in Magnar and spent time teaching him about the land, the Earth Mother, and the many other gods of Faerun. Magnar took interest in this and learned the language of the primordial elemental spirits from his druid friend.
The other northmen of Magnar’s village assumed that Magnar would become a druid or bard. There was just something about the thoughtful young man that spoke of a higher purpose. Then one day the raiders came and changed Magnar forever.
Their ships and armor were covered with the image of a demonic kraken, all tentacles with many eyes and spikes. The raiders slaughtered the villagers only keeping a few alive for slaves or sacrifices. Magnar fought as best he could but he was still young and these were hardened warriors. Eventually one warrior came before Magnar in the chaos. The warrior removed his tentacled helm to reveal Skuld Ulfarson, Magnar’s father!
“Son,” Skuld began, “the deep sea has shown me the truth of things. There is no honor. No glory. Not unless you serve the Deep Ones. Not unless you give yourself to them completely.” To Magnar’s horror his father’s eyes were totally black. Dead eyes like a horrific doll.
His horror quickly turned to rage as he looked around and saw the slaughter of his village, his friends, and the remains of his family. With his father standing before him Magnar began to burn with anger. How could his father have done this? What honor could this bring to anyone?
The wind around the battlefield picked up. At first it stirred the ashes and embers. Then it began whipping the trees and waves. Then it became so fierce that the combatants paused looking around themselves disbelievingly. Magnar heard the wind. It was the same wind he played his lyre for so many times. The same wind he had learned to speak with. He could sense another presence behind the wind. It was like a raging storm giving direction to the wind. It wanted to destroy these raiders. Magnar agreed and asked that it do so. He spread his arms out wide and called to the wind and the lightning and the thunder. It crashed down on the demonic raiders. A stroke of lightning shattered one of their ships. A shock of thunder laid several warriors low. The wind whipped them from the ground and slammed them back to the earth.
The raiders fled from the village. Some ran into the sea and drowned. Some ran off along the coast. Skuld shrank back from the rage in Magnar’s face, climbed into his ship and ordered the men to retreat. The battle was over but at great cost. Between the raiders and the storm the entire village had been destroyed. Buildings were reduced to piles of splinters, most ships in the harbor had burned and sunk and the very few survivors bleakly searched among the debris for loved ones.
This is where Magnar earned the nickname the Thunderer. The few survivors called him that. In the days and weeks that followed Magnar spent even more time alone with the wind. He felt the presence behind the wind even more strongly. He now realized that it was Talos the Storm Lord the deity of storms and destruction. The god had heard Magnar’s playing and it soothed him. Magnar listened to the wind and it spoke to him. Talos was pleased with Magnar’s sacrifice of music and offered Magnar the potential power to take revenge on those who destroyed his village.
Current Characters I am playing: Dr Konstantin van Wulf | Taegen Willowrun | Mad Magnar
Check out my homebrew: Items | Monsters | Spells | Subclasses | Feats
This one is a possible replacement for a Hexblade 4, so kinda thinking a balanced melee/caster. Inspired by a recent story coming out of Sweden. Not sure about which pact to take next level.