New to this site, and recently returning to the game after about a 25 year break. I created this character to mesh with an ongoing campaign that I was invited to join. Meet Cricket:
Grown by dark magics, just a few years prior to the great rebellion; this one-time house slave awoke from stasis inside an underground chamber many years later, only to find himself trapped among several dozen mummies of his kind (safely dead mummies). A band of tomb robbers had broken the magical seal, and brought Cricket and a few other survivors out of their timeless slumber. Armed only with the installed knowledge of a forgotten language, intimate knowledge of a house that no longer existed, and a desire to clean and maintain it, Cricket and his siblings were naturally sold into slavery.
Cricket's new owner headed the gang in the backwater town of [ ]. Seeing potential in Cricket's small size and relative high strength, as well as his aptitude with clockworks and other fine mechanisms, his owner trained him to become a thief and an assassin. That training focused on human and humanoid anatomy; its weak points, like the spots where major arteries lie just under the skin.
Cricket's new owner taught him well, but was harsh-handed, and often treated him like a pet around others. During a takeover attempt by a rival gang, Cricket took that opportunity, and escaped with only his master's spare push knife and a belt. Over the next few years, through guile and occasional hard work, he managed to gain the grudging tolerance of the local culture.
Cricket is for practical purposes a kobold; just a more thoughtfully refined example. Physically in his twenties, his memories of a life serving in an extravagant home are over 250 years old. Fastidious by nature, Cricket keeps his body, clothing and equipment, and personal surroundings as neat and clean as is possible. When wearing his over-sized, floppy hat and floor length oilcloth duster, to hide his feet and tail, he can pass for a gnome, at a distance. Intelligent and polite, as well as small, he will exhaust all other options before engaging in physical conflict.
New to this site, and recently returning to the game after about a 25 year break. I created this character to mesh with an ongoing campaign that I was invited to join. Meet Cricket:
This artwork is definitely not a cropped image one can find on FurAffinity
Absolutely is. Good eye and detective work. I hold the rights to it. Just the only appropriate face shot I had in my commissioned artworks collection, of a similar character in one of my sci-fi stories.
The NSFW version, and its illustration, are a rare diversion from my usual writings. Turns out its really not my thing.
That sounds like a really fun concept to play, Ometochtli! Can't help but reading your little story with a Scottish accent... XD
With the multi-class, you'll lose higher level goodies in both classes, but since your focus is on the fun and utility of the skillmonkey build, that shouldn't be a deterrent - have fun with it!!
So here are THE MISFITS, I know is kind of basic but that we are, Me and some friends started recently the descent into avernus campaing and we made this merry bunch of awkward weird adventurers, we have a Metal singing rockstar noble runaway dwarf THORBIAS, the bard, a heavy armored, gun wielding pokemon fighter owling Mic, an antichrist lookalike warlock thiefling, Nigurath and myself, a human eldritch knight that started his training too late and now at 40 years old, he barely can cast any magic and has a drinking problem... Joshua Treecutter....
I'm sort of familiar to the concept of D&D, having watched the first season of Corridor Digital's Son of a Dungeon miniseries, but I'm totally new to the actual mechanics of it. Regardless, I've had a go at creating my first character (and something of an inadvertent side character). He's yet to see any campaigns.
An orphan upon his birth in Galethspyre, his mother dying in childbirth and his father being an unknown human ranger, Tan Sternmaw soon found himself on a ferry travelling along Dagger River to the Brelish capital of Wroat. Taken in by an associate of House Medani, Tan grew up in a comfortable home, surrounded by four adoptive siblings. Within this family, he learned the ways of the House, excelling as a hireling and becoming an official member in his adolescence. Upon maturity, he entered the subgroup within the House known as Basilisk’s Gaze, as a rogue.
In the early days of his adulthood, Tan met a female hireling of House Medani, Cora Mossmore. The pair quickly fell in love, often working to capture war criminals together. Tan even helped her excel and join him as an official House member. After a year of courtship, they eloped in the small town of Moonwatch. But, not even two years later, Tan found himself alone once more.
Swearing to drive onward in his loyalty to House Medani and Basilisk’s Gaze, he now goes wherever the fight for reparation sends him.
He might need a little fleshing-out, I'm not sure.
That sounds like a really fun concept to play, Ometochtli! Can't help but reading your little story with a Scottish accent... XD
With the multi-class, you'll lose higher level goodies in both classes, but since your focus is on the fun and utility of the skillmonkey build, that shouldn't be a deterrent - have fun with it!!
Thanks! So far, Cricket has worked out nicely, and survived to play another day. I re-read his background aloud, in my best approximation of a Scottish accent, and and it made me smile.
When I conceived of this game character, I had no idea that there was an artificer (spelling?) class, and I don't envision Cricket as one. Just thought it'd be fun to play a repairer of clocks and music boxes, and maker of lock-sets and traps, who takes side jobs to keep his darker skill set in practice. You guessed it; for me, leveling up and gathering rare goodies has always been secondary to building on the character's story. Limits on a character's power means that I must play them smarter, as others around that character gain stronger advantage over the dice rolls.
Born to the chief of the wood elf village of Lehlian in the depths of the forests of Toril, Aethyn's life has been one of luxury and comfort. As the second in line to her father, Omaran, she was given far more freedom than her elder brother, Theren. While he trained in warfare and diplomacy, the young Aethyn would explore trails and splash through streams, learning archery and how to track animals under the watchful eye of her mother, Eildi. For hundreds of years, Lehlian and the surrounding elven villages of Haananor, Taesi & Uryenlean knew nothing but peace.
All of that changed when an orc raid on a neighbouring tribe drew the attention of her clan's best warriors, including the Chief and Heir. Though they fought valiantly, the allied village, Haananor, was razed to the ground and a substantial area of woodland destroyed. The two men's bodies were never found in the wreckage, but they were assumed dead and her mother, Eildi ascended to the position of chief. Since then, the people of Lehlian and the allied elven council haven't seen any orc attacks, but the fear of a raid continues to hang over them like a long shadow. What's more, chiefs from the council who searched the ashes of the village insist that the orcs must have had insider information, as an ancient relic hidden beneath the village temple has also disappeared. Only the council of elven chiefs knew about the relic's existence and location, leading to suspicions that the attack on Haananor was an act of betrayal rather than random orc violence.
Two decades on, Eildi knows that she will have to concede leadership of Lehlian, and a seat on the elven council, to Aethyn someday and has decided to temporarily exile her daughter until she becomes a hero worthy of leading her people. Thus, the young Aethyn is now roaming trails far from her home in search of quests which will bring her glory and wisdom, so after 300 years she may be able to return home and become the chief.
Brüt: Astral Elf Circle of the Shepherd Druid / Drakewarden Ranger
Brütus Slavius Decimus was born on a small manor during the waning days of his world’s antebellum era. His grandfather, Brütus Slavius Octavian, the patriarch of their pipe-weed plantation, took great pride in the compassion and dignity with which the Brütus clan treated the orcs and goblins bound to their service through the “peculiar institution,” and instilled in Brüt the same values. They taught their slaves to worship the Good-aligned gods, did not overwork or inflict discipline beyond what was absolutely necessary, and tried to breed in them a relatively more pleasing aesthetic appearance, rather than the strange mixture of strength and subservience for which other eugenics programs aimed. Even the gladiatorial bouts in which the slaves were forced to compete were almost never to the death.
Brüt was the only male member of his house to survive the War, after which other Astral Elves emancipated the orcs and goblins. Brüt tried his best to adapt, running his plantation with Familiars and Fey Summons instead, and treating the newly freed orcs with respect instead of hostility. But his betrothed, Færina, then youngest daughter of the Archfey Titania (and thus of much higher social standing), eloped with one of the orcs who had once worked for Brüt’s family. He gathered a posse comitatus which hunted down and lynched the offending orc, but Færina eluded their rescue.
Despite acting in accordance with local law and custom, the foreign elves of the occupying army regarded this act as murder, and sought to arrest Brüt, forcing him to flee. He took to the Astral Sea, wandering the Feywilds of one world to another, never staying in a single planetary system for more than a few decades. He learned to survive as a cowherd and shepherd and herder of every other kind of livestock, beast, or familiar imaginable. He had a penchant for breeding them like he had his indentured orcs long before, and a true talent for having his cocks, dogs, summons, and familiars fight, much like the gladiatorial goblins back on the plantation. His current goal is to tame a solar drake or gem drake, but he’d settle for even just a chromatic drake in his menagerie.
