Sten was a sailor on the Sea of Fallen Stars for most of his young life. Serving first as a cabin boy, and making his way up to a deckhand. In his late teens ruthless pirates murdered his captain and crewmates, plundered his ship, and left him to die. He was come upon by an adventuring band who had a Paladin of Torm within their ranks. The party nurtured young Sten to health, and then allowed him to travel with them to Damara. During the trip the Paladin sensed great strength within the boy, but knew his path could not be with Torm. He sent for an old friend of his who happened to be a priest of Hoar. The Priest took Sten under his tutelage and eventually trained him to be a Paladin of Hoar. Sten spent many months tracking down the pirates that killed his friends, and was finally able to gain his vengeance by killing them all. He felt fulfilled for a time, but the heat that had driven him for so long was no longer there. Listlessly he roamed the northlands, lost within himself. Until one day he came upon a village that had been destroyed. All the women and children had been brought to the center of town and had their throats slit. Sten followed the trail, found the Orcs that had done this, and killed them all. Sten found among the bodies of the Orcs a Half-Orc captive named Boo. Since then Sten and Boo have traveled the land offering their strength to those that have had harm done to them and righting those wrongs.
Tyman is a strong fighter in the Ironspike Militia, who also possesses an eye for detail. Due to his skills he has been assigned the rank of captain, and allowed special duty to investigate crimes committed against the people of Ironspike. This also gives him limited command of Militia men without rank and has him answer directly to Ironspikes commander, Ser Lucan the Brave. His duty is his passion and soul, because as strong as his body is, his beliefs in law and order are stronger.
Tyman has been born and raised in Ironspike. His father Rychard is a clerk who writes documents for local authority, and his mother Bryce is a ranger in the Felgen Marine Corp, he has and elder sister Harley and younger brother Jay. He serves with many of his childhood friends who he socialises with at the Hanging Goblin. He resides at the Militia barracks and has aspirations to further his rank in the Militia, and help shape a constabulary and court to serve the people of Ironspike. Despite not yet posessing this authority Tyman often pushes his luck with his superior and colleagues, and has a reputation for being "difficult" and "too smart for his own good".
Tyman is a large man, even for a human. His mass is predominantly muscle which reflects the strict diet and training regime he imposes on himself. He has brown eyes, at twelve years old he had an encounter in the Hanging Goblin which left two parallel scars on his left. He has brown hair which he gets cut and styled regularly. His uniform is a surcoat qua wertered black and yellow, which marks him as a member of the Ironspike Militia. Aside from his surcoat, he has a pin with three stars which indicates his rank.
Altzmyr Tannerem is a half-moon elf wizard with the necromancer specialty. Unlike a lot of necromancers, he is kind, gentle, shy and has a good heart. He got into necromancy because a part of him felt something was rather unfair and cursed about being a half-elf-that the lifespan of a half-elf is far less than a full elf, meaning that his elven mother would have to watch him grow old and die, right after watching her human lover. His parents were once adventurers who settled down and married despite the long-term consequences of someone who will die in a few decades and someone who will die in a few centuries. Thus after some time his parents split up to avoid the pain more. His parents sent him away to boarding school to further distance themselves. It would be in this boarding school where he would get his introduction to wizardry.
The rift in his family due to lifespan differences inspired him to research the fragile bonds and arcane knowledge of life and death, but then it also led him to other places and ideas-he started to show compassion toward undead and feel wonder about the condition of undeath. He then started to take his ideas further and even think about mortality as a travesty to life. This put him at odds with a lot of faiths, especially after he peppered clerics with philosophical questions about the role and purpose of mortal life. Then he would start to embark on a quest to research immortality, preferably true immortality rather than undeath, but if this proves to put him at odds with the gods too much, he may have to settle for some form of undeath. When he explains his beliefs to others, he comes across often as being simultaneously insane and compassionate.
His journeys would take him to unexpected places and give him more to think about and perhaps test his ideals. He doesn't like to kill, even to eat, but unfortunately he finds himself with traveling companions that could care less.
If anyone would like to give me tips on how to improve my first-ever character on D&D, tell me. It would really be appreciated. It took me a long time to make up his backstory.
An eternal solitary ever since his exile from the Norixius Clan after his teenage years, Norixius Shamash II is on a self-imposed quest to seek redemption, but also justice, which could explain his daily paranoia when it comes to trusting others.
Haunted by his dark memories, and trying to help as much as he wants to, Shamash II tries to do right by his deceased brother and sister since the "incident" in his native land.
Self-discipline is key to his personality. Stubborn, yet empathetic, Shamash II is an erudite wizard and very well-versed into the arts of the arcane. However, his unsatiable appetite for knowledge is what distinguishes him from the rest; always the more curious and versatile in his practice as a wizard, but always the more impulsive and anxious, which has cost him a high price once before.
@MarcelJrNault It looks pretty good, I'd be a little carful rp'ing him. The paranoia and recklessness could be a problem if you play off it too much in a group setting. Good character though!
So I'm joining a new group tomorrow as an Aasimar Paladin with an Urchin background. Here's the backstory I came up with.
BACKSTORY
Born to a young human merchant and his wife, Vodal had a fairly normal young life. His father worked as a buyer and seller of fine cloth, and his wife was a painter. They moved around frequently, with his parents telling Vodal that it was due to his father’s work.
One night when Vodal was six, tragedy struck. Only a few months after moving into a new city, both of his parents were killed in a raging fire that destroyed their home. He remembers his father struggling with…something, and his mother hurriedly pushing him out a first-floor window and telling him to run. He ran until his legs were too tired to carry him any further, and he fell asleep in a pile of straw behind a tavern. The next morning, he made his way back to his family’s house, to find it was only a pile of ashes. He overheard some onlookers say that the fire was very strange. It had an odd deep-red color to it, almost like blood, and it didn’t even singe the structures on either side of his home. Vodal’s parents were gone, and he was an orphan in a city he knew almost nothing about.
For the next ten years, Vodal lived on the streets, doing what he could to survive. He seemed to have a knack for persuasion, and could often talk a baker into sparing a piece of bread, or a rich man to toss him a coin. He took up with a small band of other homeless children, living in the attic of a small church. Vodal fell into the role of protector, and often shielded the younger children from harm when the City Watch decided to crack down on “undesirables” in the city, or when another gang decided to make trouble. He took more than his fair share of beatings when he couldn’t talk his way out a situation. Many nights, his dreams were filled with images of beings in white striking down dark forms, but they were always quickly forgotten when he woke to the harsh reality of his existence. On rare occasions, he felt a shiver run up his spine, with a sense of something searching for him, and he would hide in the church attic until the feeling passed.
One day, there was a great commotion in the city. A respected lord and his retinue were passing through, and a fair-like atmosphere pervaded the city. As the lord’s group was parading down the main street, one of Vodal’s young friends darted out to grab a coin that had fallen on the road. City Watch soldiers grabbed him and pulled him into an alley, where they began to beat him. Vodal intervened, and tried to diffuse the situation. The soldiers were led by a cruel officer who refused to relent. As they increased the ferocity of their beating, Vodal’s desire to stop the injustice reached a fever pitch, and something inside of him snapped. He felt himself filled with a power. Light spilled from his eyes, and without thinking, he called down a lighting bolt that scattered the soldiers. The power left as quickly as it had come, and Vodal found himself surrounded by new soldiers, all in gleaming armor. An older man stepped forward, took in the scene, and ordered his men to escort Vodal to the manor his lord was staying in.
Expecting the worst, Vodal was stunned to find that he was treated very kindly. He was fed, bathed, and clothed, and shown to a comfortable room. He was soon visited by the older gentleman, who introduced himself as Torath Stoneblade, and a priest from a nearby temple. They asked him about his past, what happened to his family, and how he was living now. They withdrew to talk, the priest gesturing excitedly while Torath interjected cooly from time to time. They returned, and Torath told Vodal that they believed he was not actually human, but an Aasimar, a descendent of celestial beings, born to spread light and protect the weak. Torath told him that, if Vodal was willing, he could come and train with the Fist of Light, a group of paladins that were dedicated to vanquishing evil, helping the weak, and seeing that justice was carried out fairly.
From that point on, Vodal’s life changed drastically. He was taken in by the Fist, who taught him how to fight, with Torath becoming a second father. Vodal also studied with priests, trying to learn more about his heritage and how he could use his gifts to help those around him. The feelings of being hunted that had plagued his life on the street subsided, but Vodal sensed that whatever was behind it hadn’t withdrawn entirely. He dedicated himself to becoming stronger and making the world a better place, so that fewer people would have to suffer the kind of life that he had.
APPEARANCE
Vodal is now 32 years old, a tall man with short, light brown hair and gray eyes that glint in the sunlight. He wears the gleaming silver armor of the Fist of Light, with his longsword, Brightfang, strapped to his back. His life as a Paladin has made him strong, but his past as an orphan has left its mark, adding a wiriness to his frame. He usually has a smile on his face, and a cheery disposition even when faced with darkness. He smiles wide, laughs loud, and is generally in a good mood. This can often lead enemies to underestimate him, which they discover to their detriment if he catches them causing pain and suffering. His smile vanishes, replaced by an iron determination to end injustice and help those who can’t help themselves.
My name is Viito Arakin, and I love to cross-dress.
My sister and I were living at an orphanage when she was adopted by some aristocrat. I've been trying to become somewhat of a famous thief in hopes she'll recognize me from posters. Unfortunately, I am extremely embarrassed about my appearance, so I never show my face in public. It's a conundrum. Maybe she'll recognize my......jawline? (My face is usually only hidden from above the mouth by a cloak)
This one time, I was dared to dress as a maiden for 24 hours and received many escort requests from people who thought I was a woman. So now, when I need to disguise in a situation where speech isn't necessary, I pull out my dress and wig.
I receive far more complements while I'm in disguise, so I've taken to appreciating my appearance more while dressed as a woman. I once stabbed an inn-keeper through the hand when he tried to touch me sexually. Needless to say, I am no longer welcome there.
My Michtim Whisper Bard Darius Flüsterklinge (whisper blade) with a modified Spy background
Michtims are very cute in appearance, which always meant trouble for them, when fey monarchs abducted young to keep them as pets or servants. Darius was a little kid when he got abducted in the wilds by Goblins in service to a dark fey lord. Instead of bringing him to the monarch, they kept him for themselves, because they really liked his fluffiness. It took the rescue team a few weeks to find and free Darius, however, in the meantime he actually befriended one of the smarter goblins, belonging to the lasher caste. This goblin treated him fairly well, and Darius even learned the language and some of the cultural values. Other goblins would try to steal Darius from his owner, but he defended him quite well. When the time came for the rescue team to actually get Darius out of trouble, the goblins were disbanded, but not slain, by the Michtim heroes.
Darius being impressed with the rescue team joined the Crown's agents; the last remnants of the lost Haus Shakti that sacrificed themselves to protect the Veil of Turnaya. Now that he's grown into an adult, he is a well-rounded tactician, scholar of nature and is ranking as Spy-Master-in-Training. Queen Miyu now sent him to investigate the nearby forests to gather intel on monster and human activity that might threaten the interests of the Michtims.
First ever DnD character. Dwarven ranger, Barrowdark Stoneweaver, on the run from his home and the stonemasons guild.
As a young dwarf I was taken raised and taught as an apprentice to be a stonemason by the Stonemasons Guild of Balduk. After many years as an apprentice to a Dwarf named Kardurk i was accepted as a full member and trusted brother of the Guild. My skills as a stonemason grew ever more impressive and as i progressed through the tiers of the brotherhood, so did my ambition, i longed for recognition outside the guild and after a time my work was coveted across Balduk selling for some very eye watering prices. I sculpted increasingly more ambitious and technical work, with inlays of Gold and Mithril i carved artisan level pieces for people of important standing across the Hold until one final piece earned me the title of Stoneweaver from the Guild, my finest hour. My work stagnated after this and my artistic rivals began to undermine my position within the guild. Believing me unworthy of the title Stoneweaver my old master Kardurk jealously turned members of the guild against me, having them discredit my work and integrity among my brothers, it would seem I had made some enemies.
After a harvest feast in the great hall one autumn the work of the Guild was celebrated and debated until, after many drinks, a fight broke out. Provoked and defending my honor i mistakenly drew blood in the place of our fathers cutting Kardurk in my rage. Afterwards the guild quickly assigned me to new tasks. In my 80's i was "volunteered" to work among guild outcasts repairing Balduks aging fortifications, entryways and roads. By Kardurk's machinations I had been sent as punishment to become the guilds defensive work-master, i would traverse the very peaks we lived underneath to repair aging stonework and rebuild old defensive towers.
