Sander
2016-03-10, 12:42 PM
Hey playgrounders. I've recently made a draft of a female Tiefling Bard/Warlock build. Mechanically, I think the build is just fine, so I went on to make some backstory, description and such. I admit to shamelessly pilfering the "sold to slavery" from some other thread on here, that I can't for the life of me find again... darn memory. Aaaaanyhow, I'd love some feedback on the story. Tweaks, ideas or corrections are all welcome, whatever you like! :smallbiggrin:
Persona
Name Amara
Race Tiefling
Sex Female
Class Bard1/Warlock1
Age 21
Background Charlatan
Personality Flattery is my preferred trick for getting what I want
Ideal I am a free spirit – No one tells me what to do
Bond A powerful person killed someone I love (The person I used to be)
Flaw I’m convinced that no one could ever fool me the way I fool others
Height 172cm
Hair White/Platin-blonde
Eyes Violet
Face Mainly human, although sharper features and piercing eyes. Small horns curled backwards.
Build Slender build with many scars due to abuse. Reddish skin.
Languages Common, Infernal
Proficiencies Deception, Sleight of Hand, Investigation, Persuasion, Acrobatics,
Disguise Kit, Forgery Kit, Flute, Lute, Mandolin
Dexterity, Charisma
Free Feat Actor
Ability Scores
STR 8
DEX 15
CON 12
INT 13+1 = 14
WIS 8
CHA 15+2+1 = 18
Backstory
Born to a Tiefling father and Human mother, Amara grew up in relative safety and comfort. While her family was anything but rich, they managed reasonably well as both her parents were former adventurers. While certainly an outcast of society – despite Tieflings becoming a more common sight, they aren’t, and likely never will be, accepted in their entirety – her early life seemed almost indistinguishable to that of other children. In a word; Unremarkable. Amara did, however, have grand ambitions of adventure, of the slaying of dragons, of inductions in the great guild halls from her parents’ stories, of grandeur the likes of which few had ever seen. Fascinated with knowledge and song, Amara grew up to be the model bard, and once she donned her feathery cap and strung her lute, she realized; She had never felt as much at home as she did now. The world was hers for the taking! At the fairly young age of 16, she ventured out into the world, exploring, writing and singing her way to fame and fortune. What a wonder the world was, new people to meet, new books to read and new adventures to have. While in WindStead – the capital of a smaller country, named after the windy cliffs it was situated in – Amara decided to party with a smaller group of adventurers she had met while performing at a local inn. What splendid stories would she have to tell after this adventure, she wondered? None she would ever want to tell, as the story would have it. While investigating a criminal organization that supposedly had stolen some fairly valuable jewellery from the capital museum, things turned awry. Outmatched on every front, all but her and another party-member – Mialee, an elven sorceress – were brutally murdered by the same men they were investigating. The bowels of the underworld were, well, much different than the stories Amara had heard from her parents. Seems they had a tendency to grossly romanticize the unpleasant parts of the stories they told. A truth, Amara would soon come to face. Blindfolded and maltreated, her and her sorceress companion were sold to slavery. Being young women the both of them, not the hard-work-in-a-mine kind of slavery either. Sold to a very powerful and mysterious aristocrat, a Baron by the name of Crowley the III, they soon realized they were not alone in their miserable fate. While nobody quite knows how or why the Baron amassed his fortune and influence, he apparently had plenty of both. The Baron kept a large quantity of women at