I have created a random campaign world with Azgaar's Fantasy Map Generator, peopled the towns with Kassoon's generator and randomly chose a starting town. Then, once I used ChaoticShiny's Pantheon creator to rough out some gods, I worked with the players to create utterly random characters (each of whom expressed dismay at what they ended up with initially and now thoroughly enjoy) using some rough guidelines, Fantasy Grounds and Xanathar's Guide 'This is your Life' background generator. I am keeping this all organized inside my customized Notion database. Here's what the players have created so far:
Either abandoned or lost when still a small child, the only home Ivory knew before her Journey began, was deep in the mountains with the dwarf clan of Torunn. She spent her younger days in the mountains, surrounded by the dwarves' jewels, toiling and inspecting them with her adoptive family, most of al, her beloved Vistra who always held her in close. As she grew into a young woman, Ivory began to feel her cleric calling. She joined the dwarven clerics, seeking to connect to their goddess, feeling the calling growing more each day. Upon one of the most sacred events, the Midsummer Night, all of Torunn slipped up through the veil of the mountains for a great celebration. It was here that Ivory saw her path alight, shining from the edge of the clearing to a path, calling her. From the wise dwarves she learned - finally - why her prayers were not answered in the ways she expected. Her goddess was not the one of the dwarves. Ivory had to leave the mountains and her adoptive family to follow the light.
What her born name was she did not know; she was dubbed 'Ivory' by her adopted family, the dwarf clan of Torunn. Either abandoned or lost when still a small child, the only home she ever knew was deep in the mountains with those of the Torunn.
Although her fair skin and hair and her slight build was evidence that she was not a true dwarf, she worked and grew alongside her family. In the years before her Calling, she imagined she would live forever in the mountains, inspecting the jewels with her beloved Vistra, who had always held her under her wing in her hearty, boisterous way.
Ivory, then, the clan elders named her, as her fairness always was noticeable. It had hurt her young heart as others would proudly boast their clan names, and the history of generations before of their namesakes, when never before had there been an Ivory, in name or in physical presence, within her family clan.
"You will make your own legacy," Vistra had told her, patting dry her tears, "you are not a born Torunn, or even a born dwarf, but you still bear our code, our strength, our family ties. And wherever you go, you will always be of the clan Torunn, the home in your heart is always here."
As she grew into her teenage years, Ivory began to feel a longing, something beyond herself, and began to search the mountain kingdom to understand, to seek the answer. She joined with the faenor, believing her passion to be a calling from Berronar Truesilver. Although she was raised in the very same kingdom, the faenor were skeptical of her fair, lithe form and she was often criticized for her deviations from the long-established traditions and her excited outbursts when she could feel the calling rising within her were met with many tongue clicks and shakes of the head. Berronar did not speak to her directly, but still she felt the glow when the others buzzed about her nearby presence. As years passed and she grew into a young woman, she began to become frustrated, doubling her prayer efforts, but still her spells seemed to illuminate briefly but would not take hold.
Although she was frustrated, the yearning inside her did not dissipate but grew stronger. It was there, she knew it! The tremors of her innate power teased through her, and would bubble up, demanding release, only to fizzle at the moment she emphatically pushed them forward.
Still, Ivory dove enthusiastically in with her kinsmen and faithful, planning and preparing for the Midsummer Night, which would turn out to be the time of revelation for her.
Her beloved Vistra came nearby, selling some of her coveted jewels to spread her mark throughout the kingdom. As they visited in the hours prior to the celebration, Vistra listened to all of Ivory's stories about her efforts, her excitement, her deep passion, and the disappointment of Berronar's silence to her. After awhile they separated, each to their own tasks, until everyone would come together for the great silver offering ritual at the highest point of the moon.
They climbed all together to the widest of clearings, where suddenly a flat plane presented in the hilltops. Many dwarves only would very rarely see the sky so unhindered by treetops, and many did not like it, feeling more vulnerable and separate from their homeland.
Ivory ran to the center and spun around with her arms outstretched, her head tilted back and eyes up onto the night sky, filled with stars. She could feel her heart pounding, her body springing to life.
