I decided to post this here after some inspiration the other night to write a character narrative for my play group's discord chat. I'm happy enough with how it came together to share it with a wider audience. I suppose she can be summarized as, "High Intelligence, Gutter Charisma," heh. Spoiled rich girl with a massive intellectual ego.
— — —
As a child, Ardren found contentment within the confines of her bedroom—no, her ‘study,’ as she would ever insist it be called, even from the early age of twelve.
While the other plebeian children whiled away their lives out in the streets with their obnoxious, vapid games, she herself could be found honing her craft amid an ever-expanding trove of accumulated knowledge and arcanic innovation. Over time, her quills and inkwells gave way to magical pens which never ran dry. Candlelight would soon wither in obsolescence next to devices that could dim or glow at a simple, intuitive touch. Her bookshelves filled over the years, to the point of flooding her floors and corners with ever-rising stacks of tomes.
— (the adolescent years pass by) —
More. She needed more. Berdusk’s libraries were sorely lacking—clearly administered and maintained by a cadre of amateurish neophytes. For a small blessing, the wealth her parents accumulated through the merchant trade had assisted greatly in growing her trove over the years. Beyond a source of funds, however, she found them to be of use for little else. “Oghma help me,” she muttered with a sigh. Yes, the town's libraries were not enough. Even the temple of The Binder itself seemed more concerned these days with acquiring diaries and other mundane trivia than anything truly wondrous. Deeper knowledge existed with these realms. She was sure of it.
It even existed, perhaps, within the city. After all, there were tales of the old Harper stronghold that once stood within these walls. Twilight Hall… Perhaps something of it had been left behind, and she now found herself desperate enough to bear the risk of searching for it. Yes… Her friend, Zindur, knew people—people who knew how to get into places—specifically, places that they were not allowed to be. Ardren set her pen down on the desk, leaned back in her chair, and crossed her arms. She would have to ask him about this tomorrow evening… ask him to introduce her to these people.
— (several months pass) —
Ardren dropped onto her bed in a wince of pain, clutching a stump where her right hand used to be. “Gah! Damn it!”
“What in the Hells were you thinking?” Zindur said harshly, closing the door behind him. “Do you have any idea the shit I had to pull to bribe a greater restoration this time of night? With no-questions-asked?”
“Oh, shut up. I’ll pay you back.” She winced again, her thoughts racing as she eyed the now-bandaged lump that had once been her good hand… her writing hand. “Grrr.” This was going to be a serious inconvenience.
“Yes, you will. With interest.” Her half-drow friend paced back and forth in the middle of the room with his arms crossed. “But still. I hope whatever that thing is, it was worth it. Twilight Hall? Really?”
She shot him a glare. “What else is left for me in this damned, backwater city? ‘Liberating’ funds from those corrupt noble bastards helped fund my searches, but it still hasn’t been enough.” She stood up from the bed and made her way over to her work-chair, sank into it, and tossed a small draw-string leather pouch onto the desk.
“How was I supposed to know that damn box would be cursed?”
Despite her harsh words, she was thankful for Zindur’s connections and for his prompt action in abating the withering curse—even if its effect on her hand was ultimately irreversible. “You’re right though. As simple as that lock was to pop, I suppose I should have expected something more. And… well. Thanks.”
He nodded with a grunt, opened the room’s window, and climbed out through it into the night.
She reached to the back of the desk for an in-progress schematic and pulled it front and center. Her design for what should have been a simple arcanic glove would now need to be modified to become something so much more. The loss of her hand wasn’t for nothing though. She had acquired it—a relic that might finally lift her inspiration and thirst for knowledge to a new high.
What she did not realize, however, was that the Harpers would, in time, come looking for their relic. She could not foresee that they would recognize her aptitude for both magic and subterfuge, and would—rather than punish her intrusion and theft—choose to employ her as a field agent and a spy. Her parents would never know. She couldn’t let them know… for their own sake as well as hers.
