Mark of Making Human Artificer, Battle Smith / Druid, Circle of Shepherds Male - 23 Years old - 195 lbs - 6’1”
Origin Victor and his fellow villager Lawrence LaRusso were always friendly rivals, competing at swordplay with sticks, foot races through the forest, getting the higher grades from their tutors, and anything and everything which could crown one as the winner. Both shared a dream of founding in their sleepy little hamlet a gymnasium like those in antiquity, and an arena in which to host tourneys that they themselves would win. They had deep disagreements about their philosophies and politics, but their shared love of summons and summon battles forged a bond of brotherhood which could never be broken. Except by one thing and one thing only...
As their eighteenth summer was approaching autumn, an old gnome named Maurice moved into the village. He was an accomplished artificer - as an armorer, an artillerist, and as a battle smith. Vance would have sought to apprentice under him irrespectively, but an even more motivating factor was at play. Maurice was the adoptive father of a beauteous Eldarin maiden named Alizabeth.
As expected, Vance and LaRusso became rivals for her affection, but their once friendly competition grew fierce and bitter with the prospect of so pulchritudinous a prize on the line. Vance sought to endear himself to her by impressing her father as an able artificer apprentice, and indeed, Maurice often spoke highly of Vance to his daughter, and the three would work and eat and spend time together often. Lawrence in turn would walk with her through the woods, opining on his love for all the fauna and flora and the beauty of the natural world, but praising her beauty as greater still.
Alizabeth was torn in heart between her suitors, and so promised to pledge herself to whichever was winner of the summon battle at the tourney in a town nearby. On the night before the battle, Victor prayed to his namesake, the god of victory, that he might prove victorious and in doing so win Alizabeth’s her hand. Likewise, Lawrence prayed to the goddess of love, that no matter the outcome, he might merit Alizabeth’s favor.
The battle itself was hard fought. LaRusso called forth nature spirits and earth elementals, while Victor conjured constructs of metal and magic. In the end, it was Victor’s faithful Defender - a little Labrator Reciever named “Sparky” who was colorfully coated in glistening gold and burnished bronze and piped with sunset orange copper, and made under the tutelage of Maurice - that gained Victor victory, albeit a pyrrhic one.
During the fight, one of Lawrence’s summons sent a stray dart of mistletoe, sharply scratching Vance’s shoulder. It was an apparent accident, and Victor fought through the pain of the poison, but immediately after he required medical attention. Seeing it as a sign from the goddess, Lawrence used the distraction to summon a steed and steal away Alizabeth. Because all attention was on Vance, her abduction was not noted for hours.
Victor and Maurice returned to their village in the hopes that LaRusso had absconded there, but found neither trace nor trail of the villain and his victim. Searches were made in the surrounding burroughs and burgs, but nowhere were they seen. After some weeks Maurice promoted his son-in-law-to-be to the rank of Journeyman Battle Smith, and advised him to take up the journey that the rank implied, using his continued training to also seek out word of Alizabeth and her abductor, and in doing so to rescue the distressed damsel.
Ideal
Everything that exists in the material planes is part of Nature (with a majuscule “N”). But in all of Nature, the greatest part is also the least natural: incarnate being (such as humans, dwarves, gnomes, etc); greatest in that they are like the gods, able to take ideas from the immaterial planes in order to reshape nature (with a miniscule “n”), but in doing so, imposing an artificial paradigm over nature known as Culture, and thus separating in part from nature. As a druid, it is this aspect of Nature which most interests Vance - the artificial, cultural, and technological.
Bonds
Vance is in many ways the polar opposite of his rival and frenemy, Lawrence LaRusso. Both grew up around all sorts of athletic competitions: tourneys with duels, and jousts, and melees, and - their shared passion - summon battles. But whereas LaRusso loved to simply spectate and cheer as a fan, Vance was only ever interested in competing himself - he had no interest in vicariously living through the accomplishment of others. Whereas LaRusso loves reconnecting with nature, Vance is more interested in all the artistic, cultural, and (especially) technological progress achieved by Men, Dwarves, Gnomes, and others. Whereas LaRusso sees summons as beasts to befriend, Vance is a prolific poacher, avid huntsman, and values summons as studs and brood sows to breed, tools to tinker with, and weapons to wield (as well as only sometimes pets to love).
Physical description
Vance is never not wearing his wide brimmed leather “thinking cap.” He takes it off for one thing and one thing only - and even then, he’ll leave it on if the lady wants him to. Beneath that brim is a steely gaze and a stubbly granite jawline like the clenched fist of an angry god. He looks older than his twenty-three years, but by no means old, simply more manly, wizened, and well-preserved.
Chaotic Good / Half-Orc / Ancestral Guardian Barbarian / Outlander
He was raised by a tribe of chaotic evil orcs. His orcish mother had raped his human father during a raid before killing him. The tribe puts a heavy emphasis on honoring their ancestors, and the best warriors take the Path of the Ancestral Guardian. He was raised to be a warrior. When he was old enough to participate in his first raid, he discovered that he found no pleasure in wanton destruction and slaughter. Instead, he empathised with the poor victims. Disgusted and ashamed, he left the tribe and traveled the world looking for a purpose. When facing conflict, he prefers using diplomacy. He uses violence only as a last resort. He wants peace, not war. Instead of harnessing the strength of his brutal ancestors, he harnesses the spirits of the friends he lost along the way. He's the stoic and silent type, talking only when necessary. He's the antithesis of a murderhobo.
Neutral / Hill Dwarf / Forest Land Druid / Hermit
When he was young, he fell in love with a human. She was everything to him and he was everything to her. They would have married if not for the curse that separated them. Someone jealous of their love put a curse on it. Should the dwarf see the human again or even hear about her, she would die. Not wanting the death of his beloved, he left her to live as a hermit in a remote forest. He refused to see anyone, otherwise there would have been a risk that someone who knows his beloved would talk about her. Just hearing her name would have been enough to cause her death. He waited the equivalent of a human lifespan before returning to civilization, ensuring that his beloved would have lived her life to the fullest. Even then, he's too afraid to talk about her to his adventuring companions. The latter are surprised to learn that he spent most of his life as a hermit. He loves the company of others and is always cracking jokes and pulling pranks. For those who don't know his story, it makes no sense for a hermit druid to love people and civilization that much.
In the distant future a hired bounty hunter encountered an ancient being he has never came across before that proved to be too clever of a catch. Once the ancient being had enough play time of pranks he tricked the bounty hunter into thinking he was about to trap and bind for his payout. Then to the bounty hunters dismay the ancient being reached a hand out, touched his forehead, uttered a spell and opened a portal. In a flash, confused and dazed the bounty hunter psychologically fell into a dreamscape or at least that’s what it seemed. Streams of light and color streaming past his vision. Unfamiliar strange shapes, worlds, memories, faces, yet familiar faces, worlds, memories and shapes were simultaneously appearing. Falling? Going forward? Backwards? Sense of direction flowed too smoothly in this vortex. Then everything started to blur and brighten. He opened his eyes and took in his new environment. New surroundings. Unfamiliar people, dressed in odd apparel, odd language. A few moments pass and the odd language became understandable and then he realized he wasn’t blinking. Instinctively he put a hand to his face to itch his eyes and felt something unknown. It wasn’t his hand that he recognized. It was metal. He could feel it and at the same time not feel his hand, his face. The sense of touch was in his mind. He felt his head. No hair just more metal. He looked around for answers. The others in the room approached and asked some questions. Unfamiliar words at first but realized he could understand them and the language became understandable once more. He gave his name and where he was from. Astonished the others asked how is that possible. Then they finally explained….he was created(war forged) and informed him of the date and time(1800 years into the past) Questions. More questions and no answers. Had the ancient being cast his subconscious back in time? Or whole body? Where is his former body? How does he go back? Can he go back? To his distraction the other strangers unrestrained him….he gave them one last, confused look and fled.