"Berronar! Berronar Truesilver! At last! At last!" She was giddy with excitement with no doubt, every fibre of her being telling her that she was feeling the deity answer her, that soon her devotion would be manifested, and she would go into the world to spread her true energy through.
But the dwarves did not cry out in excitement with her. A few watched, some with amusement, some with sympathy, some with skepticism. Ivory stopped, watching them all, her head shaking, not understanding how - at this moment when she felt the calling stronger than ever before - how did her clan and kingdom not feel it? Her fingers were trembling and heart pounding, on the edge of some pending rapture, and somehow alone.
Vistra came to her, her eyes filled with a mix of emotions, her hearty diminutive form soon up against her, hugging into her and patting her back with thick slaps.
"No, Ivory, I'm afraid not, no, no. Not now. Not ever. For tho we love you and you are one of us, Berronar will not speak to you."
"But she has, Vistra! She is! Finally, I feel it. Oh, if I could only explain it well enough! It is all through me now, I feel her."
Vistra smiled, and motioned over with a quick impatient gesture, and soon a very elder dwarf shuffled out into the clearing.
"Kathra," said Vistra, "she can speak to the gods. She sees your light, Ivory. But she has a message for you now."
Kathra turned her old and wise gaze to Ivory's human form, slowly drawing it from head to toe. "Hmph," she said after awhile. "Very well. We are protected, in our mountains, by our beloved gods. Those of the home say you serve well, with spirit, but still blind. You are not one of us, as much as you are a friend. It is time for you to leave this kingdom."
Ivory stared, shocked and horrified. She shook her head no.
Kathra looked up through the clearing to the wide open sky. She pointed. "When you stood here, in this very spot, you felt you finally had an answer from your god after so many prayers?"
"Yes! Oh, yes!"
Kathra nodded. "And so you did. But your god is not Berronar. Your god is not among those the dwarven clerics worship. You hear no answer because you are not theirs. Here. Here, where the trees part, our feast tonight is of celebration, and we visit a spot only thinly veiled, uncloaked from our deity's cover. Here, the walls are thin enough that your own god can better speak to you. But you must leave the dwarf kingdom to hear your god, to receive your calling. It is time for you to move on to your place in the outer world."
As Kathra turned away from her and began shuffling back to the crowd gathered, Ivory felt her spirit gripped - no, seized! - and the confirmation of the elder dwarf's message came in the form of her own heart pounding, her feet itching to move, her being drawn away, as she turned her head she could see the slightest illumination of a path leading to the woods.
That way, that way, she thought, using nearly all of her energy to keep from running to it.
She wheeled around to Vistra, her eyes wide.
Vistra smiled and gripped her wrist hard.
"I know, I know." She said, her voice clipped and cracking. "But don't you worry about it at all, Ivory, you go on and do what you need to do. You will come back to visit, you will always be our clan if you are not dwarf-born."
As she spoke, she entwined a black cord around Ivory's wrist, making short work of it and tying it off.
"When you need us, you'll find us," she said, nodding. "That there is from that which we found when Eberk came back with his treasures. I carved it myself, for you, for Berronar's white flower. You will find your own now, but always have a friend in the dwarf." She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the edges, "and I am sure that Berronar will still favor you from time to time, for all the years you worked so hard to serve her."
Vistra nodded and turned away, and the crowd of dwarves celebrating Midsummer Night seemed to double, tuned into their own festivities, until their buzz was all around her but Ivory could not recognize any specific one. Her restlessness grew, and the hint of light along the path to the woods grew, just a bit more, from minute to minute, until it was shining. Beckoning.
