My character is vengeance, a tiefling who lived in dis. Until one day, Zariel for some reason killed his parents. After that, he ran away, into Avernus, where he wound up on the material plane, and then the shadow fell. There he made a pact with the raven queen. Now he plans to use his new power as a warlock to get revenge!
Nice. I love characters with multiplanar backstories! :)
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Author of Fellozial's Ultimate Guide to Poison, The Primal Gith, and other forthcoming titles at DMs Guild
This is the character I am currently playing. Morticia Blanco, Levistus Tiefling, Shadow Sorcerer, lvl 3.
Co-owner of her families mortuary business, Blanco Sisters Mortuary. It has been in the family a few generations. It's in a medium sized town so she knows all aspects of the business, and has worked on many races for rites, and done monster remains removal. Up until a year or so ago she lived in the house/mortuary with her two sisters. Her family has both humans ans Tiefling members, Morticia also had a human wife and step-daughter. While working with a body, something happened and inky black shadow and smoke arose from every orifice, overtaking and suffocating her until she passed out. Upon awaking she found her wife and step-daughter dead in another part of the building. She also woke with strange new powers (Shadow Sorc origin) at the age of 39. She travels to try to figure out what happened to her, and while she knows death is a part of the cycle, wonders why she was sparred. Too much sadness and a guilt surrounds the family mortuary so she now seeks adventure and understanding.
I actually created an Undertaker background as well that has some equipment, a couple skills, feature, etc.
I actually created an Undertaker background as well that has some equipment, a couple skills, feature, etc.
Ha! That's great! I also included a Guild Artisan: Undertakers and Embalmers variant in my recently released DMsGuild supplement, The Mourned: A Playable Undead Race. Alternate equipment, skills, features, etc. :)
I also just started playing a Tiefling Sorcerer with the Haunted One background in Curse of Strahd (we're two sessions in).
So here is a character I made a few months ago but never had the chance to use. A paladin Loxodon (elephant folk) named Mumakin (possibly butchered his name.) Literally was a character I made in a day but here I go:
"A brewer and a father of 8 children, he left his town for the recovery of relics, decreed by the Seers of the theocratic council. Mumakin, also being a devout and loyal servant to his deity, set out in search of the relics - two years ago. Before his departure he had special tattoos placed upon his body: 11 hand prints; 2 on each of his shoulders, mid-way to the neck by his parents, a hand print in the middle of his back, from his wife; 6 hand prints - 3 on the left of the mother's and 3 on the right, and two small hand prints below the mother's for the 8 children, all from his children who ranged from the ages of 13 to 2 months by the time he left. The hands from his parents signifying that they will be by his side no matter where he is, while the hand prints on his back signify that his entire family has his back and will push him through the good, the bad, and the ugly.
Mumakin, a very cheerful, loving guy will often times shed some tears when he begins talking about his family or can be enraged when he hears his family being disrespected. He also forgets his own strength when he does certain things, like hugging people."
I think I might add more onto him at a later date while also going back and seeing about editing a few things.
This is Spellscale Sarax, a level one, neutral good, dragonborn wizard with a "Haunted One" background.
The short version of this hastily written backstory:
Sarax was traumatized at the age of 5 when a creature had killed off his entire scout team and attempted to dominate him (the creature was a mind flayer but he doesn't know this). It became something of a boogeyman for him but he didn't discuss his fears with any of his clanmates (Cowardice is considered repulsive in dragonborn society, according to the Forgotten Realms wiki.). To cope, he began studying wizardry (mostly divination) as a safety precaution. Everything he learned/gained from the "Haunted One" background, apart from the trinket, was also a means of security. When his older sister, Tamara, went missing in the line of duty (she's a soldier) he gathered his courage and whatever he felt he needed to set out and find her.
Sarax doesn't talk about what he saw on his "fateful day", he feels that it's his own cross to bear. He also expects danger just about everywhere he goes (hence why he favors divination). He always feels afraid especially regarding his "boogeyman" which he remembers vividly. He's felt like giving up on several occasions until he remembers his sister and keeps trudging forward. Apart from all of this (or perhaps because of it), he does everything can for his friends even he isn't entirely comfortable with the task at hand. He's also developed a stutter.
I haven't had a chance to play yet but I would love to see how Sarax functions in a group.
Ekron was a crook, a decent one at that, a fair bit too greedy though.
One day his eyes gassed upon his next quarry, fine jewels, and gold.
Unlike his other. Crimes this one went bad, he was caught you see, he luckily made it out of town and into the woods.
However not before the officiathewere able too lacerate (cut ) his side too shreds.
Leaving behind his life, twon, and secret love. Ekron hobbled deeper into the woods.
Later on, a small circle of druids found a wounded incapacitated Ekron lying in a pool of blood.
After many nights of the druids tending too Ekron. he finaly woke up, only too find a large scare over his sside, patterned like bark, he thought that he may return the favor. So he joined the circle of druids, and eventually leaving too find a nice quiet place on the woods.
Or at least until the dead walked the earth once again!
Just finished this one today, but still haven't found a new group since I moved. He's a half-elf oath of vengeance paladin.
As an infant, Otis was left on the front steps of the Temple of the Sun and was taken in and raised by the head of that temple, Boris Mirthwether, a man widely renowned for his compassion and unwavering good cheer which held strong even in battle. Many who saw him fight called him "Laughing Blade", and claimed that his boisterous laughter alone could turn an undead horde in one breath and save a dying man in the next.
As he grew, Otis, or "Oats" as Father Mirthwether called him, devoted himself to the worship of Pelor and emulated father Mirthwether in all things, eagerly awaiting the day when he would be made a Torchbearer.
"Torchbearers," father Mirthwether had explained in his deep, jovial voice, "have a very grave mission. We hunt down and destroy the evils which threaten the good people of the sun. It is a dangerous task; one you are not yet ready for, Oats. For now, go and mop the floors."
In the years that passed, Oats dutifully maintained the Temple of the Sun, lighting and replacing candles, mopping the floors, and organizing the requests for aid people made to the temple. Evil infestations and hauntings and the like. In the evenings, father Mirthwether and the Torchbearers would leave him to watch the temple while they were away. Oats spent this time training, hoping to become worthy of joining them on their missions.
Shortly after his 13th birthday, Oats demonstrated what he had learned, sparring with each of the other trainees and defeating all of them. Again, he asked if he could join the Torchbearers. To this, father Mirthwether smiled widely and said, "You have grown strong indeed, and I am proud of you! But you are not yet ready to face our enemies. Have patience, dear boy! For now, go and mop the floors."