Kholas ng Lila: Human sailor/noble in exile, lv1 fighter
Raised as the grandson of the wealthy Count of the Isle of Lila, Kholas enjoyed a privileged childhood. He trained to be a knight for when his older cousin inherited the title but he also received extensive tutoring in subjects befitting a noble. When wandering the castle town as a youth, he met an elderly sailor named Alon. Alon told stories of his time at sea and gave Kholas a new perspective on the common folk. His fortunes changed when he was 17. His cousin claimed that Kholas was born of an affair and was thus a bastard. The court priest confirmed this and revealed Kholas’ biological father, who was executed along with his mother for adultery by order of the Count. Kholas fled to sea with the help of Alon, who was revealed to have been his paternal grandfather. He was then taught to be a sailor and the ways of navigating the waves. For five years he sailed with his grandfather aboard various merchant ships until in a particularly bad storm his grandfather fell overboard, and was never seen again. He finished his time aboard that ship and has since put ashore, to do what he does not know, so long as it keeps him away from Lila.
Allies:
Dalasi ng Mapula: Younger half sister by mother. Lawful good. Noble 3rd in line for the title of Count/Countess of the Isle of Lila. Grew up together with Kholas and still sees him as her true brother even after the “incident” and his subsequent exile
Baron Kidlat ng Mapula: Former presumed father of Kholas now widower of Kholas' mother. Lawful good. While he is not Kholas' biological father, He raised Kholas and shares the perspective of his daughter Dalasi in that he is still his father. Baron Kidlat is a skilled Knight who was granted a Barony for loyal service to the ng Lila family and valor in battle.
Alon: Paternal grandfather now presumed deceased. Chaotic neutral. Sailor who taught Kholas about the sea and helped him escape. Was cast overboard during a storm at sea
Enemies:
Count Datu ng Lila: Maternal Grandfather. Lawful neutral. Count of the Isle of Lila. Upon discovering Kholas was not legitimate, he had Kholas’ mother and biological father beheaded for adultery, as dictated by ancient law. Originally had cared for Kholas as a legitimate grandson but has since refused to acknowledge he exists. Largely broken by the deaths of his children, he clings to old laws and his duties as a Count in his old age.
Araw ng Lila: Cousin, older. Lawful evil. Firstborn grandson of Datu ng Lila and presumptive heir to the title. Twin of Reyna. Born of Datu’s son who died in battle, he hates Kholas and was the one that first provided evidence of his bastard heritage that led to the deaths of his biological parents and exile.
Reyna ng Lila: Cousin, older. Chaotic neutral. Current 2nd in line to her grandfather’s title and twin sister of Araw. Has a deep (strictly sisterly) love for her twin. Has underworld contacts through which she discovered Kholas’ secret heritage which she then told her twin brother. Does not necessarily dislike Kholas but sees him as a threat to her twin and grandfather
Other/extra:
The Isle of Lila or Isla ng Lila is known for growing the Lila pepper, a valuable purple pepper used in dyes and as a spice. While a very small island, the wealth produced from its Lila plantations have granted it the status of a county and thus the title of Count goes to its ruler.
The nobiliary particle “ng” means “of” and is similar to “von”, “af”, or “de”. It precedes a “nom de terre” or name of land.
The Panabas is Kholas’ weapon of choice. It is a longish chopping blade commonly used as an agricultural clearing tool and as an executioner’s weapon for beheading. It’s closest comparison is a battle ax. Kholas carries his as a not so subtle reminder to himself of his past.
Might as well give this a try. This is what I have for my Variant Aasimar - Fiend Warlock
"Tural Ethroth, an aasimar that was born with the knowledge of his existence already in his mind, as a creature meant to serve the heavens with the guidance of an angel, and gain the celestial wings and power they represented. However, as he grew up in a poor wandering family, he never heard the voice of any angels. He tried praying, doing good deeds, and studying (with his subpar intellect) religious texts. But nothing ever came. Tural came to realize, that he had been abandoned or forgotten, no angels knew of his existence and paid no heed. He angrily did whatever he wanted, falling into hedonism as he began his adult life, though both instinctively and consciously still tried to do some good.
He wandered the continent of Ermos, fighting battles and doing odd jobs, just to feel like he had worth and was truly alive. He eventually found solace in the Larmyster's Scrouge, a famed mercenary troupe. He spent years with the Scrouge, making friends amongst them, amongst enemies that he charmed into joining the Scourge and becoming part of the pack.
One day, he and the Scourge learned of a small bandit/outlaw camp that had taken out entire towns and battalions. Tural, in his moment of hubris, convinced most of the Scourge to take on this unknown foe and claim glory and bounty for themselves. Tural lead the charge, as they fought against the outlaws tooth and nail, but the Scourge died out along with the rest of the bandits, with only Tural and the bandit leader remaining. The leader used dark magic that took Tural off guard, but Tural managed to power through and slay him. Tural crumpled from exhaustion as he saw the corpses of those who trusted him.
He awoke in a dream, a vision of the Hells, as he was confronted by Mergotyn, the Lord of All Hells. Mergotyn laughed at Tural for killing his last warlock, and that an angel-blood of all things would be the one to do it, especially one that seems to have no divine protection whatsoever. He decides to have some fun with his new toy to laugh at as he says, 'A failure like you is bound to cause some delightful misery', and forcibly forms a pact with Tural. Tural then awoke on the dead-ridden battlefield. He wandered off, trying to find a way to escape his fate"
My thought process was step-by-step as I built the character. I started with wanting to do an aasimar, but I could only get the DMG variant version, which just seemed like a let-down, but I then thought that I could use it as part of the backstory to show how Tural had been abandoned by the heavens with the "arguably" lamer racial traits. The warlock part came after, and the idea of a forced pact by a devil just fit so well with the backstory and stats (I rolled his INT as being a 9, so yeah, not great) that I went with it. I also added some flavor to it, that being his eldritch invocations are represented by runic tattoos that appear on his arm (and change if he swaps any of them out) as well as the patron appearing in his dreams every time he levels up and gains new abilities. I'd be lying if I said part of the design didn't come from Fjord from Critical Role, but by the time I realized I unconsciously did it, I already had it hashed out and didn't want to start over. Plus, I think I did an okay job making him his own thing (half-angel stuck with the pact of a devil, seems cheesy at first glance, huh?) If anyone likes/dislikes it, please let me know why. Thanks for reading.
Ooh, a chance to talk about my characters! I'll go with my first and favorite PC: A human named Oswald Grouper.
Oswald Grouper was born to the illustious Grouper family in Breland, Khorvaire. He came from a long line of draconic sorcerers after an ancestor had made a deal with a white dragon in centuries past. Oswald, however, had none of the arcane power that was expected of him. His mother was disgusted by his lack of magic, and his father was no family man.
His sister was given glorious treatment by his parents, while he was neglected. Instead of wallowing in his rejection, he turned to study, and, as it turned out, he had an unparralelled intellect and a gift for machines. Unfortunately, his father was also an inventor, and an inferior one at that, so he gave his son the hardest classes he could so that Oswald could never catch up to his classmates.
To "further his education" when he finally caught up to the adults in his class, the boy was sent to the fish processing plant known as The Larder to manage the workers, who despised working for someone so young.
Oswald was rejected by his parents, making him bitter. He was mistreated by his tutors, making him cruel. He was abused by his workers, making him amoral.
Mr. Oswald Grouper is a powerful NE artificer with a powerful name and a brilliant mind. He's a crack shot with a pistol and a skilled machinist, ready, willing and able to kill anyone and destroy anything that gets in his party's way.
He is a foul, ugly man, with no interest in helping others if it doesn't help him in return. He has a legendary reputation as a sadistic butcher to his foes and a walking goldmine to his friends, as his inventions have no parallell.
His one ambition is to wrestle the company away from his sister, and make her suffer while he does it.
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Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
If you are reading this then I am dead or have failed, which is worse then dead. For whatever reason, you are reading something that is for me alone, but since you are here, let us begin.
I am Ranadon, servant of Grandmother Galne, Hag of Dark Hollow Bottom. How does one become a servant of an ancient Hag, you may ask? Well, one doesn't. Unless you are very special and very unlucky. Which I am both.