Ivory visited the food and wares circling the event. She would not be staying for the feast, but she could pack herself some nourishment for later. Wherever she may be. Where did that path lead?
cough "Ah yes that would make it my turn. As I've said before my name is Morric. My parents suffered a tragic fate when I was young, leaving me in the care of a gardener who lived behind a mansion. Life was rough. I had to gamble, steal, and sell ale that I learned to make. As hard as it all was, I had a smile on my face because I felt free. Eventually I was taken into a monk monastery where I began my monk training." Morric stretches and gives a yawn "I began to grow bored of all the training as I outperformed all the physical training due to my stature and read all my short novels of the Human Bat, stories of a young crimefighter who goes after his rival, the Jester. I began abandoning lessons and with a half-elf I met who introduced me to the live of a traveling cirque. Oh good ol' Morric was blinded by love, but all good things must come to an end. I was robbed by her and left with nothing but the clothes on my back. I don't care that she robbed me, only that she stole my pendant of the bat, which was a family heirloom that helped me get into the monk monastery. I have vowed to reclaim what was taken from me, my heirloom and my heart." Morric looks around and gives a wave
A drow mostly by features alone, violet gained not only a new name in the forest but also dreams, attitudes and skills that we're quite unlike those of her origin. She dares not speak the name of her so-called father’s house - one of the greatest drow Houses of all. A slaver of high standing, he has disowned her - though she had long given up on all of them. It was his particularly cruel streak and cunning outlook that had given him his reputation - and Violet’s disdain. Her uncle in the forest had long since done the same concerning his brother and had brought violet to him as often as he could. Taking her under his wing, he had passed on all his warrior skills to her and introduced her to a world of trees and rivers, tiny creatures and kind hearts. Violet became so alive with all the adventures, fun and mysterious happenings in the forest, that the beings around her renamed her. She now always goes by sparkling violet. Sensing the magic in many of the beings around her, she had gained a healthy respect and a curious wonder, about its workings. They did not seem to use the spells she’d been accustomed to in her home town, and each casting appeared to be filled with a natural warmth which was so far from the coldness in the eyes of most of the wizards she’d come across. There was no god or goddess these forest dwellers worshipped, each of them was simply immersed in a subtle warm light and they held a reverence for the living things around them. This was the kind of religion - nonreligion - that resonated with her. She left the forest vowing to always fight for them and others just like them. Carrying all her uncle had taught her, along with a vision for lands in which all slaves were freed, all underlings allowed to thrive and beings of the forest celebrated for their inherent magic and mystery. Needless to say, she has very little time for the claims of any arrogant or deemed noble lords.
2nd born of 5 to Nhilithra Dalanthan - mother known as "The Midnight Vixen" a pirate and Vhurindrar T'aleth - father. Born at sea during a freak storm that affected her as she took the power of the storm within her. While her mother was at sea her father took care of the family. Thiala worked for a well to do lady in town and spent a fair amount of time living and working in her house.
When the Midnight Vixen returned home with loot she would spend time with Thiala telling her stories of the sea. The last time Nhilithra left was after she gave birth to the youngest child. She disappeared and never returned and was presumably lost at sea but I'm not sure. Trouble followed Thiala as not long after her mother disappeared she was accused of a crime she did not do. Someone unknown had passed counterfeit coins and when found out they decided to pin the crime on Thiala. Thiala heard word of this betrayal and fled before they could take her in. While on the road a devil approached her with an offer to clear her name and grant her power. Having heard tales of devils from her mother Thiala rejected him and the society that betrayed her. Not believing her mother dead Thiala decided to search for her when she came across Zeeazz a Goblin thief who rather than steal Thiala's meager belongings decided to befriend her. For the next couple of weeks Thiala enjoyed Zeeazz company and would have probably joined her but when the full moon came Zeeazz transformed into an uncontrollable beast and Thiala barely escaped with her life. Thiala still miss her but can't be with her for now. Thiala had last heard that her mother had traveled to Snowshield Island so she is looking for her there.
"I am the punishment of the Gods...If you had not committed great sins, the Gods would not have sent a punishment like me upon you." Lord Veritas Mortis
Here begins the account and life of the Venerable Lord Veritas Mortis. From birth, our most esteemed Lord had been challenged in life. Lord Veritas was birthed in the simple dwellings of a local healer. Immediately upon his birth, he was taken in by a woman whom he came to call his mother. Our most revered Lord Veritas never knew his real parents. In fact, he was never able to find out what happened to them. Glorious Lord Veritas was able, however, to glean from various persons of rank, tomes, parchments and persuasion, a little about House Mortis. The House had been filled with many remarkable and well known people over the years.
