Heliomance
2015-09-22, 10:09 AM
Rescued from the WotC boards. Original. (https://web.archive.org/web/20150922150824/http://community.wizards.com/forum/previous-editions-general/threads/1125781)
Women and wine,
Party and dine.
'Tis the life I once had,
For sorrow or for glad.
'Til fate, she led me to you.
Like so many others of the neglected poor of the city, I found myself living not in the lavish estates, but in the cold estates. Rain or shine, the city herself was my home. Like my other brothers and sisters, in blood or not, we lived by peddling, stealing, scraping, and surviving. My life found new direction when I found my flute. It was in disrepair, thrown out by an upset child who could not bear his lessons longer. With a little help from my friends, I was able to repair it to a working condition, and taught myself how to play. By the age of 15, I had finally earned my first coin: A street musician earned slightly more than a street beggar.
I, however, was never one for keeping coin. Food, drink, women, copper and silver always found a way to slip from my fingers. But with this flute, this gateway to the rest of my life, I for the first time felt gold. This single, insignificant coin was more than I ever owned. I'm not a greedy man, and I initially refused the shining object, but it came back to me. I returned to my alleyway home, gathered my friends and loved ones, and we celebrated life, vowing to live to it's fullest.
Life went on, as life tends to do. Over the next few of years I began to collect different clothing, other instruments, theater masks, and other knickknacks. Myself and my companions eventually got down decent routines, learned our instruments, and in time were putting on larger productions for more cheers and more money.
Then we went too far.
Naturally, we gave the people what they wanted to see. What made them laugh, what they could joke about in the future. But when a high advisor of the city counsel was seen in public getting slapped by a prostitute, perhaps that wasn't the right thing to emulate behind our masks. Next thing we knew, performance arts were outlawed on the streets. A good man who owned the tavern we frequented allowed us to perform in his premises, thinking it good business. In defiance of the city council, we enacted our now city-famous "A Price Too Steep" act for the second time. We received a standing ovation, despite town guards standing in the room before us. We removed our masks and took our bow, gladly accepting the rounds of applause, and rounds of drinks we were given.
The next day Jariah, perhaps my closest friend, and our troupe's "prostitute" actress, was found dead. Much like me, she had no family of her own, but she did possess the warmest smile in the entire city. Her murder went unsolved, but I have a feeling the authorities knew who did it and were instructed not to care. Our next show was in her memory. We reenacted her final performance, only the third time we did that show, with a twist. A final act was added, where the prostitute was murdered in her sleep by a town guard, with the councilmen watching from behind, wearing our proudest mask. That night, I played the "prostitute" role, and that night, I saved my own life from a guards attack. I stole his sword, I slew him with the blade, and myself and my friends fled the city.
Through the cold and the gray,
Through the night, here I pray.
On I run, outlaw,
Cannot stay, can't fall.
The vision, the truth became clear.
Through the night and the forest we fled. We did not believe the town military chased us, but we ran as if they did just to play it safe. Exhausted, we collapsed in a forest clearing and slept a weary sleep. The next morning Taran, my mentor and our oldest member, never woke up. With only myself and two others, the twins Duran and Kari, we agreed to separate and go two different ways. If we were under pursuit, we didn't want to be caught together. We agreed to meet again in one month. Unfortunately, I never saw them again. Whether they live today, I do not know, but I pray for their safely every day.
Armed with little more than a two handed sword, a plain outfit, my flute, and a porcelain mask, i went on alone into the wild. After about five days of travel, I felt myself getting slightly hallucinogenic, perhaps it was something I ate. One night I felt as if my mask were talking to me. Horik,, it said, I have already sworn myself to you. Do you swear yourself to me?
..... How do you answer a mask? An inanimate, painted clay mask? The next night, it asked me again. I held it in the air as I staggered, and I shouted to the mask "How can I swear to you? You're not real." The third night I held it in my hand, expecting it to speak again. I was so focused on the mask I never heard the fox approach me. The graceful beast lept over my shoulder, biting the mask from my hand, and ran into the woods. Sword in hand, I gave chase. I caught up to it sitting in a clearing, wearing my mask. I had heard of men who could become beasts, lycanthropes or druids or something. It stared at me with it's impassive, clay smile. Slowly approaching it, I reached out and took the mask into my hand. Behind the mask, there was no man or beast. In the clearing I stood alone, sword and mask in hand.
On my eighth day in the woods alone, I sat in contemplation of the fox and the mask, and my visions. Were they real? Walking along, I saw no other foxes, or other beasts like it. It did not smell of any animal, and no furs clung to the straps. Perhaps the whole thing was an illusion. That night, I woke to a quiet laughter. Looking around, the fox sat by my side. At his paws was my mask, face down in the grass. It looked at me, with a puzzled look on it's muzzle, then nudged the mask closer. Getting to my knees, I picked it up, looked it over, and put it on.
Horik, I heard, I have already sworn myself to you. Do you swear yourself to me?
