Born in a Tabaxi nomad village, of the tribe "The Caves of Eternity" which often resided just on the edge of the underdark they were wiped out by a goblin war party.
Found by a drow family he was taken in as a slave and worked his way up to a trusted hunter for the family. Showing much skill with a bow he was given a new name and made an honorary member of house De'erret.
One day after gaining much trust he was allowed to go on a raid against another house, his group was caught off guard by the powerful clerics of house Mae'ghym and he was left for dead. Waking up upon being dumped in a mass grave of dead slaves he clawed his way trough a pile of corpses and made his escape. Living on the run ever since, afraid that either house might want him dead.
He has since changed his name, and makes a living acting as a body guard, guide, or other darker jobs. Merely surviving in a world where he has become alone.
Full name is "Arrow in the Night of the Caves of Eternity" Adopted name is "Sol'eyl De'erret" Goes by Sol Night-Arrow
Presumed dead after a failed prison escape, Kris was arrested when stealing from the Palace of the Dead. From there he found a magical dagger which he narcissistically named the Graverobbers' Kris, which had the ability to steal items from people which he stabbed.
When he was caught, he made friends with a fellow inmate with no name. The inmate was brutally murdered by guards when he and Eldir tried to escape.
From there, Kris was on the run from the dungeons, working outside the law and killing any people related to the City of Cloaks.
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if you want to join the Democracy of Pandakind, just proclaim your love for this photo and u will be an Initiate of the Panda Kingdom.
The backstory of Gilli, my Drow Ranger (Horizon Walker)
Gilli was born in Underdark to one of the Houses in one of the Drow Cities. When she was around 10-12 another house decided to attack her house to eridicate them. One of her family members decided to save her by throwing her into a portal. Said portal sent her to the Feywild where she was found by a group of Eladrin, who decided to take care of her. She lived with them for most of her life and they thought her most of what she knows (her skills and her values). She went back to the material plane around 10-20 years ago and has been adventuring through the world since.
You want it, here you go. From an old Sorlock I played.
tl/dr: Bentley's mom died, soul was being taken by an entity from the Shadowfell, Bentley cut a deal.
Bentley is the younger half-brother of Dinsdale Dellmark. He is a Half-elf.
Their mother, Aliena, was a great wizard and magical weapon smith in the Elven Realm of XXX. She was investigating the various threads and possibilities of magical weapons from the magic of the Shadowfell, an extremely dangerous, powerful plane, but which could potentially yield great value for the Realm's arsenal. She had made inroads in her knowledge, encountering minor entities from the Shadowfell through conjuration and actual forays into that dark place. But she was dissatisfied with her overall progress.
Aliena decided to visit an old human friend, a fellow wizard, who had been known to investigate the Shadowfell at a younger age, but was essentially retired now, and had settled a few weeks of travel away. She set out in a caravan for the journey, with a small escort. Near the end of the journey, she fell ill, in a strange fevered state, incapacitating her. Shortly after she fell ill, the caravan was set upon by what appeared to be bandits. The bandits quickly overpowered the escorts, killing them. The leader of the bandits then raped Aliena, while she lay helpless. Almost immediately after the assault, Aliena's fever broke. The bandits were no match for her powers, though the leader escaped. Aliena, though devastated, continued the journey to her wizard friend. She told him of the attack on the caravan, and her friend was shocked to hear the news, as no others had seen or heard of bandits in the area for some time. He also told her that her investigations into Shadowfell magic was far too risky for the reward. But she wanted to persist. To that end, he gave Aliena his research on the Shadowfell. She gratefully accepted it, and after a few days, returned home, alone, and safely.
It was some time later that Aliena realized she was pregnant. Aliena decided to keep the baby, and Bentley was born. But life for Bentley was far from easy. Aliena was a widow, as her husband and Dinsdale's father had died in battle many decades before. Though Bentley's mother and Dinsdale were held in great esteem in the Elven Realm, a half-breed bastard was treated with disdain. Though Aliena and Dinsdale unconditionally accepted and loved Bentley, he was essentially an outcast in the Realm. Bentley also realized at around age 14 that he had some of his mother's blood in him. Though not possessing the great intellect of his mother or brother, magic flowed through his veins and started manifesting itself in minor effects he could perform.
At the age of 17, Bentley could withstand the difficulties of his life in the Realm no longer, and struck out on his own. He met up with some traders in YYY Guild in the human city, and settled into a life of being a Guild Merchant. But it soon became apparent to Bentley and others he was not destined to be a Guild Merchant. His magic was too strong to live a life in the Guild. While Bentley stayed and prospered with his Guild associates, he began to learn how to harness his powers as a Sorcerer. Occasionally, Dinsdale would visit Bentley, but Aliena was deeply involved in her research of the Shadowfell, and Bentley would only see her when he made sporadic visits back to the Realm.
As Bentley's powers as a Sorcerer grew, he decided he would go back to the Realm and assist his mother in her research. Perhaps, then, he would be accepted by the Elves. So Bentley travelled back home. Dinsdale was away at the time, on a scouting mission for the Realm.
So Bentley came upon his mother, deep in concentration, in the midst of a spell of some kind. Bentley knew better than to interrupt her, so made no attempt to announce his presence and break her concentration. His mother was far more powerful than him, and work at her level could be lethal. As Bentley watched his mother speak arcane words Bentley had no understanding of, an entity appeared, huge, dark, shadowy, nebulous. From the look on Aliena's face, Bentley instantly knew something was terribly wrong. It was apparent that whatever Aliena had been planning, this creature appearing was not part of that plan. Aliena made a quick move, said a few words, and a shimmer of light enveloped the creature, but only for an moment. The creature seemed taken aback, but then in a flash dark a shadow-like spear crossed the distance between the entity and Aliena, piercing her chest. Bentley screamed in rage, surged towards his mother, at the same time firing a spell at the entity from the Shadowfell.
But even as Bentley dashed towards his mother, he knew in his heart the blow from the entity was fatal. A moment later he was at her side, and then felt blinding pain, and was now immobile. He could only watch in horror and frustration as the entity moved towards his mother, and with what could only be described as an inky shadowy hand, reached into his mother's body and extracted what Bentley could only imagine as her soul. Bentley summoned all his strength, and through force of will, somehow managed to break the invisible shackles the entity had placed on him. He dove for the nebulous white energy of what he guessed was his mother's soul, trapped in a futile struggle in the massive grasp of the entity. Bentley struck at the hand with his own bare hands, but it was for naught, or so it seemed.
Suddenly, the entity stopped, and turned towards Bentley. He was certain he was about to die. Then the entity spoke: "You have spirit and strength inside of you young half-elf. Few can break my bonds. I see my views about you are true. Don't stand there looking so stunned. Yes, we of the Fell do follow the exploits of a few in this dimension. You do know of your conception? Do you think that was by chance? You are the product of no random attack. You have power within you beyond that what you know of. These spells you cast are trivial compared to your full potential. You have some of the Shadowfell in you"
Bentley took a few moments to absorb these revelations. He was stunned into silence. But he knew he must speak. "Is that my mother's soul? What are you doing with her?" The enity replied, "She has meddled in events and disturbed powers far beyond even her impressive abilities. I am taking her soul back to the Shadowfell , where she will serve me." Bentley was horrified. But what could he do against just a monstrous foe?
"Ah, I see in your mind the horror and anguish about your mother' fate.....hmmmm....perhaps we can make a deal. I have some interests here that need the "touch" of someone born on this plane. You will gain strength, knowledge and power. I will help you to gain these things. Someday, in the future, when I have deemed you ready, I will call on you to carry out some tasks for me. If you are successful in these tasks, I then will release your mother's soul and let it continue on its original path, but YOU must serve me on this plane. Is it a deal?"
Bentley thought for a moment, and realized he had no choice but to agree, to save his mother's soul. Even before he could speak the entity chortled an evil sound, and said "Done and done. Now, carry on young Dellmark, you shall hear from me soon on some new paths of instruction I want you to begin, that of the Hexblade." And with that, the entity and Bentley's mother's soul vanished in an swirl of inky black flame-like shadows.
Bentley was now bound to an entity of the Hexblade.
Rayiic may be the last of his proud and storied Clan. The folk of Clan Norvvaxxxus were paladins who swore the Creed Resolute as Companions of Eltugard, west of Baldur's Gate in the south of the Sword Coast.
Ancestors of Rayiic's Clan rode as Hellriders from Elturel, capital of Eltugard, into the Nine Hells to pursue and destroy devils that had been plaguing their people.
During an incursion of Yuan-ti from the kingdom of Najara, Rayiic's remaining clan members were killed in battle.
