Thrown together at the last minute, to get into the game. A fighter, I think. . .sure, that works. Human? Yeah. Came from someplace isolated; doesn't know much. If the group can come up with a decent schedule and this one makes it beyond one play session, then I'll think of something to add. {Fully 3/4 of the characters I've built, over a few decades.}. ;)
In the shadowy realm of the Nine Hells, a realm known for its unforgiving and infernal landscapes, a fiendish union gave rise to a child of destiny. This child, a tiefling, was conceived through the union of two powerful fiends from different infernal lineages. Their union was forbidden, and the resulting pregnancy was seen as a blasphemous affront to the established hierarchy of the Nine Hells.
As the child grew within the womb of their tiefling mother, the fiendish authorities discovered the secret of their union. The child, destined to possess a unique and potent blend of infernal bloodlines, was seen as a threat to the balance of power in the Nine Hells. Fearing the child's potential, the infernal hierarchy decreed that the tiefling mother and her unborn child must be executed by fire, a punishment designed to destroy them utterly.
Word of this sinister judgment reached the mother, who realized that her only hope was to protect her unborn child at any cost. She embarked on a desperate journey through the twisting and treacherous landscapes of the Nine Hells, using her innate tiefling abilities to elude her pursuers. As she struggled to survive, her bond with her unborn child grew stronger with each passing day.
Finally, the fateful day of the execution arrived. The mother found herself cornered by a group of relentless fiendish enforcers, who began to conjure flames around her. In a moment of sheer determination and agony, she channeled all her remaining strength to shield her unborn child from the flames. With a powerful burst of infernal magic, she created a protective barrier around the child in her womb, allowing it to survive the impending execution by fire.
The intense heat and flames consumed the mother, but the child, though scarred by the ordeal, emerged from the infernal fire alive. As they took their first breath in the Nine Hells, their mother's sacrifice left an indelible mark on them, both physically and spiritually. The experience of surviving their mother's execution by fire forged a powerful connection between the tiefling child and the infernal magic that had saved them.
Now, as they traverse the tumultuous and dangerous world of the Material Plane, the tiefling carries the scars of their harrowing past as a constant reminder of their mother's sacrifice. They possess a unique blend of infernal powers from their dual lineage, a destiny bound by their mother's love and sacrifice, and a burning desire to uncover the truth about their origins in the unforgiving world of the Nine Hells.
Macarinduil , the orc, was adopted by an elven lord at the age of 2. He grew up as the eldest of four, with three non-adopted elven brothers. Together led by his father, they marshaled the fief in a war. During one fateful day of battle, Macarinduil was unable to attend a crucial meeting. When he arrived late, he discovered his father with the family sword piercing his chest. His father, a great wizard and Tolkien-style elven lord, spoke his "last" words: "Your brothers succumbed to the allure of greed for wealth and power. Be wary of them." His father's spirit then transferred itself to the ancient blade.
After the war, Macarinduil decided to expose his brothers' crimes and take them down. Unfortunately, it was too late, as they had already framed him for their father's murder. for this crime he was exiled from the house and lordship, which passed to his treacherous brothers. he is now in hiding discarding his elven name Macarinduil in favor of his birth name Kazarad
A synopsis: So my character Zanirith is a tiefling who got abandoned by their parents and was left to take care of their brother, Casthos. They had little to nothing, of course, so they turned to pickpocketing to get by. Along the way, Zanirith meets a satyr girl named Euphoria, who was active in a resistance to take down the rulers. After a long time of distrust, Euphoria proved herself trustworthy and she and Zanirith got together (romantically I mean). On one of her heists, Euphoria stole a book she believed to be valuable, but when she opened it, there were no words she could read. What she did understand, though, was the feeling embedded within the book. A feeling of power, she thought. The more she opened the book, desperately trying to decipher it, the more powerful this feeling got. Eventually, it took over her completely, possessing her with the very feeling of power she was working so hard to eradicate. In this trance, she put an axe in Casthos' head, and right as Zanirith got there, she dropped the axe and ran. Zanirith picked up the axe, promising to wield it until she could do to Euphoria what was done to her brother.
I went a little author-mode there but yeah, edgy backstory mf.
Artem Neir is a 38-year-old human male fighter with a solder background.
Artem spent his youth serving as a scout in the army of baron Alden Newmont, a minor noble, who owned the lands at the province border. His hopes for a military career and a life of great deeds were gradually eroded in the poorly managed army structures. Fraught with corruption and theft, poorly trained and equipped, the ranks were thrown from time to time into squabbles over land or meaningless disputes. They never took part in any major conflict or fought for a worthy cause. Initially seeing hope for a change in every new assignment or leader of his unit, over the years Artem became disillusioned about his situation. Frustration and bitterness became his norm as the years passed by.
Few believed the first rumors of decisive victories in the latest border skirmish. Most local conflicts were slow slogs fought without conviction by either side. Even less paid attention to the wild tales of men turned into demons tearing through enemy ranks. Unlike most rumors, however, these did not die down when the novelty had passed. More tales started coming during the next months, and Artem's unit was soon mobilized with orders to take over a fortification far past the southern border. Men started disappearing for special assignments, returning after a few days with odd expressions on their faces. And no explanation.
During the assault on keep, with terrible screams, those men burst with arcane energy, laying waste to friend and foe around them. They changed into horrible aberrations, spreading fear and destruction as they leaped into the enemy lines. They were few in number, but the defenders, horrified by the violence, fled or surrendered, and the battle was won faster than any Artem had seen. Most of those transformed were back to looking human, exhausted and confused, seemingly not knowing what had just occurred. Some were nowhere to be seen.
Days later, Artem was ordered to a foul-smelling tent, where a man in a black robe told him he had been chosen to spread the glory of his army. Fearful, he had little choice but to obey. He doesn't remember what happened next. He woke up with a headache and a vague memory of dreams he'd rather forget. Without explanation, he was told to carry out his duties as usual and expect to be summoned again in the coming days.
With as little explanation as before, his unit was then recalled to the homeland. The unholy experiments attracted the attention of the whole province, and way sooner than the baron had planned for. In the next battle, they faced not the disorganized units of their neighboring nobles, but the professional army of the Rexarin province, and even the famed dragonborn mercenaries from the mountains of Kera's Fury. Even the monsters that once again emerged from the doomed men could not resist the disciplined soldiers of the kingdom. With the aberrations destroyed, the rest of the unit was quickly dispatched. Artem was taken prisoner, and taken to his homeland, now under the control of the province army.
The baron was said to have been captured and executed, his lands given to another noble. The army disbanded completely, the prisoners questioned about the experiments, and, to Artem's surprise, released. With the threat gone, the invading armies had no interest in destruction or revenge against the common soldiers. Small units remained to maintain order and watch for any signs of what had caused this intervention.
Artem decided to leave the province which reminded him of the horrors. He's still plagued by headaches and nightmares, and he's not sure if whatever was started in that tent had been completely averted.
• Mosslanda Sr. an elven mage and a human paladin Klockren meet as Kingsmen, fall in love and spend many happy years protecting the innocents and bearing the Red Cloak. • They meet their match in a white dragon and its minions. Locked in combat with the dragon Mosslanda Sr. detonates a fireball on himself killing both himself and the dragon. • The Dragon having smelled that Klockren is with child, death curses the child as a final act. • Klockren horrified of the curse and unable to remove it retreats to the Greenlands, Mosslanda Sr. birth place. • Klockren gives birth to a pale snow haired child, names him after his father. • Klockren raises Moss teaching him the ways and prayers of the ancient ones and the green knights, hoping to quell the dragon within. • Mother and son take on a Robin Hood like role, recapturing loot from bandits and then returning it to the folk they stole it from. • Before Moss is in his teens a second eye lid, opaque black becomes apparent, an early physical sign of the curse. His mother continues his teachings. • Fisher mages and their henchmen have been troubling the region, hunting on an industrial scale for anchovies for fish sauce. They use thunder magics, killing all of the fish in a bay or lagoon. Taking the anchovies, packed into a portable hole leaving all else behind to rot and moving onto the next bay. Devastating the region, depleting the fishery with a huge bycatch and the likelihood of starvation if the practice continues. • Klockren and Moss muster help from the forest and the locals to confront the Fisher Mages. • It does not go well. Attacked by the water itself, picked off at a distance or lost to a hail of arrows the Fisher Mages kill more than half of the attackers, including his mother, Klockren. • Moss signs his allies to retreat, makes his way to his mothers body, takes his mothers bag of holding and throws it into the pit of anchovies, remembering one of the early rules he was taught: never place anything like bag of holding into a bag of holding.
Meant to be his background and introduction to an already ongoing spelljammer campaign at third level. The idea was his alignment and behaviors would be based on whatever class was the highest level and his emotional health at the time. As such he started out after his mother's death favoring the dragon.
My character Burdurxa "Homicidal Wizard" Shademaker is a 20 year old HALF half elf half demon. He is a wizard class pyromaniac. He's extremely violent and hates suprises often sending a fireball in the direction of the suprise. Hes amazing at torture and can coax an answer out of anyone. His signature form of torture is slow burning to death, even when they tell him what he wants to hear he just sets them on fire and leaves them to die. Hes known across the land for his brutality often crippling or killing anyone or thing that gets in his way with fire spells. he spent the first 18 years of his life learning fire spells and torture methods. As seems obvious his family was extremely emotionally abusive a probable side result of the demon blood in their veins. His only escape was wildlife (as long as they dont suprise him) which he loves, he owns a talking horse with fey wings named elizabeth given to him by the fey queen. His family has extreme upper class ties and are extremely skilled craftsman who own several buisnesses and are well off. He had finally finished school and went home to show his diploma to his parents, make them proud for once ya know. Their reaction was less than so. They did not care at all and told him to wash and clothe himself for a ball they were having to celebrate. Of course it was actually to meet other rich people and make trade deals, with him being traded as he was finally old enough for marriage. Sick of their treatment, he snuck up to their room and took 30 platinum pieces from their chest and some essentials and ran. He did not get far his father caught up with him and as an experienced mage himself unleashed hell to punish his son. Fed up and bitter with rage Burdurxa activated some hidden demon power, growing demonic wings and horns he sent relentless fire spell after fire spell. First scorching rays, then when slots ran out he used burning hands and finally just fireballs and fireballs. He didnt stop even after his dad died, burning a 30 foot pit of molten earth, his father having hours ago melted in the slag. After he was done he just turned and walked away leaving his wailing mother by the side of the pit, not a shred of sympathy left. He didnt care for them, after all they never cared for him. he stole a horse after killing the owner a new hatred in his eyes, one that never went away. from their he traveled across the continent killing and taking as he went. slowly his wings grew bigger, his eyes blacker, his hate larger his demon was taking over he had no emotions left except fure rage at the world for a whole year he was like this flying from one town to the next. then he heard of story of the feywild, a place of chaos. their were trees and fey everywhere. a new place to burn he thought. maybe then I will have satisfaction for my revenge against the world. for a year he searched chasing rumor after rumor till he found the portal. with no hesitation he jumped in. It was his haven tall trees everywhere the whole world teeming with life. he just started burning, no discrimination. everything HAD to go. it was days before the fey stopped him, and even then he had killed hundreds of the creatures. brought on his knees forcefully before the queen, he cursed horrendous insult after horrendous insult at them. the queen sat there seeing the pain he was in. she had a servant bring a special horse, one no one could ride or tame. The horse was too wild, too chaotic not evilly actually pretty goodly (is that a word?) actually. She was just too much for anyone to handle. Burdurxa sitting their too tired to even sit up straight anymore was sitting on the floor glaring contemplating, when, all of a sudden he saw a beautiful muzzle appear and a cheery hello be said. He looked up into the eyes of a horse. And then cried. He cried for hours, days. and with each tear his wings grew smaller and eyes more normal. And the whole time elizabeth was there with her white coat and amazing listening skills burdurxa finally had a buddy. From then on he and elizabeth would go wherever the wing blew them, free spirits wandering the world happily, living as much of the world as possible.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
I AM HOMICIDE I AM THE EMBODIMENT OF FIRE I AM STRENGTH AND POWER PRAISE LORD JEFF THE EVIL ROOOOOOOMMMBBBAAAAA
I AM PURE HATE! MY NAME IS BURDURXA SHADEMAKER! TREMBLE IN FEAR AT ITS MENTION!!!! PM ME THE WORD TOMATO OR I WILL SLAP YOUR FIRST BORN CHILD!!
