Blooplee does not know her original name. She has long since repressed those memories. Long ago she was a drow in the underdark where she witnessed her small village be overrun by mind flayers. Somehow Blooplee managed to get away from them. Hungry and alone she stumbled through the underdark. Where she came upon a tribe of Kuo-toa.
Blooplee was still a child and as such the Kuo-toa decided to take her among them. The young drow was raised among the fishpeople and taught about their way of life and most importantly their great goddess, Blibdoolpoolp.
Staying among the Kuo-toa for centuries, she was transformed by them as they started to see her as one of their own. She became a hybrid of elf and Kuo-toa. She learned from their Archpriest how to properly worship Blibdoolpoolp and took over his madness as her own.
In awe of how well the divine blessings of their god took to the drow girl, the Archpriest annointed her as a whip. Then when the archpriest died, a new archpriest took over. This new archpriest was more fearful of the Drow's talent and decided to send her away. He gave her a mission to spread the word of Blibdoolpoolp to the peoples of the surface. So that is what Blooplee intends to do.
my fighter/ bard is named arcstrider and he is a very skilled combatant hailing from australia. his father was an ex-con bounty hunter and so arc as his friends call him, ran off to explore and run from his fathers dangerous situation. im still working on a look for him and im open to ideas and suggestions.
I play a human cleric of Deneir (Peace domain) charlatan in the region of Daggerford in the Savage North.
Septimus the Glyphscribe is a cleric of Deneir, alias the Lord of All Glyphs, god of art, cartography, glyphs, images, knowledge, literature, and scholars. He is an erudite, a sage and a researcher of glyphs. Sept was born in Silverymoon, from an unknown father and a mother named Cyannah that was known for having a mental illness after having rumoredly read a demonic tome of some sort. Unable to raise him, she abandoned him to its own homeless fate. He owes everything to Trixie, a little redhaired girl who teached him how to survive in the streets by whatever means necessary. One day, he broke into the shrine of Deneir’s library called The treasured collections of Silverymoon to find shelter, when Hemruald, a priest told him about his mother story and started showing him glyphs. Septimus started copying for coins, and grow an interest for lore, glyphs and the like. By the age of 8, he was already an experienced scribe, used in copying texts from scrolls, tomes as well as complex glyphs and sigils. He became a Deneirrath full priest at maturity, earning his black cloak with a gray central strip denoting his rank. Sept is a calm, patient and benevolent man that avoid violence whenever possible, favoring peace over war. He always try to parlay to avoid coming to blows and offer magic aids to those who are driven to fight for the way of peace. Overtime, he has come to preside over the signing of peace treaties, and sometimes act as a mediator, when it’s necessary to arbitrate in disputes or to settle conflicts between opposing parties. He has also tried to study what could have driven his mother mad in fear that the same faith awaits him. Unbetknownst to him, his mother was mad by a demon trapped inside the book, which once clawd the baby Sept on the forehead, leaving a mark that still often burn to this day. Septimus miss Trixie, but eventually had to leave Silverymoon for his love of lost lore, glyph and books pushed him to venture the world in search of them, an adventure that more recently took him to Daggerford.
Lafas Dwinnddaré is a wood elf arcane archer. He lives in a hombrew world and honors the patron god of the elves, Varan.
Lafas grew up in the southwestern part of the Cantron Forest, where he led a fairly regular childhood for his race. Raised in a military family, Lafas was practically born with a bow in hand. It seemed only natural for him to join the Varannian Knights when he came of age. Though he showed great promise as a scout and tactician, Lafas grew unhappy with his post. He was appalled by his fellow elves’ merciless treatment of their orc enemies. After witnessing a general by the name of Jastira callously kill a helpless, unidentified creature begging for mercy, Lafas became convinced that his fellow elves had fallen to the barbarism of their enemies. Thinking long and hard on the morality of his people, he concluded this could not be Varan’s will. He left his personal effects behind and departed through the Eastern Peninsula to learn more about the world. Hoping to learn and develop a new system of tactics that would let his people keep their favor with Varan, Lafas set off for Easterrun.
Early in his journeys through the Eastern Peninsula, Lafas was tracked down and nearly captured by a band of wood elf soldiers who had his name and general description. Though the scenario was confusing and unexplained, he took the hint and kept his head low until he made it to Easterrun, passing by the name Lafas Galestrider.
Backstory to Harold Fairweather, a magic obsessed human Rune Knight
Harold came from a well adjusted baker's family. Inquisitive and observant even at a young age, his parents invested in his education. Even at that young age Harold loved learning, and was especially fascinated by magic. After teenage years spent in tutoring, he traveled to the big city's magical academy to finally pursue his passion as a wizard.
Unfortunately, Harold had no aptitude for magic. He could not master even basic cantrips in his first semester. Though he could understand the theories behind the spells, he just could not perform the prescribed spells. Having flunked out in his first semester, Harold could not bring himself to tell his parents.
Undeterred, Harold got a job at the academy as a guard. After finishing basic guard training, he would covertly watch the magic lessons in the academy yard while on duty. When he was off duty, he would spend all his spare coin for under the table magic lessons from students. The rest of his time went to pouring through texts in the academy library and experimenting with every magical trinket he could find. After 4 years of this, he had managed to learn a few cantrips and even a spell, but his progress was agonizingly slow.
Harold told his friend and mentor of sorts, the academy librarian, about his anxiety at his slow progress. The old man suggested that Harold look at different magical systems, and try observing them in practice out in the world. With his passion for magic as strong as ever, Harold left his guard post at the academy to continue his magical experimentation as an adventurer.
I am making a Orzhov character who actually made a deal with the archdevil Mammon. She sacrificed many souls from people in debt to him (so she did not have to give up her own soul) in exchange for money and power.