Living in Scornubel (a haven for Outlanders and often called the "City of Caravans") Rayiic, who as a youngster dreamed of carrying the Companions banner as a paladin of Eltugard like his father and mother before him, discovered his innate magic abilities.
Hearing stories of offshoot members of Clan Norvvaxxxus - pirates who sailed far north to Luskan - Rayiic left his home and has traveled north along the Sword Coast through Daggerford, Waterdeep and onto Neverwinter to see if the stories are truth or rumour.
Rayiic Norvvaxxxus, Dragonborn (Black) Sorcerer, Member of the Hail of Thorns
Gadreel and her sister, Nija, were raised by their elders in a cave-like home in a small town on the outskirts of Waterdeep along the Dessarin River.
The townsfolk were made up of mainly minority races along with the traders, pirates and scavengers who typically passed through on their way to parts unknown.
It was for these transients that Gadreel and her troupe had been performing since she was very young; dancing, fire-eating, tumbling and entrancing the slack-jawed audience with her flute.
After an attack on her village in the dead of night by Drow Elite Warriors, Gadreel sought to seek revenge, along with her sister, on the traitor (Liam, a Drow member of her own performing troupe) who revealed the location of the town's Healing Opals.
Lady Gadreel, Tiefling Bard, member of the Hail of Thorns
Fillian, a refugee from the Genie Wars in Calimshan, grew up in the Little Calimshan district of Baldur's Gate.
Fillian's father was a Calishite Human and his mother was a Drow female and follower of Eilistraee.
At a relatively young age Fillian rose to the level of Captain of The Flaming Fist, responsible for keeping order in the Lower City of Baldur's Gate.
Due to his fierce devotion to the cause of right and his ongoing protection of those in need, Fillian was visited by Eilistraee and given Nárë (an enchanted Scimitar) to wield in her service. He has sworn an Oath to Eilistraee, is a senior leader of The Silverhair Knights and travels as a hired protector in the North.
Thoruk is a barbarian. He was born in a small half-orc village, and as a child he witnessed his parents being carried off and killed by a duck (he knows that this is true, because just before the beast grabbed them, he heard someone shout "Duck!"). Bearing a scar from one of its talons on his scalp and the much more damaging scar of a lasting obsession with vengeance against duck-kind, Thoruk thinks of himself as a scholar in the ways of Ducks. He is a master of using his surroundings to fight, and is even better at entirely misunderstanding the situation. He once mounted a successful one-orc mission to rescue an old lady, whom he put safely on a wagon to the next town, after he overheard her granddaughter saying she was "taking grandma to feed the ducks". Believing the child to be some sort of duck worshipper and the grandma the next sacrifice, Thoruk successfully disrupted the ceremony. He was disgusted by the fact that the grandma even had a bag of breadcrumbs on her to mark her out as the bait.
After a serious misunderstanding with a dwarven goddess of homely protection (in which he convinced her that the dwarves who owned the house had asked him to destroy her alter), Thoruk was cursed with the ability to fall through from one universe to another. He does this with blissful ignorance - one minute he will be walking along a beach, then he will stop to smell the flowers, and then he will continue along the mountain pass, not even noticing the change of scenery. This caught the attention of a planewalking policing organisation (as yet unnamed) which is where my fiancé's character comes in - Xanphia, the elf ranger, who is tasked with keeping Thoruk out of any major trouble, with mixed success. Thoruk is elated to have a travelling companion who stick around (everyone else disappears, which he assumes is normal behavior), and has never asked her why she is travelling with him.
Thoruk is my drop-in character for games, turning up mysteriously and disappearing afterwards. He's also the subject of my blog - link in my signature - featuring some of his adventures and his guide to Duck Slaying.
Beatrice was born into the proud Bucher family, a daughter of the church and married into another great family. It was not long after she assumed the mantle of Lady dan Glokta her love for her husband resulted in impending motherhood. She knew the very night, through the warmth in her heart and her dreams. She frequently had the oddest dreams. It was a happy time.
Uncle Exelsius coming to visit shortly after to bless her and the child. This was very sweet and thoughtful especially since his monastery was far and the journey so arduous. The possibility of the gift came to her as wakeful epiphany the night of Exelsius' blessing, like a dream without sleeping. She saw how an act of selflessness and love could make the transmutation of spiritual gifts to her daughter possible. She would need to give up her husband, the parenting of her daughter, her mortality but that was a small price to pay for eternal salvation. This connection to Exelsius’ to her sacrifice didn’t occur to Beatrice at the time but was revealed to her along with so much else following her ascension to glory.
Everyone in Solace could see she was a beautiful child, so warm and kind, always finding the best in people. And so passionate about the Triad for her age. It was so sad about her mother succumbing to childbirth, yet a not uncommon misfortune. Yesbella's father, the Laird Glokta endeavored to anchor her in the church and steadfastly supported the Temple of the Triad. However, as she grew older and learned to look more into the depths of a person, Yesbella could tell her father held an edge of resentment toward the gods for the death of his beloved Beatrice.
The dreams started around the time of Yesbella’s ninth birthday. Sometimes they were just feelings of spiritual warmth, or of a woman's face she was certain was of the mother she had never seen. Other times they were glimpses of battles fought between angels and demons or between human adversaries, like moving depictions of the glasswork at the temple. Over time she saw herself in these great clashes, fighting alongside the celestial forces, even feeling like she was one of them. These dreams inspired her to begin martial training, finding she was able to meet the challenge as anyone her own age and in time best all but an elite few.
Yesbella began spending more time with the Bishop in preparation for her Inception ceremony as she came into her womanhood. The night of her Inception, she dreamt of a being of surpassing beauty and otherworldly luminescence. It had the body of a human but with great alabaster wings and aspect of no sex. It said in a quiet, yet ample voice, “Yesbella, I am Valandras. We have loved you before you were born. We are always watching over you. We are counting on you”. She slept more deeply than ever. In the morning, she thought what a strange dream it was.
She continued her studies with the Bishop and the two began an unofficial apprenticeship, exploring more deeply into the faith and the perpetual battle against the forces of evil. After a few years, Yesbella’s combat training and religious preparation intersected in a transformative way when her father and the Bishop introduced her to the renowned paladin and general Marcus dan Lichtenvald. The knight saw past her youth and inexperience to see her commitment to the faith and extraordinary desire to confront evil.
He took Yesbella on as a shield-holder as he traveled the land on various errands for the church and his order. dan Lichtenvald trained Yesbella hard, imparting the tricks and trade of martial prowess. He also exemplified true knightly courtesy and noblesse oblige. It was on an outing into the country side that Lichtenvald and his small group of retainers came across a village being accosted by a dozen or so brigands. Rather than attacking or riding to get help, Yesbella was surprised when Lichtenvald told her and the others to stay, and calmly rode forward and hailed the snarling, tattered bandits. The bandits turned their attention away from the villagers and formed a line on each side of their leader, blocking the road.
He reigned up a score of feet before them, spoke for many minutes, the words too muted to reach Yesbella. Eventually they became calmer, lowering weapons and shifting their feet. The old knight dropped slowing from the saddle and walked nearer the men. He raised his hand to the sky and seemed to be imploring the men, gesturing with the other hand. Minutes later some had fallen to their knees, others lowering their heads as if in shame. Yesbella felt then a powerful touch emanating from van Lichtenvald. She could tell the others near her sensed it too. It made her feel wanted, worthy… loved! Lichtenvald stepped forward and put his hands on the shoulders of the leader, bringing his face close to the other man’s. Yesbella was trying to make out what was transpiring between them, and then saw the man slowly slide his arms around the knight and Lichtenvald hold the man’s head gently to his chest.
When Yesbella returned, she conveyed the tale of the brigands and other stories of her time with general Lichtenvald to her father and the Bishop. She solemnly stated she wished to commit herself to the paladin’s path, to fight against evil by whatever means she could. That night, she dreamed of her mother alongside the peculiar, angelic Valandras, both beaming smiles…
Adametrius hails from Woodmoor; a small and quaint hamlet surrounded by fields and forest. Woodmoor saw few travelers as it wasn't on any major trade route. It's only export of note was lumber. Truth be told, while being a fine place to live, the hamlet was so insignificant it wasn't worth the ink to put on a map.
His mother, Meave, carved out a simple modest existence by working in the kitchens of Lord Elgin Woodmoor; a benevolent cheese merchant who had bought his way into the lowest rung of nobility and was fair and just in his rule over the simple folk of Woodmoor. His original surname has been lost to the ages.
His father, Wilhelm, maintained a failing leatherworking business, buying hides from local hunters and crafting various belts, saddles, and sheaths. His specialty was making gloves, and is the root of the family surname 'Gant'; a commoner's name Adametrius would hide out of shame in the future to try and forget his low birth. Adametrius was trained in such craft by his father, though his talents truly lied elsewhere.