Well I went for new feywild bugbear, going for the idea of fairies interacting with children in a more Brothers Grimm vein but I hope fun….. shadow monk/bard
Please say hello to Bedbug….
Bedbug is a boogeyman and nightmare under the bed. Some feywild bugbears come to the material plane to find a quite place to sleep, eat and do nothing. These are the monsters under the bed that children fear and to appease will feed and keep secret or parents might find an empty child’s room some morning. They are given the dark gift of second skin… when ever they are within 60 foot of a child they take on the corpse like visage of the same child.
Bedbug is currently looking for a nice bed as his last child grew up. He did quite like her and grew to protect her and sing her to sleep, when he wasn’t threatening to eat her….which he would have never do… he misses little Susie…he’s looking for a new child to look after/scare
I took the new feywild version of a bugbear and hopefully added a Brother’s Grimm feel to it in a fun way. Shadow monk/bard
Please say hello to Bedbug….
Bedbug is a boogeyman and nightmare under the bed. Some feywild bugbears come to the material plane to find a quite place to sleep, eat and do nothing. These are the monsters under the bed that children fear and to appease will feed and keep secret or parents might find an empty child’s room some morning. They are given the dark gift of second skin… when ever they are within 60 foot of a child they take on the corpse like visage of the same child.
Bedbug is currently looking for a nice bed as his last child grew up. He did quite like her and grew to protect her and sing her to sleep, when he wasn’t threatening to eat her….which he would have never do… he misses little Susie…he’s looking for a new child to look after/scare ie. adventure time.
My most recent character is Hedgehog called Dusty for a Humblewood campaign.
Dusty was an entertainer, who did pyrotechnic displays like firebreathing and fire juggling. One unfortunate day, his overambitious display set a flame to the woods around him, and he found himself trapped in a forest fire which was hungrily consuming everything around him. Badly burnt and terrified, he saw fire in all directions and starting praying to anyone or anything that could hear him, to please let him live. It was the last act of a hedgehog who couldn't face death bravely.
The last thing he had expected was for the fire to stop, and ask in a whispery, crackly voice,"why?"
That was the day the Dusty made a pact with the fire, to feed it in exchange for his life. The fire granted him magical abilities, and even gave him the ability to cover his disfiguring burns using magic.
Now, his shows are the talk of anywhere he travels. His ability to control and manipulate the flames leaves his audience in awe. But, sometimes, he would hear the flames whispering to him, to compel him to feed them, and remembering that night in flames, he would obey.
It was when Dusty got talking to an adventuring party that he learnt of their adventures and their fights, and Dusty realised that he could feed the flames on these monsters instead of hunting down innocent wildlife and, on one drunken occasion, a heckler who insisted on being shown how it was done.
Now Dusty is travelling in the guise of a fire mage, using his powers to protect and make safe the people of the world, whilst feeding the insatiable flames with their bodies and souls. He is too cowardly to contemplate what might lie in store for the future, or what he is feeding, and is content to simply be fulfilling his deal - to feed the fire, and in exchange, to not be consumed by it.
(Named Dusty by my fiancee who loves the Inkheart books and said he's similar to Dustfinger. He's a pact of the fiend warlock with all fire spells, as well as druidcraft, prestidigitation, thaumaturgy, and control flames, for a whole host of fire trickery available to wow the audiences of his shows!)
Just started playing again after a good 15 years. Created a gnome lock to join a party my friends are running, and my DM and I are having so much fun with this character I thought I'd share:
Neswin Eplididdibus Grabin Figglediggle Champers
Backstory:
Born in a small, insignificant town in an insignificant region in the most insignificant part of Sivalis on the continent of Kolasi. Neswin’s father was a well-respected and successful businessman, negotiating trade across the realm. He had wanted his son to carry on the family business, but after a misunderstanding in his first trade deal which almost caused a war and the sacking of Xevil by some very powerful Paladins, he was encouraged by his father (and the rest of the town) to travel elsewhere and find his fortune.
Drifting from place to place, taking odd jobs here and there to make do, he washed up on the Western shore of the Thalassa Sea after taking a rather exciting job as a cabin boy on an ill-fated trading vessel.
Travelling town to town, he ended up taking a job as a scribe for several months with a mysterious hermit in a tiny village a day’s travel outside of Krust, transcribing unusual glyphs into tomes. Being the first occupation of which he could achieve adequacy, he found himself content to stay in one place for a period of time. He was bored, but at least he wasn’t running for his life.
One day while looking for his quill to fix a tome that he accidentally transcribed backwards, he came across a amulet on a dusty bookshelf in the hermit’s shop. Touching it, he had his first encounter with Crowley (as he calls himself), a fiend from a nefarious realm.
This is all speculation of course, as Crowley is very vague and dismissive about information about himself.
Crowley offered to give Neswin great magic to him in exchange for certain favors. Neswin quickly accepted, knowing he was about to be fired for the error.
Traits and flaws:
Lighthearted and pleasant by nature, Neswin is always in search of entertainment. He doesn't take himself, others or even situations too seriously; but always finds himself in situations where seriousness is needed, causing things to go poorly, fast. This, coupled with being easily distracted puts him in situations he was not prepared for. However, he always shows up with a false bravado and flair for the dramatic, at least until things start going awry, and then in his mind running away screaming is always a viable option.
His whimsical humor might amuse himself, but rarely others. Impish, low-brow pranks are performed at inappropriate times or places. While harmless and without malice in intentions, they almost always fall flat and quite often end in confrontation. He especially is amused by playing pranks on larger races or strength-based classes (Orcs are always an irresistible target).
Even though his heart is always in the right place, he tries to do the right thing and fails as often as he succeeds. He is fully aware that he is a below-average warlock, yet tries to hide this fact. Because of this, he prefers to surround himself with non-magic folk, who would be amazed by his tenuous grasp of simple spells. His loyalty to his patron is only for keeping his abilities, and will toe the line of keeping him just happy enough to keep the magic. After all, he has no other skills.
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Deathly afraid of other magic users and will avoid mage battles whenever possible. Mystical or Infernal creatures however, do not bother him at all.
Gets extremely upset with those that take advantage of others, especially when it comes to financial interactions.
Will not miss an opportunity to impress others with his magic, be it performing card tricks for local children, or playing pranks on orcs.
