I have a character in a game who is thoroughly interested in folklore, partially because he himself is part of a tale.
To my mind, Folklore is a way that people will have weaved stories around things, and whilst it may not be in any way true, it makes an interesting tale and often gives a moral lesson. I love just making this sort of thing up, so I hope to update this thread steadily!
I don't know if there is official folklore in dnd or whether all the info in the books (which I haven't read thoroughly) is factual, so I started making up my own folklore. Please feel free to add your own folklore or any folklore you know from the books!
The Owl and the Crocodile (my own made-up folklore about owlbears and dragons):
Once there was a giant owl who had the most beautiful wings. It flew high over the mountains and the forests, and hunted the cattle that grazed on the green pastures below it each night. So it was for many years, but then the people started to spread, and they started to breed the cattle to become larger and larger, and the owl found that it was not strong enough any more to hunt the cattle. The owl grew hungry, and so flew away to a lake to try and catch a fish to eat instead. The owl hunted all day and all night, but at dawn, it had not seen a single fish. As the owl mad ready to leave, it heard a voice saying "I envy you". It turned and saw an enormous crocodile lying on the bank, watching it make ready to fly off. It was the crocodile who spoke, and now it spoke again; "You came for food, and found none, so now you will just fly away to somewhere new. I have ruled this lake for over a hundred years, but now I am hungry, for the people have come and taken the fish, and I cannot fly away as easily as you can.". The Owl looked over the crocodile, and replied "I envy you, for if I were half as strong as you, I would never be hungry again. My problem is not the lack of food, but a lack of strength to catch it.".
The Crocodile considered this for a moment, and then spoke again; "Tell me, Owl, would you swap strength with me? For I cannot leave this lake as I am, for the banks are too steep, and will surely starve. I offer you my strength in exchange for yours."
The Owl only thought about this for a moment, for it could see instantly that this deal was entirely in its favour - the Owl would be strong enough to feast on cattle once again, and the crocodile would be light enough to climb free of the lake. "I accept your offer", said the Owl.
The Crocodile led the owl to a strange tree which grew from the banks of the lake. "Perch in the branches above me, and we shall both sleep in the shelter of this tree. By next dawn, our deal will be fulfilled", it said. The Owl did as it was bid, and tucked its head beneath its wing as the crocodile curled its huge bulk around the trunk, and they both fell into a deep sleep.
On the next dawn, the Crocodile awoke feeling strange - where it had felt ponderous and heavy before, it now felt light and quick, and as it stretched out, it saw that it had grown wings - for the true strength of the Owl was not in its talons, but in its ability to fly. The Crocodile flapped its great wings, and its legs left the ground behind as it swooped into the sky, crying out its thanks to the Owl, becoming the first of the dragons.
The Owl awoke later, and found itself feeling heavy and ponderous where before it had been quick and light. It saw that its beautiful wings were no more, replaced with great strong arms. The whole beast radiated strength, but the Owl cried, for it had not wanted to give up its wings for this. Slowly, anguish turned to anger, and the Owl raged, tearing up trees with its strength and hurling great rocks into the water. It first raged at the crocodile for tricking it into this, then it raged at itself for allowing itself to be tricked, and then it raged at the people who had driven it to this - without the people, the Owl would not have come here, the Crocodile would not have been starving. An anger burned in the heart of the owl for all the People of the world, for it was their fault that it had lost its wings.
This Owl was the first of the Owlbears, and so if you should ever see one, know that it is consumed by a hatred for you and all the people it might meet, and be sure to turn and run the other way before it releases its fury upon you.
The Swamp King (written in verse, my own folklore of the folly of pride, inspired by monty python and the holy grail, of all things):
I’ll tell you a tale of dwarvenly pride And the balance of nature Which can’t be denied
A dwarf there was once Of royal blood Who laid claim to a land Of perpetual flood
A castle he built Ten stories high In the swamplands he claimed Or, at least, he tried
Each year he built up The castle sank down Every floor that he made Put a floor in the ground.
Every coin that he had Was a coin that he spent Wouldn’t admit defeat And he wouldn’t relent
A hundred years passed and the castle still sank And the dwarf king still built And his coffers he shrank
As poor as a beggar, The dwarven king died And the castle he built Was just four stories high.
There was nothing for him To his loved ones to bequeath Except four floors of castle With hundreds beneath
His children, they left And the castle sank more Abandoned, forgotten, The folly of Dwarves
They say, to this day That castle still stands Just one floor above hundreds under the land
So remember this lesson: When nature says no, You’d do well to listen And your wisdom will grow.
(a bit of a weak ending so I will readdress that at some point!)
If there's anything you think would make a cool bit of folklore or if you've got any yorself, please add it here! Thanks for reading!
All stars fade. Some stars forever fall. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Homebrew:Magic Items,Monsters,Spells,Subclasses ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- If there was no light, people wouldn't fear the dark.
I have also got one which also forms the backstory of my beastbarian/ranger variant human called Malth Borla, who i mentioned in the OP as being the one with a love of folklore (he has a deep voice with a sort-of welsh accent, which lends itself to the slow telling of stories). The last paragraph he leaves out of the tale, unless he truly trusts those he is telling (or wants to leave young children in wonder, knowing that their parents will not believe it!).
The Tale of Malth Borla; the Old Bear:
Once there was a dwarven village, which stood beside an ancient forest. The dwarves of the village would work the fields and travel back and forth to their mines, but never would they venture into the forest, for it was said that the forest was home to a fearsome and dreadful creature, Vurth Brinskla; the forest Monster. Seldom did those whose wandering led them to those trees ever return, and some within the village claimed to have seen a great beast on the outskirts of the forest at night, gauging which of the villagers would make his next meal.
In this village, a girl was born named Glimda. It was said that her voice was so pure and fine that even her cries as a child were soothing to those that heard them. As she grew, so too did the strength of her voice, and soon it filled the village every day with a beautiful song. Soon she became the priestess of the night & the day, a honourable role in the village, and one suited to her beautiful voice.
One night, as Glimda was singing her farewell to the sun and her greetings to the moon as she did each evening, she noticed something moving beneath the trees. She realised with a shock that the great shadow she was seeing was Vurth Brinskla, and by the glint of his eyes, she knew that he was watching her. As her singing abruptly halted, she watched the shadow of the beast move slowly away back into the forest.
The next night, Glimda sang away the day earlier than she normally did, and she kept one eye on the forest. As the dusk fell and the shadows deepened, once again she saw the beast creep to the outskirts of the forest and watch her, a darker shadow in the darkening woods. Again, she stopped her song, and the beast faded back into the forest.
On the third night, Glimda sang her song once more, and once again she saw the beast’s shadow within the trees, the glint of its eye as it watched her. Again, she stopped singing, and for the first time she heard the beast respond – not with a roar, as she might have expected, but with a deep sigh, filled with mournful sadness, as the beast once again turned to move back into the forest.
Glimda felt that sigh through her very soul, the feeling of utter sadness that it had conveyed shook her, and squeezed a tear from her eye. She stared in silence as the beast started to fade back beneath the trees, leaving the village as it had done these past three nights. But before it could leave, Glimda had started to sing again. Her beautiful tones rang out into the falling dusk, and the beast stopped once again, shifted around to stare back at her.
They say that Glimda sang for the whole night, singing songs of joy and sadness, of light and darkness, and as she sang the beast remained unmoved as she drew steadily closer to the trees. She was singing of loss and loneliness when the sun started to peek once more over the horizon, and she looked up from where she stood to see the beast towering over her; a great bear, its coat iron grey with age, its paws each the size of a cartwheel, but its face locked in an expression of the utterly lost. As she finished her song, the bear shed a single great tear, and as it splashed upon her cheek, Glimda was struck by the bears loneliness, and knew that he was the last bear of these woods. With the end of her song, the bear stood up, fully ten feet high on all fours, and locked eyes with her. She saw in those eyes a great sadness, but something else behind it – a warmth of some sort which seemed to hold the sadness at bay. They stared at one another for some time, the giant bear and the dwarven woman, then the bear turned and walked back into the forest, leaving Glimda alone and moved on the edge of the wood.
Each night after that, Glimda would sing to the dusk, and Vurth Brinskla would come to the edge of the forest to listen. Each night, Vurth would come closer, and each night more of the dwarves would come to see him sit in the field between the village and the woods to listen to her song. Eventually, Vurth would leave the woods during the day when she sang, and the children of the town would leave him fruit, so that they could watch him eat. Over time, the village renamed him Malth Borla – the Old Bear.