My current character is Milo the Magnificent. (Halfling) He is now a 4th/4th Warlock/Sorcerer. I'm playing him as close to a machine gun warlock as I can. He has Quicken spell and can cast eldritch blast twice a round, burning his spells to fuel the blasts. Most see him as a warlock only, and when he does use his spells it is a complete surprise. Mostly his spells are used for stealth and protection.
Like all locks he is very different. He is a Hexblade/Pact of the chain character. His familiar is a fey spirit, Circe'. While she wears the form of an Imp, she chafes at looking like one, so she appears as a beautiful winged tiefling about 12 inches tall. (anyone who knows the planes or arcana will see the imp for what she is, but this is as close as she will get.)
Milo is the opposite of most warlocks in that he does not have a dark past. He loved listening to the adventures of his grandmother, and would stare at an odd black sword on her mantle. One day he mustered the courage to reach out to the sword and it offered a life of adventure and excitement. He agreed and the sword melded into his hand. Not every talking sword is from the shadowfell. Milo felt bad that his grandmother's sword was gone, but she was overjoyed that someone will follow in her footsteps and she willingly trained him.
Milo got the title, 'the Magnificent,' by using Prestidigitation for children's parties (earning a few coins). A fact his party fellows make fun of today.
Tyngeris, a Tiefling who was always a little thinner, a little less athletic and a little behind his peers in physical growth overall. Teased and picked at, he developed a wit and charm to make his way, before stumbling across a Deva who showed an interest. Gifted wonderful new powers by his Patron, Tyngeris gained confidence and skills, becoming a runner for one of the many factions in his area, taking reports and orders to and from field agents and offices between cities and towns. He meets up with a Cleric, who works in one of the locations he pops in and out of frequently and they become friends, eventually moving away from their respective jobs to start adventuring together, in hopes of fortune!
After his 4th gift from his Patron, Tyngeris wakes one night, with the raw, electric-like flow of magic coursing through his entire body. His skin glows, his eyes pulse a radiant, white light and ethereal wings seem to appear from his shoulders. It all settles and he slumps to the bed, gasping. While he's not yet sure exactly WHAT just happened, he feels magic, for the first time in his life. Not just the flow and release as when he casts one of the spells taught by his Patron, but FEELS magic, coursing through his veins. He can also, faintly, hear his Patron chuckling.
Obviously Celestial Warlock, who MC to Divine Sorc after 4. I expect a lot of fun and I will be feeding the DM updates on which class he will be leveling as we go, to allow him a chance tot write in events if he wants, to parallel the evolution of the character.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Talk to your Players.Talk to your DM. If more people used this advice, there would be 24.74% fewer threads on Tactics, Rules and DM discussions.
During your last days as a human, you were known as Whistler Vasko.
The sixth child of Duke Araja of the House of Rokea in the Marrerlands, you left your homeland under a cloud. Disowned and exiled, you wandered far seeking your fortune, using your charm as a tool to get what you wanted, and as a weapon to defend yourself when others objected. For a long time, luck, opportunity, and a keen sense of when to move on conspired to keep you healthy, wealthy, and beyond the reach of those whom you victimized.
That changed the day you borrowed the identity of historian and antiquarian Whistler Vasko in a scheme that involved hiring a group of adventurers to loot a nearby ruin. Your hubris and nearly fatal misjudgment plus a number of unfortunate circumstances resulted in your intended victims turning on you. Broken, bleeding, and left for dead at the bottom of an old stone shaft, you faced a slow, agonizing demise. In the last moments of life, with only your pained whimpers echoing in the stony dark, something spoke to you from beneath. Not a voice, but a curiously physical impulse laden with meaning issued from the ancient flagstones upon which you lay, pulsing in rhythm with the ebbing tide of your life. "Save me, and save yourself" it seemed to say. Clutching feebly at the surrounding blood-slick detritus, you desperately accepted the offer, uncaring of any consequence but survival. Your acceptance was like opening the door to a sky full of blizzard. Something immense and cold rushed into you without a hint of cognizance of you as anything but a vessel, transforming everything it touched. Your past it left inviolate, leaving every memory of who you once were a perfectly preserved artifact, as dead as a fossil.
But from the moment he flopped over the lip of the stone shaft on the breaking wave of an unspeakably vile tide of gelatinous gore, Vasko was unrecognizable to himself. Suffused with an alien vigor, Vasko found himself capable of startling abilities. He can change his physical form with the natural ease of a changeling, but despite the clarity of his inborn features in his mind, Vasko cannot transform into the man he once was. The Thing in the Well has never spoken to Vasko since the pact was struck, and does not exert its power directly. Ignorant of its will or the extent of its influence over him, Vasko suspects it imposes its will in the blind spots of his existence. Vasko will sometimes feel irresistible compulsions to do small, unobtrusive, and seemingly inconsequential things: move a curtain aside, pick up a pebble, or stand in one place for a moment. Besides his curious inability to replicate his former human features, Vasko will sometimes find it impossible to do other small things: say a word, step on a particular flagstone, or swallow something he has tried to drink. Vasko does not understand the purpose of these interventions, and does his best not to think or talk about them.
As time has passed, Vasko has felt a slow burgeoning of magical abilities which, when utilized according to the hard-earned wisdom of past failures, have brought him both renown and wealth. But at the same time, Vasko's body and mind have warped under the hidden influence of the Thing in the Well, and he can no longer trust himself to remain stationary as he slumbers each night.
He was on a business trip selling cabbages and his town was burned down by an evil pyromancer. He was horrified that the pyromancer burnt all the food and swore revenge. Burnt cabbages are bad cabbages.