During my tenure as the work-master i was taught to be a very proficient Ranger by the scouts of our hold for without these skills I would have never survived the bitter wilderness of the peaks during winter. I slowly became an exceptional hunter and tracker of our enemies, clearing camps of goblins from the foundations of towers was a prerequisite for beginning some repairs. But my hands longed to work stone into art, the repair jobs became tedious to me, so I began work moving equipment and resources from the guild to create my own pieces, i was convinced the guild would pull me from "exile" if i submitted a masterpiece. Kardurk however eventually caught wind of me working on private projects and sent dwarves to silence me and my work forever, they chased me from the mountains.
Kardurk my one time master turned guild rival is now my bitter enemy for it is his fault i must forever run from my own kind, his fault i can no longer fulfill my passion and work the stone of our ancestors. The guild still accepts me as a member, for it cannot renounce me until I am either deceased or brought to trial for my so called transgressions, I at least have some brothers among the council who see Kardurk for what he is, but all manner of folk hunt me for the bounty he has placed on my head, he wants me dead for I am the only dwarf who works stone better than he and whilst I live he will always be my second. For now I must leave my home in self exile, I will go in search of the worlds great works of stone and study other cultures and techniques so I can make mine better all the while preparing for my revenge.
I'm working on this half-elf pally, who I'd like to eventually multi-class as a cleric. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated!
The Falhorns were a noble family of Elvish lords with landholdings in the forest near a small village. When orcs attacked the town, their Elvish neighbors came to their aid, but were too late to save most of the townspeople. Those who survived had lost their homes and everything they owned, so the once-indifferent Elvish patriarch benevolently offered a place in his home for them. The elves employed many of the humans as servants in their homes, and treated them quite well. In time, the eldest son of the Elvish lord became enamored with his human servant. As the lord had decreed that no romantic relations between elf and man would be tolerated in his realm, the son's relationship with his servant would be kindled in secret. Eventually, the woman became pregnant with a half-elf bastard child, whom she would name Elben. He would be given his mother's surname, as she would never disclose the identity of the elven father, lest the patriarch bring judgement upon her beloved. Even so, the Elvish lord commanded that she would no longer be employed in his home, and that she must take her son with her to work elsewhere in their community. Like many of mixed heritage, Elben was shunned by his Elvish relatives. He was bullied and picked on for much of his childhood, and spent much of his time tending to livestock in the stables and fields. At the age of thirteen, Elben's mother became ill with an unknown malady, and eventually passed away. By this time, the Elvish lord had heard many rumors of Elben's lineage, and rather than keep the boy as a reminder of his own son's disobedience, the Elvish lord saw fit to send Elben to serve in the army of a nearby human king. The Elf lord had his scribe pen a letter to the General of the Kingsguard stating Elben's predicament, and requesting that he be put into the service of the king. General Dhaka of the King's Army, Leader of His Majesty's Royal Guard, was a kindly, grayheaded man of seventy-eight years. He had served in the royal army for nearly all of his life, rising to the highest rank from his beginnings in the infantry. As such, he was well-renowned throughout the realm for his bravery and dedication to the Crown. Upon receiving the Elvish lord's letter, Gen. Dhaka asked that the half-elf youth be brought immediately to his chambers. He questioned Elben at length about his home, his mother, and his upbringing in a way that must have seemed rather odd to a bastard child that had been overlooked for much of his life. On that same day, Dhaka swore Elben into the service of the King. At first, the General would keep the half-elf boy as his personal servant. Elben was tall and strong compared to full-blooded humans his same age, and became a great asset to Dhaka in his advanced age, carrying his weapons and armor, and when needed, helping the old knight to scale the hundreds of steps that led to up the tower to his chambers. General Dhaka favored the boy so much that he afforded him every opportunity to learn at his side, whether during audiences with the king or at strategic military meetings. Over two years passed for Elben in the personal service of the General, and he was finally old enough to officially enter the royal army. On the morning that the half-elf was to become a soldier instead of a servant, Dhaka called him into his chambers. The old man proceeded to thank Elben for his years of unquestionable loyalty, and stated that he had been keeping a secret since the day he had received Elben into his home. The boy looked at him confusedly as the General informed him that he had been born in the same village as Elben's mother before he moved to the capital to join the Kings' Army. In fact, Dhaka said, he guessed that Elben might be his great nephew by marriage. This hypothesis would be nearly impossible to prove as their village records had been destroyed along with the rest of the town; but this did not matter to Dhaka. From that day forward (and many days before), the General would think of Elben as his nephew, and treated him as such. At sixteen years of age, Elben Falhorn-Dhaka joined the Royal Infantry. In very little time, he became a skilled and shrewd fighter, in part due to years of bearing the brunt of Elvish beatings. Serving under his great-uncle had made him a quick study of tactics and formations, and his experience in the stables of the Elvish lord helped him to become one of the best mounted soldier-trainees. It wasn't long before Elben was promoted, and then promoted again, eventually becoming captain over his own unit. He was well loved by his fellow soldiers, but looked upon derisively by those in command, who feared that one day he would rise to take over the Generalship as his uncle had. During Elben's service the kingdom was blessed with several years of peace. Much of his time was spent training with his fellow soldiers and studying combat arts and theories of war under his uncle. The General's advisers took notice of the special attention he appeared to be receiving, and began to plot against him, often sending Elben's unit to deal with undesirable tasks, such as providing relief to flood victims, tracking goblin raiders, or rebuilding outdated outposts. Captain Falhorn was unfazed, however, and became skilled in maintaining the morale of his men. He could always be found working side-by-side with his soldiers, without complaint. During a peasant uprising in the farther reaches of the kingdom, Elben's unit was called upon to return order to the area. Martial law was imposed in the region, and while his soldiers began the occupation of several communities, Elben called a meeting with the leaders of the rebellion. In doing so, he discovered that the Lt. Generals had been using their rank to unlawfully tax and abuse the commonfolk under their protection. Upon his return to the capital, Elben confronted his superior officers regarding their misuse of power, and wound up in the infirmary after they overpowered him and beat him mercilessly. While recovering from his wounds, the group of Lt. Generals sent a representative to his bedside, informing him that his aging great-uncle, the General of the King's army, would be assassinated if Elben tried to expose their machinations. Rather than serving under a corrupt regime, Elben fled from infirmary barracks under the cover of night, while still recovering from his injuries. He knew that his comrades would know him as a traitor to the crown and an oathbreaker, but would not put his beloved Uncle Dhaka in danger. Elben swore that one day he would return to the capital to bring justice to the Guard officers. Pursued by the Guard, Elben would flee to a neighboring country, taking refuge in a temple. The priests provided him sanctuary and healed his wounds, and Elben found himself drawn to the priestly life. He devoured holy writings zealously, applying the devotion he once held for justice and combat to the study of religion and morality. The priests were glad to offer all of the instruction he could retain, and in-turn, asked that he use his knowledge of combat to protect the nearby hamlet from predators. After a year and a half, the Lt. Generals' spies finally located Elben, and a Kingsguard squadron was sent to collect him for court martial. When they arrived, Elben was assisting the townsfolk by hunting down a rabid wolf that had been terrorizing their flocks. The Kingsguard questioned the temple priests, who refused to provide any information regarding Elben's whereabouts. The temple was desecrated, and all the priests slaughtered for their silence. The soldiers plundered the larder and cellar before riding on to the village to continue their search. Once again, the Kingsguard left no survivors. Seeing the smoke rising from the village from several miles away, returned home to find the soldiers drinking sacramental wine and wiping the villagers' blood from their weapons. His battle instincts immediately returned to him as he breathlessly spoke a prayer to the temple god and unsheathed his sword. Elben's blade sliced through his former compatriots with ease until the entire squadron lay at his feet. His adopted home destroyed and the temple brethren slain, Elben retrieved a single scorched holy book from the remains of the chapel, gathered his belongings, and mounted his horse, riding southward into the woods. Elben spent the next two years in solitude, only venturing into society when absolutely necessary, and always under cover of night. He pored over the religious text and kept his sword sharp and armor polished, while training incessantly for the impending justice he would bring upon the Kingsguard officers.
I play currently a Silver Dragoborn Totem Barbarian in my roommate's campaign named Jarvull Torinn. The kingdom we are in is just a series of islands and he is from the most Northern one that has higher elevations leading to it being colder and more snow covered. His background story is below.
Jarvull Torinn grew up on the stories of his tribe being part of an even greater tribe. Stories of a time when all the Dragonborn from the North were one nation and were honored allies with the Kingdom of the Dragon. It was a time when his family had members who were elders of the tribe and they were respected by everyone.
Then came the war and the dishonor to his family. A tale of betrayal that brought great dishonor and drove them into exile to the Southern Wastes. The stories tell of a great ancestor who was an ambassador to the Kingdom of the Dragon that was brought up on charges of treason against the kingdom and had been executed for that crime.
The stories of this distant grandfather though designed to remind members of the new tribe the dangers of betrayal and why they were no longer trusted by other Dragonborn, never sat well with Jarvull. The man in the tale never seemed to fit the crime, as the saying goes, and it always disturbed the young Dragonborn as he grew up. It did not help as well that Jarvull had often been compared appearance wise to this distant ancestor as he too was smaller then your average Dragonborn and had a tail. For this reason Jarvull would often spend time alone out away from the tribe and was given the nickname of Kobold as an insult by many of the meaner children he grew up with.
Now at the age of 16, an age that he is no longer a child, Jarvull had grown restless. He had explored much of the area around where his tribe lived and often would venture to a local fishing village to swap stories and goods with the local fisherman. It was during one such visit that he met an old Elf in the local inn that was just passing through. The Elf had mistook him for the ancestor from the stories, Garen Torinn. Jarvull though was very reluctant to believe that old Elf that he knew Garen. Sensing his reluctance the Elf presented an old carved flute that matched one talked about in the stories that Garen was often told to have played. The old Elf let him take the flute as a gift and a means to find the truth as he was now to old to pursue what really happened and expose the truth to the world.
Still not believing the Elf, but needing more proof Jarvull took the flute to the eldest member of the tribe, an oracle woman. Though the oracle could not gleam much from the flute she did acknowledge it was Garen's and it would be Jarvull to find the truth of what happened to Garen, be it for ill or good. With that knowledge tugging on Jarvull's mind, he gathered his things and set off to to the Sharktooth Isle in order to find the truth of what happened to Garen Torinn.
I have also a backup character in the works whose backstory is a little influx right now and I play a male elf sorceror who is sharing his body with a female alien in a Pathfinder game who I am very excited for because he now has a hat of disguise and can appear female for those times the female alien takes control, which is a lot more lately. If anyone is interested in his backstory I don't mind sharing it.
I have made this guy as a backup for my current character.
Nadarr level 10
Vengance paladan 6
Celestial blade pact lock 4
I grew up in a small farming village of no note. One summer there was a great drought our crops were failing so we turned to the village shaman for answers. He said we could do a ritual that would please the goddess of rain and change our fortunes. The whole clan gathered around a great bonfire while the shaman chanted in a strange tongue. Suddenly there was a flash of light and a Giant hellish creature was standing before us. In a rage it swung out at the shaman crushing his head with one blow. We took up arms to try and protect ourselves but being mere farmers we never stood a chance. My brothers falling left and right, with a crack of his mighty tail my world went black. The next day I woke up under a pile of my dead clan brothers my village burned dead bodies everywhere. It took me a week to gather the bodies and pieces of my family, friends and clansmen, in front of the great funeral pyre I swore an oath of vengeance against all fiends and evil creatures. From that day I set forth in search of their corruption so I could remove them from existence.