His mother, on the other hand, saw more in her son than a simple leatherworker and so she secreted his access to Lord Elgin Woodmoor's rather impressive collection of tomes of lore. As a boy he spent countless hours hiding under a bookcase reading one dusty tome after another. Once he was discovered by Elgin, it was quite clear the young boy had accumulated some knowledge and was permitted access to the library if he tutored the lords own children.
He was fascinated with the arcane, and Woodmoor's library had but one book that was clearly arcane; filled to the brim with symbols and glyphs related to spells, but to an untrained eye such as young Adametrius is was near impossible to understand. Parts of the text were Draconic, and he slowly learned this difficult and alien tongue. His persistence and natural talent were pushed to the limit as he attempted to coax the tome into giving up it's secrets. He enjoyed a sliver of success, and taught himself the most simplest of cantrips. The glyphs and symbols of this forgotten spellbook began to make more sense, but before he could claim any true power, disaster struck.
When Adametrius had seen 12 winters, a band of goblins and orcs descended from the forests and hills and razed the simple hamlet. Though his parents were spared in the attack, his lord was not so lucky. He died in a few days from a viscous wound suffered in the attack. The hamlet mourned this loss but before they could even begin a simple burial ceremony, a plague swept through the area. Within weeks the smell of death emanated from nearly every shop, home and farmstead of the small hamlet. The pestilence claimed the lives of his parents, despite his best efforts and attempts at magical curing. Everything he learned thus far, which was no small amount, failed him.
The town was abandoned, and the few survivors took what supplies they could and left for greener pastures, including Adametrius. He lamented that he lacked the knowledge to save his family and neighbors from a plague, and sought out such knowledge with fervor vowing to understand the secrets of life and death and everything in between.
His pursuit of knowledge had begun...
He worked as a scribe or a tutor to whatever household or keep would have him, provided it had a library. Once he had devoured the knowledge within he would move to the next area, seeking to find answers to arcane mysteries. The pain of his family's passing would fade in time, and he would come to enjoy this part of his life, yet the knowledge of the arcane still eluded him, save for a few cantrips and tricks he had taught himself.
He finally found a wizard by the name of Azam who was in the employ of a lesser count of a small fiefdom. Azam was delighted at the large spellbook Adametrius has taken from Woodmoor's estate. Azam promised to teach him the arcane knowledge and power he sought in exchange for the book and him taking on the role of apprentice. Adametrius toiled away long hours doing research and procuring components, transcribing glyphs he didn't understand. He performed every mundane task that was asked of him for years, until grey started creeping into his beard and he came to realize what he had suspected: The secretive wizard had no intention of teaching him any true power. He then spent his time and the ample resources of the wizards to fashion his own spellbook and some travelling equipment, finally utilizing some of his earlier tutelage in leather craft and gathered his meager possessions. Azam hardly looked up from his book when Adametrius announced he was ending his apprenticeship. Adametrius smiled as he left the wizard's chambers, for it was time to explore the secret places of the world for the answers he sought.
TLDR : Tor Shturmovik - Mountain Dwarf Fighter 3(Rune Knight)/Warlock 2 (Celestial) Strength based Warlock
Born in the mountains of the North in a small cothold on the outskirts of the Dwarven Kingdom of Kragshold, Tor was the fifth of seven children and was always large and strong for a dwarf. His father, Jass Thornson and his mother Matra were loving and warm and the family did well, though actual money was often scarce. Jass was a talented smith and made his money creating items and tools for the local farmers and miners of the area, though the size of the family and the generosity of his parents did not allow them to be considered in any way wealthy. None went hungry, though clothing was often rough and homemade and the treats they had were even greater due to their scarcity.
Tor has 3 older brothers, Calen, Macren and Taff, 1 older sister, Namra. All are well into their adulthood and have moved to their own homes and families. The younger siblings are the fraternal twins, a girl Tala and a boy Noc, both much younger than Tor and still learning the ways of the world. His extended family of Grans, Aunts and Uncles all live within the same general region and good relations abound within this extended family. They often gather to raise and build the homes and steadings of those approaching adulthood and to celebrate the passing of days and celebrations of their faith.
Tor always found interested in the wider world, seeking out travelers and merchants, listening to the stories from the lands beyond his home. In his 35th year he gathered his possessions and left the cot hold, signing up with the Stormborn mercenary company, a mixed race Regiment comprised of Humans, Dwarves, some Elves, a few of the Half blooded and various other races. All members in good standing are treated fairly and well regardless of race, and this experience did much to temper Tor’s normal Dwarven reticence towards other races. This mercenary band is well regarded and has a reputation of being loyal, capable and a valuable asset to those that have the money and willingness to hire them. To join the company Tor lied about his age, for among Dwarves he was still considered a youth. None questioned his assertion of majority because his size and strength allowed him to easily pass as the adult he professed to be.
For the next 7 years as part of this mercenary band he fought for various neighboring kingdoms both Dwarven and the other allied races. He learned his trade well and rapidly rose through the ranks until he became a lead Sergeant to the Lieutenant of one of the Companies within the Regiment, the Company of the Rested Hand. His Lieutenant, a Half Elf named Marga Doon, trusted him and treated him as a a reliable and trusted subordinate, grooming him for an eventual command of his own within the Regiment
At the beginning of his 6th year in the company the Rested Hand was posted along the border of a Duchy of Feld in the Kingdom of Margra. While assigned there a neighboring Kingdom launched a raid in force that hit the area they were protecting, pressing the unit to its limits. At the time of the initial assault Tor was on a scouting mission with two squads when they were set upon and many, including Tor, fell wounded in the ambush.
Tor lost consciousness for a time, his mind fogged by pain and the fever of his wounds. The troops fought in retreat and gathered those wounded comrades that still lived, moving deeper into the heavy woods to find a place to hide, lick their wounds and access their options for escape. In time the men found a stony hill rising from the heart of the woods.
There Tor and the other wounded troops were put within a defensible ancient stone ruin found on atop the bald hill. The healthy troops then set a defensive ring around this structure and settled in as night came to the land. The healer among the soldiers did what they could to relieve the pain and suffering of the wounded, including Tor, and settled in to wait, watching in the darkness for further attacks from the enemy they could hear moving through the forests around them. Though none of the enemy approached the hill the soldiers of the company had little hope of rescue, and thought that Sergeant Tor and the other seriously wounded would not last the night, much less the time it would take to make it back to base in a running fight. They decided to wait until morning to make any move, hoping the enemy scouting for them in the forests below would move on by the dawn.
As the night deepened the depths of the delirium brought on by his grievous wounds caused Tor to fall into a dark dream. Within this nightmare scape he found himself surrounded by shadows and movement, the faces and sounds of friends and enemies that had passed moving in and out of the surrounding shadows, alternatively taunting and encouraging him. From this darkness a point of light appeared and grew, approaching him from out of the shadows that filled this world. A of a being of Light approached, banishing the looming shadows. This being moved closer, filling his eyes and blinding Tor with the intense radiance of its presence and asked,
“Will you Serve”
The voice was penetrating and held the tone of bells tolling in the distance, dire and beautiful. Tor felt it penetrate to the core of his being, resonating within his body and soul. Deeply wounded and in pain Tor agreed, and an intense lightness burned through his body and mind, branding him with its glory
In the depths of the night Tor rose, healed and hale, great scars crossing his face and marking his body where he had been wounded. As if in a trance he moved among his men and the wounded, touching them and bringing them back to their feet, not healed, but able and ready to move. He led his troops off of the hill in the darkness, moving with uncharacteristic stealth, miraculously avoiding all the enemy scouts and patrols that filled the woods around them. Finally after hours of travel that few could fully remember they arrived with the dawn safely back at their base and the allies that held there.
As he walked through the forts gate with the rising sun Tor fell, once again falling into unconsciousness. The men that had traveled through the night with him were all exhausted, and those that had wounds were taken to the healers who were amazed at ability for some of the most grievously injured to move at all, much less on a forced march through enemy territory. Whispers moved through the camp of the miracles that Tor had wrought to bring his troops safely home and how he had risen from near death to lead them. Late the following day Tor rose, rested and ready, the actions of the night before felt more a dream than a memory in his mind
Back now in their base the remnants of the Company weathered the assault. Tor continued to lead his men and do his duties within the Company, but in the night his dreams were filled by the being of light and a desire to move on. As the days passed the raid in force finally faltered before the arriving reinforcements from both the Regiment and the troops of the Duchy, When the fighting was finally over Tor went to the commander of the Stormborn, Captain Bjarn Smithson and tendered his resignation.