Backstory of my first ever DnD character. My campaign is set in Shariom, a world mostly covered by the ocean and full of continents and arcipelagos
Ezra is a Monster Slayer Ranger, variant human.
Backstory:
My name is Ezra Wolfwood, and I’ve always loved the wilds. I always had a way with animals, being able to calm them with a soothing word or a simple touch. I was raised by my mother, Leena Wolfwood, in the large city of Longshore. My father, Ereden Wolfwood, disappeared when I was 10 years old. He was a fisherman, and owned a large fishing vessel.
I was a sickly child in my earliest years, and small for my age. I loved my father, and yearned to spend more time with him, but I was never truly a part of his world and profession because of my frequent illnesses. My mother’s tender affection made up for this, but a void still remained.
On one of the few times Ereden invited me to come along on his fishing boat, a terrible storm caused us to go off course. It was dark, fearsome and deafening. Unsettled by the violence of the storm, my father picked me up and shoved me into a small hatch. As the hatch door closed, I heard a roar... then screams... then the dry popping of bones cracking.
I peeked from the smallest glip I could find and saw him struggling against something massive, dark, writhing with mindless violence. Suddenly, I saw the flash of a tentacle and something warm splashed on my face. I smelled copper... blood..? My father's blood..? Looking up once more, I saw his unconscious body being dragged away by a dark, gaping, wailing maw. The beast slithered into the sea, as its roar and my horrified scream fused into a sound that will haunt me for the rest of my life.
The roar I heard was indescribable, haunting, unknowable. It torments me to this day. In my mind, I foolishly ask: What was that creature? Was it all a dream? Is my father still out there?'.
For almost 4 years, I was left for dead. I simply lived in the wild coastlines and nearby woods, foraged for food, and slept. I had probably gone mad, and I have no memory of those 4 years. I simply felt my bond to the wild grow. Faint flashes of a wolf cub and an adult female, perhaps its mother, are all that remains among the animalistic struggle of surviving the hunger and cold. Eventually, an old friend of my father's saw me crawling on the coastline, encrusted with salt, naked, almost unrecognizable. He brought me home to my bewildered mother. As she held me tight, I spoke my first words in 4 years, but I do not recall what they were.
For a few months everything felt as it should be. I helped my mother in the farm, and she was affectionate and loving, overjoyed to have her only son back in her life. However even then, as I slowly learned to be among people once more, I could feel that something was very, very wrong. It started with quick glances and little jokes about my appearance and behaviour. Leena was doting and loving, it was wonderful. Yet, something strange lingered in the air: just glances at first, her affection becoming fretting, fleeting and sparse. Then jokes... I could hear her saying things to the other women of the neighbourhood. Things like: 'He's my little animal! I sometimes don't even recognize him!'. In the coming months, her worried looks turned into hateful glares. She used to wash my hair, it was our little ritual. Now, she didn't touch me with a finger, and wouldn't allow me entrance into a few of the rooms in our house, including the washroom... The meals she served me became shoddy, then disgusting, then inedible.
Then one day, I awoke in a room I had never seen before. It smelled like our barn, but there was no livestock and all of the windows were shut. My senses were muddled: I had clearly been drugged and, to my growing terror, I realized I was in a small cage, naked.
I do not know how many days I spent in there. From what I can surmise, eventually word had spread that Leena's kid had gone missing and that she had no idea where he was, and wasn't particularly worried about it. Among a tide of horrified looks, I was freed, fed and bathed. My mother was put into a mental institution near the centre of Longshore.
The very next day, I gathered all of my belongings and left the empty farm, never to return. I had had enough, and it was time for me to leave. To roam.
Between the ages of 18 and 22, I joined the Blood Moon order, a guild formed by Longshore to hunt hostile demons and aberrations. My party consisted of 5 members, myself excluded. Two stood out among them: Argus, a human and my best friend, had taught me to handle a longbow properly, and Lydia, a young sea elf and my first love, taught me the ways of bladed weapons. But that too led to tragedy...
I was 22, performing a rather ordinary task... We were told that the ship we were guarding contained a caged Chuul, an aberration 6 members of Blood Moon should have no issue dealing with. That cage contained much, much worse.
As we heard the loud metallic snapping of a cage being torn asunder, a Balhannoth crashed onto the deck. It flailed its tentacles in a frenzy, mutilating and killing all of my companions before disappearing into the dark sea below.
Lydia... Alfie... Percy... Aranea... Argus... all lost. Trembling, I realized I had only sustained a small cut on my right arm... and felt so alone my mind almost shattered.
I left the Blood Moon order soon after. How could I not? They sent my team out there to be slaughtered, and for what? Why could none of them tell me what that Balhannoth was doing there? I left one night, in cover of dark, but word travels quick: I was labelled a deserter... a coward. I hated the city council, so I left Longshore for good. They dare call me a coward? They have not seen what I have seen.
I have seen what happens when the monsters come out from the dark...
I took it upon myself to become the first line of defence against the evils that lie beyond our civilization's borders.
Terror, rage and power surge through me as I continue onward.
My first character as I'm new to D&D. I've actually made five different ones, but this is the one I will play. It's all because I want to be a dragon and my DM is humouring me. I am playing as a Dragonborn fighter, with the "Haunted One" background for which I have done a home-brew to adapt it to "cursed one".
Originally a gold dragon, my parents had crossed talons with a local mage who was easily offended. The mage laid a curse on me as a baby, which took effect when I came of age and transformed me into a humanoid (playing as dragonborn). I am out in the world looking for any way to lift the curse before it becomes permanent.