The village prospered for some years, with the forest open to them and the Old Bear tamed, sitting placidly in the fields as Glimda sang, a remarkable playmate for the children of the village, his heart softened entirely. But, as with so many things, peace was not to last. A horde of Orcs from the highlands descended upon the village, sparking a swift and desperate battle with the dwarves of the village. Glimda sang her songs of war and hope, to inspire the dwarves to fight harder, but with more and more Orcs appearing, it seemed hopeless.
In the forest, Malth Borla awoke to the sound of a new song. The words, with no meaning to him, seemed to incite a passion in his heart, and he found himself moving swiftly through the forest as he had not done for years. As he approached the edge of his home, he heard the percussive ring of steel and the clashing of weapons, the war-cries of orcs and the bellows of dwarves, and above it all, this stirring song which lit in him a fire that he had thought quenched.
Malth Borla burst from the forest as a thundering avatar of wrath, a colossal avalanche of fury and fur which fell upon the Orcs like a scythe through wheat. The song of the priestess filled the emptiness that loneliness had left in his heart, and untold numbers of Orcs fell beneath his mighty claws and crushing teeth.
They say that the day could well have been saved by Malth Borla, that he might have single handedly slain the invading Orc army, were it not for one stray arrow, one gust of wind, and a hundred other moments which had to come together to send that arrow straight through Glimda’s heart. As her song stopped, the Old Bear turned to see her fall, and his heart, which had been so full of fire, broke entirely – for what Glimda had not known was that Malth Borla had fallen in love with her. Malth Borla fought his way through Orcs and Dwarves alike to get to her, and died spitted on four orcish spears with Glimda wrapped in his arms.
This tale may end sadly, but there are many lessons to be learnt from this. That a beast can be tamed through understanding. That no mater how tame, a beast is a dangerous thing. And that perhaps drawing attention to oneself in a battle by standing atop a building singing may not be a wise move.
This is not the end of the story for Malth Borla. In the aftermath of the battle, the messengers of the dwarven war gods were collecting the souls of the brave dead to dine with hm in his hall, when they found Malth Borla, dead from so many wounds and having slain so many Orcs. They took his soul, along with those of the warriors who fell to defend their village, and brought him before the god himself. The god told Malth Borla that, had he not been a beast, that his actions would have earnt him a place of honour in his halls. He told the Old Bear that he would be given one more chance, to prove that he was deserving as a man, not a beast. The god sent the bears soul back, to be reborn as a man, and to prove that he deserved this second chance. The war god said that he would be watching, and that he had not only to be a great warrior, but a great man also.
The party had been to a town that was under the oppressive rule of a paladin order. They defeated the order only to find out that the order really was doing everything for the safety of the town and the party inadvertently release a beast. The party returned to the town later—expecting a cold welcome given how most towns hate them after they complete their campaignettes, only to find that their exploits were turned into a celebration.
After freeing the town from the paladin order and the beast, the town started a remembrance day which evolved into a holiday of festivities that superficially resembled the events of the campaignette; such as a slide down a hill into a pad surrounded by people who'd tickle the revelers for good luck when they arrived in lieu of... a deadly Grease+Spike Growth trap that ground 4 paladins to a pulp in a church that had been closed due to a paladin-imposed noise ordinance; a big papier-mâché dragon filled with candy in lieu of... the Dragonborn party member throwing up during the campaign; and more. (Still don't know how the statue of the Bard in the nude fits.)
The party's arrival was assumed to be cosplayers of the god-like heroes of the tales and they were welcomed as revelers (but never believed to be the actual heroes).
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Human. Male. Possibly. Don't be a divider. My characters' backgrounds are written like instruction manuals rather than stories. My opinion and preferences don't mean you're wrong. I am 99.7603% convinced that the digital dice are messing with me. I roll high when nobody's looking and low when anyone else can see.🎲 “It's a bit early to be thinking about an epitaph. No?” will be my epitaph.
Rebooting this thread as I have written another bit of Folklore for my world.
In my world, Elves used to be immortal, but there was a great cataclysm which fractured their immortality, leaving them with crystals, the holders of which could remain immortal. Theis leads to all sorts of issues - Parricide (killing your parents to get the immortality), sibling murder, and Twilight Elves, which are the third-children who will never know immortality.
Here's the lore which explains how it happened:
The Splinters of Immortality
In the lands of Arenstar, the immortality of the elves is carried in their Lights; fine, glimmering shards of the magic which, in times long past, once kept their entire race in eternal youth. This tale tells a story of how their magic shattered, and forced the elves to catch what magic was left within their crystals.
Long ago, the gods of the world created a cycle of life to inhabit the lands - the Elves. They spread slowly across the world, and they lived, grew old, and died as mortals. One of the gods, Nerull, was charged with the collection of their souls to be reborn into the world again. But Nerull, in a bid to gain power, kept some of the souls harvested, and grew powerful on their knowledge and secrets, becoming the first true god of Death.
Upon discovering Nerull’s deception, the other gods conspired to make the Elves truly immortal, and so deny Nerull his power. This enraged Nerull, and for some time he was effectively banished. However, Nerull set in motion a scheme which would change the world. Nerull infiltrated the Fortress of Creation, and there he worked ceaselessly for a year and a day. Nerull had been creating life - short lived and spiteful, he released the mortal creations onto the world. There they beheld the Elves, and their immortality, and grew full of hatred and jealousy. Not ten years after Nerull’s creation was loosed did a new Goddess appear in the pantheon - the Goddess of War.
Mortals slew Immortals, and Nerull grew powerful again, but War is always fleeting in the eyes of the gods, and soon Nerull was left with only the souls of the mortals to sustain him. The first scheme of Nerull failed, and the Immortal Elves soon repopulated, reclaiming the land and ruling over the mortals.
It was many thousands of years later that an elf, whose name was lost to time, fell more deeply in love with a mortal than any had ever fallen before. He grew fearful that her life was waning before him, that he would face eternity without her, and he sought for a means to share with her his immortality. This quest lasted many years, and always he was met with failure. After pleading with all of the gods, making sacrifices to them, and failed attempts to obtain a means for her salvation, he fell to his knees in one of the dark corners of the world, and uttered the phrase that was to doom his race: “Will no-one help me?”.
Suddenly, before him, he beheld a black ram; its coat glittering like dew in the dark, its eyes bright amber and filled with power.
“What is it that you seek?” asked the Ram.
“I seek to share my life with the woman I love. All of my life, not just the meagre portion in which she is with me. My life, not hers.” He declared.
The Ram regarded him with it’s amber eyes, and then spoke again.
“I can offer you this. If you can strike me down, you can cut the horns from my head with a silver blade. If you do this, you will find in each of them a ring of bone. Any two who rear these rings will share all of their days - half of those that one had left, and half of those of the other. I offer you this, if you can only catch me.” And that said, the Ram turned and bounded into the dark, a black bolt of lightning in the night.
It took the Elf a year and a day to catch the ram, running it to ground tirelessly, across the mountains and plains and peaks of the world, but catch it he did. Taking his silver knife, he cut the horns from its head, and inside he found two rings of black bone, as promised. The ram spoke again: “These rings are born of the same life, and any who wear them will be bound share a life. They are yours now.” and the Ram bowed, before disappearing into the darkness of the night.
The Elf returned home, and presented to his lover one of the two rings. As soon as he placed his on his finger and she on hers, the world changed irrevocably - for the Immortality of the Elves was a single force, a binding life which held all of Elfdom beneath its wing. In giving half of his eternal life to his mortal love, the Elf shattered the Immortality of every one of the Elves into a thousand shards. The elves found themselves mortal, the elders finding their life-force captured in shards of white crystals, the shattered splinters of immortality, crystals of the weave itself.
The Elves found then that whoever held these Splinters of Immortality would retain their gifts, would live forever. However, those who did not possess these shards were condemned to grow old and die, like the mortals of the world around them. The immortal reign of the elves was at an end.
Nerull laughed, casting aside the black Ram Skin which he had worn. His work was done - the souls of the immortal Elves would finally be his. Nerull’s second scheme had succeeded.
It is said that the Elf and the Mortal lived happily for a hundred years more, and died in each others arms at the end of their days, without one regret. It is also said that Nerull went on to take a mortal as his queen, but he did not understand love, and she betrayed him and took his place, becoming the Raven Queen. But that is another tale to tell.