Alas, our worthy Lord had a modest upbringing. A small house in a modest town. A simple childhood was to test our hallowed Lord. As a young man, he soon found he had a love for mead, libations and most of all, women. One night, after a long night out drinking and warm company, our Lord found himself in the town square. Stripped of all his possessions(and clothes) and laying beside him was the body of a local, um,...escort. The bloody knife in his hand. Glorious Lord Veritas was quickly arrested. His adoptive family quickly disowned him. Screaming his innocents, Lord Veritas was taken away to prison. On the caravan to the prison, where he would surely be executed, the group was set upon by Fina the dragon. After eating her fill and taking a payroll chest full of gold, Fina noticed something moving. As Lord Veritas tried to escape, she snatched him up in her large claw. Fina thought he might offer some form of entertainment for a few years. After a short while of Fina having him play the jester for here, he managed to engage her intellectually. He found tomes in her lair and asked her to impart some of her knowledge to him. Fina found this all to be very entertaining and obliged him. A few months pass, and Fina left one day. Saying she would return. A Day or two pass and Fina never returns. He takes this opportunity to try and escape. Our preeminent Lord grabbed as much gold and gems as he could carry and began to leave the lair. As he scrambled throught the dragons lair, he heard a voice call out to him. He stopped suddenly, turning slowly. He expected to see Fina standing behind him. The voice called to him, called his name, as if they were acquainted. He looked around and saw no one there. Yet again, he heard his name. Lord Veritas looked all around, and still, he saw no one. He turned quickly and began to run.
He rounded a corner and tripped, falling hard to the lair floor. He scrambled to his knees quickly and looked to see what it was he tripped over. There, sticking out of a pile of old weapons and armor (most the armor still housing the remains of the men who bore them), was a polished elm handle. As he looked the handle, the voice seemed louder, more persistent. Lord Veritas reached out, slowly, to grasp the handle. As his fingers wrapped around it, he felt immense pain and power course through him. Visions of another time and another life, not his own, flooded his mind. The tremendous rush of energy and mental assault was sudden, intense, and over all at once. He was dizzy, his vision darkened, he collapsed. While he slept, he learned a name, Anarich. He saw an elf, long dead, from a time long forgot by most. From this vision of the elf flowed a long line of faces bathed in a blue light. These faces he felt he knew. Hundreds of faces from all over time. Mixed with these "familiar" faces of blue, were others. These faces he did not "know". These others were bathed in a dim red light. Faces of elves and dwarves. Orcs, goblins,ilithids, dragons. Men and monsters. Hundreds upon hundreds of faces from all over time and realms flow past. Then suddenly, forcefully, stopping on his own face. He was standing there in his minds eye, wrought with power, pouring out of him like water through a sieve. He woke then, suddenly, sweating, out of breath. The elm handle gripped tightly in his hand, and at the end of it, gleamed the polished head of a battle ax. Unlike the of the arms and armor in this pile, all rusted and ruined, this ax was polished, clean, pristine.
Though he had never wielded an ax in battle (nor in labor), he could not let it go. He realized then that he did not want to let go, he would not leave it behind. He left the lair after regaining his focus and resolve. He left with wealth and power (though the latter he did not know). A decade went by. Lord Veritas squandering what he had taken from Fina's lair. Always keeping Anarich the ax with him. Anarich would to talk with Lord Veritas during those years from time to time. Imparting onto him some degree of power and knowledge of the arcane. Anarich told him he had been bound inside the blade he now carried. He had been bound to the blade a thousand years ago, or more. Anarich did not know how long he had been there. He told Lord Veritas that he was indeed his ancestor, and that the ax and been in the Mortis lineage for several hundred years. Until ending up in Fina's lair, alone and wielded by no one. Down to his last few gold pieces. At the bottom of a bottle of stout ale. At the end of long night, Lord Veritas was suddenly focused. His path lay before him. Our Great Lord Veritas Mortis, the Hexblade, set out the next day. Vowing to clear his name of murder and to restore House Mortis to its due grandeur.