The Captain was hesitant, distressed at losing one of his most promising men but, seeing the change in Tor, he reluctantly accepted the resignation, giving him his equipment and weapons as well as all the pay he was due and wishing him luck and a good future. Tor left the regiment knowing that they would accept him back at any time, but knowing this life as a mercenary was no longer his future.
Driven by dreams and portents Tor now travels the country, finding himself in situations where his skill and newfound powers could assist those in need and to further the cause of Good. His steps are guided by these rumors and dreams as he moves through the world, a vagabond with a power he is both blessed and confused by. His days are now filled by a striving to interpret the messages he now sees in all things, filled by the sites and wonders of the world around him as he goes where he must to do what he can
In the past he had as a practice sent the major portion of his pay back to his family to assist them and keep that relationship with his loved ones. This practice continues, though the pay is less as he no longer has a steady income. He writes home with news of his travels, but never mentions the Shining One or his Dreams as he knows his family would not understand. He himself is still not sure of what has happened to him, but he now is driven. His days are spent looking for the injustices in the world and working to redress wrongs and avenge those in need
This is the background of Valus the Sinner, my Blood Hunter. As a heads up, this is put into logs that HE will soon find.
Log 1: They beat me, and used me as an "errand boy," whatever that is. The guys here before me laughed and yelled at me, threw their food and drink. One of the glasses even shattered, sending a shard into my arm. And the smell was terrible. I've never smelled anything worse. I hope tomorrow is better.
Log 2: Today was, in fact, a bit better. They let us out to the yard, where a bunch of the guys were runnings and lifting these things they called "weights." It was interesting, yet I was unenthused. Nothing else interesting happened.
Log 5: I got beat again, and this time, I think I saw some blood on the floor. I cried for hours, they said, begging them to stop. They said they haven't laughed that hard in a while. I don't understand what was so funny about watching someone get hurt. I think it was called "Sadism," or something like that. Anyway, I also had another glass thrown at me. Good thing it missed.
Log 11: I'm sure they're joking, leaving me in this big, dark room, right? I'm writing this before they come and give me another beating for disobeying them when they told me to leave my cell. At least, I hope it's a beating. Dear gods, I hope it's just that.
Log 12: It wasn't just a beating. They brought those THINGS out on me. They said they were dogs, but they weren't. Those THINGS were Devils, creatures from some other world. They bit me, ripped the flesh of my left leg and hand. I can barely write, I'm in so much pain. I hope there isn't something else that's going to happen. Please, dear gods, help me...
Log 17: [The page was ripped out, the only thing remaining is "DoN'T fOrgET"]
Log 21: This place, this prison, is called Sinner's Rise. It's a place, a dark room, a walled-in city the size of a home, with no light, nor remaining life but the tortured and the poisoned. I am one of them, these Sinners. I have painted Blood as my sigils, Bone as my knives and swords, and Souls as my own. Tomorrow, I break free, and slaughter this Whole Prison, Floor to Floor, Room to Room, Guard and Prisoner alike. I will leave no one alive, and when I do, there will be nothing left but the Prison of Fort Heide. I am a Sinner, and whoever finds this, I pledge to you, that you will suffer, just like I have.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Nameless, Accursed Undead... Unfit, even to be Cinder... And so it is... That Ash, Seeketh Embers…”
Tyranos - Red Dragonborn Archeologist Hexblade of Tiamat
Professor of Archeology, expert on the occult, and how does one say it... obtainer of rare antiquities. But also an obtainer of rare and misplaced knowledge. Long ago a forgotten race of fiends created a secret path to power and taught it to the mortals of old to weaken their fealty to Asmodeus. In his wrath, Asmodeus destroyed the scheming devils and struck their very names from the memory of all beings—but Tyranos dares to study their perilous secrets anyway. Having discovered them in a tomb hidden away from mortal eyes for a millennium. By using these infernal laws against the rulers of the hells, these pacts allows him to steal power from devils without making any offering in return. And Tyranos set his sights very high indeed.... on Tiamat herself.
For some dragonborn, the pursuit of honor is tightly tied to the pursuit of power. Such characters often turn to the warlock’s arcane arts—seeing in the warlock’s pacts an echo of the oaths that are an integral part of dragonborn society. Many dragonborn warlocks take up that path upon discovering a connection to its power in ancient Dragonborn texts. Like the ones Tyranos discovered in a ancient library. To a Dragonborn, the historical nature of this pact is more important than the actual source of the warlock’s arcane power. Dragonborn warlocks usually have a specific goal in mind as they master this power. For Tyranos, the simple need to better defend his homeland & allies, & the burning desire to channel the power of Tiamat for the cause good.
Bound by the ancient infernal contracts and amused by his bold and impudent behaviour, Tiamat forged a weapon for Tyranos. An unbreakable five headed flail made using one of her own talons and melding it with gold and gems from her voluminous hoard. Each gem head of the flail resembles one of the five chromatic dragon heads. Ruby for Red, Saphire for Blue, Emerald for Green and so on. She then breathed life into the weapon, animating the flail heads with a sentience each their own. Perhaps she knows that Tyranos' plans somehow align with hers. Or perhaps she simply wants to see him crash and burn (the same as any mortal does when given tremendous power). Either way, the power is Tyranos' to do with as he will. And she is more than happy to supply Tyranos with even more power as he grows stronger. The brightest flames make for the most glorious explosions after all.
Check out my Disabled & Dragons Youtube Channel for 5e Monster and Player Tactics. Helping the Disabled Community and Players and DM’s (both new and experienced) get into D&D. Plus there is a talking Dragon named Quill.
Dragonborn Sorcerer I whipped up in prep for Icewind Mail:
Fallax was not born a sullen dragonborn. He hails from the southern regions of the Sword Coast, raised in a mixed community of dragonborns and humans. Though dragonborn, he was adopted and raised by a human family, not uncommon for the centuries-old community that had basically forgotten about race-differences. As a child, he was enamored with acting, and dreamt to one day become one himself. The dream did not go far, however, when one night, his house caught on fire due to an unknown cause. The fire erupted in the middle of the night, catching him and his family totally off-guard. He was one of the last to wake, awoken only by the brightness of the flames. He was relatively unharmed, being a golden dragonborn and therefore resistant to fire. Regardless, he was young at the time and had not become familiar with his abilities yet. He was frightened of the flames, the chaos, the blinding smoke, and he panicked, rushing towards his window, one of the few in the house and certainly the only one big enough to admit his size. As he was climbing out the square of now shattered glass, he heard his family screaming, yelling, shouting for help. He wanted to help. He knew he should. And yet, looking back into the room, filled with the infernal, demonic flames, spiraling out of control, consuming everything it touch, he couldn't. He fell out of his second story window, landing hard and breaking both of his legs. Curled up in agony, there was little he could do except sob as he heard the cries of the burning. A short minute or so later, the entire house collapsed, and he was left with silence. Days later, after the local cleric had healed his legs and funerals had been held for all of his kin, Fallax had another problem presented to him. At first he didn't even notice it, but eventually, he started to realize the townspeople were... different. Quieter. Avoiding eye contact, walking opposite directions. Youthful ignorance only lasted so long, however, and Fallax soon understood. A gold dragonborn? A burned down home? A black sheep, different from the rest of his family? Of course, Fallax knew he hadn't started the fire. But the whispers, the glances behind his back, it was too much. He had no idea what to do, so he ran. He ran, and he never went back. He vowed that never again would he not be strong enough to face his fear, to save those who he loved. He would master fire, learn everything he could about it, become it. He would never forget the reason that his family died so that it would never happen again. The fire would forge an eternal link to his guilt. He traveled city to city, up and down the sword coast, homeless or close to it more often than not. He became something of a con-man, using his natural acting skills and charisma to steal, cheat, and learn. As a dragonborn, his dragonic bloodline opened up the door for sorcery, and eventually, with enough time and practice from the various different sorcerers, wizards, and warlocks he learned from (whether on the street or people he had conned), he became a sorcerer. The time of the changed who he was, as well. Gone was the youthful, innocent dragon, replaced by a harsher, cynical, dragonborn who had become semi-addicted to fire. He had spent enough time with it that he had learned to appreciate fire, grow content with it. In fact, his mental stability has partially grown dependent on fire, relying on it to remind him why he lives, why he runs. As of recently, he has need to lie low for a bit. A particularly rough incident involving a powerful merchant and a burned load of goods has given Fallax reason to go someplace dissociated with fire. Looking over his maps, the answer became clear: Frozenfar. A cold, bitter tundra where no one would think to look. A place where Fallax could control his fire. A place where he would be the only one with fire. Now, he only needed a way to get there...
I love the backstory! It’s tragic, yet lends itself to a hopeful beginning for your character. I’m curious, what alignment are you planning on making Ademetrius?
