Where does your serious character's background start

[Little boy]

Where do you start find yourself coming back to when you want to start a serious character in terms of background? For me, I always seem to come back to tragedy and misery. Adventuring is a last resort out of a terrible life. It is a way possible to advance out of crippling poverty. It is a way out of the murder gods religion. It is hard to wrap my head around happy character's with skills and the knowledge to get a real job to go out an murder their way to a better life. Worse yet, I can't help but be silly in that situation. What do you do and where do you keep coming back to for serious characters

[djreynolds]

There are great novels out there, even non-fantasy to look through. Or even a movie. I just watched Cold Mountain today, not my idea but the lady's, that guy went through hell.

Also many young kids go to college or even the military to just get out of their situations. So even a bard or a fighter is a good start.

You could've been conscripted into war. You may have volunteered and were ignorant of what you were going to face.

[Hrugner]

Think about it like this. If your character has the performance proficiency, they are unrealistically well off right from the get go, they don't need a back up plan, they don't need to save for retirement, and if this gig doesn't work out they can just go to the next town. It isn't hard for a PC to make great wages at low levels. You don't really need to stay in a steady job, you could work for a few months out of the year and just build a castle somewhere and start hiring people to provide the exact sort of cultural experience you want. Stopping and settling for a regular 9 to 5 makes no sense. Heck, many characters never need to work a day to provide themselves with enough food, clothing, housing and security, to provide for several other people.

So you take time off. You leave whatever tedious life you're living because it isn't that big a deal, you don't need to be invested in that life since you can pick up anywhere else and start off like new. You don't need a serious life ending change to happen, you just leave. I've played a guy who adventured because he couldn't stand his wife and kids, but couldn't build up the decency to make a decision. I've played characters that were pretty much "studying abroad" so that they wouldn't have to finish training in their discipline and fulfill some duty. Just remember, many PCs are tediously blessed compared to the common man, and others are so capable that civilization isn't of any value to them.

[guachi]

I go the opposite of tragedy and misery. I like making a PC whose parents are not only alive, but live nearby. RPGs need more mom and dad.

And I like to invite the rest of the party over to my parent's house after the adventure. Use my parents as rumor mills and go on adventures because mom and dad asked. Maybe I want dad's approval because he always liked my older brother better. Maybe he likes me best.

Positive characters who want to do good and be heroic.

That's what I look for when I create a "realistic" character.

EDIT: I actually am in the military. No one of the dozens of people I work with joined to escape a bad home life or grinding poverty. It happens, of course. But everyone of my co-workers came from a vaguely well adjusted middle class family.

[JakOfAllTirades]

Where do you start find yourself coming back to when you want to start a serious character in terms of background? For me, I always seem to come back to tragedy and misery. Adventuring is a last resort out of a terrible life. It is a way possible to advance out of crippling poverty. It is a way out of the murder gods religion. It is hard to wrap my head around happy character's with skills and the knowledge to get a real job to go out an murder their way to a better life. Worse yet, I can't help but be silly in that situation. What do you do and where do you keep coming back to for serious characters

This question provides its own answer: it's true, most campaign worlds have a surplus of tragedy and misery, and so a great many adventurers sense a need to help those less fortunate. They may not have tragic or miserable background stories of their own, but seeing so many others in need, they become adventurers out of a desire to make their world a better place. In short, they're not just adventurers, they're heroes. As a motivation for adventuring, this makes more sense for some classes than others, but it could apply to anyone, really.

A character with such a background who's constantly surrounded by tragic, miserable, head-case refugees on the run from their former lives might be playing the "only sane man (http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/OnlySaneMan)" in his party. At least, that's what keeps happening to me....

[Fishyninja]

I normally have a look at a person, or an event in the real world and then break it down to the core components and then rebuild them up in my own image.

I have 5 main characters I run with.