My DM has run with this idea and integrated it into the campaign (I joined at lvl 6). So much so that he wants me to build a new character of the Sorcerer Neswin worked for tracking me down to get his amulet back.
My challenge: develop a backstory for a half-drow celestial warlock that..
wasn't just another Drizzt knockoff
feels genuine and "human"
hopefully adds compelling lore to the character's chosen religion (Ilmater).
explains how a multiclass character (Swashbuckler 3 / Celestial 2) came to be
(This character started as a 5th level replacement for another who'd gotten pancaked in the Dungeon of the Mad Mage)
Backstory of Yngvild Braelinsdottir
My mother, Tofa Hakisdottir was a glorious vision. The life of many a social situation, she made good money as a barkeep in Termalaine and claims my father was a regrettable dalliance that ran with Bregan D'aerthe. I was the result: six pounds of screaming half-drow ostracization.
We emigrated south to Waterdeep in search of a living, but the city was already brimming over with entertainers of my mother's skill level, and she wasn't willing to capitalize on her physical charms. We burned through her meager savings in less than a week, and I spent much of my early years in the charitable Hospice of St. Laupsenn as a result. As early as two, I recall being a "junior hospitaler" while mom trawled for honest coin. I learned several languages during this time and picked up a real knack for calming people down. Little kids are a lot like puppies in that regard. They can bring a smile to even the most jaded veteran.
One day, soon after I turned 8, mom didn't come home. I was crushed, but the brothers and sisters at the hospice did what they could. Those kind souls provided succor and shelter well into my teens. I continued assisting with the sick and wounded. When I eventually ventured out in hopes of repaying their benevolence, my manners, linguistic skill and relatively exotic appearance landed me a barkeep spot at the Noble Galleon in Castle Ward. The tavern's Marine officer clientele reinforced the sense of honor instilled in me by the paladins at St. Laupsenn -- a happy confluence.
A local Harper also bought me stew -- always welcome -- and harvested tidbits I'd overhead during the day. Over time, she tuned my nattering into whispers of impact, and I began to foster dreams of becoming a holy warrior spy.
Unfortunately, the habits and combat style I picked up from the tavern horrified the Adorned clergy at the hospice. Marines are trained to hunt pirates; and a fair fight is a lost fight to them. Plus, they have a weird sense of humor. While honing my sword-craft to a poetic polish, these hardened naval warriors also taught me how to drink hulking brutes under the table. Why? They'd claim it was a required skill for the job, but I knew better. I was their witty barb; their punch bowl turd at the Waterdeep soirée.
Scumbags. I love every one of them.
I could cite chapter and verse from the Suffering God's most holy texts while quickly punching the "off button" on evil doers. Brutal and underhanded, perhaps, but Church leadership grudgingly recognized the lack of suffering inherent in such victories. They still didn't like it. So I never advanced. In their eyes, I remained the ever trusty and fervent Yngvild Braelinsdottir. I had potential, but unless I became more steeped in the concept of a fair fight, I would always be a follower. Never a leader. My spirits declined -- reaching abysmal depths when the tenth anniversary of my mother's death came around. I'd gone nowhere in life.
I could just disappear one day, and no one would miss me.
That awful thought gnawed at me like a ravenous dog with a scrap of hide. I sought solace through texts. Walked for hours. Spoke with friends and mentors. All the normal things. But, nothing could distract me from the building emptiness for very long. An avatar of Ilmater visited my dreams at a point when I was contemplating the unthinkable. This holy being -- Revenon -- implored me to not lose faith. He wanted me to embrace the doctrine more fully, alleviate suffering, uplift the low, and end the irredeemable. All this wonderful stuff.
In exchange, he promised the power of Blessed Ilmater would flow through me in unusual ways. I had nothing to lose, so much to gain, and wanted so dearly to believe. I accepted his offer.
That night, I did my first solo healing. A traveler had been waylaid while seeking drink in the city of splendors. He used magical darkness to scare off the ruffians, but collapsed while seeking help, mere feet from the hospice doorway. I saw through the unnatural gloom, knelt next to poor man and channelled Ilmater's grace, healing him.
He saw me, squeaked, and ran off.
To be expected, I guess. Most drow are not nice. I still smiled as his footfalls faded into the distance, Finally, I could end suffering, deal with the wicked ones who reveled in pain on my own terms, and know blessed Ilmater still supported me.
A rural halfling, gone... wrong(?) The story of Jack (of all trades) Shepherd
I grew up as a shepherd and beekeeper, but yearned for more (as young lads do) My dream was to own a tavern, so I learned the brewing trade. My specialties are mead and cider. Best around too, ask anyone! And my cool wine aunt was a bard, so there ya go.
I did a service for a noble unicorn, once. "No big deal", I thought. She thought different. So she made a pact, and laid The Duty upon me.
"Good Shepherd, Protect Those who Cannot Protect Themselves. Watch over the Flock. I Give You These Gifts, that You May Accomplish it."
And so I do, to this day.
Can't do otherwise, nor would I either. Can't speak celestial just yet, but her name translates to something like "Sparkles in Twilight"
M&D still keep pressuring me for grand-kids, but it's waaay too soon! Lots of living to do before I even think about settling down.
Right now, I travel to open new markets for our local goods. Good enough. And if I can help folks along the way, that's all in a day's work.
Goods : wool, honey, apples, mead, cider, wolf (and a few exotic) hides. Services : many and varied. They call me "Jack of all Trades" for a reason!
"Whoever you are, whatever you're trying to do, I can help. As long as it doesn't hurt folks."
P.S. I haven't actually played a character in about 35 years, please review and comment. This is all theoretical, trying to figure out 5e. A utility/support/skillmonkey build. Don't expect DPS (though 11th level Eldritch Blast and spiritual guardian don't suck) Mostly non-combat stuff, but very good at that. Optimized for his backstory, not for min-max.
P.P.S. Um, why has no-one ever tried a Lore Bard / Celestial Tome Warlock before? Ever? It's the ultimate skillmonkey, as far as I can see. I looked around. A lot.
My character, Orion, a human warlock. This is only the first draft of her backstory.
Orion was born Ciara de'Moragan to an estranged lord, Julian, and his lover, Cynthia, although there was a great deal of rumour and scandal when she moved to live with her father as it was generally believed that her mother was her father's sister. Orion's mother died of polio soon after her 3rd birthday and Orion moved in with her father permanently. From the moment she moved in with her father, Orion expressed that she heard a strange but somewhat comforting voice. She was often heard by the maids and servants talking to an unseen being, telling it that she "can't come", "her father would be angry" and to "stop calling her names."
This said, Julian greatly doted on her and she wanted for nothing until one fateful day when her life changed dramatically. Her grandmother, Julian's mother, refused to acknowledge Orion or accept her into the family, making it very clear to her father that while she lived with him as his daughter, the two would be estranged, disowned and disinherited from the family. Her father took this in stride, moved from the stately home into a small, poor neighbourhood in the local city, taking up any job that was offered to him. While he worked hard to provide for his daughter, his mother entreated him several times to abandon Orion and return home. It didn't take long for Orion's father to cut all contact with their wealthy family and disappear to another city entirely in the hopes that they would not find them for he feared that his mother would do something unforgivable to his beloved daughter.