Oats inwardly bristled at this. The Torchbearers had been having trouble lately. He didn't know the details, but he knew they were fighting a particularly crafty foe which had been evading them for months. Just the night before, most of the Torchbearers had returned so seriously wounded that father Mirthwether had decided not to take any requests for the next couple of days. Oats had spent the better part of the morning mopping up the trails of blood they had left in the atrium. They needed Oats and he knew he was ready. He just had to prove it to them.
That night, after everyone was asleep, Oats left the temple to investigate an old mill nearby from which people had been hearing strange sounds. He left the temple doors slightly ajar, since they could only be opened from the inside, and set off. When he entered the mill, he smelled the stench of death and felt a lurking presence. He tried to light his oil lantern, but it was snatched from his hands by something in the shadows. He heard voices whispering in a strange language. He drew his sword and called out, "In the name of Pelor, reveal yourself!" His quavering adolescent voice sounded significantly less impressive than he'd intended. As its echoes died away, the whispering ceased and from the darkness he heard a spine chilling staccato laugh, like rhythmically shattering glass. A wild unrestrained terror gripped his soul. He dropped his sword and ran.
The few minutes it took him to get back to the temple felt like hours, every step haunted by the memory of those strange whispers and that hideous laughter still ringing in his ears. He blasted through the door of the temple, throwing it closed behind him, but something blocked it. When he looked back, he saw a shadow silhouetted in moonlight. He tried to scream but choked on his terror. His mind seemed to empty of everything but the fear, so he ran, dashing across the atrium and into the halls where he found his broom cupboard. He tumbled inside and there he hid. Not long after, screams of terror interrupted his stupor.
He listened as the wounded Torchbearers fought and died, taken by surprise within their own sanctuary. Flashes of light and shadows seeped under the door so he covered his head with his mop bucket. Time passed strangely in his cupboard. The minutes were marked only by the rapid beating of his heart and the sounds of carnage outside. Finally, they stopped, leaving him alone in silence. Still he hid, too afraid of the shadow and the whispers, and too afraid to see what he had done.
Morning came and he heard new voices. The villagers had come to investigate. They eventually found him and took him from his hiding place. A nearby family was kind enough to take him in, but that night when he went to bed, he did not sleep. He lay awake for hours until he felt a chill. He blinked. Beside the bed stood the ghostly form of father Mirthwether, disfigured by his death. He wasn't smiling. Pure dread took hold within Oats as more ghostly figures appeared, each bloodier than the last, until the whole temple stood in his bedroom. Their wide eyes were filled with hate and accusation, all staring at him. The figure of father Mirthwether held out his hand clutching a damaged sigil of the Torchbearers. An iron disk etched with a radiant flame. Then they attacked.
Their spectral screams pierced his mind as they clawed at him with their ruined hands. He scrambled from the room and out into the night towards the ruined temple and they followed, tearing at his flesh. Bloodied, he eventually reached his cupboard where he found his bucket. He turned to see the ghastly father Mirthwether advancing, hands outstretched. In his panic, Oats jammed the bucket onto his head and curled up. As he did so, the screaming stopped, punctuated by a thump. After a moment, he blindly reached out and felt an icy cold metal disk on the floor. He stood, clutching the damaged sigil of the Torchbearers with white knuckles.
Amidst the ruins of the Temple of Pelor, he spoke. His voice was rough from misuse and it echoed strangely inside his makeshift helmet. To the ghosts of the Torchbearers and Laughing Blade, he swore an oath of penance and vengeance. He swore to grow stronger and to find the ones who had destroyed the temple and eradicate them. Through his helmet, he heard the spectral voices of the fallen say in unison a single word, "Raum" He had never heard it before, but in his bones he understood. It was a name.
--edit
I just realized that this is actually super long. So tl;dr
An orphan named Oats is raised by Solaire from Dark Souls til he accidentally gets him and everyone he knows killed by a spooky shadow clown. Now he wears a bucket on his head to ward off their ghosts while he goes clown hunting.
I think Stapleshotz just helped me figure out how to present my characters' backstories. I'll work on that when time allows.
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Human. Male. Possibly. Don't be a divider. My characters' backgrounds are written like instruction manuals rather than stories. My opinion and preferences don't mean you're wrong. I am 99.7603% convinced that the digital dice are messing with me. I roll high when nobody's looking and low when anyone else can see.🎲 “It's a bit early to be thinking about an epitaph. No?” will be my epitaph.
Thespian is a Tiefling who chose his Virtue name because he wanted to be an actor (birth name is Parmenox). His parents disapproved, but nevertheless he endeavoured to become a performer. He had some success, but being a tiefling in a human society he was generally cast as a stereotypical villain - the evil tiefling count who kidnaps the princess, etc. He was told he didn't have the skill for lead roles, and at a loss he wandered into the woods to the beseech elder gods of Theatre.
An Archfey named Orfaldir found him and gave Thespian the power to beguile and charm audiences with magic. But even with the magic of the Archfey enriching Thespian's performances, theatre-runners were still unwilling to cast him as the hero. Upon learning that it had never been about his talent but instead about his infernal appearance and type-casting, Thespian became bitter and spiteful. He returned to Orfaldir and asked for even greater powers, so that he could take revenge on a society that rejected him. Orfaldir offered a pact; Thespian will have all the power he needs, and act as Orfaldir's agent on the Material Plane from time to time. He also gave him a familiar; a golden-skinned irreverent sprite named Rhododendron.
Thespian used his new powers and influence to become an influential figure, working as a political advisor, a spy, always close to the center of power. But after spending time with Orfaldir, Thespian found that he had fallen under the Archfey's thrall himself. Deeply in love, it is his life's desire to join the material plane and the feywild so that he can be with the patron he longs for. Orfaldir goes along with the starcrossed romance for Thespian's sake, but the warlock knows in his heart that the inscrutable and agent Archfey have no true attachment to mortals. Still, he spends his life in pining, and toying with the easily-influenced minds of mortals for amusement and personal gain.
Currently level 15 - Archfey Warlock 9, Glamour Bard 6.
My Warlock Thespian. Only played him here and there in different campaigns at various levels because I mostly GM, still waiting for a nice long-term political/social/intrigue focused campaign where he'll shine
I spoke with the DM about how I saw her personality and let her run the character like any other NPC. Sometimes the patron spoke through Rhododendron, and I controlled her whenever I used her in combat or for utility.
Working on my first character. Being a huge fan of the Thief series, I made him a Human Rogue Thief, I'd like to know what people think, 'cause I feel like you can only be so creative with a character's backstory whilst fitting the archetype.
Alistair's story as a thief begins where his earliest memory does; stealing a coin from his drunk father's pocket to buy food, and getting beaten to an inch of his life. This beating teaches him that the only crime in life is being caught.