One came from an affluent family and became a thief. (Max Valentine)
Maximillian was born to a relatively middle class family. They lived in a nice area of their city, his father was a swordsman of relative fame. He had quit his adventuring days at a young age of 40 and settled down to create the Blood & Iron fencing school.
His mother was a very learned woman who acted as the account for the school.
Max spent most of his early youth in the school either learning swordplay from his father, sparring and playing with the other students and learning numbers and letters from his mother.
This continued into his early teens. Max as a young teenager (while still devoted to his lessons in the blade and in the quill) decided he wanted to know more as he had spent the entirety of his life in this smallish area of the city. In his spare time, he started to explore the upper and lower ends of the city, aptly named for their socio-economic status.
Both worlds fascinated him. The lower city was a place where the strong survive but the sneaky survive longer. Max experienced his first taste of the criminal world when an urchin tried to pickpocket him, the urchin grabbed his coin pouch and tore off through the streets, max chased off after him wishing that he had is sword with him. He chased the urchin through alleys and markets until finally he cornered the urchin in an open area of the market. The urchin seeing that there was no escape casually tossed the coin pouch back to Max. Considering the matter settled, Max affixed the pouch to his belt, feeling rather smug he had bested the thief he then decided to make his way back home after his mini-adventure. While he was about to walk through the inner gates leading to the inner part of the city, a well-dressed man pointed at Max's belt and started yelling for the guards. Max utterly confused remained in place until he had a guard either side of him and an angry noble yelling that he was no more than a common thief. Max while trying in vain to calmly explain that he was no thief offered his purse as proof, for his purse was a simple leather pouch with a drawstring and an enamel tog, as Max held out the pouch he realised one thing. He had not bested the thief, for in his hand was a fine cloth pouch with silk cord and filigree.... Max opened the pouch an upturned it, nothing but stones fell to the cobbles. The guards stared at Max knowing they had a thief at hand.... Max did the only thing he felt natural at this point, he ran straight past the guards into the inner areas of the city, his legs pumping and lungs burning, he tried to lose the guards in his local streets but they too knew the lay of the land, eventually he found himself in the upper district gasping for air. Max collapsed onto his rear completely astounded at the events that had happened to him today when suddenly across the plaza he saw the Urchin, this time dressed in finery, washed and more impressively blending in. Max followed the boy through the upper district and caught the boy in the act of lifting a purse from a man. Max had the perfect opportunity to turn the boy in and best him however he did not, instead in a moment of madness as the crime was occurring Max purposefully bumped into urchin and man causing items to be scattered over the ground, Max was quick to retrieve the man’s purse and make a great show of helping him and the urchin of the ground (he even went as far as to start brushing dust from everyone), he returned the purse to man, much to the man's delight and the urchins' misfortune. As the man was about to leave he inquired whether the leather coin pouch belonged to either of the boys, Max was the first to speak up and claimed his rightful pouch.
After the man left the urchin confronted Max. He demanded Max pay him for his loss of earnings but Max knew he could best the urchin in a fight with any weapon including his hands, he was a healthy teen and this urchin was a malnourished minor. Max decided not to fight the boy but instead made a proposition to the boy, Max would pay the boy weekly to teach him his skills.
The boy had to ask...."Why?" Max really did not know the answer then, he just knew that the rush he got from escaping and worming his way out of an arrest to besting someone with his voice and charm alone was equal to a decent sword fight with a good opponent.
The boy did not need a second to think and gladly accepted, in his eye he earns now and potentially earns later, anyway he still earns now.
Over the next two years the boy taught Max everything he knew.
On Max's 15th birthday, the boy introduced Max to a stout man, rough in voice but delicate in movement. This man was Lucius Lightfinger, well known throughout the city for his many talents, in the upper districts, he was a suave gentleman who could compliment, flatter and work politics like anyone else. In the middle district, he was well known as a book keeper and distributor of goods and earned a pretty penny and in the lower district he was head of all the cut purses in the city. What made Lightfinger so good was he had three identities that fit him so well and only the right people knew the right identities. The urchin introduced Max as a potential cut purse for the middle district. Lightfinger saw the boy’s potential and started working him right away. So, from the age of 15 to twenty Max spent his days in his father’s school, his evenings learning with his mother and his nights running over rooftops, breaking and entering and removing items of value. Max earned much gold during these years, not that he needed it he came from a comfortable background, he did it for the thrill knowing that he could do it and get away with it. Max spent most of the gold as quickly as he earned it purchasing better tools, knew knives and daggers, fine clothes. He belayed his parent’s suspicions by saying he worked occasionally with Lightfinger in his distribution business. Life was good.

Then at age 20 Lightfinger called every cutpurse, burglar, fence, and informant in the city into his lower district headquarters. He had a plan to pull the greatest heist the city, possibly the country had ever seen, a high-ranking Cleric was visiting the city and there were rumours that she had brought much treasure with her including a chest of magical items. So, the plan was laid out and Max was with the front team. During the heist the main goal was the Cleric's wares however as she was staying with the mayor of the city then Lightfinger saw the opportunity for two birds to be felled with one stone.
The heist was going smoothly, urchins were distracting the guards, the guests at the mayor’s mansion were either asleep or dining. Most of the cutpurses were disguised as butlers and waiting staff and were lifting the silver while Max, his urchin friend and Littlefinger were to raid the Cleric's room.

As the rest of the crew were running their ops in the house, Max, Littlefinger rappelled from the roof to the window. From the Window, they could see the cleric noting some things down, however what amazed Max was that she was not holding the quill. His mind wondering whether he could use such a skill for lock picking or thievery, for about 5 minutes the trio waited until she left the room, quick as a flash they popped open the simple window lock and were in. Stuffing as much gold and gems into their pockets as possible. Unfortunately, the chest supposedly containing the bulk of the loot was magic sealed and Max cursed this, however they got away with a fair heft of loot, everyone in on the heist got away Scott free. For weeks, all everyone could talk about was the heist and how so much was stolen from under the mayor’s nose, every criminal in town was rejoicing at their ill-gotten gains, except Max. He had been bested by a simple lock and he vowed he wouldn't let it happen again, and for that he would need to seek more knowledge along the way. This meant he would have to leave his family which saddened him but excited him so with the blessings of his parents, and his two mentors he filled up his back, grabbed his trusty swords and daggers and headed out onto the road. In the seven years of wandering he has learned many new skills, stolen many valuables, made and lost fortunes but he is always seeking to better his skills as a swordsman and a thief

