Thrak was given a family heirloom at a young age late one night while he slept in his cold room. He awoke to a terror as he saw a whisping shadow creep out from the darkness shrouded by moonlight. It stood directly before him and seemed to raise it's hand as if to command 'hush'. He had hoped it was a nightmare as he woke the next day.
It was two weeks later he learned that was the night his poor tormented aunt had taken her life with a knife. He had known through his family at least once a generation there was one to hallucinate of horrid visages. Delusions of a sick mind he had thought, but now he knew this was no sickness.
He was proud to grow hearing tales of his lineage until that day, his great great grandfather the powerful worrior, his father before him a traveling scholar, his mother before him a seeker of knowledge and great artifacts. It was the last few generations that grew weak and mad. He did not know from that day, he would never again be truely alone and very seldom at rest.
The few close to Thrak would sometimes catch a glimpse of a shadow standing over him, or see a whisping smoke like presence when walking past torches at night. He began to be known at Thrak The UnHallowed..
Some years later into his late teens Thrak (now The UnHallowed) set out to rid himself of this phantom presence. He traveled far and long to temples, to healers. He met with all manner of holy men. None could help him. It was often that they would deem him evil and banish him when they learned their powers could do nothing. Thrak turned to shaumen of the wood, dieties of rest or light, any known power that could rid himself of this stalking presence. Until one day...
When his horrifying specter appeared in the shadows of a candle lit room this night. Like many times before the smoking visage amongst his shadow on the floor as if just behind him, but this time with a whisper aside his shoulder it spoke.... Out of the stillness of the night it came as soft as if whispered just into his ear, "why do you fight me? Why exhaust soo much effort in fear? When you could be great like the great dragons of old? You could be the fear in the eyes of your enemies. You could be powerful like your forefathers before youu... you need only ask..." Thrak sat there is shear terror. He spoke into the blackness "what do I need to do?" A response came instantly. "I'm already a part of you, you need only ask.. for power..." From that night on he no longer ran. For Thrak The UnHallowed does not run from evil. Evil runs from Me!
Darrius Dustarrow was a small boy growing up. He wasn't as strong as the other boys in the town, or as fast, or as dextrous. Weak, they called him. All he wanted to do, despite their insults, was to help. He was abandoned by his family for making such a disgrace and he was accepted by the town guard. They trained him, and day in and day out he trained more and more, toiled more and more, until one day he was a man, and he did what all able bodied men did. Join the war. He wanted to help.
He rose quickly through the ranks, until one day he was in charge of an entire company. He led his company bravely and steadfastly in battles, and eventually was tasked to lead them to capture a goblin fortress in a distant forest. He did so, leading them to victory, but his company suffered heavy losses. 90% of his company was wiped out. He left that day, retiring from the military, and heading to the town guard. Not in the military's disgrace, because they said capture it no matter what the losses or odds, but his own disgrace for letting his men die beside him.
Here is the backstory of my half-elf rogue, Morgana Harper!
(Also, a little context: for the first three sessions my party thought I was a bard. I have the magic initiate feat, so I was able to perform a little magic even with the thief archetype)
Morgana is a half-elf born to a wealthy merchant family, the Harpers. Her father Mercury Harper, an elf, was the founder of a business named the Hermes Merchant company: this business specialized in practically everything under the sun (including stock that was… questionable, like Stardust and other choice drugs). Morgana’s mother died early in life, so Morgana has few memories of her.
Morgana studied under her father and learned the tricks of the trade, but her true passions were magic and music. Mercury supported her interest wholeheartedly, so when she heard of a bardic college in a distant city, her family raised the money to send Morgana there.
Morgana studied at the school for a few years, gradually learning magic. She managed to learn a few parlor tricks, but she could never quite make the kind of magic she saw her classmates doing. Soon, everyone she knew moved on, but she stayed, still stuck in the same introductory courses her friends had long since abandoned.
Morgana refused to give up hope, and transferred to another school of magic, hoping that another method would help, but she could still only produce the same weak cantrips and spells she learned in the beginning.
She corresponded often with her father, and he continued to pay for her schooling. Until one day the letters stopped coming, and so did his money.
Morgana was forced to leave school, unable to pay and resigned to her fate. She dejectedly returned to her hometown, accepting that she would have to continue the family trade.
She traveled back with little incident, taking the same roads she always had. But when Morgana crested the final hill, the city she had known her whole life was gone… her family with it.
Gone were the buildings in which she had lived, instead replaced by ruins. The entire city looked as if it had been burned down; charred bodies littered the street. When she found her home, the building was as burnt as the rest, but there were no bodies, nobody she recognized as her family or friends.
Morgana searched for them, week after week, for months. She scoured every place she had ever visited and called favors from family friends. She found nothing, so she tried searching deeper, losing more and more hope the further she got from home. Her money kept dwindling as she used the last of her funds to survive.
In a last-ditch effort, Morgana attempted to find answers in the black market, paying everything she had for any word of her family. When she ran out of that money, she resorted to busking on street corners, desperate for anything. She played her violin in taverns, earning enough to eat.
Then she met Ralech.
Ralech, a tiefling, was a crime boss Morgana had met while searching the black market. He saw her hopelessness and offered her an occupation that could not only put her musical talents and nimble fingers to use, but also give Morgana information about her family.
Morgana was too desperate to refuse.
She entered the criminal underworld, using her talent as a violinist to play venues, scouting out locations for thieves and swindlers. She assisted on heists, stealing, rising in the ranks of Ralech’s organization.
Morgana grew close to Ralech. He taught her thievery, and she considered him a friend. Even as he dragged her further and further away from the law, she couldn’t help but feel close to the man who had given her a new life.
She lost all hope.
Then, Morgana heard of a lead in a faraway city, the first she had heard of her family in a decade. She decided to chase that lead…
This was a Backstory written by one of my players that had never played before.
I thought it was very good!
Wren Gnome Ranger
I was born in the warm season, in the month of sunflowers, 81 summers ago. My family was among the first of the gnomes to leave the bustling city of Fallsern and strike out east into the woods in search of a new home. My great-great-grandfather, Thorace Timbers, took a donkey-cart and loaded his family and all their belongings, trekking into the Great Woods, finally settling in a broad valley by the river Klaspen. Two other families soon joined, the Barrenoaks and the Newbuds, and the small frontier settlement soon grew into a lively gnome warren which came to be called Streamside. I grew up with my time divided between watching my father and grandfather tinker in their workshops, and running wild through the rolling green hills and open, balmy woods surrounding our home. My young friends and I fished, raced, wrestled and played endless pranks on each-other. We gained the trust of the small beasts that were our neighbors; one family of squirrels in particular, descendants of those that my great-grandfather had befriended almost four centuries before. We traded with the rock-gnomes of the Buttress mountains to the North of us, exchanging fresh-produce and our clever wood furniture and wagons for their bronze and iron clockwork tools, toys and hunting weapons.
Life was good; we had hardly any cares... until my 26th summer. It was the time of falling leaves, and a feeling of unease was on the air. A tall human in a mud-spattered cloak rode into town and ducked into the town hall. Soon the meeting bell tolled and the heads of each family hurried to the hall as the lamps were lit. Soon all the young folk had gathered outside to wait and see what the fuss was about. Hours later, the hall doors burst open and the lone rider emerged, quickly untying his horse and mounting. The horse was a stout mountain pony, shaggy and dingy white, and strange symbols were painted on its flanks and limbs. The rider had iron-gray hair that fell to his shoulders in braids, and a great bushy beard. He regarded us for a moment with one eye out of a deeply lined and scarred face. Under his cloak he wore armor of stiffened hides and at his waist he wore a long-sword and dagger. He clucked gently and the horse took to the road in a trot, going back the way he had come.