Morse Halley, Drow Ranger for Keys from the Golden Vault
I’m an archaeologist. Not a famous one or anything, just someone who likes adventure and history and all that. Specifically, I’ve always been interested in Giant culture in Icewind Dale. I literally wrote my thesis on it (come up with a stupid thesis name.)
While on a research expedition to exhume the body of Jarl Kelvin Duarol in Icewind Dale, I made a mistake. I missed an engraving, ONE, TINY engraving (ironic for the tomb of a giant). Now I think I’m being haunted by his ghost, or at least one of his guards or something. I hear footsteps behind me every time I walk, occasionally i’ll hear voices. And, in mirrors… I think I see someone behind me.
I just want it to stop. I need money, and this [thievery] is a quick, easy, and fun way to get it, I’m pretty sure. Once I earn enough to pay someone to remove this stupid curse or whatever it is, I’ll go back to my normal research, I just need to step away from it for a minute. I just hope whatever’s happening to me doesn’t get worse.
Parents were not influential on his druidic interests
Committed to ontological balance, willing to engage in occasional harm means to that end
New member of a well-developed, organized, and modestly funded druidic order with regional/national political power. Has plans to engage in some adventures/campaigns that further the goals of his order
Has a strong mentor in his order
From an area/region with similar terrain to the PNW, Redwoods: Mediterranean climate, trees, mountains, freshwater lakes/streams, ocean. Lives in a regional settlement of megaliths outside of a mid-sized/big city
Treasured item: twig from Druidic Circle tree (worn as necklace pendant)
Goals: extend druidic interest in nature in the material plane to similar entities in other planes, e.g., elementals, fey, etc.
My latest character is composed almost entirely out of unofficial content from the Gamemaster's Book of Legendary Dragons.
Thooth Runnigan, the Draken Dragon Rider. Utilizing the Rapunzel's Parents trope, Thooth's parents desperately wanted a child but could not have one. They risked their lives by stealing the fruit from a nearby dragon's orchard in the hopes that the draconic magic would grant their wish. It worked and a son was born to them, but the child was horribly disfigured. Sickly green reptilian scales mar his flesh, horns pierce his brow, his skin is unnaturally cold, and his eyes shine an animalistic yellow. Despite his strange appearance, his family cared for him deeply and he spent the first few years of his life in a loving home. Everything changed when the dragon who owned the fruit trees showed up and demanded that the parents repay their theft with their child. The child was born of the dragon's fruit and so the dragon claimed the boy as her own. His parents refused, so they were slaughtered. The boy was then raised by the dragon who trained him as a servant whose main task was to raid and steal to add to his dragon mother's hoard. One day, he was sent to raid his home town and he found out his true origins. Enraged, the man fled from the dragon, but not before stealing one of the dragon's eggs. Thooth Runnigan, the name he adopted from his dead father, raised the dragon on his own, becoming a dragon rider. He has named his dragon Tatzel, and he feels guilt for stealing a child like he was stolen, even if its mother was an evil dragon. So far, he has not told this to Tatzel and they are traveling mercenaries, working for the highest payer to satisfy their hoardlust.
This is my first backstory and may seem a little long, so I've put it into some spoilers
Race: Half-Elf Class: Rouge Age: 55
Panril, "Nightshade", as he came to be known in the underworld, was born into a difficult life. Raised on the gritty streets of a bustling city, he quickly learned that survival required cunning and quick fingers. His mother, a struggling human woman, did her best to provide, but the challenges of life proved too much for her, and she took her own life when Panril was just 11. Left to fend for himself, Panril turned to thievery as a means of survival. The elven blood in his veins remained a mystery, as Panril never sought to discover the identity of his father. He grew up with a disdain for the concept of family, having experienced firsthand the pain of abandonment. Instead, he embraced a life on the fringes of society, always seeking the next opportunity to fill his coin purse. Panril was known to incorporate a subtle touch of theatricality into his exploits. He often left behind a small, carefully crafted sprig of nightshade—a dark, poisonous plant—as a calling card at the scene of his heists. This symbol not only reinforced the connection to darkness but also hinted at the potentially lethal consequences for those who crossed his path. Over time, the name "Nightshade" spread among the criminal underworld, creating an air of mystique around Panril. His elusive persona, coupled with the poisonous symbolism, turned the nickname into a representation of the shadowy, dangerous figure that haunted the night. The reputation of Panril "Nightshade" became a whispered legend among both criminals and those who sought to stop him, adding an extra layer of intrigue to his notoriety. Panril's skills as a thief did not go unnoticed, and he eventually found himself working for a notorious crime lord. Under the guidance of this figure, Panril honed his craft and became an adept infiltrator and master of deception. However, his success took a dark turn when he was framed for a crime against the kingdom by said crime lord. Falsely accused and with the kingdom's authorities closing in, Panril had no choice but to disappear from the public eye. For the past decade, he has lived a shadowy existence, moving from one town to another, adopting new aliases, and committing smaller heists to sustain himself. Always one step ahead of the law, Panril has become a ghost. Many believe him dead, others believe he has left the continent entirely. Panril hasn't severed all ties with the criminal underworld. His ability to navigate the treacherous landscape of crime left him with a handful of trusted allies who still operate in the shadows. These contacts, scattered across various cities, serve as Panril's ears and eyes in the underworld. In each town he visits, Panril discreetly reaches out to these contacts, exchanging coded messages and updates through secret channels. These allies provide him with valuable information, helping him stay one step ahead of both law enforcement and rival criminals. The network he maintains not only alerts him to potential threats but also opens up opportunities for lucrative heists or jobs that might offer the chance to clear his name. However, trust in the underworld is a fragile commodity. Panril is aware that his disappearance might have stirred suspicions among his former associates. Some may believe he betrayed them, while others might see him as a liability. As he embarks on new adventures, Panril will need to navigate these delicate relationships, constantly weighing the benefits of his network against the risks it poses. The knowledge that a few loyal allies still exist gives Panril a thread of connection to his past, a reminder of the days when he operated with a certain level of infamy. These allies, like shadows in the night, serve as a lifeline for Panril, ensuring that even in the darkness, he is not entirely alone. Despite his hardened exterior, Panril harbors a lingering bitterness about being betrayed and framed. He yearns for an opportunity to clear his name, but the fear of the kingdom's justice system and the allure of the rogue's life keep him from fully committing to that quest. As he embarks on the new adventure that awaits, Panril is torn between his past as a master thief and the possibility of redemption that lies ahead.
Other info: Large birthmark on left wrist - hidden since false crime. Always Counts Loot Twice: Panril has a habit of counting his ill-gotten gains twice, a superstition born from an early heist where miscalculation almost cost him dearly. Ebon Amulet: Panril possesses an ebon amulet with a cryptic inscription. Its origin and purpose are unclear, but it is said to hold a connection to his elven heritage. Panril has an unusual affinity for owls and tends to strike up conversations with them when he encounters them in the wild. While he doesn't speak any language comprehensible to the owls, he believes they bring him luck
I just finished the backstory for my satyr Circle of Wildfire druid, Seraphina Darkhoof:
In the tumultuous aftermath of the Spellplague that ravaged the realms in 1385 DR, an ethereal pathway was reborn, linking the mortal land of Toril to the enchanted Feywilds. Amidst this maelstrom of arcane upheaval, Seraphina's forebears were swept up in the great exodus of fey folk who sought refuge within the lush, shadow-dappled realm of Neverwinter Woods, nestled within the heart of Faerûn. In the southernmost reaches of this ancient woodland, her ancestors joined forces with several satyr clans, their collective spirits harmonizing with the natural world to forge a quaint village, a hidden gem amid the sprawling forest.
The satyrs, with their lilting pipes and revelrous hearts, carved out a life of idyllic peace among the towering oaks and whispering pines, their laughter mingling with the rustling leaves. As the wheel of time spun, their numbers swelled, and the once-abundant woods began to feel the strain of their growing community. The elders, steeped in wisdom and foresight, convened under the stars and reached a pivotal decision. To preserve the sanctity of their woodland home, they would send forth a group of spirited young adventurers, their eyes agleam with the thrill of discovery, to seek out new lands where their kin could thrive anew. Among these chosen few was Seraphina's intrepid grandfather, Zaris Darkhoof, a figure of noble bearing and unyielding determination.
The band of adventurers embarked on an odyssey that wove them through the fabric of the continent, each new dawn unveiling possibilities as vast as the sky itself. They sowed the seeds of new settlements, each blossoming into a beacon of fey culture, and at every burgeoning village, one among them would stay behind to tend the fledgling community and ensure word of their prosperity reached the ears of those in Neverwinter Wood. As the seasons turned, Zaris found himself a solitary wanderer; his companions had each found their own destiny, leaving him to heed an enigmatic call that beckoned him ever onward. It was as if some ineffable force, a whisper on the wind, tugged at the strings of his spirit, compelling him towards an unknown fate.
Zaris's wanderlust carried him to the verdant seclusion of Cloakwood, a small expanse of greenery and secrets perched along the Sword Coast just south of the city of Baldur's Gate. An indescribable pull beckoned him deeper into the heart of the woods, where the air thrummed with an ancient, expectant energy. The forest seemed to observe him with a thousand unseen eyes, the natural world holding its breath as he ventured further into its sacred domain.
At last, he stumbled upon a clearing, an emerald oasis where the woodland guardians parted gracefully, revealing a serene meadow dappled with sunlight. A babbling stream danced through the meadow, its waters caressing a lone boulder that sat in the shadow of an ancient oak. There, bathed in the dappled sunlight, perched upon the stone, was a vision of ethereal beauty – a satyr maiden whose grace outshone the splendor of the Feywilds themselves. As Zaris approached, a profound tranquility enveloped him, the restless yearning that had driven him for so long dissipated like morning mist.
The maiden's smile bloomed like a rare flower as Zaris knelt on the banks of the stream, awestruck. Her voice, a melody woven from the very essence of nature, shared her name—Alana—and her destiny. She spoke of a sacred vision gifted by Silvanus, the Oak Father, as a reward for her unwavering devotion to the druidic path. A prophecy had foretold of a love that would transcend time, and with divine guidance, she had summoned her soul's counterpart to this very glade.
United by a bond deeper than the roots of the great oak, Zaris and Alana wasted no time in building a life together in the Cloakwood. Their message of hope rippled back to Neverwinter Wood, beckoning others to join their sanctuary. Their days unfurled in a serene rhythm, punctuated by the laughter of their children. Yet, Alana's magical essence seemed to skip a generation, leaving her brood bereft of her druidic gifts—a riddle that would only be solved with the arrival of her granddaughters, Ember and Seraphina.
The twins were born under a veil of sorrow, their parents claimed by misfortune's cruel hand. But in the care of their grandparents, the girls blossomed, their innate magical prowess igniting early, especially their remarkable command over fire. Alana embraced her role as mentor, imparting the ancient wisdom of the druids and instilling a reverence for the delicate equilibrium of nature.
However, fate's fickle flame would soon test them all. During the summer of their fifth year, a night of terror descended as an inferno, birthed from the depths of Seraphina's nightmares, engulfed their home. Amidst the roar of the flames and the cries of the fleeing wildlife, Alana's heart shattered. With strength borne of love and desperation, she fought the blaze and entrusted the safety of her precious granddaughters to a loyal wolf of Cloakwood. With tearful farewells and a final act of selfless heroism, Alana faced the wildfire, her spirit as indomitable as the ancient forest.