Yes, those rings are still at large in my world, and are likely to come up somewhere down the line!
Mine is about a homebrew god I call "The Creator" and some lore about the god of death and despair Bassmut (also homebrew)
Once their was nothing on the planet of Athos exempt from water and land. Then one day a Man was born and he wondered the world of Athos alone. One day he finds a small forest made of rock where the trees the soil the weird shaped square boulders and tall rectangular mountains resided with the deeper he went in the more strange symbols he found and the more sharp and pointy and slanted everything became till one day he discovers deep into the stone jungle two large doors with opening the doors he finds strange symbols and skull and cross bones inside with a loud noise blaring in the language of the ancients with a strange red glow illuminating the long narrow path with strange objects and what appeared to be others just like him whom have perished. After what felt like days of walking he finds a white orb glowing in the distance getting closer and closer he gets weaker and weaker but makes it and grabs the orb he suddenly collapses and holds the orb ever so closer and eventually he feels lighter and lighter and knowledge floods his mind seeing death and disparate sounds of others till the voices stopped only to be replaced by loud booms and clouds in the shape of mushrooms growing everywhere, he gains the knowledge of every known being that had ever lived and died. he then sees the start and end of time and sees alternate timelines and universes. They soon learn that the orb he had absorbed had the ability to revive anything and anyone but only once but with the knowledge of everything known to exist in all known universes and timelines he harnesses the power of the smallest known thing to man, the atom to change the planet of Athos into a oasis that will flourish once more and using his power and knowledge he stops end-of-the-world scenarios and keeps the balance of power in check releasing energy to keep the world from becoming the safe-keeper of the world using his found power to only reincarnate those after having absorbed the power of the atom and makes sure to give those he deems useful to the world a second chance and all these good acts don't go un-noticed. A rival god, Bassmut, the god of death and despair wants him dead as he wants to see the world suffer once more and every week he makes an attempt to weaken The Creator and Bassmut fails every time swearing that one day he will make death and despair consume Athos once more. One day He learns of the source of the power of The Creator and he uses his powers to control the atom as well and both soon start to clash releasing energy that make creatures grow big in some parts of the planet where good reigns true, spreading the good word of The Creator and makes creatures glow like fresh cut gemstone in others where evil will always lurk in the shadows and the bad will make the word of Bassmut rise. One century later of relentless fighting between the two gods Bassmut is absorbed by The Creator. The creator having full control over life and death itself learns that balance must be needed and makes a dystopian utopia where the good and bad can both thrive and always stop each other from making the world end, a self-sustained ecosystem that will last till the end of time.
In my homebrew world, there are twelve Orc clans that have varying views and customs. They typically have either red, orange, or yellow eye. But one thing they share is the prophecy of the blue eyed Orc. It is said in ancient Orcish texts that an Orc born with blue eyes will be the downfall of all Orcs. So when one is born, it is killed outright. Some mothers are the ones to do the deed, while others flee and try to save their child. Those lucky enough to be born with only one blue eye have mothers smart enough to gouge it out, saving the child's life.
Currently, only one known adult Orc has blue eyes. He is the current champion of the Boxsan Gladiatorial Coliseum. While two others sport eye patches, covering the scar from their missing blue eye.
Elven Attunement
All Elves are born the same, nearly a blank slate and with no sub-race. When they reach a certain age, they are given a seed. They take this seed and a insert into dirt they cup in their hands. They then sit an mediate at one of various ritual sites. Depending on how long it takes them to sprout the seed and what plant comes from it, determines what type of elf they become. This can be anything from a Drow to a High Elf.
Saw an interesting campaign involving the Four Horsemen (two of which were women).
Famine was a ringleader of a circus... hollow and empty entertainment targeting children to ruin their own futures by diseducation.
War was cold, calm, and calculating... very emotionless with a single goal of outlasting any enemies.
Death was a raving lunatic... a homicidal maniac, 'nough said... (ab)used the legal system to kill.
Pestilence was, of course, a physician... the cure was for the rich to transfer all their illnesses into the poor.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Human. Male. Possibly. Don't be a divider. My characters' backgrounds are written like instruction manuals rather than stories. My opinion and preferences don't mean you're wrong. I am 99.7603% convinced that the digital dice are messing with me. I roll high when nobody's looking and low when anyone else can see.🎲 “It's a bit early to be thinking about an epitaph. No?” will be my epitaph.
Not sure if it would count as folklore, but it's definitely homebrew lore I expanded from my character's backstory. I guess by the time the information would reach Faerun, it would be folklore!
Geography and History Overview: The Fjordlands can be found towards the eastern end of the Arm of Anchorome. Here a group of Sea Elves live that, to the few people that know of their existence, are known as the Senkebies. Senkeby is actually the name of the underwater city, at the bottom of the Great Fjord, that connects the five land provinces. The sunken city houses most of the population’s activity. Therefore, to the few recent land visitors to the Fjordlands, the Senkebies seem a small, unthreatening, disjointed, and technology-poor, society. Visitors are new to the Senkebies, as other than a couple other neighbouring Fjordland Wood Elf tribes, the Senkebies have been largely undisturbed for centuries due to endless blizzards that seem to protect the Fjordlands. However, these have weakened and lessened in recent times. Sometimes the visitors have been lone travellers, cartographers or students, other times large groups have come through, some pleasant, some have been hostile, and used weapons and magics not known to the Senkebies. Some have even started to settle in the North Fjordlands. Their activity, as well as that of the also relatively young settlements in the West Fjordlands, has disturbed the environment and upset some natural balances. Nature is a vital value to the Senkebies. People migrating up north and bringing their industry potentially might have caused the change in weather patterns that originally protected the Senkebies; though there are other theories too.
The following paragraphs have been taken from my character’s backstory as they set up additional lore for the Fjordlands.
Sea Sorcery and Magic Magic users are revered in the tribe, and are offered high places in society, although due to their rarity there is little in the way of tutelage, and most remain low level. The fins of Sea Elves with Sea Sorcery glow when they activate their powers. Sea fins vary in colour depending on the current known spells. Those with a proficiency for cold/ice-based spells or manipulating these elements often receive more attention as northern Sea Elves must deal with ice and snow more regularly. Other forms of magic are scarcely seen or known about in the Fjordlands at this time. However, a tattered tome was found that the Senkebies dubbed “The Old Faerun Texts”, learning that this was the book’s origin. Unbeknownst to them it is the remains of the official Quandrix College curriculum, abandoned by Quandrix Student explorer who ventured across to Anchorome but wasn’t prepared for the bitter blizzards and Perilous Fjord.
Aldrismelte Around the Fjordlands, strange crystalline minerals exist. While they appear icy, being cold to the touch, they faintly glow a pale blue, are extremely tough, and never melt in summer. They have come to be revered as the stones that create the protective blizzards as they seem to increase ice-magic abilities, in the areas they can be found in. Sea Elves that show proficiency with ice-magic or cold spells are allowed to wear one, mined from the sea floor, to help hone their skills. All pieces of Aldrismelte found on the land are strictly left in place, untouched, believed to be in a vital position to keep the weakening protective blizzards going. Small wooden shrines are sometimes built around them. For there is a legend that a deity of Ice Magic – Himmelsk – lived in the Fjordlands, when the first Sea Elves settled. They revered and worshipped him, and in return he set up the blizzards to protect the first generation of Senkebies. It is unknown why Himmelsk left, but it is believed it was he who created Aldrismelte, in the hopes of keeping them safe through the eternal blizzards, until his return. This is why the old perimeter the protective blizzards created was known as the Himmelsk Halo. (In its prime, the Halo was a 300m thick circular wall of constant impenetrable blizzards that went from sea level to the height of the 3 mountain peaks. This meant access underwater and by flight was still possible, and sunshine and other weather systems passed over Senkeby as normal.)
Maktstein The Maktstein is a golden sphere, initially given as a peace offering from Northern Merfolk – the only race to have a true allyship with the Senkebies, discovering their sunken city not long after the first generation settled. A myth suggests that it can amplify Sea Sorcery abilities, a trait that Sea Elves and Merfolk share. Evidence for this has been light, but the tradition holds strong, and it is kept in the Capitol building of Senkeby. Or it was, until one day, it was found missing. And in its place a piece of Aldrismelte. One that had been removed from the land. This could be identified as the ones mined form the sea have smoothed from erosion. This was an outrage, as all Senkebies know it is law to leave all land-based Aldrismelte in place. Many Senkebies wish to see the return of the Makstein as they believe the myth and that it could be key in reinstating the Himmelsk Halo, as some believe the failing blizzards were powered by Sea Sorcery in some way. Even those who don’t believe this, want its return so they don’t insult and lost the allyship of the Merfolk, whose support might be needed as human settlements continue to encroach.