The man was a ranger called Pleor, a high-tracker of the Eastern Watch. We soon learned he had been delivering a warning;
A bug-bear named Grek was gathering a war-band of goblins on the other side of the mountains from us, hell-bent on pillage and plunder. Night-watchmen were set on roofs, bows, crossbows and pikes came down from mantles, the whole town and seemingly every creature of the forest was on edge. But nothing happened right away. Soon our guard was let down, life moved on, the night watchmen were bringing picnic suppers and flasks of brandy to their posts. Things seemed to return to normal, no news came. One day the next Spring I set out alone for my favorite swimming hole. I hung my clothes on a branch and slipped into the still chilly water, floating on my back and watching the trees sway overhead. Suddenly I heard in the distance the meeting bell tolling, crashing sounds, faint screams. The wind carried a smell of smoke. I scrambled out of the water and fumbled for my clothes. I remember nothing of running home, only that home was gone when I got there. The stone chimneys still stood but every building in Streamside was left a heap of ashes. A few of my friends and their fathers lay in the street, where they had made a last stand with bows, with axes, with stones, with hands and teeth. The rest of the townsfolk had been herded into the meeting hall, which the goblins then set fire to. Everything of any apparent value was carried off. I remember standing, staring into the smoldering remnants of my home, the home my great-grandfather built, and where my father and his were born. I felt something hit my shoulder. I jumped and tried to make a noise but nothing came out. A squirrel had leapt onto my shoulder. He spoke softly in his language...”I grieve with you... come. Look. Come.” He scampered toward the center of town, looking back once. He led me to the wreckage of my father’s tinker shop, and perched next to something sticking out of the ashes. I gingerly grabbed it, and pulled it forth. It was strangely cold even being pulled from the smoldering wreckage. It was my father’s hunting bow, crafted by the rock-gnome smiths, made of fine bronze, miraculously thin and light, with clockwork pulleys and silver cables, made so even the smallest gnome could draw it and loose an arrow as powerful as a man’s, swift and nearly silent but for the neat little mechanical clicks. I hefted the bow and stood in the town square, feeling utterly lost. The squirrel was gone.
I must have fallen asleep, for I woke and it was morning. I felt eyes on me. I rolled over and looked up, half-blinded by the sun. Pleor the ranger stood over me, hand on his sword hilt. “Are you hurt, master gnome?” I shook my head. He picked me up then, and set me on his horse. “I was too late...” he muttered, leading the horse off. We rode 10 days, South to Brookton, a logging town of men. Pleor left me with a family of gnome tinkers there. The first night I grabbed my bow and satchel and slipped out into the night. I tracked Pleor for three days before catching up to him. He glared at me but his countenance quickly softened and he began laughing, shaking silently. “If you can stay on a track like that, perhaps I’ve a place for you lad!”
I rode with Pleor for 7 winters, through the breadth of the realm. We camped in cursed swamps and high, windswept mountain passes. We fought wolves, orc marauders, bandits, wolves and werewolves. We fought hunger, we fought cold, and occasionally; we fought each-other. I learned to wield a short-sword, mend broken bones, find my way in any country, and all of the other skills a ranger might need. In my 33rd summer I was accepted as a journeyman tracker of the Eastern Watch; a loose band of rangers who share intelligence and work together... as much as such solitary types can tolerate, anyway. I took up smoking a pipe, and though I turned green the first few times (much to Pleor’s delight) I soon developed quite a fondness for the herb, particularly that grown by halflings. As I write these memories, Pleor has gone on to his glory, and may his trail be always soft underfoot.
I now ride alone, stopping in towns occasionally and gathering information, collecting bounties or just enjoying a bit of ale. I have no kin and no clan, but I find joy in the small pleasures of life, and I aim to see all of this world that I can, and rid it of as much evil as I can. I get along fine with most folks... as long as they treat me proper. Goblins and other such scum, however, I would just as soon put an arrow through them without a second thought. Ah, but even that hatred has cooled a bit... Pleor once told me that vengeance is best left to fate, that it’s not meant for you or I. I longed to kill Grek for years, to annihilate his goblin thugs, but in the meantime one of Pleor’s mates had already done for them all. He told me this only at the end of his life... “A true ranger seeks justice, a different thing all-together than revenge”. That’s what he told me. “And when you understand that difference, master gnome, between simple vengeance and justice... you’ll serve your oath well.” Protect the weak. Be the light in the dark, be the first line of defense. That is the ranger’s task.
So our DM wanted to run Curse of Strahd. His little twist, those pulled into the mists have done something in their life that shifted them down a darker path. These dark secrets could be revealed in game if circumstances called for it, or you could keep your dark little secret from the rest of the party. He had us make up short backstories to give a reason for your character to end up in Barovia. After all, extensive backstories with multiple hooks make little sense when you are all being pulled from your respective worlds and getting dumped into another.
Thus, the upbeat Forest Gnome Circle of Dreams Druid, Dillabean Farwander (Dill) was concocted. He's a savage little jungle gnome who is super curious about humans but confused by the assumptions and decisions they make at times
A little small and skinny for a gnome, he looks rather wild and untamed. His mottled green and brown hair that he obviously colored himself...badly...is wild but mostly swept back up and away from his face in a high ponytail. His chin whiskers seem to flow from his sideburns all the way down into bushy but spiky shaped mutton-chops, leaving his chin and upper lip bare. He's nearly always got a faraway look on his face and if he isn't smiling outright, there is a soft, lopsided grin on his face. His bright green eyes are intense and kind at the same time, but a bit large for his face and when you are talking to him, it's the eyes you find yourself focusing on and the wild look of the forest gnome in front of you kind of falls away. He has a necklace of strung acorns and he's in cured leathers that it seems he made himself. The wooden shield strapped to his back is shaped like a big leaf nearly the size of his entire body. He has a bone hilted dagger at his side but no other visible weapons.
History
Small clan of Forest Gnomes in the Western regions of the Steaming Swamps
Parents carried the Farwander name from Dill’s Grandfather who originally found this particular stretch of forest for his people to settle down in
Dill inherited the wanderlust of his grandfather
His connection to the forest was apparent at a young age
His parents left the burrow looking for toddler Dill and he was surrounded by squirrels over near a hollow in a tree arguing with them over how many of their stored seeds he should be allowed to eat.
Set to apprentice with Silverleaf Deeproot, an Ancient Treant that watches over this stretch of the forest
He took to the tutoring well enough, but he was constantly pushing boundaries and traveling out further than he should.
Eventually ran across a small human village (Adventurous frontiersmen out of Fort Cydwell).
He was fascinated by these tall creatures that carved their way into the forest and changed the land for their own benefit instead of learning to live in harmony with it
Argued with Silverleaf extensively about going to teach the humans how to live in the forest better.
Thus began his tutelage in the terrible, aggressive, destructive actions humans take towards the forests and nature
Dill didn’t believe it. Maybe they just needed someone to teach them. So he doubled down to learn everything he could.
Decided to start tutoring the humans himself
It went fine, until he got to the part about making sure no part of an animal went to waste
It seems humans have a hard time understanding that they, all humanoids actually, are just animals
Explaining that forest gnome funerary rites involved cleaning, cooking, and eating the individual the same as you would wild game, did NOT go down well with the human village.