The last vestiges of their childhood innocence faded into the night as Ember and Seraphina clung to each other atop their lupine guardian, the wolf they would come to know as Moonwhisper. Behind them, the blaze that devoured their village painted the sky with a cruel orange glow, a monstrous beacon marking the end of all they had known. Through blurred tears, they beheld the silhouette of Alana, their beloved grandmother, a steadfast figure amidst the chaos, summoning the last of her strength to hold back the voracious flames. Her love was a shield, her magic a bulwark against the encroaching destruction. In the aftermath, only Ember and Seraphina remained, their lives a testament to their grandmother's sacrifice, their magic a legacy of her love – a beacon of hope for the future.
As Moonwhisper's paws thundered across the forest floor, the twins' hearts raced in tandem with his swift gait. With each bound, the fiery maw that had claimed their past receded further into the darkness, becoming nothing more than a distant, flickering memory. They breached the easternmost boundary of Cloakwood, the forest that had cradled their earliest years, now relinquishing them to the unknown.
The journey was a blur, the landscape a streak of colors and shapes that held no meaning for the grief-stricken twins. Moonwhisper, their steadfast protector, did not relent in his flight until the Wood of Sharp Teeth loomed before them, its towering trees and tangled underbrush a stark contrast to the burning hell they had escaped. This dense and ancient woodland, fraught with its own perils and secrets, was Moonwhisper's birthplace—a sanctuary he had once called home.
In the heart of this primal forest, Moonwhisper called forth his old kin—a noble pack of wolves, each bearing the wisdom and scars of countless seasons. With somber howls and keen eyes, they gathered around the forlorn satyrs, their presence an unspoken vow of solidarity. Moonwhisper recounted the tale of tragedy and loss, his voice carrying the weight of the night's horrors. The wolves convened in a solemn conclave, their low growls and piercing gazes weaving a tapestry of deliberation beneath the moon's watchful eye. The decision was unanimous, born from a deep-seated sense of kinship with the forest and its denizens. They would embrace these young satyrs, Ember and Seraphina, whose lives had been shattered by fire and violence. The pack would become their family, their teachers, their guardians.
In the shelter of the Wood of Sharp Teeth, amongst the whispers of leaves and the ancient spirits that roamed its depths, Ember and Seraphina found an unexpected refuge. Here, amidst the watchful eyes of the wolf pack, they would grow, learn, and heal. They would come to understand the ways of the wild, the unspoken language of the woods, and the strength that comes from being part of a pack. And through it all, the memory of Alana's love would continue to guide them, a beacon of hope in a world that had shown them its cruelest face.
Ember and Seraphina, nestled within the protective embrace of the Wood of Sharp Teeth, began a new chapter of their lives under the tutelage of the wolf pack. The twins, once bound by the tranquil life under the druidic teachings of their grandmother, now found themselves learning the untamed laws of the forest. With the wolves as their guides, the satyr sisters learned to move with stealth and grace through the dense underbrush, their senses sharpening to the subtle language of nature.
The pack, led by the venerable alpha, Stormcaller, welcomed them as one of their own. Ember, with her fiery spirit and quick wit, showed a keen aptitude for hunting, blending into the shadows with a dancer's poise. Seraphina, her soul a mirror of the moonlit glades, found solace in the quietude of the woods, her magic growing in harmony with the whispering winds and rustling leaves. As the seasons turned, the twins' grief softened like the edges of a weathered stone. Their days were filled with lessons in survival, from tracking prey to deciphering the myriad scents that the wind carried. The wolves taught them the importance of the pack, of unity and loyalty, values that became as deeply ingrained in them as their own heritage.
Ember's affinity for fire, once a source of devastation, was honed into a tool of life. She learned to wield her flames with precision, to warm without burning, to illuminate without blinding. Seraphina's magic, too, blossomed in new directions; not only did she have the same talent for controlling fire, but she also began to weave enchantments that soothed and protected, her incantations echoing the gentle hum of the earth.
As they matured into young adulthood, their connection to the fey roots of their bloodline remained intact, a vibrant thread woven through the fabric of their forest life. They celebrated the cycles of the moon with the wolves, their voices rising in haunting melodies that resonated with the ancient magic of their ancestors. The twins' bond with Moonwhisper grew ever stronger, his wise counsel and steady presence a constant in their lives. He shared with them the lore of the wolves, tales of the stars and the spirits that roamed the night. In turn, Ember and Seraphina shared stories of the Feywilds and the Neverwinter Woods, their words painting vivid images of a life that seemed like a distant dream.
Years passed, and the satyr sisters, now adept guardians of the Wood of Sharp Teeth, stood as a testament to the resilience of spirit. They became known throughout the forest as the "Flameborn Twins," revered for their unique powers and the deep respect they held for all living things. Yet, their hearts still yearned for a connection to their past, to the memories of their grandmother and the village they had lost. They began to feel the call of the wider world, a longing to explore their heritage and the mysteries of their own magic. The time came during their eighteenth year when Ember and Seraphina knew they must leave the sanctuary of the wolves and venture forth once more.
With heavy hearts but determined spirits, they bid farewell to the pack, their wolf family watching with pride as the twins stepped beyond the borders of the Wood of Sharp Teeth. Their journey was now their own, a path uncharted, leading them toward a destiny that would intertwine the wild wisdom of the wolves with the ancient legacy of the fey. Ember and Seraphina, with the blessings of their wolf kin echoing in their ears, embarked upon the winding trails of the world beyond the Wood of Sharp Teeth. Their departure was bittersweet, leaving behind the comfort of the pack, yet they were driven by an innate curiosity and a desire to forge their own legacy. With the skills and wisdom they had acquired from the wolves, they navigated through the ever-changing landscapes of Faerûn, their twin flames of courage and intuition guiding them.
Their travels took them through bustling towns and serene hamlets, each encounter enriching their understanding of the world's vast diversity. They traded tales with travelers, bartered goods in market squares, and performed feats of magic that left onlookers in awe. Ember's fiery displays became a spectacle of light and warmth, while Seraphina's spells captivated with their ethereal grace.
Yet, their journey was not without perils. The twins faced challenges that tested their resolve and honed their abilities. They crossed paths with brigands and beasts, nefarious creatures that sought to exploit their fey heritage and magical prowess. In these moments, the sisters' bond proved unbreakable, their combined strength and cunning overwhelming any who threatened them. One fateful night, as a silver moon hung low in the sky, the twins stumbled upon an ancient grove, its trees gnarled with the passage of untold centuries. Here, they encountered a circle of druids, guardians of nature's most sacred secrets. The druids recognized the magic that coursed within Ember and Seraphina, offering to initiate them into the deeper mysteries of the natural world.
Under the tutelage of these new mentors, the twins delved into the arcane connections between all living things. They learned to harness the elements, to speak with the flora and fauna, and to invoke the spirits of the land. The druids saw in them a bridge between the primeval wilderness they protected and the otherworldly realm of the Feywilds. As the druids led them deeper into the mysteries of the natural world, Ember and Seraphina felt their powers grow. The druids taught them the ancient language of the trees and the dance of the river's flow. But amidst this time of growth and learning, Seraphina began to experience haunting dreams. Dreams that echoed with the crackling of flames and the cries of terror from a time long past.
One night, as the fire of their camp flickered and cast long shadows upon the grove, Seraphina awoke with a start. Her dreams had been more vivid than ever, the memories almost tangible in their clarity. She could no longer deny the truth that was surfacing; the nightmare that had plagued her was not just a dream—it was a memory.
As the realization dawned upon her, Seraphina turned to Ember, a question in her eyes. Ember's gaze faltered, and in that moment of hesitation, Seraphina understood. Ember had known all along. The fire that had been attributed to a freak accident, the one that had ravaged their village and set them on their path to the Wood of Sharp Teeth, had been sparked by Seraphina's own uncontrolled magic. The air between the sisters grew heavy, charged with a tension that had never existed before. Seraphina's voice trembled with a mix of betrayal and sorrow as she confronted Ember. "You knew," she whispered, her heart sinking. "You knew, and you said nothing."
Ember's response came slowly, her words weighed down by the burden of her silence. "I thought I was protecting you," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I thought that if you didn't remember, you wouldn't have to live with the guilt, with the pain."
But Seraphina's hurt ran deep, deeper than the roots of the grove that surrounded them. "How could you keep this from me? How could you let me live a lie?" she cried out, the flames of anger and hurt flickering in her eyes. The argument escalated; words as sharp as daggers slicing through the bonds of sisterhood. In the end, Seraphina could not stay. With tears streaming down her face, she turned away from Ember, from the druids, and from the grove that had promised so much understanding. She needed to find her own truth, to reconcile the past with who she wanted to be. As Seraphina disappeared into the night, Ember watched her go, a mix of regret and sorrow suffusing her being. The Flameborn Twins, once inseparable, now each faced a journey of their own—a journey of forgiveness, self-discovery, and perhaps, in time, a path that would lead them back to each other.
Ember, determined to find her sister and make amends, embarked on a perilous journey across the land. She sought guidance from wise elders and traveled through treacherous terrains, facing countless challenges along the way. With each step, her resolve grew stronger, fueled by a fierce determination to find Seraphina and mend their broken bond.
In her quest, Ember stumbled upon a boisterous adventuring party, comprised of warriors, mages, and healers. Impressed by their skills, Ember decided to join them. Together, they faced countless challenges, conquering dungeons, slaying monsters, and recovering ancient artifacts. However, Ember's thoughts were never far from her missing sister. She confided in her newfound companions, sharing her story and her desperate desire to find Seraphina. Touched by her determination and sisterly love, the adventuring party vowed to aid her in this mission.
As they drew closer to the lair where Seraphina was believed to be held captive, the party prepared for their most dangerous mission yet. The stakes were high, for they knew the price of failure was not just Seraphina's life but also the shattered hope of their reunion. With hearts pounding and blades gleaming, Ember and her companions stormed into the lair, their combined strength and magic shaking the very foundations of the fortress. The battle raged on, and Ember fought with all her might, refusing to let anything stand between her and her sister.
But fate, in its cruel twist, played a merciless hand. In the midst of the chaos, Ember found herself outnumbered and surrounded by enemies. She fought valiantly, her fiery powers scorching the battlefield, but it was not enough. Overwhelmed by the unrelenting onslaught, Ember fell, her last breath escaping like a wisp of smoke. In the end, they emerged victorious, freeing Seraphina from her captors. It was a bittersweet victory, for they knew that Ember's sacrifice had made it possible. Seraphina, released from the prison of her past, vowed to carry her sister's memory with her always. And perhaps, in the depths of her heart, she still hoped for a reunion with Ember, in the realm where flames never die, and sisters are eternally bound.
Here is the background for my Ninja Turtle Inspired Tortle Monk, Rembrandt. Sadly It's not letting me put my drawing for some reason but I'll figure that out later.
As a hatchling, Rembrandt lived on the tropical isle of Matis. Living a peaceful life amongst the wonders of nature the Island provided and loved by the people of his village. His Kind reveled in relaxing, adventuring and exploring the mysteries his isle had to offer. They felt safe to do so, as they were under the protection of the Guardians 4, A Brotherhood of Tortle Monk Martial Arts Masters, each an expert in their preferred weapon. The brothers were advised by the shogun of this isle, Master Sliver, and aided by their occasional ally Usagi, a Ronin Haregon.
However, all this changed when a clan of GullClaws (Seagull people), called the Claw, Attacked their peaceful village. They Raided, they pillaged, killed and stole. Villagers they did not kidnap were picked up hundereds of feet in the air, and slammed to the ground, dying on impact, shells shattered.
The Conch shells were blown and the Wargongs were sounded. As the Guardians 4 and Master Sliver held off the attack. Usagi led the evacuation effort but to no avail. Most if not all the villagers we killed. Seeing Rembrandt struggling to safety, amongst other hatchlings getting kidnapped or worse, He ran and grabbed the child, then headed to his boat. he hid the hatchling within a secret compartment of his dingy, next to a very long, old handmade chest and a Wargong.