I have created a random campaign world with Azgaar's Fantasy Map Generator, peopled the towns with Kassoon's generator and randomly chose a starting town. Then, once I used ChaoticShiny's Pantheon creator to rough out some gods, I worked with the players to create utterly random characters (each of whom expressed dismay at what they ended up with initially and now thoroughly enjoy) using some rough guidelines, Fantasy Grounds and Xanathar's Guide 'This is your Life' background generator. I am keeping this all organized inside my customized Notion database. Here's what the players have created so far:
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Ivory
Either abandoned or lost when still a small child, the only home Ivory knew before her Journey began, was deep in the mountains with the dwarf clan of Torunn. She spent her younger days in the mountains, surrounded by the dwarves' jewels, toiling and inspecting them with her adoptive family, most of al, her beloved Vistra who always held her in close. As she grew into a young woman, Ivory began to feel her cleric calling. She joined the dwarven clerics, seeking to connect to their goddess, feeling the calling growing more each day. Upon one of the most sacred events, the Midsummer Night, all of Torunn slipped up through the veil of the mountains for a great celebration. It was here that Ivory saw her path alight, shining from the edge of the clearing to a path, calling her. From the wise dwarves she learned - finally - why her prayers were not answered in the ways she expected. Her goddess was not the one of the dwarves. Ivory had to leave the mountains and her adoptive family to follow the light.
What her born name was she did not know; she was dubbed 'Ivory' by her adopted family, the dwarf clan of Torunn. Either abandoned or lost when still a small child, the only home she ever knew was deep in the mountains with those of the Torunn.
Although her fair skin and hair and her slight build was evidence that she was not a true dwarf, she worked and grew alongside her family. In the years before her Calling, she imagined she would live forever in the mountains, inspecting the jewels with her beloved Vistra, who had always held her under her wing in her hearty, boisterous way.
Ivory, then, the clan elders named her, as her fairness always was noticeable. It had hurt her young heart as others would proudly boast their clan names, and the history of generations before of their namesakes, when never before had there been an Ivory, in name or in physical presence, within her family clan.
"You will make your own legacy," Vistra had told her, patting dry her tears, "you are not a born Torunn, or even a born dwarf, but you still bear our code, our strength, our family ties. And wherever you go, you will always be of the clan Torunn, the home in your heart is always here."
As she grew into her teenage years, Ivory began to feel a longing, something beyond herself, and began to search the mountain kingdom to understand, to seek the answer. She joined with the faenor, believing her passion to be a calling from Berronar Truesilver. Although she was raised in the very same kingdom, the faenor were skeptical of her fair, lithe form and she was often criticized for her deviations from the long-established traditions and her excited outbursts when she could feel the calling rising within her were met with many tongue clicks and shakes of the head. Berronar did not speak to her directly, but still she felt the glow when the others buzzed about her nearby presence. As years passed and she grew into a young woman, she began to become frustrated, doubling her prayer efforts, but still her spells seemed to illuminate briefly but would not take hold.
Although she was frustrated, the yearning inside her did not dissipate but grew stronger. It was there, she knew it! The tremors of her innate power teased through her, and would bubble up, demanding release, only to fizzle at the moment she emphatically pushed them forward.
Still, Ivory dove enthusiastically in with her kinsmen and faithful, planning and preparing for the Midsummer Night, which would turn out to be the time of revelation for her.
Her beloved Vistra came nearby, selling some of her coveted jewels to spread her mark throughout the kingdom. As they visited in the hours prior to the celebration, Vistra listened to all of Ivory's stories about her efforts, her excitement, her deep passion, and the disappointment of Berronar's silence to her. After awhile they separated, each to their own tasks, until everyone would come together for the great silver offering ritual at the highest point of the moon.