His fears were realised later that same year as their dilapidated and broken-down home was broken into late one night. Julian urged Orion to hide and slip from the house using the attic window as soon as she could, and she did just that. Hiding from the strange, darkly clad men, hearing shouts of anger and her father's cries of pain before she slipped out of the window, breaking an old ashen mirror in the process. Later that night, she returned to find her home in shambles and her father dead, beaten and flayed, lying in a pool of his own blood. The only clue she had regarding who destroyed her life was a silver coin that Julian clutched in his hand, the coin had a stylised eye at its center surrounded by ivy on one side and grape vines on the other. Orion buried her father in the potter's field and swore to find out who harmed her family. That night she slept at home for the last time; a voice disturbed her dreams all night, a shadow in the dark surrounded by broken glass. The voice promised her power and strength enough to find and punish those that harmed her, in exchange, the voice wanted retribution on those that had trapped it in the ashen mirror. If she was to agree, she need only enter the attic, cut her hand upon the glass of the mirror and speak the voice's name. Orion realised that night that the voice she heard in her dreams was the same voice she'd been hearing her entire life, the voice of the being called "Lothaire."
(Art Belongs to Ona Kristensen, contact via Artstation for commisions)
Known as Maimonides(Maimon) by his fellows as Hagugun by his family (writing in Alzhedo is kinda hard here and Latin Alphabet makes his name look horrible sigh :/). Our young Calishite born in Memnon, a Calishite city south of Kingdom of Tethyr to a family of naval traders and arcane practioners. His family was somewhat devout believers of Azuth and Deneir and for some reason a deity called Shaundakul(old men all sigh). His father side was Calishite yet her mother was of Bedine descent. He was an energetic healthy little boy, but it didn't take much effort to discipline him, as he was acquinted with arcane arts at a young age, he was fascinated with it, he spent more time studying than playing in streets(though he rarely refused his friends when they called for him). As he was becoming a teen, he became proficient in drawing maps and calligraphy tutored by private teachers, by the time he was 11 he got accepted to Guild Arcana thanks to his families background and wealth, there under the tutalege of adept wizards, he furthered his understanding of arcane, while scholarly life was peaceful, he dreamed of sea, endless, vast... He left the guild at 15 and joined the crew of a ship(as an apprentice to their naval wizard) which also carried his families' trade goods as well, mostly ink and paint derived from a blue stone which was prized by many. He honed his cartography skills get used to navigation through his years on the sea, and learned about Deneir and Valkur from his mentor. Short time after his departure from Memnon, some historic even occured, awakening of Memnon(city's name comes from this EFreeti apparently) and Calim, an Efreeti and a Djinni respectively of great might and fame, an internal war started in Calimshan, his family migrated to Almraiven, far to East, and a little to South, lost most of their wealth but otherwise safe and sound.
Thanks to a once famous wizard now a trader in Baldur's Gate he could contact his family and learn that they are safe as for some reason these Efreeti and Djinni masters dissapeared somehow for some reason, still his family was not planning to return to Memnon City and started from scratch in their new home, though this wizard/trader who was known as Syndra Silvermane was suffering from a recent disease, known as the "Death Curse" and asked for the assistance of the young mage. Maimon was quite experienced about alot, he traveled alot, he read alot, but in practice he never fought, even his spellbook contained spells to further his scholarly pursuits rather than combat, but he couldn't refuse as Syndra offered him a priceless map, while unfinished, this map of Chult could make him the one of the most famous cartographers in history if completed. Through Syndra Silvermane our young mage got to meet 3 others, a young artificier apprentice of famous Cromwell, a convict who joined since he had no other choice, and a bulky Goliath who was a slave all his life in fighting pits and ships...
He is now a level 3 Order of Scribes Wizard, level 1 Cleric of Knowledge(Deneir), sadly his fellow party members died in Port Nyanzaru... And now he joined with other fellow adventurers, and questioning himself whether if it was the right decision or not as he arrived to Fort Beluarian with these fellows...
My Assimar monk, Lemmanus, or "Lemmy" as he prefers.
Lemmy never knew his family. Being born as an Assimar gave every one in his life the impression that he was given a "divine gift" and was "meant for great things". Sentiments that were so thoroughly repeated that he grew to despise the words. Lemmy was raised in a monastery by a group of monks that hoped to train the young man into being a great hero and champion for good. However, the intense training and constant pressure to be better and "worthy of his divine gift" instilled a rebellious streak in the boy, and he often attempted to escape the monastery.
The was one teacher Lemmy was fond of, an outsider, Sheng Long; wandering the world seeking to test and improve upon his martial arts skills with new and strange opponents. After sparing with Lemmy's teachers, he offered to aid in the young Aasimar's training, and before long Lemmy was his greatest pupil. Learning martial arts, how to throw a punch, how to take one, how to read an opponent, and how to turn their every misstep into advantage was something Lemmy excelled at, and his enthusiasm for the practice only grew with his skill.
This wasn't a divine gift. This was a skill, cultivated with training and dedication.This wasn't a grand destiny. This was a passion, one he had chosen for himself. In short, martial arts was everything that was Lemmy, not what the gods had intended for him.
However, Sheng Long eventually left the monastery, continuing his own journey and knowing full well that Lemmy could not improve much farther with the limited sparing partners within the monks ranks. So he left Lemmy with a simple challenge: "Come and find me. Show me what you've learned."
Lemmy's next escape was a success. He fled as far from the monastery as possible. Now he travels the world, relishing in the strange new sights that all the study the monks had forced on him could never have prepared him for. He lives his life to the fullest, trying whatever strange new thing that pops up before him without a second thought. But more than anything, he still enjoys the fight, and he never gave up on the challenge Sheng Long set for him. Lemmy is eager, perhaps overeager, to face new enemies, learn from them, and use that knowledge in his next sparing session with his missing master.
I've been taken with the druid recently, mainly the circles of stars.
Do you think a crystal dragon could be a patron/mentor of sort to a young druid, initiating him into the mysteries of the constellations?
I know you are referring to the literal Crystal Dragon but imagining Crystal Wing being a patron is really funny to me... But I don't see why not, flavor is free after all and who knows what is truly out there in the astral plane. The spells you cast can be made out of crystals/you can throw gems instead of your spells that have the same effect (something similar to Rin Tohsaka from Fate) if you want to flavor it up... perhaps gems that correspond to the original element of the spell, for example: Rubies can be fire spells, your vines can be made out of crystal, etc. Just make sure to ask your DM about it
To start, I would use the custom lineage with gift of the gem dragon. To justify darkvision, his eyes would be like glass. The form of the star map is the crystal.
Your idea seems more fitting a warlock. I really like it though.
