I'm starting my first D&D campaign and I thought it would be fun to write a backstory for my character. I'm not a great writer and I wanted a bit of feedback on what you guys think! (Please be harsh. I want to get better)
As a boy, Terry McDingle worked as a squire to Sir Herton in the hopes of one day becoming knighted. After one particularly long day at Castle Ory'th, Terry McDingle began the long journey back to his small river village of Whiteriver.
As he began the ascent to the top of the hill that separated him and the village, he began to see smoke in the air. He charged up the remaining climb, egged on by the faint sound of screams and war drums in the distance and as he reached the crest he saw the village that had been his home since his father had died burning to the ground.
He sprinted down the hill and barely escaped a fall into the deadly river trying to reach the home he had grown up in. He charged into the village passing his friends and neighbors who were fighting a losing battle with only the face of his dear mother in his mind. Pounding down the street passing body after body his only hope was to see his mother again which would come true but not in the way he wanted.
Praying to Helm that she would be OK, he rounded a corner and saw his mother lying on the ground with a hideous bandit standing over her body. In a rage Terry grabbed a one-handed axe from the body of a village guard, ran up behind the bandit, and slashed at the his head. As the man fell to his side, Terry knelt over his mother, tears falling slowly from his face. After a time he got up and examined the bleeding bandit.
Adorning his chest was crude plate male mail with the head of a one horned ox drawn onto it with charcoal. In his hand was a large mace that Terry had no real interest in, he turned his attention to the sack on the ground. Spilling out of it were swords and armour of the men the man had killed. Terry went through the armour looking for something that fits with no luck.
Looking at the body of his mother he knew he must give her body back to the earth. He grabbed a shovel from the back porch of a house, a small blanket to transport his mother, and made his way to the top of the hill. The hole he dug was not very deep but it exhausted him. From some nearby rocks he built a small grave for his mother and said a few words his church had taught him for such occasion. Once Terry had made peace with the fact his mother is with Helm now, he slowly made his way to his old home, tired and weak, praying for guidance.
Once home, Terry lit a candle over the ritual plate watching as the wax slowly fell and reflected on his younger days in the church. As a devout follower of helm, he frequently visited the church rarely missing a day. He gave offerings of food and coin, held ritual burnings, and spread the word of Helm to those who met who haven’t yet seen the light. “I was a stupid child” he thought watching as the first of the droplets of wax fall. He reached into his shirt pulling out the holy amulet he had earned when he became a full member of the church only two years ago. The amulet was only about the size of a gold piece but it was worth more to him than his life. On the front was the tiny depiction of a gauntlet with an eye pained in the palm, the holy symbol of Helm. He flipped the amulet over and looked upon the foreign words inscribed there.
“Shiro, hergo, poreno”
He had asked the priest about the words and he responded that he did not know what the words meant. Legend said that Helm’s chosen warriors would one day look at the amulet and see the words and know their meaning. Terry shook his head and placed the medallion on the table face up.
Terry looked at the candle and saw the flame had gone out. “How strange” he thought as there was not even a slight draft in the room. As he reached for the flint he noticed the wax on the plate had taken the shape of an ox with only one horn. He was astonished! It was the symbol on the bandit’s chest! On the right side of the ox was the crude shape of a one-handed axe and on the left side a drop of wax about the size of a gold piece. He looked closely at the circular drop and noticed an indentation in the center that almost looked like an eye. Terry quickly backed up and grabbed his amulet spinning it so he could read the words.
“Protector, Healer, Avenger”
Terry grabbed his pack and quickly filled it with anything he thought would be useful on his journey ahead. He snatched a cloak off the wall and left the house for what he believed would be the last time. He only had one goal now, uphold the values of Helm and bring justice onto the bandits that had ravaged his village.
My character has a harsh backstory. Mista comes from a family bound to protecting the sacred wood elf forest. Well she was born last and sapped to Mary one of the royal princes, being taken from her beloved home, when all she wants is to protect the forest. Long story short her fiance was killed and a shade took his place, no one knew. The shade raped her the night before the wedding and then slaughtered her whole family. She got away and fled the forest. Later while still not right in the head she gave birth to a baby alone in the woods. In our world teiflibgs are only know to be of human and demon parents. Mista, knowing the mix of fey and demon blood would be deadly, threw the baby in the river. Forever hating herself because of it.
She is now an adventurer and it was revealed her kid was alive and being controlled by the big bad. They saved him (her son's name is artemis). Now she is slowing herself to have emotions again and a friend of mine is playing, virgil, a yuan-ti paladin who regected his evil clan. They are basicly best friends who met a few years before the party formed and Virgil is starting to have feelings for mista. It's hilarious because my husband is the dm, my friend is an awkward person and the rest of the party is completely edging on the situation. My husband was actually the first one to mention this a possible roll play opportunity .
I'm starting my first D&D campaign and I thought it would be fun to write a backstory for my character. I'm not a great writer and I wanted a bit of feedback on what you guys think! (Please be harsh. I want to get better)
As a boy, Terry McDingle worked as a squire to Sir Herton in the hopes of one day becoming knighted. After one particularly long day at Castle Ory'th, Terry McDingle began the long journey back to his small river village of Whiteriver.
As he began the ascent to the top of the hill that separated him and the village, he began to see smoke in the air. He charged up the remaining climb, egged on by the faint sound of screams and war drums in the distance and as he reached the crest he saw the village that had been his home since his father had died burning to the ground.
He sprinted down the hill and barely escaped a fall into the deadly river trying to reach the home he had grown up in. He charged into the village passing his friends and neighbors who were fighting a losing battle with only the face of his dear mother in his mind. Pounding down the street passing body after body his only hope was to see his mother again which would come true but not in the way he wanted.
Praying to Helm that she would be OK, he rounded a corner and saw his mother lying on the ground with a hideous bandit standing over her body. In a rage Terry grabbed a one-handed axe from the body of a village guard, ran up behind the bandit, and slashed at the his head. As the man fell to his side, Terry knelt over his mother, tears falling slowly from his face. After a time he got up and examined the bleeding bandit.
Adorning his chest was crude plate male mail with the head of a one horned ox drawn onto it with charcoal. In his hand was a large mace that Terry had no real interest in, he turned his attention to the sack on the ground. Spilling out of it were swords and armour of the men the man had killed. Terry went through the armour looking for something that fits with no luck.
Looking at the body of his mother he knew he must give her body back to the earth. He grabbed a shovel from the back porch of a house, a small blanket to transport his mother, and made his way to the top of the hill. The hole he dug was not very deep but it exhausted him. From some nearby rocks he built a small grave for his mother and said a few words his church had taught him for such occasion. Once Terry had made peace with the fact his mother is with Helm now, he slowly made his way to his old home, tired and weak, praying for guidance.
Once home, Terry lit a candle over the ritual plate watching as the wax slowly fell and reflected on his younger days in the church. As a devout follower of helm, he frequently visited the church rarely missing a day. He gave offerings of food and coin, held ritual burnings, and spread the word of Helm to those who met who haven’t yet seen the light. “I was a stupid child” he thought watching as the first of the droplets of wax fall. He reached into his shirt pulling out the holy amulet he had earned when he became a full member of the church only two years ago. The amulet was only about the size of a gold piece but it was worth more to him than his life. On the front was the tiny depiction of a gauntlet with an eye pained in the palm, the holy symbol of Helm. He flipped the amulet over and looked upon the foreign words inscribed there.