They kept using the word cannibal. It must be Common for Gnome, but they seemed really angry when they were saying it...weird...
What followed was fairly predictable to everyone but Dill.
Peasants, pitchforks, torches, general unpleasantness, a lot of illusion magic, calling upon the forest creatures for help and Silverleaf himself stepping into the fray to deal with a riled up human peasantry…..
Let’s just say that after “The Incident”, Dillabean Farwander was “encouraged” to follow his instinctual urgings and head out to see the world.
He traveled far from home. West and north to the foothills north of the Maelstrom, where he looked out upon the vast roiling waters of the Maelstrom one day, and after a bit of travel the next day, looked down upon the foggy, twisted landscape into the Twisted Wastes
He also went East, deeper into the Steaming Swamps where he narrowly avoided being eaten whole by giant lizard creatures that shook the ground as they walked.
He even traveled north to the edges of the Swamps, up and over the hill country and down into the Southern Sands of the East.
In his travels he learned to find and communicate with the Fey creatures that called these places home. He befriended them and started learning their magics in addition to his connection with the natural world and Baervan Wildwander, Gnomish god of the forests
He learned many things Silverleaf wouldn’t teach him from these Fey creatures he encountered outside the protected forest gnome territory.
They tried teaching Dill various magics of the Fey Realms and he just wasn’t managing to succeed in the higher level nature magics they were introducing him to, despite his proclivities towards these exact magics.
Outlook
Pretty Cheery, upbeat, happy little gnome that can turn on a dime and show you a much darker more violent side with little to no warning
Chaotic Neutral both for druidic reasons and being raised so far outside of “social norms” that he’s going to take actions that seem perfectly rational to him but are probably not “socially acceptable”
A bit impulsive as well. Debating the proper course of action is all well and good, but at a certain point if you don’t take action, you probably won’t GET a choice of what to do.
I want to see and learn as much as I can
I’m happy to teach you how to live in harmony with nature
I’m also happy to fight you if we disagree and it gets violent
Don’t worry, I won’t let anything go to waste if you die.
Silverleaf taught me all about the importance of balance
I will see to it that a relative balance is maintained wherever I go
That doesn’t mean I’m going to attack every city I find
Seriously, do you know just how much wilderness is out there?
The balance is not that hard to maintain, trust me.
Life is full of surprises and I want to be surprised constantly
Silverleaf made constant little passive aggressive comments about “the little ones” being difficult.
After 10 years of study under him, Dill has developed a bit of a little man complex.
If anyone denigrates him due to his size, or even makes a joke about it, he’s likely to do something sudden and over the top to either prove that person wrong or embarrass the hell out of them
He hasn’t spent a lot of time around humans. Their society is a mystery to him. He’s relatively quick to learn, but some of the things they do, make absolutely no sense.
He’s likely to cross boundaries with people just because he doesn’t know they’re there.
Quick to learn though. He’ll generally not make the same mistake again if someone corrects his behavior.
Oh yeah...Dill is afraid of the dark. Have fun in Barovia little guy.
I only just started with in the past several months started playing my first campaign as a player. Here is my second characters (that I haven't played yet) backstory. Feel free to let me know if there are any ideas on how I can improve or any thing, if you want. He a Lizardfolk Ranger, with a fisher background.
Usk is part of a fishing community in Vilhon Reach (The Wetwoods). The tribe has come under increased threat of Giant attacks. Long before Usk was born, the tribe would form a special group, of the most brave, to be trained from the previous generation to be the guardians, to warn and help protect the tribe, on what they would consider the outskirts of where their source of food is.
The guardians of the tribe are granted the use of magic by the shamans, to increase their ability to help keep them safe from any threat.
Usk's tribe has consistent trade with a Gnome community in a nearby settlement. This was their one consistent contact to the goings on outside of the swamp that they live in. To the tribes surprise one day, the Gnomes that would come by every two weeks to trade, without warning did not show up. They were always good about sending word back if they were not able to attend the trade meet, for whatever the reason was.
While the tribe and the Gnome have a close relationship that started with trade, was not at risk. The shaman's decided to give the gnomes the two days that was requested, just in case that something unexpected were to happen. On the third day, the shaman's decided, that it would be a good idea to send somebody out to see what caused this sudden lapse of communication. Usk, while having just recently joined the ranks of being a Ranger and eager to complete his initiation, and to see what lies beyond the swamp, volunteered to go and figure it out.
I have a ton of characters but here are the backstories to the one's who have them.
First is Rahlu Thalvok my Iksar (type of Lizardfolk) Barbarian
I grew up under the persecution of another power, an enemy of my tribe. Beaten and bloodied, my people barely survived the onslaught, those who survived along side me were sold into slavery. Even so, the beatings and cruel life made me strong and taught me how to channel the pain into something useful. I soon learnt to fight off my en-slavers and fought my way to freedom. Since that time, the flame of a warrior has burned inside me, waiting to be released against my opponents and those who caused my unwanted upbringing.
Now an adventurer I pick up odd jobs at taverns and Inn's looking for contracts to slay beasts. My early days in this profession I forged a necklace out of the teeth and fangs of my first lot of kills, I wear this always, a reminder that I can achieve anything and despite my dark past I have gained my freedom through battle.
My Arakocra (vulture) Valentine Thunderclaw the Duellist / bard
Good evening traveller, my name is Valentine Thunderclaw.
I grew up in a modest family, my parents who raised me were not my real parents, they adopted me after I came into town bruised and obviously injured. I escaped my village being pillaged. My adopted parents ran a winery and they gave me a new name at my request a name I could be proud of and honour as I forget my past, 'Valentine'. In my adolescent years I took sword classes as the farm was often attacks by animals and rarely but sometimes bandits. My parents were able to afford a small group of guards but I always felt I needed to protect the one's who raised me and in a sense saved me. I trained for years until one-day adventure called. I decided to take to the nearest city and join an adventures guild in which I took jobs. I sent some of my earning back to my adopted parents but I'll always continue forward to find more adventures. As the years go by my name has spread amongst duellist's, I've made a name for myself, fighting for honour and fame.
I believe solely in honour of the sword, I make it my will to challenge all who wish to oppose me, be it a friendly duel or a serious battle. The skills of the sword speak true. If I am to fall I do so with respect and honour, if my opponent is to fall they fought gloriously and I will always allow them to come back and challenge me again, everyone can improve.
My Cursed Kenku who's a Druid (necromancer).
Born within a moral and noble upbringing my time with family was cut short at the age of 18, when my Mother and Father were brutally murdered by home invaders. Somewhat instantly and mysteriously after spending two years living within the noble grounds I was granted a will that left me with a hefty amount of wealth. I made the decision to leave the safety of the grounds and venture into the country. Using the wealth left to me to purchase land and a shack near the ancient catacombs. Some time goes by, I spend my years studying alchemy and arcana for ways to fill the void left by my parents death. All the time feeling a dark presence growing inside of me.
The more time went by the more I'd realised the ancient catacombs had been the source of the emanating dark presence I had been feeling all these years. Once I could no longer shake this negative force I had entered the catacombs where I discovered an obscure and very old pendant, within the moment of picking it up I felt cold shivers run down my spine and a voice echoed inside my mind, a powerful deity connected it's self to the pendant to speak to those who stumbled upon it and were worthy.