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Thx for sharing it helped me get past a block - poached the outline for new Character
Victor Vance
Mark of Making Human
Artificer, Battle Smith / Druid, Circle of Shepherds
Male - 23 Years old - 195 lbs - 6’1”
Origin
Victor and his fellow villager Lawrence LaRusso were always friendly rivals, competing at swordplay with sticks, foot races through the forest, getting the higher grades from their tutors, and anything and everything which could crown one as the winner. Both shared a dream of founding in their sleepy little hamlet a gymnasium like those in antiquity, and an arena in which to host tourneys that they themselves would win. They had deep disagreements about their philosophies and politics, but their shared love of summons and summon battles forged a bond of brotherhood which could never be broken. Except by one thing and one thing only...
As their eighteenth summer was approaching autumn, an old gnome named Maurice moved into the village. He was an accomplished artificer - as an armorer, an artillerist, and as a battle smith. Vance would have sought to apprentice under him irrespectively, but an even more motivating factor was at play. Maurice was the adoptive father of a beauteous Eldarin maiden named Alizabeth.
As expected, Vance and LaRusso became rivals for her affection, but their once friendly competition grew fierce and bitter with the prospect of so pulchritudinous a prize on the line. Vance sought to endear himself to her by impressing her father as an able artificer apprentice, and indeed, Maurice often spoke highly of Vance to his daughter, and the three would work and eat and spend time together often. Lawrence in turn would walk with her through the woods, opining on his love for all the fauna and flora and the beauty of the natural world, but praising her beauty as greater still.
Alizabeth was torn in heart between her suitors, and so promised to pledge herself to whichever was winner of the summon battle at the tourney in a town nearby. On the night before the battle, Victor prayed to his namesake, the god of victory, that he might prove victorious and in doing so win Alizabeth’s her hand. Likewise, Lawrence prayed to the goddess of love, that no matter the outcome, he might merit Alizabeth’s favor.
The battle itself was hard fought. LaRusso called forth nature spirits and earth elementals, while Victor conjured constructs of metal and magic. In the end, it was Victor’s faithful Defender - a little Labrator Reciever named “Sparky” who was colorfully coated in glistening gold and burnished bronze and piped with sunset orange copper, and made under the tutelage of Maurice - that gained Victor victory, albeit a pyrrhic one.
During the fight, one of Lawrence’s summons sent a stray dart of mistletoe, sharply scratching Vance’s shoulder. It was an apparent accident, and Victor fought through the pain of the poison, but immediately after he required medical attention. Seeing it as a sign from the goddess, Lawrence used the distraction to summon a steed and steal away Alizabeth. Because all attention was on Vance, her abduction was not noted for hours.
Victor and Maurice returned to their village in the hopes that LaRusso had absconded there, but found neither trace nor trail of the villain and his victim. Searches were made in the surrounding burroughs and burgs, but nowhere were they seen. After some weeks Maurice promoted his son-in-law-to-be to the rank of Journeyman Battle Smith, and advised him to take up the journey that the rank implied, using his continued training to also seek out word of Alizabeth and her abductor, and in doing so to rescue the distressed damsel.
Ideal
Everything that exists in the material planes is part of Nature (with a majuscule “N”). But in all of Nature, the greatest part is also the least natural: incarnate being (such as humans, dwarves, gnomes, etc); greatest in that they are like the gods, able to take ideas from the immaterial planes in order to reshape nature (with a miniscule “n”), but in doing so, imposing an artificial paradigm over nature known as Culture, and thus separating in part from nature. As a druid, it is this aspect of Nature which most interests Vance - the artificial, cultural, and technological.
Bonds
Vance is in many ways the polar opposite of his rival and frenemy, Lawrence LaRusso. Both grew up around all sorts of athletic competitions: tourneys with duels, and jousts, and melees, and - their shared passion - summon battles. But whereas LaRusso loved to simply spectate and cheer as a fan, Vance was only ever interested in competing himself - he had no interest in vicariously living through the accomplishment of others. Whereas LaRusso loves reconnecting with nature, Vance is more interested in all the artistic, cultural, and (especially) technological progress achieved by Men, Dwarves, Gnomes, and others. Whereas LaRusso sees summons as beasts to befriend, Vance is a prolific poacher, avid huntsman, and values summons as studs and brood sows to breed, tools to tinker with, and weapons to wield (as well as only sometimes pets to love).
Physical description
Vance is never not wearing his wide brimmed leather “thinking cap.” He takes it off for one thing and one thing only - and even then, he’ll leave it on if the lady wants him to. Beneath that brim is a steely gaze and a stubbly granite jawline like the clenched fist of an angry god. He looks older than his twenty-three years, but by no means old, simply more manly, wizened, and well-preserved.
Chaotic Good / Half-Orc / Ancestral Guardian Barbarian / Outlander
He was raised by a tribe of chaotic evil orcs. His orcish mother had raped his human father during a raid before killing him. The tribe puts a heavy emphasis on honoring their ancestors, and the best warriors take the Path of the Ancestral Guardian. He was raised to be a warrior. When he was old enough to participate in his first raid, he discovered that he found no pleasure in wanton destruction and slaughter. Instead, he empathised with the poor victims. Disgusted and ashamed, he left the tribe and traveled the world looking for a purpose. When facing conflict, he prefers using diplomacy. He uses violence only as a last resort. He wants peace, not war. Instead of harnessing the strength of his brutal ancestors, he harnesses the spirits of the friends he lost along the way. He's the stoic and silent type, talking only when necessary. He's the antithesis of a murderhobo.
Neutral / Hill Dwarf / Forest Land Druid / Hermit
When he was young, he fell in love with a human. She was everything to him and he was everything to her. They would have married if not for the curse that separated them. Someone jealous of their love put a curse on it. Should the dwarf see the human again or even hear about her, she would die. Not wanting the death of his beloved, he left her to live as a hermit in a remote forest. He refused to see anyone, otherwise there would have been a risk that someone who knows his beloved would talk about her. Just hearing her name would have been enough to cause her death. He waited the equivalent of a human lifespan before returning to civilization, ensuring that his beloved would have lived her life to the fullest. Even then, he's too afraid to talk about her to his adventuring companions. The latter are surprised to learn that he spent most of his life as a hermit. He loves the company of others and is always cracking jokes and pulling pranks. For those who don't know his story, it makes no sense for a hermit druid to love people and civilization that much.
Age: 33 | Sex: Male | Languages: French and English | Roles: DM and Player
Unknown
In the distant future a hired bounty hunter encountered an ancient being he has never came across before that proved to be too clever of a catch. Once the ancient being had enough play time of pranks he tricked the bounty hunter into thinking he was about to trap and bind for his payout. Then to the bounty hunters dismay the ancient being reached a hand out, touched his forehead, uttered a spell and opened a portal. In a flash, confused and dazed the bounty hunter psychologically fell into a dreamscape or at least that’s what it seemed. Streams of light and color streaming past his vision. Unfamiliar strange shapes, worlds, memories, faces, yet familiar faces, worlds, memories and shapes were simultaneously appearing. Falling? Going forward? Backwards? Sense of direction flowed too smoothly in this vortex. Then everything started to blur and brighten. He opened his eyes and took in his new environment. New surroundings. Unfamiliar people, dressed in odd apparel, odd language. A few moments pass and the odd language became understandable and then he realized he wasn’t blinking. Instinctively he put a hand to his face to itch his eyes and felt something unknown. It wasn’t his hand that he recognized. It was metal. He could feel it and at the same time not feel his hand, his face. The sense of touch was in his mind. He felt his head. No hair just more metal. He looked around for answers. The others in the room approached and asked some questions. Unfamiliar words at first but realized he could understand them and the language became understandable once more. He gave his name and where he was from. Astonished the others asked how is that possible. Then they finally explained….he was created(war forged) and informed him of the date and time(1800 years into the past) Questions. More questions and no answers. Had the ancient being cast his subconscious back in time? Or whole body? Where is his former body? How does he go back? Can he go back? To his distraction the other strangers unrestrained him….he gave them one last, confused look and fled.