The boy endures more beatings, for speaking out of turn, for making a noise, sometimes just for being seen. One day, he reaches his breaking point and kill his father.
Fleeing the scene, Alistair finds himself living on the streets, running messages and stealing trinkets to keep his ribs from meeting his spine. In time, his talents grow, and he attracts the notice of the local thieves' guild. There, he meets another orphan, Roland, and the two begin working together.
Life is good for a time, the boys living modestly and saving their gold to purchase a tavern or store of some type, to "go legit". The kind of dreams that never ends well.
On a routine break-in, Alistair kills someone, a lord's servant, coming home unscheduled.
Roland is furious, livid that his friend would so easily end someone's life. The relationship between the two thieves grows sour, Roland trying to make Alistair a better person, a better thief, and Alistair refusing to see his own flaws.
One last job, Roland decides, then they can split their stash and never meet again. One big job, to make it worthwhile.
The two are better than ever, motivated by this final payoff that will set them up for life. Roland even begins to rethink his position; maybe Alistair has been listening, maybe the two should stay together and just aim higher. Then another body hits the floor, another servant killed by Alistair for the sake of expediency.
Roland calls it all off. The heist, the partnership, their friendship. After all is said and done, his best friend is really nothing more than a thug, a murderer?!
Roland makes a decision, draws his bow and shoots Alistair through the chest. He's seen others go down that path before and he had hoped his friend would not, but alas... Guards come running, tipped off by the quarrel and the sound of collapsing bodies. Outnumbered and cut off, without the help of his partner, Roland is captured, whilst Alistair, seeming dead, is thrown onto a cart to be buried in an unmarked grave.
Crawling his way out of the cart, and into the safe shadows of the streets, Alistair contacts the guild, seeking to rescue Roland, only to learn his best friend has been summarily executed and that the city's guild will no longer harbour a killer in their midst.
Cast out, alone, injured, Alistair sets off to make a new life elsewhere.
Tor is a War Cleric grew up in a small tribe of desert nomads who subsisted off the land and offered protection to caravans traveling the desert wastes. When Tor turned 15, he left his tribe to go on a vision quest as part of his ascension to adulthood. One night while meditating he saw a vision of an endless army of orcs marching towards his tribe. On awakening from the vision, Tor ran through the desert for days and nights, but arrived too late. Tor found the bodies of a dozen of his tribe, surrounded by the bodies of 4 times that number of orcs. Falling to his knees Tor was again taken back into a vision, this time confronted by the lizardfolk god of war. In exchange for his service, the god offered Tor the power to be able to bring honour to the memory of his tribe and to protect those in need.
So I'm playing a way of the four elements: revised monk who is extremely clumsy. Before he met the party he lived in a monastery and was the only Bender sadly though he was only really good at airbending and during sparring practice he knocked the guy into A wall and as he reeled back feeling guilty from the attack he accidentally made the entire wall collapse banner surprise himself and when he went to jump back a bit more the flames from the torches went out of control and the glassed water above the ceiling broke after that he was kicked out of the monastery and moved to a town nearby where he started do save up gold to travel and find Masters to teach him how to bend when he found out one of the members that was in the party was a pyromancer he begged her to teach him firebending so the entire party stayed around that area until we all reach level six then we went to a desert met some rock people and another Monk who knew how to bend Earth stayed around that place until level 11 met a really crazy NPC that joined our party and eventually became the hero met a water dragon and stayed around with him until we were all level 17 went back to the monastery he came from found out everyone was killed by the main villain and surprisingly the DM allowed need to get one more skill from my level 17 abilities so I chose the Avatar ability (I can't remember what it was called) found out the main bad guy was a literal deity of shadows and set on a journey to collect pieces of a holy sword and the NPC eventually wielded that sword went to go kill the main bad guy and when we did my monk went back to the village where it all began with the tiefling pyromancer settled down and started to teach the people in the village how to bend. We would have brought the MPC back with us but he died in the final fight. Surprisingly though the druid and the warlock continued on their journey in the current campaign we're playing now has the warlock and the druid in it but don't worry everyone's levels got reset. Edit: my monk was a gith and was named Zenshii
Jónsi Eldingar, my Dwarven Tempest Cleric. Yeah, I know... cliche, but I've never really played a Cleric, and I wanted to be fairly traditional. Except, he's older (88) and had a fairly un-traumatic life so far. War or demons haven't destroyed his village, or killed his family, or anything like that. He's actually fairly happy-go-lucky.
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I was born and raised on an icy isle off the coast. The Vikings came to our land, influenced our culture, and established temples to their Gods. As a youth, I spent time with the priests of Thor's temple, relishing their tales of Thor's might, magical adventures, and undeniable skill in battle... and drinking the ales they brewed and drank in his honor. After hearing many impassioned sermons, and seeing the remarkable feats performed by the clerics, it moved me to serve in the faith. When I was old enough, I became a cleric, following the ways of the Tempest Domain, and worshiping Thor, the God of Thunder and Lightning. My god works through me, and I strive to do as commanded, even though I don't fully understand why I was chosen. Even though at times I can work divine magic, I've never truly felt the presence of a divine essence within myself. I carry a large drinking horn with me, as a remembrance of both my home temple, and, of course, to enjoy an ale from time to time. Daily.
I left my homeland - Astrid, my schoolteacher mother, my herder father Einar, and merchant brother Ólafur. I caught the wanderlust, and decided to embody the nomadic spirit of the Vikings, to seek out and recover the lost Amulet of Kvinneby. This possibly magical artifact could be linked to Thor's powers.
Through my adventures, I have found some treasure, and I donate (a decent percentage of...) it to any of Thor's temples that I encounter as I travel through villages and towns. Wondrous things I've encountered, like the conjuring of a sylvan dryad. I've seen some terrifying things - such as a ghoul feeding on a corpse - but nothing was more terrifying than Leshanna Cith'reth - my half-elf lover for nigh on half a decade. She was a sorceress. A demon woman. Well, at least she became one after she found out about my, um... dalliances. Hela would be proud of her fury. She's the one left me with this purple streak in my hair, after the rest of her witchcraft faded away. Left a bad taste in my mouth for sorcerer spellcasters, and the elven folk. But not women... I still can't seem to resist them. Just need to watch my tongue, 'lest it get plucked out and used in a potion.
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I guess I'm wondering if a character this "old" would be problematic as a first level PC. I feel like he's spent many decades on his home island, before he left to explore. Also, I've got a couple "hooks" for my DM - looking for the amulet, and maybe his ex will show up to ruin his day. Any other suggestions for personality quirks, or anything to help make this guy a bit more interesting?
Bishop Commander Dreagus Kaine of the Red Fellowship
War Priest of The Red Knight, our Lady of Strategy.
