Jack Zander
2013-07-05, 08:13 PM
I admit, I'm a bit of a minmaxer. I like creating powerful characters. I don't like feeling helpless in combat, and I really enjoy taking down things magnitudes beyond my level. But I still enjoy a good roleplay. I make my characters flawed in their personalities. They might make the best choices in combat, but they certainly don't always make the best decisions in their adventures. I'd like to share with the playground my proudest character, if you could call him that. My DM actually thinks its more of an abomination, a destroyer of campaigns, and one of the reasons he had to up his medication for PTSD. By the end of this campaign, he outright declared he would ban many of the things Ossan had done in all future campaigns, including something I did right at character creation. One of Ossan's defining characteristics was his 6 Charisma; something which I had made sure to never increase throughout the entirety of the campaign even though I had ample gold to do so.
Ossan Shalemace was created with good intentions. He was a dwarven cleric, designed to maximize his HP and shield other on the entire party at all times, thus serving as the party tank and dedicated divine caster. Needing most of my point buy to max out Constitution meant I had to skip out on some other abilities, namely my charisma as stated above. Also, anyone who plays a cleric and doesn't pick Fharlangn as their deity is doing it wrong, so of course I was a dwarven cleric of the road (Luck and Travel domains). My DM hates this kind of ****; characters who pick all the optimal choices but don't make a lick of sense. He demanded that all of us produce a one page backstory to explain our origins. I consider this the greatest work of fiction I've ever created.
Ossan was born to Rurik and Balmina of the Shalemace clan in the bustling city of Norador. Rurik was a weaponsmith, though he wasn't the most popular one in town. It's hard to make a name for yourself as a dwarven blacksmith in a city with literally hundreds of others. He struggled to provide for Balmina and young Ossan, his only child, by crafting small orders of weapons for local families, and the occasional extra order commissioned for war.
When Ossan was old enough, he would help his father at the forge, though blacksmithing never seemed to be his strong suit. Rurik would get angry with Ossan for ruining a blade he'd been working on for months, or forgetting to keep the forge heated for his father, or etching his clan's symbol incorrectly, or something. It was always something. Ossan just wasn't cut out for his father's line of work. Though he was in great physical shape as far as dwarves go. He could literally run for hours and gather his father supplies or deliver finished weapons. So this is what Rurik usually tasked Ossan to do. If only he wasn't so annoying to work with and talk to. It would certainly help if his delivery boy was likeable to his clients.
Aside from being extremely introverted, Ossan never really seemed to fit into dwarven culture. He'd argue with the priests about Moradin and theology. He barely passed the basic combat training sessions all young dwarves are accustomed to. He was regularly picked on and bullied, but his tormentors never became violent with him. Ossan was a strong boy and looked like he could take a beating. That wasn't a battle any other young dwarf would want to fight. For a dwarf though, Ossan became rather rebellous. Balmina became concerned about Ossan not fitting in with the rest of the dwarves, and having clashing ideals with his peers, but Rurik assured her that it was just a phase all young dwarves must go through at his age.
* * *
One day, Rurik received a letter from someone outside of Norador. He had never been outside of the city, nor did he know anyone beyond these walls. It was from a human man. He called himself Keir Corbin, which in the common tongue translates to Black Raven. Keir Corbin asked for a large order of weapons to be delivered to a nearby human settlement, on a very specific date. Triple payment was offered at completion assuming the deadline was met. Rurik's eyes widened. He had enough time and the skill to complete Keir's request. An order like this would finally give his family the luxuries they deserved. And he would certainly gain renown. His business might finally pick up from this, though he would have to spend most all of his savings just buying the materials for the job.
When the order was complete, Rurik gave Ossan a wagon and a mule, and tasked him with making the most important delivery of his life.
“You can't be serious, making Ossan go alone like that,” Balmina protested. “Rurik, he's only 36 years old!”
“He's perfectly capable enough to walk down the road and back, Belmina. The boy ain't good for much else anyway.”
Ossan stood there in silence. He hated when his parents, well when anyone really, talked about him in front of his face, but he was never assertive enough to pitch in his two copper pieces. Rurik handed his son the return letter, address to Keir Corbin.
“Humans are so stupid, naming their kin things like 'Black Raven'. What a redundant name, all ravens are black.” When Ossan spoke it only seemed to offend people.
“Yeah well keep your opinions about his name to yourself!” Rurik was always so annoyed with him. “We can't afford to have you lose this client like you did when you mispronounced the name of the smallrock clan.”