In my case, it started as a young child. How young, I don't remember, but I was old enough to remember flames and the screams of my family, that will haunt me to the end of my days. With those memory's, Grandmother took me. Thinking that will make me all the stronger, for the plans she had in store for me. First, she took me to the Fey wilds and gave me to a family of elves. There I learned my letters, magic and how to better serve Grandmother. As I grew older, I was given to an old servant who taught me to fight and the sharpen my skills to carry out Grandmothers will. Though out my childhood and training, Grandmother Galna would visit to check on my progress. Changing where she saw fit or just to torment me for fun. Whatever her goal, she made me who I am today. For Grandmother is a cruel mistress and does not except failure.
Once she felt I was ready, I was released into the real word with only one command "Get Stronger!".....and so I shall.
(Variant Human Archfey Warlock. Patron is an Ancient Hag, is Fey Touched and has a haunted one background.)
My main character is Wick Stormsinger, an Owlin monk (Way of the Astral Self).
On a bunk bed in the galley of the Shimmering Mirage, is a small Owlin monk. There isn't much noise except for the faint crackling of a fire, the creaking of the ship and the bubbling from a vegetable stew slowly cooking. Wick woke up, screaming in pain. The Owlin adjusts the black wrappings slightly, sighing in relief as the bandages correctly cover their chest again.
It has been over a decade since Wick was found, left for dead in a razed camp. They were badly burned, their wings could not be saved. And even though the years passed, the scorching flesh never fully healed. Wick must wear magically imbued bandages at all times to maintain the pain levels and keep the searing skin intact. Wick doesn't remember much of what happened, or they do not want to remember. Their only passion is sailing, cooking and meditating - preferably in that order.
Wick's lack of wings never stopped them. They spent years learning the ways of the Astral Self, enough so that they can produce iridescent astral wings in place of their missing physical ones.
APPEARANCE
Wick is roughly 4 ft. tall and appears as a common barn owl. They are wearing black wrappings all over their body except for the head. Wick has a dark red sash wrapped twice around their waist and a circular brass belt buckle with a burning star symbol to hold it in place. Tucked in their belt is a rope dart, where the knife part is resembling an anchor. Wick is also wearing a dark short-sleeved hooded robe, shimmering slightly in green and a deep purple. It has intricate embroidered shapes, very much resembling star maps.
DEMEANOR
Wick is a free spirit, a chaotic good person. They do not care much for the politics and authorities of the world, their only focus is the betterment of self and their friends. They will always lend a helping hand, even if it means to break the law.
THE SHIMMERING MIRAGE
The Shimmering Mirage is a very beautiful ship that can sail the Astral Sea as well as any water on the material plane. Below deck there are many doors that lead to many places, places only known to the ship’s crew. Everyone on the Shimmering Mirage is a monk, and the ship is their monastery.
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Shoe hoarder 👠 Beer enthusiast 🍺 Whisky connisseur 🥃 Awkwardly Swedish 🇸🇪 Gamer 👾 Feminist 💕 Taken 💍 🏳️🌈🏳️⚧️
This Is Novar of Vantal. I'm playing him in a Dragonlance campaign I just started with some friends of mine. Also I have a detailed description of him
Looking over the balcony is Novar, he stands 5'10 with Medium length Coco brown coloured hair that fades into a dark auburn. His skin is a shade of pinkish limestone, he has a diamond shaped face and deep-set, icy hard, hawk-like Dark Brown and Jade Green eyes. All hidden behind stubble and an Ash grey hood connected to his long coat that reaches down to the floor. He wears a suit of studded leather with swirling Celtic style designs made from one piece of leather cut from his right shoulder down to his right hip overlapping itself with the same piece of leather. on his arms, draped over the leather are dirt brown cloths with woven pictures coloured leaf green, the largest piece of art is a red dragon rising from the ground breathing a column of flame down to the ground, his hands are covered by fingerless ash grey gloves. A thin back belt holds up his dark green pants. On his feet are back-brown boots that come up to his lower calves. A six foot tall maple bow carved from an ancient maple tree slung over his shoulder holds in place his oval shield made from bronze and brass with an arcane symbol for protection on it. On one hip he carries his sword, a thin three foot long blade attached to a simple hilt. On his other hip rests his quiver made of wolf leather and olive wood.
His backstory
Novar was born in the city of Vantal. His mother, Neldwyne was very overprotective of him. for most of his childhood he stayed inside. His family was by no means rich. On his father's side he was descended from bounty hunters and trackers. men and women well versed in tracking and hunting. On his mothers side they were once advisors and minor royalty, at least until one generation before her, when a 'restructuring' of the government led to that branch of the family falling out of favor. When He was seven his mother died due to complications in the birth of his younger sister, Latia. Latia and Novar had some sort of bond, they understood each other clearer than reading a book. One other person dear to Novar was Zenya, his love. He often joked she was the god's last gift to humanity. 'A light in the darkness' as he put it. He and his father weren't very close. Sometimes he would take Novar outside the city for a weekend trip. Leaving his daughter in the care of Zenya's family. On his fifteenth birthday his father took him to the mountains for one and a half weeks. He had the time of his life, hunting for food, making his own shelter. It was incredible. Over the next years he would go out for some days to camp, sometimes he would take Zenya or Latia with him, sometimes he didn't. When he reached adulthood he used his skill to become a bounty hunter. Tracking down pirates, thieves and other criminals. As soon as they could Zenya and Novar got married to each other, promising to be by one another's side. One of his bounties was part of a powerful gang that ran part of the city. He was kidnaped, beaten up and thrown into the sea to die. As Novar sank into the bay, his vision fading he could only think of his Zenya. He awoke in a bed in a small cabin with a large man slumped over in a chair. Once the man woke Novar asked him who he was and were he was. The man responded "I'm Zar Thundershot, you're lucky my caught you in one of our nets. it took half of 'em to haul you up, wrapped in blankets and weights as you were. Zar then went on to question Novar on why he was tied down with weights and thrown into the sea. In the middle of questioning a young man came down and told them that they were close to land. After leaving the care of Zar and his crew and writhing a letter to Zenya telling her he was alive but couldn't return due to 'reasons.' He left for the north with one mission, get revenge on the gang that made him an outcast from his home. He traveled all over the continent. picking up a few friends along the way. Which lead him to the sleepy town of Ohme
I have a character who rapidly evolved to major NPC in my world, called Gizmo, the gnome, who is an artificer obsessed with storing spells and (more importantly) curses in gems and semi-precious stones.
I needed a character for a spelljammer campaign, and I fancied making a sorceror but wasn't struck by any inspiration. Then my Fiancee pointed out the Autognomes and said "what if Gizmo made one of these?"
So now I have Gizmo Junior, an autognome on the run who was built to help Gizmo's experiments but, like so many of his creations, decided instead to run away to a life of adventure (will Gizmo never learn to stop putting emotions in his creations?) Junior stole a bag full of Gizmo's magical gems and built a holster for them into his arm, and now is aboard a spelljammer as a Wild Magic Sorceror - there's no knowing when one of Gizmo's gems will misfire!
He has inherited Gizmo's obsession with magic and gems, and a lot of his personality - which is not that helpful as Gizmo is an artificer who wants to fix and improve things, and Junior has no abilities to help with that endeavor (but all of the confidence that it will, in fact, work!).
Looking forward to taking Jr out into the world of Spelljammer!