The Maktstein was added at the DMs request to tie into wider story arcs and add more weight to my character's reason to travel. I'd be interested to hear people's thoughts, as it's my first time playing DnD and coming up with backstory etc.
(I made some maps of the region and wrote A LOT more about the Senkebies way of life, which can be found in this thread: Fjordlands & Senkebies, if the above sparked your curiosity!)
As I have over 300 pages of it just in the Lore book alone, I have to be careful, but I have decided to include information her that you cannot get from the Lore book...
Agartha
This is roughly the equivalent of the Underdark. It is a series of natural seemig caverns, tunnels, tubes, and such, stretching over the largest physical space on the continent, with thousands of secret ways up and down from the surface. Spanning a half mile high layer that runs one to one and a half miles deep beneath the surface, it has thousands of miles of tunnels, thousands of caverns and spaces, filled with all manner of plant and fungal life, and all of it a secret that Agarthans even keep from those they are the erstwhile allies of -- Lemuria, most notably. The primary builders and dwellers of Agartha are Imps, two to three feet tall, winged, brilliant, twisted, devious, and basically you can take a gremlin after you screw up and make it a lot uglier.They are the oldest of the Peoples who were shaped in the God's War from "volunteer" humans.
Agarthans keep secrets. Were they willing to allow it, Lemuria could readily place all its armies within the realm and release them in a torrent upon the surface world and wreak massive destruction -- except Agarthans don't really like Lemurians all that much. Or anyone else. They are the smartest, sneakiest, and more predatory of all the peoples, but no one knows it because they do not allow much escape. Their particular mission in general is to keep the hostilities between the two Empires going, to perpetuate the fear, and to create, build, and use their gift for machinery and mechanism, craft and art, to lure the hapless and the wayward into ruins and crevasses, dungeons and labyrinths, letting them search for treasure and glory without ever realizing that they are being set up to be captured and enslaved.
The Whole of Humanity
People encompasses a huge variety of beings. Imperials, Dakoan, Exilian, Thalasen, Myrmians, Elfin, Dwarfin, the many Halflings, Tritons, Merow, Goblins, Thyrs, Grendels, Imps, Therians -- they are the descendants of the original Colonists, changed by the God's War and the disasters that ultimately ended it, changed and reshaped by the gods. They are all from humans, and that's why there are so many halflings, but they are all Human, though these days that is often reserved for the five branches that didn't volunteer for those hoary changes.
This is also why it takes the Celestial or Infernal infusions to create beings that can live so long, though no one has a way to explain why it is that Thyrs live for so long.
that's a couple.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Only a DM since 1980 (2000+ Sessions) / PhD, MS, MA
As most infernal scholars will be aware, Levistus was entomed in ice and currently drifts through the realm of Stygia as a giant iceberg. Levistus was cursed by Asmodeus and part of this curse was that he had to help anyone who called out to him for aid. Levistus eventually realised that this offered him a unique oppotunity to escape his icy prison and circumvent Asmodeus' curse. On one particularly cold and windswept "day" on Stygia, when a overly large blizzard obsured his iceberg tomb, Levistus called out to himself and pleaded for aid. In a magically puff of a teleportation spell he found himself free of the iceberg and standing in the bracing winds of Stygia. In order to maintain some semblence of a ruse he summoned a silmulacrum of himself and interred it in his former prison before donning a disguise and tranversing the realms of the Nine Hells and indeed the matreial planes under the guise of a Teifling pirate. Is it possible Levistus has been one or more of the most notorious pirates to ever sail the seas of the material planes? who knows......
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
* Need a character idea? Search for "Rob76's Unused" in the Story and Lore section.
It’s not finished but I have a story about a wild girl who is one with the forest and protects the forest and it’s animals she is an elf whose family was destroyed by a storm and now protects the forest from the storm god ferociously.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
I also have the ability to manifest my thoughts in ways that cut people. I call this power words. -Tasha
Nestled on the western bank of the swift and wide Brindle River, Galwyck emerges from the dense embrace of the Eldwyd forest like a sentinel of civilization amidst the wilderness. The river, its ever-flowing waters mirroring the town's resilience, serves as a natural barrier to the west, creating both a defensive advantage and a steady source of life.
The Eldwyd, or "the Eld" as locals sometimes call it, stretches to the east, its ancient trees forming a dense border that both shelters and challenges the town. The Eldwyd is not just a forest; it is an elder presence, an arboreal guardian that provides timber for shelter and a source of mystery and danger.
Within the protective embrace of stone walls, Galwyck stands as a testament to the symbiosis between civilization and nature. A labyrinth of cobblestone streets winds through the town, lined with sturdy timber-framed structures and shops that showcase the practical craftsmanship of its residents. The air is often scented with the mingling aromas of pine, river mist, and the comforting warmth of hearths.
The heartbeat of Galwyck is the Blackwood family, who have stewarded the town through generations. Lord Cedric Blackwood, a firm but benevolent patriarch, and Lady Elara, the matriarch of wisdom, lead with a blend of practicality and compassion. Their son, Alaric, brings an air of curiosity that challenges the town's traditions, adding both vigor and tension to the leadership.
Surrounding the town, like loyal satellites, are the small settlements that sustain Galwyck:
Stonecreek Quarry: To the northwest, Stonecreek stands as the mining hamlet, its modest stone structures a testament to the industry that extracts valuable minerals from the earth. The quarried stone not only fortifies Galwyck's walls but also finds its way into the foundations of homes and structures.
Bywater: To the southwest, Bywater is a picturesque fishing hamlet along the Brindle River. Simple wooden structures line the riverbanks, and the people of Bywater are skilled fishermen, ensuring a steady supply of fish that graces the tables of Galwyck.
Haybrook: To the southeast, Haybrook sprawls across rolling hills, a farming village that provides the town with essential sustenance. Fields of wheat sway in the breeze, and the aroma of freshly baked bread often wafts from Galwyck's bakeries.
Edit: Can't seem to add an image to this post - just the link.
It looked down at my companions and one was cutting onions
The beast teared up as we ate his Goldfish and then he made us hunt down a wish
Honestly still probably the sandwich I've ever had!
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
I'm responsible for the Magic Item "The Warhammer of Angus Talos" it has 300 charge and it takes 30 charge to cast a lightning bolt. I forgot to put safe guards against spiritual weapon and using all the charges at once. Long story short if you have a Tempest Cleric willing to do it, you're looking at 1,440 Lightning Damage. Not Good.
I am also creating the world of Ultradan. A world I hope to use in every campaign from here on out and maybe make a Module of. MAYBE.
To post a comment, please login or register a new account.
I have a character in a game who is thoroughly interested in folklore, partially because he himself is part of a tale.
To my mind, Folklore is a way that people will have weaved stories around things, and whilst it may not be in any way true, it makes an interesting tale and often gives a moral lesson. I love just making this sort of thing up, so I hope to update this thread steadily!
I don't know if there is official folklore in dnd or whether all the info in the books (which I haven't read thoroughly) is factual, so I started making up my own folklore. Please feel free to add your own folklore or any folklore you know from the books!
The Owl and the Crocodile (my own made-up folklore about owlbears and dragons):
Once there was a giant owl who had the most beautiful wings. It flew high over the mountains and the forests, and hunted the cattle that grazed on the green pastures below it each night. So it was for many years, but then the people started to spread, and they started to breed the cattle to become larger and larger, and the owl found that it was not strong enough any more to hunt the cattle. The owl grew hungry, and so flew away to a lake to try and catch a fish to eat instead. The owl hunted all day and all night, but at dawn, it had not seen a single fish. As the owl mad ready to leave, it heard a voice saying "I envy you". It turned and saw an enormous crocodile lying on the bank, watching it make ready to fly off. It was the crocodile who spoke, and now it spoke again; "You came for food, and found none, so now you will just fly away to somewhere new. I have ruled this lake for over a hundred years, but now I am hungry, for the people have come and taken the fish, and I cannot fly away as easily as you can.". The Owl looked over the crocodile, and replied "I envy you, for if I were half as strong as you, I would never be hungry again. My problem is not the lack of food, but a lack of strength to catch it.".