Yes, the grasp for knowledge had cost her right hand, but its sacrifice would yield so much more in trade. Returning her attention to the glove design on the desk, she lifted the pen on her left side with an unfamiliar grip, and then frowned as rough, uncoordinated ink strokes began to mar her once-pristine work.
— (yet more years pass by) —
The door to her study burst open with a clatter, followed by a string of entirely predictable words. “Have you not left this room all day?” her graying father exclaimed, the tone of his voice attempting to find purchase somewhere between irritation and pity. “The meal that your mother worked so hard over went cold hours ago.”
She did not answer. Lines of ink flowed from her pen onto the page, connecting one diagram to its partner nearby. Numbers and words came next, tying down the diagrams’ relationship to preserve it for the equations on the page that would follow.
“Are you even listening to me?” His voice abandoned pity and embraced irritation. “This is not the first time I have tried to express this concern to you. Your mother and I do not have much time left to secure our legacy; your legacy. You do not have much time left before y—”
With a flick of her prosthetic wrist—pen still gripped in hand—a device near one bookshelf came to life with a glow, slicing off his words like a scythe through a field of wheat. Ardren settled into a contented sigh, her eyes never leaving the page on which her attention was focused.
“How can a man so blessedly gifted in trade be so utterly daft in every other way,” she muttered, resting her forehead upon the thumb and fingers of her remaining, living hand. Her words however, like her father’s, died within the soundless air hanging about the room. Minutes passed. More still, followed. The comforting silence cradled her thoughts as the seconds ticked on. She did not know if the man behind her had departed. She presumed he had some time ago. Equations and diagrams continued to sprawl from her bottomless ink-pen onto the page, as the soft light of the desk lamp glowed on into the night.
Ardren Skywright -- an Artificer/Rogue, inspired entirely by this piece of artwork that I came across.
The left-most version is the one that's relevant to the character, but I do like the others as well.
(Source: https://www.deviantart.com/thedurrrrian/art/Gaviel-the-Song-of-Silence-455923402)
I decided to post this here after some inspiration the other night to write a character narrative for my play group's discord chat. I'm happy enough with how it came together to share it with a wider audience. I suppose she can be summarized as, "High Intelligence, Gutter Charisma," heh. Spoiled rich girl with a massive intellectual ego.
— — —
As a child, Ardren found contentment within the confines of her bedroom—no, her ‘study,’ as she would ever insist it be called, even from the early age of twelve.
While the other plebeian children whiled away their lives out in the streets with their obnoxious, vapid games, she herself could be found honing her craft amid an ever-expanding trove of accumulated knowledge and arcanic innovation. Over time, her quills and inkwells gave way to magical pens which never ran dry. Candlelight would soon wither in obsolescence next to devices that could dim or glow at a simple, intuitive touch. Her bookshelves filled over the years, to the point of flooding her floors and corners with ever-rising stacks of tomes.
— (the adolescent years pass by) —
More. She needed more. Berdusk’s libraries were sorely lacking—clearly administered and maintained by a cadre of amateurish neophytes. For a small blessing, the wealth her parents accumulated through the merchant trade had assisted greatly in growing her trove over the years. Beyond a source of funds, however, she found them to be of use for little else. “Oghma help me,” she muttered with a sigh. Yes, the town's libraries were not enough. Even the temple of The Binder itself seemed more concerned these days with acquiring diaries and other mundane trivia than anything truly wondrous. Deeper knowledge existed with these realms. She was sure of it.
It even existed, perhaps, within the city. After all, there were tales of the old Harper stronghold that once stood within these walls. Twilight Hall… Perhaps something of it had been left behind, and she now found herself desperate enough to bear the risk of searching for it. Yes… Her friend, Zindur, knew people—people who knew how to get into places—specifically, places that they were not allowed to be. Ardren set her pen down on the desk, leaned back in her chair, and crossed her arms. She would have to ask him about this tomorrow evening… ask him to introduce her to these people.