“I told you, that was an accident!”
“Well your 'accident' cost us the future business of a good portion of town! Get a move on, lad. If you leave now you can still be back before nightfall.”
Ossan had never been outside of Norador before. Everything was so new and exciting to him. He felt really free out on the road like this. He never realized before now hoe much he hated the cramped cold conditions of his city.
He had traveled a good three-fourths of the way there when he passed a human man with long straight hair dressed in black leather leaning against a tree. “Rurik, I presume? You look a lot younger than I expected.”
“I-I'm his son,” Ossan stuttered out. “Ossan. Keir Corbin? That's got to be the most pathetic beard I've ever laid my eyes upon. You can't even tuck it into your tunic let alone your belt.” Then he slammed his mouth shut tight. Saying stupid things just seemed to come naturally to poor Ossan.
“Cute. I was about to feel a bit guilty, but you went ahead and cleared that away real fast.”
Ossan was never very aware of his surroundings. He didn't notice that there were several other armed men surrounding them until they moved in closer.
“Hand over your wagon, boy. I've got an army to equip.”
Ossan's heart began to race. This all happened so fast. He couldn't just give away all his father's work. He'd never be forgiven. “N-no!” Ossan reached for a sword from the cart. He had heard that dwarves were the toughest of all the races. There were tales about dwarven heroes taking on hundreds of men, elves, and orcs.
Keir drew his longsword and his expression started to turn more serious. That is, until little Ossan swung his longsword wildly in front of him. “Hahaha! Look at him flail around with that thing, men! Why don't you hand that over to me before you hurt yourself, kid?” Ossan never practiced with any of the weapons his father made. He took a step forward, closed his eyes tight and swung as hard as he could! The weapon vibrated violently in his hands as it clashed against the steel of Keir's sword.
When Ossan reopened his eyes he saw Keir snarling at him. Keir had parried Ossan's attack, but there was still a large red gash across the man's right cheek.
“I was gonna let you live, too. ****in' dwarves, always ready to give up their lives for trivial things. You're ****in' dead, kiddo.”
Keir lunged forward, Ossan felt a sharp pain in his gut and then the whole world just seemed to fade away...
* * *
“Hello?”
“Are you well?”
“C'mon, open your eyes, son.”
“There, that's it.”
A different man was standing over Ossan now. This one was old, with a much more impressive white beard than Keir Corbin.
“What happened to you, boy? I found you left for dead on the side of this road. Fharlanghn was with you today. I'm Lucarius Barlin, wandering priest of the Dweller on the Horizon”
“I was- My family was set up.” Tears began to swell up in Ossan's eyes, though there was no pain left over from his wound. “Oh, great Moradin! I've really done it this time! My father is completely ruined now!”
Ossan couldn't bear to face his father now. Rurik was always so upset with him over everything he did. He might as well be disowned and stripped of his name right now. In the distance, the sun began to set on the horizon.
“Come. It's getting dark. We can talk more after you've had some food and rest.”
“Where are we going?”
“To the nearest inn we can find you.”
“You're a priest. Don't you have a temple?”
A smile stretched across Lucarius' face. “My boy, the road is Fharlanghn's temple.”
* * *
Ossan began to believe that Moradin had forsaken him, cast him out of the dwarven lands, but Fharlanghn had saved him, and given him a new purpose to his life. He became an apprentice to Lucarius, and once he was old enough to journey on his own, they parted ways. Ossan never once traveled back to Norador. He was too frightened of what his father would say. At first he was ashamed for losing his father's weapons, but as he grew older and came to terms with what had happened, he became more ashamed that he didn't return immediately afterward. Besides, what would they say to him, a priest of Fharlanghn? The dwarves of Norador were strict with their teachings of Moradin, and looked down on the worship of all the other gods. He could just never bring himself to face his family again.
Ossan made a living as a traveling healer. He would come to a new town and ask for donations in exchange for Fharlanghn's divine power. Sometimes he would accompany people making a journey, protecting them from bandits just as he was saved by Lucarius. It was a decent living, and Ossan enjoyed every minute he spent on the road. But Fharlanghn had much grander plans for Ossan. That is why Ossan's journeys would eventually lead him to joining up with an adventuring party...
As you can see, Ossan is abrasive and doesn't quite know when to stop talking. This would prove to be one of the largest issues my DM had with the character, as he made every NPC interaction into a total disaster. But Ossan was also Chaotic Neutral, and as such he liked to do unpredictable things that often took the party careening off the DM's cleverly crafted rails.