“Shiro, hergo, poreno”
He had asked the priest about the words and he responded that he did not know what the words meant. Legend said that Helm’s chosen warriors would one day look at the amulet and see the words and know their meaning. Terry shook his head and placed the medallion on the table face up.
Terry looked at the candle and saw the flame had gone out. “How strange” he thought as there was not even a slight draft in the room. As he reached for the flint he noticed the wax on the plate had taken the shape of an ox with only one horn. He was astonished! It was the symbol on the bandit’s chest! On the right side of the ox was the crude shape of a one-handed axe and on the left side a drop of wax about the size of a gold piece. He looked closely at the circular drop and noticed an indentation in the center that almost looked like an eye. Terry quickly backed up and grabbed his amulet spinning it so he could read the words.
“Protector, Healer, Avenger”
Terry grabbed his pack and quickly filled it with anything he thought would be useful on his journey ahead. He snatched a cloak off the wall and left the house for what he believed would be the last time. He only had one goal now, uphold the values of Helm and bring justice onto the bandits that had ravaged his village.
Wow, that's a great start! Honestly, that's more than most of the players in my group have at the moment. As your game progresses, see if you can come up with some other info about Terry, like his favourite food, or smells or something like that. Maybe he has a long lost uncle who's in charge of the bandits? That would be a heck of a twist if you can work that out with your DM and somehow keep your fellow players in the dark.
Anyways, here's a few of my characters. I'll try and keep this brief, but I tend to ramblewrite.
Born as the nephew of the Duke of Mageholm should have brought Wildfire Magni a life of privilege. Unfortunately, Wildfire was born without two vital things: a twin sibling and innate magical power. Wildfire's older brothers were sorcerers and they brought him no end of trouble when they were kids. Sure, it was usually harmless like prestidigitation up his trousers or waking him up with a huge blast of air. Then there were the other pranks, like fire in his breakfast. How do you even get cereal to catch on fire after the milk goes in? Magic, that's how.
Things kept going like this until Wildfire was about eight. His brothers convinced him to join them in The Forbidden Woods (they're not really forbidden, it's just where edgy teens go to drink and summon lesser demons) where a funeral pyre was set up. Wildfire's brothers lit the wood, grabbed him and would have thrown him on top to unlock his powers, if their mum didn't land in the centre of the pyre like an avenging angel. After dousing the flames and giving the older boys an earful, she took Wildfire home and gave his dad a full rundown.
Now, Wildfire's dad, Thunder, wasn't the best dad. He loved his older sons due to their prodigious magical abilities (which he also possessed) but towards Wildfire, he put in the bare minimum of effort. As his parents argued, Wildfire ran off to his room, confused. He'd knelt in the temple of mystra until his knees were sore, he'd read every book he could get his hands on, he tried to forge pacts with fey and demons and gotten nothing but mocking laughter in return. He'd even tried asking his brothers for advice, but he just couldn't use magic. Why didn't his dad just love him despite his inability to use magic? If it wasn't for his weaponry teacher, a tiefling named Dural, Wildfire would've just given up on life and stayed in his room all the time.
As for the argument, it eventually subsided. A few weeks later, the manor erupted in excitement: Lady Mia Magni was pregnant! With twins! It wasn't an easy pregnancy, but when the girls were born, Wildfire was instantly enamored. They were so squishy and pink and...and...yeah, you get it. Thunder was glad that the 'shame' of having a single son could be swept under the rug and Wildfire's brothers even stopped picking on him for a few weeks, but it wasn't all sunshine and unicorn farts. Mia got sick. Very sick. Wildfire didn't leave her side for a moment, playing his lyre to make her feel better.
One night, Mia started to feel cough. For a moment, Wildfire hesitated. When she didn't stop coughing, he ran through the manor and out of the house shouting, 'she's sick! Mum's sick!'
When he reached the college of necromancy (which was the quickest college to reach from his home with the nicest leader) he pounded on the doors until he got help, but it was too late by the time they returned. Despite the best efforts of the assembled healers, Mia breathed her last.
A few months after the funeral, Wildfire's life started unraveling. His brothers picked on him even more, Dural was fired for allegedly stealing silverware (it ended up being a drow maid that Thunder was making eyes at during the funeral) and he was sent to a boarding school to 'sort himself out'. He was eventually expelled from for fighting and the black powder incident, which is a story in and of itself. After that, he was sent to another boarding school which he promptly escaped from...and was taken back into when he returned to brag from outside the gates.
As time passed, Wildfire grew from an angry child to a fairly well adjusted young man. He still loved and kept in contact with his baby sisters, looking forward to any time when he could see them. On the day of his sixteenth birthday, he agreed to return home for a party. After all, there's nothing better than free cake and his extended family had started to acknowledge that he was a clever chap, despite his lack of magic.
When the time came for speeches, Wildfire stood and said how happy he was to have such a great family. That's when it all went downhill. One of his grandmothers stood up (a rare event those days) and shouted that he was only kept close out of pity and shame so that nobody would question their right to rule (which was indicated by their long line of sorcery-gifted twins). When nobody in the crowd denied, it Wildfire stormed out, packed his bags and left.
Before he reached the city limits, Wildfire's sisters caught up to him and told him that a powerful spell stopped them from saying anything. When he asked them for proof, they handed him their gift-a pure white cloak edged with red triangles. He gave the girls one last hug, put the cloak on and joined up with a merchant caravan, determined to prove that he wasn't a shameful blemish on the family's line.
These days, the cloak is much thinner and worn, but Wildfire still gleefully pursues the adventurer's life, always one step ahead of his dad's hired goons who have been paid to bring him home. Will he find what he seeks? Only time will tell...
Hopefully this one isn't so long!
Tobias Abbey was found on the steps of a monastery dedicated to Chauntea in his mother's lifeless arms. Most of the monks wanted to ship him off with the next merchant train that came through, but Father Joiakhim (later to raise to the rank of Elder) said that each seedling should have the chance to grow in Chauntea's garden, so the boy was released from his mother's arms and raised as best as the monks could manage.
As he grew, Tobias became energetic and fidgety. His looks garnered a lot of cruel taunts from the kids of the nearby village, which lead to a lot of fights...which he lost. Before they completely burned through their supply of healing herbs, Joiakhim hired the services of a semi-retired adventurer named Harmon to teach Tobias how to channel his anger into disciplined strikes. Despite their constant arguments and more than occasional threats of quitting, the half-orc became quite skilled and learned to find joy as much in fighting as he did at harvest time.
As the years passed, Tobias found himself occasionally wandering the woods in search of healing herbs. On one particular day, he saw a traveler being attacked by three bandits. He set his basket of herbs down, drew his greatsword and charged at the bandits with phrases from the Chauntean Prayer Book flowing from his mouth. Rather than face the zealous warrior in proper combat, the bandits fled.
With the immediate threat taken care of, Tobias knelt by the man, who was bleeding profusely. With the herbs too wild and unprepared, Tobias tried to stem the flow of blood with the cleanest part of his tunic and fervent prayer. Some part of his words or his compassion for this man he'd never met reached Chauntea's ears. Her heart warmed, she bestowed upon the young man enough power to keep the traveler from dying. Leaving his herbs behind, Tobias took the man home and recounted his story.
When the traveler was well enough to speak, he said that he used to work for a bandit named Marshall the Black. 'You know,' he said, 'you look a bit like him. He did have a taste for the exotic before he lost his missus. Don't know if he's still in the business these days,' the traveler said before slipping back to sleep.