As the son of a soldier, he had been taught young how to fight, to defend your home and the ones you love. After his father had died in battle, his mother gave him his father's armor and sword. When he grew older and he was able to support his mother, he looked for work as a sell sword with small groups, outfits, organizations and anyone else that would have him. It was during the grim campaign of Glageis the Strong, he had seen a vision during the final battle. It was a waking dream, of a beautiful woman wearing red armor, weaving in and out of battle on the battlefield ahead of him. Seeing Her, he felt drawn to her like no other. He fought harder and harder, cutting down the opposition to keep up with her until he had lost her within the fray. But soon realized, that the battle was over and they had won against significant odds. After victory that day, it was clear to him that it was The Red Knight calling to him for his service to follow Her.
He pilgrimaged across the land north of Baldur's Gate, to the Citadel of Strategic Militancy where The Order of the Red Falcon would teach him the ways to become dedicated to the service of the Red Knight. It was there that he learned tactics, military history and the art of strategy and it's significance in all things. As a Member of the Red Fellowship, he chose to become a Free Lance. By serving in many different militaries he sought to learn as much as possible of the art of war and spread the guidance of The Red Knight.
As a Red Fellowship mercenary, he wore many uniforms under many banners. He had baptized battlefields, blessed rations, travelled to the holy trenches and anointed the weapons of siege.
However, during those years he ended up working for a few lords that appeared to have good intentions, but later found out were not as honorable as he had once thought. The last straw for him was his discovery that his latest employer had become allies with hobgoblins and bugbears. Their intentions were to burn a town of innocents to the ground that was owned by a rival lord. He approached his Captain and told him that he did not sign up for senseless vengeance and walked away from his station. The insulted Captain had him captured, enslaved and sold to the Drow slavers, House Avathule, deep in the Underdark. In his time as a slave, he had reflected on his past and felt the need to right his questionable deeds to atone by helping those in need. After being freed by his new comrades, and surviving great odds against his captors, he saw this as another cardinal sign to follow this new path of redemption.
Appearance:
He has long hair and a beard that are a bit unkempt with the dirt of battle under his nails. His face is rough and weathered from the hard years of campaigning. The battle scars and tattoos that cover his face, head and body remind him of his many battles and of his past comrades. His armor, like his body, has the evidence of war all over it.Both are worn, dirty, dented and scarred.
Born to a multiethnic, alchemist artificer, beast master ranger, human father, & gunslinger, glamor bard, eladrin mother. They were both famous adventurers of the same party. Father died of natural causes, while mother is alive & well. She’s distant towards her mother because her mom's timeless perspective on the world, made her seem like she wasn't as reciprocative on loving her father or taking care of her. She also isn’t really close to her relatives (both sides) because they generally live far away. She grew up in a mostly human population up until she was 20 & when her father passed away. She then lived with her mother with a mostly elven population for some time. She felt she didn’t fit in either community like most other half elf half humans. She then left her mother, and found a monastery. She was taught better spirituality & martial arts through the way of the sun soul from her kitsune mentor. She also took up MMA & competed in arenas where she finally gained a name for herself & not just the daughter of 2 famous adventurers. After winning tons of battles in the ring, she craved more challenging fights. She also still feels lost in her place & purpose in the world, due to the fact that she can’t live as long as a full elf. From journeying, left behind her sports career, her mentor who she felt was more of a mom than her biological one, & the monastery. She wants to leave a mark on the world before passing away like her dad, & be more famous than her parents, a legendary heroine where her tales are written in books & shared to young boys & girls.Put your spoiler here.
Brani the Scourge Aasimar Paladin
Like most aasimars, Brani was treated as a divine savior, sent by the Forgotten Realm deities. She was raised in a temple, similarly to Kumari girls in Nepal or like Korra from Legend of Korra during the very 1st episode. She then met a tiefling girl. The tiefling as you would expect didn't like her at first, due to envious reasons. People like her are considered abominations but aasimars are the exact opposite. However, Brani saw good in the tiefling & showed her how they're actually alike. They're relationship grew into a romantic one. The priests, monks, nuns, etc. didn't approve of this relationship, & had to learn to tolerate her presence. The tiefling girl was killed, but not by the people of the temple, but from the Satanic-like cult of the tiefling because she betrayed them. The aasimar grew a rage so strong that she became a scourge & vowed vengeance from any & everything evil.
((I keep giving this a lot of thought on how to approach this topic and I keep coming back to first impressions only. This character's mannerisms require further observation and interaction... not really backstory material. The reasons for those behaviors require coaxing through conversation, situation, or compulsion, which is technically backstory but not one that people would know without further interaction, which kinda falls back to the previous category of not really backstory worthy. This is what would normally be shared in-game:))
You are a male Halfling with brown hair, ~2¾' tall, ~40lbs, and fair skin.
You are a little short for a Halfling, but to others of medium or larger size, it could be difficult to notice except in the presence of other Halflings. By Human standards, you seem a little stocky but not beefy. For a Halfling, you are quite fit, maybe even a little thin.
You wear your hair at a sensible, easily-maintained short length. This reveals that your ears stick out a little bit. You also have a thick mustache stopping at the sides of your lips. ((A "copstache.")) You try to keep the rest of your face shaven.
You are finally starting to show your age in Halfling years even though you still look somewhat young. Some gray is making its way into your hair and mustache. ((Imagine a Human at age 50 who almost looks like the person could still be in the late 30s of Human years.))
You most often wear unremarkable, sensible clothes for travelling, and you usually have a pair of handaxes at your sides. You have a large hammer (large for your size) slotted onto the side of your backpack. If walking, you often walk with an ordinary-looking stick that is approximately the length of a quarterstaff appropriate for a Halfling, but you do not use it as a crutch or cane. It will be close by if you are sitting.
An easily noticeable clothing article is a rather large belt buckle on your belt that you wear slightly to your left side. It seems to be made from the beak of some huge bird of prey. The buckle is almost comically large for you.
You have no other defining physical features immediately noticeable.
((The less-noticeable physical traits and the mannerisms are in a different section, and quite a bit larger. The precise height, weight, age, and subrace are written in the character sheet but not given on first visual inspection. The same goes for character class, level, name, and alignment. The reasons for it all are in Backstory and is the largest block of description. All of it is written as instructions to the player—me in this case.
Human. Male. Possibly. Don't be a divider. My characters' backgrounds are written like instruction manuals rather than stories. My opinion and preferences don't mean you're wrong. I am 99.7603% convinced that the digital dice are messing with me. I roll high when nobody's looking and low when anyone else can see.🎲 “It's a bit early to be thinking about an epitaph. No?” will be my epitaph.
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Nice. I love characters with multiplanar backstories! :)
This is the character I am currently playing. Morticia Blanco, Levistus Tiefling, Shadow Sorcerer, lvl 3.