hand at any time, and regularly replaced some as they “kept disappearing” as some of the other women would say, likely fearing the repercussions of any further verbal transgressions against the Baron. In her slavery, Amara suffered many a scar and bruise – some given as punishment for her early disobedience and some without apparent cause. And thus, time passed as it usually does, albeit, to Amara, at an agonizingly slow rate. Around 7 months into her service, Amara physically and mentally a broken woman, she and Mialee were both summoned to the Baron’s personal quarters. There, they suffered an unusually harsh treatment. During this treatment, the Baron had another of his fits of rage – as he were prone to – one so severe it ended up costing Mialee her life, the Baron’s hands around her throat. While Amara witnessed this, she felt the cup overflowing, the bubble bursting. In a fit of rage of her own, she jumped the Baron, wildly flailing around a weirdly extravagant cheese-knife. The Baron out of breath, confused and engrossed in his own lust, proved easy prey for Amara, despite her own state. Sinking the blade deep into his chest, she felt something break inside of her, something precious, something good. In his death-gargle, she heard a few words from a language she could not pinpoint – a strange occurrence for Amara, but she had, after all, spent the last 7 months in captivity in a region she did not know. The words were strangely unobstructed by his constant gasping for air, yet finding none to fill his bleeding lungs. Wanting to be done with it, she pulled the knife from his chest and plunged it down again. Then once more. And another. Then again, and again, and again, until the blood caked on her body, his corpse a literal pincushion for her knife. Coming to her senses, she realized what she had done. She had killed before, surely, as is the life of an adventurer, but never in such cold blood, never in such a brutal fashion. Not… Not… Not like this. It should hurt, shouldn’t it? Killing a man with such ease, such ferocity? It shouldn’t be so… so… so easy. Faced with her own actions, she wanted to cry, expected to cry… but she didn’t. The tears wouldn’t come. Why wouldn’t they come? Had she degraded in such a way that she couldn’t cry? Not for him, perhaps, but for her murdering him? She didn’t know, and perhaps she didn’t want to know at all. In the silence that followed her dark deed, all she could hear was a voice in the back of her head. Her voice, but not her words, whispering ever so sweetly…
“… Good girl …”
The idea is that she starts as a bard and then "acquires" another person's warlock pact (Old One) by killing them and thus not knowing she has this pact. The patron manifests as a strange voice in her head, which she attributes to trauma, sort of... like, a second personality type of thing. Furthermore, this event "breaks" the character in the sense that she now sees people, collectively, as scum, considering the acts they are willing to commit (rape, slavery, murder, etc.) which turns her evil. Not the "burn the world, rape the women and kill the children" evil, but the "I'm gonna dominate everybody and use them for my own means" manipulating type of evil.
Anyhow, feedback please! :D
Persona
Name Amara
Race Tiefling
Sex Female
Class Bard1/Warlock1
Age 21
Background Charlatan
Personality Flattery is my preferred trick for getting what I want
Ideal I am a free spirit – No one tells me what to do
Bond A powerful person killed someone I love (The person I used to be)
Flaw I’m convinced that no one could ever fool me the way I fool others
Height 172cm
Hair White/Platin-blonde
Eyes Violet
Face Mainly human, although sharper features and piercing eyes. Small horns curled backwards.
Build Slender build with many scars due to abuse. Reddish skin.