The Crocodile considered this for a moment, and then spoke again; "Tell me, Owl, would you swap strength with me? For I cannot leave this lake as I am, for the banks are too steep, and will surely starve. I offer you my strength in exchange for yours."
The Owl only thought about this for a moment, for it could see instantly that this deal was entirely in its favour - the Owl would be strong enough to feast on cattle once again, and the crocodile would be light enough to climb free of the lake. "I accept your offer", said the Owl.
The Crocodile led the owl to a strange tree which grew from the banks of the lake. "Perch in the branches above me, and we shall both sleep in the shelter of this tree. By next dawn, our deal will be fulfilled", it said. The Owl did as it was bid, and tucked its head beneath its wing as the crocodile curled its huge bulk around the trunk, and they both fell into a deep sleep.
On the next dawn, the Crocodile awoke feeling strange - where it had felt ponderous and heavy before, it now felt light and quick, and as it stretched out, it saw that it had grown wings - for the true strength of the Owl was not in its talons, but in its ability to fly. The Crocodile flapped its great wings, and its legs left the ground behind as it swooped into the sky, crying out its thanks to the Owl, becoming the first of the dragons.
The Owl awoke later, and found itself feeling heavy and ponderous where before it had been quick and light. It saw that its beautiful wings were no more, replaced with great strong arms. The whole beast radiated strength, but the Owl cried, for it had not wanted to give up its wings for this. Slowly, anguish turned to anger, and the Owl raged, tearing up trees with its strength and hurling great rocks into the water. It first raged at the crocodile for tricking it into this, then it raged at itself for allowing itself to be tricked, and then it raged at the people who had driven it to this - without the people, the Owl would not have come here, the Crocodile would not have been starving. An anger burned in the heart of the owl for all the People of the world, for it was their fault that it had lost its wings.
This Owl was the first of the Owlbears, and so if you should ever see one, know that it is consumed by a hatred for you and all the people it might meet, and be sure to turn and run the other way before it releases its fury upon you.
The Swamp King (written in verse, my own folklore of the folly of pride, inspired by monty python and the holy grail, of all things):
I’ll tell you a tale
of dwarvenly pride
And the balance of nature
Which can’t be denied
A dwarf there was once
Of royal blood
Who laid claim to a land
Of perpetual flood
A castle he built
Ten stories high
In the swamplands he claimed
Or, at least, he tried
Each year he built up
The castle sank down
Every floor that he made
Put a floor in the ground.
Every coin that he had
Was a coin that he spent
Wouldn’t admit defeat
And he wouldn’t relent
A hundred years passed
and the castle still sank
And the dwarf king still built
And his coffers he shrank
As poor as a beggar,
The dwarven king died
And the castle he built
Was just four stories high.
There was nothing for him
To his loved ones to bequeath
Except four floors of castle
With hundreds beneath
His children, they left
And the castle sank more
Abandoned, forgotten,
The folly of Dwarves
They say, to this day
That castle still stands
Just one floor above
hundreds under the land
So remember this lesson:
When nature says no,
You’d do well to listen
And your wisdom will grow.
(a bit of a weak ending so I will readdress that at some point!)
If there's anything you think would make a cool bit of folklore or if you've got any yorself, please add it here! Thanks for reading!
Make your Artificer work with any other class with 174 Multiclassing Feats for your Artificer Multiclass Character!
DM's Guild Releases on This Thread - latest release; the Harvest Sprite, a playable Jack-o-Lantern Race!
Or check them all out on DMs Guild!
DrivethruRPG Releases on This Thread - latest release: The College of Fisticuffs Bard!
I also dabble in art on here (my art thread)
I love both of these! Very nice writing.
All stars fade. Some stars forever fall.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Homebrew: Magic Items, Monsters, Spells, Subclasses
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If there was no light, people wouldn't fear the dark.
Thanks!
I have also got one which also forms the backstory of my beastbarian/ranger variant human called Malth Borla, who i mentioned in the OP as being the one with a love of folklore (he has a deep voice with a sort-of welsh accent, which lends itself to the slow telling of stories). The last paragraph he leaves out of the tale, unless he truly trusts those he is telling (or wants to leave young children in wonder, knowing that their parents will not believe it!).
The Tale of Malth Borla; the Old Bear:
Once there was a dwarven village, which stood beside an ancient forest. The dwarves of the village would work the fields and travel back and forth to their mines, but never would they venture into the forest, for it was said that the forest was home to a fearsome and dreadful creature, Vurth Brinskla; the forest Monster. Seldom did those whose wandering led them to those trees ever return, and some within the village claimed to have seen a great beast on the outskirts of the forest at night, gauging which of the villagers would make his next meal.
In this village, a girl was born named Glimda. It was said that her voice was so pure and fine that even her cries as a child were soothing to those that heard them. As she grew, so too did the strength of her voice, and soon it filled the village every day with a beautiful song. Soon she became the priestess of the night & the day, a honourable role in the village, and one suited to her beautiful voice.
One night, as Glimda was singing her farewell to the sun and her greetings to the moon as she did each evening, she noticed something moving beneath the trees. She realised with a shock that the great shadow she was seeing was Vurth Brinskla, and by the glint of his eyes, she knew that he was watching her. As her singing abruptly halted, she watched the shadow of the beast move slowly away back into the forest.
The next night, Glimda sang away the day earlier than she normally did, and she kept one eye on the forest. As the dusk fell and the shadows deepened, once again she saw the beast creep to the outskirts of the forest and watch her, a darker shadow in the darkening woods. Again, she stopped her song, and the beast faded back into the forest.
On the third night, Glimda sang her song once more, and once again she saw the beast’s shadow within the trees, the glint of its eye as it watched her. Again, she stopped singing, and for the first time she heard the beast respond – not with a roar, as she might have expected, but with a deep sigh, filled with mournful sadness, as the beast once again turned to move back into the forest.
Glimda felt that sigh through her very soul, the feeling of utter sadness that it had conveyed shook her, and squeezed a tear from her eye. She stared in silence as the beast started to fade back beneath the trees, leaving the village as it had done these past three nights. But before it could leave, Glimda had started to sing again. Her beautiful tones rang out into the falling dusk, and the beast stopped once again, shifted around to stare back at her.
They say that Glimda sang for the whole night, singing songs of joy and sadness, of light and darkness, and as she sang the beast remained unmoved as she drew steadily closer to the trees. She was singing of loss and loneliness when the sun started to peek once more over the horizon, and she looked up from where she stood to see the beast towering over her; a great bear, its coat iron grey with age, its paws each the size of a cartwheel, but its face locked in an expression of the utterly lost. As she finished her song, the bear shed a single great tear, and as it splashed upon her cheek, Glimda was struck by the bears loneliness, and knew that he was the last bear of these woods. With the end of her song, the bear stood up, fully ten feet high on all fours, and locked eyes with her. She saw in those eyes a great sadness, but something else behind it – a warmth of some sort which seemed to hold the sadness at bay. They stared at one another for some time, the giant bear and the dwarven woman, then the bear turned and walked back into the forest, leaving Glimda alone and moved on the edge of the wood.
Each night after that, Glimda would sing to the dusk, and Vurth Brinskla would come to the edge of the forest to listen. Each night, Vurth would come closer, and each night more of the dwarves would come to see him sit in the field between the village and the woods to listen to her song. Eventually, Vurth would leave the woods during the day when she sang, and the children of the town would leave him fruit, so that they could watch him eat. Over time, the village renamed him Malth Borla – the Old Bear.
The village prospered for some years, with the forest open to them and the Old Bear tamed, sitting placidly in the fields as Glimda sang, a remarkable playmate for the children of the village, his heart softened entirely. But, as with so many things, peace was not to last. A horde of Orcs from the highlands descended upon the village, sparking a swift and desperate battle with the dwarves of the village. Glimda sang her songs of war and hope, to inspire the dwarves to fight harder, but with more and more Orcs appearing, it seemed hopeless.
In the forest, Malth Borla awoke to the sound of a new song. The words, with no meaning to him, seemed to incite a passion in his heart, and he found himself moving swiftly through the forest as he had not done for years. As he approached the edge of his home, he heard the percussive ring of steel and the clashing of weapons, the war-cries of orcs and the bellows of dwarves, and above it all, this stirring song which lit in him a fire that he had thought quenched.