My parents gave me a small amount of wealth from "the hoard" when I left, which funds my comfortable lifestyle. I could afford a wealthy lifestyle but I have a tendency to hoard the gold rather than spending it. As a result of my dragonness I am easily distracted by shiny things and have accumulated many on my quests, as a result of which my lair (oops, I mean lodgings) is cluttered with stuff. Some of it may have arcane usages but I'm only interested in the shininess. The large amount of gold is of course hidden in a secret safe and protected by magical wards.
Early on after I left home to pursue the lifting of the curse, I struggled to adapt to my new form. I was angry with everything, and still believed I was as strong and invulnerable as a dragon. I had several narrow escapes when I waded into trouble. During one such episode I rescued the son of a military man from a gang, almost losing my life in the process. In gratitude, and seeing that I was too stubborn to change my ways, his father became my mentor, and as I healed he taught me to fight in my new form. When I was ready to go on my way again, he gave me a gift of weapons from his armoury.
I have heard the tale of a great human queen who once dissolved a pearl in wine to drink it. I am convinced she was also a gold dragon in disguise. I once tried eating pearls in my humanoid form, and it gave me indigestion. I have learnt to appreciate a good wine though.
It is hard to describe the taste of pearls to a human. It is like biting into something with a crunchy shell, and then the inside is a cool liquid. Each pearl has the same variety of tastes but with different amounts of each one, meaning each pearl can taste subtly different. It is like vanilla, clove, cinnamon, coffee, chocolate, cardamon, nutmeg. I once found a spice in a spice market which smelled of pearls. I bought a whole bag and ate it in one go, but it turned out to be hallucinogenic and as a result I got banned from the inn where I was staying after a small fireball incident.
I was in charge of the 1st Militia Company of The Shire as a Captain. I have strong ties their and never leave it behind. After long journeys I come home to Hobbiton and bring glory to The Shire. I live in Bag End which is my ancestors home. I have the sword and mithril chain mail armor from Bilbo and Frodo Baggin's Adventures. He has certain objects he always has. In a second sheath he had a broken sword. The sword was his brothers who died to the hands of orcs and was his lieutenant. He also has a bit of a banner in a pocket close to his heart. It is the banner of his old unit and reminds him of home where ever he goes.
One of my characters is jack he is a human and a bard. Jack always likes to explore as a child he would go down to a creek near his house when he was 15 he was going down to a creek he found a broken lute so he repaired it then went to the tavern at the end of the song his lute broke he was sad ready to leave a old man came up to him told him to take some gold of his gold and said to take his gold to repair it and told him never stop playing when he was 18 he made a custom flute he was going to explore the world he went to the tavern for one final time before he left he played on his lute and flute after getting ready to leave the tavern the old man saw him told him he improved and they both said the goodbyes then jack left his home and was ready to start his adventure seven years later he's 25 years old and still traveling.
sorry if this was long so yeah this is my character backstory :)
I created a character as a DM to fill in the role of a tanker for my PC, before retiring him to an NPC after another player joined.
His name is Lujor 'Fallbringer', a Wood elf Paladin of Vengeance, and a Rogue.
He is almost 300years old, but due to circumstance, is not the most intelligent.
Lujor was offered to the God when he was a baby - his parent left him at the Temple. And since young he believe he is meant to serve a greater purpose. Under the chief caretaker of the Temple of Light, he been indoctrinated since young and it influence his life decision. And Lujor is known to hear voice from the greater being, some say it is divine but most say Lujor is insane. But for Lujor, this Divine voice is a guide, an instruction for the greater good. And because of this, his zeal for the Divine Doctrine is so strong, many judge him as an fanatic.
When he mature and join the law enforcement, Lujor caught a young boy stealing and promptly judge him on the spot and chopped off his hands. This does not sit well with the High Council and Lujor was strip off his role. Lujor see this as an corruption within the Temple, and start to preach about the True Doctrine. He gain a large following and tries to stage a coup, but on the day of the coup... Only he showed up. The Council judge him and banish him from society.
Feeling abandoned and betrayed, Lujor roam the edge of civilization, learning how to survive and stay out of sight. Knowing he was banished and disgraced. He wore a helmet or mask, to hide his face.
After an century living by himself. Lujor gave himself the title Fallbringer. He have become the hidden blade of the Light. For he will infiltrate the Shadow, and expose them to the judgement of the Light. He will become a Shadow, but forever loyal to the Light. Until then, Lujor will hide his face from the Light. For his deeds shall not be known.
To the public eye, Lujor comes and goes without notice. A quirky man, one who spent too much time alone. "do not ask him about his belief, or he will follow you and preach for days". For a big man, he is stealthy. Claim to follow the good, but in his own term.
A Paladin out-front seeking the fall of anything evil, but not one who shy away from a hidden dagger like a rouge.
I like the little touch about he was the only one who showed up for the coup. It speaks to me about him being slightly out-of-sync with the world, if that makes sense?
@BrogoStriderGamgee, I don't know how people usually approach character backstories when relating to characters from literature or who have their own cannon. I have a couple of characters myself inspired from Princess Bride and Shakespeare amongst others, but what I have done is change the names a little so as to acknowledge the inspiration but not be tied to known things about them. If you want to stick to official JRR Tolkien as your history, and with Frodo and Bilbo in your backstory, then I am interested in the full lineage of your character, as that helps me to suspend disbelief. Is he meant to be a descendant of Sam, who we know had many children? I didn't know whether or not to infer your character name from your username :-) . I'm also interested in why your character goes adventuring? Is it in his blood? Is he inspired by stories handed down of his ancestors? Though I like the point that he always returns. Just out of interest are you playing in a Tolkien world? I would love to do that some time!
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
To post a comment, please login or register a new account.