With a new purpose, Tobias the paladin bid Elder Joiakhim goodbye and set out to find the man who might be his father. It shouldn't take too long. After all, how many humans could there be?
I'll have to stop here for tonight, but I have many, many more if anyone's interested.
Hey, Shade11 here! I'm not certain if I am allowed to add links or not (the guidelines mentioned referral links, but not google docs), but I... really suck at making summaries or short stories. I am an aspiring writer, but I have a habit of writing something a bit lengthy. This is my first introduction to DND and I went overboard when making my first character's background. Been looking around and I have found that I really enjoy reading these bios. I look forward to learning more about how things work in this community; ah you aren't interested in my backstory though. Here's the overdone first background I made: https://drive.google.com/open?id=18pDiBJ5FMWkOdI0GH1cW0wtkj4HFcliD
If you can, please leave me any tips on how to be a better writer, role-player, character builder ANYTHING. Honest criticism helps me more than telling me that it's ok or leaving a like/dislike. I beg you to be thorough in your criticism. Sorry that I'm not much of an artist and there's no illustration to be accustomed to. Oh yeah, here's the shortened version that I was encouraged to make:
Once a thief named Shriel Vale, Dae'Faen is a woman who has traversed many lands in search of a way to be rid of her companion. A fiend named Shaelar Quaan who seeks to one day take control of her. For now, Dae'Faen has embraced her new abilities as a Warlock. While she hasn't ceased searching for a way to abolish Shaelar, she has taken on a new quest to keep her going. To continue to resist Shaelar's attempt to control her she needs to find a reason to believe in the world. A world that shuns and demonizes Tieflings en mass. A world that she might want Shaelar to destroy. At the age of 37, she feels time is running out and that if she doesn't find that answer, then Dae'Faen will be no more.
Addition: Reading through the various stories, I realize that I am woefully ignorant of the adventures in DND Beyond. The tales told are fascinating though. I hope to learn more in time.
Just finished reading your story, it's pretty interesting! The best part of D&D is that there's not really any wrong answers. Sure, most warlock patrons (particularly fiends) tend to have the upper hand during a bargain, but the tug of war that yours has with Dae'Faen is intriguing. I wonder how your DM will use that in game?
A few things you might want to consider: if the world is so against Dae'Faen, why does she resist her patron's temptation? Is there someone else who survived that knows the truth of the incident? If so, are they working with her to clear her name, or are they trying to bury the truth in a mad act of revenge? What's her favourite food?
Okay, that last one's not as important, but little tidbits like that can help breathe life into your character. If you've got the time, see if your local library has any D&D novels. They've got their faults, but there's some tasty lore in there.
Ah, thanks for that! I'll see if I can make improvements then. The last bit was heavy in Info-Dump territory, though idk how to show any details without making more chapters and yeah.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
The Pen or the Sword... Let Us See Which is the Sharper of the Two!
It's tough when you've got a big backstory in you, I know. An exercise that might help is limiting it to a short synopsis (I fail at this so much) with the absolute essential details. You can have a longer version for sure, but a short version is easier to share with your DM or other players that know your character well enough and from there they can ask more specific questions.
It's tough when you've got a big backstory in you, I know. An exercise that might help is limiting it to a short synopsis (I fail at this so much) with the absolute essential details. You can have a longer version for sure, but a short version is easier to share with your DM or other players that know your character well enough and from there they can ask more specific questions.
Yes! What he said! Shorten it in to pivotal moments or keywords. OR just start typing without any thought, even if it doesn't make sense just make words and it's a great way to brainstorm.
Been trying to make a shorter detailed tale for review, but I've started going heavy on wording again. This may take a while I think. For now this is what I did with your criticism, I hope I delivered on some points of character dev, though this is very much just another draft I feel: https://drive.google.com/open?id=1cfr16W6qUbR0ZlzcFd--Xw-vlHH_1lmm
Hmm. I actively try to avoid dumping a bunch of info all at once. Reading exposition isn't terribly interesting for me personally, though I'll have to do that won't I? I don't really know how this works too well, is there something you can point me to specifically that shows a good balance?
Been trying to make a shorter detailed tale for review, but I've started going heavy on wording again. This may take a while I think. For now this is what I did with your criticism, I hope I delivered on some points of character dev, though this is very much just another draft I feel: https://drive.google.com/open?id=1cfr16W6qUbR0ZlzcFd--Xw-vlHH_1lmm
Aside from a few grammatical errors here and there, that was a good read!
As for what GalacticSamurai said, I think they meant that you should focus on the most important moments in your warlock's life. For example, her childhood that led her to being a thief and how she felt initially about stealing to get by is a good start. From there, you can talk about the tipping point that changed her from thief to warlock (and the detail you have about her meeting her patron is on point for that). After that, you can talk about other people she knows, or her general personality, etc. Have a read of some of the other backstories and see what you like best. That'll be the easiest to incorporate into your own backstory.
That said, there's no real right or wrong way to go about this, feel free to take my advice with a grain of salt, or not at all.
Being one of the oldest families in Kymal, the VonTrappes once possessed one of the three most bountiful mines in what was once the most active and lucrative gold mining towns in Tal’dorei. However, once the mines dried up the family proper moved to Westruun where a tradition was started in the family that each child, grandchild, and so forth would be granted enough of the families fortune to attend a school of their choice, and no more. This promoted a self-reliance that has lasted a century. However, the fortune was not finite and the final sum of the once great VonTrappe fortune was given. The recipient of this final grant was Gregor VonTrappe Esquire, who used his money to attend Westhall Academy to become a lawyer and seek out his own fortune by protecting innocence and delivering justice to the wicked.
It was during his year as an exchange student in Wildemount that the Chromatic Conclave wreaked havoc on Emon and the surrounding areas including his home of Westruun. It was only upon returning that he discovered just how close to home the destruction had come. During the occupations of the Herd of Storms and Umbrasyl, his family estate had been ransacked and his mother and younger sister had been chosen as tribute to the dragon. His two older brothers and his father were nowhere to be found and had been assumed dead. As he picked up the pieces of his life, order had been restored, and he finished his schooling at the Academy, alone. After graduating, Gregor was preparing to pack or sell what was left of his families belongings to start a new life in Emon, when he came across a letter.
The letter was addressed to “The True Heir of the VonTrappe Gold Mines”. It had been stuffed away in a secret place that he knew his father hid important documents. The contents of the letter suggested that part of the families fortune was paid to a single family whose purpose was to continue to scout the mines and that after 200 years there was a new vein discovered. Moved by the realization that this could explain the disappearance of his remaining kin, Gregor sold the rest of his possessions and made his way to his ancestral home of Kymal.
Kymal was no longer the mining town that his great grandfather had told him about. As he reached the town, Gregor was witness to the spectacle of what is now the gambling capitol of the continent and all the wonder and debauchery that goes with it. It took a week for him to find anyone that had heard of his family name and another week to find someone who remembered seeing his father and brothers arrive 2 years prior. He sought out the family whose name was in the letter but none knew who he was talking about “there is no one here by that name” was all the information he got from the cities record keepers.