Hello, I have a bad backstory to share :) This is my Tiefling Urchin Warlock
(Sorry, english isn't my first language lmao)
Born under the sign of the Anchorite, Eavari came to be. With no knowledge of her real parents, or where she is from, she was raised by a pair of human farmers after being left on their doorstep when she was no more than the age of two winters. She grew up in a home with hardship. They rarely had enough food or finances to go around, and the troubles didn’t end there. At five years old, she accidentally set fire to a haybale by a wrongful channelling of elemental force, without being none the wiser. Her parents, never having experienced something as incredible as magic, never linked her with the burning, which is what may have doomed them to an early grave. She was raised quite poorly, her parents themselves not knowing much of the manners of a noble, she rarely bathed, ate with her hands and only helped out on the farm in the most direst of situations. Despite her poor etiquette, her adoptive parents loved her very much, and cherished the time they had together. Nothing would ever break them apart. One night, in the wake of spring, a spark was lit. Eavari, sleeping had haphazardly due to her untamed, infernal divination lit the dry, aged paper and parchment of a bookshelf aflame, starting a fire. As the fire grew, the household remained fast asleep. As it began reaching towards the walls, the heat germinated, awakening the dowsing tiefling. In an act of sheer panic she scampered out of her room, but sadly without the forethought of alerting her parents. As she absconded her homestead, she turned around, seeing the extent of the inferno consuming the place she referred to as her home. A fire is only well behaved in its bed of iron, yet should the wind call upon its spark, should the earth call for its flame, should the water cry out for warmth - fire takes the leap it always could have. The building was fully ablaze, plumes of burning air engulfing all from the sheathing to the joists, with the roof of the spire, alclad with the likeness of a rooster of metal, slowly collapsing into itself as if a rotting carcass. With nobody else in the village to alert, she knew she could not stay. She would be blamed for the fire, and the manslaughter of her own selfless progenitors, she would at best be excommunicated and at worst, executed. For the entire night, she ran. Running through the fields of sorghum and wheat, she cried. She cried for she knew she was at fault for her predicament. She was the shooter of the gun, the executioner of the ones she loved and she could never forgive herself. For hours she loped, not stopping for anything, until her legs finally gave up on her. Sitting down at the side of a highroad, she kept weeping, with no conceptual purpose in her life anymore. What was she going to do? As she slowly pulled herself together, she experienced the wave of tiredness flow over her. As she curled up beside a fencepost, she lay down, letting herself rest once again.
“Good morning young lady!” She felt strong hands gripping her shoulders, shaking her with the intent of waking her. As she opened her eyes and brushed away the sands of slumber, she saw the face of a friendly-looking man. His eyes were squinted and wrinkly, with a large beard that resembled more of a birds’ nest than the facial hair of a large, friendly looking man. “What are you doing out here all alone? Where are your parents,” he asked, not knowing the weight of his words. As he uttered that remark, she started to weep. The man, not quite knowing what to do, pulled the young girl up, her white nightgown filthy with mud, and her bare feet injured by the dry shoots of cereals she had been running through. “Come here, I think I understand. Would you like to come with me?” As the man comforted her, she once again began to shed her tears, she nodded her head in agreement. The man, glad over her friendliness, led her up onto the road where she could in the distance see the horses and carriages of a northern trade caravan, exactly those that used to come to trade with the farmers of her village. As they got up into a carriage, the man shouted something in a foreign language, and the caravan started moving.
“So… What brought you here kid?” Eavari, not able to bring herself to say anything, wiped her nose on the side of her sleeve. “I see. You know, would you like me to take you in and let you work here for a while until you get your act together?” He chuckled a little to himself, but it was clear the offer was genuine. He reached over for a hug, to comfort the young girl, as she stopped crying. “Yes please.” She said as the man laughed a deep, bellowing laugh, shaking her hand, as he nodded in agreement. “I don’t know anything about you, but do you think you can help me read some scrolls? I don’t want to assume, but I would just guess that you know infernal?”
Over the next few months, Eavari did various odd jobs working with the members of the caravan, packing crates, reading scrolls, and assisting the chef. Hallmund, the man who picked her up and the owner of the caravan, often checked up on her, seeing how she was doing in the life of the trader. She would work from daybreak to noon, spending the rest of her time reading and walking in the landscapes they passed. Every night, she would go to sleep in her coy, in one of the wagons of the caravan, letting the mellow cradling of the rough road rock her to sleep.
As the golden light of the sun slowly falls behind the green-clad horizon, the eyes of a young girl grow heavy with languor. Hearing the sound of cloppering horse hooves against hard dirt makes one's constitution fatigued, making one longing for the release of sleep. As she climbed from the front horse to her sleeping carriage, she felt a sharp pain insert itself into her skull. The feeling of a thousandth knives created an agony comparable to none. Just before she was about to cry out, everything turned dark. Awakening in a dark void, devoid of any earthly qualities. It’s walls of matter and colour not of this world. In the middle of this abstract space, standing like the bones of dead men in the battlefield, her parents. “Mother! Father!” The girl cried, but alas, they would not listen. As soon as they appeared, they disappeared. In a cloud of flames, they were engulfed, their skin and flesh thawing like the molten wax on the suicide note of a dying man. “Please! Please don’t leave me! I will do anything!” Just as those words were uttered, time stopped. Her parents, still smiling at her with their half-molten crania, freezing in place. Materialising from nothing, a mass appeared. A humanoid form, held together by the strength of metal shackles, Tharizdun the chained one, He of Eternal Darkness. The fire of his inside burning like inferno, with his face covered by rotting fibres. “O, DARK CHILDOF MY SOUL, IN THE UNDERDARK, WHERE MY SUBCONSCIOUS BUILDS ALL THE LIGHT, for I UNDERSTAND THE DARK BUILDS THE LIGHT-- THIS YOU SIGN IN TRUTH?” The booming voice uttered, his breath making hairs on her neck stand up. His mouth opened in a heavy breath revealing rows of jagged bloodstained teeth. The stench of his rotting body filled the euclidean space as she felt the hairs of her nose burn. “W-Will you resurrect my parents?” She asked, stammering at the eldritch horror before her. As she said that, a loud, sigh-like sound was uttered. “I CANNOT,AS ANY BEING POWERFUL OR NAUGHT CREATE LIFE. I CAN, HOWEVER, GIVE YOU THE POWERS YOU SO DESIRE, IN EXCHANGE FOR ONE THING. YOUR SOUL.” With every ounce of her being shuddering at the sight of the being, she made a choice. She had nothing to lose… right? As if she had known the words by heart she, with a unnaturally booming voice: "Oh Lord Shadow, I give over to open eyes, I am open to receive the greater reality, and I calmly accept this forbidden favour-- this I sign in blood!” Like born from nothing, a knife of obsidian appeared in the air. When the last word was uttered, as if held by the strongest soldier, it cut into her forearm. With a scream, blood started pouring out, slowly dripping onto the floor, turning into black soil. As the ceremony was completed, The Chained One, lifted his head, once again revealing rows upon rows of rotting, bloodstained teeth. His gravelly voice sonorating throughout space he uttered;
O, A PIECE OF THE LORDOF NIGHTMARES, FREE THINE SELF FROM HEAVENS BONDS, O BLADE FROM THE COLD, DARK VOID, BECOME ONE WITH MY POWER, ONE WITH MY BODY, AND LET US WALK THIS PATH OF DESTRUCTION TOGETHER, SHATTERING THE SOULS OF THE GODS!
As soon as it started, as fast it disappeared. The horror before her eyes went up in a cloud of smoke. As if burning the scraps in which their body was wrapped, they went up in flames, turning into a thick smoke filling the space. Coughing, Eavari’s eyes cried tears as if she had becamed scratched, with her sight clouding up. As her lungs slowly gave up on her, everything turned dark.
The sounds of horses ringing in her ears, she sat up in her coy, pearls of sweat running down her forehead, with the memories of Him gushing throughout her exhausted mind. Hanging her feet off of the side of the kip, she thought. She can’t stay here, though she enjoyed her time, having a use for her pointless life, she knew that something had to be done. “Hey you!” Hallmund shouted. “You’re finally awake!” He wend his way across the caravan, arriving at her carriage. “You passed out yesterday, it looked like you were about to fall off! How are you doing?” He said, as usual laughing deeply, but with a hint of sorrow and worry in his voice. “I have to leave you.” “What?” He said, with a slightly shuddered speaking. “It is not about you, I just need something new, something more adventurous in life.” She uttered her words with no anguish nor regret, he understood her obligation. “I see. I will help you get off at Kingsheim, it’s the next town over. I’m sorry I can’t affect you with any rations or clothes, but we are rather tight on resources right now. All I can say is… Good Luck.” The girl nodded, accepting of the terms.
The next hours on the road to Kingsheim were stiff, but still filled with cheer. The people of the caravan and Eavari celebrated her departure with some fine wine, speaking of the good times they had together. As they drank, she lay down on her back and looked up to the vibrant yet soothing streaks of colour that had filled the canvas of the sky. There were strokes of pink and orange that resembled the soft, supple skin of a perfectly ripened peach. The setting sun’s radiant face was mirrored by the shimmering clear blue waves of the sea which was framed by sloping land on either side, both of which were flourished with a palette of different bright shades of green, orange and purple. In the horizon she could see the coast, and make out the spire of Kingsheim, her journey had come to an end. As they arrived at the gates, they said their final goodbyes. The man who had nourished and helped her through this travel of life let out a last heavy, bellowing laugh. “Farewell little one, good luck on your travels!” As the coachman shouted, mushing on the horses, the wheels of the carriages began spinning. Onto the dirt road, into the sunset she saw the caravan move, with a large, friendly man waving to her from its back.