Looking through the eyes of the mask, I saw the fox lying on the ground before me. Looking down to it, then up and around, I got on my knees and bowed to the fox. To this day I don't know why. I took my mask off and put my forehead to the cool grass, and whispered "I swear myself to you." I heard another laugh and got up, to find the fox was gone.
I woke up the next morning to the sound of a harp. Thinking another traveling troupe was passing by, I hurried to the source of the music. What I found was a man in a porcelain mask, identical to mine, sitting on a log as he played. Looking up, he beckoned me to his side, then down and resumed his music. Hesitant, I walked to his sit and sat beside him. Setting my mask and sword down, I pulled out my flute and played. It would be strange of me to describe the encounter as "magical", but I know no other words to match it. Setting his harp down, he gestured to my mask. I handed it to him and he turned away from me. Taking his own mask off and dropping it to the ground, he donned my mask and began to sing. Overwhelm, I sang along with him. The words simply came to me; lyrics of song and dance, celebration. We sang of the wine and the women, good food and good laughs. Turning to me, the mask he had put on was not the mask I had given him! He wore a soft leather white mask, a smile gracing it's face, eyes slots wide and chin straps designed to let the mask open and close as the wearer spoke! I had never seen such a mask in my life.
Walking closer to me, he smiled. Horik, he said, As you have chosen Me, I have chosen you. Be My vessel in this world, and help those who sing our praises.Taking off the mask, a second was underneath; one side grinning, the other frowning. It was unusual, yet familiar. Offering me the leather mask, he saidBe My Paladin, Horik, and I will be your guide. Sing My praise, and I will sing yours.. Taking the mask into my hands, I donned it, and he was gone again. Where he once stood, the trees had cleared, and I saw civilization in the distance. After nine days in the woods, I was free.
And for the first time in nineteen years, I felt I was truly free.
==========
Taking the worn, wooden flute from his concealed lips, Horik stood up from his stool atop the stage and gave a low bow. Applause sang from his story. After some minutes, he settled into a bar table and took a drink from his wine. A boy walked up to him and sat before him politely, asking "Sir? Is that story true?"Smiling, Horik took his mask off and put it on the table before the boy. "The story is only true if you believe in it, lad. For one... I believe." Looking down at the smiling mask, the boy smiled and nodded, then returned to his families table. It wasn't the best story, Horik admitted to himself; It couldn't connect with everyone. But today it touched someone.
Olidammara be praised.
====================
I've always wanted to post a character backstory on these forums, and I thought I finally penned one that could bring interest. Comments? Critiques? If you were my Dungeon Master, would you accept this character?
Women and wine,
Party and dine.
'Tis the life I once had,
For sorrow or for glad.
'Til fate, she led me to you.
Like so many others of the neglected poor of the city, I found myself living not in the lavish estates, but in the cold estates. Rain or shine, the city herself was my home. Like my other brothers and sisters, in blood or not, we lived by peddling, stealing, scraping, and surviving. My life found new direction when I found my flute. It was in disrepair, thrown out by an upset child who could not bear his lessons longer. With a little help from my friends, I was able to repair it to a working condition, and taught myself how to play. By the age of 15, I had finally earned my first coin: A street musician earned slightly more than a street beggar.
I, however, was never one for keeping coin. Food, drink, women, copper and silver always found a way to slip from my fingers. But with this flute, this gateway to the rest of my life, I for the first time felt gold. This single, insignificant coin was more than I ever owned. I'm not a greedy man, and I initially refused the shining object, but it came back to me. I returned to my alleyway home, gathered my friends and loved ones, and we celebrated life, vowing to live to it's fullest.
Life went on, as life tends to do. Over the next few of years I began to collect different clothing, other instruments, theater masks, and other knickknacks. Myself and my companions eventually got down decent routines, learned our instruments, and in time were putting on larger productions for more cheers and more money.
Then we went too far.
Naturally, we gave the people what they wanted to see. What made them laugh, what they could joke about in the future. But when a high advisor of the city counsel was seen in public getting slapped by a prostitute, perhaps that wasn't the right thing to emulate behind our masks. Next thing we knew, performance arts were outlawed on the streets. A good man who owned the tavern we frequented allowed us to perform in his premises, thinking it good business. In defiance of the city council, we enacted our now city-famous "A Price Too Steep" act for the second time. We received a standing ovation, despite town guards standing in the room before us. We removed our masks and took our bow, gladly accepting the rounds of applause, and rounds of drinks we were given.
The next day Jariah, perhaps my closest friend, and our troupe's "prostitute" actress, was found dead. Much like me, she had no family of her own, but she did possess the warmest smile in the entire city. Her murder went unsolved, but I have a feeling the authorities knew who did it and were instructed not to care. Our next show was in her memory. We reenacted her final performance, only the third time we did that show, with a twist. A final act was added, where the prostitute was murdered in her sleep by a town guard, with the councilmen watching from behind, wearing our proudest mask. That night, I played the "prostitute" role, and that night, I saved my own life from a guards attack. I stole his sword, I slew him with the blade, and myself and my friends fled the city.