Well I went for new feywild bugbear, going for the idea of fairies interacting with children in a more Brothers Grimm vein but I hope fun….. shadow monk/bard
Please say hello to Bedbug….
Bedbug is a boogeyman and nightmare under the bed. Some feywild bugbears come to the material plane to find a quite place to sleep, eat and do nothing. These are the monsters under the bed that children fear and to appease will feed and keep secret or parents might find an empty child’s room some morning. They are given the dark gift of second skin… when ever they are within 60 foot of a child they take on the corpse like visage of the same child.
Bedbug is currently looking for a nice bed as his last child grew up. He did quite like her and grew to protect her and sing her to sleep, when he wasn’t threatening to eat her….which he would have never do… he misses little Susie…he’s looking for a new child to look after/scare
ie. adventure time.
It's not Magic its Science
I took the new feywild version of a bugbear and hopefully added a Brother’s Grimm feel to it in a fun way. Shadow monk/bard
Please say hello to Bedbug….
Bedbug is a boogeyman and nightmare under the bed. Some feywild bugbears come to the material plane to find a quite place to sleep, eat and do nothing. These are the monsters under the bed that children fear and to appease will feed and keep secret or parents might find an empty child’s room some morning. They are given the dark gift of second skin… when ever they are within 60 foot of a child they take on the corpse like visage of the same child.
Bedbug is currently looking for a nice bed as his last child grew up. He did quite like her and grew to protect her and sing her to sleep, when he wasn’t threatening to eat her….which he would have never do… he misses little Susie…he’s looking for a new child to look after/scare ie. adventure time.
It's not Magic its Science
My most recent character is Hedgehog called Dusty for a Humblewood campaign.
Dusty was an entertainer, who did pyrotechnic displays like firebreathing and fire juggling. One unfortunate day, his overambitious display set a flame to the woods around him, and he found himself trapped in a forest fire which was hungrily consuming everything around him. Badly burnt and terrified, he saw fire in all directions and starting praying to anyone or anything that could hear him, to please let him live. It was the last act of a hedgehog who couldn't face death bravely.
The last thing he had expected was for the fire to stop, and ask in a whispery, crackly voice,"why?"
That was the day the Dusty made a pact with the fire, to feed it in exchange for his life. The fire granted him magical abilities, and even gave him the ability to cover his disfiguring burns using magic.
Now, his shows are the talk of anywhere he travels. His ability to control and manipulate the flames leaves his audience in awe. But, sometimes, he would hear the flames whispering to him, to compel him to feed them, and remembering that night in flames, he would obey.
It was when Dusty got talking to an adventuring party that he learnt of their adventures and their fights, and Dusty realised that he could feed the flames on these monsters instead of hunting down innocent wildlife and, on one drunken occasion, a heckler who insisted on being shown how it was done.
Now Dusty is travelling in the guise of a fire mage, using his powers to protect and make safe the people of the world, whilst feeding the insatiable flames with their bodies and souls. He is too cowardly to contemplate what might lie in store for the future, or what he is feeding, and is content to simply be fulfilling his deal - to feed the fire, and in exchange, to not be consumed by it.
(Named Dusty by my fiancee who loves the Inkheart books and said he's similar to Dustfinger. He's a pact of the fiend warlock with all fire spells, as well as druidcraft, prestidigitation, thaumaturgy, and control flames, for a whole host of fire trickery available to wow the audiences of his shows!)
Make your Artificer work with any other class with 174 Multiclassing Feats for your Artificer Multiclass Character!
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Acolyte would make absolutely no sense with your character's backstory. Did you even read its description? On the other hand, Sage fits perfectly.
Age: 33 | Sex: Male | Languages: French and English | Roles: DM and Player
Just started playing again after a good 15 years. Created a gnome lock to join a party my friends are running, and my DM and I are having so much fun with this character I thought I'd share:
Neswin Eplididdibus Grabin Figglediggle Champers
Backstory:
Born in a small, insignificant town in an insignificant region in the most insignificant part of Sivalis on the continent of Kolasi. Neswin’s father was a well-respected and successful businessman, negotiating trade across the realm. He had wanted his son to carry on the family business, but after a misunderstanding in his first trade deal which almost caused a war and the sacking of Xevil by some very powerful Paladins, he was encouraged by his father (and the rest of the town) to travel elsewhere and find his fortune.
Drifting from place to place, taking odd jobs here and there to make do, he washed up on the Western shore of the Thalassa Sea after taking a rather exciting job as a cabin boy on an ill-fated trading vessel.
Travelling town to town, he ended up taking a job as a scribe for several months with a mysterious hermit in a tiny village a day’s travel outside of Krust, transcribing unusual glyphs into tomes. Being the first occupation of which he could achieve adequacy, he found himself content to stay in one place for a period of time. He was bored, but at least he wasn’t running for his life.
One day while looking for his quill to fix a tome that he accidentally transcribed backwards, he came across a amulet on a dusty bookshelf in the hermit’s shop. Touching it, he had his first encounter with Crowley (as he calls himself), a fiend from a nefarious realm.
This is all speculation of course, as Crowley is very vague and dismissive about information about himself.
Crowley offered to give Neswin great magic to him in exchange for certain favors. Neswin quickly accepted, knowing he was about to be fired for the error.
Traits and flaws:
Lighthearted and pleasant by nature, Neswin is always in search of entertainment. He doesn't take himself, others or even situations too seriously; but always finds himself in situations where seriousness is needed, causing things to go poorly, fast. This, coupled with being easily distracted puts him in situations he was not prepared for. However, he always shows up with a false bravado and flair for the dramatic, at least until things start going awry, and then in his mind running away screaming is always a viable option.
His whimsical humor might amuse himself, but rarely others. Impish, low-brow pranks are performed at inappropriate times or places. While harmless and without malice in intentions, they almost always fall flat and quite often end in confrontation. He especially is amused by playing pranks on larger races or strength-based classes (Orcs are always an irresistible target).
Even though his heart is always in the right place, he tries to do the right thing and fails as often as he succeeds. He is fully aware that he is a below-average warlock, yet tries to hide this fact. Because of this, he prefers to surround himself with non-magic folk, who would be amazed by his tenuous grasp of simple spells. His loyalty to his patron is only for keeping his abilities, and will toe the line of keeping him just happy enough to keep the magic. After all, he has no other skills.
=============================
Deathly afraid of other magic users and will avoid mage battles whenever possible. Mystical or Infernal creatures however, do not bother him at all.