I'll try to update this log about once a day, but we will see how well that turns out, real life and all. Tomorrow I will try to introduce the other party members and get into the story, where my DM openly admitted that I took about 9 pages worth of DM notes and threw them all out the window with Ossan's recklessness right in the very first session.
Ossan Shalemace was created with good intentions. He was a dwarven cleric, designed to maximize his HP and shield other on the entire party at all times, thus serving as the party tank and dedicated divine caster. Needing most of my point buy to max out Constitution meant I had to skip out on some other abilities, namely my charisma as stated above. Also, anyone who plays a cleric and doesn't pick Fharlangn as their deity is doing it wrong, so of course I was a dwarven cleric of the road (Luck and Travel domains). My DM hates this kind of ****; characters who pick all the optimal choices but don't make a lick of sense. He demanded that all of us produce a one page backstory to explain our origins. I consider this the greatest work of fiction I've ever created.
Ossan was born to Rurik and Balmina of the Shalemace clan in the bustling city of Norador. Rurik was a weaponsmith, though he wasn't the most popular one in town. It's hard to make a name for yourself as a dwarven blacksmith in a city with literally hundreds of others. He struggled to provide for Balmina and young Ossan, his only child, by crafting small orders of weapons for local families, and the occasional extra order commissioned for war.
When Ossan was old enough, he would help his father at the forge, though blacksmithing never seemed to be his strong suit. Rurik would get angry with Ossan for ruining a blade he'd been working on for months, or forgetting to keep the forge heated for his father, or etching his clan's symbol incorrectly, or something. It was always something. Ossan just wasn't cut out for his father's line of work. Though he was in great physical shape as far as dwarves go. He could literally run for hours and gather his father supplies or deliver finished weapons. So this is what Rurik usually tasked Ossan to do. If only he wasn't so annoying to work with and talk to. It would certainly help if his delivery boy was likeable to his clients.
Aside from being extremely introverted, Ossan never really seemed to fit into dwarven culture. He'd argue with the priests about Moradin and theology. He barely passed the basic combat training sessions all young dwarves are accustomed to. He was regularly picked on and bullied, but his tormentors never became violent with him. Ossan was a strong boy and looked like he could take a beating. That wasn't a battle any other young dwarf would want to fight. For a dwarf though, Ossan became rather rebellous. Balmina became concerned about Ossan not fitting in with the rest of the dwarves, and having clashing ideals with his peers, but Rurik assured her that it was just a phase all young dwarves must go through at his age.
* * *
One day, Rurik received a letter from someone outside of Norador. He had never been outside of the city, nor did he know anyone beyond these walls. It was from a human man. He called himself Keir Corbin, which in the common tongue translates to Black Raven. Keir Corbin asked for a large order of weapons to be delivered to a nearby human settlement, on a very specific date. Triple payment was offered at completion assuming the deadline was met. Rurik's eyes widened. He had enough time and the skill to complete Keir's request. An order like this would finally give his family the luxuries they deserved. And he would certainly gain renown. His business might finally pick up from this, though he would have to spend most all of his savings just buying the materials for the job.
When the order was complete, Rurik gave Ossan a wagon and a mule, and tasked him with making the most important delivery of his life.
“You can't be serious, making Ossan go alone like that,” Balmina protested. “Rurik, he's only 36 years old!”
“He's perfectly capable enough to walk down the road and back, Belmina. The boy ain't good for much else anyway.”
Ossan stood there in silence. He hated when his parents, well when anyone really, talked about him in front of his face, but he was never assertive enough to pitch in his two copper pieces. Rurik handed his son the return letter, address to Keir Corbin.
“Humans are so stupid, naming their kin things like 'Black Raven'. What a redundant name, all ravens are black.” When Ossan spoke it only seemed to offend people.
“Yeah well keep your opinions about his name to yourself!” Rurik was always so annoyed with him. “We can't afford to have you lose this client like you did when you mispronounced the name of the smallrock clan.”
“I told you, that was an accident!”
“Well your 'accident' cost us the future business of a good portion of town! Get a move on, lad. If you leave now you can still be back before nightfall.”
Ossan had never been outside of Norador before. Everything was so new and exciting to him. He felt really free out on the road like this. He never realized before now hoe much he hated the cramped cold conditions of his city.