Please share ur backstory.
I wont use it and anyone who posts here also wont.
feel free to share!
Born in a Tabaxi nomad village, of the tribe "The Caves of Eternity" which often resided just on the edge of the underdark they were wiped out by a goblin war party.
Found by a drow family he was taken in as a slave and worked his way up to a trusted hunter for the family. Showing much skill with a bow he was given a new name and made an honorary member of house De'erret.
One day after gaining much trust he was allowed to go on a raid against another house, his group was caught off guard by the powerful clerics of house Mae'ghym and he was left for dead. Waking up upon being dumped in a mass grave of dead slaves he clawed his way trough a pile of corpses and made his escape. Living on the run ever since, afraid that either house might want him dead.
He has since changed his name, and makes a living acting as a body guard, guide, or other darker jobs. Merely surviving in a world where he has become alone.
Adopted name is "Sol'eyl De'erret"
Goes by Sol Night-Arrow
|| Sol Night-Arrow, Tabaxi Ranger ||
||Currently DMing a Homebrew Campaign ||
Guides or Important Threads of Mine ----- || List of ALL Official Familiars || My Homebrew Monsters ||
Level 3 One Shot Character Concepts ----- || Fist of the Gods || Triple Tap Hunter || Bullseye Dartmaster || Captain America ||
^^^Those are Links BTW^^^
Eldir Kris,
Presumed dead after a failed prison escape, Kris was arrested when stealing from the Palace of the Dead. From there he found a magical dagger which he narcissistically named the Graverobbers' Kris, which had the ability to steal items from people which he stabbed.
When he was caught, he made friends with a fellow inmate with no name. The inmate was brutally murdered by guards when he and Eldir tried to escape.
From there, Kris was on the run from the dungeons, working outside the law and killing any people related to the City of Cloaks.
I like it, it's a little short and vague but it also has some room for the DM to play with.
|| Sol Night-Arrow, Tabaxi Ranger ||
||Currently DMing a Homebrew Campaign ||
Guides or Important Threads of Mine ----- || List of ALL Official Familiars || My Homebrew Monsters ||
Level 3 One Shot Character Concepts ----- || Fist of the Gods || Triple Tap Hunter || Bullseye Dartmaster || Captain America ||
^^^Those are Links BTW^^^
The backstory of Gilli, my Drow Ranger (Horizon Walker)
Gilli was born in Underdark to one of the Houses in one of the Drow Cities. When she was around 10-12 another house decided to attack her house to eridicate them. One of her family members decided to save her by throwing her into a portal. Said portal sent her to the Feywild where she was found by a group of Eladrin, who decided to take care of her. She lived with them for most of her life and they thought her most of what she knows (her skills and her values). She went back to the material plane around 10-20 years ago and has been adventuring through the world since.
You want it, here you go. From an old Sorlock I played.
tl/dr: Bentley's mom died, soul was being taken by an entity from the Shadowfell, Bentley cut a deal.
Bentley is the younger half-brother of Dinsdale Dellmark. He is a Half-elf.
Their mother, Aliena, was a great wizard and magical weapon smith in the Elven Realm of XXX. She was investigating the various threads and possibilities of magical weapons from the magic of the Shadowfell, an extremely dangerous, powerful plane, but which could potentially yield great value for the Realm's arsenal. She had made inroads in her knowledge, encountering minor entities from the Shadowfell through conjuration and actual forays into that dark place. But she was dissatisfied with her overall progress.
Aliena decided to visit an old human friend, a fellow wizard, who had been known to investigate the Shadowfell at a younger age, but was essentially retired now, and had settled a few weeks of travel away. She set out in a caravan for the journey, with a small escort. Near the end of the journey, she fell ill, in a strange fevered state, incapacitating her. Shortly after she fell ill, the caravan was set upon by what appeared to be bandits. The bandits quickly overpowered the escorts, killing them. The leader of the bandits then raped Aliena, while she lay helpless. Almost immediately after the assault, Aliena's fever broke. The bandits were no match for her powers, though the leader escaped. Aliena, though devastated, continued the journey to her wizard friend. She told him of the attack on the caravan, and her friend was shocked to hear the news, as no others had seen or heard of bandits in the area for some time.
He also told her that her investigations into Shadowfell magic was far too risky for the reward. But she wanted to persist. To that end, he gave Aliena his research on the Shadowfell. She gratefully accepted it, and after a few days, returned home, alone, and safely.
It was some time later that Aliena realized she was pregnant. Aliena decided to keep the baby, and Bentley was born. But life for Bentley was far from easy. Aliena was a widow, as her husband and Dinsdale's father had died in battle many decades before. Though Bentley's mother and Dinsdale were held in great esteem in the Elven Realm, a half-breed bastard was treated with disdain. Though Aliena and Dinsdale unconditionally accepted and loved Bentley, he was essentially an outcast in the Realm. Bentley also realized at around age 14 that he had some of his mother's blood in him. Though not possessing the great intellect of his mother or brother, magic flowed through his veins and started manifesting itself in minor effects he could perform.
At the age of 17, Bentley could withstand the difficulties of his life in the Realm no longer, and struck out on his own. He met up with some traders in YYY Guild in the human city, and settled into a life of being a Guild Merchant. But it soon became apparent to Bentley and others he was not destined to be a Guild Merchant. His magic was too strong to live a life in the Guild. While Bentley stayed and prospered with his Guild associates, he began to learn how to harness his powers as a Sorcerer. Occasionally, Dinsdale would visit Bentley, but Aliena was deeply involved in her research of the Shadowfell, and Bentley would only see her when he made sporadic visits back to the Realm.
As Bentley's powers as a Sorcerer grew, he decided he would go back to the Realm and assist his mother in her research. Perhaps, then, he would be accepted by the Elves. So Bentley travelled back home. Dinsdale was away at the time, on a scouting mission for the Realm.
So Bentley came upon his mother, deep in concentration, in the midst of a spell of some kind. Bentley knew better than to interrupt her, so made no attempt to announce his presence and break her concentration. His mother was far more powerful than him, and work at her level could be lethal. As Bentley watched his mother speak arcane words Bentley had no understanding of, an entity appeared, huge, dark, shadowy, nebulous. From the look on Aliena's face, Bentley instantly knew something was terribly wrong. It was apparent that whatever Aliena had been planning, this creature appearing was not part of that plan. Aliena made a quick move, said a few words, and a shimmer of light enveloped the creature, but only for an moment. The creature seemed taken aback, but then in a flash dark a shadow-like spear crossed the distance between the entity and Aliena, piercing her chest. Bentley screamed in rage, surged towards his mother, at the same time firing a spell at the entity from the Shadowfell.
But even as Bentley dashed towards his mother, he knew in his heart the blow from the entity was fatal. A moment later he was at her side, and then felt blinding pain, and was now immobile. He could only watch in horror and frustration as the entity moved towards his mother, and with what could only be described as an inky shadowy hand, reached into his mother's body and extracted what Bentley could only imagine as her soul. Bentley summoned all his strength, and through force of will, somehow managed to break the invisible shackles the entity had placed on him. He dove for the nebulous white energy of what he guessed was his mother's soul, trapped in a futile struggle in the massive grasp of the entity. Bentley struck at the hand with his own bare hands, but it was for naught, or so it seemed.
Suddenly, the entity stopped, and turned towards Bentley. He was certain he was about to die. Then the entity spoke: "You have spirit and strength inside of you young half-elf. Few can break my bonds. I see my views about you are true. Don't stand there looking so stunned. Yes, we of the Fell do follow the exploits of a few in this dimension. You do know of your conception? Do you think that was by chance? You are the product of no random attack. You have power within you beyond that what you know of. These spells you cast are trivial compared to your full potential. You have some of the Shadowfell in you"
Bentley took a few moments to absorb these revelations. He was stunned into silence. But he knew he must speak.
"Is that my mother's soul? What are you doing with her?"
The enity replied, "She has meddled in events and disturbed powers far beyond even her impressive abilities. I am taking her soul back to the Shadowfell , where she will serve me."
Bentley was horrified. But what could he do against just a monstrous foe?
"Ah, I see in your mind the horror and anguish about your mother' fate.....hmmmm....perhaps we can make a deal. I have some interests here that need the "touch" of someone born on this plane. You will gain strength, knowledge and power. I will help you to gain these things. Someday, in the future, when I have deemed you ready, I will call on you to carry out some tasks for me. If you are successful in these tasks, I then will release your mother's soul and let it continue on its original path, but YOU must serve me on this plane. Is it a deal?"
Bentley thought for a moment, and realized he had no choice but to agree, to save his mother's soul. Even before he could speak the entity chortled an evil sound, and said "Done and done. Now, carry on young Dellmark, you shall hear from me soon on some new paths of instruction I want you to begin, that of the Hexblade."