Alone, and frustrated Gregor took to the city like a moth to the flame and soon he realized that what money he had obtained from his families possessions was almost gone. He decided to get back to his roots to re-orient himself onto his original path and found the location of his families mine. After 2 days of wandering the mine he came across a chamber, he was drawn to it not for any other reason than the smell. The smell of death. As he entered he steeled himself but was not ready for the sight of at least 18 bodies, or what was left of them. After taking a moment he regained his composure and proceeded to investigate. There wasn’t much left but after what seemed like an eternity he came across a familiar coat, the collar of which was embroidered E.V.T., the sight of which brought Gregor to his knees as he had worn that coat as a child when his father had found him almost frozen in a winter storm after playing too late and losing his way. Nearby he recognized the clothing and belongings of his two elder brothers, though it was a wonder that he identified them as they were cut to ribbons. And that’s when he heard it.
Was it a growl? A snarl? Breathless and finally accustomed to the gloom he once again checked his surroundings. Initially unnoticed, in the corner of the room, what was mistaken as a pile of tossed aside hides or clothing lay a creature. This mass of fur lay still and only moved when it inhaled, as it was fast asleep. Gregor was no stranger to the blade as his upbringing included training under some of the greatest Shields in Westruun, but never had he a need for it.
Looking back, Gregor isn’t quite sure why he did it. Was it fear? Vengeance? Curiosity? Whatever the reason, whatever drove him, Gregor left that cave, leaving nothing but a heap of steaming entrails, flesh, fur, and bone, unidentifiable to the mortal eye. As he breathed his first lungful of fresh air in days, Gregor stood under the moonlight, drank it in, and covered in blood from head to toe, vowed that he would not stand by as the creatures of darkness ravaged the land. He realized that his path lie to the north, somewhere near Whitestone, all thoughts of reasons as to why his family had received that letter had vanished.
In his studies he had found whispers of a sect that drew upon the blood of its enemies while corrupting their own in order to vanquish them. So North he went and wandered the Parchwood Timberlands searching for an answer. But the answer found him.
As he had done so many nights before, Gregor knelt by his meager fire, and saw nothing but the bones and the blood, and then everything went black. He found himself bound and surrounded by at least a dozen men and women, though something seemed off about them. It was the eyes. That night he was offered the opportunity to accomplish his mission, to join the ranks of the Blood Hunters and fell the creatures of darkness and purify the land of evil.
Long story short, our characters were trapped in Ravenloft, facing Strahd von Zarovich the next morning, and most likely certain death.
I had my character compose this poem about his life, in case they didn't make it out...
Drápa for Ragnar
I am but a feeble smith of Milil’s mind Tasked to prepare and recount thice named Maltan, Ragnar, Zohar - Dawnbringer and Worthy possessor of shame
Earthmother granted smiles for years To the faces of Arinbjorn and Theda Trapper and kindly mother When Maltan first emerged.
The rumblings of Maegera in the nearby hills Sent shards of rock And molten earth Eventree’s fled to nearby Neverwinter Which cooled all hope for the future
Hard work on the docks Built tissue to rival Tempus Proven soon in the Company of the Blue
Years spent testing of the shield’s storm Earning arm-embers to repay upbringing Hopes that threads of fate would weave Family back one day to Thundertree
Travel up and down the high road Brought Maltan to the Dale of ice Fury and ire to rival the storm-lord Brought wrath and ruin to the brewer confessor
Impressed with a show of might the Ghost Trees Bestowed the nickname “Warrior from the Gods” A shameful moniker that could Never be lived down
Crows circled over Dwarf made goods Delivered to the Silver city of elves Murdered to a man Azure quenched the earth that day But Ragnar lived on
Arnuld was met, great scholar of the Oak-Father Ragnar studied there and danced with the Dryads A vow was made to honor the ruler of the forest And return to the hall of the sun’s stronghold
To the city of splendors Ragnar befriended Filiare at the Dripping Dagger Their friendship knew no bounds Hard work was done Rewarded with a golden crown
In the year of the Grinning Halfling she came A beauty that defies description Svelte, Lithe, Poised, Competent A strider beyond compare
First they were companions Under her leadership - knights of the Unicorn The weavers spun time quickly Blessed two lines entwined Milekki & Silvanus at the base of the Unicorn Run
But pleasure was fleeting Dark scorpions came in the Calim desert Unicorn blood was spilt by starlight, the horn severed Myrkul’s embrace took hold of Darnys Darkness and stars left Ragnar alone
Awake and cold on the Trade way Dark depression grew like fog Many months to journey to the Grandfather tree And the warm embrace of wisdom from Forestmaster
Years spent learning the teachings of The surge-encircled bottom of the storm-vessel; Light surged where darkness bloomed Vows and oaths made to serve the light
Ready to return and face the Dragon That held sway over Thundertree Ragnar joined a troupe to assist Dwarven brothers recover ancestral mine
The brave companions Jortran of the Wood, Eamon of the Storms Malfred dark Eldritch master of secrets Strong Tristan whom iron cannot bite Tecton whose twang of arrows in flight
Phandalins grip we wrested from Red Brands Returned to Dwarven Brothers Mines of the deep secured A lesson when to Thundertree we returned Not all that is, is only what we see
Home to Neverwinter we traveled next But a deep mist swallowed us And took us far from the Sword coast
To Barovia, a cursed land We arrived and fought for our lives The Count, the Devil, the hater of Love and life and light
Von Zarovich planned his wedding day To a bride against her wishes Murder and death lay in wait To any who objected
The Morninglord lay dormant Forced away by centuries of oppression The people needed a guiding beacon A beaming light to guide them in the darkness
Companions made a pact, a vow To return home any way how And this the promise was made The path of Silverleaf Syndicate laid
On the cliffs of the Tsolenka Pass Sangzor knocked sense into Ragnar He was blessed with visions and Portends of the future
Saintly deeds of Lathander’s chosen Visions of the clouds parting And sunlight on the faces of laughing children
Reborn in the Morninglord’s arms Birthed anew Zohar arose Swearing dedication to the light A dawnbringer forged to shine bright
Strahd von Zarovich made promises of reform Empty truths and pacts of dark magic To take a vow and seal away His most loathsome self
Staunch friends and companions Brought together by fate Will soon face their greatest Threat of late
The Silverleaf Syndicate attendants Of this abomination wedding And cleanse the land of This Festering growth for good.
This is an idea I am tossing around for a character that is going to be getting a faction resurrection and I would like change her race and have an in game explanation for it, as I've already been playing with the exact same group of AL folks for two weeks and would like her to have a fun hook.
After losing her life in a haunted mansion, Jessamine Hawksong was taken to her faction's holding nearby to be returned to life. What happened next was the work of a derelict Priest of Tiamat who had infiltrated the faction holdings as a Priest of Bahamut. The only thing that saved Jess from being reincarnated into a Black Dragonborn was the reincarnation ritual's incorrect execution as the Priest was interrupted by an actual High Priestess of Bahamut. She deftly subdued the rogue priest, but was unable to stop the transformation. Days of prayers to Bahamut ensued, though returning Jess to her high elven form was deemed a blessing that would need to be earned through a half century of deeds in the ancient platinum dragon's name. Her now sad eyes still hold their deep violet hue..the only remnant of her elven roots.
I am Vosnin Emberlight, a mountain dwarf fighter. I was part of my clans security, the Iron Watch, at the mines. I was the head of “dark operations.” Dark operations included interigation and apprehension of criminals on and off site. Many criminals have been caught and dealt with under my watch, many personally by myself. I began my work for the protection of the clan and my perpetuance for violence, but I’ve learned money is far more important to me. I am here for myself and to fill my pockets with gold, no matter whose blood I spill.