He had traveled a good three-fourths of the way there when he passed a human man with long straight hair dressed in black leather leaning against a tree. “Rurik, I presume? You look a lot younger than I expected.”
“I-I'm his son,” Ossan stuttered out. “Ossan. Keir Corbin? That's got to be the most pathetic beard I've ever laid my eyes upon. You can't even tuck it into your tunic let alone your belt.” Then he slammed his mouth shut tight. Saying stupid things just seemed to come naturally to poor Ossan.
“Cute. I was about to feel a bit guilty, but you went ahead and cleared that away real fast.”
Ossan was never very aware of his surroundings. He didn't notice that there were several other armed men surrounding them until they moved in closer.
“Hand over your wagon, boy. I've got an army to equip.”
Ossan's heart began to race. This all happened so fast. He couldn't just give away all his father's work. He'd never be forgiven. “N-no!” Ossan reached for a sword from the cart. He had heard that dwarves were the toughest of all the races. There were tales about dwarven heroes taking on hundreds of men, elves, and orcs.
Keir drew his longsword and his expression started to turn more serious. That is, until little Ossan swung his longsword wildly in front of him. “Hahaha! Look at him flail around with that thing, men! Why don't you hand that over to me before you hurt yourself, kid?” Ossan never practiced with any of the weapons his father made. He took a step forward, closed his eyes tight and swung as hard as he could! The weapon vibrated violently in his hands as it clashed against the steel of Keir's sword.
When Ossan reopened his eyes he saw Keir snarling at him. Keir had parried Ossan's attack, but there was still a large red gash across the man's right cheek.
“I was gonna let you live, too. ****in' dwarves, always ready to give up their lives for trivial things. You're ****in' dead, kiddo.”
Keir lunged forward, Ossan felt a sharp pain in his gut and then the whole world just seemed to fade away...
* * *
“Hello?”
“Are you well?”
“C'mon, open your eyes, son.”
“There, that's it.”
A different man was standing over Ossan now. This one was old, with a much more impressive white beard than Keir Corbin.
“What happened to you, boy? I found you left for dead on the side of this road. Fharlanghn was with you today. I'm Lucarius Barlin, wandering priest of the Dweller on the Horizon”
“I was- My family was set up.” Tears began to swell up in Ossan's eyes, though there was no pain left over from his wound. “Oh, great Moradin! I've really done it this time! My father is completely ruined now!”
Ossan couldn't bear to face his father now. Rurik was always so upset with him over everything he did. He might as well be disowned and stripped of his name right now. In the distance, the sun began to set on the horizon.
“Come. It's getting dark. We can talk more after you've had some food and rest.”
“Where are we going?”
“To the nearest inn we can find you.”
“You're a priest. Don't you have a temple?”
A smile stretched across Lucarius' face. “My boy, the road is Fharlanghn's temple.”
* * *
Ossan began to believe that Moradin had forsaken him, cast him out of the dwarven lands, but Fharlanghn had saved him, and given him a new purpose to his life. He became an apprentice to Lucarius, and once he was old enough to journey on his own, they parted ways. Ossan never once traveled back to Norador. He was too frightened of what his father would say. At first he was ashamed for losing his father's weapons, but as he grew older and came to terms with what had happened, he became more ashamed that he didn't return immediately afterward. Besides, what would they say to him, a priest of Fharlanghn? The dwarves of Norador were strict with their teachings of Moradin, and looked down on the worship of all the other gods. He could just never bring himself to face his family again.
Ossan made a living as a traveling healer. He would come to a new town and ask for donations in exchange for Fharlanghn's divine power. Sometimes he would accompany people making a journey, protecting them from bandits just as he was saved by Lucarius. It was a decent living, and Ossan enjoyed every minute he spent on the road. But Fharlanghn had much grander plans for Ossan. That is why Ossan's journeys would eventually lead him to joining up with an adventuring party...
As you can see, Ossan is abrasive and doesn't quite know when to stop talking. This would prove to be one of the largest issues my DM had with the character, as he made every NPC interaction into a total disaster. But Ossan was also Chaotic Neutral, and as such he liked to do unpredictable things that often took the party careening off the DM's cleverly crafted rails.
I'll try to update this log about once a day, but we will see how well that turns out, real life and all. Tomorrow I will try to introduce the other party members and get into the story, where my DM openly admitted that I took about 9 pages worth of DM notes and threw them all out the window with Ossan's recklessness right in the very first session.