One day I heard word that a monster had been stealing travelers from a nearby Forrest. I went to investigate and rid the world of this creature. I finally tracked the beast to a cave, as I entered I was confronted by 2 hell hounds. I fought the vicious creatures and after many minutes was able to crack both their sculls with my mace. Standing atop the final hound to fall panting barely able to stand a voice was projected into my mind "I did not expect you to best them young creature, to bad you fight for the wrong side you have much spirit." I looked up in time to see a Pit fiend charging towards me I raised my shield but it was to late. The last thing I saw was its huge claws crashing into my skull, then the world went black. I opened my eyes surprised and confused to still be alive, I looked around frantically searching for the fiend. Instead an angelic creature was kneeling next to me the beast was behind it with a giant sword sticking out of its lifeless body. "I have bought you back my friend you are lucky I was here If I were not your young life would have been cut short". He turned pulled the sword from the creature and again my world went dark. I awoke next to a fire with the angelic creature watching over me, "You will be drained for some time young one, but it is a worthy trade for being bought back from the dead. Tell me why would you try and fight such a creature". So I told him my tale. Over the next week as he watched over my recovery we talked and exchanged stories. I learned he was a planetar named Abdiel who had fought in many wars against fiends. His master had heard of a mortal fighting fiends alone and had sent him to track me down and observe me. One morning Abdiel came to me and said "Today I will be leaving you, but I would like to leave you with a gift. If you intend to keep up your fight I can offer you power that will aid you. All I ask for in exchange is that you continue to rid this world of evil." I agreed and with that he disappeared and my quest continued.
"Protector" was not Yrsa's job, it's who she was. From a young age, she was tough. Not just tough: unstoppable. In Yrsa's tribe, coming of age meant choosing a weapon. Not choosing; more like allowing your spirit to express itself with the perfect implement. From the day someone took up a blade, they learned to be one with it. Not to "use" it like some people did; a primal warrior doesn't delude themself with the thought that they can master nature. Instead, they become one with the nature of the weapon, and the weapon becomes part of their nature. Yrsa expected a lot more when it came time to receive her weapon. Maybe the clouds would part, or the spirit of an ancestor would appear and guide her hand. Nothing. After a moment of awkward indecision, she grabbed whatever appealed to her. Everyone else seemed to be "chosen" by the biggest piece of metal they could handle. She instead went for a smaller axe with a long handle, like a spear, not knowing what it was.
Yrsa's brother and sister warriors were tough. She was tougher. She always had been. She first noticed when her village caught fire in war. While those around her perished, she waded through the flames to rescue her tribesmen, like she was watching herself in a dream, always coming out alive. Sometimes, when she really needed it, she would get that "watching in a dream" feeling again, and nothing could stop her. In the hottest fire, or the coldest snow; under claws and steel alike; when it was really desperate, something kept her going The sages said the meaning of this would be clear in time. But she was getting impatient. After years of training, Yrsa's brothers and sisters had found the spirits of their weapons, and finished the ascending ritual. They were true warriors. They could enter the "battle meditation" and lose their ego, fusing with their weapons. They would talk of hearing their weapons sing in battle, giving them strength and guidance. Her halberd was just wood and metal. When was it her turn? Was she on the wrong path? A fear grew. She was always fascinated by the foreigners who came by the village, by the strange patterns on their clothes and all those fragile trinkets with "glass" on them. As she felt more alienated from her fellows, Yrsa worried that her life wasn't with her tribe at all, but with these foreigners. Maybe that's why her weapon didn't speak to her, no matter how she trained. But how could she live with them? Did she have to dress like them? Think like them? Would there be anyone else like her? And didn't she have to protect the village? Then another fear started growing. She had always been strong, but not exactly...smart. She knew storytellers who remembered the history of the world, sages who always knew some perfect piece of advice, and leaders who could always say just the right thing. She never got how that all worked. If she yelled and swung an axe around, people listened. If she needed to know a story, she asked someone. She'd never thought about it before, but thinking about the foreigners with their trinkets and books, she felt..."stupid." Was it enough to just be strong? Didn't she have to keep up her talents at everything? They demanded something more than just strength, didn't they? Was she good enough for anyone? One day, finally, some answers arrived. As usual, when she wasn't guarding the village, Yrsa found herself in the wilderness far from its borders. She came to a shallow river that she didn't remember. At the head of some rapids, she could make out the figure of a gigantic bear against the sunlight. It sat patiently in the water, watching the fish as they journeyed upstream, trying to catch them out of the air when they jumped. Something about the creature was captivating. Yrsa found herself inching toward it along the river bank, unnoticed. Only when she'd passed the rapids and took her first step into the water did the animal pause to look at her. It didn't move. Even caught in the beast's stare, Yrsa kept moving closer. The bear roared, a resonant bellow that broke Yrsa from her stupor. In an instant, 700 pounds of hair and muscle slammed into her. But to a warrior like her, no combat is a surprise; just sooner than expected. Her weapon flew to her hand. She pulled away and attacked. The bear's thick hair alone was like armor. Even if she hit it, it didn't care; it just roared and swiped at her again with it's massive claws, or bit her, or shoved her back. The bear kept her on the defensive. Finally, with a thundering roar, it rose on two legs and fell bodily onto her. Her head slammed into the rocks at the edge of the river... ...and in a flash, everything was clear. In a feat of strength, she shoved the bear up and off her chest, and pulled herself away. She had watched her brethren fight, and used her weapon like their axes; but that's not what she was. Her grip loosened on her halberd, as if it was telling her it would guide itself. She saw her movements as if someone else was making them, yet remained in control. When the bear charged, Yrsa's blade shot up in a flash. Though struck solidly, the beast didn't stop. This time, it was Yrsa who shrugged off the creature's attacks. She bled, but it didn't phase her. She brought down her halberd's head with all her might, digging into the beast's flank. Without a moment of thought, she shifted her grip on the haft, striking again with the reverse end, jumping back and away in the same motion. The bear continued to fight, but it wasn't so easy now. Yrsa was just as strong, just as tough, her power channeled into a wild flurry of attacks. Her halberd flew from one hand to the other, both sides lashing out unrelentingly, longer than the beast's arms, forming a wall it had to break through to reach her. Broken, tired, and bleeding, the bear staggered back from her. It was afraid. They both knew Yrsa had won. Barely standing herself, she watched it go. She allowed it to cross the river, noticing some smaller bears waiting for it. The battle meditation faded. Finally she knew. A bear doesn't ask other bears what it should do. It doesn't choose a job. It just is. The bear she'd fought that day wasn't powerful, it was power. It didn't just guard it's young, it was a guardian. It had no choice. It was Yrsa's nature to be powerful. If someone else was smarter or wiser than her, that was their nature, and their destiny. That wasn't her job. When that bear attacked, it had only one thought: "protect my family." It never thought about revenge, or proving itself, and never worried. It fought because it had to. Good, evil, laws; none of that mattered. It was guided by instinct, doing what it wanted, and what it had to Her halberd also taught her why she was fascinated by foreigners, and why she wandered from her village. Her blade was wielded far away from her body, but it was always a part of her. In the same way, she wasn't meant to be trapped in her village. She was like the head of a spear, sitting far out and alone, keeping enemies out of reach. Wherever she went, she brought her tribe with her, and protected it from afar. Soon after that day, with the blessing of the elders, Yrsa left the village. In body, at least. She set out to explore a huge and exciting world. She never felt the need to dress or talk like the foreigners, because she brought her tribe with her. To get by in a money-based world, she became a bounty hunter, chasing down the enemies or her new friends. Some would say she lived like an animal. She agreed: animals live free, never indecisive, never defying their natures. It was the only way to live.
Backstory for my Half-Drow Shadow Magic Sorcerer/Fiend Warlock that I'm playing in a local homebrew game:
Born from the union of a human cultist and her Drow mindslave, Tel'dolas had a rather unique upbringing. Molded to fulfill a pact between his mother and her Nighthaunt patron, from a young age he was tutored in the magics of the Shadowfell. Ever the dilligent student, it wasn't long before Tel'dolas had become well adept at manipulating the energies of the Shadow plane. On his 25th birthday, Tel'dolas entered his mother's study to find the Nighthaunt feeding on his mother's broken remains. Spurred into a frenzy, Tel'dolas mustered all of his innate magical ability and slew the monster with a single spell. Afterwards, he blacked out.
When Tel'dolas awoke, he was lying on his back beneath a canopy of trees. The low embers of a withering fire burned beside him. Shadows danced among the trees and across the ground of the forest floor... but not his shadow. Confused, Tel'dolas looked around briefly before noticing a dark figure watching him from behind a nearby tree. Suddenly, the figure took the form of the slain Nighthaunt and rushed at him. Tel'dolas turned and braced for an assault, but just as the cloud reached him it dispersed and his shadow fell into place.
With their fates now seemingly entwined, Tel'dolas has spent the past 5 years forging an understanding with the Nighthaunt, Dral'Xul, each aiding the other in the interest of mutual survival. Should he ever separate himself from Dral'Xul, though, Tel'dolas will not hesitate to finish the demon. And he expects Dral'Xul to treat him in kind...
Sure, I'll give it a go. First character I've made for D&D, and very new at it myself. Tiefling cleric stylized as a succubus.
Born of a powerful succubus and a poor, unfortunate male human, Lillia lived with her other demonic kin in the lower planes. Living with other succubi and inncubi, the girl herself was an oddity amongst her own kind: she wasnt a devious sort and she never engaged in debauchary or life force stealing. Instead she was a much more merciful soul. Instead, she opted more human traits in her behavior. Curiosity, kindness, and more. This lead to her being an outcast among her own kind thus leading to Lillia being a more timid sort. Never speaking much and never making herself known unless truly necessary, she just stuck to the corner of the room: away from the crowd. When she did speak, it was soft spoken and awkward. Her life was rather solitary. Due to her odd nature she was outcasted among her people, and was left to live a rather secluded childhood with her mother alone.. whom wasnt too kind too her.
A ways into her life, the now a girl mere teen, a small group of demons decided to venture into the mortal realm one day to look for new prey.. new souls to drain dry and feast upon. Lillia was one of the few that joined them. Not to sate her innate desires, but to see more of the mortal world. She knew her father was a human man and since she's never seen him or his world she had this innate curiosity about this world she was now in. So she crept off to explore the woods, consumed by her eager curiosity that was leading her about. She saw and experienced so many things she never knew was real: the moon, the night sky, the soft wind against her face.. it was all so wonderful! A sharp contrast from the more harsh planes she came from. Her exploring eventually led her to a small campfire nearby a church. She saw humans, clerics and paladins, gathered around a campfire talking and having a merry old time. Lillia was told about these folk: holy warriors that fight for their god. A fearsome folk. Yet the looked so peaceful and happy. She watched them from afar, and slowly crept closer to them and was eventually spotted by the group of holy crusaders. They near instantly drew their weapons, but when she let out a frightened yelp and tumbled backwards they knew she was no threat to them. They instead waved her over with a warm smile and offered a seat by the fire for her. What harm could a young child do, even if they were a demon from below? So she sat with them and enjoyed their company until dawn, asking them just what and who they were. After this one question, one of the paladins, a white haired man in his older years, presented his symbol.
Lillia held this symbol and etched it into her memory as she heard the paladin go on about teachings as the night ran on. As he spoke, the girl felt a certain urge.. a calling to her very being to take one of these men. Drain him dry. It took a good bit of her concentration to hold herself back, but she was able to keep herself in check. Eventually, a tired Lillia went back to her kin with a wave to the humans. She pondered his words, and when she got back she drifted off to a quick sleep. .
****y to awake to the sounds of combat and the smell of burning shrubbery. She jolted awake, and what she saw were fully armored knights and robbed men and women with maces fighting her kind. They had followed her here, and they were defending the people of a nearby town, whom they saw with the succubi she was with.. later to be found as a drained husk. Her eyes wide, she quickly rose and made for the woods.. only to be cut off by a sudden streak of light. She turned too the source and saw a cleric poised for combat. Just as he raised his mace an old, grizzled voice demanded that he stand down. That voice belonged to none other than the paladin she spoke with at the fire, whom quickly rushed in front of her, shielding her with his body as he hunched down and held her close too himself as bolts of light flew through the air and fire sparked this way and that.
"What is this heresy!?" shouted the cleric as he dropped his mace.
"We are here to seal the rift they came through, and beat them back. Not massacre them." he calmly responded, his gaze stern and authoritative.
"That thing is one of them!"
"But she means us no harm. Look at her." And with that, he turned too her. "She clearly has no intent to fight, and she's a mere child, compared to the others." the paladin chuckles with a warm smile. "She means us no harm at all."
Sadly, this was not enough to dissuade the Cleric, whom was now charging with mace raised out of paranoia and fear.. only to be painfully stopped short by the business end of the Paladin's shield. He crumpled to the ground in a pathetic heap, the holy warrior scoffing.
"You're out of line."