A long dark red beard hangs from my chin and my head is shaved. A large scar runs along the right side of my head. My heavy bronze chain mail armor clanks against my weapons as I enter. Dark brown leather covers the rest of my body. Although my clothing is worn, my boots have been well taken care of. A battle axe and shield are strapped to my back. A small cross bow dangles from my waist. Numerous small blue and gold ribbons are interlaced to the links on my chain mail across the right chest.
Once the reigning god of wisdom and knowledge, Seljar the all-knowing, has been put into a deep slumber by rival gods and a far too powerful evil adventurer. However, thanks to a backup plan in case of emergency, Seljar's consciousness was transferred to a mortal body. Now, humiliated by his defeat, Seljar seeks vengeance on both the mortals and the gods who wronged him. While still extremely intelligent and wise, his mind is limited by the constraints of his new human form. Regardless, he ventures on as a cleric of himself, drawing upon power from his dormant but still divine form.
I’m no stranger to making characters, and I’ve made plenty of backstories. However, I found feedback from my friends to be...insufficient.
This character in particular is an evil one, set in a campaign where all the characters are evil. Me and a friend of mine connected our characters through a daughter/mother relationship. I have more backstories I would like to share in the future but let me know what you all think of this one.
I am Vosnin Emberlight, a mountain dwarf fighter. I was part of my clans security, the Iron Watch, at the mines. I was the head of “dark operations.” Dark operations included interigation and apprehension of criminals on and off site. Many criminals have been caught and dealt with under my watch, many personally by myself. I began my work for the protection of the clan and my perpetuance for violence, but I’ve learned money is far more important to me. I am here for myself and to fill my pockets with gold, no matter whose blood I spill.
A long dark red beard hangs from my chin and my head is shaved. A large scar runs along the right side of my head. My heavy bronze chain mail armor clanks against my weapons as I enter. Dark brown leather covers the rest of my body. Although my clothing is worn, my boots have been well taken care of. A battle axe and shield are strapped to my back. A small cross bow dangles from my waist. Numerous small blue and gold ribbons are interlaced to the links on my chain mail across the right chest.
I enjoy it. It’s a bit too simplistic for my exact taste, but that’s opinion. The first person perspective is something I don’t see often, and I liked how you did it. I also like how you included character appearance, which now that I think about, is probably important. As appearance also says a lot about the character itself.
Is this “Vosnin Emberlight” Neutral Evil? He sure seems like it.
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"There is no such thing as good or evil. There is only power and ambition. The end is everything." -Cao Cao
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I'm starting my first D&D campaign and I thought it would be fun to write a backstory for my character. I'm not a great writer and I wanted a bit of feedback on what you guys think! (Please be harsh. I want to get better)
As a boy, Terry McDingle worked as a squire to Sir Herton in the hopes of one day becoming knighted. After one particularly long day at Castle Ory'th, Terry McDingle began the long journey back to his small river village of Whiteriver.
As he began the ascent to the top of the hill that separated him and the village, he began to see smoke in the air. He charged up the remaining climb, egged on by the faint sound of screams and war drums in the distance and as he reached the crest he saw the village that had been his home since his father had died burning to the ground.
He sprinted down the hill and barely escaped a fall into the deadly river trying to reach the home he had grown up in. He charged into the village passing his friends and neighbors who were fighting a losing battle with only the face of his dear mother in his mind. Pounding down the street passing body after body his only hope was to see his mother again which would come true but not in the way he wanted.
Praying to Helm that she would be OK, he rounded a corner and saw his mother lying on the ground with a hideous bandit standing over her body. In a rage Terry grabbed a one-handed axe from the body of a village guard, ran up behind the bandit, and slashed at the his head. As the man fell to his side, Terry knelt over his mother, tears falling slowly from his face. After a time he got up and examined the bleeding bandit.
Adorning his chest was crude plate male mail with the head of a one horned ox drawn onto it with charcoal. In his hand was a large mace that Terry had no real interest in, he turned his attention to the sack on the ground. Spilling out of it were swords and armour of the men the man had killed. Terry went through the armour looking for something that fits with no luck.
Looking at the body of his mother he knew he must give her body back to the earth. He grabbed a shovel from the back porch of a house, a small blanket to transport his mother, and made his way to the top of the hill. The hole he dug was not very deep but it exhausted him. From some nearby rocks he built a small grave for his mother and said a few words his church had taught him for such occasion. Once Terry had made peace with the fact his mother is with Helm now, he slowly made his way to his old home, tired and weak, praying for guidance.
Once home, Terry lit a candle over the ritual plate watching as the wax slowly fell and reflected on his younger days in the church. As a devout follower of helm, he frequently visited the church rarely missing a day. He gave offerings of food and coin, held ritual burnings, and spread the word of Helm to those who met who haven’t yet seen the light. “I was a stupid child” he thought watching as the first of the droplets of wax fall. He reached into his shirt pulling out the holy amulet he had earned when he became a full member of the church only two years ago. The amulet was only about the size of a gold piece but it was worth more to him than his life. On the front was the tiny depiction of a gauntlet with an eye pained in the palm, the holy symbol of Helm. He flipped the amulet over and looked upon the foreign words inscribed there.
“Shiro, hergo, poreno”
He had asked the priest about the words and he responded that he did not know what the words meant. Legend said that Helm’s chosen warriors would one day look at the amulet and see the words and know their meaning. Terry shook his head and placed the medallion on the table face up.
Terry looked at the candle and saw the flame had gone out. “How strange” he thought as there was not even a slight draft in the room. As he reached for the flint he noticed the wax on the plate had taken the shape of an ox with only one horn. He was astonished! It was the symbol on the bandit’s chest! On the right side of the ox was the crude shape of a one-handed axe and on the left side a drop of wax about the size of a gold piece. He looked closely at the circular drop and noticed an indentation in the center that almost looked like an eye. Terry quickly backed up and grabbed his amulet spinning it so he could read the words.
“Protector, Healer, Avenger”
Terry grabbed his pack and quickly filled it with anything he thought would be useful on his journey ahead. He snatched a cloak off the wall and left the house for what he believed would be the last time. He only had one goal now, uphold the values of Helm and bring justice onto the bandits that had ravaged his village.
My character has a harsh backstory. Mista comes from a family bound to protecting the sacred wood elf forest. Well she was born last and sapped to Mary one of the royal princes, being taken from her beloved home, when all she wants is to protect the forest. Long story short her fiance was killed and a shade took his place, no one knew. The shade raped her the night before the wedding and then slaughtered her whole family. She got away and fled the forest. Later while still not right in the head she gave birth to a baby alone in the woods. In our world teiflibgs are only know to be of human and demon parents. Mista, knowing the mix of fey and demon blood would be deadly, threw the baby in the river. Forever hating herself because of it.
She is now an adventurer and it was revealed her kid was alive and being controlled by the big bad. They saved him (her son's name is artemis). Now she is slowing herself to have emotions again and a friend of mine is playing, virgil, a yuan-ti paladin who regected his evil clan. They are basicly best friends who met a few years before the party formed and Virgil is starting to have feelings for mista. It's hilarious because my husband is the dm, my friend is an awkward person and the rest of the party is completely edging on the situation. My husband was actually the first one to mention this a possible roll play opportunity .
Anyways, here's a few of my characters. I'll try and keep this brief, but I tend to ramblewrite.