They climbed all together to the widest of clearings, where suddenly a flat plane presented in the hilltops. Many dwarves only would very rarely see the sky so unhindered by treetops, and many did not like it, feeling more vulnerable and separate from their homeland.
Ivory ran to the center and spun around with her arms outstretched, her head tilted back and eyes up onto the night sky, filled with stars. She could feel her heart pounding, her body springing to life.
"Berronar! Berronar Truesilver! At last! At last!" She was giddy with excitement with no doubt, every fibre of her being telling her that she was feeling the deity answer her, that soon her devotion would be manifested, and she would go into the world to spread her true energy through.
But the dwarves did not cry out in excitement with her. A few watched, some with amusement, some with sympathy, some with skepticism. Ivory stopped, watching them all, her head shaking, not understanding how - at this moment when she felt the calling stronger than ever before - how did her clan and kingdom not feel it? Her fingers were trembling and heart pounding, on the edge of some pending rapture, and somehow alone.
Vistra came to her, her eyes filled with a mix of emotions, her hearty diminutive form soon up against her, hugging into her and patting her back with thick slaps.
"No, Ivory, I'm afraid not, no, no. Not now. Not ever. For tho we love you and you are one of us, Berronar will not speak to you."
"But she has, Vistra! She is! Finally, I feel it. Oh, if I could only explain it well enough! It is all through me now, I feel her."
Vistra smiled, and motioned over with a quick impatient gesture, and soon a very elder dwarf shuffled out into the clearing.
"Kathra," said Vistra, "she can speak to the gods. She sees your light, Ivory. But she has a message for you now."
Kathra turned her old and wise gaze to Ivory's human form, slowly drawing it from head to toe. "Hmph," she said after awhile. "Very well. We are protected, in our mountains, by our beloved gods. Those of the home say you serve well, with spirit, but still blind. You are not one of us, as much as you are a friend. It is time for you to leave this kingdom."
Ivory stared, shocked and horrified. She shook her head no.
Kathra looked up through the clearing to the wide open sky. She pointed. "When you stood here, in this very spot, you felt you finally had an answer from your god after so many prayers?"
"Yes! Oh, yes!"
Kathra nodded. "And so you did. But your god is not Berronar. Your god is not among those the dwarven clerics worship. You hear no answer because you are not theirs. Here. Here, where the trees part, our feast tonight is of celebration, and we visit a spot only thinly veiled, uncloaked from our deity's cover. Here, the walls are thin enough that your own god can better speak to you. But you must leave the dwarf kingdom to hear your god, to receive your calling. It is time for you to move on to your place in the outer world."
As Kathra turned away from her and began shuffling back to the crowd gathered, Ivory felt her spirit gripped - no, seized! - and the confirmation of the elder dwarf's message came in the form of her own heart pounding, her feet itching to move, her being drawn away, as she turned her head she could see the slightest illumination of a path leading to the woods.
That way, that way, she thought, using nearly all of her energy to keep from running to it.
She wheeled around to Vistra, her eyes wide.
Vistra smiled and gripped her wrist hard.
"I know, I know." She said, her voice clipped and cracking. "But don't you worry about it at all, Ivory, you go on and do what you need to do. You will come back to visit, you will always be our clan if you are not dwarf-born."
As she spoke, she entwined a black cord around Ivory's wrist, making short work of it and tying it off.
"When you need us, you'll find us," she said, nodding. "That there is from that which we found when Eberk came back with his treasures. I carved it myself, for you, for Berronar's white flower. You will find your own now, but always have a friend in the dwarf." She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the edges, "and I am sure that Berronar will still favor you from time to time, for all the years you worked so hard to serve her."
Vistra nodded and turned away, and the crowd of dwarves celebrating Midsummer Night seemed to double, tuned into their own festivities, until their buzz was all around her but Ivory could not recognize any specific one. Her restlessness grew, and the hint of light along the path to the woods grew, just a bit more, from minute to minute, until it was shining. Beckoning.