He was about to run to his allies' aid when suddenly "Gooo!!" exclaimed Master Sliver! He and the guardians were overwhelmed by the onslaught of savage avian warriors. Out-of-nowhere, one of the brothers, known to be quiet the artificier, pulled out of his pocket their last resort... an artificial lightning gem. He exclaimed "GET OUT OF HEREEEE!!!""" and tossed the lightning gem to the ground.
Usagi ran to the boat a quickly pushed it into the water. The Explosion caused a tidal wave that pushed them far out to sea. Usagi looked up, seeing the reckage. Lighting crackled across chared bird flesh, and burning homes. In the distance, the bodies of the 4 brothers and their master, carried off into the horizon.
Usagi, torn from the loss of his friends, Stands upon the dingy by himself. With A forlorn but determined look in his eye, looks upon the destruction of the village. He will right this. Hearing the soft cried of the hatchling, he retrieves the hatchling, and holds him gently in front of him. "The fate of the 4, in the hands of you, hatchling. You will be trained."
Upon landing on a distant shore usagi fashion an Onbuhimo from reeds and palm leaves. Taking him on as his son he trains the hatchling. They live together in times of hardship, Usagi Protecting the child from bounty hunters sent by the Claw. But they also live together in peace. Together they build a modest thatched home along the beach.
Usagi took to both conventional and unconventional means to train him. Rembrandt, Raised in the ways of the Monk, Trained in the Martial Arts, but also taught to live with nature, respecting it, caring for it. His paints, crafted from flowers and his Mocchi-making skills, far beyond the greatest Haregon, the herald Heragon of the Moon. By training him in this way, Usagi instilled in the young Tortle Incredible Strength, Stealth, Agility, Survival, and Archery skills. Upon coming of age, the time Tortle's are to explore the world, Elderly Usagi tasks him with one goal, to help him in discovering the whereabouts of the Guardians 4. Rembrandt, with the memories of that seared into his brain, agrees wholeheartedly. Usagi, joyous at receiving his aid, points to the very long, old handmade chest, which was moved from the dingy to their home when Rembrandt became old enough and strong enough to pull it into their home. Usagi tells Rembrandt to pull out what is within, as he's the only one with the strength to lift it.
After opening the latch, Rembrandt out an withered but somewhat advanced Warhammer. "It was the latest invention of one of the Guardian 4. Donatello, it was to be used, in combination with weapons of the Guardian 4, as a last ditch effort in case we need to save your people. I believe this calls a last ditch effort." Usagi goes toward the back wall of their home and lifts a handcrafted bow and withered Silver Wargong off the wall. He hands Rembrant the Wargong "This is from your people. With this Wargong may you take the culture of your people with you always." Rembrandt slings the leather attached to the Wargong over his chest, with it lay resting over his shell.
Usagi then takes a moment... and breathes.. and hands him the long bow. It has etchings of the daily activities of a Haregon village from long ago. "And... This is from me. Take this with you and let it be known... that you are also of my people... With this you may be granted passage through any Haregon village."
As Usagi stood tall hold his son in tight embrace he spoke his last words Rembrandt would hear before they parted ways on their Journey. "Remember son, No matter how far you go, I will always be with you, and your home will always lead you back." With this both warriors held on a little longer, then gathered their things, said their goodbyes, and each walked separate ways into the night, hoping that by splitting up, they'd be able to uncover the whereabouts of Master Sliver and the Guardians four.
Name: Cerise Gender: Female Race: Human Age: 23 years Skin color: Light-Tan Eye color: Green Blue Hair color and style: Dirty Blonde, Wavy, Shoulder-length Class: Wizard (School of Evocation)
Cerise was born into a nomadic clan of scholars and archaeologists, who studied ancient temples and ruins of civilizations long past. Aside from occasional trade and commerce, the clan was wary of outside forces and mostly stayed hidden, out of the fear of endangering themselves and risking the valuable knowledge they had. Both Cerise's parents were proficient in arcane magic from years of studying tomes and ancient texts. When Cerise began to display similar abilities at a young age, her parents began teaching her everything they knew about spellcasting and survival tactics.
However, Cerise's life would take a dark turn at age 15. Mysterious assassins dressed in red and black robes began attacking their camp, stealing everything of value, and killing nearly everyone, including Cerise's parents. Having witnessed the entire tragedy, Cerise breaks down and unleashes a burst of arcane energy and flame, killing all in the area (regardless of friend or foe) and leaving her the sole survivor. Left traumatized by the event, Cerise gathers everything she can from the wreckage and leaves the rest behind.
Now alone in an unfamiliar world, Cerise spends the next seven years travelling, surviving on resources she can find in the wilderness before making a living through various work and odd jobs, mainly archiving and mercenary work. Yet, despite her new living situation, she only has one goal in mind: to find the assassins response for the death of her family and community, and put an end to them once and for all.
Hi everyone, I just rolled this toon today and jotted down this backstory, let me know what you think.
Due to a series of unfortunate (and clumsy) errors in his home village, Dru's mistakes killed several members of his clan and destroyed most of the house and parts of the village's stone walls. Not being his first, or even second major mistake, the village elders decided that Dru and his family needed to leave to prevent any further mistakes or errors that would likely take more life. Dru and the rest of his family, his parents, and two younger sisters, set off on their new path with resignation and nervousness.
It took two months but the next error (this time in judgment) came and Dru led the family down a path blocked in some lowland mountains and forests... a band of gnolls ambushed the family. The gnolls attacked savagely with the small gnomes fighting back as well as they could. Dru's father, a seasoned member of their old village patrol groups tried to shield the younger daughters as best as possible while Dru and his mother held the flanks of the girls. It was only a matter of time before the much taller gnolls would press their advantage... By nightfall it was over... and Dru's father and two sisters lay dead or had been carried away and Dru's mother lay wounded next to Dru and two dead gnolls. She would survive... barely.
It was Dru who kept her alive and struggled with the notion that his mistake at reading the land had led his family down this dark path. During that first night, Dru tried to fashion two poles and his cloak to try and walk his mother to safety. He fumbled much during the construction...adding to his self-pity and frustration. Finally screaming into the night at his continued *uselessness* a calm filled the area, the moon peaked out from some clouds, and an oak leaf fell from a nearby tree and danced on a wisp of wind gently coming to rest on Dru's upheld hands...and he was calmed, and instantly focused on the task at-hand. Dru completed the construction as if the plants and trees around him pushed him to completion with their patience. Seeing that his mother's condition had worsened while building the kit, Dru softly whispered into the night and surrounding forest for guidance to help his mother...with another whisp of wind, his eyes closed searching for an answer - his hands began to lightly glow as healing waves entered his mother, stabilizing her condition. She was well enough to be moved!
Dru spent the next two days dragging his mother to a village they had passed through a few days prior. The villagers recognized him and his plight and granted him and his mother stay and healing. After another week his mother was well enough to stand and work on her own, but she always cast a scornful look at Dru...until one day she called for Dru...
The time for reckoning had come, Dru's mother could hold her anger no longer. She blamed Dru for everything that had befallen the family, the removal from their home village, the sorry lives they had led since then, and ultimately the death of his father and his sisters. She told him she never wanted to see him again, kicked her larger pack to Dru, and told him to take it and leave and not look back because she would not be here. Dru wanted to beg her to change her mind, but he knew she was right. He was the reason they were here... So he quietly picked up the pack, walked back to his room, and gathered his things with both packs and a small walking stick he passed the threshold of the door and looked back to his mother one last time only to see her door closed...and onward he stepped, alone.
After a week in the local forested area, Dru started to think about that night and the calmness that had come over the area and him as he struggled with trying to save his mother. This thought of calmness and the trees of the area led his mind to drift seemingly willing him where they wanted him to go. Dru didn't know how long he walked like this, but he knew two things - he was going where he was needed, and he was safe. After another week in the woods and foothills of the Spine of the World Dru finally found his place... a small pool of crystal clear water surrounded by mightily oaks and ash with an occasional yew and birch. His heart pounded as he dropped his pack near the pool of water and soaked in the image of the area and the calmness of it all.
After two days near this pool, a few branches parted and a sole figure walked calmly into the area and looked at Dru. Dru pondered the woman's intent but knew in his heart that she would do him no harm. After putting her pack down she finally spoke, "I am Leander...we leave on the 'morrow.". That was the beginning of Dru's new life, his trail and calmness as a disciple of Silvanus, and a member of the Emerald Enclave...
He is first and foremost an innovator by nature. As a child, he often took apart toys to see how they worked, lovingly analyzing every individual piece. Hie did the same with books, certain clothes, household items and even food. Each item was bisected and cataloged in intricate yet tender detail. His parents once gave him a pet dog to inspire his curiosity in the world around him. That, too, he took apart and cataloged, separating fluids, discerning physical properties, learning its anatomy. His curiosity was indeed inexhaustible. Experiments, research, the natural laws of everything -- he wanted to learn.
When he set out to face the world, it was only after he'd learned everything he could, even of his beloved mother and father. Finding a subtle kinship in the many research institutions throughout Faerun, Bollivar quickly became a renowned scholar of sorts, diving headlong into varying studies of multiplicitous universal properties. Each revelation was a gateway to a new line of research, every query a new chasm to bridge. Yet he pursued every quandary with the same steady proficiency, promptly earning countless accolades and grants for his continued interest. But such things mattered little to Bollivar.
For the Deluge, as those who know him best would call him, knowledge was oft its own reward.
Those who've worked with him know him to be a visionary of sorts, praising his analytical skills and precision for noting and cataloging vast quantities of information. They also note his dedication to his work and the candid encouragement he offered others in the pursuit of knowledge. Many would remember fondly his various thought experiments, his elegance in forming logical connections, harnessing intricate theories into established formulas. They've all called him a genius, in some way or another.
Alas, those same people would also rather drink the most virulent of poison than to ever face the misfortune of having to work with him again.
It's true, he loves his work and those who help him achieve it, regardless of their consent. He is a visionary, but one without moral stipulation. Those who lived to praise his capabilities are simply those who lived. Even friends are not entirely exempt from experimentation. Indeed, even those he kills, he cherishes, though his nature makes you wonder of he's truly capable of such a thing as love. His Charisma is an indelible mark of his brilliance, his praise undeniable. Yet his words should ring hollow in the face of his true intentions. They are the honey to his deathly trap, just as much to be feared as adored. He is, without any doubt, a true monster.
"Oh. How splendid, it came right off. Well done, my friend. Very well done. When you first offered a tissue sample, I admit I had my doubts. No longer! The theory stands and my work flourishes anew. Lovely. Now for the other arm, then we'll work on your legs...!"
Vi, my Deep Gnome Paladin who's multiclassing into Hexblade Warlock soon:
When Vi was a child, his uncle Qu would come over to meet him frequently. He liked Vi and gave him odd gifts from his travels; a huge eyeball, a three-dimensional compass, you get the idea. Qu revealed his status as an arch-warlock and began teaching Vi magic (hence his Svirfneblin Magic feat) and everything was fine.
Then everything went downhill.
One day, the deep gnome village was attacked by an army of humans. Qu retreated into his hut and began a ritual:
"Kek-Bomin, Watcher of Dreams and Lord of the Stars, hear my plea.
I will make a pact with you. You will gain power over the soul of the first being to look at me tomorrow.
In return, you will send forth an abberation to defend my village."
The abberation Kek-Bomin gave him was a starspawn that easily repelled the attack, then vanished.
The next day, Vi woke up and decided to visit his uncle. He had started swordplay training and wanted to show him. When he entered Qu's hut, Qu was just waking up.
"NO! ANYONE BUT YOU! WHY, KEK-BOMIN, WHY-"
"Uncle, what's wrong?"
"I've made a terrible mistake. I'm so sorry..."
