Character backstories

[Xavrias]

I'm running a horror campaign and 2 of my players want help with there backstories. They will rp pretty much anything so I'll be showing them what you come up with.
One is a swashbuckler and the other is a barbarian who always uses a scythe.
If you come up with anything please post.

[King Atticus]

Is there any more info you can give us...Is it setting specific? What races are they playing? Any unusual build quirks they are looking to implement? etc

The more you can tell us the more realistic the backstories can become

[Xavrias]

Was just about to post more. Srry about that. They are both humans. The setting is not bought, I'm making it slowly. So you can pretty much come up with places and I'll add them in if I like them. The barbarian is prettty much standard, he kills stuff. He has a long history of playing rogues and ninjas though. He likes fire for some odd reason. He doesn't generally trust npcs and does not like puzzles, I think thats about all.
The swashbuckler is also kinda standard, high intel and dex. He uses a rapier. He has a history of playing sorcerers and fighters. He likes to try new things. He is strongly against death,like most people I guess. he doesn't like going anywhere near low health. He has a tactical mind.

I'm srry I cant think of much more,if you have any questions about people, places and stuff in the campaign feel free to ask.

[King Atticus]

For the Barbarian: He was raised in an isolated clan that had little contact with the outside world and are fervent followers of Kossuth god of fire. They believe in purification through fire and that pain leads to power. When the warriors of the tribe come of age they are sent on a vision quest of sorts into a cave system inside a volcano. They are then visited by emissaries of their god and through trial by combat they receive the blessing of pain so that they may grow stronger. Those that are worthy are kissed by the flames and come out pure on the other side (with some very distinguished burn scars on their bodies) those that are deemed too weak are burned away like so much chaff. Those that return from the trials are sent out into the world to help the impure to come into Kossuth’s pure light through fire and pain.

That should play into his firebug tendencies, desire to hurt things and the mistrust of "outsiders" (read: NPC's)


Here's a little Wiki love on the deity:

Dogma

Those fit to succeed will do so. Kossuth's faith is innately superior to all other faiths, particularly that of Istishia. Fire and purity are one and the same. Smoke is produced by air in its jealousy. The reward of successful ambition is power. Reaching a higher state is inevitably accompanied by difficulty and personal pain of some sort. Kossuth sends his pure fire to temper our souls and allow us to achieve a pure state. Expect to be tested and rise to the challenge no matter what difficulty and pain it brings. Those above you have proven their worth and deserve your service. Guide others to Kossuth's pure light so that he may reforge all life into its essential form.
[edit] Worshippers
[edit] Clergy

Clerics of Kossuth divide themselves into two factions, the Tendrils and the Burning Braziers. The Tendrils make up the bulk of the order and hold most of the ecclesiastical power. They see to the affairs of the temple, officiate at holy days and ceremonies, and preach to local Kossuthan communities. The Braziers represent the adventuring and missionary arm of the church, travelling the wilderness to bring new lands into Kossuth's scalding, purifying light.

Both factions subscribe to a strict hierarchy. A temple's high cleric, called an Eternal Flame, represents the highest possible religious authority. All are subservient to the local Eternal Flame; Braziers tend to follow the lead of the nearest such leader during their travels. Below the Eternal Flame are various terraces holding dominance over the ranks below them. Adherents on the lowest terrace deny themselves all worldly goods and pleasures, donating to the higher terraces all but the minimum needed to remain alive. (In the case of adventuring clerics, this minimum includes armour, weapons, and magic items.) As a cleric advances through the terraces, more and more rights and pleasures are granted to him, but only through great hardship and difficult -often fatal- tests of faith.

Kossuth's adherents tend to be fanatical schemers who wish to "cleanse" the world and rebuild it according to the Firelord's dictates. Highly motivated and easily manipulated, clerics of the lower terraces tend to "burn out" quickly (often literally) in their efforts to advance to the next terrace. Senior clerics use their underlings as pawns, frequently sending them on missions for which they are not properly trained or equipped, so that only those of the highest skill and ambition will advance. All clerics of Kossuth share a fiery temper: They are quick to take offense and use violence to enforce the rigidity of their chosen lifestyle. The primary goal of all clerics is to acquire land, wealth, influence, and power, and few church activities involve anything that does not directly contribute to one of these goals.
[edit] Monks

The church boasts no fewer than three orders of fighting monks, each corresponding to a different lawful alignment—the Disciples of the Phoenix (good), Brothers and Sisters of the Pure Flame (neutral), and the Disciples of the Salamander (evil). The Kossuthan church has held a place of importance in Thay for generations, in part because it is one of the few agencies by which non-Mulan Thayans can raise their stations in life.
[edit] Temples

Temples to Kossuth follow a ziggurat type of architecture that mirrors the structure of the church at large. Often carved from lava, these imposing edifices feature constantly burning braziers and bonfires, with several dozen adherents tasked with keeping the holy flame alive. The largest Faerûnian temple of Kossuth is the Flaming Brazier in Bezantur.

This is pretty simplistic but I'm short on time at the moment, sorry.

[ccjmk]

I loved King Atticus's backstory; I'd just somehow add that he was a farmer; maybe each family within the Clan were humbly devoted to a specific task, and those that take the Path of the Warrior -probably first male son; the rest will continue the family's traditional job- show their respect for their lineage by mastering their tool of work as a weapon for war; hence, warriors from families with a smithing tradition often use sledgehammers or sorts, warriors from lumberjack families use axes and our happy fellow, coming from a family of humble farmers, has mastered the scythe as this weapon of choise.