Born as the nephew of the Duke of Mageholm should have brought Wildfire Magni a life of privilege. Unfortunately, Wildfire was born without two vital things: a twin sibling and innate magical power. Wildfire's older brothers were sorcerers and they brought him no end of trouble when they were kids. Sure, it was usually harmless like prestidigitation up his trousers or waking him up with a huge blast of air. Then there were the other pranks, like fire in his breakfast. How do you even get cereal to catch on fire after the milk goes in? Magic, that's how.
Things kept going like this until Wildfire was about eight. His brothers convinced him to join them in The Forbidden Woods (they're not really forbidden, it's just where edgy teens go to drink and summon lesser demons) where a funeral pyre was set up. Wildfire's brothers lit the wood, grabbed him and would have thrown him on top to unlock his powers, if their mum didn't land in the centre of the pyre like an avenging angel. After dousing the flames and giving the older boys an earful, she took Wildfire home and gave his dad a full rundown.
Now, Wildfire's dad, Thunder, wasn't the best dad. He loved his older sons due to their prodigious magical abilities (which he also possessed) but towards Wildfire, he put in the bare minimum of effort. As his parents argued, Wildfire ran off to his room, confused. He'd knelt in the temple of mystra until his knees were sore, he'd read every book he could get his hands on, he tried to forge pacts with fey and demons and gotten nothing but mocking laughter in return. He'd even tried asking his brothers for advice, but he just couldn't use magic. Why didn't his dad just love him despite his inability to use magic? If it wasn't for his weaponry teacher, a tiefling named Dural, Wildfire would've just given up on life and stayed in his room all the time.
As for the argument, it eventually subsided. A few weeks later, the manor erupted in excitement: Lady Mia Magni was pregnant! With twins! It wasn't an easy pregnancy, but when the girls were born, Wildfire was instantly enamored. They were so squishy and pink and...and...yeah, you get it. Thunder was glad that the 'shame' of having a single son could be swept under the rug and Wildfire's brothers even stopped picking on him for a few weeks, but it wasn't all sunshine and unicorn farts. Mia got sick. Very sick. Wildfire didn't leave her side for a moment, playing his lyre to make her feel better.
One night, Mia started to feel cough. For a moment, Wildfire hesitated. When she didn't stop coughing, he ran through the manor and out of the house shouting, 'she's sick! Mum's sick!'
When he reached the college of necromancy (which was the quickest college to reach from his home with the nicest leader) he pounded on the doors until he got help, but it was too late by the time they returned. Despite the best efforts of the assembled healers, Mia breathed her last.
A few months after the funeral, Wildfire's life started unraveling. His brothers picked on him even more, Dural was fired for allegedly stealing silverware (it ended up being a drow maid that Thunder was making eyes at during the funeral) and he was sent to a boarding school to 'sort himself out'. He was eventually expelled from for fighting and the black powder incident, which is a story in and of itself. After that, he was sent to another boarding school which he promptly escaped from...and was taken back into when he returned to brag from outside the gates.
As time passed, Wildfire grew from an angry child to a fairly well adjusted young man. He still loved and kept in contact with his baby sisters, looking forward to any time when he could see them. On the day of his sixteenth birthday, he agreed to return home for a party. After all, there's nothing better than free cake and his extended family had started to acknowledge that he was a clever chap, despite his lack of magic.
When the time came for speeches, Wildfire stood and said how happy he was to have such a great family. That's when it all went downhill. One of his grandmothers stood up (a rare event those days) and shouted that he was only kept close out of pity and shame so that nobody would question their right to rule (which was indicated by their long line of sorcery-gifted twins). When nobody in the crowd denied, it Wildfire stormed out, packed his bags and left.
Before he reached the city limits, Wildfire's sisters caught up to him and told him that a powerful spell stopped them from saying anything. When he asked them for proof, they handed him their gift-a pure white cloak edged with red triangles. He gave the girls one last hug, put the cloak on and joined up with a merchant caravan, determined to prove that he wasn't a shameful blemish on the family's line.
These days, the cloak is much thinner and worn, but Wildfire still gleefully pursues the adventurer's life, always one step ahead of his dad's hired goons who have been paid to bring him home. Will he find what he seeks? Only time will tell...
Hopefully this one isn't so long!
Tobias Abbey was found on the steps of a monastery dedicated to Chauntea in his mother's lifeless arms. Most of the monks wanted to ship him off with the next merchant train that came through, but Father Joiakhim (later to raise to the rank of Elder) said that each seedling should have the chance to grow in Chauntea's garden, so the boy was released from his mother's arms and raised as best as the monks could manage.
As he grew, Tobias became energetic and fidgety. His looks garnered a lot of cruel taunts from the kids of the nearby village, which lead to a lot of fights...which he lost. Before they completely burned through their supply of healing herbs, Joiakhim hired the services of a semi-retired adventurer named Harmon to teach Tobias how to channel his anger into disciplined strikes. Despite their constant arguments and more than occasional threats of quitting, the half-orc became quite skilled and learned to find joy as much in fighting as he did at harvest time.
As the years passed, Tobias found himself occasionally wandering the woods in search of healing herbs. On one particular day, he saw a traveler being attacked by three bandits. He set his basket of herbs down, drew his greatsword and charged at the bandits with phrases from the Chauntean Prayer Book flowing from his mouth. Rather than face the zealous warrior in proper combat, the bandits fled.
With the immediate threat taken care of, Tobias knelt by the man, who was bleeding profusely. With the herbs too wild and unprepared, Tobias tried to stem the flow of blood with the cleanest part of his tunic and fervent prayer. Some part of his words or his compassion for this man he'd never met reached Chauntea's ears. Her heart warmed, she bestowed upon the young man enough power to keep the traveler from dying. Leaving his herbs behind, Tobias took the man home and recounted his story.
When the traveler was well enough to speak, he said that he used to work for a bandit named Marshall the Black. 'You know,' he said, 'you look a bit like him. He did have a taste for the exotic before he lost his missus. Don't know if he's still in the business these days,' the traveler said before slipping back to sleep.
With a new purpose, Tobias the paladin bid Elder Joiakhim goodbye and set out to find the man who might be his father. It shouldn't take too long. After all, how many humans could there be?
I'll have to stop here for tonight, but I have many, many more if anyone's interested.
Hey, Shade11 here! I'm not certain if I am allowed to add links or not (the guidelines mentioned referral links, but not google docs), but I... really suck at making summaries or short stories. I am an aspiring writer, but I have a habit of writing something a bit lengthy. This is my first introduction to DND and I went overboard when making my first character's background. Been looking around and I have found that I really enjoy reading these bios. I look forward to learning more about how things work in this community; ah you aren't interested in my backstory though. Here's the overdone first background I made: https://drive.google.com/open?id=18pDiBJ5FMWkOdI0GH1cW0wtkj4HFcliD
If you can, please leave me any tips on how to be a better writer, role-player, character builder ANYTHING. Honest criticism helps me more than telling me that it's ok or leaving a like/dislike. I beg you to be thorough in your criticism. Sorry that I'm not much of an artist and there's no illustration to be accustomed to. Oh yeah, here's the shortened version that I was encouraged to make:
Once a thief named Shriel Vale, Dae'Faen is a woman who has traversed many lands in search of a way to be rid of her companion. A fiend named Shaelar Quaan who seeks to one day take control of her. For now, Dae'Faen has embraced her new abilities as a Warlock. While she hasn't ceased searching for a way to abolish Shaelar, she has taken on a new quest to keep her going. To continue to resist Shaelar's attempt to control her she needs to find a reason to believe in the world. A world that shuns and demonizes Tieflings en mass. A world that she might want Shaelar to destroy. At the age of 37, she feels time is running out and that if she doesn't find that answer, then Dae'Faen will be no more.