Here is Kygga, my warrior Bronze Dragonborn who defends the land and nature.
When Kygga was young, hunter-humans invaded his land. He lost his home that day because he couldn't stop them. He trained himself to use a glaive and a crossbow he had made himself. He became a fierce defender of the land. He is now on a journey to stop any tyranny he could find.
Hello,
New to this site, and recently returning to the game after about a 25 year break. I created this character to mesh with an ongoing campaign that I was invited to join. Meet Cricket:
Grown by dark magics, just a few years prior to the great rebellion; this one-time house slave awoke from stasis inside an underground chamber many years later, only to find himself trapped among several dozen mummies of his kind (safely dead mummies). A band of tomb robbers had broken the magical seal, and brought Cricket and a few other survivors out of their timeless slumber. Armed only with the installed knowledge of a forgotten language, intimate knowledge of a house that no longer existed, and a desire to clean and maintain it, Cricket and his siblings were naturally sold into slavery.
Cricket's new owner headed the gang in the backwater town of [ ]. Seeing potential in Cricket's small size and relative high strength, as well as his aptitude with clockworks and other fine mechanisms, his owner trained him to become a thief and an assassin. That training focused on human and humanoid anatomy; its weak points, like the spots where major arteries lie just under the skin.
Cricket's new owner taught him well, but was harsh-handed, and often treated him like a pet around others. During a takeover attempt by a rival gang, Cricket took that opportunity, and escaped with only his master's spare push knife and a belt. Over the next few years, through guile and occasional hard work, he managed to gain the grudging tolerance of the local culture.
Cricket is for practical purposes a kobold; just a more thoughtfully refined example. Physically in his twenties, his memories of a life serving in an extravagant home are over 250 years old. Fastidious by nature, Cricket keeps his body, clothing and equipment, and personal surroundings as neat and clean as is possible. When wearing his over-sized, floppy hat and floor length oilcloth duster, to hide his feet and tail, he can pass for a gnome, at a distance. Intelligent and polite, as well as small, he will exhaust all other options before engaging in physical conflict.
This artwork is definitely not a cropped image one can find on FurAffinity
3D Artist - www.charliepharis.com
Absolutely is. Good eye and detective work. I hold the rights to it. Just the only appropriate face shot I had in my commissioned artworks collection, of a similar character in one of my sci-fi stories.
The NSFW version, and its illustration, are a rare diversion from my usual writings. Turns out its really not my thing.
That sounds like a really fun concept to play, Ometochtli! Can't help but reading your little story with a Scottish accent... XD
With the multi-class, you'll lose higher level goodies in both classes, but since your focus is on the fun and utility of the skillmonkey build, that shouldn't be a deterrent - have fun with it!!
So here are THE MISFITS, I know is kind of basic but that we are, Me and some friends started recently the descent into avernus campaing and we made this merry bunch of awkward weird adventurers, we have a Metal singing rockstar noble runaway dwarf THORBIAS, the bard, a heavy armored, gun wielding pokemon fighter owling Mic, an antichrist lookalike warlock thiefling, Nigurath and myself, a human eldritch knight that started his training too late and now at 40 years old, he barely can cast any magic and has a drinking problem... Joshua Treecutter....
and the girl is a NPC, a paladin called Raya who tries to get us to work all the time...
I'm sort of familiar to the concept of D&D, having watched the first season of Corridor Digital's Son of a Dungeon miniseries, but I'm totally new to the actual mechanics of it. Regardless, I've had a go at creating my first character (and something of an inadvertent side character). He's yet to see any campaigns.
An orphan upon his birth in Galethspyre, his mother dying in childbirth and his father being an unknown human ranger, Tan Sternmaw soon found himself on a ferry travelling along Dagger River to the Brelish capital of Wroat. Taken in by an associate of House Medani, Tan grew up in a comfortable home, surrounded by four adoptive siblings. Within this family, he learned the ways of the House, excelling as a hireling and becoming an official member in his adolescence. Upon maturity, he entered the subgroup within the House known as Basilisk’s Gaze, as a rogue.
In the early days of his adulthood, Tan met a female hireling of House Medani, Cora Mossmore. The pair quickly fell in love, often working to capture war criminals together. Tan even helped her excel and join him as an official House member. After a year of courtship, they eloped in the small town of Moonwatch. But, not even two years later, Tan found himself alone once more.
Swearing to drive onward in his loyalty to House Medani and Basilisk’s Gaze, he now goes wherever the fight for reparation sends him.
He might need a little fleshing-out, I'm not sure.
Thanks! So far, Cricket has worked out nicely, and survived to play another day. I re-read his background aloud, in my best approximation of a Scottish accent, and and it made me smile.
When I conceived of this game character, I had no idea that there was an artificer (spelling?) class, and I don't envision Cricket as one. Just thought it'd be fun to play a repairer of clocks and music boxes, and maker of lock-sets and traps, who takes side jobs to keep his darker skill set in practice. You guessed it; for me, leveling up and gathering rare goodies has always been secondary to building on the character's story. Limits on a character's power means that I must play them smarter, as others around that character gain stronger advantage over the dice rolls.
Enjoying the game again; glad to be back.
Backstory for my wood elf ranger, Aeryn Faesolor.
Born to the chief of the wood elf village of Lehlian in the depths of the forests of Toril, Aethyn's life has been one of luxury and comfort. As the second in line to her father, Omaran, she was given far more freedom than her elder brother, Theren. While he trained in warfare and diplomacy, the young Aethyn would explore trails and splash through streams, learning archery and how to track animals under the watchful eye of her mother, Eildi. For hundreds of years, Lehlian and the surrounding elven villages of Haananor, Taesi & Uryenlean knew nothing but peace.
All of that changed when an orc raid on a neighbouring tribe drew the attention of her clan's best warriors, including the Chief and Heir. Though they fought valiantly, the allied village, Haananor, was razed to the ground and a substantial area of woodland destroyed. The two men's bodies were never found in the wreckage, but they were assumed dead and her mother, Eildi ascended to the position of chief. Since then, the people of Lehlian and the allied elven council haven't seen any orc attacks, but the fear of a raid continues to hang over them like a long shadow. What's more, chiefs from the council who searched the ashes of the village insist that the orcs must have had insider information, as an ancient relic hidden beneath the village temple has also disappeared. Only the council of elven chiefs knew about the relic's existence and location, leading to suspicions that the attack on Haananor was an act of betrayal rather than random orc violence.
Two decades on, Eildi knows that she will have to concede leadership of Lehlian, and a seat on the elven council, to Aethyn someday and has decided to temporarily exile her daughter until she becomes a hero worthy of leading her people. Thus, the young Aethyn is now roaming trails far from her home in search of quests which will bring her glory and wisdom, so after 300 years she may be able to return home and become the chief.
Brüt: Astral Elf Circle of the Shepherd Druid / Drakewarden Ranger
Brütus Slavius Decimus was born on a small manor during the waning days of his world’s antebellum era. His grandfather, Brütus Slavius Octavian, the patriarch of their pipe-weed plantation, took great pride in the compassion and dignity with which the Brütus clan treated the orcs and goblins bound to their service through the “peculiar institution,” and instilled in Brüt the same values. They taught their slaves to worship the Good-aligned gods, did not overwork or inflict discipline beyond what was absolutely necessary, and tried to breed in them a relatively more pleasing aesthetic appearance, rather than the strange mixture of strength and subservience for which other eugenics programs aimed. Even the gladiatorial bouts in which the slaves were forced to compete were almost never to the death.
Brüt was the only male member of his house to survive the War, after which other Astral Elves emancipated the orcs and goblins. Brüt tried his best to adapt, running his plantation with Familiars and Fey Summons instead, and treating the newly freed orcs with respect instead of hostility. But his betrothed, Færina, then youngest daughter of the Archfey Titania (and thus of much higher social standing), eloped with one of the orcs who had once worked for Brüt’s family. He gathered a posse comitatus which hunted down and lynched the offending orc, but Færina eluded their rescue.