The deity offered immense power if I were to accept a sacrifice, without thinking I did accepted the deities offer, collapsing to the cold stone slabs below and took my head in my hands winching in pain. If not seen no one would believe what happened. The feathers around my face begun to fall to the ground, skin peeling, claws ripping it off due to the horrid pain and itching. With a sudden stab to the top on my skull I threw myself back wailing into the ceiling, screams echoing throughout the crypt as the pain at the top of my skull jabbed again before a rack of antlers sprouted. I crashed to the floor and passed out.
Upon awakening my head hurt, I felt different, cold. The voice echoed in my head again it spoke that the deal had been struck and I was a servant of the deity. It said that I must be a devote follower, gifted incredible power, if I proved my worth the deity would grant further power, but to prove I was worthy I'd have to leave offerings of blood, killing others was a very satisfactory offering. If the deity did not receive an offering or devotion it said the power and my life would be exhausted. With not much to loose I accepted the terms at first unwillingly but grew a taste for the killing, especially after going after those who murdered my parents and making them suffer horribly.
And lastly my Druid Satyr, Miava Chivane
I was born in the Ashenwood evergreen forest, I was raised in a small fey village, mostly inhabited by other Satyr and Faun like myself. Growing up was much the same as that of my family, simple, I helped out where I could, helping gather berries, grow crops and fish, but adventure called me.
One night I left even just for a moment I travelled an hour out of the village where I came across a small opening where a small cabin sat. Curiously I let myself foolishly investigate, getting my leg caught in a beer trap. With a loud snap of the trap a large burly human burst through the cabin door, with a cross bow in hand. Within realising I wasn't a bear or a wolf, he lowered the weapon rushing over to help me. He was an older human, white flowing hair. He nursed my leg for the next two weeks while it healed and soon enough he became a friend. I visited him often, I found out he was a druid, he taught me what I know today.
A few years passed and my old friend passed peacefully with me near-by. My village helped me conduct a ceremonial burial for him. After his passing I had no reason to stay in my village, this forest gave me a deep sadness and loss. So I left to help anyone I could help, just like he helped me.
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DM and player since late 2018. Been interested in D&D for a few years prior.
I'm from Western Australia, androgynous female, artist, gamer and lover or all things fantasy.
Argost had been raised in his jungle home, trained too survive this harsh environment by his reptilian elders.
Living amongst his fellow lizardfolk, his life was no different than the others. However one morning his tribe incounterd a decent sized human expedition. The humans being fascinated with the reptiles, quickly decided to learn more of them.
Being a largelarge expedition, Argost's tribe decided to not engage the humans hostily, and instead opted for an alliance, the humans stay away from the tribe's home and hunting grounds, thkey would show them safe routs through the jungle.
The researcheThelearning copious amounts of things from the lizardfolk, wanted to show them some human culture as well, as a bulk, the tribe turned Down the offer, but a few, such as Argost, thought it may teach them more survival tactics.
So Argost when with the researchers, and explorers, ready to learn. And he did, starting with learning the common language of humans. From an old professor named wiledour (wile Dow er, another one of my characters)
After spending what inevitably became years with humans Argost started to feel more than just his survival instincts, he cared for not just his new friends, but for knowledge as well.
However its not easy making it in the world, especially when your a lizard man. So taking the barbaric training and survival knowledge he learned in his youth, he started an adventure.
What do you guys think? Any feedback ?
I have over 100 characters(mostly un used), and Argost is one of the 20 that I love enough for a full backstory.
Sorry for typos, typing on a phone at about midnight
My charater is a Aberent mind sorrcerer with a dark past.
My mother was a Yaun-ti spy in a human settlement, and there she met my father, who was a Yaun-ti spy for a different Yaun-ti city. They fell in love and then the human settlement was attacked by drow. My father was killed and my mother was taken as a slave. During her time as a slave to the drow the drow where attacked by mind flayers, who then took me in as a test subject for a new process of ceremorphosis.
Due to my immunity to poison, I was able to resist the tests and stay alive. I was forever changed by my experience though.
Also during my time there I fell in love with test subject 419, but she disappeared one day and never came back. About 3 mouths ago me and my friend 411 escaped into the underdark. We where attacked by the drow and we were split up. I am now searching for him and a place in this world.
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DM: So, you doomed the world by betting on dinosauer races instead of doing a quest.
Players: But we got money! Now we can do whatever we want.
my hill dwarf druid was collecting evidence for some nature phenomenon, and they encountered a clan of orc druids. the Dwarf was at first afraid, but then they were taken in by the orcs. they learned the way of the druid,, but they were considered insane by their colleagues, so they took their revenge as a bear...
My Aasimar Ranger/Assassin... not sure if I'll go Gloomstalker, Horizon Walker, or Monster Slayer.
It was, of course, a dark, stormy, tumultuous night. Your life never changes on a sunny, lazy day mid-season, when chores are complete, and your concerns are distant. So, when your legacy of administering death to vile unspeakable creatures is revealed to you - and the bone-chilling reasons why - the circumstances might as well be unforgettable.
Saethydd was always a little uncertain about his uncle. He felt like his mother's brother often had his eyes on him, watching him, for he knew not what. Ygrier often made strange comments, that always upset his mother, Etreiri. All of this was something he could dismiss, focusing on chores, studies, and hunting. He was quite good with a bow, providing food and other supplies for his family. He had even won a few local Harvest Festival archery contests. On the whole, life was fairly good.
Until that on night, early in his 26th year. Ygrier burst into his room, wet with rain and blood - some of which was probably his own. He spoke so fast, speaking of strange creatures, and bloodlines, oaths, and the rites of the gods. He gave Saethydd a thin book, a long bundle wrapped in fabric, and bade him be quiet and under no circumstances unwrap the "gift." Over the next several months, Ygrier would arrange to meet with Saethydd in secret, instructing him about their heritage, the god Osiris, and the need to deliver sacrilegious aberrations to the land of the dead. Ygrier called himself an "ender" - someone who was called to put a swift end to any number of vile beings. He tattooed intricate runes and otherworldly imagery on Saethydd's forearms, proclaiming that they would guide his heart to the target, and steady his hands to the task. The book, filled with writing and images, described some of the creatures that would become his prey. The "Gift" was a longbow. As Saethydd progressed, that bow would be his tool, and Ygrier said it wasn't unheard of for the Gifts to grow in power as the Ender himself did. Ygrier swore that his own mother's scimitar could move through the air faster than any other, and slice truer than it had any right to. As of now, this bow was no better than his old favorite, but he held hope that when the time came, his arrows would deliver an ended aberration to the netherworld.
He patrolled the caves and swamplands near his home, and took any opportunity to travel to the larger cities nearby, seeking out gloomy alleyways to hear hints of weird creatures, and strange happenings. On one of these excursions, he befriended a young girl who was clearly a thief. It was only after Saethydd was able to re-acquire something small that Nadir had earlier stolen from him, that the thief took a liking to him. Nadir introduced him to some "associates," and helped him learn how not to look so much like a stranger in strange lands. With a singular goal, and some much-needed skills, he set off into the wilderness to hunt down atrocities, in any dank hollow they festered in.
You could make them a child of the Norse god Loki. In Norse mythology he actually has a child with a giantess that is a giant wolf named fenrir. Maybe you could find the wolf while on a hunt and it is drawn to you because of your father's blood in your veins
im not the best writer but here is mine. it's sorta simple but I like it and that what matters. her name is Apollyon cross and she is a 27 year old paladin.
born in the town of wyverndale, I trained for combat since the moment I was old enough to handle a sword. I knew I had to protect my friends and family and will lay down my life to protect them. being from wyverndale, we all learn to speak to wyverns and can even persuade them to let us ride them. I was born into the middle class family of the cross's. I grew up to have a fairly good life until our town was attacked by the dark knight. he killed my father and I have sworn myself to get revenge.