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I make homebrew subclasses, usually fixes of existing ones.
Thrown together at the last minute, to get into the game. A fighter, I think. . .sure, that works. Human? Yeah. Came from someplace isolated; doesn't know much. If the group can come up with a decent schedule and this one makes it beyond one play session, then I'll think of something to add. {Fully 3/4 of the characters I've built, over a few decades.}. ;)
In the shadowy realm of the Nine Hells, a realm known for its unforgiving and infernal landscapes, a fiendish union gave rise to a child of destiny. This child, a tiefling, was conceived through the union of two powerful fiends from different infernal lineages. Their union was forbidden, and the resulting pregnancy was seen as a blasphemous affront to the established hierarchy of the Nine Hells.
As the child grew within the womb of their tiefling mother, the fiendish authorities discovered the secret of their union. The child, destined to possess a unique and potent blend of infernal bloodlines, was seen as a threat to the balance of power in the Nine Hells. Fearing the child's potential, the infernal hierarchy decreed that the tiefling mother and her unborn child must be executed by fire, a punishment designed to destroy them utterly.
Word of this sinister judgment reached the mother, who realized that her only hope was to protect her unborn child at any cost. She embarked on a desperate journey through the twisting and treacherous landscapes of the Nine Hells, using her innate tiefling abilities to elude her pursuers. As she struggled to survive, her bond with her unborn child grew stronger with each passing day.
Finally, the fateful day of the execution arrived. The mother found herself cornered by a group of relentless fiendish enforcers, who began to conjure flames around her. In a moment of sheer determination and agony, she channeled all her remaining strength to shield her unborn child from the flames. With a powerful burst of infernal magic, she created a protective barrier around the child in her womb, allowing it to survive the impending execution by fire.
The intense heat and flames consumed the mother, but the child, though scarred by the ordeal, emerged from the infernal fire alive. As they took their first breath in the Nine Hells, their mother's sacrifice left an indelible mark on them, both physically and spiritually. The experience of surviving their mother's execution by fire forged a powerful connection between the tiefling child and the infernal magic that had saved them.
Now, as they traverse the tumultuous and dangerous world of the Material Plane, the tiefling carries the scars of their harrowing past as a constant reminder of their mother's sacrifice. They possess a unique blend of infernal powers from their dual lineage, a destiny bound by their mother's love and sacrifice, and a burning desire to uncover the truth about their origins in the unforgiving world of the Nine Hells.
After the war, Macarinduil decided to expose his brothers' crimes and take them down. Unfortunately, it was too late, as they had already framed him for their father's murder. for this crime he was exiled from the house and lordship, which passed to his treacherous brothers. he is now in hiding discarding his elven name Macarinduil in favor of his birth name Kazarad![]()
first place in instakill the tarrasque solo
A synopsis: So my character Zanirith is a tiefling who got abandoned by their parents and was left to take care of their brother, Casthos. They had little to nothing, of course, so they turned to pickpocketing to get by. Along the way, Zanirith meets a satyr girl named Euphoria, who was active in a resistance to take down the rulers. After a long time of distrust, Euphoria proved herself trustworthy and she and Zanirith got together (romantically I mean). On one of her heists, Euphoria stole a book she believed to be valuable, but when she opened it, there were no words she could read. What she did understand, though, was the feeling embedded within the book. A feeling of power, she thought. The more she opened the book, desperately trying to decipher it, the more powerful this feeling got. Eventually, it took over her completely, possessing her with the very feeling of power she was working so hard to eradicate. In this trance, she put an axe in Casthos' head, and right as Zanirith got there, she dropped the axe and ran. Zanirith picked up the axe, promising to wield it until she could do to Euphoria what was done to her brother.
I went a little author-mode there but yeah, edgy backstory mf.
Artem Neir is a 38-year-old human male fighter with a solder background.
Artem spent his youth serving as a scout in the army of baron Alden Newmont, a minor noble, who owned the lands at the province border. His hopes for a military career and a life of great deeds were gradually eroded in the poorly managed army structures. Fraught with corruption and theft, poorly trained and equipped, the ranks were thrown from time to time into squabbles over land or meaningless disputes. They never took part in any major conflict or fought for a worthy cause. Initially seeing hope for a change in every new assignment or leader of his unit, over the years Artem became disillusioned about his situation. Frustration and bitterness became his norm as the years passed by.
Few believed the first rumors of decisive victories in the latest border skirmish. Most local conflicts were slow slogs fought without conviction by either side. Even less paid attention to the wild tales of men turned into demons tearing through enemy ranks. Unlike most rumors, however, these did not die down when the novelty had passed. More tales started coming during the next months, and Artem's unit was soon mobilized with orders to take over a fortification far past the southern border. Men started disappearing for special assignments, returning after a few days with odd expressions on their faces. And no explanation.
During the assault on keep, with terrible screams, those men burst with arcane energy, laying waste to friend and foe around them. They changed into horrible aberrations, spreading fear and destruction as they leaped into the enemy lines. They were few in number, but the defenders, horrified by the violence, fled or surrendered, and the battle was won faster than any Artem had seen. Most of those transformed were back to looking human, exhausted and confused, seemingly not knowing what had just occurred. Some were nowhere to be seen.
Days later, Artem was ordered to a foul-smelling tent, where a man in a black robe told him he had been chosen to spread the glory of his army. Fearful, he had little choice but to obey. He doesn't remember what happened next. He woke up with a headache and a vague memory of dreams he'd rather forget. Without explanation, he was told to carry out his duties as usual and expect to be summoned again in the coming days.
With as little explanation as before, his unit was then recalled to the homeland. The unholy experiments attracted the attention of the whole province, and way sooner than the baron had planned for. In the next battle, they faced not the disorganized units of their neighboring nobles, but the professional army of the Rexarin province, and even the famed dragonborn mercenaries from the mountains of Kera's Fury. Even the monsters that once again emerged from the doomed men could not resist the disciplined soldiers of the kingdom. With the aberrations destroyed, the rest of the unit was quickly dispatched. Artem was taken prisoner, and taken to his homeland, now under the control of the province army.
The baron was said to have been captured and executed, his lands given to another noble. The army disbanded completely, the prisoners questioned about the experiments, and, to Artem's surprise, released. With the threat gone, the invading armies had no interest in destruction or revenge against the common soldiers. Small units remained to maintain order and watch for any signs of what had caused this intervention.
Artem decided to leave the province which reminded him of the horrors. He's still plagued by headaches and nightmares, and he's not sure if whatever was started in that tent had been completely averted.
Here is one of mine:
Mosslanda ‘Moss” 1/2 eleven paladin/sorcerer
• Mosslanda Sr. an elven mage and a human paladin Klockren meet as Kingsmen, fall in love and spend many happy years protecting the innocents and bearing the Red Cloak.
• They meet their match in a white dragon and its minions. Locked in combat with the dragon Mosslanda Sr. detonates a fireball on himself killing both himself and the dragon.
• The Dragon having smelled that Klockren is with child, death curses the child as a final act.
• Klockren horrified of the curse and unable to remove it retreats to the Greenlands, Mosslanda Sr. birth place.
• Klockren gives birth to a pale snow haired child, names him after his father.
• Klockren raises Moss teaching him the ways and prayers of the ancient ones and the green knights, hoping to quell the dragon within.
• Mother and son take on a Robin Hood like role, recapturing loot from bandits and then returning it to the folk they stole it from.
• Before Moss is in his teens a second eye lid, opaque black becomes apparent, an early physical sign of the curse. His mother continues his teachings.
• Fisher mages and their henchmen have been troubling the region, hunting on an industrial scale for anchovies for fish sauce. They use thunder magics, killing all of the fish in a bay or lagoon. Taking the anchovies, packed into a portable hole leaving all else behind to rot and moving onto the next bay. Devastating the region, depleting the fishery with a huge bycatch and the likelihood of starvation if the practice continues.
• Klockren and Moss muster help from the forest and the locals to confront the Fisher Mages.
• It does not go well. Attacked by the water itself, picked off at a distance or lost to a hail of arrows the Fisher Mages kill more than half of the attackers, including his mother, Klockren.
• Moss signs his allies to retreat, makes his way to his mothers body, takes his mothers bag of holding and throws it into the pit of anchovies, remembering one of the early rules he was taught: never place anything like bag of holding into a bag of holding.
Meant to be his background and introduction to an already ongoing spelljammer campaign at third level. The idea was his alignment and behaviors would be based on whatever class was the highest level and his emotional health at the time. As such he started out after his mother's death favoring the dragon.
My character Burdurxa "Homicidal Wizard" Shademaker is a 20 year old HALF half elf half demon. He is a wizard class pyromaniac. He's extremely violent and hates suprises often sending a fireball in the direction of the suprise. Hes amazing at torture and can coax an answer out of anyone. His signature form of torture is slow burning to death, even when they tell him what he wants to hear he just sets them on fire and leaves them to die. Hes known across the land for his brutality often crippling or killing anyone or thing that gets in his way with fire spells. he spent the first 18 years of his life learning fire spells and torture methods. As seems obvious his family was extremely emotionally abusive a probable side result of the demon blood in their veins. His only escape was wildlife (as long as they dont suprise him) which he loves, he owns a talking horse with fey wings named elizabeth given to him by the fey queen. His family has extreme upper class ties and are extremely skilled craftsman who own several buisnesses and are well off. He had finally finished school and went home to show his diploma to his parents, make them proud for once ya know. Their reaction was less than so. They did not care at all and told him to wash and clothe himself for a ball they were having to celebrate. Of course it was actually to meet other rich people and make trade deals, with him being traded as he was finally old enough for marriage. Sick of their treatment, he snuck up to their room and took 30 platinum pieces from their chest and some essentials and ran. He did not get far his father caught up with him and as an experienced mage himself unleashed hell to punish his son. Fed up and bitter with rage Burdurxa activated some hidden demon power, growing demonic wings and horns he sent relentless fire spell after fire spell. First scorching rays, then when slots ran out he used burning hands and finally just fireballs and fireballs. He didnt stop even after his dad died, burning a 30 foot pit of molten earth, his father having hours ago melted in the slag. After he was done he just turned and walked away leaving his wailing mother by the side of the pit, not a shred of sympathy left. He didnt care for them, after all they never cared for him. he stole a horse after killing the owner a new hatred in his eyes, one that never went away. from their he traveled across the continent killing and taking as he went. slowly his wings grew bigger, his eyes blacker, his hate larger his demon was taking over he had no emotions left except fure rage at the world for a whole year he was like this flying from one town to the next. then he heard of story of the feywild, a place of chaos. their were trees and fey everywhere. a new place to burn he thought. maybe then I will have satisfaction for my revenge against the world. for a year he searched chasing rumor after rumor till he found the portal. with no hesitation he jumped in. It was his haven tall trees everywhere the whole world teeming with life. he just started burning, no discrimination. everything HAD to go. it was days before the fey stopped him, and even then he had killed hundreds of the creatures. brought on his knees forcefully before the queen, he cursed horrendous insult after horrendous insult at them. the queen sat there seeing the pain he was in. she had a servant bring a special horse, one no one could ride or tame. The horse was too wild, too chaotic not evilly actually pretty goodly (is that a word?) actually. She was just too much for anyone to handle. Burdurxa sitting their too tired to even sit up straight anymore was sitting on the floor glaring contemplating, when, all of a sudden he saw a beautiful muzzle appear and a cheery hello be said. He looked up into the eyes of a horse. And then cried. He cried for hours, days. and with each tear his wings grew smaller and eyes more normal. And the whole time elizabeth was there with her white coat and amazing listening skills burdurxa finally had a buddy. From then on he and elizabeth would go wherever the wing blew them, free spirits wandering the world happily, living as much of the world as possible.