Despite acting in accordance with local law and custom, the foreign elves of the occupying army regarded this act as murder, and sought to arrest Brüt, forcing him to flee. He took to the Astral Sea, wandering the Feywilds of one world to another, never staying in a single planetary system for more than a few decades. He learned to survive as a cowherd and shepherd and herder of every other kind of livestock, beast, or familiar imaginable. He had a penchant for breeding them like he had his indentured orcs long before, and a true talent for having his cocks, dogs, summons, and familiars fight, much like the gladiatorial goblins back on the plantation. His current goal is to tame a solar drake or gem drake, but he’d settle for even just a chromatic drake in his menagerie.
Kholas ng Lila: Human sailor/noble in exile, lv1 fighter
Raised as the grandson of the wealthy Count of the Isle of Lila, Kholas enjoyed a privileged childhood. He trained to be a knight for when his older cousin inherited the title but he also received extensive tutoring in subjects befitting a noble. When wandering the castle town as a youth, he met an elderly sailor named Alon. Alon told stories of his time at sea and gave Kholas a new perspective on the common folk. His fortunes changed when he was 17. His cousin claimed that Kholas was born of an affair and was thus a bastard. The court priest confirmed this and revealed Kholas’ biological father, who was executed along with his mother for adultery by order of the Count. Kholas fled to sea with the help of Alon, who was revealed to have been his paternal grandfather. He was then taught to be a sailor and the ways of navigating the waves. For five years he sailed with his grandfather aboard various merchant ships until in a particularly bad storm his grandfather fell overboard, and was never seen again. He finished his time aboard that ship and has since put ashore, to do what he does not know, so long as it keeps him away from Lila.
Allies:
Dalasi ng Mapula: Younger half sister by mother. Lawful good. Noble 3rd in line for the title of Count/Countess of the Isle of Lila. Grew up together with Kholas and still sees him as her true brother even after the “incident” and his subsequent exile
Baron Kidlat ng Mapula: Former presumed father of Kholas now widower of Kholas' mother. Lawful good. While he is not Kholas' biological father, He raised Kholas and shares the perspective of his daughter Dalasi in that he is still his father. Baron Kidlat is a skilled Knight who was granted a Barony for loyal service to the ng Lila family and valor in battle.
Alon: Paternal grandfather now presumed deceased. Chaotic neutral. Sailor who taught Kholas about the sea and helped him escape. Was cast overboard during a storm at sea
Enemies:
Count Datu ng Lila: Maternal Grandfather. Lawful neutral. Count of the Isle of Lila. Upon discovering Kholas was not legitimate, he had Kholas’ mother and biological father beheaded for adultery, as dictated by ancient law. Originally had cared for Kholas as a legitimate grandson but has since refused to acknowledge he exists. Largely broken by the deaths of his children, he clings to old laws and his duties as a Count in his old age.
Araw ng Lila: Cousin, older. Lawful evil. Firstborn grandson of Datu ng Lila and presumptive heir to the title. Twin of Reyna. Born of Datu’s son who died in battle, he hates Kholas and was the one that first provided evidence of his bastard heritage that led to the deaths of his biological parents and exile.
Reyna ng Lila: Cousin, older. Chaotic neutral. Current 2nd in line to her grandfather’s title and twin sister of Araw. Has a deep (strictly sisterly) love for her twin. Has underworld contacts through which she discovered Kholas’ secret heritage which she then told her twin brother. Does not necessarily dislike Kholas but sees him as a threat to her twin and grandfather
Other/extra:
The Isle of Lila or Isla ng Lila is known for growing the Lila pepper, a valuable purple pepper used in dyes and as a spice. While a very small island, the wealth produced from its Lila plantations have granted it the status of a county and thus the title of Count goes to its ruler.
The nobiliary particle “ng” means “of” and is similar to “von”, “af”, or “de”. It precedes a “nom de terre” or name of land.
The Panabas is Kholas’ weapon of choice. It is a longish chopping blade commonly used as an agricultural clearing tool and as an executioner’s weapon for beheading. It’s closest comparison is a battle ax. Kholas carries his as a not so subtle reminder to himself of his past.
I LOVE it
Might as well give this a try. This is what I have for my Variant Aasimar - Fiend Warlock
"Tural Ethroth, an aasimar that was born with the knowledge of his existence already in his mind, as a creature meant to serve the heavens with the guidance of an angel, and gain the celestial wings and power they represented. However, as he grew up in a poor wandering family, he never heard the voice of any angels. He tried praying, doing good deeds, and studying (with his subpar intellect) religious texts. But nothing ever came. Tural came to realize, that he had been abandoned or forgotten, no angels knew of his existence and paid no heed. He angrily did whatever he wanted, falling into hedonism as he began his adult life, though both instinctively and consciously still tried to do some good.
He wandered the continent of Ermos, fighting battles and doing odd jobs, just to feel like he had worth and was truly alive. He eventually found solace in the Larmyster's Scrouge, a famed mercenary troupe. He spent years with the Scrouge, making friends amongst them, amongst enemies that he charmed into joining the Scourge and becoming part of the pack.
One day, he and the Scourge learned of a small bandit/outlaw camp that had taken out entire towns and battalions. Tural, in his moment of hubris, convinced most of the Scourge to take on this unknown foe and claim glory and bounty for themselves. Tural lead the charge, as they fought against the outlaws tooth and nail, but the Scourge died out along with the rest of the bandits, with only Tural and the bandit leader remaining. The leader used dark magic that took Tural off guard, but Tural managed to power through and slay him. Tural crumpled from exhaustion as he saw the corpses of those who trusted him.
He awoke in a dream, a vision of the Hells, as he was confronted by Mergotyn, the Lord of All Hells. Mergotyn laughed at Tural for killing his last warlock, and that an angel-blood of all things would be the one to do it, especially one that seems to have no divine protection whatsoever. He decides to have some fun with his new toy to laugh at as he says, 'A failure like you is bound to cause some delightful misery', and forcibly forms a pact with Tural. Tural then awoke on the dead-ridden battlefield. He wandered off, trying to find a way to escape his fate"
My thought process was step-by-step as I built the character. I started with wanting to do an aasimar, but I could only get the DMG variant version, which just seemed like a let-down, but I then thought that I could use it as part of the backstory to show how Tural had been abandoned by the heavens with the "arguably" lamer racial traits. The warlock part came after, and the idea of a forced pact by a devil just fit so well with the backstory and stats (I rolled his INT as being a 9, so yeah, not great) that I went with it. I also added some flavor to it, that being his eldritch invocations are represented by runic tattoos that appear on his arm (and change if he swaps any of them out) as well as the patron appearing in his dreams every time he levels up and gains new abilities. I'd be lying if I said part of the design didn't come from Fjord from Critical Role, but by the time I realized I unconsciously did it, I already had it hashed out and didn't want to start over. Plus, I think I did an okay job making him his own thing (half-angel stuck with the pact of a devil, seems cheesy at first glance, huh?) If anyone likes/dislikes it, please let me know why. Thanks for reading.
Ooh, a chance to talk about my characters! I'll go with my first and favorite PC: A human named Oswald Grouper.
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
If you are reading this then I am dead or have failed, which is worse then dead. For whatever reason, you are reading something that is for me alone, but since you are here, let us begin.
I am Ranadon, servant of Grandmother Galne, Hag of Dark Hollow Bottom. How does one become a servant of an ancient Hag, you may ask? Well, one doesn't. Unless you are very special and very unlucky. Which I am both.
In my case, it started as a young child. How young, I don't remember, but I was old enough to remember flames and the screams of my family, that will haunt me to the end of my days. With those memory's, Grandmother took me. Thinking that will make me all the stronger, for the plans she had in store for me. First, she took me to the Fey wilds and gave me to a family of elves. There I learned my letters, magic and how to better serve Grandmother. As I grew older, I was given to an old servant who taught me to fight and the sharpen my skills to carry out Grandmothers will. Though out my childhood and training, Grandmother Galna would visit to check on my progress. Changing where she saw fit or just to torment me for fun. Whatever her goal, she made me who I am today. For Grandmother is a cruel mistress and does not except failure.
Once she felt I was ready, I was released into the real word with only one command "Get Stronger!".....and so I shall.
(Variant Human Archfey Warlock. Patron is an Ancient Hag, is Fey Touched and has a haunted one background.)