Addition: Reading through the various stories, I realize that I am woefully ignorant of the adventures in DND Beyond. The tales told are fascinating though. I hope to learn more in time.
The Pen or the Sword... Let Us See Which is the Sharper of the Two!
Just finished reading your story, it's pretty interesting! The best part of D&D is that there's not really any wrong answers. Sure, most warlock patrons (particularly fiends) tend to have the upper hand during a bargain, but the tug of war that yours has with Dae'Faen is intriguing. I wonder how your DM will use that in game?
A few things you might want to consider: if the world is so against Dae'Faen, why does she resist her patron's temptation? Is there someone else who survived that knows the truth of the incident? If so, are they working with her to clear her name, or are they trying to bury the truth in a mad act of revenge? What's her favourite food?
Okay, that last one's not as important, but little tidbits like that can help breathe life into your character. If you've got the time, see if your local library has any D&D novels. They've got their faults, but there's some tasty lore in there.
Ah, thanks for that! I'll see if I can make improvements then. The last bit was heavy in Info-Dump territory, though idk how to show any details without making more chapters and yeah.
The Pen or the Sword... Let Us See Which is the Sharper of the Two!
It's tough when you've got a big backstory in you, I know. An exercise that might help is limiting it to a short synopsis (I fail at this so much) with the absolute essential details. You can have a longer version for sure, but a short version is easier to share with your DM or other players that know your character well enough and from there they can ask more specific questions.
Yes! What he said! Shorten it in to pivotal moments or keywords. OR just start typing without any thought, even if it doesn't make sense just make words and it's a great way to brainstorm.
3D Artist - www.charliepharis.com
Been trying to make a shorter detailed tale for review, but I've started going heavy on wording again. This may take a while I think. For now this is what I did with your criticism, I hope I delivered on some points of character dev, though this is very much just another draft I feel: https://drive.google.com/open?id=1cfr16W6qUbR0ZlzcFd--Xw-vlHH_1lmm
The Pen or the Sword... Let Us See Which is the Sharper of the Two!
Hmm. I actively try to avoid dumping a bunch of info all at once. Reading exposition isn't terribly interesting for me personally, though I'll have to do that won't I? I don't really know how this works too well, is there something you can point me to specifically that shows a good balance?
The Pen or the Sword... Let Us See Which is the Sharper of the Two!
As for what GalacticSamurai said, I think they meant that you should focus on the most important moments in your warlock's life. For example, her childhood that led her to being a thief and how she felt initially about stealing to get by is a good start. From there, you can talk about the tipping point that changed her from thief to warlock (and the detail you have about her meeting her patron is on point for that). After that, you can talk about other people she knows, or her general personality, etc. Have a read of some of the other backstories and see what you like best. That'll be the easiest to incorporate into your own backstory.
playing a Blood Hunter in the Tal Dorei setting
Being one of the oldest families in Kymal, the VonTrappes once possessed one of the three most bountiful mines in what was once the most active and lucrative gold mining towns in Tal’dorei. However, once the mines dried up the family proper moved to Westruun where a tradition was started in the family that each child, grandchild, and so forth would be granted enough of the families fortune to attend a school of their choice, and no more. This promoted a self-reliance that has lasted a century. However, the fortune was not finite and the final sum of the once great VonTrappe fortune was given. The recipient of this final grant was Gregor VonTrappe Esquire, who used his money to attend Westhall Academy to become a lawyer and seek out his own fortune by protecting innocence and delivering justice to the wicked.
It was during his year as an exchange student in Wildemount that the Chromatic Conclave wreaked havoc on Emon and the surrounding areas including his home of Westruun. It was only upon returning that he discovered just how close to home the destruction had come. During the occupations of the Herd of Storms and Umbrasyl, his family estate had been ransacked and his mother and younger sister had been chosen as tribute to the dragon. His two older brothers and his father were nowhere to be found and had been assumed dead. As he picked up the pieces of his life, order had been restored, and he finished his schooling at the Academy, alone. After graduating, Gregor was preparing to pack or sell what was left of his families belongings to start a new life in Emon, when he came across a letter.
The letter was addressed to “The True Heir of the VonTrappe Gold Mines”. It had been stuffed away in a secret place that he knew his father hid important documents. The contents of the letter suggested that part of the families fortune was paid to a single family whose purpose was to continue to scout the mines and that after 200 years there was a new vein discovered. Moved by the realization that this could explain the disappearance of his remaining kin, Gregor sold the rest of his possessions and made his way to his ancestral home of Kymal.
Kymal was no longer the mining town that his great grandfather had told him about. As he reached the town, Gregor was witness to the spectacle of what is now the gambling capitol of the continent and all the wonder and debauchery that goes with it. It took a week for him to find anyone that had heard of his family name and another week to find someone who remembered seeing his father and brothers arrive 2 years prior. He sought out the family whose name was in the letter but none knew who he was talking about “there is no one here by that name” was all the information he got from the cities record keepers.
Alone, and frustrated Gregor took to the city like a moth to the flame and soon he realized that what money he had obtained from his families possessions was almost gone. He decided to get back to his roots to re-orient himself onto his original path and found the location of his families mine. After 2 days of wandering the mine he came across a chamber, he was drawn to it not for any other reason than the smell. The smell of death. As he entered he steeled himself but was not ready for the sight of at least 18 bodies, or what was left of them. After taking a moment he regained his composure and proceeded to investigate. There wasn’t much left but after what seemed like an eternity he came across a familiar coat, the collar of which was embroidered E.V.T., the sight of which brought Gregor to his knees as he had worn that coat as a child when his father had found him almost frozen in a winter storm after playing too late and losing his way. Nearby he recognized the clothing and belongings of his two elder brothers, though it was a wonder that he identified them as they were cut to ribbons. And that’s when he heard it.
Was it a growl? A snarl? Breathless and finally accustomed to the gloom he once again checked his surroundings. Initially unnoticed, in the corner of the room, what was mistaken as a pile of tossed aside hides or clothing lay a creature. This mass of fur lay still and only moved when it inhaled, as it was fast asleep. Gregor was no stranger to the blade as his upbringing included training under some of the greatest Shields in Westruun, but never had he a need for it.
Looking back, Gregor isn’t quite sure why he did it. Was it fear? Vengeance? Curiosity? Whatever the reason, whatever drove him, Gregor left that cave, leaving nothing but a heap of steaming entrails, flesh, fur, and bone, unidentifiable to the mortal eye. As he breathed his first lungful of fresh air in days, Gregor stood under the moonlight, drank it in, and covered in blood from head to toe, vowed that he would not stand by as the creatures of darkness ravaged the land. He realized that his path lie to the north, somewhere near Whitestone, all thoughts of reasons as to why his family had received that letter had vanished.
In his studies he had found whispers of a sect that drew upon the blood of its enemies while corrupting their own in order to vanquish them. So North he went and wandered the Parchwood Timberlands searching for an answer. But the answer found him.
As he had done so many nights before, Gregor knelt by his meager fire, and saw nothing but the bones and the blood, and then everything went black. He found himself bound and surrounded by at least a dozen men and women, though something seemed off about them. It was the eyes. That night he was offered the opportunity to accomplish his mission, to join the ranks of the Blood Hunters and fell the creatures of darkness and purify the land of evil.