Name: Blooplee Dagon
Race: Simic Hybrid (Drow)
Class: Tempest Cleric
God: Blibdoolpoolp
Blooplee does not know her original name. She has long since repressed those memories. Long ago she was a drow in the underdark where she witnessed her small village be overrun by mind flayers. Somehow Blooplee managed to get away from them. Hungry and alone she stumbled through the underdark. Where she came upon a tribe of Kuo-toa.
Blooplee was still a child and as such the Kuo-toa decided to take her among them. The young drow was raised among the fishpeople and taught about their way of life and most importantly their great goddess, Blibdoolpoolp.
Staying among the Kuo-toa for centuries, she was transformed by them as they started to see her as one of their own. She became a hybrid of elf and Kuo-toa. She learned from their Archpriest how to properly worship Blibdoolpoolp and took over his madness as her own.
In awe of how well the divine blessings of their god took to the drow girl, the Archpriest annointed her as a whip. Then when the archpriest died, a new archpriest took over. This new archpriest was more fearful of the Drow's talent and decided to send her away. He gave her a mission to spread the word of Blibdoolpoolp to the peoples of the surface. So that is what Blooplee intends to do.
I am also here.
Am snek.
my fighter/ bard is named arcstrider and he is a very skilled combatant hailing from australia. his father was an ex-con bounty hunter and so arc as his friends call him, ran off to explore and run from his fathers dangerous situation. im still working on a look for him and im open to ideas and suggestions.
I play a human cleric of Deneir (Peace domain) charlatan in the region of Daggerford in the Savage North.
Septimus the Glyphscribe is a cleric of Deneir, alias the Lord of All Glyphs, god of art, cartography, glyphs, images, knowledge, literature, and scholars. He is an erudite, a sage and a researcher of glyphs. Sept was born in Silverymoon, from an unknown father and a mother named Cyannah that was known for having a mental illness after having rumoredly read a demonic tome of some sort. Unable to raise him, she abandoned him to its own homeless fate. He owes everything to Trixie, a little redhaired girl who teached him how to survive in the streets by whatever means necessary. One day, he broke into the shrine of Deneir’s library called The treasured collections of Silverymoon to find shelter, when Hemruald, a priest told him about his mother story and started showing him glyphs. Septimus started copying for coins, and grow an interest for lore, glyphs and the like. By the age of 8, he was already an experienced scribe, used in copying texts from scrolls, tomes as well as complex glyphs and sigils. He became a Deneirrath full priest at maturity, earning his black cloak with a gray central strip denoting his rank. Sept is a calm, patient and benevolent man that avoid violence whenever possible, favoring peace over war. He always try to parlay to avoid coming to blows and offer magic aids to those who are driven to fight for the way of peace. Overtime, he has come to preside over the signing of peace treaties, and sometimes act as a mediator, when it’s necessary to arbitrate in disputes or to settle conflicts between opposing parties. He has also tried to study what could have driven his mother mad in fear that the same faith awaits him. Unbetknownst to him, his mother was mad by a demon trapped inside the book, which once clawd the baby Sept on the forehead, leaving a mark that still often burn to this day. Septimus miss Trixie, but eventually had to leave Silverymoon for his love of lost lore, glyph and books pushed him to venture the world in search of them, an adventure that more recently took him to Daggerford.
Lafas Dwinnddaré is a wood elf arcane archer. He lives in a hombrew world and honors the patron god of the elves, Varan.
Lafas grew up in the southwestern part of the Cantron Forest, where he led a fairly regular childhood for his race. Raised in a military family, Lafas was practically born with a bow in hand. It seemed only natural for him to join the Varannian Knights when he came of age. Though he showed great promise as a scout and tactician, Lafas grew unhappy with his post. He was appalled by his fellow elves’ merciless treatment of their orc enemies. After witnessing a general by the name of Jastira callously kill a helpless, unidentified creature begging for mercy, Lafas became convinced that his fellow elves had fallen to the barbarism of their enemies. Thinking long and hard on the morality of his people, he concluded this could not be Varan’s will. He left his personal effects behind and departed through the Eastern Peninsula to learn more about the world. Hoping to learn and develop a new system of tactics that would let his people keep their favor with Varan, Lafas set off for Easterrun.
Early in his journeys through the Eastern Peninsula, Lafas was tracked down and nearly captured by a band of wood elf soldiers who had his name and general description. Though the scenario was confusing and unexplained, he took the hint and kept his head low until he made it to Easterrun, passing by the name Lafas Galestrider.
Backstory to Harold Fairweather, a magic obsessed human Rune Knight
Harold came from a well adjusted baker's family. Inquisitive and observant even at a young age, his parents invested in his education. Even at that young age Harold loved learning, and was especially fascinated by magic. After teenage years spent in tutoring, he traveled to the big city's magical academy to finally pursue his passion as a wizard.
Unfortunately, Harold had no aptitude for magic. He could not master even basic cantrips in his first semester. Though he could understand the theories behind the spells, he just could not perform the prescribed spells. Having flunked out in his first semester, Harold could not bring himself to tell his parents.
Undeterred, Harold got a job at the academy as a guard. After finishing basic guard training, he would covertly watch the magic lessons in the academy yard while on duty. When he was off duty, he would spend all his spare coin for under the table magic lessons from students. The rest of his time went to pouring through texts in the academy library and experimenting with every magical trinket he could find. After 4 years of this, he had managed to learn a few cantrips and even a spell, but his progress was agonizingly slow.
Harold told his friend and mentor of sorts, the academy librarian, about his anxiety at his slow progress. The old man suggested that Harold look at different magical systems, and try observing them in practice out in the world. With his passion for magic as strong as ever, Harold left his guard post at the academy to continue his magical experimentation as an adventurer.
I am making a Orzhov character who actually made a deal with the archdevil Mammon. She sacrificed many souls from people in debt to him (so she did not have to give up her own soul) in exchange for money and power.