I AM HOMICIDE I AM THE EMBODIMENT OF FIRE I AM STRENGTH AND POWER PRAISE LORD JEFF THE EVIL ROOOOOOOMMMBBBAAAAA
I AM PURE HATE! MY NAME IS BURDURXA SHADEMAKER! TREMBLE IN FEAR AT ITS MENTION!!!! PM ME THE WORD TOMATO OR I WILL SLAP YOUR FIRST BORN CHILD!!
MY VENOM SYMBIOTE: FFFFUUUUUURRRRRRRRYYYYYYYY
Morse Halley, Drow Ranger for Keys from the Golden Vault
I’m an archaeologist. Not a famous one or anything, just someone who likes adventure and history and all that. Specifically, I’ve always been interested in Giant culture in Icewind Dale. I literally wrote my thesis on it (come up with a stupid thesis name.)
While on a research expedition to exhume the body of Jarl Kelvin Duarol in Icewind Dale, I made a mistake. I missed an engraving, ONE, TINY engraving (ironic for the tomb of a giant). Now I think I’m being haunted by his ghost, or at least one of his guards or something. I hear footsteps behind me every time I walk, occasionally i’ll hear voices. And, in mirrors… I think I see someone behind me.
I just want it to stop. I need money, and this [thievery] is a quick, easy, and fun way to get it, I’m pretty sure. Once I earn enough to pay someone to remove this stupid curse or whatever it is, I’ll go back to my normal research, I just need to step away from it for a minute. I just hope whatever’s happening to me doesn’t get worse.
:)
Started playing AD&D in the late 70s and stopped in the mid-80s. Started immersing myself into 5e in 2023
My latest character is composed almost entirely out of unofficial content from the Gamemaster's Book of Legendary Dragons.
Thooth Runnigan, the Draken Dragon Rider. Utilizing the Rapunzel's Parents trope, Thooth's parents desperately wanted a child but could not have one. They risked their lives by stealing the fruit from a nearby dragon's orchard in the hopes that the draconic magic would grant their wish. It worked and a son was born to them, but the child was horribly disfigured. Sickly green reptilian scales mar his flesh, horns pierce his brow, his skin is unnaturally cold, and his eyes shine an animalistic yellow. Despite his strange appearance, his family cared for him deeply and he spent the first few years of his life in a loving home. Everything changed when the dragon who owned the fruit trees showed up and demanded that the parents repay their theft with their child. The child was born of the dragon's fruit and so the dragon claimed the boy as her own. His parents refused, so they were slaughtered. The boy was then raised by the dragon who trained him as a servant whose main task was to raid and steal to add to his dragon mother's hoard. One day, he was sent to raid his home town and he found out his true origins. Enraged, the man fled from the dragon, but not before stealing one of the dragon's eggs. Thooth Runnigan, the name he adopted from his dead father, raised the dragon on his own, becoming a dragon rider. He has named his dragon Tatzel, and he feels guilt for stealing a child like he was stolen, even if its mother was an evil dragon. So far, he has not told this to Tatzel and they are traveling mercenaries, working for the highest payer to satisfy their hoardlust.
This is my first backstory and may seem a little long, so I've put it into some spoilers
Race: Half-Elf
Class: Rouge
Age: 55
Panril, "Nightshade", as he came to be known in the underworld, was born into a difficult life. Raised on the gritty streets of a bustling city, he quickly learned that survival required cunning and quick fingers. His mother, a struggling human woman, did her best to provide, but the challenges of life proved too much for her, and she took her own life when Panril was just 11. Left to fend for himself, Panril turned to thievery as a means of survival. The elven blood in his veins remained a mystery, as Panril never sought to discover the identity of his father. He grew up with a disdain for the concept of family, having experienced firsthand the pain of abandonment. Instead, he embraced a life on the fringes of society, always seeking the next opportunity to fill his coin purse. Panril was known to incorporate a subtle touch of theatricality into his exploits. He often left behind a small, carefully crafted sprig of nightshade—a dark, poisonous plant—as a calling card at the scene of his heists. This symbol not only reinforced the connection to darkness but also hinted at the potentially lethal consequences for those who crossed his path. Over time, the name "Nightshade" spread among the criminal underworld, creating an air of mystique around Panril. His elusive persona, coupled with the poisonous symbolism, turned the nickname into a representation of the shadowy, dangerous figure that haunted the night. The reputation of Panril "Nightshade" became a whispered legend among both criminals and those who sought to stop him, adding an extra layer of intrigue to his notoriety. Panril's skills as a thief did not go unnoticed, and he eventually found himself working for a notorious crime lord. Under the guidance of this figure, Panril honed his craft and became an adept infiltrator and master of deception. However, his success took a dark turn when he was framed for a crime against the kingdom by said crime lord. Falsely accused and with the kingdom's authorities closing in, Panril had no choice but to disappear from the public eye. For the past decade, he has lived a shadowy existence, moving from one town to another, adopting new aliases, and committing smaller heists to sustain himself. Always one step ahead of the law, Panril has become a ghost. Many believe him dead, others believe he has left the continent entirely. Panril hasn't severed all ties with the criminal underworld. His ability to navigate the treacherous landscape of crime left him with a handful of trusted allies who still operate in the shadows. These contacts, scattered across various cities, serve as Panril's ears and eyes in the underworld. In each town he visits, Panril discreetly reaches out to these contacts, exchanging coded messages and updates through secret channels. These allies provide him with valuable information, helping him stay one step ahead of both law enforcement and rival criminals. The network he maintains not only alerts him to potential threats but also opens up opportunities for lucrative heists or jobs that might offer the chance to clear his name. However, trust in the underworld is a fragile commodity. Panril is aware that his disappearance might have stirred suspicions among his former associates. Some may believe he betrayed them, while others might see him as a liability. As he embarks on new adventures, Panril will need to navigate these delicate relationships, constantly weighing the benefits of his network against the risks it poses. The knowledge that a few loyal allies still exist gives Panril a thread of connection to his past, a reminder of the days when he operated with a certain level of infamy. These allies, like shadows in the night, serve as a lifeline for Panril, ensuring that even in the darkness, he is not entirely alone. Despite his hardened exterior, Panril harbors a lingering bitterness about being betrayed and framed. He yearns for an opportunity to clear his name, but the fear of the kingdom's justice system and the allure of the rogue's life keep him from fully committing to that quest. As he embarks on the new adventure that awaits, Panril is torn between his past as a master thief and the possibility of redemption that lies ahead.
Other info:
Large birthmark on left wrist - hidden since false crime.
Always Counts Loot Twice: Panril has a habit of counting his ill-gotten gains twice, a superstition born from an early heist where miscalculation almost cost him dearly.
Ebon Amulet: Panril possesses an ebon amulet with a cryptic inscription. Its origin and purpose are unclear, but it is said to hold a connection to his elven heritage.
Panril has an unusual affinity for owls and tends to strike up conversations with them when he encounters them in the wild. While he doesn't speak any language comprehensible to the owls, he believes they bring him luck
I just finished the backstory for my satyr Circle of Wildfire druid, Seraphina Darkhoof:
In the tumultuous aftermath of the Spellplague that ravaged the realms in 1385 DR, an ethereal pathway was reborn, linking the mortal land of Toril to the enchanted Feywilds. Amidst this maelstrom of arcane upheaval, Seraphina's forebears were swept up in the great exodus of fey folk who sought refuge within the lush, shadow-dappled realm of Neverwinter Woods, nestled within the heart of Faerûn. In the southernmost reaches of this ancient woodland, her ancestors joined forces with several satyr clans, their collective spirits harmonizing with the natural world to forge a quaint village, a hidden gem amid the sprawling forest.
The satyrs, with their lilting pipes and revelrous hearts, carved out a life of idyllic peace among the towering oaks and whispering pines, their laughter mingling with the rustling leaves. As the wheel of time spun, their numbers swelled, and the once-abundant woods began to feel the strain of their growing community. The elders, steeped in wisdom and foresight, convened under the stars and reached a pivotal decision. To preserve the sanctity of their woodland home, they would send forth a group of spirited young adventurers, their eyes agleam with the thrill of discovery, to seek out new lands where their kin could thrive anew. Among these chosen few was Seraphina's intrepid grandfather, Zaris Darkhoof, a figure of noble bearing and unyielding determination.
The band of adventurers embarked on an odyssey that wove them through the fabric of the continent, each new dawn unveiling possibilities as vast as the sky itself. They sowed the seeds of new settlements, each blossoming into a beacon of fey culture, and at every burgeoning village, one among them would stay behind to tend the fledgling community and ensure word of their prosperity reached the ears of those in Neverwinter Wood. As the seasons turned, Zaris found himself a solitary wanderer; his companions had each found their own destiny, leaving him to heed an enigmatic call that beckoned him ever onward. It was as if some ineffable force, a whisper on the wind, tugged at the strings of his spirit, compelling him towards an unknown fate.
Zaris's wanderlust carried him to the verdant seclusion of Cloakwood, a small expanse of greenery and secrets perched along the Sword Coast just south of the city of Baldur's Gate. An indescribable pull beckoned him deeper into the heart of the woods, where the air thrummed with an ancient, expectant energy. The forest seemed to observe him with a thousand unseen eyes, the natural world holding its breath as he ventured further into its sacred domain.
At last, he stumbled upon a clearing, an emerald oasis where the woodland guardians parted gracefully, revealing a serene meadow dappled with sunlight. A babbling stream danced through the meadow, its waters caressing a lone boulder that sat in the shadow of an ancient oak. There, bathed in the dappled sunlight, perched upon the stone, was a vision of ethereal beauty – a satyr maiden whose grace outshone the splendor of the Feywilds themselves. As Zaris approached, a profound tranquility enveloped him, the restless yearning that had driven him for so long dissipated like morning mist.
The maiden's smile bloomed like a rare flower as Zaris knelt on the banks of the stream, awestruck. Her voice, a melody woven from the very essence of nature, shared her name—Alana—and her destiny. She spoke of a sacred vision gifted by Silvanus, the Oak Father, as a reward for her unwavering devotion to the druidic path. A prophecy had foretold of a love that would transcend time, and with divine guidance, she had summoned her soul's counterpart to this very glade.
United by a bond deeper than the roots of the great oak, Zaris and Alana wasted no time in building a life together in the Cloakwood. Their message of hope rippled back to Neverwinter Wood, beckoning others to join their sanctuary. Their days unfurled in a serene rhythm, punctuated by the laughter of their children. Yet, Alana's magical essence seemed to skip a generation, leaving her brood bereft of her druidic gifts—a riddle that would only be solved with the arrival of her granddaughters, Ember and Seraphina.
The twins were born under a veil of sorrow, their parents claimed by misfortune's cruel hand. But in the care of their grandparents, the girls blossomed, their innate magical prowess igniting early, especially their remarkable command over fire. Alana embraced her role as mentor, imparting the ancient wisdom of the druids and instilling a reverence for the delicate equilibrium of nature.
However, fate's fickle flame would soon test them all. During the summer of their fifth year, a night of terror descended as an inferno, birthed from the depths of Seraphina's nightmares, engulfed their home. Amidst the roar of the flames and the cries of the fleeing wildlife, Alana's heart shattered. With strength borne of love and desperation, she fought the blaze and entrusted the safety of her precious granddaughters to a loyal wolf of Cloakwood. With tearful farewells and a final act of selfless heroism, Alana faced the wildfire, her spirit as indomitable as the ancient forest.
The last vestiges of their childhood innocence faded into the night as Ember and Seraphina clung to each other atop their lupine guardian, the wolf they would come to know as Moonwhisper. Behind them, the blaze that devoured their village painted the sky with a cruel orange glow, a monstrous beacon marking the end of all they had known. Through blurred tears, they beheld the silhouette of Alana, their beloved grandmother, a steadfast figure amidst the chaos, summoning the last of her strength to hold back the voracious flames. Her love was a shield, her magic a bulwark against the encroaching destruction. In the aftermath, only Ember and Seraphina remained, their lives a testament to their grandmother's sacrifice, their magic a legacy of her love – a beacon of hope for the future.