I haven't played D&D yet, and would like to start sometime, but have started to think of different characters I'd like to play. I'd like to play a Warlock, and have written a basic backstory for him. The Name/Race for the character is not decided so I just have the name as Bergron in the backstory and I haven't decided on a patron for him yet. I will fill out the backstory more, but wanted to get some feedback on what I have so far if people are willing.
Bergron's parents were followers of the 9 hells and part of a cult to ____. The rulers of the land found out about the cult and ordered that all cult members be killed. My parents, hearing about other members of the cult being killed by the royal guard, created a pact to save them and their unborn child. They requested that their child be given strength by _____ to protect himself forever and that they were spared a horrible death for their loyalty to him. In return they would travel to another continent and start a new cult following ____ and that their souls would be bound to him forever. The pact was made and they were able to a new home. They started a new cult and led multiple people to follow ____.
When their son was old enough they started teaching him the ways of ____, and trained him in the ways of deception and persuasion so that he could avoid suspicion about his allegiance. When Bergron was about 12 ____ taught him some basic knowledge and strength that he had learned. This training continued until Bergron was 18, and his parents decided he should go out on his own and start another cult following ____.
Wanting to know more about the history of his Patron and the domain that he is receiving his power from he spent the next couple years learning all he could about, History, Arcana, and Religion. He learned through his study the true motivations of his Patron, and it conflicted with what he was taught. Bergron's desire to lead a new cult following ____, turned into a desire to pull as much power from ____ and ultimately use that power to destroy him.
Bergron knows that he cannot do this alone so he sets out looking for some companions to train with, and hopefully he'll be able to slay his Patron with their help in the future.
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My Black Dragonborn Hexblade Warlock.
Thrak The UnHallowed
The dark Dragonborn with a darker shadow:
Thrak was given a family heirloom at a young age late one night while he slept in his cold room. He awoke to a terror as he saw a whisping shadow creep out from the darkness shrouded by moonlight. It stood directly before him and seemed to raise it's hand as if to command 'hush'. He had hoped it was a nightmare as he woke the next day.
It was two weeks later he learned that was the night his poor tormented aunt had taken her life with a knife. He had known through his family at least once a generation there was one to hallucinate of horrid visages. Delusions of a sick mind he had thought, but now he knew this was no sickness.
He was proud to grow hearing tales of his lineage until that day, his great great grandfather the powerful worrior, his father before him a traveling scholar, his mother before him a seeker of knowledge and great artifacts. It was the last few generations that grew weak and mad. He did not know from that day, he would never again be truely alone and very seldom at rest.
The few close to Thrak would sometimes catch a glimpse of a shadow standing over him, or see a whisping smoke like presence when walking past torches at night. He began to be known at Thrak The UnHallowed..
Some years later into his late teens Thrak (now The UnHallowed) set out to rid himself of this phantom presence. He traveled far and long to temples, to healers. He met with all manner of holy men. None could help him. It was often that they would deem him evil and banish him when they learned their powers could do nothing. Thrak turned to shaumen of the wood, dieties of rest or light, any known power that could rid himself of this stalking presence. Until one day...
When his horrifying specter appeared in the shadows of a candle lit room this night. Like many times before the smoking visage amongst his shadow on the floor as if just behind him, but this time with a whisper aside his shoulder it spoke.... Out of the stillness of the night it came as soft as if whispered just into his ear, "why do you fight me? Why exhaust soo much effort in fear? When you could be great like the great dragons of old? You could be the fear in the eyes of your enemies. You could be powerful like your forefathers before youu... you need only ask..." Thrak sat there is shear terror. He spoke into the blackness "what do I need to do?" A response came instantly. "I'm already a part of you, you need only ask.. for power..." From that night on he no longer ran. For Thrak The UnHallowed does not run from evil. Evil runs from Me!
Darrius Dustarrow was a small boy growing up. He wasn't as strong as the other boys in the town, or as fast, or as dextrous. Weak, they called him. All he wanted to do, despite their insults, was to help. He was abandoned by his family for making such a disgrace and he was accepted by the town guard. They trained him, and day in and day out he trained more and more, toiled more and more, until one day he was a man, and he did what all able bodied men did. Join the war. He wanted to help.
He rose quickly through the ranks, until one day he was in charge of an entire company. He led his company bravely and steadfastly in battles, and eventually was tasked to lead them to capture a goblin fortress in a distant forest. He did so, leading them to victory, but his company suffered heavy losses. 90% of his company was wiped out. He left that day, retiring from the military, and heading to the town guard. Not in the military's disgrace, because they said capture it no matter what the losses or odds, but his own disgrace for letting his men die beside him.
Here is the backstory of my half-elf rogue, Morgana Harper!
(Also, a little context: for the first three sessions my party thought I was a bard. I have the magic initiate feat, so I was able to perform a little magic even with the thief archetype)
Morgana is a half-elf born to a wealthy merchant family, the Harpers. Her father Mercury Harper, an elf, was the founder of a business named the Hermes Merchant company: this business specialized in practically everything under the sun (including stock that was… questionable, like Stardust and other choice drugs). Morgana’s mother died early in life, so Morgana has few memories of her.
Morgana studied under her father and learned the tricks of the trade, but her true passions were magic and music. Mercury supported her interest wholeheartedly, so when she heard of a bardic college in a distant city, her family raised the money to send Morgana there.
Morgana studied at the school for a few years, gradually learning magic. She managed to learn a few parlor tricks, but she could never quite make the kind of magic she saw her classmates doing. Soon, everyone she knew moved on, but she stayed, still stuck in the same introductory courses her friends had long since abandoned.
Morgana refused to give up hope, and transferred to another school of magic, hoping that another method would help, but she could still only produce the same weak cantrips and spells she learned in the beginning.
She corresponded often with her father, and he continued to pay for her schooling. Until one day the letters stopped coming, and so did his money.
Morgana was forced to leave school, unable to pay and resigned to her fate. She dejectedly returned to her hometown, accepting that she would have to continue the family trade.
She traveled back with little incident, taking the same roads she always had. But when Morgana crested the final hill, the city she had known her whole life was gone… her family with it.
Gone were the buildings in which she had lived, instead replaced by ruins. The entire city looked as if it had been burned down; charred bodies littered the street. When she found her home, the building was as burnt as the rest, but there were no bodies, nobody she recognized as her family or friends.
Morgana searched for them, week after week, for months. She scoured every place she had ever visited and called favors from family friends. She found nothing, so she tried searching deeper, losing more and more hope the further she got from home. Her money kept dwindling as she used the last of her funds to survive.
In a last-ditch effort, Morgana attempted to find answers in the black market, paying everything she had for any word of her family. When she ran out of that money, she resorted to busking on street corners, desperate for anything. She played her violin in taverns, earning enough to eat.
Then she met Ralech.
Ralech, a tiefling, was a crime boss Morgana had met while searching the black market. He saw her hopelessness and offered her an occupation that could not only put her musical talents and nimble fingers to use, but also give Morgana information about her family.
Morgana was too desperate to refuse.
She entered the criminal underworld, using her talent as a violinist to play venues, scouting out locations for thieves and swindlers. She assisted on heists, stealing, rising in the ranks of Ralech’s organization.
Morgana grew close to Ralech. He taught her thievery, and she considered him a friend. Even as he dragged her further and further away from the law, she couldn’t help but feel close to the man who had given her a new life.