My current character is Milo the Magnificent. (Halfling) He is now a 4th/4th Warlock/Sorcerer. I'm playing him as close to a machine gun warlock as I can. He has Quicken spell and can cast eldritch blast twice a round, burning his spells to fuel the blasts. Most see him as a warlock only, and when he does use his spells it is a complete surprise. Mostly his spells are used for stealth and protection.
Like all locks he is very different. He is a Hexblade/Pact of the chain character. His familiar is a fey spirit, Circe'. While she wears the form of an Imp, she chafes at looking like one, so she appears as a beautiful winged tiefling about 12 inches tall. (anyone who knows the planes or arcana will see the imp for what she is, but this is as close as she will get.)
Milo is the opposite of most warlocks in that he does not have a dark past. He loved listening to the adventures of his grandmother, and would stare at an odd black sword on her mantle. One day he mustered the courage to reach out to the sword and it offered a life of adventure and excitement. He agreed and the sword melded into his hand. Not every talking sword is from the shadowfell. Milo felt bad that his grandmother's sword was gone, but she was overjoyed that someone will follow in her footsteps and she willingly trained him.
Milo got the title, 'the Magnificent,' by using Prestidigitation for children's parties (earning a few coins). A fact his party fellows make fun of today.
Tyngeris, a Tiefling who was always a little thinner, a little less athletic and a little behind his peers in physical growth overall. Teased and picked at, he developed a wit and charm to make his way, before stumbling across a Deva who showed an interest. Gifted wonderful new powers by his Patron, Tyngeris gained confidence and skills, becoming a runner for one of the many factions in his area, taking reports and orders to and from field agents and offices between cities and towns. He meets up with a Cleric, who works in one of the locations he pops in and out of frequently and they become friends, eventually moving away from their respective jobs to start adventuring together, in hopes of fortune!
After his 4th gift from his Patron, Tyngeris wakes one night, with the raw, electric-like flow of magic coursing through his entire body. His skin glows, his eyes pulse a radiant, white light and ethereal wings seem to appear from his shoulders. It all settles and he slumps to the bed, gasping. While he's not yet sure exactly WHAT just happened, he feels magic, for the first time in his life. Not just the flow and release as when he casts one of the spells taught by his Patron, but FEELS magic, coursing through his veins. He can also, faintly, hear his Patron chuckling.
Obviously Celestial Warlock, who MC to Divine Sorc after 4. I expect a lot of fun and I will be feeding the DM updates on which class he will be leveling as we go, to allow him a chance tot write in events if he wants, to parallel the evolution of the character.
Talk to your Players. Talk to your DM. If more people used this advice, there would be 24.74% fewer threads on Tactics, Rules and DM discussions.
During your last days as a human, you were known as Whistler Vasko.
The sixth child of Duke Araja of the House of Rokea in the Marrerlands, you left your homeland under a cloud. Disowned and exiled, you wandered far seeking your fortune, using your charm as a tool to get what you wanted, and as a weapon to defend yourself when others objected. For a long time, luck, opportunity, and a keen sense of when to move on conspired to keep you healthy, wealthy, and beyond the reach of those whom you victimized.
That changed the day you borrowed the identity of historian and antiquarian Whistler Vasko in a scheme that involved hiring a group of adventurers to loot a nearby ruin. Your hubris and nearly fatal misjudgment plus a number of unfortunate circumstances resulted in your intended victims turning on you. Broken, bleeding, and left for dead at the bottom of an old stone shaft, you faced a slow, agonizing demise. In the last moments of life, with only your pained whimpers echoing in the stony dark, something spoke to you from beneath. Not a voice, but a curiously physical impulse laden with meaning issued from the ancient flagstones upon which you lay, pulsing in rhythm with the ebbing tide of your life. "Save me, and save yourself" it seemed to say. Clutching feebly at the surrounding blood-slick detritus, you desperately accepted the offer, uncaring of any consequence but survival. Your acceptance was like opening the door to a sky full of blizzard. Something immense and cold rushed into you without a hint of cognizance of you as anything but a vessel, transforming everything it touched. Your past it left inviolate, leaving every memory of who you once were a perfectly preserved artifact, as dead as a fossil.
But from the moment he flopped over the lip of the stone shaft on the breaking wave of an unspeakably vile tide of gelatinous gore, Vasko was unrecognizable to himself. Suffused with an alien vigor, Vasko found himself capable of startling abilities. He can change his physical form with the natural ease of a changeling, but despite the clarity of his inborn features in his mind, Vasko cannot transform into the man he once was. The Thing in the Well has never spoken to Vasko since the pact was struck, and does not exert its power directly. Ignorant of its will or the extent of its influence over him, Vasko suspects it imposes its will in the blind spots of his existence. Vasko will sometimes feel irresistible compulsions to do small, unobtrusive, and seemingly inconsequential things: move a curtain aside, pick up a pebble, or stand in one place for a moment. Besides his curious inability to replicate his former human features, Vasko will sometimes find it impossible to do other small things: say a word, step on a particular flagstone, or swallow something he has tried to drink. Vasko does not understand the purpose of these interventions, and does his best not to think or talk about them.
As time has passed, Vasko has felt a slow burgeoning of magical abilities which, when utilized according to the hard-earned wisdom of past failures, have brought him both renown and wealth. But at the same time, Vasko's body and mind have warped under the hidden influence of the Thing in the Well, and he can no longer trust himself to remain stationary as he slumbers each night.
my warlocks backstory
first place in instakill the tarrasque solo
Is this the Avatar cabbage merchant?