My main character is Wick Stormsinger, an Owlin monk (Way of the Astral Self).
On a bunk bed in the galley of the Shimmering Mirage, is a small Owlin monk. There isn't much noise except for the faint crackling of a fire, the creaking of the ship and the bubbling from a vegetable stew slowly cooking. Wick woke up, screaming in pain. The Owlin adjusts the black wrappings slightly, sighing in relief as the bandages correctly cover their chest again.
It has been over a decade since Wick was found, left for dead in a razed camp. They were badly burned, their wings could not be saved. And even though the years passed, the scorching flesh never fully healed. Wick must wear magically imbued bandages at all times to maintain the pain levels and keep the searing skin intact. Wick doesn't remember much of what happened, or they do not want to remember. Their only passion is sailing, cooking and meditating - preferably in that order.
Wick's lack of wings never stopped them. They spent years learning the ways of the Astral Self, enough so that they can produce iridescent astral wings in place of their missing physical ones.
APPEARANCE
Wick is roughly 4 ft. tall and appears as a common barn owl. They are wearing black wrappings all over their body except for the head. Wick has a dark red sash wrapped twice around their waist and a circular brass belt buckle with a burning star symbol to hold it in place. Tucked in their belt is a rope dart, where the knife part is resembling an anchor. Wick is also wearing a dark short-sleeved hooded robe, shimmering slightly in green and a deep purple. It has intricate embroidered shapes, very much resembling star maps.
DEMEANOR
Wick is a free spirit, a chaotic good person. They do not care much for the politics and authorities of the world, their only focus is the betterment of self and their friends. They will always lend a helping hand, even if it means to break the law.
THE SHIMMERING MIRAGE
The Shimmering Mirage is a very beautiful ship that can sail the Astral Sea as well as any water on the material plane. Below deck there are many doors that lead to many places, places only known to the ship’s crew. Everyone on the Shimmering Mirage is a monk, and the ship is their monastery.
Shoe hoarder 👠 Beer enthusiast 🍺 Whisky connisseur 🥃 Awkwardly Swedish 🇸🇪 Gamer 👾 Feminist 💕 Taken 💍 🏳️🌈🏳️⚧️
This Is Novar of Vantal. I'm playing him in a Dragonlance campaign I just started with some friends of mine. Also I have a detailed description of him
Looking over the balcony is Novar, he stands 5'10 with Medium length Coco brown coloured hair that fades into a dark auburn. His skin is a shade of pinkish limestone, he has a diamond shaped face and deep-set, icy hard, hawk-like Dark Brown and Jade Green eyes. All hidden behind stubble and an Ash grey hood connected to his long coat that reaches down to the floor. He wears a suit of studded leather with swirling Celtic style designs made from one piece of leather cut from his right shoulder down to his right hip overlapping itself with the same piece of leather. on his arms, draped over the leather are dirt brown cloths with woven pictures coloured leaf green, the largest piece of art is a red dragon rising from the ground breathing a column of flame down to the ground, his hands are covered by fingerless ash grey gloves. A thin back belt holds up his dark green pants. On his feet are back-brown boots that come up to his lower calves. A six foot tall maple bow carved from an ancient maple tree slung over his shoulder holds in place his oval shield made from bronze and brass with an arcane symbol for protection on it. On one hip he carries his sword, a thin three foot long blade attached to a simple hilt. On his other hip rests his quiver made of wolf leather and olive wood.
His backstory
Novar was born in the city of Vantal. His mother, Neldwyne was very overprotective of him. for most of his childhood he stayed inside. His family was by no means rich. On his father's side he was descended from bounty hunters and trackers. men and women well versed in tracking and hunting. On his mothers side they were once advisors and minor royalty, at least until one generation before her, when a 'restructuring' of the government led to that branch of the family falling out of favor. When He was seven his mother died due to complications in the birth of his younger sister, Latia. Latia and Novar had some sort of bond, they understood each other clearer than reading a book. One other person dear to Novar was Zenya, his love. He often joked she was the god's last gift to humanity. 'A light in the darkness' as he put it. He and his father weren't very close. Sometimes he would take Novar outside the city for a weekend trip. Leaving his daughter in the care of Zenya's family. On his fifteenth birthday his father took him to the mountains for one and a half weeks. He had the time of his life, hunting for food, making his own shelter. It was incredible. Over the next years he would go out for some days to camp, sometimes he would take Zenya or Latia with him, sometimes he didn't. When he reached adulthood he used his skill to become a bounty hunter. Tracking down pirates, thieves and other criminals. As soon as they could Zenya and Novar got married to each other, promising to be by one another's side. One of his bounties was part of a powerful gang that ran part of the city. He was kidnaped, beaten up and thrown into the sea to die. As Novar sank into the bay, his vision fading he could only think of his Zenya. He awoke in a bed in a small cabin with a large man slumped over in a chair. Once the man woke Novar asked him who he was and were he was. The man responded "I'm Zar Thundershot, you're lucky my caught you in one of our nets. it took half of 'em to haul you up, wrapped in blankets and weights as you were. Zar then went on to question Novar on why he was tied down with weights and thrown into the sea. In the middle of questioning a young man came down and told them that they were close to land. After leaving the care of Zar and his crew and writhing a letter to Zenya telling her he was alive but couldn't return due to 'reasons.' He left for the north with one mission, get revenge on the gang that made him an outcast from his home. He traveled all over the continent. picking up a few friends along the way. Which lead him to the sleepy town of Ohme
I have a character who rapidly evolved to major NPC in my world, called Gizmo, the gnome, who is an artificer obsessed with storing spells and (more importantly) curses in gems and semi-precious stones.
I needed a character for a spelljammer campaign, and I fancied making a sorceror but wasn't struck by any inspiration. Then my Fiancee pointed out the Autognomes and said "what if Gizmo made one of these?"
So now I have Gizmo Junior, an autognome on the run who was built to help Gizmo's experiments but, like so many of his creations, decided instead to run away to a life of adventure (will Gizmo never learn to stop putting emotions in his creations?) Junior stole a bag full of Gizmo's magical gems and built a holster for them into his arm, and now is aboard a spelljammer as a Wild Magic Sorceror - there's no knowing when one of Gizmo's gems will misfire!
He has inherited Gizmo's obsession with magic and gems, and a lot of his personality - which is not that helpful as Gizmo is an artificer who wants to fix and improve things, and Junior has no abilities to help with that endeavor (but all of the confidence that it will, in fact, work!).
Looking forward to taking Jr out into the world of Spelljammer!
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Hello, I have a bad backstory to share :)
This is my Tiefling Urchin Warlock
(Sorry, english isn't my first language lmao)
Born under the sign of the Anchorite, Eavari came to be. With no knowledge of her real parents, or where she is from, she was raised by a pair of human farmers after being left on their doorstep when she was no more than the age of two winters. She grew up in a home with hardship. They rarely had enough food or finances to go around, and the troubles didn’t end there. At five years old, she accidentally set fire to a haybale by a wrongful channelling of elemental force, without being none the wiser. Her parents, never having experienced something as incredible as magic, never linked her with the burning, which is what may have doomed them to an early grave. She was raised quite poorly, her parents themselves not knowing much of the manners of a noble, she rarely bathed, ate with her hands and only helped out on the farm in the most direst of situations. Despite her poor etiquette, her adoptive parents loved her very much, and cherished the time they had together. Nothing would ever break them apart.
One night, in the wake of spring, a spark was lit. Eavari, sleeping had haphazardly due to her untamed, infernal divination lit the dry, aged paper and parchment of a bookshelf aflame, starting a fire. As the fire grew, the household remained fast asleep. As it began reaching towards the walls, the heat germinated, awakening the dowsing tiefling. In an act of sheer panic she scampered out of her room, but sadly without the forethought of alerting her parents. As she absconded her homestead, she turned around, seeing the extent of the inferno consuming the place she referred to as her home. A fire is only well behaved in its bed of iron, yet should the wind call upon its spark, should the earth call for its flame, should the water cry out for warmth - fire takes the leap it always could have. The building was fully ablaze, plumes of burning air engulfing all from the sheathing to the joists, with the roof of the spire, alclad with the likeness of a rooster of metal, slowly collapsing into itself as if a rotting carcass. With nobody else in the village to alert, she knew she could not stay. She would be blamed for the fire, and the manslaughter of her own selfless progenitors, she would at best be excommunicated and at worst, executed. For the entire night, she ran. Running through the fields of sorghum and wheat, she cried. She cried for she knew she was at fault for her predicament. She was the shooter of the gun, the executioner of the ones she loved and she could never forgive herself. For hours she loped, not stopping for anything, until her legs finally gave up on her. Sitting down at the side of a highroad, she kept weeping, with no conceptual purpose in her life anymore. What was she going to do? As she slowly pulled herself together, she experienced the wave of tiredness flow over her. As she curled up beside a fencepost, she lay down, letting herself rest once again.