Co-owner of her families mortuary business, Blanco Sisters Mortuary. It has been in the family a few generations. It's in a medium sized town so she knows all aspects of the business, and has worked on many races for rites, and done monster remains removal. Up until a year or so ago she lived in the house/mortuary with her two sisters. Her family has both humans ans Tiefling members, Morticia also had a human wife and step-daughter. While working with a body, something happened and inky black shadow and smoke arose from every orifice, overtaking and suffocating her until she passed out. Upon awaking she found her wife and step-daughter dead in another part of the building. She also woke with strange new powers (Shadow Sorc origin) at the age of 39. She travels to try to figure out what happened to her, and while she knows death is a part of the cycle, wonders why she was sparred. Too much sadness and a guilt surrounds the family mortuary so she now seeks adventure and understanding.
I actually created an Undertaker background as well that has some equipment, a couple skills, feature, etc.
Ha! That's great! I also included a Guild Artisan: Undertakers and Embalmers variant in my recently released DMsGuild supplement, The Mourned: A Playable Undead Race. Alternate equipment, skills, features, etc. :)
I also just started playing a Tiefling Sorcerer with the Haunted One background in Curse of Strahd (we're two sessions in).
So here is a character I made a few months ago but never had the chance to use. A paladin Loxodon (elephant folk) named Mumakin (possibly butchered his name.) Literally was a character I made in a day but here I go:
"A brewer and a father of 8 children, he left his town for the recovery of relics, decreed by the Seers of the theocratic council. Mumakin, also being a devout and loyal servant to his deity, set out in search of the relics - two years ago. Before his departure he had special tattoos placed upon his body: 11 hand prints; 2 on each of his shoulders, mid-way to the neck by his parents, a hand print in the middle of his back, from his wife; 6 hand prints - 3 on the left of the mother's and 3 on the right, and two small hand prints below the mother's for the 8 children, all from his children who ranged from the ages of 13 to 2 months by the time he left. The hands from his parents signifying that they will be by his side no matter where he is, while the hand prints on his back signify that his entire family has his back and will push him through the good, the bad, and the ugly.
Mumakin, a very cheerful, loving guy will often times shed some tears when he begins talking about his family or can be enraged when he hears his family being disrespected. He also forgets his own strength when he does certain things, like hugging people."
I think I might add more onto him at a later date while also going back and seeing about editing a few things.
This is Spellscale Sarax, a level one, neutral good, dragonborn wizard with a "Haunted One" background.
The short version of this hastily written backstory:
Sarax was traumatized at the age of 5 when a creature had killed off his entire scout team and attempted to dominate him (the creature was a mind flayer but he doesn't know this). It became something of a boogeyman for him but he didn't discuss his fears with any of his clanmates (Cowardice is considered repulsive in dragonborn society, according to the Forgotten Realms wiki.). To cope, he began studying wizardry (mostly divination) as a safety precaution. Everything he learned/gained from the "Haunted One" background, apart from the trinket, was also a means of security. When his older sister, Tamara, went missing in the line of duty (she's a soldier) he gathered his courage and whatever he felt he needed to set out and find her.
Sarax doesn't talk about what he saw on his "fateful day", he feels that it's his own cross to bear. He also expects danger just about everywhere he goes (hence why he favors divination). He always feels afraid especially regarding his "boogeyman" which he remembers vividly. He's felt like giving up on several occasions until he remembers his sister and keeps trudging forward. Apart from all of this (or perhaps because of it), he does everything can for his friends even he isn't entirely comfortable with the task at hand. He's also developed a stutter.
I haven't had a chance to play yet but I would love to see how Sarax functions in a group.
Well...here is Ekron the moody tifling druid.
Ekron was a crook, a decent one at that, a fair bit too greedy though.
One day his eyes gassed upon his next quarry, fine jewels, and gold.
Unlike his other. Crimes this one went bad, he was caught you see, he luckily made it out of town and into the woods.
However not before the officiathewere able too lacerate (cut ) his side too shreds.
Leaving behind his life, twon, and secret love. Ekron hobbled deeper into the woods.
Later on, a small circle of druids found a wounded incapacitated Ekron lying in a pool of blood.
After many nights of the druids tending too Ekron. he finaly woke up, only too find a large scare over his sside, patterned like bark, he thought that he may return the favor. So he joined the circle of druids, and eventually leaving too find a nice quiet place on the woods.
Or at least until the dead walked the earth once again!
(Zombie campaign)
Current game- Pelegos: Singularity
Game world- Thad'thra, homebrew
Role- DM
Players- Maro: Light Cleric, Rivqah: Feind Warlock, Kortek: Artillerist Artificer
Plot: Uncover a conspiracy and truth behind the Dragon, Blasphemy, and the light of the kingdom that was stollen. Drenching Baranara into shadow.
Just finished this one today, but still haven't found a new group since I moved. He's a half-elf oath of vengeance paladin.
As an infant, Otis was left on the front steps of the Temple of the Sun and was taken in and raised by the head of that temple, Boris Mirthwether, a man widely renowned for his compassion and unwavering good cheer which held strong even in battle. Many who saw him fight called him "Laughing Blade", and claimed that his boisterous laughter alone could turn an undead horde in one breath and save a dying man in the next.
As he grew, Otis, or "Oats" as Father Mirthwether called him, devoted himself to the worship of Pelor and emulated father Mirthwether in all things, eagerly awaiting the day when he would be made a Torchbearer.
"Torchbearers," father Mirthwether had explained in his deep, jovial voice, "have a very grave mission. We hunt down and destroy the evils which threaten the good people of the sun. It is a dangerous task; one you are not yet ready for, Oats. For now, go and mop the floors."
In the years that passed, Oats dutifully maintained the Temple of the Sun, lighting and replacing candles, mopping the floors, and organizing the requests for aid people made to the temple. Evil infestations and hauntings and the like. In the evenings, father Mirthwether and the Torchbearers would leave him to watch the temple while they were away. Oats spent this time training, hoping to become worthy of joining them on their missions.
Shortly after his 13th birthday, Oats demonstrated what he had learned, sparring with each of the other trainees and defeating all of them. Again, he asked if he could join the Torchbearers. To this, father Mirthwether smiled widely and said, "You have grown strong indeed, and I am proud of you! But you are not yet ready to face our enemies. Have patience, dear boy! For now, go and mop the floors."
Oats inwardly bristled at this. The Torchbearers had been having trouble lately. He didn't know the details, but he knew they were fighting a particularly crafty foe which had been evading them for months. Just the night before, most of the Torchbearers had returned so seriously wounded that father Mirthwether had decided not to take any requests for the next couple of days. Oats had spent the better part of the morning mopping up the trails of blood they had left in the atrium. They needed Oats and he knew he was ready. He just had to prove it to them.