She lost all hope.
Then, Morgana heard of a lead in a faraway city, the first she had heard of her family in a decade. She decided to chase that lead…
...and here we are.
This was a Backstory written by one of my players that had never played before.
I thought it was very good!
Wren Gnome Ranger
I was born in the warm season, in the month of sunflowers, 81 summers ago. My family was among the first of the gnomes to leave the bustling city of Fallsern and strike out east into the woods in search of a new home. My great-great-grandfather, Thorace Timbers, took a donkey-cart and loaded his family and all their belongings, trekking into the Great Woods, finally settling in a broad valley by the river Klaspen. Two other families soon joined, the Barrenoaks and the Newbuds, and the small frontier settlement soon grew into a lively gnome warren which came to be called Streamside. I grew up with my time divided between watching my father and grandfather tinker in their workshops, and running wild through the rolling green hills and open, balmy woods surrounding our home. My young friends and I fished, raced, wrestled and played endless pranks on each-other. We gained the trust of the small beasts that were our neighbors; one family of squirrels in particular, descendants of those that my great-grandfather had befriended almost four centuries before. We traded with the rock-gnomes of the Buttress mountains to the North of us, exchanging fresh-produce and our clever wood furniture and wagons for their bronze and iron clockwork tools, toys and hunting weapons.
Life was good; we had hardly any cares... until my 26th summer. It was the time of falling leaves, and a feeling of unease was on the air. A tall human in a mud-spattered cloak rode into town and ducked into the town hall. Soon the meeting bell tolled and the heads of each family hurried to the hall as the lamps were lit. Soon all the young folk had gathered outside to wait and see what the fuss was about. Hours later, the hall doors burst open and the lone rider emerged, quickly untying his horse and mounting. The horse was a stout mountain pony, shaggy and dingy white, and strange symbols were painted on its flanks and limbs. The rider had iron-gray hair that fell to his shoulders in braids, and a great bushy beard. He regarded us for a moment with one eye out of a deeply lined and scarred face. Under his cloak he wore armor of stiffened hides and at his waist he wore a long-sword and dagger. He clucked gently and the horse took to the road in a trot, going back the way he had come.
The man was a ranger called Pleor, a high-tracker of the Eastern Watch. We soon learned he had been delivering a warning;
A bug-bear named Grek was gathering a war-band of goblins on the other side of the mountains from us, hell-bent on pillage and plunder. Night-watchmen were set on roofs, bows, crossbows and pikes came down from mantles, the whole town and seemingly every creature of the forest was on edge. But nothing happened right away. Soon our guard was let down, life moved on, the night watchmen were bringing picnic suppers and flasks of brandy to their posts. Things seemed to return to normal, no news came. One day the next Spring I set out alone for my favorite swimming hole. I hung my clothes on a branch and slipped into the still chilly water, floating on my back and watching the trees sway overhead. Suddenly I heard in the distance the meeting bell tolling, crashing sounds, faint screams. The wind carried a smell of smoke. I scrambled out of the water and fumbled for my clothes. I remember nothing of running home, only that home was gone when I got there. The stone chimneys still stood but every building in Streamside was left a heap of ashes. A few of my friends and their fathers lay in the street, where they had made a last stand with bows, with axes, with stones, with hands and teeth. The rest of the townsfolk had been herded into the meeting hall, which the goblins then set fire to. Everything of any apparent value was carried off. I remember standing, staring into the smoldering remnants of my home, the home my great-grandfather built, and where my father and his were born. I felt something hit my shoulder. I jumped and tried to make a noise but nothing came out. A squirrel had leapt onto my shoulder. He spoke softly in his language...”I grieve with you... come. Look. Come.” He scampered toward the center of town, looking back once. He led me to the wreckage of my father’s tinker shop, and perched next to something sticking out of the ashes. I gingerly grabbed it, and pulled it forth. It was strangely cold even being pulled from the smoldering wreckage. It was my father’s hunting bow, crafted by the rock-gnome smiths, made of fine bronze, miraculously thin and light, with clockwork pulleys and silver cables, made so even the smallest gnome could draw it and loose an arrow as powerful as a man’s, swift and nearly silent but for the neat little mechanical clicks. I hefted the bow and stood in the town square, feeling utterly lost. The squirrel was gone.
I must have fallen asleep, for I woke and it was morning. I felt eyes on me. I rolled over and looked up, half-blinded by the sun. Pleor the ranger stood over me, hand on his sword hilt. “Are you hurt, master gnome?” I shook my head. He picked me up then, and set me on his horse. “I was too late...” he muttered, leading the horse off. We rode 10 days, South to Brookton, a logging town of men. Pleor left me with a family of gnome tinkers there. The first night I grabbed my bow and satchel and slipped out into the night. I tracked Pleor for three days before catching up to him. He glared at me but his countenance quickly softened and he began laughing, shaking silently. “If you can stay on a track like that, perhaps I’ve a place for you lad!”
I rode with Pleor for 7 winters, through the breadth of the realm. We camped in cursed swamps and high, windswept mountain passes. We fought wolves, orc marauders, bandits, wolves and werewolves. We fought hunger, we fought cold, and occasionally; we fought each-other. I learned to wield a short-sword, mend broken bones, find my way in any country, and all of the other skills a ranger might need. In my 33rd summer I was accepted as a journeyman tracker of the Eastern Watch; a loose band of rangers who share intelligence and work together... as much as such solitary types can tolerate, anyway. I took up smoking a pipe, and though I turned green the first few times (much to Pleor’s delight) I soon developed quite a fondness for the herb, particularly that grown by halflings. As I write these memories, Pleor has gone on to his glory, and may his trail be always soft underfoot.
I now ride alone, stopping in towns occasionally and gathering information, collecting bounties or just enjoying a bit of ale. I have no kin and no clan, but I find joy in the small pleasures of life, and I aim to see all of this world that I can, and rid it of as much evil as I can. I get along fine with most folks... as long as they treat me proper. Goblins and other such scum, however, I would just as soon put an arrow through them without a second thought. Ah, but even that hatred has cooled a bit... Pleor once told me that vengeance is best left to fate, that it’s not meant for you or I. I longed to kill Grek for years, to annihilate his goblin thugs, but in the meantime one of Pleor’s mates had already done for them all. He told me this only at the end of his life... “A true ranger seeks justice, a different thing all-together than revenge”. That’s what he told me. “And when you understand that difference, master gnome, between simple vengeance and justice... you’ll serve your oath well.” Protect the weak. Be the light in the dark, be the first line of defense. That is the ranger’s task.
So our DM wanted to run Curse of Strahd. His little twist, those pulled into the mists have done something in their life that shifted them down a darker path. These dark secrets could be revealed in game if circumstances called for it, or you could keep your dark little secret from the rest of the party. He had us make up short backstories to give a reason for your character to end up in Barovia. After all, extensive backstories with multiple hooks make little sense when you are all being pulled from your respective worlds and getting dumped into another.
Thus, the upbeat Forest Gnome Circle of Dreams Druid, Dillabean Farwander (Dill) was concocted. He's a savage little jungle gnome who is super curious about humans but confused by the assumptions and decisions they make at times
A little small and skinny for a gnome, he looks rather wild and untamed. His mottled green and brown hair that he obviously colored himself...badly...is wild but mostly swept back up and away from his face in a high ponytail. His chin whiskers seem to flow from his sideburns all the way down into bushy but spiky shaped mutton-chops, leaving his chin and upper lip bare. He's nearly always got a faraway look on his face and if he isn't smiling outright, there is a soft, lopsided grin on his face. His bright green eyes are intense and kind at the same time, but a bit large for his face and when you are talking to him, it's the eyes you find yourself focusing on and the wild look of the forest gnome in front of you kind of falls away. He has a necklace of strung acorns and he's in cured leathers that it seems he made himself. The wooden shield strapped to his back is shaped like a big leaf nearly the size of his entire body. He has a bone hilted dagger at his side but no other visible weapons.