“Good morning young lady!” She felt strong hands gripping her shoulders, shaking her with the intent of waking her. As she opened her eyes and brushed away the sands of slumber, she saw the face of a friendly-looking man. His eyes were squinted and wrinkly, with a large beard that resembled more of a birds’ nest than the facial hair of a large, friendly looking man.
“What are you doing out here all alone? Where are your parents,” he asked, not knowing the weight of his words. As he uttered that remark, she started to weep. The man, not quite knowing what to do, pulled the young girl up, her white nightgown filthy with mud, and her bare feet injured by the dry shoots of cereals she had been running through.
“Come here, I think I understand. Would you like to come with me?”
As the man comforted her, she once again began to shed her tears, she nodded her head in agreement. The man, glad over her friendliness, led her up onto the road where she could in the distance see the horses and carriages of a northern trade caravan, exactly those that used to come to trade with the farmers of her village. As they got up into a carriage, the man shouted something in a foreign language, and the caravan started moving.
“So… What brought you here kid?” Eavari, not able to bring herself to say anything, wiped her nose on the side of her sleeve.
“I see. You know, would you like me to take you in and let you work here for a while until you get your act together?” He chuckled a little to himself, but it was clear the offer was genuine. He reached over for a hug, to comfort the young girl, as she stopped crying.
“Yes please.” She said as the man laughed a deep, bellowing laugh, shaking her hand, as he nodded in agreement.
“I don’t know anything about you, but do you think you can help me read some scrolls? I don’t want to assume, but I would just guess that you know infernal?”
Over the next few months, Eavari did various odd jobs working with the members of the caravan, packing crates, reading scrolls, and assisting the chef. Hallmund, the man who picked her up and the owner of the caravan, often checked up on her, seeing how she was doing in the life of the trader. She would work from daybreak to noon, spending the rest of her time reading and walking in the landscapes they passed. Every night, she would go to sleep in her coy, in one of the wagons of the caravan, letting the mellow cradling of the rough road rock her to sleep.
As the golden light of the sun slowly falls behind the green-clad horizon, the eyes of a young girl grow heavy with languor. Hearing the sound of cloppering horse hooves against hard dirt makes one's constitution fatigued, making one longing for the release of sleep. As she climbed from the front horse to her sleeping carriage, she felt a sharp pain insert itself into her skull. The feeling of a thousandth knives created an agony comparable to none. Just before she was about to cry out, everything turned dark.
Awakening in a dark void, devoid of any earthly qualities. It’s walls of matter and colour not of this world. In the middle of this abstract space, standing like the bones of dead men in the battlefield, her parents.
“Mother! Father!” The girl cried, but alas, they would not listen. As soon as they appeared, they disappeared. In a cloud of flames, they were engulfed, their skin and flesh thawing like the molten wax on the suicide note of a dying man.
“Please! Please don’t leave me! I will do anything!” Just as those words were uttered, time stopped. Her parents, still smiling at her with their half-molten crania, freezing in place. Materialising from nothing, a mass appeared. A humanoid form, held together by the strength of metal shackles, Tharizdun the chained one, He of Eternal Darkness. The fire of his inside burning like inferno, with his face covered by rotting fibres.
“O, DARK CHILD OF MY SOUL, IN THE UNDERDARK, WHERE MY SUBCONSCIOUS BUILDS ALL THE LIGHT, for I UNDERSTAND THE DARK BUILDS THE LIGHT-- THIS YOU SIGN IN TRUTH?” The booming voice uttered, his breath making hairs on her neck stand up. His mouth opened in a heavy breath revealing rows of jagged bloodstained teeth. The stench of his rotting body filled the euclidean space as she felt the hairs of her nose burn.
“W-Will you resurrect my parents?” She asked, stammering at the eldritch horror before her. As she said that, a loud, sigh-like sound was uttered.
“I CANNOT, AS ANY BEING POWERFUL OR NAUGHT CREATE LIFE. I CAN, HOWEVER, GIVE YOU THE POWERS YOU SO DESIRE, IN EXCHANGE FOR ONE THING. YOUR SOUL.” With every ounce of her being shuddering at the sight of the being, she made a choice. She had nothing to lose… right?
As if she had known the words by heart she, with a unnaturally booming voice: "Oh Lord Shadow, I give over to open eyes, I am open to receive the greater reality, and I calmly accept this forbidden favour-- this I sign in blood!” Like born from nothing, a knife of obsidian appeared in the air. When the last word was uttered, as if held by the strongest soldier, it cut into her forearm. With a scream, blood started pouring out, slowly dripping onto the floor, turning into black soil. As the ceremony was completed, The Chained One, lifted his head, once again revealing rows upon rows of rotting, bloodstained teeth. His gravelly voice sonorating throughout space he uttered;
O, A PIECE OF THE LORD OF NIGHTMARES,
FREE THINE SELF FROM HEAVENS BONDS, O BLADE FROM THE COLD, DARK VOID,
BECOME ONE WITH MY POWER, ONE WITH MY BODY,
AND LET US WALK THIS PATH OF DESTRUCTION TOGETHER,
SHATTERING THE SOULS OF THE GODS!
As soon as it started, as fast it disappeared. The horror before her eyes went up in a cloud of smoke. As if burning the scraps in which their body was wrapped, they went up in flames, turning into a thick smoke filling the space. Coughing, Eavari’s eyes cried tears as if she had becamed scratched, with her sight clouding up. As her lungs slowly gave up on her, everything turned dark.
The sounds of horses ringing in her ears, she sat up in her coy, pearls of sweat running down her forehead, with the memories of Him gushing throughout her exhausted mind. Hanging her feet off of the side of the kip, she thought. She can’t stay here, though she enjoyed her time, having a use for her pointless life, she knew that something had to be done.
“Hey you!” Hallmund shouted. “You’re finally awake!” He wend his way across the caravan, arriving at her carriage.
“You passed out yesterday, it looked like you were about to fall off! How are you doing?” He said, as usual laughing deeply, but with a hint of sorrow and worry in his voice.
“I have to leave you.”
“What?” He said, with a slightly shuddered speaking.
“It is not about you, I just need something new, something more adventurous in life.” She uttered her words with no anguish nor regret, he understood her obligation.
“I see. I will help you get off at Kingsheim, it’s the next town over. I’m sorry I can’t affect you with any rations or clothes, but we are rather tight on resources right now. All I can say is… Good Luck.” The girl nodded, accepting of the terms.
The next hours on the road to Kingsheim were stiff, but still filled with cheer. The people of the caravan and Eavari celebrated her departure with some fine wine, speaking of the good times they had together. As they drank, she lay down on her back and looked up to the vibrant yet soothing streaks of colour that had filled the canvas of the sky. There were strokes of pink and orange that resembled the soft, supple skin of a perfectly ripened peach. The setting sun’s radiant face was mirrored by the shimmering clear blue waves of the sea which was framed by sloping land on either side, both of which were flourished with a palette of different bright shades of green, orange and purple. In the horizon she could see the coast, and make out the spire of Kingsheim, her journey had come to an end. As they arrived at the gates, they said their final goodbyes. The man who had nourished and helped her through this travel of life let out a last heavy, bellowing laugh.
“Farewell little one, good luck on your travels!”
As the coachman shouted, mushing on the horses, the wheels of the carriages began spinning. Onto the dirt road, into the sunset she saw the caravan move, with a large, friendly man waving to her from its back.
With the gates before her, she entered the city.
She/They
Linktree in profile uwu
Here is Kygga, my warrior Bronze Dragonborn who defends the land and nature.
When Kygga was young, hunter-humans invaded his land. He lost his home that day because he couldn't stop them. He trained himself to use a glaive and a crossbow he had made himself. He became a fierce defender of the land. He is now on a journey to stop any tyranny he could find.
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"Be the change you wish to see in the world." - Mahatma Gandhi