That night, after everyone was asleep, Oats left the temple to investigate an old mill nearby from which people had been hearing strange sounds. He left the temple doors slightly ajar, since they could only be opened from the inside, and set off. When he entered the mill, he smelled the stench of death and felt a lurking presence. He tried to light his oil lantern, but it was snatched from his hands by something in the shadows. He heard voices whispering in a strange language. He drew his sword and called out, "In the name of Pelor, reveal yourself!" His quavering adolescent voice sounded significantly less impressive than he'd intended. As its echoes died away, the whispering ceased and from the darkness he heard a spine chilling staccato laugh, like rhythmically shattering glass. A wild unrestrained terror gripped his soul. He dropped his sword and ran.
The few minutes it took him to get back to the temple felt like hours, every step haunted by the memory of those strange whispers and that hideous laughter still ringing in his ears. He blasted through the door of the temple, throwing it closed behind him, but something blocked it. When he looked back, he saw a shadow silhouetted in moonlight. He tried to scream but choked on his terror. His mind seemed to empty of everything but the fear, so he ran, dashing across the atrium and into the halls where he found his broom cupboard. He tumbled inside and there he hid. Not long after, screams of terror interrupted his stupor.
He listened as the wounded Torchbearers fought and died, taken by surprise within their own sanctuary. Flashes of light and shadows seeped under the door so he covered his head with his mop bucket. Time passed strangely in his cupboard. The minutes were marked only by the rapid beating of his heart and the sounds of carnage outside. Finally, they stopped, leaving him alone in silence. Still he hid, too afraid of the shadow and the whispers, and too afraid to see what he had done.
Morning came and he heard new voices. The villagers had come to investigate. They eventually found him and took him from his hiding place. A nearby family was kind enough to take him in, but that night when he went to bed, he did not sleep. He lay awake for hours until he felt a chill. He blinked. Beside the bed stood the ghostly form of father Mirthwether, disfigured by his death. He wasn't smiling. Pure dread took hold within Oats as more ghostly figures appeared, each bloodier than the last, until the whole temple stood in his bedroom. Their wide eyes were filled with hate and accusation, all staring at him. The figure of father Mirthwether held out his hand clutching a damaged sigil of the Torchbearers. An iron disk etched with a radiant flame. Then they attacked.
Their spectral screams pierced his mind as they clawed at him with their ruined hands. He scrambled from the room and out into the night towards the ruined temple and they followed, tearing at his flesh. Bloodied, he eventually reached his cupboard where he found his bucket. He turned to see the ghastly father Mirthwether advancing, hands outstretched. In his panic, Oats jammed the bucket onto his head and curled up. As he did so, the screaming stopped, punctuated by a thump. After a moment, he blindly reached out and felt an icy cold metal disk on the floor. He stood, clutching the damaged sigil of the Torchbearers with white knuckles.
Amidst the ruins of the Temple of Pelor, he spoke. His voice was rough from misuse and it echoed strangely inside his makeshift helmet. To the ghosts of the Torchbearers and Laughing Blade, he swore an oath of penance and vengeance. He swore to grow stronger and to find the ones who had destroyed the temple and eradicate them. Through his helmet, he heard the spectral voices of the fallen say in unison a single word, "Raum" He had never heard it before, but in his bones he understood. It was a name.
--edit
I just realized that this is actually super long. So tl;dr
An orphan named Oats is raised by Solaire from Dark Souls til he accidentally gets him and everyone he knows killed by a spooky shadow clown. Now he wears a bucket on his head to ward off their ghosts while he goes clown hunting.
Oh, I have a character that will get along with Ekron, and the campaign he is in.
I think Stapleshotz just helped me figure out how to present my characters' backstories. I'll work on that when time allows.
Human. Male. Possibly. Don't be a divider.
My characters' backgrounds are written like instruction manuals rather than stories. My opinion and preferences don't mean you're wrong.
I am 99.7603% convinced that the digital dice are messing with me. I roll high when nobody's looking and low when anyone else can see.🎲
“It's a bit early to be thinking about an epitaph. No?” will be my epitaph.
I'm currently playing a Cavalier. He's your typical big, dumb, knight in shining armor. His name is Sir Tanly Thicke.
Thespian is a Tiefling who chose his Virtue name because he wanted to be an actor (birth name is Parmenox). His parents disapproved, but nevertheless he endeavoured to become a performer. He had some success, but being a tiefling in a human society he was generally cast as a stereotypical villain - the evil tiefling count who kidnaps the princess, etc. He was told he didn't have the skill for lead roles, and at a loss he wandered into the woods to the beseech elder gods of Theatre.
An Archfey named Orfaldir found him and gave Thespian the power to beguile and charm audiences with magic. But even with the magic of the Archfey enriching Thespian's performances, theatre-runners were still unwilling to cast him as the hero. Upon learning that it had never been about his talent but instead about his infernal appearance and type-casting, Thespian became bitter and spiteful. He returned to Orfaldir and asked for even greater powers, so that he could take revenge on a society that rejected him. Orfaldir offered a pact; Thespian will have all the power he needs, and act as Orfaldir's agent on the Material Plane from time to time. He also gave him a familiar; a golden-skinned irreverent sprite named Rhododendron.
Thespian used his new powers and influence to become an influential figure, working as a political advisor, a spy, always close to the center of power. But after spending time with Orfaldir, Thespian found that he had fallen under the Archfey's thrall himself. Deeply in love, it is his life's desire to join the material plane and the feywild so that he can be with the patron he longs for. Orfaldir goes along with the starcrossed romance for Thespian's sake, but the warlock knows in his heart that the inscrutable and agent Archfey have no true attachment to mortals. Still, he spends his life in pining, and toying with the easily-influenced minds of mortals for amusement and personal gain.
Currently level 15 - Archfey Warlock 9, Glamour Bard 6.
My Warlock Thespian. Only played him here and there in different campaigns at various levels because I mostly GM, still waiting for a nice long-term political/social/intrigue focused campaign where he'll shine
So I have to ask, how you RP a Sprite as a familiar? Does the GM play the role or do you?
I spoke with the DM about how I saw her personality and let her run the character like any other NPC. Sometimes the patron spoke through Rhododendron, and I controlled her whenever I used her in combat or for utility.
Working on my first character. Being a huge fan of the Thief series, I made him a Human Rogue Thief, I'd like to know what people think, 'cause I feel like you can only be so creative with a character's backstory whilst fitting the archetype.
The boy endures more beatings, for speaking out of turn, for making a noise, sometimes just for being seen. One day, he reaches his breaking point and kill his father.