Languages Common, Infernal
Proficiencies Deception, Sleight of Hand, Investigation, Persuasion, Acrobatics,
Disguise Kit, Forgery Kit, Flute, Lute, Mandolin
Dexterity, Charisma
Free Feat Actor
Ability Scores
STR 8
DEX 15
CON 12
INT 13+1 = 14
WIS 8
CHA 15+2+1 = 18
Backstory
Born to a Tiefling father and Human mother, Amara grew up in relative safety and comfort. While her family was anything but rich, they managed reasonably well as both her parents were former adventurers. While certainly an outcast of society – despite Tieflings becoming a more common sight, they aren’t, and likely never will be, accepted in their entirety – her early life seemed almost indistinguishable to that of other children. In a word; Unremarkable. Amara did, however, have grand ambitions of adventure, of the slaying of dragons, of inductions in the great guild halls from her parents’ stories, of grandeur the likes of which few had ever seen. Fascinated with knowledge and song, Amara grew up to be the model bard, and once she donned her feathery cap and strung her lute, she realized; She had never felt as much at home as she did now. The world was hers for the taking! At the fairly young age of 16, she ventured out into the world, exploring, writing and singing her way to fame and fortune. What a wonder the world was, new people to meet, new books to read and new adventures to have. While in WindStead – the capital of a smaller country, named after the windy cliffs it was situated in – Amara decided to party with a smaller group of adventurers she had met while performing at a local inn. What splendid stories would she have to tell after this adventure, she wondered? None she would ever want to tell, as the story would have it. While investigating a criminal organization that supposedly had stolen some fairly valuable jewellery from the capital museum, things turned awry. Outmatched on every front, all but her and another party-member – Mialee, an elven sorceress – were brutally murdered by the same men they were investigating. The bowels of the underworld were, well, much different than the stories Amara had heard from her parents. Seems they had a tendency to grossly romanticize the unpleasant parts of the stories they told. A truth, Amara would soon come to face. Blindfolded and maltreated, her and her sorceress companion were sold to slavery. Being young women the both of them, not the hard-work-in-a-mine kind of slavery either. Sold to a very powerful and mysterious aristocrat, a Baron by the name of Crowley the III, they soon realized they were not alone in their miserable fate. While nobody quite knows how or why the Baron amassed his fortune and influence, he apparently had plenty of both. The Baron kept a large quantity of women at hand at any time, and regularly replaced some as they “kept disappearing” as some of the other women would say, likely fearing the repercussions of any further verbal transgressions against the Baron. In her slavery, Amara suffered many a scar and bruise – some given as punishment for her early disobedience and some without apparent cause. And thus, time passed as it usually does, albeit, to Amara, at an agonizingly slow rate. Around 7 months into her service, Amara physically and mentally a broken woman, she and Mialee were both summoned to the Baron’s personal quarters. There, they suffered an unusually harsh treatment. During this treatment, the Baron had another of his fits of rage – as he were prone to – one so severe it ended up costing Mialee her life, the Baron’s hands around her throat. While Amara witnessed this, she felt the cup overflowing, the bubble bursting. In a fit of rage of her own, she jumped the Baron, wildly flailing around a weirdly extravagant cheese-knife. The Baron out of breath, confused and engrossed in his own lust, proved easy prey for Amara, despite her own state. Sinking the blade deep into his chest, she felt something break inside of her, something precious, something good. In his death-gargle, she heard a few words from a language she could not pinpoint – a strange occurrence for Amara, but she had, after all, spent the last 7 months in captivity in a region she did not know. The words were strangely unobstructed by his constant gasping for air, yet finding none to fill his bleeding lungs. Wanting to be done with it, she pulled the knife from his chest and plunged it down again. Then once more. And another. Then again, and again, and again, until the blood caked on her body, his corpse a literal pincushion for her knife. Coming to her senses, she realized what she had done. She had killed before, surely, as is the life of an adventurer, but never in such cold blood, never in such a brutal fashion. Not… Not… Not like this. It should hurt, shouldn’t it? Killing a man with such ease, such ferocity? It shouldn’t be so… so… so easy. Faced with her own actions, she wanted to cry, expected to cry… but she didn’t. The tears wouldn’t come. Why wouldn’t they come? Had she degraded in such a way that she couldn’t cry? Not for him, perhaps, but for her murdering him? She didn’t know, and perhaps she didn’t want to know at all. In the silence that followed her dark deed, all she could hear was a voice in the back of her head. Her voice, but not her words, whispering ever so sweetly…
“… Good girl …”
The idea is that she starts as a bard and then "acquires" another person's warlock pact (Old One) by killing them and thus not knowing she has this pact. The patron manifests as a strange voice in her head, which she attributes to trauma, sort of... like, a second personality type of thing. Furthermore, this event "breaks" the character in the sense that she now sees people, collectively, as scum, considering the acts they are willing to commit (rape, slavery, murder, etc.) which turns her evil. Not the "burn the world, rape the women and kill the children" evil, but the "I'm gonna dominate everybody and use them for my own means" manipulating type of evil.
Anyhow, feedback please! :D