As Moonwhisper's paws thundered across the forest floor, the twins' hearts raced in tandem with his swift gait. With each bound, the fiery maw that had claimed their past receded further into the darkness, becoming nothing more than a distant, flickering memory. They breached the easternmost boundary of Cloakwood, the forest that had cradled their earliest years, now relinquishing them to the unknown.
The journey was a blur, the landscape a streak of colors and shapes that held no meaning for the grief-stricken twins. Moonwhisper, their steadfast protector, did not relent in his flight until the Wood of Sharp Teeth loomed before them, its towering trees and tangled underbrush a stark contrast to the burning hell they had escaped. This dense and ancient woodland, fraught with its own perils and secrets, was Moonwhisper's birthplace—a sanctuary he had once called home.
In the heart of this primal forest, Moonwhisper called forth his old kin—a noble pack of wolves, each bearing the wisdom and scars of countless seasons. With somber howls and keen eyes, they gathered around the forlorn satyrs, their presence an unspoken vow of solidarity. Moonwhisper recounted the tale of tragedy and loss, his voice carrying the weight of the night's horrors. The wolves convened in a solemn conclave, their low growls and piercing gazes weaving a tapestry of deliberation beneath the moon's watchful eye. The decision was unanimous, born from a deep-seated sense of kinship with the forest and its denizens. They would embrace these young satyrs, Ember and Seraphina, whose lives had been shattered by fire and violence. The pack would become their family, their teachers, their guardians.
In the shelter of the Wood of Sharp Teeth, amongst the whispers of leaves and the ancient spirits that roamed its depths, Ember and Seraphina found an unexpected refuge. Here, amidst the watchful eyes of the wolf pack, they would grow, learn, and heal. They would come to understand the ways of the wild, the unspoken language of the woods, and the strength that comes from being part of a pack. And through it all, the memory of Alana's love would continue to guide them, a beacon of hope in a world that had shown them its cruelest face.
Ember and Seraphina, nestled within the protective embrace of the Wood of Sharp Teeth, began a new chapter of their lives under the tutelage of the wolf pack. The twins, once bound by the tranquil life under the druidic teachings of their grandmother, now found themselves learning the untamed laws of the forest. With the wolves as their guides, the satyr sisters learned to move with stealth and grace through the dense underbrush, their senses sharpening to the subtle language of nature.
The pack, led by the venerable alpha, Stormcaller, welcomed them as one of their own. Ember, with her fiery spirit and quick wit, showed a keen aptitude for hunting, blending into the shadows with a dancer's poise. Seraphina, her soul a mirror of the moonlit glades, found solace in the quietude of the woods, her magic growing in harmony with the whispering winds and rustling leaves. As the seasons turned, the twins' grief softened like the edges of a weathered stone. Their days were filled with lessons in survival, from tracking prey to deciphering the myriad scents that the wind carried. The wolves taught them the importance of the pack, of unity and loyalty, values that became as deeply ingrained in them as their own heritage.
Ember's affinity for fire, once a source of devastation, was honed into a tool of life. She learned to wield her flames with precision, to warm without burning, to illuminate without blinding. Seraphina's magic, too, blossomed in new directions; not only did she have the same talent for controlling fire, but she also began to weave enchantments that soothed and protected, her incantations echoing the gentle hum of the earth.
As they matured into young adulthood, their connection to the fey roots of their bloodline remained intact, a vibrant thread woven through the fabric of their forest life. They celebrated the cycles of the moon with the wolves, their voices rising in haunting melodies that resonated with the ancient magic of their ancestors. The twins' bond with Moonwhisper grew ever stronger, his wise counsel and steady presence a constant in their lives. He shared with them the lore of the wolves, tales of the stars and the spirits that roamed the night. In turn, Ember and Seraphina shared stories of the Feywilds and the Neverwinter Woods, their words painting vivid images of a life that seemed like a distant dream.
Years passed, and the satyr sisters, now adept guardians of the Wood of Sharp Teeth, stood as a testament to the resilience of spirit. They became known throughout the forest as the "Flameborn Twins," revered for their unique powers and the deep respect they held for all living things. Yet, their hearts still yearned for a connection to their past, to the memories of their grandmother and the village they had lost. They began to feel the call of the wider world, a longing to explore their heritage and the mysteries of their own magic. The time came during their eighteenth year when Ember and Seraphina knew they must leave the sanctuary of the wolves and venture forth once more.
With heavy hearts but determined spirits, they bid farewell to the pack, their wolf family watching with pride as the twins stepped beyond the borders of the Wood of Sharp Teeth. Their journey was now their own, a path uncharted, leading them toward a destiny that would intertwine the wild wisdom of the wolves with the ancient legacy of the fey. Ember and Seraphina, with the blessings of their wolf kin echoing in their ears, embarked upon the winding trails of the world beyond the Wood of Sharp Teeth. Their departure was bittersweet, leaving behind the comfort of the pack, yet they were driven by an innate curiosity and a desire to forge their own legacy. With the skills and wisdom they had acquired from the wolves, they navigated through the ever-changing landscapes of Faerûn, their twin flames of courage and intuition guiding them.
Their travels took them through bustling towns and serene hamlets, each encounter enriching their understanding of the world's vast diversity. They traded tales with travelers, bartered goods in market squares, and performed feats of magic that left onlookers in awe. Ember's fiery displays became a spectacle of light and warmth, while Seraphina's spells captivated with their ethereal grace.
Yet, their journey was not without perils. The twins faced challenges that tested their resolve and honed their abilities. They crossed paths with brigands and beasts, nefarious creatures that sought to exploit their fey heritage and magical prowess. In these moments, the sisters' bond proved unbreakable, their combined strength and cunning overwhelming any who threatened them. One fateful night, as a silver moon hung low in the sky, the twins stumbled upon an ancient grove, its trees gnarled with the passage of untold centuries. Here, they encountered a circle of druids, guardians of nature's most sacred secrets. The druids recognized the magic that coursed within Ember and Seraphina, offering to initiate them into the deeper mysteries of the natural world.
Under the tutelage of these new mentors, the twins delved into the arcane connections between all living things. They learned to harness the elements, to speak with the flora and fauna, and to invoke the spirits of the land. The druids saw in them a bridge between the primeval wilderness they protected and the otherworldly realm of the Feywilds. As the druids led them deeper into the mysteries of the natural world, Ember and Seraphina felt their powers grow. The druids taught them the ancient language of the trees and the dance of the river's flow. But amidst this time of growth and learning, Seraphina began to experience haunting dreams. Dreams that echoed with the crackling of flames and the cries of terror from a time long past.
One night, as the fire of their camp flickered and cast long shadows upon the grove, Seraphina awoke with a start. Her dreams had been more vivid than ever, the memories almost tangible in their clarity. She could no longer deny the truth that was surfacing; the nightmare that had plagued her was not just a dream—it was a memory.
As the realization dawned upon her, Seraphina turned to Ember, a question in her eyes. Ember's gaze faltered, and in that moment of hesitation, Seraphina understood. Ember had known all along. The fire that had been attributed to a freak accident, the one that had ravaged their village and set them on their path to the Wood of Sharp Teeth, had been sparked by Seraphina's own uncontrolled magic. The air between the sisters grew heavy, charged with a tension that had never existed before. Seraphina's voice trembled with a mix of betrayal and sorrow as she confronted Ember. "You knew," she whispered, her heart sinking. "You knew, and you said nothing."
Ember's response came slowly, her words weighed down by the burden of her silence. "I thought I was protecting you," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I thought that if you didn't remember, you wouldn't have to live with the guilt, with the pain."
But Seraphina's hurt ran deep, deeper than the roots of the grove that surrounded them. "How could you keep this from me? How could you let me live a lie?" she cried out, the flames of anger and hurt flickering in her eyes. The argument escalated; words as sharp as daggers slicing through the bonds of sisterhood. In the end, Seraphina could not stay. With tears streaming down her face, she turned away from Ember, from the druids, and from the grove that had promised so much understanding. She needed to find her own truth, to reconcile the past with who she wanted to be. As Seraphina disappeared into the night, Ember watched her go, a mix of regret and sorrow suffusing her being. The Flameborn Twins, once inseparable, now each faced a journey of their own—a journey of forgiveness, self-discovery, and perhaps, in time, a path that would lead them back to each other.
Ember, determined to find her sister and make amends, embarked on a perilous journey across the land. She sought guidance from wise elders and traveled through treacherous terrains, facing countless challenges along the way. With each step, her resolve grew stronger, fueled by a fierce determination to find Seraphina and mend their broken bond.
In her quest, Ember stumbled upon a boisterous adventuring party, comprised of warriors, mages, and healers. Impressed by their skills, Ember decided to join them. Together, they faced countless challenges, conquering dungeons, slaying monsters, and recovering ancient artifacts. However, Ember's thoughts were never far from her missing sister. She confided in her newfound companions, sharing her story and her desperate desire to find Seraphina. Touched by her determination and sisterly love, the adventuring party vowed to aid her in this mission.
As they drew closer to the lair where Seraphina was believed to be held captive, the party prepared for their most dangerous mission yet. The stakes were high, for they knew the price of failure was not just Seraphina's life but also the shattered hope of their reunion. With hearts pounding and blades gleaming, Ember and her companions stormed into the lair, their combined strength and magic shaking the very foundations of the fortress. The battle raged on, and Ember fought with all her might, refusing to let anything stand between her and her sister.
But fate, in its cruel twist, played a merciless hand. In the midst of the chaos, Ember found herself outnumbered and surrounded by enemies. She fought valiantly, her fiery powers scorching the battlefield, but it was not enough. Overwhelmed by the unrelenting onslaught, Ember fell, her last breath escaping like a wisp of smoke. In the end, they emerged victorious, freeing Seraphina from her captors. It was a bittersweet victory, for they knew that Ember's sacrifice had made it possible. Seraphina, released from the prison of her past, vowed to carry her sister's memory with her always. And perhaps, in the depths of her heart, she still hoped for a reunion with Ember, in the realm where flames never die, and sisters are eternally bound.
Here is the background for my Ninja Turtle Inspired Tortle Monk, Rembrandt. Sadly It's not letting me put my drawing for some reason but I'll figure that out later.
As a hatchling, Rembrandt lived on the tropical isle of Matis. Living a peaceful life amongst the wonders of nature the Island provided and loved by the people of his village. His Kind reveled in relaxing, adventuring and exploring the mysteries his isle had to offer. They felt safe to do so, as they were under the protection of the Guardians 4, A Brotherhood of Tortle Monk Martial Arts Masters, each an expert in their preferred weapon. The brothers were advised by the shogun of this isle, Master Sliver, and aided by their occasional ally Usagi, a Ronin Haregon.
However, all this changed when a clan of GullClaws (Seagull people), called the Claw, Attacked their peaceful village. They Raided, they pillaged, killed and stole. Villagers they did not kidnap were picked up hundereds of feet in the air, and slammed to the ground, dying on impact, shells shattered.
The Conch shells were blown and the Wargongs were sounded. As the Guardians 4 and Master Sliver held off the attack. Usagi led the evacuation effort but to no avail. Most if not all the villagers we killed. Seeing Rembrandt struggling to safety, amongst other hatchlings getting kidnapped or worse, He ran and grabbed the child, then headed to his boat. he hid the hatchling within a secret compartment of his dingy, next to a very long, old handmade chest and a Wargong.
He was about to run to his allies' aid when suddenly "Gooo!!" exclaimed Master Sliver! He and the guardians were overwhelmed by the onslaught of savage avian warriors. Out-of-nowhere, one of the brothers, known to be quiet the artificier, pulled out of his pocket their last resort... an artificial lightning gem. He exclaimed "GET OUT OF HEREEEE!!!""" and tossed the lightning gem to the ground.
Usagi ran to the boat a quickly pushed it into the water. The Explosion caused a tidal wave that pushed them far out to sea. Usagi looked up, seeing the reckage. Lighting crackled across chared bird flesh, and burning homes. In the distance, the bodies of the 4 brothers and their master, carried off into the horizon.