Malth Borla burst from the forest as a thundering avatar of wrath, a colossal avalanche of fury and fur which fell upon the Orcs like a scythe through wheat. The song of the priestess filled the emptiness that loneliness had left in his heart, and untold numbers of Orcs fell beneath his mighty claws and crushing teeth.
They say that the day could well have been saved by Malth Borla, that he might have single handedly slain the invading Orc army, were it not for one stray arrow, one gust of wind, and a hundred other moments which had to come together to send that arrow straight through Glimda’s heart. As her song stopped, the Old Bear turned to see her fall, and his heart, which had been so full of fire, broke entirely – for what Glimda had not known was that Malth Borla had fallen in love with her. Malth Borla fought his way through Orcs and Dwarves alike to get to her, and died spitted on four orcish spears with Glimda wrapped in his arms.
This tale may end sadly, but there are many lessons to be learnt from this. That a beast can be tamed through understanding. That no mater how tame, a beast is a dangerous thing. And that perhaps drawing attention to oneself in a battle by standing atop a building singing may not be a wise move.
This is not the end of the story for Malth Borla. In the aftermath of the battle, the messengers of the dwarven war gods were collecting the souls of the brave dead to dine with hm in his hall, when they found Malth Borla, dead from so many wounds and having slain so many Orcs. They took his soul, along with those of the warriors who fell to defend their village, and brought him before the god himself. The god told Malth Borla that, had he not been a beast, that his actions would have earnt him a place of honour in his halls. He told the Old Bear that he would be given one more chance, to prove that he was deserving as a man, not a beast. The god sent the bears soul back, to be reborn as a man, and to prove that he deserved this second chance. The war god said that he would be watching, and that he had not only to be a great warrior, but a great man also.
Make your Artificer work with any other class with 174 Multiclassing Feats for your Artificer Multiclass Character!
DM's Guild Releases on This Thread - latest release; the Harvest Sprite, a playable Jack-o-Lantern Race!
Or check them all out on DMs Guild!
DrivethruRPG Releases on This Thread - latest release: The College of Fisticuffs Bard!
I also dabble in art on here (my art thread)
I love these! Awesome Thoruk!
Only spilt the party if you see something shiny.
Ariendela Sneakerson, Half-elf Rogue (8); Harmony Wolfsbane, Tiefling Bard (10); Agnomally, Gnomish Sorcerer (3); Breeze, Tabaxi Monk (8); Grace, Dragonborn Barbarian (7); DM, Homebrew- The Sequestered Lands/Underwater Explorers; Candlekeep
Not mine, but Oxventure's:
The party had been to a town that was under the oppressive rule of a paladin order. They defeated the order only to find out that the order really was doing everything for the safety of the town and the party inadvertently release a beast. The party returned to the town later—expecting a cold welcome given how most towns hate them after they complete their campaignettes, only to find that their exploits were turned into a celebration.
After freeing the town from the paladin order and the beast, the town started a remembrance day which evolved into a holiday of festivities that superficially resembled the events of the campaignette; such as a slide down a hill into a pad surrounded by people who'd tickle the revelers for good luck when they arrived in lieu of... a deadly Grease+Spike Growth trap that ground 4 paladins to a pulp in a church that had been closed due to a paladin-imposed noise ordinance; a big papier-mâché dragon filled with candy in lieu of... the Dragonborn party member throwing up during the campaign; and more. (Still don't know how the statue of the Bard in the nude fits.)
The party's arrival was assumed to be cosplayers of the god-like heroes of the tales and they were welcomed as revelers (but never believed to be the actual heroes).
Human. Male. Possibly. Don't be a divider.
My characters' backgrounds are written like instruction manuals rather than stories. My opinion and preferences don't mean you're wrong.
I am 99.7603% convinced that the digital dice are messing with me. I roll high when nobody's looking and low when anyone else can see.🎲
“It's a bit early to be thinking about an epitaph. No?” will be my epitaph.
Rebooting this thread as I have written another bit of Folklore for my world.
In my world, Elves used to be immortal, but there was a great cataclysm which fractured their immortality, leaving them with crystals, the holders of which could remain immortal. Theis leads to all sorts of issues - Parricide (killing your parents to get the immortality), sibling murder, and Twilight Elves, which are the third-children who will never know immortality.
Here's the lore which explains how it happened:
The Splinters of Immortality
In the lands of Arenstar, the immortality of the elves is carried in their Lights; fine, glimmering shards of the magic which, in times long past, once kept their entire race in eternal youth. This tale tells a story of how their magic shattered, and forced the elves to catch what magic was left within their crystals.
Long ago, the gods of the world created a cycle of life to inhabit the lands - the Elves. They spread slowly across the world, and they lived, grew old, and died as mortals. One of the gods, Nerull, was charged with the collection of their souls to be reborn into the world again. But Nerull, in a bid to gain power, kept some of the souls harvested, and grew powerful on their knowledge and secrets, becoming the first true god of Death.
Upon discovering Nerull’s deception, the other gods conspired to make the Elves truly immortal, and so deny Nerull his power. This enraged Nerull, and for some time he was effectively banished. However, Nerull set in motion a scheme which would change the world. Nerull infiltrated the Fortress of Creation, and there he worked ceaselessly for a year and a day. Nerull had been creating life - short lived and spiteful, he released the mortal creations onto the world. There they beheld the Elves, and their immortality, and grew full of hatred and jealousy. Not ten years after Nerull’s creation was loosed did a new Goddess appear in the pantheon - the Goddess of War.
Mortals slew Immortals, and Nerull grew powerful again, but War is always fleeting in the eyes of the gods, and soon Nerull was left with only the souls of the mortals to sustain him. The first scheme of Nerull failed, and the Immortal Elves soon repopulated, reclaiming the land and ruling over the mortals.
It was many thousands of years later that an elf, whose name was lost to time, fell more deeply in love with a mortal than any had ever fallen before. He grew fearful that her life was waning before him, that he would face eternity without her, and he sought for a means to share with her his immortality. This quest lasted many years, and always he was met with failure. After pleading with all of the gods, making sacrifices to them, and failed attempts to obtain a means for her salvation, he fell to his knees in one of the dark corners of the world, and uttered the phrase that was to doom his race: “Will no-one help me?”.
Suddenly, before him, he beheld a black ram; its coat glittering like dew in the dark, its eyes bright amber and filled with power.
“What is it that you seek?” asked the Ram.
“I seek to share my life with the woman I love. All of my life, not just the meagre portion in which she is with me. My life, not hers.” He declared.
The Ram regarded him with it’s amber eyes, and then spoke again.
“I can offer you this. If you can strike me down, you can cut the horns from my head with a silver blade. If you do this, you will find in each of them a ring of bone. Any two who rear these rings will share all of their days - half of those that one had left, and half of those of the other. I offer you this, if you can only catch me.” And that said, the Ram turned and bounded into the dark, a black bolt of lightning in the night.
It took the Elf a year and a day to catch the ram, running it to ground tirelessly, across the mountains and plains and peaks of the world, but catch it he did. Taking his silver knife, he cut the horns from its head, and inside he found two rings of black bone, as promised. The ram spoke again: “These rings are born of the same life, and any who wear them will be bound share a life. They are yours now.” and the Ram bowed, before disappearing into the darkness of the night.
The Elf returned home, and presented to his lover one of the two rings. As soon as he placed his on his finger and she on hers, the world changed irrevocably - for the Immortality of the Elves was a single force, a binding life which held all of Elfdom beneath its wing. In giving half of his eternal life to his mortal love, the Elf shattered the Immortality of every one of the Elves into a thousand shards. The elves found themselves mortal, the elders finding their life-force captured in shards of white crystals, the shattered splinters of immortality, crystals of the weave itself.
The Elves found then that whoever held these Splinters of Immortality would retain their gifts, would live forever. However, those who did not possess these shards were condemned to grow old and die, like the mortals of the world around them. The immortal reign of the elves was at an end.
Nerull laughed, casting aside the black Ram Skin which he had worn. His work was done - the souls of the immortal Elves would finally be his. Nerull’s second scheme had succeeded.
It is said that the Elf and the Mortal lived happily for a hundred years more, and died in each others arms at the end of their days, without one regret. It is also said that Nerull went on to take a mortal as his queen, but he did not understand love, and she betrayed him and took his place, becoming the Raven Queen. But that is another tale to tell.