The paladin then turned to Lillia and apologized for his comrade's brashness. They were there to repel them, and nothing more. As the chaos went on around them, that paladin stayed near her and protected her. The battle raged on, and the paladin sighed. No one should have to see this. Yet Lillia was exposed too it.. much to the Paladin's regret. As the fiends were beat back into the rift, the paladins and clerics began to relax. Lillia stood up and looked at all of them. She was now stranded there, a forgotten soul admist the chaos of battle. The crusaders let out a loud hurrah of a battle well fought.. until they noticed Lillia, now stranded where she was. The rift was closed and she had no way home. Frightened as they turned too her, the Paladin rose his hand, and the group stopped. The Paladin then removed his helm, revealing it to be the same Paladin she spoke too at the campfire. He apologized for stranding her here, and told her that there is a light within her: a light that he thought he would never see in a fiend like herself. She has the light of a human within her, the conscience of a mortal. If she would allow it, the Paladin offered her a place to call home.. and a chance to make something more out of herself if she desired it. Something much more than what she could have been with the fiends she was with before. His words pulling at her, she thought back to how she was treated back on her home plane. She has an opportunity in front of her. So she accepted their offer. Filled with happiness, the Paladin led her, and his small force, back to the temple.
While her new life was met with many eyes of skepticism and, in some cases, disbelief and paranoia the Paladin treated her like his own, even going as far as to adopt her. and due to his influence she watched many of the other paladins spar with one another, and the clerics tend to wounded and recite versus. It was enough to spur her into doing something with herself, and after speaking to her foster father she began to train as a Cleric herself. She trained as a cleric for most of her life and into her adulthood, she studied both healing and combat under the tutelage of the Paladin that took her in. While she was met with skepticism, and at times out right bullying, she preserved.
That is, until her teacher and foster father passed away due to old age. This caused her to be overcome with grief, and in her vulnerable state.. those urges she has been suppressing for years came back in full force. One night, when she was out and about the local town to keep watch, those urges overcame her and she forced herself upon another cleric., an event she can only vaguely recall: to her, she blacked out and everything was a blur.Thankfully, she was stopped before she drained the poor soul dry. Thus, she was exiled from her temple. Ashamed of her impulses, and even more so herself, she left the town.. only to spot a man being held up by a highway thug. Still clinging to her old beliefs she rushed to his aid but arrived too late: the poor soul was already on the ground bleeding. In a panic, she held our her symbol and much to her surprise a holy light emanated from it.. and his wound healed before her eyes. While her temple had exiled her, the deity she worships has not abandoned her! Renewed with purpose, she set out to places unknown to atone for her past mistake, and do good wherever she can go. Will she redeem herself? Or will she fall to her temptations once again? Only time will tell..
It's nice to go through here and read all the back stories people make for their characters. Always fun to read, too.
I'll give this a whirl! My friends and I will be starting a new campaign in a couple of weeks. Here's my guy:
Durkhazak "Durk" Emberwood (Half-Orc Ranger)
An unconventional orc male (known only as "Lughazak" to Durk) and a free-spirited Tethyrian human female ("Jazmin Emberwood") fell in love and kept it secret. Lughazak's tribe planned a raid on Jazmin's village, but Lug managed to turn their gaze on a neighboring town instead. The tribe laid waste to that town, and moved on, and Lughazak was never heard from again.
Durkhazak was born to Jazmin about eight months later. She used to tell him stories of his father (though she herself knew little of him). While she meant to inspire Durk, the stories only made him more angry that his father had left. His skin had always been a grayish-green color, but between the ages of eight and ten his orcishness really started to show. His heavy underbite, coupled with the complexion and slightly pointed ears, was a dead give away.
Durk's mother Jaz fell sick when he was ten, so he started doing odd jobs around the village for coin to provide for the two of them. He ran messages between nearby villages, always careful to keep his pronounced lower jaw covered by a scarf for fear of orc-racism. He also began chopping firewood to sell, and hunted small animals for food. He got to know the woods really well.
Not many in the village would help his mother in their need, because they feared Durk the half-orc. Most called him a mongrel behind his back--and some to his face. When his mother's sickness grew worse, the village doctor did what he could, but there were others sick as well. Jazmin died when he was fifteen. Durk left the village almost immediately. After all, he'd been unwelcome from the start.
Durk keeps his lower jaw hidden behind a thick crimson scarf. The rest of his face is shaded by the hood of his cloak. He's fended for himself for five years now, wandering from town to town, carving out a life as a mercenary-for-hire. Lately, he's been tracking orc tribes.
Six months ago, he met a silver dragonborn named Saurien Vathtikir. The two have been traveling together doing mercenary work since then. Durk has picked up conversational Draconic from traveling with her.
Cecily was born into a comfortable Aasimar family, not all that rich and not all too poor. She had a lovely childhood with her siblings and overall had a ‘boring’ life. Nothing too tragic or too exciting happened, and so she lived a life that was comfortably dull.
Once she turned 16, she was brought into an arranged marriage. Okrin, was the son of another Aasimar family, and wealthier than Cecily’s was. So, in order to benefit the family, she got married to him. With an arranged marriage, both families made sure to keep an eye on the two of them, and made them move into Okrin’s family home. They could move out once they were adults of course. This wasn’t her ideal marriage, considering she always wanted to fall in love with someone, however, she did learn to love him.
Okrin though tall and big in size, was always very sweet to her. He never did anything to harm her and did his best to woo his new wife. Cecily slowly but surely began to love her husband. Though they were married, they still acted like teenagers because, well they were. They went out to see theatre shows, took walks together, and snuck out to get drinks. But they also did domestic things together as well. She would make breakfast for him, or sew any holes in his clothes. And Okrin would bring her nice firewood, would read to her, and brought her small trinkets once in a while, claiming that, “It reminded me of you,”
Once the married couple turned 18, all parties from Cecily’s family and Okrin’s family agreed, that they should still live on the Okrin’s property. That very summer, both Cecily, and Okrin went to work and started making an extension to his family home, which would soon be their own. When she turned 19, she gave birth to her first child, a son named Tiral. Over the years, she and Okrin had three children, all in which were very happy, and bright children. Okrin was just as kind to his children as he was to his wife, and was an amazing father. Cecily couldn’t ask for more. Being a mother gave her great joy, she loved her children with her whole soul.
However, when her youngest, Ondrea (who was 13 at the time) got sick, things started to get serious. Ondrea often got dizzy and threw up, getting high fevers and was tired often. After a week, Tiral became sick as well. Fearing for her middle child’s life, she sent Eliza to live with her parents for a while. Cecily and Okrin hired doctors, and healers to help, but nothing seemed to have worked. It wasn’t long before Orkin and Cecily themselves were sick as well.
Ondrea and Tiral soon died and was buried at the far end of the property. Cecily and Okrin grieved their deaths. Cecily later got better but Okrin died the following morning. Cecily curled up next to him for a while and stayed with him until his body turned cold. The village leader thought it best to burn down the house, to get rid of the sickness, and exiled Cecily, in fear she would get more people sick. She wasn’t even allowed to find her daughter Eliza.
Cecily wandered into the woods, sobbing until she stumbled upon a temple of Lathander. The priest there allowed her to come in, and let her stay. Cecily, in her grief for her husband and children, turned to religion for healing. She started reading religious scriptures text. She started praying, which never used to happen before. Cecily helped others who came to the temple and got to hold her own services as well. She became a priest when she was 39, and later trained and became a paladin at 45. Over the years she has stayed there to protect it from anyone or thing that would try to harm it. She doesn’t allow a lot of travelers to stay in the temple, however, she has a soft spot for children. And will often take in lost or hurt children.
Raised in a small swamp village, Ssuresh seemed to lead a charmed life. He was blessed with exceptional strength, speed, and cunning (I got crazy good rolls). He distinguished himself as the greatest hunter and warrior in his tribe. Females practically battled each other for the privilege of being his mate. All was good in the world, until the blight came.
A sickness began to creep into the swamp. It began slowly, with squirrels and birds appearing thin, despite an abundance of food. Then, strange mushrooms began to grow, the likes of which the elders had never seen. The predators of the swamp began to grow bolder, more aggressive. The shamans determined that a dark magic was at work, but it was beyond their ability to stop. As champion of the tribe, Ssuresh was chosen to travel to the cities of the warmbloods, and to seek aid in combatting this threat.
Being unfamiliar with the customs of men, Ssuresh had great difficulty interacting with their society. The only place where he found ready acceptance was in the seedy underbelly of society, where skill and action mean more than birth or words. In time, he ingratiated himself to a prominent criminal figure who was possessed of some sorcerous talent. To settle the debt, she agreed to help him cleanse his homeland of whatever curse it was under. However, when they arrived they found the village in a shambles. Further investigation showed only bones, gnawed clean, and a single fresh body, being devoured by four of his kin, totally mindless and savage.
After dispatching with the feral beasts that he had once called brothers, he left the accursed swamp, returning to the city where he made his living as a criminal enforcer and as a smuggler, travelling wild, untamed lands in the dead of night.
Szin’kalan Rilynval was born in Ched Nasad in 1367 to a minor family. When the Central Pillars were destroyed in 1374, he was relocated along with some of the sons of House Auvryndar to some abandoned caverns controlled by the main House. Szin’kalan lived in several locations in the underdark before he and others were captured in 1398.This captivity saw him sold into slavery for several years.He was relieved to be set free when the house that owned his collar was taken over and he was recognized by a friendly family and returned to his Rilynval family for a ransom.It was during this time that he learned to fear the female priests of Lolth and to have a deep abiding abhorrence of slavery.
He began training with weapons soon after and in a surface raid in 1468, Szin’kalan boarded his first pirate ship. The freedom under the night skies and the stars entranced him. A few years later he would join the crew of the Drow Captain, Val'eyl Auvryndar and would take up the revised name Shynt’eyl Mourndax. The night seas belonged to the Drow pirates on the black ship “Mask’s Revenge."In time, with prosperity, the fleet of ships increased and Val'eyl moved back to land and started a "business" where the pirate goods could be filtered back into the cities more easily, and also as a front for Drow activities.Staying with the bloodthirsty Captain appointed to the "Mask's Revenge", Vicas'rak, a younger relative of Val'eyl Auvryndar, Szin’kalan would do his best to be loyal, but began to see that slavery had crept into the operation.
In late 1485, the "Revenge" was set upon by authorities patrolling the Sword Coast.As they were fleeing the authorities, the fast ship seemed to be gaining ground and pulling away as the sun began to set.The night was tense, but exhilarating until they heard the flapping of wings and the fire that rained down from the sky.What horrible luck to fall into the clutches of a dragon.Szin’kalan abandoned the defense of the ship when most of the deck and timbers were burning and ran into the hold below.He freed as many of the slaves they carried from their shackles as he could before the heat grew too hot.They jumped into the ocean and tried to get away from the disaster.The ship and most of the crew were sunk in flames.Szin’kalan was lucky to have escaped in the darkness with his life, along with a couple of slaves he freed during the fight.
Washing ashore, he left the pirates life behind and taking the few coins he had on him began to work odd jobs for those that needed jobs done.He learned a lot of hard lessons in those first few months ashore, coinless and unskilled. He never thought he would be in a state where helping out half-orcs and humans with menial tasks would be necessary to bring in enough coins to cover living expenses.In time he persisted and grew to understand the ways of the working man.With careful thrift and an eye to a rung higher up the ladder he was able to save up enough to afford his leather armor and a longbow that he began to practice with.To his surprise he found that he was better than he previously expected with ranged weapons and that the speed and agility he gained on the rigging of the pirate ships served him well.He began to pick up caravan guard jobs and travel the western edges of the Sword Coast where his diligence as a night guard garnered him a reputation.Sometimes on the city streets and out in the forest he would miss the stars he saw when sailing, but his changed perspective on slavery makes him feel lighter of spirit, even at the cost of gold coins in his purse.
Working under the stars is still preferable to the preternatural stillness of the Underdark.Someday he'll find a way to gain a name for himself so that he no longer has to work for others.Meanwhile he'll do all he can to find out what can be learned about Dragons and how to defeat them so that he can conquer this fear that startles him from his meditative trance so frequently.As a guard, he simply goes by Zhen and avoids discussion of family interactions.
((Zhen is a Neutral Ranger currently working with a Half-Orc Barbarian and a Fallen Aasimar UA Alchemist... Eilistraee help us all...))