Ivory visited the food and wares circling the event. She would not be staying for the feast, but she could pack herself some nourishment for later. Wherever she may be. Where did that path lead?
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Morric
cough "Ah yes that would make it my turn. As I've said before my name is Morric. My parents suffered a tragic fate when I was young, leaving me in the care of a gardener who lived behind a mansion. Life was rough. I had to gamble, steal, and sell ale that I learned to make. As hard as it all was, I had a smile on my face because I felt free. Eventually I was taken into a monk monastery where I began my monk training." Morric stretches and gives a yawn "I began to grow bored of all the training as I outperformed all the physical training due to my stature and read all my short novels of the Human Bat, stories of a young crimefighter who goes after his rival, the Jester. I began abandoning lessons and with a half-elf I met who introduced me to the live of a traveling cirque. Oh good ol' Morric was blinded by love, but all good things must come to an end. I was robbed by her and left with nothing but the clothes on my back. I don't care that she robbed me, only that she stole my pendant of the bat, which was a family heirloom that helped me get into the monk monastery. I have vowed to reclaim what was taken from me, my heirloom and my heart." Morric looks around and gives a wave
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SparkleViolet
A drow mostly by features alone, violet gained not only a new name in the forest but also dreams, attitudes and skills that we're quite unlike those of her origin. She dares not speak the name of her so-called father’s house - one of the greatest drow Houses of all. A slaver of high standing, he has disowned her - though she had long given up on all of them. It was his particularly cruel streak and cunning outlook that had given him his reputation - and Violet’s disdain. Her uncle in the forest had long since done the same concerning his brother and had brought violet to him as often as he could. Taking her under his wing, he had passed on all his warrior skills to her and introduced her to a world of trees and rivers, tiny creatures and kind hearts. Violet became so alive with all the adventures, fun and mysterious happenings in the forest, that the beings around her renamed her. She now always goes by sparkling violet. Sensing the magic in many of the beings around her, she had gained a healthy respect and a curious wonder, about its workings. They did not seem to use the spells she’d been accustomed to in her home town, and each casting appeared to be filled with a natural warmth which was so far from the coldness in the eyes of most of the wizards she’d come across. There was no god or goddess these forest dwellers worshipped, each of them was simply immersed in a subtle warm light and they held a reverence for the living things around them. This was the kind of religion - nonreligion - that resonated with her. She left the forest vowing to always fight for them and others just like them. Carrying all her uncle had taught her, along with a vision for lands in which all slaves were freed, all underlings allowed to thrive and beings of the forest celebrated for their inherent magic and mystery. Needless to say, she has very little time for the claims of any arrogant or deemed noble lords.
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Thalia Dalanthan
2nd born of 5 to Nhilithra Dalanthan - mother known as "The Midnight Vixen" a pirate and Vhurindrar T'aleth - father. Born at sea during a freak storm that affected her as she took the power of the storm within her. While her mother was at sea her father took care of the family. Thiala worked for a well to do lady in town and spent a fair amount of time living and working in her house.
When the Midnight Vixen returned home with loot she would spend time with Thiala telling her stories of the sea. The last time Nhilithra left was after she gave birth to the youngest child. She disappeared and never returned and was presumably lost at sea but I'm not sure. Trouble followed Thiala as not long after her mother disappeared she was accused of a crime she did not do. Someone unknown had passed counterfeit coins and when found out they decided to pin the crime on Thiala. Thiala heard word of this betrayal and fled before they could take her in. While on the road a devil approached her with an offer to clear her name and grant her power. Having heard tales of devils from her mother Thiala rejected him and the society that betrayed her. Not believing her mother dead Thiala decided to search for her when she came across Zeeazz a Goblin thief who rather than steal Thiala's meager belongings decided to befriend her. For the next couple of weeks Thiala enjoyed Zeeazz company and would have probably joined her but when the full moon came Zeeazz transformed into an uncontrollable beast and Thiala barely escaped with her life. Thiala still miss her but can't be with her for now. Thiala had last heard that her mother had traveled to Snowshield Island so she is looking for her there.
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Veritas Mortis
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