Yes, those rings are still at large in my world, and are likely to come up somewhere down the line!
Make your Artificer work with any other class with 174 Multiclassing Feats for your Artificer Multiclass Character!
DM's Guild Releases on This Thread - latest release; the Harvest Sprite, a playable Jack-o-Lantern Race!
Or check them all out on DMs Guild!
DrivethruRPG Releases on This Thread - latest release: The College of Fisticuffs Bard!
I also dabble in art on here (my art thread)
Mine is about a homebrew god I call "The Creator" and some lore about the god of death and despair Bassmut (also homebrew)
Once their was nothing on the planet of Athos exempt from water and land. Then one day a Man was born and he wondered the world of Athos alone. One day he finds a small forest made of rock where the trees the soil the weird shaped square boulders and tall rectangular mountains resided with the deeper he went in the more strange symbols he found and the more sharp and pointy and slanted everything became till one day he discovers deep into the stone jungle two large doors with opening the doors he finds strange symbols and skull and cross bones inside with a loud noise blaring in the language of the ancients with a strange red glow illuminating the long narrow path with strange objects and what appeared to be others just like him whom have perished. After what felt like days of walking he finds a white orb glowing in the distance getting closer and closer he gets weaker and weaker but makes it and grabs the orb he suddenly collapses and holds the orb ever so closer and eventually he feels lighter and lighter and knowledge floods his mind seeing death and disparate sounds of others till the voices stopped only to be replaced by loud booms and clouds in the shape of mushrooms growing everywhere, he gains the knowledge of every known being that had ever lived and died. he then sees the start and end of time and sees alternate timelines and universes. They soon learn that the orb he had absorbed had the ability to revive anything and anyone but only once but with the knowledge of everything known to exist in all known universes and timelines he harnesses the power of the smallest known thing to man, the atom to change the planet of Athos into a oasis that will flourish once more and using his power and knowledge he stops end-of-the-world scenarios and keeps the balance of power in check releasing energy to keep the world from becoming the safe-keeper of the world using his found power to only reincarnate those after having absorbed the power of the atom and makes sure to give those he deems useful to the world a second chance and all these good acts don't go un-noticed. A rival god, Bassmut, the god of death and despair wants him dead as he wants to see the world suffer once more and every week he makes an attempt to weaken The Creator and Bassmut fails every time swearing that one day he will make death and despair consume Athos once more. One day He learns of the source of the power of The Creator and he uses his powers to control the atom as well and both soon start to clash releasing energy that make creatures grow big in some parts of the planet where good reigns true, spreading the good word of The Creator and makes creatures glow like fresh cut gemstone in others where evil will always lurk in the shadows and the bad will make the word of Bassmut rise. One century later of relentless fighting between the two gods Bassmut is absorbed by The Creator. The creator having full control over life and death itself learns that balance must be needed and makes a dystopian utopia where the good and bad can both thrive and always stop each other from making the world end, a self-sustained ecosystem that will last till the end of time.
"Your Liketonol is stupidly strong." and "You are a kid with too much free time." -My Cyber Security teacher.
"I see now that the circumstances of one's birth are irrelevant. It is what you do with the gift of life that determines who you are." -Mewtwo
My account will be deleted during the graduation of class of 2025
Blue Eyed Orcs
In my homebrew world, there are twelve Orc clans that have varying views and customs. They typically have either red, orange, or yellow eye. But one thing they share is the prophecy of the blue eyed Orc. It is said in ancient Orcish texts that an Orc born with blue eyes will be the downfall of all Orcs. So when one is born, it is killed outright. Some mothers are the ones to do the deed, while others flee and try to save their child. Those lucky enough to be born with only one blue eye have mothers smart enough to gouge it out, saving the child's life.
Currently, only one known adult Orc has blue eyes. He is the current champion of the Boxsan Gladiatorial Coliseum. While two others sport eye patches, covering the scar from their missing blue eye.
Elven Attunement
All Elves are born the same, nearly a blank slate and with no sub-race. When they reach a certain age, they are given a seed. They take this seed and a insert into dirt they cup in their hands. They then sit an mediate at one of various ritual sites. Depending on how long it takes them to sprout the seed and what plant comes from it, determines what type of elf they become. This can be anything from a Drow to a High Elf.
***Happily Forever Dungeon Master***
Trying to be active in the community and help those in need
STR: 12 INT: 12
DEX: 14 WIS: 17
CON: 14 CHA: 14
Saw an interesting campaign involving the Four Horsemen (two of which were women).
Famine was a ringleader of a circus... hollow and empty entertainment targeting children to ruin their own futures by diseducation.
War was cold, calm, and calculating... very emotionless with a single goal of outlasting any enemies.
Death was a raving lunatic... a homicidal maniac, 'nough said... (ab)used the legal system to kill.
Pestilence was, of course, a physician... the cure was for the rich to transfer all their illnesses into the poor.
Human. Male. Possibly. Don't be a divider.
My characters' backgrounds are written like instruction manuals rather than stories. My opinion and preferences don't mean you're wrong.
I am 99.7603% convinced that the digital dice are messing with me. I roll high when nobody's looking and low when anyone else can see.🎲
“It's a bit early to be thinking about an epitaph. No?” will be my epitaph.
Not sure if it would count as folklore, but it's definitely homebrew lore I expanded from my character's backstory. I guess by the time the information would reach Faerun, it would be folklore!
Geography and History Overview:
The Fjordlands can be found towards the eastern end of the Arm of Anchorome. Here a group of Sea Elves live that, to the few people that know of their existence, are known as the Senkebies. Senkeby is actually the name of the underwater city, at the bottom of the Great Fjord, that connects the five land provinces. The sunken city houses most of the population’s activity. Therefore, to the few recent land visitors to the Fjordlands, the Senkebies seem a small, unthreatening, disjointed, and technology-poor, society. Visitors are new to the Senkebies, as other than a couple other neighbouring Fjordland Wood Elf tribes, the Senkebies have been largely undisturbed for centuries due to endless blizzards that seem to protect the Fjordlands. However, these have weakened and lessened in recent times. Sometimes the visitors have been lone travellers, cartographers or students, other times large groups have come through, some pleasant, some have been hostile, and used weapons and magics not known to the Senkebies. Some have even started to settle in the North Fjordlands. Their activity, as well as that of the also relatively young settlements in the West Fjordlands, has disturbed the environment and upset some natural balances. Nature is a vital value to the Senkebies. People migrating up north and bringing their industry potentially might have caused the change in weather patterns that originally protected the Senkebies; though there are other theories too.
The following paragraphs have been taken from my character’s backstory as they set up additional lore for the Fjordlands.
Sea Sorcery and Magic
Magic users are revered in the tribe, and are offered high places in society, although due to their rarity there is little in the way of tutelage, and most remain low level. The fins of Sea Elves with Sea Sorcery glow when they activate their powers. Sea fins vary in colour depending on the current known spells. Those with a proficiency for cold/ice-based spells or manipulating these elements often receive more attention as northern Sea Elves must deal with ice and snow more regularly. Other forms of magic are scarcely seen or known about in the Fjordlands at this time. However, a tattered tome was found that the Senkebies dubbed “The Old Faerun Texts”, learning that this was the book’s origin. Unbeknownst to them it is the remains of the official Quandrix College curriculum, abandoned by Quandrix Student explorer who ventured across to Anchorome but wasn’t prepared for the bitter blizzards and Perilous Fjord.
Aldrismelte
Around the Fjordlands, strange crystalline minerals exist. While they appear icy, being cold to the touch, they faintly glow a pale blue, are extremely tough, and never melt in summer. They have come to be revered as the stones that create the protective blizzards as they seem to increase ice-magic abilities, in the areas they can be found in. Sea Elves that show proficiency with ice-magic or cold spells are allowed to wear one, mined from the sea floor, to help hone their skills. All pieces of Aldrismelte found on the land are strictly left in place, untouched, believed to be in a vital position to keep the weakening protective blizzards going. Small wooden shrines are sometimes built around them. For there is a legend that a deity of Ice Magic – Himmelsk – lived in the Fjordlands, when the first Sea Elves settled. They revered and worshipped him, and in return he set up the blizzards to protect the first generation of Senkebies. It is unknown why Himmelsk left, but it is believed it was he who created Aldrismelte, in the hopes of keeping them safe through the eternal blizzards, until his return. This is why the old perimeter the protective blizzards created was known as the Himmelsk Halo. (In its prime, the Halo was a 300m thick circular wall of constant impenetrable blizzards that went from sea level to the height of the 3 mountain peaks. This meant access underwater and by flight was still possible, and sunshine and other weather systems passed over Senkeby as normal.)