Gets extremely upset with those that take advantage of others, especially when it comes to financial interactions.
Will not miss an opportunity to impress others with his magic, be it performing card tricks for local children, or playing pranks on orcs.
My DM has run with this idea and integrated it into the campaign (I joined at lvl 6). So much so that he wants me to build a new character of the Sorcerer Neswin worked for tracking me down to get his amulet back.
woah
My challenge: develop a backstory for a half-drow celestial warlock that..
(This character started as a 5th level replacement for another who'd gotten pancaked in the Dungeon of the Mad Mage)
Backstory of Yngvild Braelinsdottir
My mother, Tofa Hakisdottir was a glorious vision. The life of many a social situation, she made good money as a barkeep in Termalaine and claims my father was a regrettable dalliance that ran with Bregan D'aerthe. I was the result: six pounds of screaming half-drow ostracization.
We emigrated south to Waterdeep in search of a living, but the city was already brimming over with entertainers of my mother's skill level, and she wasn't willing to capitalize on her physical charms. We burned through her meager savings in less than a week, and I spent much of my early years in the charitable Hospice of St. Laupsenn as a result. As early as two, I recall being a "junior hospitaler" while mom trawled for honest coin. I learned several languages during this time and picked up a real knack for calming people down. Little kids are a lot like puppies in that regard. They can bring a smile to even the most jaded veteran.
One day, soon after I turned 8, mom didn't come home. I was crushed, but the brothers and sisters at the hospice did what they could. Those kind souls provided succor and shelter well into my teens. I continued assisting with the sick and wounded. When I eventually ventured out in hopes of repaying their benevolence, my manners, linguistic skill and relatively exotic appearance landed me a barkeep spot at the Noble Galleon in Castle Ward. The tavern's Marine officer clientele reinforced the sense of honor instilled in me by the paladins at St. Laupsenn -- a happy confluence.
A local Harper also bought me stew -- always welcome -- and harvested tidbits I'd overhead during the day. Over time, she tuned my nattering into whispers of impact, and I began to foster dreams of becoming a holy warrior spy.
Unfortunately, the habits and combat style I picked up from the tavern horrified the Adorned clergy at the hospice. Marines are trained to hunt pirates; and a fair fight is a lost fight to them. Plus, they have a weird sense of humor. While honing my sword-craft to a poetic polish, these hardened naval warriors also taught me how to drink hulking brutes under the table. Why? They'd claim it was a required skill for the job, but I knew better. I was their witty barb; their punch bowl turd at the Waterdeep soirée.
Scumbags. I love every one of them.
I could cite chapter and verse from the Suffering God's most holy texts while quickly punching the "off button" on evil doers. Brutal and underhanded, perhaps, but Church leadership grudgingly recognized the lack of suffering inherent in such victories. They still didn't like it. So I never advanced. In their eyes, I remained the ever trusty and fervent Yngvild Braelinsdottir. I had potential, but unless I became more steeped in the concept of a fair fight, I would always be a follower. Never a leader. My spirits declined -- reaching abysmal depths when the tenth anniversary of my mother's death came around. I'd gone nowhere in life.
I could just disappear one day, and no one would miss me.
That awful thought gnawed at me like a ravenous dog with a scrap of hide. I sought solace through texts. Walked for hours. Spoke with friends and mentors. All the normal things. But, nothing could distract me from the building emptiness for very long. An avatar of Ilmater visited my dreams at a point when I was contemplating the unthinkable. This holy being -- Revenon -- implored me to not lose faith. He wanted me to embrace the doctrine more fully, alleviate suffering, uplift the low, and end the irredeemable. All this wonderful stuff.
In exchange, he promised the power of Blessed Ilmater would flow through me in unusual ways. I had nothing to lose, so much to gain, and wanted so dearly to believe. I accepted his offer.
That night, I did my first solo healing. A traveler had been waylaid while seeking drink in the city of splendors. He used magical darkness to scare off the ruffians, but collapsed while seeking help, mere feet from the hospice doorway. I saw through the unnatural gloom, knelt next to poor man and channelled Ilmater's grace, healing him.
He saw me, squeaked, and ran off.
To be expected, I guess. Most drow are not nice. I still smiled as his footfalls faded into the distance, Finally, I could end suffering, deal with the wicked ones who reveled in pain on my own terms, and know blessed Ilmater still supported me.
I dared to hope.
A rural halfling, gone... wrong(?)
The story of Jack (of all trades) Shepherd
I grew up as a shepherd and beekeeper, but yearned for more (as young lads do)
My dream was to own a tavern, so I learned the brewing trade.
My specialties are mead and cider. Best around too, ask anyone!
And my cool wine aunt was a bard, so there ya go.
I did a service for a noble unicorn, once. "No big deal", I thought.
She thought different.
So she made a pact, and laid The Duty upon me.
"Good Shepherd, Protect Those who Cannot Protect Themselves. Watch over the Flock.
I Give You These Gifts, that You May Accomplish it."
And so I do, to this day.
Can't do otherwise, nor would I either.
Can't speak celestial just yet, but her name translates to something like "Sparkles in Twilight"
M&D still keep pressuring me for grand-kids, but it's waaay too soon!
Lots of living to do before I even think about settling down.
Right now, I travel to open new markets for our local goods. Good enough.
And if I can help folks along the way, that's all in a day's work.
Goods : wool, honey, apples, mead, cider, wolf (and a few exotic) hides.
Services : many and varied. They call me "Jack of all Trades" for a reason!
https://www.dndbeyond.com/characters/75907813
"Whoever you are, whatever you're trying to do, I can help.
As long as it doesn't hurt folks."
P.S.
I haven't actually played a character in about 35 years, please review and comment. This is all theoretical, trying to figure out 5e.
A utility/support/skillmonkey build. Don't expect DPS (though 11th level Eldritch Blast and spiritual guardian don't suck)
Mostly non-combat stuff, but very good at that.
Optimized for his backstory, not for min-max.
P.P.S.
Um, why has no-one ever tried a Lore Bard / Celestial Tome Warlock before? Ever?
It's the ultimate skillmonkey, as far as I can see.
I looked around. A lot.
My character, Orion, a human warlock. This is only the first draft of her backstory.
Orion was born Ciara de'Moragan to an estranged lord, Julian, and his lover, Cynthia, although there was a great deal of rumour and scandal when she moved to live with her father as it was generally believed that her mother was her father's sister. Orion's mother died of polio soon after her 3rd birthday and Orion moved in with her father permanently. From the moment she moved in with her father, Orion expressed that she heard a strange but somewhat comforting voice. She was often heard by the maids and servants talking to an unseen being, telling it that she "can't come", "her father would be angry" and to "stop calling her names."
This said, Julian greatly doted on her and she wanted for nothing until one fateful day when her life changed dramatically. Her grandmother, Julian's mother, refused to acknowledge Orion or accept her into the family, making it very clear to her father that while she lived with him as his daughter, the two would be estranged, disowned and disinherited from the family. Her father took this in stride, moved from the stately home into a small, poor neighbourhood in the local city, taking up any job that was offered to him. While he worked hard to provide for his daughter, his mother entreated him several times to abandon Orion and return home. It didn't take long for Orion's father to cut all contact with their wealthy family and disappear to another city entirely in the hopes that they would not find them for he feared that his mother would do something unforgivable to his beloved daughter.