— (several months pass) —
Ardren dropped onto her bed in a wince of pain, clutching a stump where her right hand used to be. “Gah! Damn it!”
“What in the Hells were you thinking?” Zindur said harshly, closing the door behind him. “Do you have any idea the shit I had to pull to bribe a greater restoration this time of night? With no-questions-asked?”
“Oh, shut up. I’ll pay you back.” She winced again, her thoughts racing as she eyed the now-bandaged lump that had once been her good hand… her writing hand. “Grrr.” This was going to be a serious inconvenience.
“Yes, you will. With interest.” Her half-drow friend paced back and forth in the middle of the room with his arms crossed. “But still. I hope whatever that thing is, it was worth it. Twilight Hall? Really?”
She shot him a glare. “What else is left for me in this damned, backwater city? ‘Liberating’ funds from those corrupt noble bastards helped fund my searches, but it still hasn’t been enough.” She stood up from the bed and made her way over to her work-chair, sank into it, and tossed a small draw-string leather pouch onto the desk.
“How was I supposed to know that damn box would be cursed?”
Despite her harsh words, she was thankful for Zindur’s connections and for his prompt action in abating the withering curse—even if its effect on her hand was ultimately irreversible. “You’re right though. As simple as that lock was to pop, I suppose I should have expected something more. And… well. Thanks.”
He nodded with a grunt, opened the room’s window, and climbed out through it into the night.
She reached to the back of the desk for an in-progress schematic and pulled it front and center. Her design for what should have been a simple arcanic glove would now need to be modified to become something so much more. The loss of her hand wasn’t for nothing though. She had acquired it—a relic that might finally lift her inspiration and thirst for knowledge to a new high.
What she did not realize, however, was that the Harpers would, in time, come looking for their relic. She could not foresee that they would recognize her aptitude for both magic and subterfuge, and would—rather than punish her intrusion and theft—choose to employ her as a field agent and a spy. Her parents would never know. She couldn’t let them know… for their own sake as well as hers.
Yes, the grasp for knowledge had cost her right hand, but its sacrifice would yield so much more in trade. Returning her attention to the glove design on the desk, she lifted the pen on her left side with an unfamiliar grip, and then frowned as rough, uncoordinated ink strokes began to mar her once-pristine work.
— (yet more years pass by) —
The door to her study burst open with a clatter, followed by a string of entirely predictable words. “Have you not left this room all day?” her graying father exclaimed, the tone of his voice attempting to find purchase somewhere between irritation and pity. “The meal that your mother worked so hard over went cold hours ago.”
She did not answer. Lines of ink flowed from her pen onto the page, connecting one diagram to its partner nearby. Numbers and words came next, tying down the diagrams’ relationship to preserve it for the equations on the page that would follow.
“Are you even listening to me?” His voice abandoned pity and embraced irritation. “This is not the first time I have tried to express this concern to you. Your mother and I do not have much time left to secure our legacy; your legacy. You do not have much time left before y—”
With a flick of her prosthetic wrist—pen still gripped in hand—a device near one bookshelf came to life with a glow, slicing off his words like a scythe through a field of wheat. Ardren settled into a contented sigh, her eyes never leaving the page on which her attention was focused.
“How can a man so blessedly gifted in trade be so utterly daft in every other way,” she muttered, resting her forehead upon the thumb and fingers of her remaining, living hand. Her words however, like her father’s, died within the soundless air hanging about the room. Minutes passed. More still, followed. The comforting silence cradled her thoughts as the seconds ticked on. She did not know if the man behind her had departed. She presumed he had some time ago. Equations and diagrams continued to sprawl from her bottomless ink-pen onto the page, as the soft light of the desk lamp glowed on into the night.
Just a simple level 4 point-buy to start with: https://www.dndbeyond.com/characters/57691504/fEsdy0
I haven't done any fiction writing in a while, so this was fun. Enjoy.
👍🏾