Sten was a sailor on the Sea of Fallen Stars for most of his young life. Serving first as a cabin boy, and making his way up to a deckhand. In his late teens ruthless pirates murdered his captain and crewmates, plundered his ship, and left him to die. He was come upon by an adventuring band who had a Paladin of Torm within their ranks. The party nurtured young Sten to health, and then allowed him to travel with them to Damara. During the trip the Paladin sensed great strength within the boy, but knew his path could not be with Torm. He sent for an old friend of his who happened to be a priest of Hoar. The Priest took Sten under his tutelage and eventually trained him to be a Paladin of Hoar. Sten spent many months tracking down the pirates that killed his friends, and was finally able to gain his vengeance by killing them all. He felt fulfilled for a time, but the heat that had driven him for so long was no longer there. Listlessly he roamed the northlands, lost within himself. Until one day he came upon a village that had been destroyed. All the women and children had been brought to the center of town and had their throats slit. Sten followed the trail, found the Orcs that had done this, and killed them all. Sten found among the bodies of the Orcs a Half-Orc captive named Boo. Since then Sten and Boo have traveled the land offering their strength to those that have had harm done to them and righting those wrongs.
Tyman is a strong fighter in the Ironspike Militia, who also possesses an eye for detail. Due to his skills he has been assigned the rank of captain, and allowed special duty to investigate crimes committed against the people of Ironspike. This also gives him limited command of Militia men without rank and has him answer directly to Ironspikes commander, Ser Lucan the Brave. His duty is his passion and soul, because as strong as his body is, his beliefs in law and order are stronger.
Tyman has been born and raised in Ironspike. His father Rychard is a clerk who writes documents for local authority, and his mother Bryce is a ranger in the Felgen Marine Corp, he has and elder sister Harley and younger brother Jay. He serves with many of his childhood friends who he socialises with at the Hanging Goblin. He resides at the Militia barracks and has aspirations to further his rank in the Militia, and help shape a constabulary and court to serve the people of Ironspike. Despite not yet posessing this authority Tyman often pushes his luck with his superior and colleagues, and has a reputation for being "difficult" and "too smart for his own good".
Tyman is a large man, even for a human. His mass is predominantly muscle which reflects the strict diet and training regime he imposes on himself. He has brown eyes, at twelve years old he had an encounter in the Hanging Goblin which left two parallel scars on his left. He has brown hair which he gets cut and styled regularly. His uniform is a surcoat qua wertered black and yellow, which marks him as a member of the Ironspike Militia. Aside from his surcoat, he has a pin with three stars which indicates his rank.
Altzmyr Tannerem is a half-moon elf wizard with the necromancer specialty. Unlike a lot of necromancers, he is kind, gentle, shy and has a good heart. He got into necromancy because a part of him felt something was rather unfair and cursed about being a half-elf-that the lifespan of a half-elf is far less than a full elf, meaning that his elven mother would have to watch him grow old and die, right after watching her human lover. His parents were once adventurers who settled down and married despite the long-term consequences of someone who will die in a few decades and someone who will die in a few centuries. Thus after some time his parents split up to avoid the pain more. His parents sent him away to boarding school to further distance themselves. It would be in this boarding school where he would get his introduction to wizardry.
The rift in his family due to lifespan differences inspired him to research the fragile bonds and arcane knowledge of life and death, but then it also led him to other places and ideas-he started to show compassion toward undead and feel wonder about the condition of undeath. He then started to take his ideas further and even think about mortality as a travesty to life. This put him at odds with a lot of faiths, especially after he peppered clerics with philosophical questions about the role and purpose of mortal life. Then he would start to embark on a quest to research immortality, preferably true immortality rather than undeath, but if this proves to put him at odds with the gods too much, he may have to settle for some form of undeath. When he explains his beliefs to others, he comes across often as being simultaneously insane and compassionate.
His journeys would take him to unexpected places and give him more to think about and perhaps test his ideals. He doesn't like to kill, even to eat, but unfortunately he finds himself with traveling companions that could care less.
If anyone would like to give me tips on how to improve my first-ever character on D&D, tell me. It would really be appreciated. It took me a long time to make up his backstory.
An eternal solitary ever since his exile from the Norixius Clan after his teenage years, Norixius Shamash II is on a self-imposed quest to seek redemption, but also justice, which could explain his daily paranoia when it comes to trusting others.
Haunted by his dark memories, and trying to help as much as he wants to, Shamash II tries to do right by his deceased brother and sister since the "incident" in his native land.
Self-discipline is key to his personality. Stubborn, yet empathetic, Shamash II is an erudite wizard and very well-versed into the arts of the arcane. However, his unsatiable appetite for knowledge is what distinguishes him from the rest; always the more curious and versatile in his practice as a wizard, but always the more impulsive and anxious, which has cost him a high price once before.
@MarcelJrNault It looks pretty good, I'd be a little carful rp'ing him. The paranoia and recklessness could be a problem if you play off it too much in a group setting. Good character though!
So I'm joining a new group tomorrow as an Aasimar Paladin with an Urchin background. Here's the backstory I came up with.
BACKSTORY
Born to a young human merchant and his wife, Vodal had a fairly normal young life. His father worked as a buyer and seller of fine cloth, and his wife was a painter. They moved around frequently, with his parents telling Vodal that it was due to his father’s work.
One night when Vodal was six, tragedy struck. Only a few months after moving into a new city, both of his parents were killed in a raging fire that destroyed their home. He remembers his father struggling with…something, and his mother hurriedly pushing him out a first-floor window and telling him to run. He ran until his legs were too tired to carry him any further, and he fell asleep in a pile of straw behind a tavern. The next morning, he made his way back to his family’s house, to find it was only a pile of ashes. He overheard some onlookers say that the fire was very strange. It had an odd deep-red color to it, almost like blood, and it didn’t even singe the structures on either side of his home. Vodal’s parents were gone, and he was an orphan in a city he knew almost nothing about.
For the next ten years, Vodal lived on the streets, doing what he could to survive. He seemed to have a knack for persuasion, and could often talk a baker into sparing a piece of bread, or a rich man to toss him a coin. He took up with a small band of other homeless children, living in the attic of a small church. Vodal fell into the role of protector, and often shielded the younger children from harm when the City Watch decided to crack down on “undesirables” in the city, or when another gang decided to make trouble. He took more than his fair share of beatings when he couldn’t talk his way out a situation. Many nights, his dreams were filled with images of beings in white striking down dark forms, but they were always quickly forgotten when he woke to the harsh reality of his existence. On rare occasions, he felt a shiver run up his spine, with a sense of something searching for him, and he would hide in the church attic until the feeling passed.
One day, there was a great commotion in the city. A respected lord and his retinue were passing through, and a fair-like atmosphere pervaded the city. As the lord’s group was parading down the main street, one of Vodal’s young friends darted out to grab a coin that had fallen on the road. City Watch soldiers grabbed him and pulled him into an alley, where they began to beat him. Vodal intervened, and tried to diffuse the situation. The soldiers were led by a cruel officer who refused to relent. As they increased the ferocity of their beating, Vodal’s desire to stop the injustice reached a fever pitch, and something inside of him snapped. He felt himself filled with a power. Light spilled from his eyes, and without thinking, he called down a lighting bolt that scattered the soldiers. The power left as quickly as it had come, and Vodal found himself surrounded by new soldiers, all in gleaming armor. An older man stepped forward, took in the scene, and ordered his men to escort Vodal to the manor his lord was staying in.
Expecting the worst, Vodal was stunned to find that he was treated very kindly. He was fed, bathed, and clothed, and shown to a comfortable room. He was soon visited by the older gentleman, who introduced himself as Torath Stoneblade, and a priest from a nearby temple. They asked him about his past, what happened to his family, and how he was living now. They withdrew to talk, the priest gesturing excitedly while Torath interjected cooly from time to time. They returned, and Torath told Vodal that they believed he was not actually human, but an Aasimar, a descendent of celestial beings, born to spread light and protect the weak. Torath told him that, if Vodal was willing, he could come and train with the Fist of Light, a group of paladins that were dedicated to vanquishing evil, helping the weak, and seeing that justice was carried out fairly.
From that point on, Vodal’s life changed drastically. He was taken in by the Fist, who taught him how to fight, with Torath becoming a second father. Vodal also studied with priests, trying to learn more about his heritage and how he could use his gifts to help those around him. The feelings of being hunted that had plagued his life on the street subsided, but Vodal sensed that whatever was behind it hadn’t withdrawn entirely. He dedicated himself to becoming stronger and making the world a better place, so that fewer people would have to suffer the kind of life that he had.
APPEARANCE
Vodal is now 32 years old, a tall man with short, light brown hair and gray eyes that glint in the sunlight. He wears the gleaming silver armor of the Fist of Light, with his longsword, Brightfang, strapped to his back. His life as a Paladin has made him strong, but his past as an orphan has left its mark, adding a wiriness to his frame. He usually has a smile on his face, and a cheery disposition even when faced with darkness. He smiles wide, laughs loud, and is generally in a good mood. This can often lead enemies to underestimate him, which they discover to their detriment if he catches them causing pain and suffering. His smile vanishes, replaced by an iron determination to end injustice and help those who can’t help themselves.
Thanks! I'll take that into consideration.
My name is Viito Arakin, and I love to cross-dress.
My sister and I were living at an orphanage when she was adopted by some aristocrat. I've been trying to become somewhat of a famous thief in hopes she'll recognize me from posters. Unfortunately, I am extremely embarrassed about my appearance, so I never show my face in public. It's a conundrum. Maybe she'll recognize my......jawline? (My face is usually only hidden from above the mouth by a cloak)
This one time, I was dared to dress as a maiden for 24 hours and received many escort requests from people who thought I was a woman. So now, when I need to disguise in a situation where speech isn't necessary, I pull out my dress and wig.
I receive far more complements while I'm in disguise, so I've taken to appreciating my appearance more while dressed as a woman. I once stabbed an inn-keeper through the hand when he tried to touch me sexually. Needless to say, I am no longer welcome there.
"Don't let the hard days win."
~ The Morrigan; A Court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J. Maas
My Michtim Whisper Bard Darius Flüsterklinge (whisper blade) with a modified Spy background
Michtims are very cute in appearance, which always meant trouble for them, when fey monarchs abducted young to keep them as pets or servants. Darius was a little kid when he got abducted in the wilds by Goblins in service to a dark fey lord. Instead of bringing him to the monarch, they kept him for themselves, because they really liked his fluffiness. It took the rescue team a few weeks to find and free Darius, however, in the meantime he actually befriended one of the smarter goblins, belonging to the lasher caste. This goblin treated him fairly well, and Darius even learned the language and some of the cultural values. Other goblins would try to steal Darius from his owner, but he defended him quite well. When the time came for the rescue team to actually get Darius out of trouble, the goblins were disbanded, but not slain, by the Michtim heroes.
Darius being impressed with the rescue team joined the Crown's agents; the last remnants of the lost Haus Shakti that sacrificed themselves to protect the Veil of Turnaya. Now that he's grown into an adult, he is a well-rounded tactician, scholar of nature and is ranking as Spy-Master-in-Training. Queen Miyu now sent him to investigate the nearby forests to gather intel on monster and human activity that might threaten the interests of the Michtims.
Zev Georg Mir, creator of Michtim: Fluffy Adventures
Game Designer, Storyteller, UX Gamedev, Homebrewer, Michtim
Get Michtim For D&D
The Tavern (casual RP socializing) game: DM, feel free to join, but read rules in first post and post questions if you have any!
Tym Eisenfuchs: ambiguous Michtim Warlock
Click links to find out more!
First ever DnD character. Dwarven ranger, Barrowdark Stoneweaver, on the run from his home and the stonemasons guild.
As a young dwarf I was taken raised and taught as an apprentice to be a stonemason by the Stonemasons Guild of Balduk. After many years as an apprentice to a Dwarf named Kardurk i was accepted as a full member and trusted brother of the Guild. My skills as a stonemason grew ever more impressive and as i progressed through the tiers of the brotherhood, so did my ambition, i longed for recognition outside the guild and after a time my work was coveted across Balduk selling for some very eye watering prices. I sculpted increasingly more ambitious and technical work, with inlays of Gold and Mithril i carved artisan level pieces for people of important standing across the Hold until one final piece earned me the title of Stoneweaver from the Guild, my finest hour. My work stagnated after this and my artistic rivals began to undermine my position within the guild. Believing me unworthy of the title Stoneweaver my old master Kardurk jealously turned members of the guild against me, having them discredit my work and integrity among my brothers, it would seem I had made some enemies.
After a harvest feast in the great hall one autumn the work of the Guild was celebrated and debated until, after many drinks, a fight broke out. Provoked and defending my honor i mistakenly drew blood in the place of our fathers cutting Kardurk in my rage. Afterwards the guild quickly assigned me to new tasks. In my 80's i was "volunteered" to work among guild outcasts repairing Balduks aging fortifications, entryways and roads. By Kardurk's machinations I had been sent as punishment to become the guilds defensive work-master, i would traverse the very peaks we lived underneath to repair aging stonework and rebuild old defensive towers.