But at what cost?
enjoy!
Long story short, our characters were trapped in Ravenloft, facing Strahd von Zarovich the next morning, and most likely certain death.
I had my character compose this poem about his life, in case they didn't make it out...
Drápa for Ragnar
I am but a feeble smith of Milil’s mind
Tasked to prepare and recount thice named
Maltan, Ragnar, Zohar - Dawnbringer and
Worthy possessor of shame
Earthmother granted smiles for years
To the faces of Arinbjorn and Theda
Trapper and kindly mother
When Maltan first emerged.
The rumblings of Maegera in the nearby hills
Sent shards of rock
And molten earth
Eventree’s fled to nearby Neverwinter
Which cooled all hope for the future
Hard work on the docks
Built tissue to rival Tempus
Proven soon in the
Company of the Blue
Years spent testing of the shield’s storm
Earning arm-embers to repay upbringing
Hopes that threads of fate would weave
Family back one day to Thundertree
Travel up and down the high road
Brought Maltan to the Dale of ice
Fury and ire to rival the storm-lord
Brought wrath and ruin to the brewer confessor
Impressed with a show of might the Ghost Trees
Bestowed the nickname “Warrior from the Gods”
A shameful moniker that could
Never be lived down
Crows circled over Dwarf made goods
Delivered to the Silver city of elves
Murdered to a man
Azure quenched the earth that day
But Ragnar lived on
Arnuld was met, great scholar of the Oak-Father
Ragnar studied there and danced with the Dryads
A vow was made to honor the ruler of the forest
And return to the hall of the sun’s stronghold
To the city of splendors
Ragnar befriended Filiare at the Dripping Dagger
Their friendship knew no bounds
Hard work was done
Rewarded with a golden crown
In the year of the Grinning Halfling she came
A beauty that defies description
Svelte, Lithe, Poised, Competent
A strider beyond compare
First they were companions
Under her leadership - knights of the Unicorn
The weavers spun time quickly
Blessed two lines entwined Milekki &
Silvanus at the base of the Unicorn Run
But pleasure was fleeting
Dark scorpions came in the Calim desert
Unicorn blood was spilt by starlight, the horn severed
Myrkul’s embrace took hold of Darnys
Darkness and stars left Ragnar alone
Awake and cold on the Trade way
Dark depression grew like fog
Many months to journey to the Grandfather tree
And the warm embrace of wisdom from Forestmaster
Years spent learning the teachings of
The surge-encircled bottom of the storm-vessel;
Light surged where darkness bloomed
Vows and oaths made to serve the light
Ready to return and face the Dragon
That held sway over Thundertree
Ragnar joined a troupe to assist
Dwarven brothers recover ancestral mine
The brave companions
Jortran of the Wood, Eamon of the Storms
Malfred dark Eldritch master of secrets
Strong Tristan whom iron cannot bite
Tecton whose twang of arrows in flight
Phandalins grip we wrested from Red Brands
Returned to Dwarven Brothers Mines of the deep secured
A lesson when to Thundertree we returned
Not all that is, is only what we see
Home to Neverwinter we traveled next
But a deep mist swallowed us
And took us far from the Sword coast
To Barovia, a cursed land
We arrived and fought for our lives
The Count, the Devil, the hater of
Love and life and light
Von Zarovich planned his wedding day
To a bride against her wishes
Murder and death lay in wait
To any who objected
The Morninglord lay dormant
Forced away by centuries of oppression
The people needed a guiding beacon
A beaming light to guide them in the darkness
Companions made a pact, a vow
To return home any way how
And this the promise was made
The path of Silverleaf Syndicate laid
On the cliffs of the Tsolenka Pass
Sangzor knocked sense into Ragnar
He was blessed with visions and
Portends of the future
Saintly deeds of Lathander’s chosen
Visions of the clouds parting
And sunlight on the faces of laughing children
Reborn in the Morninglord’s arms
Birthed anew Zohar arose
Swearing dedication to the light
A dawnbringer forged to shine bright
Strahd von Zarovich made promises of reform
Empty truths and pacts of dark magic
To take a vow and seal away
His most loathsome self
Staunch friends and companions
Brought together by fate
Will soon face their greatest
Threat of late
The Silverleaf Syndicate attendants
Of this abomination wedding
And cleanse the land of
This Festering growth for good.
This is an idea I am tossing around for a character that is going to be getting a faction resurrection and I would like change her race and have an in game explanation for it, as I've already been playing with the exact same group of AL folks for two weeks and would like her to have a fun hook.
After losing her life in a haunted mansion, Jessamine Hawksong was taken to her faction's holding nearby to be returned to life. What happened next was the work of a derelict Priest of Tiamat who had infiltrated the faction holdings as a Priest of Bahamut. The only thing that saved Jess from being reincarnated into a Black Dragonborn was the reincarnation ritual's incorrect execution as the Priest was interrupted by an actual High Priestess of Bahamut. She deftly subdued the rogue priest, but was unable to stop the transformation. Days of prayers to Bahamut ensued, though returning Jess to her high elven form was deemed a blessing that would need to be earned through a half century of deeds in the ancient platinum dragon's name. Her now sad eyes still hold their deep violet hue..the only remnant of her elven roots.
*avatar by @ZomgDae on Twitter*
Put your spoiler here.
I am Vosnin Emberlight, a mountain dwarf fighter. I was part of my clans security, the Iron Watch, at the mines. I was the head of “dark operations.” Dark operations included interigation and apprehension of criminals on and off site. Many criminals have been caught and dealt with under my watch, many personally by myself. I began my work for the protection of the clan and my perpetuance for violence, but I’ve learned money is far more important to me. I am here for myself and to fill my pockets with gold, no matter whose blood I spill.
A long dark red beard hangs from my chin and my head is shaved. A large scar runs along the right side of my head. My heavy bronze chain mail armor clanks against my weapons as I enter. Dark brown leather covers the rest of my body. Although my clothing is worn, my boots have been well taken care of. A battle axe and shield are strapped to my back. A small cross bow dangles from my waist. Numerous small blue and gold ribbons are interlaced to the links on my chain mail across the right chest.
PC: Brozznan Kane - Undead in Skyraker |
DM:
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Once the reigning god of wisdom and knowledge, Seljar the all-knowing, has been put into a deep slumber by rival gods and a far too powerful evil adventurer. However, thanks to a backup plan in case of emergency, Seljar's consciousness was transferred to a mortal body. Now, humiliated by his defeat, Seljar seeks vengeance on both the mortals and the gods who wronged him. While still extremely intelligent and wise, his mind is limited by the constraints of his new human form. Regardless, he ventures on as a cleric of himself, drawing upon power from his dormant but still divine form.
I’m no stranger to making characters, and I’ve made plenty of backstories. However, I found feedback from my friends to be...insufficient.
This character in particular is an evil one, set in a campaign where all the characters are evil. Me and a friend of mine connected our characters through a daughter/mother relationship. I have more backstories I would like to share in the future but let me know what you all think of this one.
https://drive.google.com/open?id=1xXUZy2EEinLx69hD98Czqnsqjyi7HCvy
As you can see, I tried to include some world building alongside the building of the character herself. (Btw Neveah is pronounced Ne-vay-ah)
"There is no such thing as good or evil. There is only power and ambition. The end is everything." -Cao Cao
"There is no such thing as good or evil. There is only power and ambition. The end is everything." -Cao Cao