History
Outlook
I only just started with in the past several months started playing my first campaign as a player. Here is my second characters (that I haven't played yet) backstory. Feel free to let me know if there are any ideas on how I can improve or any thing, if you want. He a Lizardfolk Ranger, with a fisher background.
Usk is part of a fishing community in Vilhon Reach (The Wetwoods). The tribe has come under increased threat of Giant attacks. Long before Usk was born, the tribe would form a special group, of the most brave, to be trained from the previous generation to be the guardians, to warn and help protect the tribe, on what they would consider the outskirts of where their source of food is.
The guardians of the tribe are granted the use of magic by the shamans, to increase their ability to help keep them safe from any threat.
Usk's tribe has consistent trade with a Gnome community in a nearby settlement. This was their one consistent contact to the goings on outside of the swamp that they live in. To the tribes surprise one day, the Gnomes that would come by every two weeks to trade, without warning did not show up. They were always good about sending word back if they were not able to attend the trade meet, for whatever the reason was.
While the tribe and the Gnome have a close relationship that started with trade, was not at risk. The shaman's decided to give the gnomes the two days that was requested, just in case that something unexpected were to happen. On the third day, the shaman's decided, that it would be a good idea to send somebody out to see what caused this sudden lapse of communication. Usk, while having just recently joined the ranks of being a Ranger and eager to complete his initiation, and to see what lies beyond the swamp, volunteered to go and figure it out.
I have a ton of characters but here are the backstories to the one's who have them.
First is Rahlu Thalvok my Iksar (type of Lizardfolk) Barbarian
I grew up under the persecution of another power, an enemy of my tribe. Beaten and bloodied, my people barely survived the onslaught, those who survived along side me were sold into slavery. Even so, the beatings and cruel life made me strong and taught me how to channel the pain into something useful. I soon learnt to fight off my en-slavers and fought my way to freedom. Since that time, the flame of a warrior has burned inside me, waiting to be released against my opponents and those who caused my unwanted upbringing.
Now an adventurer I pick up odd jobs at taverns and Inn's looking for contracts to slay beasts. My early days in this profession I forged a necklace out of the teeth and fangs of my first lot of kills, I wear this always, a reminder that I can achieve anything and despite my dark past I have gained my freedom through battle.
My Arakocra (vulture) Valentine Thunderclaw the Duellist / bard
Good evening traveller, my name is Valentine Thunderclaw.
I grew up in a modest family, my parents who raised me were not my real parents, they adopted me after I came into town bruised and obviously injured. I escaped my village being pillaged. My adopted parents ran a winery and they gave me a new name at my request a name I could be proud of and honour as I forget my past, 'Valentine'. In my adolescent years I took sword classes as the farm was often attacks by animals and rarely but sometimes bandits. My parents were able to afford a small group of guards but I always felt I needed to protect the one's who raised me and in a sense saved me. I trained for years until one-day adventure called. I decided to take to the nearest city and join an adventures guild in which I took jobs. I sent some of my earning back to my adopted parents but I'll always continue forward to find more adventures. As the years go by my name has spread amongst duellist's, I've made a name for myself, fighting for honour and fame.
I believe solely in honour of the sword, I make it my will to challenge all who wish to oppose me, be it a friendly duel or a serious battle. The skills of the sword speak true. If I am to fall I do so with respect and honour, if my opponent is to fall they fought gloriously and I will always allow them to come back and challenge me again, everyone can improve.
My Cursed Kenku who's a Druid (necromancer).
Born within a moral and noble upbringing my time with family was cut short at the age of 18, when my Mother and Father were brutally murdered by home invaders. Somewhat instantly and mysteriously after spending two years living within the noble grounds I was granted a will that left me with a hefty amount of wealth. I made the decision to leave the safety of the grounds and venture into the country. Using the wealth left to me to purchase land and a shack near the ancient catacombs. Some time goes by, I spend my years studying alchemy and arcana for ways to fill the void left by my parents death. All the time feeling a dark presence growing inside of me.
The more time went by the more I'd realised the ancient catacombs had been the source of the emanating dark presence I had been feeling all these years. Once I could no longer shake this negative force I had entered the catacombs where I discovered an obscure and very old pendant, within the moment of picking it up I felt cold shivers run down my spine and a voice echoed inside my mind, a powerful deity connected it's self to the pendant to speak to those who stumbled upon it and were worthy.
The deity offered immense power if I were to accept a sacrifice, without thinking I did accepted the deities offer, collapsing to the cold stone slabs below and took my head in my hands winching in pain. If not seen no one would believe what happened. The feathers around my face begun to fall to the ground, skin peeling, claws ripping it off due to the horrid pain and itching. With a sudden stab to the top on my skull I threw myself back wailing into the ceiling, screams echoing throughout the crypt as the pain at the top of my skull jabbed again before a rack of antlers sprouted. I crashed to the floor and passed out.
Upon awakening my head hurt, I felt different, cold. The voice echoed in my head again it spoke that the deal had been struck and I was a servant of the deity. It said that I must be a devote follower, gifted incredible power, if I proved my worth the deity would grant further power, but to prove I was worthy I'd have to leave offerings of blood, killing others was a very satisfactory offering. If the deity did not receive an offering or devotion it said the power and my life would be exhausted. With not much to loose I accepted the terms at first unwillingly but grew a taste for the killing, especially after going after those who murdered my parents and making them suffer horribly.
And lastly my Druid Satyr, Miava Chivane
I was born in the Ashenwood evergreen forest, I was raised in a small fey village, mostly inhabited by other Satyr and Faun like myself. Growing up was much the same as that of my family, simple, I helped out where I could, helping gather berries, grow crops and fish, but adventure called me.
One night I left even just for a moment I travelled an hour out of the village where I came across a small opening where a small cabin sat. Curiously I let myself foolishly investigate, getting my leg caught in a beer trap. With a loud snap of the trap a large burly human burst through the cabin door, with a cross bow in hand. Within realising I wasn't a bear or a wolf, he lowered the weapon rushing over to help me. He was an older human, white flowing hair. He nursed my leg for the next two weeks while it healed and soon enough he became a friend. I visited him often, I found out he was a druid, he taught me what I know today.
A few years passed and my old friend passed peacefully with me near-by. My village helped me conduct a ceremonial burial for him. After his passing I had no reason to stay in my village, this forest gave me a deep sadness and loss. So I left to help anyone I could help, just like he helped me.
DM and player since late 2018. Been interested in D&D for a few years prior.
I'm from Western Australia, androgynous female, artist, gamer and lover or all things fantasy.
My Linktree: https://linktr.ee/ashenonicreations
Pretty sweet
Argost (are-Go-st) lizardfolk barbarian
Argost had been raised in his jungle home, trained too survive this harsh environment by his reptilian elders.
Living amongst his fellow lizardfolk, his life was no different than the others. However one morning his tribe incounterd a decent sized human expedition. The humans being fascinated with the reptiles, quickly decided to learn more of them.