During my tenure as the work-master i was taught to be a very proficient Ranger by the scouts of our hold for without these skills I would have never survived the bitter wilderness of the peaks during winter. I slowly became an exceptional hunter and tracker of our enemies, clearing camps of goblins from the foundations of towers was a prerequisite for beginning some repairs. But my hands longed to work stone into art, the repair jobs became tedious to me, so I began work moving equipment and resources from the guild to create my own pieces, i was convinced the guild would pull me from "exile" if i submitted a masterpiece. Kardurk however eventually caught wind of me working on private projects and sent dwarves to silence me and my work forever, they chased me from the mountains.
Kardurk my one time master turned guild rival is now my bitter enemy for it is his fault i must forever run from my own kind, his fault i can no longer fulfill my passion and work the stone of our ancestors. The guild still accepts me as a member, for it cannot renounce me until I am either deceased or brought to trial for my so called transgressions, I at least have some brothers among the council who see Kardurk for what he is, but all manner of folk hunt me for the bounty he has placed on my head, he wants me dead for I am the only dwarf who works stone better than he and whilst I live he will always be my second. For now I must leave my home in self exile, I will go in search of the worlds great works of stone and study other cultures and techniques so I can make mine better all the while preparing for my revenge.
I'm working on this half-elf pally, who I'd like to eventually multi-class as a cleric. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated!
The Falhorns were a noble family of Elvish lords with landholdings in the forest near a small village. When orcs attacked the town, their Elvish neighbors came to their aid, but were too late to save most of the townspeople. Those who survived had lost their homes and everything they owned, so the once-indifferent Elvish patriarch benevolently offered a place in his home for them. The elves employed many of the humans as servants in their homes, and treated them quite well. In time, the eldest son of the Elvish lord became enamored with his human servant. As the lord had decreed that no romantic relations between elf and man would be tolerated in his realm, the son's relationship with his servant would be kindled in secret. Eventually, the woman became pregnant with a half-elf bastard child, whom she would name Elben. He would be given his mother's surname, as she would never disclose the identity of the elven father, lest the patriarch bring judgement upon her beloved. Even so, the Elvish lord commanded that she would no longer be employed in his home, and that she must take her son with her to work elsewhere in their community. Like many of mixed heritage, Elben was shunned by his Elvish relatives. He was bullied and picked on for much of his childhood, and spent much of his time tending to livestock in the stables and fields. At the age of thirteen, Elben's mother became ill with an unknown malady, and eventually passed away. By this time, the Elvish lord had heard many rumors of Elben's lineage, and rather than keep the boy as a reminder of his own son's disobedience, the Elvish lord saw fit to send Elben to serve in the army of a nearby human king. The Elf lord had his scribe pen a letter to the General of the Kingsguard stating Elben's predicament, and requesting that he be put into the service of the king. General Dhaka of the King's Army, Leader of His Majesty's Royal Guard, was a kindly, grayheaded man of seventy-eight years. He had served in the royal army for nearly all of his life, rising to the highest rank from his beginnings in the infantry. As such, he was well-renowned throughout the realm for his bravery and dedication to the Crown. Upon receiving the Elvish lord's letter, Gen. Dhaka asked that the half-elf youth be brought immediately to his chambers. He questioned Elben at length about his home, his mother, and his upbringing in a way that must have seemed rather odd to a bastard child that had been overlooked for much of his life. On that same day, Dhaka swore Elben into the service of the King. At first, the General would keep the half-elf boy as his personal servant. Elben was tall and strong compared to full-blooded humans his same age, and became a great asset to Dhaka in his advanced age, carrying his weapons and armor, and when needed, helping the old knight to scale the hundreds of steps that led to up the tower to his chambers. General Dhaka favored the boy so much that he afforded him every opportunity to learn at his side, whether during audiences with the king or at strategic military meetings. Over two years passed for Elben in the personal service of the General, and he was finally old enough to officially enter the royal army. On the morning that the half-elf was to become a soldier instead of a servant, Dhaka called him into his chambers. The old man proceeded to thank Elben for his years of unquestionable loyalty, and stated that he had been keeping a secret since the day he had received Elben into his home. The boy looked at him confusedly as the General informed him that he had been born in the same village as Elben's mother before he moved to the capital to join the Kings' Army. In fact, Dhaka said, he guessed that Elben might be his great nephew by marriage. This hypothesis would be nearly impossible to prove as their village records had been destroyed along with the rest of the town; but this did not matter to Dhaka. From that day forward (and many days before), the General would think of Elben as his nephew, and treated him as such. At sixteen years of age, Elben Falhorn-Dhaka joined the Royal Infantry. In very little time, he became a skilled and shrewd fighter, in part due to years of bearing the brunt of Elvish beatings. Serving under his great-uncle had made him a quick study of tactics and formations, and his experience in the stables of the Elvish lord helped him to become one of the best mounted soldier-trainees. It wasn't long before Elben was promoted, and then promoted again, eventually becoming captain over his own unit. He was well loved by his fellow soldiers, but looked upon derisively by those in command, who feared that one day he would rise to take over the Generalship as his uncle had. During Elben's service the kingdom was blessed with several years of peace. Much of his time was spent training with his fellow soldiers and studying combat arts and theories of war under his uncle. The General's advisers took notice of the special attention he appeared to be receiving, and began to plot against him, often sending Elben's unit to deal with undesirable tasks, such as providing relief to flood victims, tracking goblin raiders, or rebuilding outdated outposts. Captain Falhorn was unfazed, however, and became skilled in maintaining the morale of his men. He could always be found working side-by-side with his soldiers, without complaint. During a peasant uprising in the farther reaches of the kingdom, Elben's unit was called upon to return order to the area. Martial law was imposed in the region, and while his soldiers began the occupation of several communities, Elben called a meeting with the leaders of the rebellion. In doing so, he discovered that the Lt. Generals had been using their rank to unlawfully tax and abuse the commonfolk under their protection. Upon his return to the capital, Elben confronted his superior officers regarding their misuse of power, and wound up in the infirmary after they overpowered him and beat him mercilessly. While recovering from his wounds, the group of Lt. Generals sent a representative to his bedside, informing him that his aging great-uncle, the General of the King's army, would be assassinated if Elben tried to expose their machinations. Rather than serving under a corrupt regime, Elben fled from infirmary barracks under the cover of night, while still recovering from his injuries. He knew that his comrades would know him as a traitor to the crown and an oathbreaker, but would not put his beloved Uncle Dhaka in danger. Elben swore that one day he would return to the capital to bring justice to the Guard officers. Pursued by the Guard, Elben would flee to a neighboring country, taking refuge in a temple. The priests provided him sanctuary and healed his wounds, and Elben found himself drawn to the priestly life. He devoured holy writings zealously, applying the devotion he once held for justice and combat to the study of religion and morality. The priests were glad to offer all of the instruction he could retain, and in-turn, asked that he use his knowledge of combat to protect the nearby hamlet from predators. After a year and a half, the Lt. Generals' spies finally located Elben, and a Kingsguard squadron was sent to collect him for court martial. When they arrived, Elben was assisting the townsfolk by hunting down a rabid wolf that had been terrorizing their flocks. The Kingsguard questioned the temple priests, who refused to provide any information regarding Elben's whereabouts. The temple was desecrated, and all the priests slaughtered for their silence. The soldiers plundered the larder and cellar before riding on to the village to continue their search. Once again, the Kingsguard left no survivors. Seeing the smoke rising from the village from several miles away, returned home to find the soldiers drinking sacramental wine and wiping the villagers' blood from their weapons. His battle instincts immediately returned to him as he breathlessly spoke a prayer to the temple god and unsheathed his sword. Elben's blade sliced through his former compatriots with ease until the entire squadron lay at his feet. His adopted home destroyed and the temple brethren slain, Elben retrieved a single scorched holy book from the remains of the chapel, gathered his belongings, and mounted his horse, riding southward into the woods. Elben spent the next two years in solitude, only venturing into society when absolutely necessary, and always under cover of night. He pored over the religious text and kept his sword sharp and armor polished, while training incessantly for the impending justice he would bring upon the Kingsguard officers.
I play currently a Silver Dragoborn Totem Barbarian in my roommate's campaign named Jarvull Torinn. The kingdom we are in is just a series of islands and he is from the most Northern one that has higher elevations leading to it being colder and more snow covered. His background story is below.
Jarvull Torinn grew up on the stories of his tribe being part of an even greater tribe. Stories of a time when all the Dragonborn from the North were one nation and were honored allies with the Kingdom of the Dragon. It was a time when his family had members who were elders of the tribe and they were respected by everyone.
Then came the war and the dishonor to his family. A tale of betrayal that brought great dishonor and drove them into exile to the Southern Wastes. The stories tell of a great ancestor who was an ambassador to the Kingdom of the Dragon that was brought up on charges of treason against the kingdom and had been executed for that crime.
The stories of this distant grandfather though designed to remind members of the new tribe the dangers of betrayal and why they were no longer trusted by other Dragonborn, never sat well with Jarvull. The man in the tale never seemed to fit the crime, as the saying goes, and it always disturbed the young Dragonborn as he grew up. It did not help as well that Jarvull had often been compared appearance wise to this distant ancestor as he too was smaller then your average Dragonborn and had a tail. For this reason Jarvull would often spend time alone out away from the tribe and was given the nickname of Kobold as an insult by many of the meaner children he grew up with.
Now at the age of 16, an age that he is no longer a child, Jarvull had grown restless. He had explored much of the area around where his tribe lived and often would venture to a local fishing village to swap stories and goods with the local fisherman. It was during one such visit that he met an old Elf in the local inn that was just passing through. The Elf had mistook him for the ancestor from the stories, Garen Torinn. Jarvull though was very reluctant to believe that old Elf that he knew Garen. Sensing his reluctance the Elf presented an old carved flute that matched one talked about in the stories that Garen was often told to have played. The old Elf let him take the flute as a gift and a means to find the truth as he was now to old to pursue what really happened and expose the truth to the world.
Still not believing the Elf, but needing more proof Jarvull took the flute to the eldest member of the tribe, an oracle woman. Though the oracle could not gleam much from the flute she did acknowledge it was Garen's and it would be Jarvull to find the truth of what happened to Garen, be it for ill or good. With that knowledge tugging on Jarvull's mind, he gathered his things and set off to to the Sharktooth Isle in order to find the truth of what happened to Garen Torinn.
I have also a backup character in the works whose backstory is a little influx right now and I play a male elf sorceror who is sharing his body with a female alien in a Pathfinder game who I am very excited for because he now has a hat of disguise and can appear female for those times the female alien takes control, which is a lot more lately. If anyone is interested in his backstory I don't mind sharing it.
I have made this guy as a backup for my current character.
Nadarr level 10
Vengance paladan 6
Celestial blade pact lock 4
I grew up in a small farming village of no note. One summer there was a great drought our crops were failing so we turned to the village shaman for answers. He said we could do a ritual that would please the goddess of rain and change our fortunes. The whole clan gathered around a great bonfire while the shaman chanted in a strange tongue. Suddenly there was a flash of light and a Giant hellish creature was standing before us. In a rage it swung out at the shaman crushing his head with one blow. We took up arms to try and protect ourselves but being mere farmers we never stood a chance. My brothers falling left and right, with a crack of his mighty tail my world went black. The next day I woke up under a pile of my dead clan brothers my village burned dead bodies everywhere. It took me a week to gather the bodies and pieces of my family, friends and clansmen, in front of the great funeral pyre I swore an oath of vengeance against all fiends and evil creatures. From that day I set forth in search of their corruption so I could remove them from existence.