And with that, the entity and Bentley's mother's soul vanished in an swirl of inky black flame-like shadows.
Bentley was now bound to an entity of the Hexblade.
Rayiic may be the last of his proud and storied Clan. The folk of Clan Norvvaxxxus were paladins who swore the Creed Resolute as Companions of Eltugard, west of Baldur's Gate in the south of the Sword Coast.
Ancestors of Rayiic's Clan rode as Hellriders from Elturel, capital of Eltugard, into the Nine Hells to pursue and destroy devils that had been plaguing their people.
During an incursion of Yuan-ti from the kingdom of Najara, Rayiic's remaining clan members were killed in battle.
Living in Scornubel (a haven for Outlanders and often called the "City of Caravans") Rayiic, who as a youngster dreamed of carrying the Companions banner as a paladin of Eltugard like his father and mother before him, discovered his innate magic abilities.
Hearing stories of offshoot members of Clan Norvvaxxxus - pirates who sailed far north to Luskan - Rayiic left his home and has traveled north along the Sword Coast through Daggerford, Waterdeep and onto Neverwinter to see if the stories are truth or rumour.
Rayiic Norvvaxxxus, Dragonborn (Black) Sorcerer, Member of the Hail of Thorns
Gadreel and her sister, Nija, were raised by their elders in a cave-like home in a small town on the outskirts of Waterdeep along the Dessarin River.
The townsfolk were made up of mainly minority races along with the traders, pirates and scavengers who typically passed through on their way to parts unknown.
It was for these transients that Gadreel and her troupe had been performing since she was very young; dancing, fire-eating, tumbling and entrancing the slack-jawed audience with her flute.
After an attack on her village in the dead of night by Drow Elite Warriors, Gadreel sought to seek revenge, along with her sister, on the traitor (Liam, a Drow member of her own performing troupe) who revealed the location of the town's Healing Opals.
Lady Gadreel, Tiefling Bard, member of the Hail of Thorns
Fillian, a refugee from the Genie Wars in Calimshan, grew up in the Little Calimshan district of Baldur's Gate.
Fillian's father was a Calishite Human and his mother was a Drow female and follower of Eilistraee.
At a relatively young age Fillian rose to the level of Captain of The Flaming Fist, responsible for keeping order in the Lower City of Baldur's Gate.
Due to his fierce devotion to the cause of right and his ongoing protection of those in need, Fillian was visited by Eilistraee and given Nárë (an enchanted Scimitar) to wield in her service. He has sworn an Oath to Eilistraee, is a senior leader of The Silverhair Knights and travels as a hired protector in the North.
Fillian Abdul Bashir, Champion Fighter
Thoruk, Duck slayer.
Thoruk is a barbarian. He was born in a small half-orc village, and as a child he witnessed his parents being carried off and killed by a duck (he knows that this is true, because just before the beast grabbed them, he heard someone shout "Duck!"). Bearing a scar from one of its talons on his scalp and the much more damaging scar of a lasting obsession with vengeance against duck-kind, Thoruk thinks of himself as a scholar in the ways of Ducks. He is a master of using his surroundings to fight, and is even better at entirely misunderstanding the situation. He once mounted a successful one-orc mission to rescue an old lady, whom he put safely on a wagon to the next town, after he overheard her granddaughter saying she was "taking grandma to feed the ducks". Believing the child to be some sort of duck worshipper and the grandma the next sacrifice, Thoruk successfully disrupted the ceremony. He was disgusted by the fact that the grandma even had a bag of breadcrumbs on her to mark her out as the bait.
After a serious misunderstanding with a dwarven goddess of homely protection (in which he convinced her that the dwarves who owned the house had asked him to destroy her alter), Thoruk was cursed with the ability to fall through from one universe to another. He does this with blissful ignorance - one minute he will be walking along a beach, then he will stop to smell the flowers, and then he will continue along the mountain pass, not even noticing the change of scenery. This caught the attention of a planewalking policing organisation (as yet unnamed) which is where my fiancé's character comes in - Xanphia, the elf ranger, who is tasked with keeping Thoruk out of any major trouble, with mixed success. Thoruk is elated to have a travelling companion who stick around (everyone else disappears, which he assumes is normal behavior), and has never asked her why she is travelling with him.
Thoruk is my drop-in character for games, turning up mysteriously and disappearing afterwards. He's also the subject of my blog - link in my signature - featuring some of his adventures and his guide to Duck Slaying.
Make your Artificer work with any other class with 174 Multiclassing Feats for your Artificer Multiclass Character!
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Great job. Excellent story.
Beatrice was born into the proud Bucher family, a daughter of the church and married into another great family. It was not long after she assumed the mantle of Lady dan Glokta her love for her husband resulted in impending motherhood. She knew the very night, through the warmth in her heart and her dreams. She frequently had the oddest dreams. It was a happy time.
Uncle Exelsius coming to visit shortly after to bless her and the child. This was very sweet and thoughtful especially since his monastery was far and the journey so arduous. The possibility of the gift came to her as wakeful epiphany the night of Exelsius' blessing, like a dream without sleeping. She saw how an act of selflessness and love could make the transmutation of spiritual gifts to her daughter possible. She would need to give up her husband, the parenting of her daughter, her mortality but that was a small price to pay for eternal salvation. This connection to Exelsius’ to her sacrifice didn’t occur to Beatrice at the time but was revealed to her along with so much else following her ascension to glory.
Everyone in Solace could see she was a beautiful child, so warm and kind, always finding the best in people. And so passionate about the Triad for her age. It was so sad about her mother succumbing to childbirth, yet a not uncommon misfortune. Yesbella's father, the Laird Glokta endeavored to anchor her in the church and steadfastly supported the Temple of the Triad. However, as she grew older and learned to look more into the depths of a person, Yesbella could tell her father held an edge of resentment toward the gods for the death of his beloved Beatrice.
The dreams started around the time of Yesbella’s ninth birthday. Sometimes they were just feelings of spiritual warmth, or of a woman's face she was certain was of the mother she had never seen. Other times they were glimpses of battles fought between angels and demons or between human adversaries, like moving depictions of the glasswork at the temple. Over time she saw herself in these great clashes, fighting alongside the celestial forces, even feeling like she was one of them. These dreams inspired her to begin martial training, finding she was able to meet the challenge as anyone her own age and in time best all but an elite few.
Yesbella began spending more time with the Bishop in preparation for her Inception ceremony as she came into her womanhood. The night of her Inception, she dreamt of a being of surpassing beauty and otherworldly luminescence. It had the body of a human but with great alabaster wings and aspect of no sex. It said in a quiet, yet ample voice, “Yesbella, I am Valandras. We have loved you before you were born. We are always watching over you. We are counting on you”. She slept more deeply than ever. In the morning, she thought what a strange dream it was.
She continued her studies with the Bishop and the two began an unofficial apprenticeship, exploring more deeply into the faith and the perpetual battle against the forces of evil. After a few years, Yesbella’s combat training and religious preparation intersected in a transformative way when her father and the Bishop introduced her to the renowned paladin and general Marcus dan Lichtenvald. The knight saw past her youth and inexperience to see her commitment to the faith and extraordinary desire to confront evil.
He took Yesbella on as a shield-holder as he traveled the land on various errands for the church and his order. dan Lichtenvald trained Yesbella hard, imparting the tricks and trade of martial prowess. He also exemplified true knightly courtesy and noblesse oblige. It was on an outing into the country side that Lichtenvald and his small group of retainers came across a village being accosted by a dozen or so brigands. Rather than attacking or riding to get help, Yesbella was surprised when Lichtenvald told her and the others to stay, and calmly rode forward and hailed the snarling, tattered bandits. The bandits turned their attention away from the villagers and formed a line on each side of their leader, blocking the road.
He reigned up a score of feet before them, spoke for many minutes, the words too muted to reach Yesbella. Eventually they became calmer, lowering weapons and shifting their feet. The old knight dropped slowing from the saddle and walked nearer the men. He raised his hand to the sky and seemed to be imploring the men, gesturing with the other hand. Minutes later some had fallen to their knees, others lowering their heads as if in shame. Yesbella felt then a powerful touch emanating from van Lichtenvald. She could tell the others near her sensed it too. It made her feel wanted, worthy… loved! Lichtenvald stepped forward and put his hands on the shoulders of the leader, bringing his face close to the other man’s. Yesbella was trying to make out what was transpiring between them, and then saw the man slowly slide his arms around the knight and Lichtenvald hold the man’s head gently to his chest.