Usagi, torn from the loss of his friends, Stands upon the dingy by himself. With A forlorn but determined look in his eye, looks upon the destruction of the village. He will right this. Hearing the soft cried of the hatchling, he retrieves the hatchling, and holds him gently in front of him. "The fate of the 4, in the hands of you, hatchling. You will be trained."
Upon landing on a distant shore usagi fashion an Onbuhimo from reeds and palm leaves. Taking him on as his son he trains the hatchling. They live together in times of hardship, Usagi Protecting the child from bounty hunters sent by the Claw. But they also live together in peace. Together they build a modest thatched home along the beach.
Usagi took to both conventional and unconventional means to train him. Rembrandt, Raised in the ways of the Monk, Trained in the Martial Arts, but also taught to live with nature, respecting it, caring for it. His paints, crafted from flowers and his Mocchi-making skills, far beyond the greatest Haregon, the herald Heragon of the Moon. By training him in this way, Usagi instilled in the young Tortle Incredible Strength, Stealth, Agility, Survival, and Archery skills. Upon coming of age, the time Tortle's are to explore the world, Elderly Usagi tasks him with one goal, to help him in discovering the whereabouts of the Guardians 4. Rembrandt, with the memories of that seared into his brain, agrees wholeheartedly. Usagi, joyous at receiving his aid, points to the very long, old handmade chest, which was moved from the dingy to their home when Rembrandt became old enough and strong enough to pull it into their home. Usagi tells Rembrandt to pull out what is within, as he's the only one with the strength to lift it.
After opening the latch, Rembrandt out an withered but somewhat advanced Warhammer. "It was the latest invention of one of the Guardian 4. Donatello, it was to be used, in combination with weapons of the Guardian 4, as a last ditch effort in case we need to save your people. I believe this calls a last ditch effort." Usagi goes toward the back wall of their home and lifts a handcrafted bow and withered Silver Wargong off the wall. He hands Rembrant the Wargong "This is from your people. With this Wargong may you take the culture of your people with you always." Rembrandt slings the leather attached to the Wargong over his chest, with it lay resting over his shell.
Usagi then takes a moment... and breathes.. and hands him the long bow. It has etchings of the daily activities of a Haregon village from long ago. "And... This is from me. Take this with you and let it be known... that you are also of my people... With this you may be granted passage through any Haregon village."
As Usagi stood tall hold his son in tight embrace he spoke his last words Rembrandt would hear before they parted ways on their Journey. "Remember son, No matter how far you go, I will always be with you, and your home will always lead you back." With this both warriors held on a little longer, then gathered their things, said their goodbyes, and each walked separate ways into the night, hoping that by splitting up, they'd be able to uncover the whereabouts of Master Sliver and the Guardians four.
Name: Cerise
Gender: Female
Race: Human
Age: 23 years
Skin color: Light-Tan
Eye color: Green Blue
Hair color and style: Dirty Blonde, Wavy, Shoulder-length
Class: Wizard (School of Evocation)
Cerise was born into a nomadic clan of scholars and archaeologists, who studied ancient temples and ruins of civilizations long past. Aside from occasional trade and commerce, the clan was wary of outside forces and mostly stayed hidden, out of the fear of endangering themselves and risking the valuable knowledge they had. Both Cerise's parents were proficient in arcane magic from years of studying tomes and ancient texts. When Cerise began to display similar abilities at a young age, her parents began teaching her everything they knew about spellcasting and survival tactics.
However, Cerise's life would take a dark turn at age 15. Mysterious assassins dressed in red and black robes began attacking their camp, stealing everything of value, and killing nearly everyone, including Cerise's parents. Having witnessed the entire tragedy, Cerise breaks down and unleashes a burst of arcane energy and flame, killing all in the area (regardless of friend or foe) and leaving her the sole survivor. Left traumatized by the event, Cerise gathers everything she can from the wreckage and leaves the rest behind.
Now alone in an unfamiliar world, Cerise spends the next seven years travelling, surviving on resources she can find in the wilderness before making a living through various work and odd jobs, mainly archiving and mercenary work. Yet, despite her new living situation, she only has one goal in mind: to find the assassins response for the death of her family and community, and put an end to them once and for all.
H.C.E.
Well i gues my backstory was too long, so its got marked as spam automaticaly xD
Here are the link to a google doc where i placed my backstory so you can check it out - link
Hi everyone,
I just rolled this toon today and jotted down this backstory, let me know what you think.
Due to a series of unfortunate (and clumsy) errors in his home village, Dru's mistakes killed several members of his clan and destroyed most of the house and parts of the village's stone walls. Not being his first, or even second major mistake, the village elders decided that Dru and his family needed to leave to prevent any further mistakes or errors that would likely take more life. Dru and the rest of his family, his parents, and two younger sisters, set off on their new path with resignation and nervousness.
It took two months but the next error (this time in judgment) came and Dru led the family down a path blocked in some lowland mountains and forests... a band of gnolls ambushed the family. The gnolls attacked savagely with the small gnomes fighting back as well as they could. Dru's father, a seasoned member of their old village patrol groups tried to shield the younger daughters as best as possible while Dru and his mother held the flanks of the girls. It was only a matter of time before the much taller gnolls would press their advantage... By nightfall it was over... and Dru's father and two sisters lay dead or had been carried away and Dru's mother lay wounded next to Dru and two dead gnolls. She would survive... barely.
It was Dru who kept her alive and struggled with the notion that his mistake at reading the land had led his family down this dark path. During that first night, Dru tried to fashion two poles and his cloak to try and walk his mother to safety. He fumbled much during the construction...adding to his self-pity and frustration. Finally screaming into the night at his continued *uselessness* a calm filled the area, the moon peaked out from some clouds, and an oak leaf fell from a nearby tree and danced on a wisp of wind gently coming to rest on Dru's upheld hands...and he was calmed, and instantly focused on the task at-hand. Dru completed the construction as if the plants and trees around him pushed him to completion with their patience. Seeing that his mother's condition had worsened while building the kit, Dru softly whispered into the night and surrounding forest for guidance to help his mother...with another whisp of wind, his eyes closed searching for an answer - his hands began to lightly glow as healing waves entered his mother, stabilizing her condition. She was well enough to be moved!
Dru spent the next two days dragging his mother to a village they had passed through a few days prior. The villagers recognized him and his plight and granted him and his mother stay and healing. After another week his mother was well enough to stand and work on her own, but she always cast a scornful look at Dru...until one day she called for Dru...
The time for reckoning had come, Dru's mother could hold her anger no longer. She blamed Dru for everything that had befallen the family, the removal from their home village, the sorry lives they had led since then, and ultimately the death of his father and his sisters. She told him she never wanted to see him again, kicked her larger pack to Dru, and told him to take it and leave and not look back because she would not be here. Dru wanted to beg her to change her mind, but he knew she was right. He was the reason they were here... So he quietly picked up the pack, walked back to his room, and gathered his things with both packs and a small walking stick he passed the threshold of the door and looked back to his mother one last time only to see her door closed...and onward he stepped, alone.
After a week in the local forested area, Dru started to think about that night and the calmness that had come over the area and him as he struggled with trying to save his mother. This thought of calmness and the trees of the area led his mind to drift seemingly willing him where they wanted him to go. Dru didn't know how long he walked like this, but he knew two things - he was going where he was needed, and he was safe. After another week in the woods and foothills of the Spine of the World Dru finally found his place... a small pool of crystal clear water surrounded by mightily oaks and ash with an occasional yew and birch. His heart pounded as he dropped his pack near the pool of water and soaked in the image of the area and the calmness of it all.
After two days near this pool, a few branches parted and a sole figure walked calmly into the area and looked at Dru. Dru pondered the woman's intent but knew in his heart that she would do him no harm. After putting her pack down she finally spoke, "I am Leander...we leave on the 'morrow.". That was the beginning of Dru's new life, his trail and calmness as a disciple of Silvanus, and a member of the Emerald Enclave...
A cleric plus wizard with a doctorate in magic medicine. Any back story ideas would be most welcome.
Bollivar the Deluge
He is first and foremost an innovator by nature. As a child, he often took apart toys to see how they worked, lovingly analyzing every individual piece. Hie did the same with books, certain clothes, household items and even food. Each item was bisected and cataloged in intricate yet tender detail. His parents once gave him a pet dog to inspire his curiosity in the world around him. That, too, he took apart and cataloged, separating fluids, discerning physical properties, learning its anatomy. His curiosity was indeed inexhaustible. Experiments, research, the natural laws of everything -- he wanted to learn.
When he set out to face the world, it was only after he'd learned everything he could, even of his beloved mother and father. Finding a subtle kinship in the many research institutions throughout Faerun, Bollivar quickly became a renowned scholar of sorts, diving headlong into varying studies of multiplicitous universal properties. Each revelation was a gateway to a new line of research, every query a new chasm to bridge. Yet he pursued every quandary with the same steady proficiency, promptly earning countless accolades and grants for his continued interest. But such things mattered little to Bollivar.
For the Deluge, as those who know him best would call him, knowledge was oft its own reward.
Those who've worked with him know him to be a visionary of sorts, praising his analytical skills and precision for noting and cataloging vast quantities of information. They also note his dedication to his work and the candid encouragement he offered others in the pursuit of knowledge. Many would remember fondly his various thought experiments, his elegance in forming logical connections, harnessing intricate theories into established formulas. They've all called him a genius, in some way or another.
Alas, those same people would also rather drink the most virulent of poison than to ever face the misfortune of having to work with him again.
It's true, he loves his work and those who help him achieve it, regardless of their consent. He is a visionary, but one without moral stipulation. Those who lived to praise his capabilities are simply those who lived. Even friends are not entirely exempt from experimentation. Indeed, even those he kills, he cherishes, though his nature makes you wonder of he's truly capable of such a thing as love. His Charisma is an indelible mark of his brilliance, his praise undeniable. Yet his words should ring hollow in the face of his true intentions. They are the honey to his deathly trap, just as much to be feared as adored. He is, without any doubt, a true monster.
"Oh. How splendid, it came right off. Well done, my friend. Very well done. When you first offered a tissue sample, I admit I had my doubts. No longer! The theory stands and my work flourishes anew. Lovely. Now for the other arm, then we'll work on your legs...!"
Vi, my Deep Gnome Paladin who's multiclassing into Hexblade Warlock soon:
When Vi was a child, his uncle Qu would come over to meet him frequently. He liked Vi and gave him odd gifts from his travels; a huge eyeball, a three-dimensional compass, you get the idea. Qu revealed his status as an arch-warlock and began teaching Vi magic (hence his Svirfneblin Magic feat) and everything was fine.
Then everything went downhill.
One day, the deep gnome village was attacked by an army of humans. Qu retreated into his hut and began a ritual:
"Kek-Bomin, Watcher of Dreams and Lord of the Stars, hear my plea.
I will make a pact with you. You will gain power over the soul of the first being to look at me tomorrow.
In return, you will send forth an abberation to defend my village."
The abberation Kek-Bomin gave him was a starspawn that easily repelled the attack, then vanished.
The next day, Vi woke up and decided to visit his uncle. He had started swordplay training and wanted to show him. When he entered Qu's hut, Qu was just waking up.
"NO! ANYONE BUT YOU! WHY, KEK-BOMIN, WHY-"
"Uncle, what's wrong?"
"I've made a terrible mistake. I'm so sorry..."
I make homebrew subclasses, usually fixes of existing ones.
Way of the Ascendant Dragon but better: https://www.dndbeyond.com/homebrew/subclasses?filter-name=&filter-author=KyrneGnomeBarbarian&filter-author-previous=KyrneGnomeBarbarian&filter-author-symbol=118590905&filter-rating=-40
I'm a social pessimist.
I wrote a water gensai who is a thief disguised as a bard.