One day I heard word that a monster had been stealing travelers from a nearby Forrest. I went to investigate and rid the world of this creature. I finally tracked the beast to a cave, as I entered I was confronted by 2 hell hounds. I fought the vicious creatures and after many minutes was able to crack both their sculls with my mace. Standing atop the final hound to fall panting barely able to stand a voice was projected into my mind "I did not expect you to best them young creature, to bad you fight for the wrong side you have much spirit." I looked up in time to see a Pit fiend charging towards me I raised my shield but it was to late. The last thing I saw was its huge claws crashing into my skull, then the world went black. I opened my eyes surprised and confused to still be alive, I looked around frantically searching for the fiend. Instead an angelic creature was kneeling next to me the beast was behind it with a giant sword sticking out of its lifeless body. "I have bought you back my friend you are lucky I was here If I were not your young life would have been cut short". He turned pulled the sword from the creature and again my world went dark. I awoke next to a fire with the angelic creature watching over me, "You will be drained for some time young one, but it is a worthy trade for being bought back from the dead. Tell me why would you try and fight such a creature". So I told him my tale. Over the next week as he watched over my recovery we talked and exchanged stories. I learned he was a planetar named Abdiel who had fought in many wars against fiends. His master had heard of a mortal fighting fiends alone and had sent him to track me down and observe me. One morning Abdiel came to me and said "Today I will be leaving you, but I would like to leave you with a gift. If you intend to keep up your fight I can offer you power that will aid you. All I ask for in exchange is that you continue to rid this world of evil." I agreed and with that he disappeared and my quest continued.
Ill give this a go
"Protector" was not Yrsa's job, it's who she was. From a young age, she was tough. Not just tough: unstoppable.
In Yrsa's tribe, coming of age meant choosing a weapon. Not choosing; more like allowing your spirit to express itself with the perfect implement. From the day someone took up a blade, they learned to be one with it. Not to "use" it like some people did; a primal warrior doesn't delude themself with the thought that they can master nature. Instead, they become one with the nature of the weapon, and the weapon becomes part of their nature.
Yrsa expected a lot more when it came time to receive her weapon. Maybe the clouds would part, or the spirit of an ancestor would appear and guide her hand. Nothing. After a moment of awkward indecision, she grabbed whatever appealed to her. Everyone else seemed to be "chosen" by the biggest piece of metal they could handle. She instead went for a smaller axe with a long handle, like a spear, not knowing what it was.
Yrsa's brother and sister warriors were tough. She was tougher. She always had been. She first noticed when her village caught fire in war. While those around her perished, she waded through the flames to rescue her tribesmen, like she was watching herself in a dream, always coming out alive. Sometimes, when she really needed it, she would get that "watching in a dream" feeling again, and nothing could stop her. In the hottest fire, or the coldest snow; under claws and steel alike; when it was really desperate, something kept her going
The sages said the meaning of this would be clear in time. But she was getting impatient. After years of training, Yrsa's brothers and sisters had found the spirits of their weapons, and finished the ascending ritual. They were true warriors. They could enter the "battle meditation" and lose their ego, fusing with their weapons. They would talk of hearing their weapons sing in battle, giving them strength and guidance.
Her halberd was just wood and metal. When was it her turn? Was she on the wrong path?
A fear grew. She was always fascinated by the foreigners who came by the village, by the strange patterns on their clothes and all those fragile trinkets with "glass" on them. As she felt more alienated from her fellows, Yrsa worried that her life wasn't with her tribe at all, but with these foreigners. Maybe that's why her weapon didn't speak to her, no matter how she trained. But how could she live with them? Did she have to dress like them? Think like them? Would there be anyone else like her? And didn't she have to protect the village?
Then another fear started growing. She had always been strong, but not exactly...smart. She knew storytellers who remembered the history of the world, sages who always knew some perfect piece of advice, and leaders who could always say just the right thing. She never got how that all worked. If she yelled and swung an axe around, people listened. If she needed to know a story, she asked someone.
She'd never thought about it before, but thinking about the foreigners with their trinkets and books, she felt..."stupid." Was it enough to just be strong? Didn't she have to keep up her talents at everything? They demanded something more than just strength, didn't they? Was she good enough for anyone?
One day, finally, some answers arrived.
As usual, when she wasn't guarding the village, Yrsa found herself in the wilderness far from its borders. She came to a shallow river that she didn't remember. At the head of some rapids, she could make out the figure of a gigantic bear against the sunlight. It sat patiently in the water, watching the fish as they journeyed upstream, trying to catch them out of the air when they jumped.
Something about the creature was captivating. Yrsa found herself inching toward it along the river bank, unnoticed. Only when she'd passed the rapids and took her first step into the water did the animal pause to look at her. It didn't move. Even caught in the beast's stare, Yrsa kept moving closer.
The bear roared, a resonant bellow that broke Yrsa from her stupor. In an instant, 700 pounds of hair and muscle slammed into her. But to a warrior like her, no combat is a surprise; just sooner than expected. Her weapon flew to her hand.
She pulled away and attacked. The bear's thick hair alone was like armor. Even if she hit it, it didn't care; it just roared and swiped at her again with it's massive claws, or bit her, or shoved her back.
The bear kept her on the defensive. Finally, with a thundering roar, it rose on two legs and fell bodily onto her. Her head slammed into the rocks at the edge of the river...
...and in a flash, everything was clear.
In a feat of strength, she shoved the bear up and off her chest, and pulled herself away. She had watched her brethren fight, and used her weapon like their axes; but that's not what she was. Her grip loosened on her halberd, as if it was telling her it would guide itself. She saw her movements as if someone else was making them, yet remained in control.
When the bear charged, Yrsa's blade shot up in a flash. Though struck solidly, the beast didn't stop. This time, it was Yrsa who shrugged off the creature's attacks. She bled, but it didn't phase her. She brought down her halberd's head with all her might, digging into the beast's flank. Without a moment of thought, she shifted her grip on the haft, striking again with the reverse end, jumping back and away in the same motion.
The bear continued to fight, but it wasn't so easy now. Yrsa was just as strong, just as tough, her power channeled into a wild flurry of attacks. Her halberd flew from one hand to the other, both sides lashing out unrelentingly, longer than the beast's arms, forming a wall it had to break through to reach her.
Broken, tired, and bleeding, the bear staggered back from her. It was afraid. They both knew Yrsa had won. Barely standing herself, she watched it go. She allowed it to cross the river, noticing some smaller bears waiting for it. The battle meditation faded.
Finally she knew.
A bear doesn't ask other bears what it should do. It doesn't choose a job. It just is. The bear she'd fought that day wasn't powerful, it was power. It didn't just guard it's young, it was a guardian. It had no choice.
It was Yrsa's nature to be powerful. If someone else was smarter or wiser than her, that was their nature, and their destiny. That wasn't her job. When that bear attacked, it had only one thought: "protect my family." It never thought about revenge, or proving itself, and never worried. It fought because it had to. Good, evil, laws; none of that mattered. It was guided by instinct, doing what it wanted, and what it had to
Her halberd also taught her why she was fascinated by foreigners, and why she wandered from her village. Her blade was wielded far away from her body, but it was always a part of her. In the same way, she wasn't meant to be trapped in her village. She was like the head of a spear, sitting far out and alone, keeping enemies out of reach. Wherever she went, she brought her tribe with her, and protected it from afar.
Soon after that day, with the blessing of the elders, Yrsa left the village. In body, at least. She set out to explore a huge and exciting world. She never felt the need to dress or talk like the foreigners, because she brought her tribe with her. To get by in a money-based world, she became a bounty hunter, chasing down the enemies or her new friends. Some would say she lived like an animal. She agreed: animals live free, never indecisive, never defying their natures. It was the only way to live.
Backstory for my Half-Drow Shadow Magic Sorcerer/Fiend Warlock that I'm playing in a local homebrew game:
Born from the union of a human cultist and her Drow mindslave, Tel'dolas had a rather unique upbringing. Molded to fulfill a pact between his mother and her Nighthaunt patron, from a young age he was tutored in the magics of the Shadowfell. Ever the dilligent student, it wasn't long before Tel'dolas had become well adept at manipulating the energies of the Shadow plane. On his 25th birthday, Tel'dolas entered his mother's study to find the Nighthaunt feeding on his mother's broken remains. Spurred into a frenzy, Tel'dolas mustered all of his innate magical ability and slew the monster with a single spell. Afterwards, he blacked out.
When Tel'dolas awoke, he was lying on his back beneath a canopy of trees. The low embers of a withering fire burned beside him. Shadows danced among the trees and across the ground of the forest floor... but not his shadow. Confused, Tel'dolas looked around briefly before noticing a dark figure watching him from behind a nearby tree. Suddenly, the figure took the form of the slain Nighthaunt and rushed at him. Tel'dolas turned and braced for an assault, but just as the cloud reached him it dispersed and his shadow fell into place.
With their fates now seemingly entwined, Tel'dolas has spent the past 5 years forging an understanding with the Nighthaunt, Dral'Xul, each aiding the other in the interest of mutual survival. Should he ever separate himself from Dral'Xul, though, Tel'dolas will not hesitate to finish the demon. And he expects Dral'Xul to treat him in kind...
Sure, I'll give it a go. First character I've made for D&D, and very new at it myself. Tiefling cleric stylized as a succubus.
Born of a powerful succubus and a poor, unfortunate male human, Lillia lived with her other demonic kin in the lower planes. Living with other succubi and inncubi, the girl herself was an oddity amongst her own kind: she wasnt a devious sort and she never engaged in debauchary or life force stealing. Instead she was a much more merciful soul. Instead, she opted more human traits in her behavior. Curiosity, kindness, and more. This lead to her being an outcast among her own kind thus leading to Lillia being a more timid sort. Never speaking much and never making herself known unless truly necessary, she just stuck to the corner of the room: away from the crowd. When she did speak, it was soft spoken and awkward. Her life was rather solitary. Due to her odd nature she was outcasted among her people, and was left to live a rather secluded childhood with her mother alone.. whom wasnt too kind too her.
A ways into her life, the now a girl mere teen, a small group of demons decided to venture into the mortal realm one day to look for new prey.. new souls to drain dry and feast upon. Lillia was one of the few that joined them. Not to sate her innate desires, but to see more of the mortal world. She knew her father was a human man and since she's never seen him or his world she had this innate curiosity about this world she was now in. So she crept off to explore the woods, consumed by her eager curiosity that was leading her about. She saw and experienced so many things she never knew was real: the moon, the night sky, the soft wind against her face.. it was all so wonderful! A sharp contrast from the more harsh planes she came from. Her exploring eventually led her to a small campfire nearby a church. She saw humans, clerics and paladins, gathered around a campfire talking and having a merry old time. Lillia was told about these folk: holy warriors that fight for their god. A fearsome folk. Yet the looked so peaceful and happy. She watched them from afar, and slowly crept closer to them and was eventually spotted by the group of holy crusaders. They near instantly drew their weapons, but when she let out a frightened yelp and tumbled backwards they knew she was no threat to them. They instead waved her over with a warm smile and offered a seat by the fire for her. What harm could a young child do, even if they were a demon from below? So she sat with them and enjoyed their company until dawn, asking them just what and who they were. After this one question, one of the paladins, a white haired man in his older years, presented his symbol.
Lillia held this symbol and etched it into her memory as she heard the paladin go on about teachings as the night ran on. As he spoke, the girl felt a certain urge.. a calling to her very being to take one of these men. Drain him dry. It took a good bit of her concentration to hold herself back, but she was able to keep herself in check. Eventually, a tired Lillia went back to her kin with a wave to the humans. She pondered his words, and when she got back she drifted off to a quick sleep. .
****y to awake to the sounds of combat and the smell of burning shrubbery. She jolted awake, and what she saw were fully armored knights and robbed men and women with maces fighting her kind. They had followed her here, and they were defending the people of a nearby town, whom they saw with the succubi she was with.. later to be found as a drained husk. Her eyes wide, she quickly rose and made for the woods.. only to be cut off by a sudden streak of light. She turned too the source and saw a cleric poised for combat. Just as he raised his mace an old, grizzled voice demanded that he stand down. That voice belonged to none other than the paladin she spoke with at the fire, whom quickly rushed in front of her, shielding her with his body as he hunched down and held her close too himself as bolts of light flew through the air and fire sparked this way and that.
"What is this heresy!?" shouted the cleric as he dropped his mace.
"We are here to seal the rift they came through, and beat them back. Not massacre them." he calmly responded, his gaze stern and authoritative.
"That thing is one of them!"
"But she means us no harm. Look at her." And with that, he turned too her. "She clearly has no intent to fight, and she's a mere child, compared to the others." the paladin chuckles with a warm smile. "She means us no harm at all."
Sadly, this was not enough to dissuade the Cleric, whom was now charging with mace raised out of paranoia and fear.. only to be painfully stopped short by the business end of the Paladin's shield. He crumpled to the ground in a pathetic heap, the holy warrior scoffing.
"You're out of line."