When Yesbella returned, she conveyed the tale of the brigands and other stories of her time with general Lichtenvald to her father and the Bishop. She solemnly stated she wished to commit herself to the paladin’s path, to fight against evil by whatever means she could. That night, she dreamed of her mother alongside the peculiar, angelic Valandras, both beaming smiles…
Adametrius hails from Woodmoor; a small and quaint hamlet surrounded by fields and forest. Woodmoor saw few travelers as it wasn't on any major trade route. It's only export of note was lumber. Truth be told, while being a fine place to live, the hamlet was so insignificant it wasn't worth the ink to put on a map.
His mother, Meave, carved out a simple modest existence by working in the kitchens of Lord Elgin Woodmoor; a benevolent cheese merchant who had bought his way into the lowest rung of nobility and was fair and just in his rule over the simple folk of Woodmoor. His original surname has been lost to the ages.
His father, Wilhelm, maintained a failing leatherworking business, buying hides from local hunters and crafting various belts, saddles, and sheaths. His specialty was making gloves, and is the root of the family surname 'Gant'; a commoner's name Adametrius would hide out of shame in the future to try and forget his low birth. Adametrius was trained in such craft by his father, though his talents truly lied elsewhere.
His mother, on the other hand, saw more in her son than a simple leatherworker and so she secreted his access to Lord Elgin Woodmoor's rather impressive collection of tomes of lore. As a boy he spent countless hours hiding under a bookcase reading one dusty tome after another. Once he was discovered by Elgin, it was quite clear the young boy had accumulated some knowledge and was permitted access to the library if he tutored the lords own children.
He was fascinated with the arcane, and Woodmoor's library had but one book that was clearly arcane; filled to the brim with symbols and glyphs related to spells, but to an untrained eye such as young Adametrius is was near impossible to understand. Parts of the text were Draconic, and he slowly learned this difficult and alien tongue. His persistence and natural talent were pushed to the limit as he attempted to coax the tome into giving up it's secrets. He enjoyed a sliver of success, and taught himself the most simplest of cantrips. The glyphs and symbols of this forgotten spellbook began to make more sense, but before he could claim any true power, disaster struck.
When Adametrius had seen 12 winters, a band of goblins and orcs descended from the forests and hills and razed the simple hamlet. Though his parents were spared in the attack, his lord was not so lucky. He died in a few days from a viscous wound suffered in the attack. The hamlet mourned this loss but before they could even begin a simple burial ceremony, a plague swept through the area. Within weeks the smell of death emanated from nearly every shop, home and farmstead of the small hamlet. The pestilence claimed the lives of his parents, despite his best efforts and attempts at magical curing. Everything he learned thus far, which was no small amount, failed him.
The town was abandoned, and the few survivors took what supplies they could and left for greener pastures, including Adametrius. He lamented that he lacked the knowledge to save his family and neighbors from a plague, and sought out such knowledge with fervor vowing to understand the secrets of life and death and everything in between.
His pursuit of knowledge had begun...
He worked as a scribe or a tutor to whatever household or keep would have him, provided it had a library. Once he had devoured the knowledge within he would move to the next area, seeking to find answers to arcane mysteries. The pain of his family's passing would fade in time, and he would come to enjoy this part of his life, yet the knowledge of the arcane still eluded him, save for a few cantrips and tricks he had taught himself.
He finally found a wizard by the name of Azam who was in the employ of a lesser count of a small fiefdom. Azam was delighted at the large spellbook Adametrius has taken from Woodmoor's estate. Azam promised to teach him the arcane knowledge and power he sought in exchange for the book and him taking on the role of apprentice. Adametrius toiled away long hours doing research and procuring components, transcribing glyphs he didn't understand. He performed every mundane task that was asked of him for years, until grey started creeping into his beard and he came to realize what he had suspected: The secretive wizard had no intention of teaching him any true power. He then spent his time and the ample resources of the wizards to fashion his own spellbook and some travelling equipment, finally utilizing some of his earlier tutelage in leather craft and gathered his meager possessions. Azam hardly looked up from his book when Adametrius announced he was ending his apprenticeship. Adametrius smiled as he left the wizard's chambers, for it was time to explore the secret places of the world for the answers he sought.
This is where his adventures begin...
TLDR : Tor Shturmovik - Mountain Dwarf Fighter 3(Rune Knight)/Warlock 2 (Celestial) Strength based Warlock
Born in the mountains of the North in a small cothold on the outskirts of the Dwarven Kingdom of Kragshold, Tor was the fifth of seven children and was always large and strong for a dwarf. His father, Jass Thornson and his mother Matra were loving and warm and the family did well, though actual money was often scarce. Jass was a talented smith and made his money creating items and tools for the local farmers and miners of the area, though the size of the family and the generosity of his parents did not allow them to be considered in any way wealthy. None went hungry, though clothing was often rough and homemade and the treats they had were even greater due to their scarcity.
Tor has 3 older brothers, Calen, Macren and Taff, 1 older sister, Namra. All are well into their adulthood and have moved to their own homes and families. The younger siblings are the fraternal twins, a girl Tala and a boy Noc, both much younger than Tor and still learning the ways of the world. His extended family of Grans, Aunts and Uncles all live within the same general region and good relations abound within this extended family. They often gather to raise and build the homes and steadings of those approaching adulthood and to celebrate the passing of days and celebrations of their faith.
Tor always found interested in the wider world, seeking out travelers and merchants, listening to the stories from the lands beyond his home. In his 35th year he gathered his possessions and left the cot hold, signing up with the Stormborn mercenary company, a mixed race Regiment comprised of Humans, Dwarves, some Elves, a few of the Half blooded and various other races. All members in good standing are treated fairly and well regardless of race, and this experience did much to temper Tor’s normal Dwarven reticence towards other races. This mercenary band is well regarded and has a reputation of being loyal, capable and a valuable asset to those that have the money and willingness to hire them. To join the company Tor lied about his age, for among Dwarves he was still considered a youth. None questioned his assertion of majority because his size and strength allowed him to easily pass as the adult he professed to be.
For the next 7 years as part of this mercenary band he fought for various neighboring kingdoms both Dwarven and the other allied races. He learned his trade well and rapidly rose through the ranks until he became a lead Sergeant to the Lieutenant of one of the Companies within the Regiment, the Company of the Rested Hand. His Lieutenant, a Half Elf named Marga Doon, trusted him and treated him as a a reliable and trusted subordinate, grooming him for an eventual command of his own within the Regiment
At the beginning of his 6th year in the company the Rested Hand was posted along the border of a Duchy of Feld in the Kingdom of Margra. While assigned there a neighboring Kingdom launched a raid in force that hit the area they were protecting, pressing the unit to its limits. At the time of the initial assault Tor was on a scouting mission with two squads when they were set upon and many, including Tor, fell wounded in the ambush.
Tor lost consciousness for a time, his mind fogged by pain and the fever of his wounds. The troops fought in retreat and gathered those wounded comrades that still lived, moving deeper into the heavy woods to find a place to hide, lick their wounds and access their options for escape. In time the men found a stony hill rising from the heart of the woods.
There Tor and the other wounded troops were put within a defensible ancient stone ruin found on atop the bald hill. The healthy troops then set a defensive ring around this structure and settled in as night came to the land. The healer among the soldiers did what they could to relieve the pain and suffering of the wounded, including Tor, and settled in to wait, watching in the darkness for further attacks from the enemy they could hear moving through the forests around them. Though none of the enemy approached the hill the soldiers of the company had little hope of rescue, and thought that Sergeant Tor and the other seriously wounded would not last the night, much less the time it would take to make it back to base in a running fight. They decided to wait until morning to make any move, hoping the enemy scouting for them in the forests below would move on by the dawn.
As the night deepened the depths of the delirium brought on by his grievous wounds caused Tor to fall into a dark dream. Within this nightmare scape he found himself surrounded by shadows and movement, the faces and sounds of friends and enemies that had passed moving in and out of the surrounding shadows, alternatively taunting and encouraging him. From this darkness a point of light appeared and grew, approaching him from out of the shadows that filled this world. A of a being of Light approached, banishing the looming shadows. This being moved closer, filling his eyes and blinding Tor with the intense radiance of its presence and asked,
“Will you Serve”
The voice was penetrating and held the tone of bells tolling in the distance, dire and beautiful. Tor felt it penetrate to the core of his being, resonating within his body and soul. Deeply wounded and in pain Tor agreed, and an intense lightness burned through his body and mind, branding him with its glory
In the depths of the night Tor rose, healed and hale, great scars crossing his face and marking his body where he had been wounded. As if in a trance he moved among his men and the wounded, touching them and bringing them back to their feet, not healed, but able and ready to move. He led his troops off of the hill in the darkness, moving with uncharacteristic stealth, miraculously avoiding all the enemy scouts and patrols that filled the woods around them. Finally after hours of travel that few could fully remember they arrived with the dawn safely back at their base and the allies that held there.