Through the cold and the gray,
Through the night, here I pray.
On I run, outlaw,
Cannot stay, can't fall.
The vision, the truth became clear.
Through the night and the forest we fled. We did not believe the town military chased us, but we ran as if they did just to play it safe. Exhausted, we collapsed in a forest clearing and slept a weary sleep. The next morning Taran, my mentor and our oldest member, never woke up. With only myself and two others, the twins Duran and Kari, we agreed to separate and go two different ways. If we were under pursuit, we didn't want to be caught together. We agreed to meet again in one month. Unfortunately, I never saw them again. Whether they live today, I do not know, but I pray for their safely every day.
Armed with little more than a two handed sword, a plain outfit, my flute, and a porcelain mask, i went on alone into the wild. After about five days of travel, I felt myself getting slightly hallucinogenic, perhaps it was something I ate. One night I felt as if my mask were talking to me. Horik,, it said, I have already sworn myself to you. Do you swear yourself to me?
..... How do you answer a mask? An inanimate, painted clay mask? The next night, it asked me again. I held it in the air as I staggered, and I shouted to the mask "How can I swear to you? You're not real." The third night I held it in my hand, expecting it to speak again. I was so focused on the mask I never heard the fox approach me. The graceful beast lept over my shoulder, biting the mask from my hand, and ran into the woods. Sword in hand, I gave chase. I caught up to it sitting in a clearing, wearing my mask. I had heard of men who could become beasts, lycanthropes or druids or something. It stared at me with it's impassive, clay smile. Slowly approaching it, I reached out and took the mask into my hand. Behind the mask, there was no man or beast. In the clearing I stood alone, sword and mask in hand.
On my eighth day in the woods alone, I sat in contemplation of the fox and the mask, and my visions. Were they real? Walking along, I saw no other foxes, or other beasts like it. It did not smell of any animal, and no furs clung to the straps. Perhaps the whole thing was an illusion. That night, I woke to a quiet laughter. Looking around, the fox sat by my side. At his paws was my mask, face down in the grass. It looked at me, with a puzzled look on it's muzzle, then nudged the mask closer. Getting to my knees, I picked it up, looked it over, and put it on.
Horik, I heard, I have already sworn myself to you. Do you swear yourself to me?
Looking through the eyes of the mask, I saw the fox lying on the ground before me. Looking down to it, then up and around, I got on my knees and bowed to the fox. To this day I don't know why. I took my mask off and put my forehead to the cool grass, and whispered "I swear myself to you." I heard another laugh and got up, to find the fox was gone.
I woke up the next morning to the sound of a harp. Thinking another traveling troupe was passing by, I hurried to the source of the music. What I found was a man in a porcelain mask, identical to mine, sitting on a log as he played. Looking up, he beckoned me to his side, then down and resumed his music. Hesitant, I walked to his sit and sat beside him. Setting my mask and sword down, I pulled out my flute and played. It would be strange of me to describe the encounter as "magical", but I know no other words to match it. Setting his harp down, he gestured to my mask. I handed it to him and he turned away from me. Taking his own mask off and dropping it to the ground, he donned my mask and began to sing. Overwhelm, I sang along with him. The words simply came to me; lyrics of song and dance, celebration. We sang of the wine and the women, good food and good laughs. Turning to me, the mask he had put on was not the mask I had given him! He wore a soft leather white mask, a smile gracing it's face, eyes slots wide and chin straps designed to let the mask open and close as the wearer spoke! I had never seen such a mask in my life.
Walking closer to me, he smiled. Horik, he said, As you have chosen Me, I have chosen you. Be My vessel in this world, and help those who sing our praises.Taking off the mask, a second was underneath; one side grinning, the other frowning. It was unusual, yet familiar. Offering me the leather mask, he saidBe My Paladin, Horik, and I will be your guide. Sing My praise, and I will sing yours.. Taking the mask into my hands, I donned it, and he was gone again. Where he once stood, the trees had cleared, and I saw civilization in the distance. After nine days in the woods, I was free.
And for the first time in nineteen years, I felt I was truly free.
==========
Taking the worn, wooden flute from his concealed lips, Horik stood up from his stool atop the stage and gave a low bow. Applause sang from his story. After some minutes, he settled into a bar table and took a drink from his wine. A boy walked up to him and sat before him politely, asking "Sir? Is that story true?"Smiling, Horik took his mask off and put it on the table before the boy. "The story is only true if you believe in it, lad. For one... I believe." Looking down at the smiling mask, the boy smiled and nodded, then returned to his families table. It wasn't the best story, Horik admitted to himself; It couldn't connect with everyone. But today it touched someone.
Olidammara be praised.
====================
I've always wanted to post a character backstory on these forums, and I thought I finally penned one that could bring interest. Comments? Critiques? If you were my Dungeon Master, would you accept this character?