I want my funeral to be so funny everyone forgets to cry.
no its a follower of brassica prime (was also thinking about avatar well making this)
first place in instakill the tarrasque solo
Backstory of my first ever DnD character. My campaign is set in Shariom, a world mostly covered by the ocean and full of continents and arcipelagos
Ezra is a Monster Slayer Ranger, variant human.![Ezra at level 11]()
![]()
Backstory:
My name is Ezra Wolfwood, and I’ve always loved the wilds. I always had a way with animals, being able to calm them with a soothing word or a simple touch. I was raised by my mother, Leena Wolfwood, in the large city of Longshore. My father, Ereden Wolfwood, disappeared when I was 10 years old. He was a fisherman, and owned a large fishing vessel.
I was a sickly child in my earliest years, and small for my age. I loved my father, and yearned to spend more time with him, but I was never truly a part of his world and profession because of my frequent illnesses. My mother’s tender affection made up for this, but a void still remained.
On one of the few times Ereden invited me to come along on his fishing boat, a terrible storm caused us to go off course. It was dark, fearsome and deafening. Unsettled by the violence of the storm, my father picked me up and shoved me into a small hatch. As the hatch door closed, I heard a roar... then screams... then the dry popping of bones cracking.
I peeked from the smallest glip I could find and saw him struggling against something massive, dark, writhing with mindless violence. Suddenly, I saw the flash of a tentacle and something warm splashed on my face. I smelled copper... blood..? My father's blood..? Looking up once more, I saw his unconscious body being dragged away by a dark, gaping, wailing maw. The beast slithered into the sea, as its roar and my horrified scream fused into a sound that will haunt me for the rest of my life.
The roar I heard was indescribable, haunting, unknowable. It torments me to this day. In my mind, I foolishly ask: What was that creature? Was it all a dream? Is my father still out there?'.
For almost 4 years, I was left for dead. I simply lived in the wild coastlines and nearby woods, foraged for food, and slept. I had probably gone mad, and I have no memory of those 4 years. I simply felt my bond to the wild grow. Faint flashes of a wolf cub and an adult female, perhaps its mother, are all that remains among the animalistic struggle of surviving the hunger and cold. Eventually, an old friend of my father's saw me crawling on the coastline, encrusted with salt, naked, almost unrecognizable. He brought me home to my bewildered mother. As she held me tight, I spoke my first words in 4 years, but I do not recall what they were.
For a few months everything felt as it should be. I helped my mother in the farm, and she was affectionate and loving, overjoyed to have her only son back in her life. However even then, as I slowly learned to be among people once more, I could feel that something was very, very wrong. It started with quick glances and little jokes about my appearance and behaviour. Leena was doting and loving, it was wonderful. Yet, something strange lingered in the air: just glances at first, her affection becoming fretting, fleeting and sparse. Then jokes... I could hear her saying things to the other women of the neighbourhood. Things like: 'He's my little animal! I sometimes don't even recognize him!'. In the coming months, her worried looks turned into hateful glares. She used to wash my hair, it was our little ritual. Now, she didn't touch me with a finger, and wouldn't allow me entrance into a few of the rooms in our house, including the washroom... The meals she served me became shoddy, then disgusting, then inedible.
Then one day, I awoke in a room I had never seen before. It smelled like our barn, but there was no livestock and all of the windows were shut. My senses were muddled: I had clearly been drugged and, to my growing terror, I realized I was in a small cage, naked.
I do not know how many days I spent in there. From what I can surmise, eventually word had spread that Leena's kid had gone missing and that she had no idea where he was, and wasn't particularly worried about it. Among a tide of horrified looks, I was freed, fed and bathed. My mother was put into a mental institution near the centre of Longshore.
The very next day, I gathered all of my belongings and left the empty farm, never to return. I had had enough, and it was time for me to leave. To roam.
Between the ages of 18 and 22, I joined the Blood Moon order, a guild formed by Longshore to hunt hostile demons and aberrations. My party consisted of 5 members, myself excluded. Two stood out among them: Argus, a human and my best friend, had taught me to handle a longbow properly, and Lydia, a young sea elf and my first love, taught me the ways of bladed weapons. But that too led to tragedy...
I was 22, performing a rather ordinary task... We were told that the ship we were guarding contained a caged Chuul, an aberration 6 members of Blood Moon should have no issue dealing with. That cage contained much, much worse.
As we heard the loud metallic snapping of a cage being torn asunder, a Balhannoth crashed onto the deck. It flailed its tentacles in a frenzy, mutilating and killing all of my companions before disappearing into the dark sea below.
Lydia... Alfie... Percy... Aranea... Argus... all lost. Trembling, I realized I had only sustained a small cut on my right arm... and felt so alone my mind almost shattered.
I left the Blood Moon order soon after. How could I not? They sent my team out there to be slaughtered, and for what? Why could none of them tell me what that Balhannoth was doing there? I left one night, in cover of dark, but word travels quick: I was labelled a deserter... a coward. I hated the city council, so I left Longshore for good. They dare call me a coward? They have not seen what I have seen.
I have seen what happens when the monsters come out from the dark...
I took it upon myself to become the first line of defence against the evils that lie beyond our civilization's borders.
Terror, rage and power surge through me as I continue onward.
I will not fall.
Not like them.
My first character as I'm new to D&D. I've actually made five different ones, but this is the one I will play. It's all because I want to be a dragon and my DM is humouring me. I am playing as a Dragonborn fighter, with the "Haunted One" background for which I have done a home-brew to adapt it to "cursed one".
Originally a gold dragon, my parents had crossed talons with a local mage who was easily offended. The mage laid a curse on me as a baby, which took effect when I came of age and transformed me into a humanoid (playing as dragonborn). I am out in the world looking for any way to lift the curse before it becomes permanent.