As he walked through the forts gate with the rising sun Tor fell, once again falling into unconsciousness. The men that had traveled through the night with him were all exhausted, and those that had wounds were taken to the healers who were amazed at ability for some of the most grievously injured to move at all, much less on a forced march through enemy territory. Whispers moved through the camp of the miracles that Tor had wrought to bring his troops safely home and how he had risen from near death to lead them. Late the following day Tor rose, rested and ready, the actions of the night before felt more a dream than a memory in his mind
Back now in their base the remnants of the Company weathered the assault. Tor continued to lead his men and do his duties within the Company, but in the night his dreams were filled by the being of light and a desire to move on. As the days passed the raid in force finally faltered before the arriving reinforcements from both the Regiment and the troops of the Duchy, When the fighting was finally over Tor went to the commander of the Stormborn, Captain Bjarn Smithson and tendered his resignation.
The Captain was hesitant, distressed at losing one of his most promising men but, seeing the change in Tor, he reluctantly accepted the resignation, giving him his equipment and weapons as well as all the pay he was due and wishing him luck and a good future. Tor left the regiment knowing that they would accept him back at any time, but knowing this life as a mercenary was no longer his future.
Driven by dreams and portents Tor now travels the country, finding himself in situations where his skill and newfound powers could assist those in need and to further the cause of Good. His steps are guided by these rumors and dreams as he moves through the world, a vagabond with a power he is both blessed and confused by. His days are now filled by a striving to interpret the messages he now sees in all things, filled by the sites and wonders of the world around him as he goes where he must to do what he can
In the past he had as a practice sent the major portion of his pay back to his family to assist them and keep that relationship with his loved ones. This practice continues, though the pay is less as he no longer has a steady income. He writes home with news of his travels, but never mentions the Shining One or his Dreams as he knows his family would not understand. He himself is still not sure of what has happened to him, but he now is driven. His days are spent looking for the injustices in the world and working to redress wrongs and avenge those in need
This is the background of Valus the Sinner, my Blood Hunter. As a heads up, this is put into logs that HE will soon find.
Log 1: They beat me, and used me as an "errand boy," whatever that is. The guys here before me laughed and yelled at me, threw their food and drink. One of the glasses even shattered, sending a shard into my arm. And the smell was terrible. I've never smelled anything worse. I hope tomorrow is better.
Log 2: Today was, in fact, a bit better. They let us out to the yard, where a bunch of the guys were runnings and lifting these things they called "weights." It was interesting, yet I was unenthused. Nothing else interesting happened.
Log 5: I got beat again, and this time, I think I saw some blood on the floor. I cried for hours, they said, begging them to stop. They said they haven't laughed that hard in a while. I don't understand what was so funny about watching someone get hurt. I think it was called "Sadism," or something like that. Anyway, I also had another glass thrown at me. Good thing it missed.
Log 11: I'm sure they're joking, leaving me in this big, dark room, right? I'm writing this before they come and give me another beating for disobeying them when they told me to leave my cell. At least, I hope it's a beating. Dear gods, I hope it's just that.
Log 12: It wasn't just a beating. They brought those THINGS out on me. They said they were dogs, but they weren't. Those THINGS were Devils, creatures from some other world. They bit me, ripped the flesh of my left leg and hand. I can barely write, I'm in so much pain. I hope there isn't something else that's going to happen. Please, dear gods, help me...
Log 17: [The page was ripped out, the only thing remaining is "DoN'T fOrgET"]
Log 21: This place, this prison, is called Sinner's Rise. It's a place, a dark room, a walled-in city the size of a home, with no light, nor remaining life but the tortured and the poisoned. I am one of them, these Sinners. I have painted Blood as my sigils, Bone as my knives and swords, and Souls as my own. Tomorrow, I break free, and slaughter this Whole Prison, Floor to Floor, Room to Room, Guard and Prisoner alike. I will leave no one alive, and when I do, there will be nothing left but the Prison of Fort Heide. I am a Sinner, and whoever finds this, I pledge to you, that you will suffer, just like I have.
Nameless, Accursed Undead... Unfit, even to be Cinder... And so it is... That Ash, Seeketh Embers…”
Tyranos - Red Dragonborn Archeologist Hexblade of Tiamat
Professor of Archeology, expert on the occult, and how does one say it... obtainer of rare antiquities. But also an obtainer of rare and misplaced knowledge. Long ago a forgotten race of fiends created a secret path to power and taught it to the mortals of old to weaken their fealty to Asmodeus. In his wrath, Asmodeus destroyed the scheming devils and struck their very names from the memory of all beings—but Tyranos dares to study their perilous secrets anyway. Having discovered them in a tomb hidden away from mortal eyes for a millennium. By using these infernal laws against the rulers of the hells, these pacts allows him to steal power from devils without making any offering in return. And Tyranos set his sights very high indeed.... on Tiamat herself.
Check out my Disabled & Dragons Youtube Channel for 5e Monster and Player Tactics. Helping the Disabled Community and Players and DM’s (both new and experienced) get into D&D. Plus there is a talking Dragon named Quill.
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCPPmyTI0tZ6nM-bzY0IG3ww
Dragonborn Sorcerer I whipped up in prep for Icewind Mail:
Fallax was not born a sullen dragonborn. He hails from the southern regions of the Sword Coast, raised in a mixed community of dragonborns and humans. Though dragonborn, he was adopted and raised by a human family, not uncommon for the centuries-old community that had basically forgotten about race-differences. As a child, he was enamored with acting, and dreamt to one day become one himself. The dream did not go far, however, when one night, his house caught on fire due to an unknown cause.
The fire erupted in the middle of the night, catching him and his family totally off-guard. He was one of the last to wake, awoken only by the brightness of the flames. He was relatively unharmed, being a golden dragonborn and therefore resistant to fire. Regardless, he was young at the time and had not become familiar with his abilities yet. He was frightened of the flames, the chaos, the blinding smoke, and he panicked, rushing towards his window, one of the few in the house and certainly the only one big enough to admit his size. As he was climbing out the square of now shattered glass, he heard his family screaming, yelling, shouting for help.
He wanted to help. He knew he should. And yet, looking back into the room, filled with the infernal, demonic flames, spiraling out of control, consuming everything it touch, he couldn't.
He fell out of his second story window, landing hard and breaking both of his legs. Curled up in agony, there was little he could do except sob as he heard the cries of the burning. A short minute or so later, the entire house collapsed, and he was left with silence.
Days later, after the local cleric had healed his legs and funerals had been held for all of his kin, Fallax had another problem presented to him. At first he didn't even notice it, but eventually, he started to realize the townspeople were... different. Quieter. Avoiding eye contact, walking opposite directions. Youthful ignorance only lasted so long, however, and Fallax soon understood. A gold dragonborn? A burned down home? A black sheep, different from the rest of his family?
Of course, Fallax knew he hadn't started the fire. But the whispers, the glances behind his back, it was too much. He had no idea what to do, so he ran. He ran, and he never went back. He vowed that never again would he not be strong enough to face his fear, to save those who he loved. He would master fire, learn everything he could about it, become it. He would never forget the reason that his family died so that it would never happen again. The fire would forge an eternal link to his guilt.
He traveled city to city, up and down the sword coast, homeless or close to it more often than not. He became something of a con-man, using his natural acting skills and charisma to steal, cheat, and learn. As a dragonborn, his dragonic bloodline opened up the door for sorcery, and eventually, with enough time and practice from the various different sorcerers, wizards, and warlocks he learned from (whether on the street or people he had conned), he became a sorcerer.
The time of the changed who he was, as well. Gone was the youthful, innocent dragon, replaced by a harsher, cynical, dragonborn who had become semi-addicted to fire. He had spent enough time with it that he had learned to appreciate fire, grow content with it. In fact, his mental stability has partially grown dependent on fire, relying on it to remind him why he lives, why he runs.
As of recently, he has need to lie low for a bit. A particularly rough incident involving a powerful merchant and a burned load of goods has given Fallax reason to go someplace dissociated with fire. Looking over his maps, the answer became clear: Frozenfar. A cold, bitter tundra where no one would think to look. A place where Fallax could control his fire. A place where he would be the only one with fire.
Now, he only needed a way to get there...
"Would you like to destroy some evil today?"
I love the backstory! It’s tragic, yet lends itself to a hopeful beginning for your character. I’m curious, what alignment are you planning on making Ademetrius?
"Would you like to destroy some evil today?"
I am making Adametrius Neutral, as his driving force in life is the pursuit of knowledge.
Nice work guys! some are long, some short, but all are really good!