His fears were realised later that same year as their dilapidated and broken-down home was broken into late one night. Julian urged Orion to hide and slip from the house using the attic window as soon as she could, and she did just that. Hiding from the strange, darkly clad men, hearing shouts of anger and her father's cries of pain before she slipped out of the window, breaking an old ashen mirror in the process. Later that night, she returned to find her home in shambles and her father dead, beaten and flayed, lying in a pool of his own blood. The only clue she had regarding who destroyed her life was a silver coin that Julian clutched in his hand, the coin had a stylised eye at its center surrounded by ivy on one side and grape vines on the other. Orion buried her father in the potter's field and swore to find out who harmed her family. That night she slept at home for the last time; a voice disturbed her dreams all night, a shadow in the dark surrounded by broken glass. The voice promised her power and strength enough to find and punish those that harmed her, in exchange, the voice wanted retribution on those that had trapped it in the ashen mirror. If she was to agree, she need only enter the attic, cut her hand upon the glass of the mirror and speak the voice's name. Orion realised that night that the voice she heard in her dreams was the same voice she'd been hearing her entire life, the voice of the being called "Lothaire."
https://pasteboard.co/nawsmXRAURN4.png
(Art Belongs to Ona Kristensen, contact via Artstation for commisions)
Known as Maimonides(Maimon) by his fellows as Hagugun by his family (writing in Alzhedo is kinda hard here and Latin Alphabet makes his name look horrible sigh :/). Our young Calishite born in Memnon, a Calishite city south of Kingdom of Tethyr to a family of naval traders and arcane practioners. His family was somewhat devout believers of Azuth and Deneir and for some reason a deity called Shaundakul(old men all sigh). His father side was Calishite yet her mother was of Bedine descent. He was an energetic healthy little boy, but it didn't take much effort to discipline him, as he was acquinted with arcane arts at a young age, he was fascinated with it, he spent more time studying than playing in streets(though he rarely refused his friends when they called for him). As he was becoming a teen, he became proficient in drawing maps and calligraphy tutored by private teachers, by the time he was 11 he got accepted to Guild Arcana thanks to his families background and wealth, there under the tutalege of adept wizards, he furthered his understanding of arcane, while scholarly life was peaceful, he dreamed of sea, endless, vast... He left the guild at 15 and joined the crew of a ship(as an apprentice to their naval wizard) which also carried his families' trade goods as well, mostly ink and paint derived from a blue stone which was prized by many. He honed his cartography skills get used to navigation through his years on the sea, and learned about Deneir and Valkur from his mentor. Short time after his departure from Memnon, some historic even occured, awakening of Memnon(city's name comes from this EFreeti apparently) and Calim, an Efreeti and a Djinni respectively of great might and fame, an internal war started in Calimshan, his family migrated to Almraiven, far to East, and a little to South, lost most of their wealth but otherwise safe and sound.
Thanks to a once famous wizard now a trader in Baldur's Gate he could contact his family and learn that they are safe as for some reason these Efreeti and Djinni masters dissapeared somehow for some reason, still his family was not planning to return to Memnon City and started from scratch in their new home, though this wizard/trader who was known as Syndra Silvermane was suffering from a recent disease, known as the "Death Curse" and asked for the assistance of the young mage. Maimon was quite experienced about alot, he traveled alot, he read alot, but in practice he never fought, even his spellbook contained spells to further his scholarly pursuits rather than combat, but he couldn't refuse as Syndra offered him a priceless map, while unfinished, this map of Chult could make him the one of the most famous cartographers in history if completed. Through Syndra Silvermane our young mage got to meet 3 others, a young artificier apprentice of famous Cromwell, a convict who joined since he had no other choice, and a bulky Goliath who was a slave all his life in fighting pits and ships...
He is now a level 3 Order of Scribes Wizard, level 1 Cleric of Knowledge(Deneir), sadly his fellow party members died in Port Nyanzaru... And now he joined with other fellow adventurers, and questioning himself whether if it was the right decision or not as he arrived to Fort Beluarian with these fellows...
My Assimar monk, Lemmanus, or "Lemmy" as he prefers.
Lemmy never knew his family. Being born as an Assimar gave every one in his life the impression that he was given a "divine gift" and was "meant for great things". Sentiments that were so thoroughly repeated that he grew to despise the words. Lemmy was raised in a monastery by a group of monks that hoped to train the young man into being a great hero and champion for good. However, the intense training and constant pressure to be better and "worthy of his divine gift" instilled a rebellious streak in the boy, and he often attempted to escape the monastery.
The was one teacher Lemmy was fond of, an outsider, Sheng Long; wandering the world seeking to test and improve upon his martial arts skills with new and strange opponents. After sparing with Lemmy's teachers, he offered to aid in the young Aasimar's training, and before long Lemmy was his greatest pupil. Learning martial arts, how to throw a punch, how to take one, how to read an opponent, and how to turn their every misstep into advantage was something Lemmy excelled at, and his enthusiasm for the practice only grew with his skill.
This wasn't a divine gift. This was a skill, cultivated with training and dedication.This wasn't a grand destiny. This was a passion, one he had chosen for himself. In short, martial arts was everything that was Lemmy, not what the gods had intended for him.
However, Sheng Long eventually left the monastery, continuing his own journey and knowing full well that Lemmy could not improve much farther with the limited sparing partners within the monks ranks. So he left Lemmy with a simple challenge: "Come and find me. Show me what you've learned."
Lemmy's next escape was a success. He fled as far from the monastery as possible. Now he travels the world, relishing in the strange new sights that all the study the monks had forced on him could never have prepared him for. He lives his life to the fullest, trying whatever strange new thing that pops up before him without a second thought. But more than anything, he still enjoys the fight, and he never gave up on the challenge Sheng Long set for him. Lemmy is eager, perhaps overeager, to face new enemies, learn from them, and use that knowledge in his next sparing session with his missing master.
I've been taken with the druid recently, mainly the circles of stars.
Do you think a crystal dragon could be a patron/mentor of sort to a young druid, initiating him into the mysteries of the constellations?
I know you are referring to the literal Crystal Dragon but imagining Crystal Wing being a patron is really funny to me... But I don't see why not, flavor is free after all and who knows what is truly out there in the astral plane. The spells you cast can be made out of crystals/you can throw gems instead of your spells that have the same effect (something similar to Rin Tohsaka from Fate) if you want to flavor it up... perhaps gems that correspond to the original element of the spell, for example: Rubies can be fire spells, your vines can be made out of crystal, etc. Just make sure to ask your DM about it
Useful resources: Catbox, Free BG/Scenery/WP (Pixiv), Free Patterns (Pixiv), Game-icons, PetPet Generator
To start, I would use the custom lineage with gift of the gem dragon. To justify darkvision, his eyes would be like glass. The form of the star map is the crystal.
Your idea seems more fitting a warlock. I really like it though.