My parents gave me a small amount of wealth from "the hoard" when I left, which funds my comfortable lifestyle. I could afford a wealthy lifestyle but I have a tendency to hoard the gold rather than spending it. As a result of my dragonness I am easily distracted by shiny things and have accumulated many on my quests, as a result of which my lair (oops, I mean lodgings) is cluttered with stuff. Some of it may have arcane usages but I'm only interested in the shininess. The large amount of gold is of course hidden in a secret safe and protected by magical wards.
Early on after I left home to pursue the lifting of the curse, I struggled to adapt to my new form. I was angry with everything, and still believed I was as strong and invulnerable as a dragon. I had several narrow escapes when I waded into trouble. During one such episode I rescued the son of a military man from a gang, almost losing my life in the process. In gratitude, and seeing that I was too stubborn to change my ways, his father became my mentor, and as I healed he taught me to fight in my new form. When I was ready to go on my way again, he gave me a gift of weapons from his armoury.
I have heard the tale of a great human queen who once dissolved a pearl in wine to drink it. I am convinced she was also a gold dragon in disguise. I once tried eating pearls in my humanoid form, and it gave me indigestion. I have learnt to appreciate a good wine though.
It is hard to describe the taste of pearls to a human. It is like biting into something with a crunchy shell, and then the inside is a cool liquid. Each pearl has the same variety of tastes but with different amounts of each one, meaning each pearl can taste subtly different. It is like vanilla, clove, cinnamon, coffee, chocolate, cardamon, nutmeg. I once found a spice in a spice market which smelled of pearls. I bought a whole bag and ate it in one go, but it turned out to be hallucinogenic and as a result I got banned from the inn where I was staying after a small fireball incident.
I was in charge of the 1st Militia Company of The Shire as a Captain. I have strong ties their and never leave it behind. After long journeys I come home to Hobbiton and bring glory to The Shire. I live in Bag End which is my ancestors home. I have the sword and mithril chain mail armor from Bilbo and Frodo Baggin's Adventures. He has certain objects he always has. In a second sheath he had a broken sword. The sword was his brothers who died to the hands of orcs and was his lieutenant. He also has a bit of a banner in a pocket close to his heart. It is the banner of his old unit and reminds him of home where ever he goes.
This is mine so far. You like?
One of my characters is jack he is a human and a bard. Jack always likes to explore as a child he would go down to a creek near his house when he was 15 he was going down to a creek he found a broken lute so he repaired it then went to the tavern at the end of the song his lute broke he was sad ready to leave a old man came up to him told him to take some gold of his gold and said to take his gold to repair it and told him never stop playing when he was 18 he made a custom flute he was going to explore the world he went to the tavern for one final time before he left he played on his lute and flute after getting ready to leave the tavern the old man saw him told him he improved and they both said the goodbyes then jack left his home and was ready to start his adventure seven years later he's 25 years old and still traveling.
sorry if this was long so yeah this is my character backstory :)
I am going to work more on mine.
I created a character as a DM to fill in the role of a tanker for my PC, before retiring him to an NPC after another player joined.
His name is Lujor 'Fallbringer', a Wood elf Paladin of Vengeance, and a Rogue.
He is almost 300years old, but due to circumstance, is not the most intelligent.
Lujor was offered to the God when he was a baby - his parent left him at the Temple. And since young he believe he is meant to serve a greater purpose.
Under the chief caretaker of the Temple of Light, he been indoctrinated since young and it influence his life decision. And Lujor is known to hear voice from the greater being, some say it is divine but most say Lujor is insane.
But for Lujor, this Divine voice is a guide, an instruction for the greater good. And because of this, his zeal for the Divine Doctrine is so strong, many judge him as an fanatic.
When he mature and join the law enforcement, Lujor caught a young boy stealing and promptly judge him on the spot and chopped off his hands. This does not sit well with the High Council and Lujor was strip off his role. Lujor see this as an corruption within the Temple, and start to preach about the True Doctrine. He gain a large following and tries to stage a coup, but on the day of the coup... Only he showed up. The Council judge him and banish him from society.
Feeling abandoned and betrayed, Lujor roam the edge of civilization, learning how to survive and stay out of sight. Knowing he was banished and disgraced. He wore a helmet or mask, to hide his face.
After an century living by himself. Lujor gave himself the title Fallbringer. He have become the hidden blade of the Light. For he will infiltrate the Shadow, and expose them to the judgement of the Light. He will become a Shadow, but forever loyal to the Light. Until then, Lujor will hide his face from the Light. For his deeds shall not be known.
To the public eye, Lujor comes and goes without notice. A quirky man, one who spent too much time alone. "do not ask him about his belief, or he will follow you and preach for days". For a big man, he is stealthy. Claim to follow the good, but in his own term.
A Paladin out-front seeking the fall of anything evil, but not one who shy away from a hidden dagger like a rouge.
I like the little touch about he was the only one who showed up for the coup. It speaks to me about him being slightly out-of-sync with the world, if that makes sense?
@BrogoStriderGamgee, I don't know how people usually approach character backstories when relating to characters from literature or who have their own cannon. I have a couple of characters myself inspired from Princess Bride and Shakespeare amongst others, but what I have done is change the names a little so as to acknowledge the inspiration but not be tied to known things about them. If you want to stick to official JRR Tolkien as your history, and with Frodo and Bilbo in your backstory, then I am interested in the full lineage of your character, as that helps me to suspend disbelief. Is he meant to be a descendant of Sam, who we know had many children? I didn't know whether or not to infer your character name from your username :-) . I'm also interested in why your character goes adventuring? Is it in his blood? Is he inspired by stories handed down of his ancestors? Though I like the point that he always returns. Just out of interest are you playing in a Tolkien world? I would love to do that some time!