Fleeing the scene, Alistair finds himself living on the streets, running messages and stealing trinkets to keep his ribs from meeting his spine. In time, his talents grow, and he attracts the notice of the local thieves' guild. There, he meets another orphan, Roland, and the two begin working together.
Life is good for a time, the boys living modestly and saving their gold to purchase a tavern or store of some type, to "go legit". The kind of dreams that never ends well.
On a routine break-in, Alistair kills someone, a lord's servant, coming home unscheduled.
Roland is furious, livid that his friend would so easily end someone's life. The relationship between the two thieves grows sour, Roland trying to make Alistair a better person, a better thief, and Alistair refusing to see his own flaws.
One last job, Roland decides, then they can split their stash and never meet again. One big job, to make it worthwhile.
The two are better than ever, motivated by this final payoff that will set them up for life. Roland even begins to rethink his position; maybe Alistair has been listening, maybe the two should stay together and just aim higher. Then another body hits the floor, another servant killed by Alistair for the sake of expediency.
Roland calls it all off. The heist, the partnership, their friendship. After all is said and done, his best friend is really nothing more than a thug, a murderer?!
Roland makes a decision, draws his bow and shoots Alistair through the chest. He's seen others go down that path before and he had hoped his friend would not, but alas... Guards come running, tipped off by the quarrel and the sound of collapsing bodies. Outnumbered and cut off, without the help of his partner, Roland is captured, whilst Alistair, seeming dead, is thrown onto a cart to be buried in an unmarked grave.
Crawling his way out of the cart, and into the safe shadows of the streets, Alistair contacts the guild, seeking to rescue Roland, only to learn his best friend has been summarily executed and that the city's guild will no longer harbour a killer in their midst.
Cast out, alone, injured, Alistair sets off to make a new life elsewhere.
Tor is a War Cleric grew up in a small tribe of desert nomads who subsisted off the land and offered protection to caravans traveling the desert wastes. When Tor turned 15, he left his tribe to go on a vision quest as part of his ascension to adulthood. One night while meditating he saw a vision of an endless army of orcs marching towards his tribe. On awakening from the vision, Tor ran through the desert for days and nights, but arrived too late. Tor found the bodies of a dozen of his tribe, surrounded by the bodies of 4 times that number of orcs. Falling to his knees Tor was again taken back into a vision, this time confronted by the lizardfolk god of war. In exchange for his service, the god offered Tor the power to be able to bring honour to the memory of his tribe and to protect those in need.
So I'm playing a way of the four elements: revised monk who is extremely clumsy. Before he met the party he lived in a monastery and was the only Bender sadly though he was only really good at airbending and during sparring practice he knocked the guy into A wall and as he reeled back feeling guilty from the attack he accidentally made the entire wall collapse banner surprise himself and when he went to jump back a bit more the flames from the torches went out of control and the glassed water above the ceiling broke after that he was kicked out of the monastery and moved to a town nearby where he started do save up gold to travel and find Masters to teach him how to bend when he found out one of the members that was in the party was a pyromancer he begged her to teach him firebending so the entire party stayed around that area until we all reach level six then we went to a desert met some rock people and another Monk who knew how to bend Earth stayed around that place until level 11 met a really crazy NPC that joined our party and eventually became the hero met a water dragon and stayed around with him until we were all level 17 went back to the monastery he came from found out everyone was killed by the main villain and surprisingly the DM allowed need to get one more skill from my level 17 abilities so I chose the Avatar ability (I can't remember what it was called) found out the main bad guy was a literal deity of shadows and set on a journey to collect pieces of a holy sword and the NPC eventually wielded that sword went to go kill the main bad guy and when we did my monk went back to the village where it all began with the tiefling pyromancer settled down and started to teach the people in the village how to bend. We would have brought the MPC back with us but he died in the final fight. Surprisingly though the druid and the warlock continued on their journey in the current campaign we're playing now has the warlock and the druid in it but don't worry everyone's levels got reset. Edit: my monk was a gith and was named Zenshii
Jónsi Eldingar, my Dwarven Tempest Cleric. Yeah, I know... cliche, but I've never really played a Cleric, and I wanted to be fairly traditional. Except, he's older (88) and had a fairly un-traumatic life so far. War or demons haven't destroyed his village, or killed his family, or anything like that. He's actually fairly happy-go-lucky.
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I was born and raised on an icy isle off the coast. The Vikings came to our land, influenced our culture, and established temples to their Gods. As a youth, I spent time with the priests of Thor's temple, relishing their tales of Thor's might, magical adventures, and undeniable skill in battle... and drinking the ales they brewed and drank in his honor. After hearing many impassioned sermons, and seeing the remarkable feats performed by the clerics, it moved me to serve in the faith. When I was old enough, I became a cleric, following the ways of the Tempest Domain, and worshiping Thor, the God of Thunder and Lightning. My god works through me, and I strive to do as commanded, even though I don't fully understand why I was chosen. Even though at times I can work divine magic, I've never truly felt the presence of a divine essence within myself. I carry a large drinking horn with me, as a remembrance of both my home temple, and, of course, to enjoy an ale from time to time. Daily.
I left my homeland - Astrid, my schoolteacher mother, my herder father Einar, and merchant brother Ólafur. I caught the wanderlust, and decided to embody the nomadic spirit of the Vikings, to seek out and recover the lost Amulet of Kvinneby. This possibly magical artifact could be linked to Thor's powers.
Through my adventures, I have found some treasure, and I donate (a decent percentage of...) it to any of Thor's temples that I encounter as I travel through villages and towns. Wondrous things I've encountered, like the conjuring of a sylvan dryad. I've seen some terrifying things - such as a ghoul feeding on a corpse - but nothing was more terrifying than Leshanna Cith'reth - my half-elf lover for nigh on half a decade. She was a sorceress. A demon woman. Well, at least she became one after she found out about my, um... dalliances. Hela would be proud of her fury. She's the one left me with this purple streak in my hair, after the rest of her witchcraft faded away. Left a bad taste in my mouth for sorcerer spellcasters, and the elven folk. But not women... I still can't seem to resist them. Just need to watch my tongue, 'lest it get plucked out and used in a potion.
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I guess I'm wondering if a character this "old" would be problematic as a first level PC. I feel like he's spent many decades on his home island, before he left to explore. Also, I've got a couple "hooks" for my DM - looking for the amulet, and maybe his ex will show up to ruin his day.
Any other suggestions for personality quirks, or anything to help make this guy a bit more interesting?
Bishop Commander Dreagus Kaine of the Red Fellowship
War Priest of The Red Knight, our Lady of Strategy.