The paladin then turned to Lillia and apologized for his comrade's brashness. They were there to repel them, and nothing more. As the chaos went on around them, that paladin stayed near her and protected her. The battle raged on, and the paladin sighed. No one should have to see this. Yet Lillia was exposed too it.. much to the Paladin's regret. As the fiends were beat back into the rift, the paladins and clerics began to relax. Lillia stood up and looked at all of them. She was now stranded there, a forgotten soul admist the chaos of battle. The crusaders let out a loud hurrah of a battle well fought.. until they noticed Lillia, now stranded where she was. The rift was closed and she had no way home. Frightened as they turned too her, the Paladin rose his hand, and the group stopped. The Paladin then removed his helm, revealing it to be the same Paladin she spoke too at the campfire. He apologized for stranding her here, and told her that there is a light within her: a light that he thought he would never see in a fiend like herself. She has the light of a human within her, the conscience of a mortal. If she would allow it, the Paladin offered her a place to call home.. and a chance to make something more out of herself if she desired it. Something much more than what she could have been with the fiends she was with before. His words pulling at her, she thought back to how she was treated back on her home plane. She has an opportunity in front of her. So she accepted their offer. Filled with happiness, the Paladin led her, and his small force, back to the temple.
While her new life was met with many eyes of skepticism and, in some cases, disbelief and paranoia the Paladin treated her like his own, even going as far as to adopt her. and due to his influence she watched many of the other paladins spar with one another, and the clerics tend to wounded and recite versus. It was enough to spur her into doing something with herself, and after speaking to her foster father she began to train as a Cleric herself. She trained as a cleric for most of her life and into her adulthood, she studied both healing and combat under the tutelage of the Paladin that took her in. While she was met with skepticism, and at times out right bullying, she preserved.
That is, until her teacher and foster father passed away due to old age. This caused her to be overcome with grief, and in her vulnerable state.. those urges she has been suppressing for years came back in full force. One night, when she was out and about the local town to keep watch, those urges overcame her and she forced herself upon another cleric., an event she can only vaguely recall: to her, she blacked out and everything was a blur.Thankfully, she was stopped before she drained the poor soul dry. Thus, she was exiled from her temple. Ashamed of her impulses, and even more so herself, she left the town.. only to spot a man being held up by a highway thug. Still clinging to her old beliefs she rushed to his aid but arrived too late: the poor soul was already on the ground bleeding. In a panic, she held our her symbol and much to her surprise a holy light emanated from it.. and his wound healed before her eyes. While her temple had exiled her, the deity she worships has not abandoned her! Renewed with purpose, she set out to places unknown to atone for her past mistake, and do good wherever she can go. Will she redeem herself? Or will she fall to her temptations once again? Only time will tell..
It's nice to go through here and read all the back stories people make for their characters. Always fun to read, too.
I'll give this a whirl! My friends and I will be starting a new campaign in a couple of weeks. Here's my guy:
Durkhazak "Durk" Emberwood (Half-Orc Ranger)
An unconventional orc male (known only as "Lughazak" to Durk) and a free-spirited Tethyrian human female ("Jazmin Emberwood") fell in love and kept it secret. Lughazak's tribe planned a raid on Jazmin's village, but Lug managed to turn their gaze on a neighboring town instead. The tribe laid waste to that town, and moved on, and Lughazak was never heard from again.
Durkhazak was born to Jazmin about eight months later. She used to tell him stories of his father (though she herself knew little of him). While she meant to inspire Durk, the stories only made him more angry that his father had left. His skin had always been a grayish-green color, but between the ages of eight and ten his orcishness really started to show. His heavy underbite, coupled with the complexion and slightly pointed ears, was a dead give away.
Durk's mother Jaz fell sick when he was ten, so he started doing odd jobs around the village for coin to provide for the two of them. He ran messages between nearby villages, always careful to keep his pronounced lower jaw covered by a scarf for fear of orc-racism. He also began chopping firewood to sell, and hunted small animals for food. He got to know the woods really well.
Not many in the village would help his mother in their need, because they feared Durk the half-orc. Most called him a mongrel behind his back--and some to his face. When his mother's sickness grew worse, the village doctor did what he could, but there were others sick as well. Jazmin died when he was fifteen. Durk left the village almost immediately. After all, he'd been unwelcome from the start.
Durk keeps his lower jaw hidden behind a thick crimson scarf. The rest of his face is shaded by the hood of his cloak. He's fended for himself for five years now, wandering from town to town, carving out a life as a mercenary-for-hire. Lately, he's been tracking orc tribes.
Six months ago, he met a silver dragonborn named Saurien Vathtikir. The two have been traveling together doing mercenary work since then. Durk has picked up conversational Draconic from traveling with her.
Here is my Aasimar Paladin backstory:
Cecily was born into a comfortable Aasimar family, not all that rich and not all too poor. She had a lovely childhood with her siblings and overall had a ‘boring’ life. Nothing too tragic or too exciting happened, and so she lived a life that was comfortably dull.
Once she turned 16, she was brought into an arranged marriage. Okrin, was the son of another Aasimar family, and wealthier than Cecily’s was. So, in order to benefit the family, she got married to him. With an arranged marriage, both families made sure to keep an eye on the two of them, and made them move into Okrin’s family home. They could move out once they were adults of course. This wasn’t her ideal marriage, considering she always wanted to fall in love with someone, however, she did learn to love him.
Okrin though tall and big in size, was always very sweet to her. He never did anything to harm her and did his best to woo his new wife. Cecily slowly but surely began to love her husband. Though they were married, they still acted like teenagers because, well they were. They went out to see theatre shows, took walks together, and snuck out to get drinks. But they also did domestic things together as well. She would make breakfast for him, or sew any holes in his clothes. And Okrin would bring her nice firewood, would read to her, and brought her small trinkets once in a while, claiming that, “It reminded me of you,”
Once the married couple turned 18, all parties from Cecily’s family and Okrin’s family agreed, that they should still live on the Okrin’s property. That very summer, both Cecily, and Okrin went to work and started making an extension to his family home, which would soon be their own. When she turned 19, she gave birth to her first child, a son named Tiral. Over the years, she and Okrin had three children, all in which were very happy, and bright children. Okrin was just as kind to his children as he was to his wife, and was an amazing father. Cecily couldn’t ask for more. Being a mother gave her great joy, she loved her children with her whole soul.
However, when her youngest, Ondrea (who was 13 at the time) got sick, things started to get serious. Ondrea often got dizzy and threw up, getting high fevers and was tired often. After a week, Tiral became sick as well. Fearing for her middle child’s life, she sent Eliza to live with her parents for a while. Cecily and Okrin hired doctors, and healers to help, but nothing seemed to have worked. It wasn’t long before Orkin and Cecily themselves were sick as well.
Ondrea and Tiral soon died and was buried at the far end of the property. Cecily and Okrin grieved their deaths. Cecily later got better but Okrin died the following morning. Cecily curled up next to him for a while and stayed with him until his body turned cold. The village leader thought it best to burn down the house, to get rid of the sickness, and exiled Cecily, in fear she would get more people sick. She wasn’t even allowed to find her daughter Eliza.
Cecily wandered into the woods, sobbing until she stumbled upon a temple of Lathander. The priest there allowed her to come in, and let her stay. Cecily, in her grief for her husband and children, turned to religion for healing. She started reading religious scriptures text. She started praying, which never used to happen before. Cecily helped others who came to the temple and got to hold her own services as well. She became a priest when she was 39, and later trained and became a paladin at 45. Over the years she has stayed there to protect it from anyone or thing that would try to harm it. She doesn’t allow a lot of travelers to stay in the temple, however, she has a soft spot for children. And will often take in lost or hurt children.
Playing around with character creation today and I had a new brainstorm.
Ssuresh: Lizardfolk Barbarian, Criminal background
Raised in a small swamp village, Ssuresh seemed to lead a charmed life. He was blessed with exceptional strength, speed, and cunning (I got crazy good rolls). He distinguished himself as the greatest hunter and warrior in his tribe. Females practically battled each other for the privilege of being his mate. All was good in the world, until the blight came.
A sickness began to creep into the swamp. It began slowly, with squirrels and birds appearing thin, despite an abundance of food. Then, strange mushrooms began to grow, the likes of which the elders had never seen. The predators of the swamp began to grow bolder, more aggressive. The shamans determined that a dark magic was at work, but it was beyond their ability to stop. As champion of the tribe, Ssuresh was chosen to travel to the cities of the warmbloods, and to seek aid in combatting this threat.
Being unfamiliar with the customs of men, Ssuresh had great difficulty interacting with their society. The only place where he found ready acceptance was in the seedy underbelly of society, where skill and action mean more than birth or words. In time, he ingratiated himself to a prominent criminal figure who was possessed of some sorcerous talent. To settle the debt, she agreed to help him cleanse his homeland of whatever curse it was under. However, when they arrived they found the village in a shambles. Further investigation showed only bones, gnawed clean, and a single fresh body, being devoured by four of his kin, totally mindless and savage.
After dispatching with the feral beasts that he had once called brothers, he left the accursed swamp, returning to the city where he made his living as a criminal enforcer and as a smuggler, travelling wild, untamed lands in the dead of night.
Zhen
Drow Ranger (Former Pirate)
Szin’kalan Rilynval was born in Ched Nasad in 1367 to a minor family. When the Central Pillars were destroyed in 1374, he was relocated along with some of the sons of House Auvryndar to some abandoned caverns controlled by the main House. Szin’kalan lived in several locations in the underdark before he and others were captured in 1398. This captivity saw him sold into slavery for several years. He was relieved to be set free when the house that owned his collar was taken over and he was recognized by a friendly family and returned to his Rilynval family for a ransom. It was during this time that he learned to fear the female priests of Lolth and to have a deep abiding abhorrence of slavery.
He began training with weapons soon after and in a surface raid in 1468, Szin’kalan boarded his first pirate ship. The freedom under the night skies and the stars entranced him. A few years later he would join the crew of the Drow Captain, Val'eyl Auvryndar and would take up the revised name Shynt’eyl Mourndax. The night seas belonged to the Drow pirates on the black ship “Mask’s Revenge." In time, with prosperity, the fleet of ships increased and Val'eyl moved back to land and started a "business" where the pirate goods could be filtered back into the cities more easily, and also as a front for Drow activities. Staying with the bloodthirsty Captain appointed to the "Mask's Revenge", Vicas'rak, a younger relative of Val'eyl Auvryndar, Szin’kalan would do his best to be loyal, but began to see that slavery had crept into the operation.
In late 1485, the "Revenge" was set upon by authorities patrolling the Sword Coast. As they were fleeing the authorities, the fast ship seemed to be gaining ground and pulling away as the sun began to set. The night was tense, but exhilarating until they heard the flapping of wings and the fire that rained down from the sky. What horrible luck to fall into the clutches of a dragon. Szin’kalan abandoned the defense of the ship when most of the deck and timbers were burning and ran into the hold below. He freed as many of the slaves they carried from their shackles as he could before the heat grew too hot. They jumped into the ocean and tried to get away from the disaster. The ship and most of the crew were sunk in flames. Szin’kalan was lucky to have escaped in the darkness with his life, along with a couple of slaves he freed during the fight.
Washing ashore, he left the pirates life behind and taking the few coins he had on him began to work odd jobs for those that needed jobs done. He learned a lot of hard lessons in those first few months ashore, coinless and unskilled. He never thought he would be in a state where helping out half-orcs and humans with menial tasks would be necessary to bring in enough coins to cover living expenses. In time he persisted and grew to understand the ways of the working man. With careful thrift and an eye to a rung higher up the ladder he was able to save up enough to afford his leather armor and a longbow that he began to practice with. To his surprise he found that he was better than he previously expected with ranged weapons and that the speed and agility he gained on the rigging of the pirate ships served him well. He began to pick up caravan guard jobs and travel the western edges of the Sword Coast where his diligence as a night guard garnered him a reputation. Sometimes on the city streets and out in the forest he would miss the stars he saw when sailing, but his changed perspective on slavery makes him feel lighter of spirit, even at the cost of gold coins in his purse.
Working under the stars is still preferable to the preternatural stillness of the Underdark. Someday he'll find a way to gain a name for himself so that he no longer has to work for others. Meanwhile he'll do all he can to find out what can be learned about Dragons and how to defeat them so that he can conquer this fear that startles him from his meditative trance so frequently. As a guard, he simply goes by Zhen and avoids discussion of family interactions.
((Zhen is a Neutral Ranger currently working with a Half-Orc Barbarian and a Fallen Aasimar UA Alchemist... Eilistraee help us all...))