Maktstein
The Maktstein is a golden sphere, initially given as a peace offering from Northern Merfolk – the only race to have a true allyship with the Senkebies, discovering their sunken city not long after the first generation settled. A myth suggests that it can amplify Sea Sorcery abilities, a trait that Sea Elves and Merfolk share. Evidence for this has been light, but the tradition holds strong, and it is kept in the Capitol building of Senkeby. Or it was, until one day, it was found missing. And in its place a piece of Aldrismelte. One that had been removed from the land. This could be identified as the ones mined form the sea have smoothed from erosion. This was an outrage, as all Senkebies know it is law to leave all land-based Aldrismelte in place. Many Senkebies wish to see the return of the Makstein as they believe the myth and that it could be key in reinstating the Himmelsk Halo, as some believe the failing blizzards were powered by Sea Sorcery in some way. Even those who don’t believe this, want its return so they don’t insult and lost the allyship of the Merfolk, whose support might be needed as human settlements continue to encroach.
The Maktstein was added at the DMs request to tie into wider story arcs and add more weight to my character's reason to travel.
I'd be interested to hear people's thoughts, as it's my first time playing DnD and coming up with backstory etc.
(I made some maps of the region and wrote A LOT more about the Senkebies way of life, which can be found in this thread: Fjordlands & Senkebies, if the above sparked your curiosity!)
As I have over 300 pages of it just in the Lore book alone, I have to be careful, but I have decided to include information her that you cannot get from the Lore book...
Agartha
This is roughly the equivalent of the Underdark. It is a series of natural seemig caverns, tunnels, tubes, and such, stretching over the largest physical space on the continent, with thousands of secret ways up and down from the surface. Spanning a half mile high layer that runs one to one and a half miles deep beneath the surface, it has thousands of miles of tunnels, thousands of caverns and spaces, filled with all manner of plant and fungal life, and all of it a secret that Agarthans even keep from those they are the erstwhile allies of -- Lemuria, most notably. The primary builders and dwellers of Agartha are Imps, two to three feet tall, winged, brilliant, twisted, devious, and basically you can take a gremlin after you screw up and make it a lot uglier.They are the oldest of the Peoples who were shaped in the God's War from "volunteer" humans.
Agarthans keep secrets. Were they willing to allow it, Lemuria could readily place all its armies within the realm and release them in a torrent upon the surface world and wreak massive destruction -- except Agarthans don't really like Lemurians all that much. Or anyone else. They are the smartest, sneakiest, and more predatory of all the peoples, but no one knows it because they do not allow much escape. Their particular mission in general is to keep the hostilities between the two Empires going, to perpetuate the fear, and to create, build, and use their gift for machinery and mechanism, craft and art, to lure the hapless and the wayward into ruins and crevasses, dungeons and labyrinths, letting them search for treasure and glory without ever realizing that they are being set up to be captured and enslaved.
The Whole of Humanity
People encompasses a huge variety of beings. Imperials, Dakoan, Exilian, Thalasen, Myrmians, Elfin, Dwarfin, the many Halflings, Tritons, Merow, Goblins, Thyrs, Grendels, Imps, Therians -- they are the descendants of the original Colonists, changed by the God's War and the disasters that ultimately ended it, changed and reshaped by the gods. They are all from humans, and that's why there are so many halflings, but they are all Human, though these days that is often reserved for the five branches that didn't volunteer for those hoary changes.
This is also why it takes the Celestial or Infernal infusions to create beings that can live so long, though no one has a way to explain why it is that Thyrs live for so long.
that's a couple.
Only a DM since 1980 (2000+ Sessions) / PhD, MS, MA
Wyrlde.com
Free PDFs
Not Talking About It / Dubbed The Oracle in the Cult of Mythology Nerds
The "Disappearance" of Levistus.
As most infernal scholars will be aware, Levistus was entomed in ice and currently drifts through the realm of Stygia as a giant iceberg. Levistus was cursed by Asmodeus and part of this curse was that he had to help anyone who called out to him for aid. Levistus eventually realised that this offered him a unique oppotunity to escape his icy prison and circumvent Asmodeus' curse. On one particularly cold and windswept "day" on Stygia, when a overly large blizzard obsured his iceberg tomb, Levistus called out to himself and pleaded for aid. In a magically puff of a teleportation spell he found himself free of the iceberg and standing in the bracing winds of Stygia. In order to maintain some semblence of a ruse he summoned a silmulacrum of himself and interred it in his former prison before donning a disguise and tranversing the realms of the Nine Hells and indeed the matreial planes under the guise of a Teifling pirate. Is it possible Levistus has been one or more of the most notorious pirates to ever sail the seas of the material planes? who knows......
It’s not finished but I have a story about a wild girl who is one with the forest and protects the forest and it’s animals she is an elf whose family was destroyed by a storm and now protects the forest from the storm god ferociously.
I also have the ability to manifest my thoughts in ways that cut people. I call this power words. -Tasha
Join the bloodless band! Join us in the attack on darkness!
Come swim over to the Bloody Barnacle! The Bloody Barnacle against the world!
They/them
I enjoy eating humanoids dont freak out you get to live in a cell for 3 weeks before i kill you yay!!!!!
I’m the new god of kobolds (or goddess)
Silhouette of determination! Thanks drum!
Town of Galwyck
Nestled on the western bank of the swift and wide Brindle River, Galwyck emerges from the dense embrace of the Eldwyd forest like a sentinel of civilization amidst the wilderness. The river, its ever-flowing waters mirroring the town's resilience, serves as a natural barrier to the west, creating both a defensive advantage and a steady source of life.
The Eldwyd, or "the Eld" as locals sometimes call it, stretches to the east, its ancient trees forming a dense border that both shelters and challenges the town. The Eldwyd is not just a forest; it is an elder presence, an arboreal guardian that provides timber for shelter and a source of mystery and danger.
Within the protective embrace of stone walls, Galwyck stands as a testament to the symbiosis between civilization and nature. A labyrinth of cobblestone streets winds through the town, lined with sturdy timber-framed structures and shops that showcase the practical craftsmanship of its residents. The air is often scented with the mingling aromas of pine, river mist, and the comforting warmth of hearths.
The heartbeat of Galwyck is the Blackwood family, who have stewarded the town through generations. Lord Cedric Blackwood, a firm but benevolent patriarch, and Lady Elara, the matriarch of wisdom, lead with a blend of practicality and compassion. Their son, Alaric, brings an air of curiosity that challenges the town's traditions, adding both vigor and tension to the leadership.
Surrounding the town, like loyal satellites, are the small settlements that sustain Galwyck:
Stonecreek Quarry: To the northwest, Stonecreek stands as the mining hamlet, its modest stone structures a testament to the industry that extracts valuable minerals from the earth. The quarried stone not only fortifies Galwyck's walls but also finds its way into the foundations of homes and structures.
Bywater: To the southwest, Bywater is a picturesque fishing hamlet along the Brindle River. Simple wooden structures line the riverbanks, and the people of Bywater are skilled fishermen, ensuring a steady supply of fish that graces the tables of Galwyck.
Haybrook: To the southeast, Haybrook sprawls across rolling hills, a farming village that provides the town with essential sustenance. Fields of wheat sway in the breeze, and the aroma of freshly baked bread often wafts from Galwyck's bakeries.
Edit: Can't seem to add an image to this post - just the link.
The Ballad of the Beholder
Flying high in the sky, is a being with many eyes
It looked down at my companions and one was cutting onions
The beast teared up as we ate his Goldfish and then he made us hunt down a wish
Honestly still probably the sandwich I've ever had!
I'm responsible for the Magic Item "The Warhammer of Angus Talos" it has 300 charge and it takes 30 charge to cast a lightning bolt. I forgot to put safe guards against spiritual weapon and using all the charges at once. Long story short if you have a Tempest Cleric willing to do it, you're looking at 1,440 Lightning Damage. Not Good.
I am also creating the world of Ultradan. A world I hope to use in every campaign from here on out and maybe make a Module of. MAYBE.