Being a largelarge expedition, Argost's tribe decided to not engage the humans hostily, and instead opted for an alliance, the humans stay away from the tribe's home and hunting grounds, thkey would show them safe routs through the jungle.
The researcheThelearning copious amounts of things from the lizardfolk, wanted to show them some human culture as well, as a bulk, the tribe turned Down the offer, but a few, such as Argost, thought it may teach them more survival tactics.
So Argost when with the researchers, and explorers, ready to learn. And he did, starting with learning the common language of humans. From an old professor named wiledour (wile Dow er, another one of my characters)
After spending what inevitably became years with humans Argost started to feel more than just his survival instincts, he cared for not just his new friends, but for knowledge as well.
However its not easy making it in the world, especially when your a lizard man. So taking the barbaric training and survival knowledge he learned in his youth, he started an adventure.
What do you guys think? Any feedback ?
I have over 100 characters(mostly un used), and Argost is one of the 20 that I love enough for a full backstory.
Sorry for typos, typing on a phone at about midnight
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.
My charater is a Aberent mind sorrcerer with a dark past.
My mother was a Yaun-ti spy in a human settlement, and there she met my father, who was a Yaun-ti spy for a different Yaun-ti city. They fell in love and then the human settlement was attacked by drow. My father was killed and my mother was taken as a slave. During her time as a slave to the drow the drow where attacked by mind flayers, who then took me in as a test subject for a new process of ceremorphosis.
Due to my immunity to poison, I was able to resist the tests and stay alive. I was forever changed by my experience though.
Also during my time there I fell in love with test subject 419, but she disappeared one day and never came back. About 3 mouths ago me and my friend 411 escaped into the underdark. We where attacked by the drow and we were split up. I am now searching for him and a place in this world.
DM: So, you doomed the world by betting on dinosauer races instead of doing a quest.
Players: But we got money! Now we can do whatever we want.
DM: You are all dead, you can't spend your money!
Players: Oh.
my hill dwarf druid was collecting evidence for some nature phenomenon, and they encountered a clan of orc druids. the Dwarf was at first afraid, but then they were taken in by the orcs. they learned the way of the druid,, but they were considered insane by their colleagues, so they took their revenge as a bear...
My Aasimar Ranger/Assassin... not sure if I'll go Gloomstalker, Horizon Walker, or Monster Slayer.
It was, of course, a dark, stormy, tumultuous night. Your life never changes on a sunny, lazy day mid-season, when chores are complete, and your concerns are distant. So, when your legacy of administering death to vile unspeakable creatures is revealed to you - and the bone-chilling reasons why - the circumstances might as well be unforgettable.
Saethydd was always a little uncertain about his uncle. He felt like his mother's brother often had his eyes on him, watching him, for he knew not what. Ygrier often made strange comments, that always upset his mother, Etreiri. All of this was something he could dismiss, focusing on chores, studies, and hunting. He was quite good with a bow, providing food and other supplies for his family. He had even won a few local Harvest Festival archery contests. On the whole, life was fairly good.
Until that on night, early in his 26th year. Ygrier burst into his room, wet with rain and blood - some of which was probably his own. He spoke so fast, speaking of strange creatures, and bloodlines, oaths, and the rites of the gods. He gave Saethydd a thin book, a long bundle wrapped in fabric, and bade him be quiet and under no circumstances unwrap the "gift." Over the next several months, Ygrier would arrange to meet with Saethydd in secret, instructing him about their heritage, the god Osiris, and the need to deliver sacrilegious aberrations to the land of the dead. Ygrier called himself an "ender" - someone who was called to put a swift end to any number of vile beings. He tattooed intricate runes and otherworldly imagery on Saethydd's forearms, proclaiming that they would guide his heart to the target, and steady his hands to the task. The book, filled with writing and images, described some of the creatures that would become his prey. The "Gift" was a longbow. As Saethydd progressed, that bow would be his tool, and Ygrier said it wasn't unheard of for the Gifts to grow in power as the Ender himself did. Ygrier swore that his own mother's scimitar could move through the air faster than any other, and slice truer than it had any right to. As of now, this bow was no better than his old favorite, but he held hope that when the time came, his arrows would deliver an ended aberration to the netherworld.
He patrolled the caves and swamplands near his home, and took any opportunity to travel to the larger cities nearby, seeking out gloomy alleyways to hear hints of weird creatures, and strange happenings. On one of these excursions, he befriended a young girl who was clearly a thief. It was only after Saethydd was able to re-acquire something small that Nadir had earlier stolen from him, that the thief took a liking to him. Nadir introduced him to some "associates," and helped him learn how not to look so much like a stranger in strange lands. With a singular goal, and some much-needed skills, he set off into the wilderness to hunt down atrocities, in any dank hollow they festered in.
Anyone care to help me with a Backstory?? Im horrible at writing, My character is a Hexblade/Abjuration Wizard half ElfGood Alainment
Painmaster how many levels of each, and more importantly, which class did you start with? Male or female (or other)? Name?
"You need to believe in things that aren't true. How else can they become?" -Death
1 each female start warlock
I need help creating a backstory for a aasimar ranger named Cyrus planning to be a beast master wanting a wolf please
You could make them a child of the Norse god Loki. In Norse mythology he actually has a child with a giantess that is a giant wolf named fenrir. Maybe you could find the wolf while on a hunt and it is drawn to you because of your father's blood in your veins
im not the best writer but here is mine. it's sorta simple but I like it and that what matters. her name is Apollyon cross and she is a 27 year old paladin.
born in the town of wyverndale, I trained for combat since the moment I was old enough to handle a sword. I knew I had to protect my friends and family and will lay down my life to protect them. being from wyverndale, we all learn to speak to wyverns and can even persuade them to let us ride them. I was born into the middle class family of the cross's. I grew up to have a fairly good life until our town was attacked by the dark knight. he killed my father and I have sworn myself to get revenge.
i need help making a backstory i would really appreciate it i am a aasimar ranger variant beast master
I haven't played D&D yet, and would like to start sometime, but have started to think of different characters I'd like to play. I'd like to play a Warlock, and have written a basic backstory for him. The Name/Race for the character is not decided so I just have the name as Bergron in the backstory and I haven't decided on a patron for him yet. I will fill out the backstory more, but wanted to get some feedback on what I have so far if people are willing.
Bergron's parents were followers of the 9 hells and part of a cult to ____. The rulers of the land found out about the cult and ordered that all cult members be killed. My parents, hearing about other members of the cult being killed by the royal guard, created a pact to save them and their unborn child. They requested that their child be given strength by _____ to protect himself forever and that they were spared a horrible death for their loyalty to him. In return they would travel to another continent and start a new cult following ____ and that their souls would be bound to him forever. The pact was made and they were able to a new home. They started a new cult and led multiple people to follow ____.
When their son was old enough they started teaching him the ways of ____, and trained him in the ways of deception and persuasion so that he could avoid suspicion about his allegiance. When Bergron was about 12 ____ taught him some basic knowledge and strength that he had learned. This training continued until Bergron was 18, and his parents decided he should go out on his own and start another cult following ____.
Wanting to know more about the history of his Patron and the domain that he is receiving his power from he spent the next couple years learning all he could about, History, Arcana, and Religion. He learned through his study the true motivations of his Patron, and it conflicted with what he was taught. Bergron's desire to lead a new cult following ____, turned into a desire to pull as much power from ____ and ultimately use that power to destroy him.
Bergron knows that he cannot do this alone so he sets out looking for some companions to train with, and hopefully he'll be able to slay his Patron with their help in the future.