[King Atticus]

For the Swashbuckler:

Spoilered for length
I was born in a port town and am the son of a "longshoreman". My father loads and unloads ships down on the docks and my mother is a serving wench in a local tavern. We lived in a one room shack in the slums along the wharf. We lived humbly but comfortably in our little shanty. My dad had no formal education but he taught himself to read and valued the written word above all things. Every night my mom would go to work and my dad would read stories to me and my little sister by the flickering light of a tallow candle. Even though it was always the same stories (my family only owned three books as they are expensive and a luxury item) dad would always start by telling us "A man who can read and think for himself is always a free man...no matter what this world does to him." One day fancy ship came to port, it was the largest in the harbor, and dad was hired to unload it. I remember that day very clearly because that day dad came home with a new book. He said the captain had given it to him as a bonus for all his hard work. That night dad started reading it to us, it was an exciting book all about life at sea. We only read a couple of entries in the book because dad wanted it to last, but I was already enthralled. That night I dreamt of going to sea and all the grand adventures I would have. The next day dad was late coming home from work and he had a worried look on his face. He went to kiss my mom hello and was whispering something to her but all I could make out was the word "followed." All through dinner his eyes kept flicking from the windows to the door as if he were expecting someone, but no one ever came. My mom was under the weather that day and wouldn't be able to go to work but the family still needed the money she would have brought in, so as the oldest I was sent to see if the barkeep had work I could do in her stead. I think he felt sorry for me, he said he would let me sweep the floors but that I was to go home when the place stared to get rowdy. After a couple of hours men started getting deep in their cups, a few were starting to get loud and a fight had broken out over by the fire. The barkeep came to me and pressed a silver piece into my palm and said it was time for me to go home. The docks are a scary place at night so I stuck to the shadows and moved as quickly and as quietly as I could. I knew something was wrong as soon as I turned into the alley that led to my house. The windows were broken and the door was open wide and every other house was closed up tight, nobody ever saw anything in the slums. I sneaked up to one of the broken windows and peered inside and what I saw etched itself into my brain and I see it every time I close my eyes. What little furniture we had was upset and broken on the floor except for one chair that was set right in the middle of the floor. My dad was tied to that chair flanked by two burly men who were beating him bloody. Over by the fire place piled in a heap were my mother and sister surrounded by an ever spreading pool of blood. A third man was in the room holding my dads new book and wearing the colors of the big ship in the harbor. He was lecturing my dad as he was being beaten about how only a truly stupid man would dare to steal from Captain D'avre. The book turned out to be the captains' journal that contained some highly incriminating entries in it. My father saw it laying on a desk as he was working on the ship and couldn't help himself so he took it. When my father eventually passed out under the strain of his beating the man with the book ended him with a dagger. I hid behind some barrels as they left the house and then followed them back to the ship. I'm not sure exactly what I planned to do but I was desperate and they had taken my whole life from me. I waited for the perfect moment, late at night when the moon went down and I stole aboard the ship and hid down in the newly empty hold. I was able to stay undetected for a few days in which I subsisted on the raw meat of the hapless rats the would scurry about the ship. Every night my dreams turned to graphic scenarios in which I killed the man responsible for taking my family from me. When we were well out to see I was discovered by a seaman, that came down to the hold to drink undisturbed, and was dragged before the captain. I pleaded with him to let me stay aboard and I explained to him how I had dreamed of a life at sea and all the grand adventures I would have. He took pity on me and let me stay on as a deckhand having no idea who I was or that my deepest desire was to spill his lifeblood. I was more than willing to bide my time...time was the one thing I had left and I would wait until it was perfect before I acted. Every day I would scrub the deck and mend the sails and every night I would dream of slitting Captain D'avre's throat. As time went on I was given jobs up on the masts and in the netting. I was quick on my feet, nimble the captain called it, so I was the obvious choice for the dangerous duty high above the ships rocking deck. Some days I would sit up in the crows nest and watch as the captain practiced his swordplay with the thin, graceful rapier he always wore on his hip. At night before bunking down I would practice the moves I saw him performing but my rapier was the broken handle of an old mop. Then afterwords I would slip onto my bunk and into my dreams and the warm promise of vengeance. The years past in this manner always the same, hard work all day...bloody dreams all night. Eventually the captain took notice of me and took me as his personal steward. He said a man with my exquisite footwork and natural grace was born to be a swordsman and he was loathe to see talent go to waste. So I was there to help the captain dress in the morning, bring him his meals, and sweep out his cabin every night but every afternoon the Captain would instruct me in the art of the sword. In time I got quite good...as good, in fact, as the captain. I was quick to learn and quick afoot and never made a mistake more than once. Once I was able to match the Captain in swordsmanship his trust in me was complete and he made me first mate. The hour was finally upon us, when we made land at the next port I waited until the men had all disembarked and then I challenged the Captain to one more duel but this time I would not yield when I had bested him. The contest was hard fought but D'avre could no longer match my speed. In the end he called for an end and lowered his sword and I slid the tip of my rapier through his throat and reveled in the look of terror and surprise in his eyes. I left him as his men had left my family so many years before lying in a heap covered in a pool of his own blood. I took his sword and left the ship never to return and set out to find my place in a world I had never known confident only in the fact that no man would ever make me a victim again.

This is kind of long and rambly. Use it or not, it's no biggy either way. :smallsmile:

[Xavrias]

Wow, those are both pretty cool. I'm gonna be showing these to my players tommorow I think. I think both of them will like them a lot. Thanks for your help.