As the son of a soldier, he had been taught young how to fight, to defend your home and the ones you love. After his father had died in battle, his mother gave him his father's armor and sword. When he grew older and he was able to support his mother, he looked for work as a sell sword with small groups, outfits, organizations and anyone else that would have him. It was during the grim campaign of Glageis the Strong, he had seen a vision during the final battle. It was a waking dream, of a beautiful woman wearing red armor, weaving in and out of battle on the battlefield ahead of him. Seeing Her, he felt drawn to her like no other. He fought harder and harder, cutting down the opposition to keep up with her until he had lost her within the fray. But soon realized, that the battle was over and they had won against significant odds. After victory that day, it was clear to him that it was The Red Knight calling to him for his service to follow Her.
He pilgrimaged across the land north of Baldur's Gate, to the Citadel of Strategic Militancy where The Order of the Red Falcon would teach him the ways to become dedicated to the service of the Red Knight. It was there that he learned tactics, military history and the art of strategy and it's significance in all things. As a Member of the Red Fellowship, he chose to become a Free Lance. By serving in many different militaries he sought to learn as much as possible of the art of war and spread the guidance of The Red Knight.
As a Red Fellowship mercenary, he wore many uniforms under many banners. He had baptized battlefields, blessed rations, travelled to the holy trenches and anointed the weapons of siege.
However, during those years he ended up working for a few lords that appeared to have good intentions, but later found out were not as honorable as he had once thought. The last straw for him was his discovery that his latest employer had become allies with hobgoblins and bugbears. Their intentions were to burn a town of innocents to the ground that was owned by a rival lord. He approached his Captain and told him that he did not sign up for senseless vengeance and walked away from his station. The insulted Captain had him captured, enslaved and sold to the Drow slavers, House Avathule, deep in the Underdark. In his time as a slave, he had reflected on his past and felt the need to right his questionable deeds to atone by helping those in need. After being freed by his new comrades, and surviving great odds against his captors, he saw this as another cardinal sign to follow this new path of redemption.
Appearance:
He has long hair and a beard that are a bit unkempt with the dirt of battle under his nails. His face is rough and weathered from the hard years of campaigning. The battle scars and tattoos that cover his face, head and body remind him of his many battles and of his past comrades. His armor, like his body, has the evidence of war all over it. Both are worn, dirty, dented and scarred.
Discord: Tully#0286
Both need to be tweaked.
Jenlynn the Half Eladrin Sun Soul Monk
Born to a multiethnic, alchemist artificer, beast master ranger, human father, & gunslinger, glamor bard, eladrin mother. They were both famous adventurers of the same party. Father died of natural causes, while mother is alive & well. She’s distant towards her mother because her mom's timeless perspective on the world, made her seem like she wasn't as reciprocative on loving her father or taking care of her. She also isn’t really close to her relatives (both sides) because they generally live far away. She grew up in a mostly human population up until she was 20 & when her father passed away. She then lived with her mother with a mostly elven population for some time. She felt she didn’t fit in either community like most other half elf half humans. She then left her mother, and found a monastery. She was taught better spirituality & martial arts through the way of the sun soul from her kitsune mentor. She also took up MMA & competed in arenas where she finally gained a name for herself & not just the daughter of 2 famous adventurers. After winning tons of battles in the ring, she craved more challenging fights. She also still feels lost in her place & purpose in the world, due to the fact that she can’t live as long as a full elf. From journeying, left behind her sports career, her mentor who she felt was more of a mom than her biological one, & the monastery. She wants to leave a mark on the world before passing away like her dad, & be more famous than her parents, a legendary heroine where her tales are written in books & shared to young boys & girls.Put your spoiler here.
Brani the Scourge Aasimar Paladin
Like most aasimars, Brani was treated as a divine savior, sent by the Forgotten Realm deities. She was raised in a temple, similarly to Kumari girls in Nepal or like Korra from Legend of Korra during the very 1st episode. She then met a tiefling girl. The tiefling as you would expect didn't like her at first, due to envious reasons. People like her are considered abominations but aasimars are the exact opposite. However, Brani saw good in the tiefling & showed her how they're actually alike. They're relationship grew into a romantic one. The priests, monks, nuns, etc. didn't approve of this relationship, & had to learn to tolerate her presence. The tiefling girl was killed, but not by the people of the temple, but from the Satanic-like cult of the tiefling because she betrayed them. The aasimar grew a rage so strong that she became a scourge & vowed vengeance from any & everything evil.
((I keep giving this a lot of thought on how to approach this topic and I keep coming back to first impressions only. This character's mannerisms require further observation and interaction... not really backstory material. The reasons for those behaviors require coaxing through conversation, situation, or compulsion, which is technically backstory but not one that people would know without further interaction, which kinda falls back to the previous category of not really backstory worthy. This is what would normally be shared in-game:))
You are a male Halfling with brown hair, ~2¾' tall, ~40lbs, and fair skin.
You are a little short for a Halfling, but to others of medium or larger size, it could be difficult to notice except in the presence of other Halflings. By Human standards, you seem a little stocky but not beefy. For a Halfling, you are quite fit, maybe even a little thin.
You wear your hair at a sensible, easily-maintained short length. This reveals that your ears stick out a little bit. You also have a thick mustache stopping at the sides of your lips. ((A "copstache.")) You try to keep the rest of your face shaven.
You are finally starting to show your age in Halfling years even though you still look somewhat young. Some gray is making its way into your hair and mustache. ((Imagine a Human at age 50 who almost looks like the person could still be in the late 30s of Human years.))
You most often wear unremarkable, sensible clothes for travelling, and you usually have a pair of handaxes at your sides. You have a large hammer (large for your size) slotted onto the side of your backpack. If walking, you often walk with an ordinary-looking stick that is approximately the length of a quarterstaff appropriate for a Halfling, but you do not use it as a crutch or cane. It will be close by if you are sitting.
An easily noticeable clothing article is a rather large belt buckle on your belt that you wear slightly to your left side. It seems to be made from the beak of some huge bird of prey. The buckle is almost comically large for you.
You have no other defining physical features immediately noticeable.
((The less-noticeable physical traits and the mannerisms are in a different section, and quite a bit larger. The precise height, weight, age, and subrace are written in the character sheet but not given on first visual inspection. The same goes for character class, level, name, and alignment. The reasons for it all are in Backstory and is the largest block of description. All of it is written as instructions to the player—me in this case.
I'm weird.))
Human. Male. Possibly. Don't be a divider.
My characters' backgrounds are written like instruction manuals rather than stories. My opinion and preferences don't mean you're wrong.
I am 99.7603% convinced that the digital dice are messing with me. I roll high when nobody's looking and low when anyone else can see.🎲
“It's a bit early to be thinking about an epitaph. No?” will be my epitaph.