One came from a strong Dwarven clan and developed wanderlust but has never truly loved.
(Rydor Oreknuckle)
So you want to hear the story or Rydor Oreknuckle. Well pull up a stool and bring me a tankard of Mead and I’ll make your ears ache.
Where to start, I’m in my 200’s, middle 200’s. I hail from Bhergolar, a small Dwarven city in the mountains. I like mead, ale, beer, wine, liquor. Look, what do you want from me? I’m a dwarf, we are simple folk, we are honourable, fair, we like our treasures and our drink.
*Sigh*
Fine, you know my moniker and from my axe and shield you can guess that I have been around a bit. Yes, I have, I am grumpy old dwarf……do I really have to go on.
*Sigh*
Bloody persistent fools, Fine if we you are gonna bleed me for information be prepared for a torrent. I am Rydor Oreknuckle of Clan Oreknuckle. Oreknuckles are renowned in Bhergolar as sturdy workers, especially miners! It was said our ancestor’s hands were so strong they could tear the ore straight from the bosom of the earth! Oh, you may think of us solely to be miners! This axe and shield should tell you that! I’m certainly not the first fighter from Oreknuckle, we have had people from all walks of life, miners, artisans, brewers, soldiers, fighters, louts, thieves.
We were not the largest, nor the strongest but we were, and I assume still are highly respected at home. I haven’t been home for a long time. Yes, there is a story behind that. I’ll get there to that soon enough! Don’t give me that look, you are the one who wanted to get to know me!
I’m got going back to when I was I was a wee boulder. I’ll start during my teenage years. I was 60 I had been working a variety of odd jobs with other members of my clan, I’ve mined and brewed but this was a new interesting job, my father, the old bastard, sets me up with my uncle to do some minor caravan protection work. Now this was a rite of passage…. No not a literal passage, no tradition here but it was a way for me to prove myself and honour my clan.
Here is where having pride and being proud differ. Having pride is to honour your clan, being proud is acting like you were davening’s saviour. I was a 60-year-old whelp holding a battle axe and a wooden buckler. Don’t forget we dwarves live for a long time, much longer than humanfolk!
I was nervous but damnit I was going to do my clan proud! I did, the run was successful, so much so that my uncle set up a regular protection business, I accompanied on every one for 10 years. You know what the advantage of walking to roads for 10 years, you learn…. whether you want to or not. You learn to sleep rough, you learn the dangers of the road, and you learn how to fight. The most important thing I learnt was that the world can be cruel and it can be bountiful, it is beautiful and ugly. Bah.
After 10 years of fighting and walking and working with my uncle. I had earned a bit of coin, seen new places experienced new foods, wines, women and I was drunk on it, I wanted to see more of it, I wanted to see it all it was addicting! I had to get out of Bhergolar go wherever the road may take me! However, I had to convince my family of what I must do. Again, don’t forget we have a strong sense of individuality by the Honour of the Clan is to be upheld always and I had to receive their blessing. My father was against the idea, my uncle was all for it, he even suggested I take over his protection trade; but I didn’t want to be a businessman I wanted to be a wanderer! Anyway, the meeting went…. let’s say it was a shining example of the diplomacy……He floored me, but not in anger it was his final gift to me. God, he is a miserable bastard but he loves me and I him, so with a broken nose and a warm embrace I took some of my gold, hefted on my armour, grabbed my axe and shield and left Bhergolar.
I was 70 at the time. That was it I had left my clan to see the world, but how do I start? Well I knew I was good with an axe so as I did with my uncle, I sold myself out as a sells word hiring farmers moving their livestock from village to city and fending off bandits, to escorting nobles from city to city. I was never short of work as I always presented my employers with an interesting contract….
Pay me half of what you are paying the others but teach me a skill in return. In that time, I perfected my hobbies of beer brewing and viola playing, however that deal did not always work out well for me, for example I can crochet…….
Anyway, forget what I just said about the crochet and get me another mead!
The one that really paid off though was one day I was hired by a town’s mayor to track some missing livestock, now this sounds like a mediocre task. Who am I kidding it was. I needed coin and there was a job. However whether it was luck or fate I ended up teamed up an Elven Ranger, what was her name? Vanlanthiriel, that’s it! Gods my memory never used to this bad. She was stunning and elegant and probably one of the most dangerous people I ever met. Anyway we were teamed up for this job, we estimated we’d be out of town for about 4 to 6 weeks. Now don’t get me wrong, I could sleep rough, I could make camp and I could trap the odd rabbit occasionally. But I was nothing compared to her, I remember on the first night I had barely set up my bedroll and she had already set up a camp, caught dinner and laid defences. I was flabbergasted.
The job went relatively smoothly, we recovered the livestock and got paid, and as per my deal when I was asked what skill I wanted to be taught I pointed at Valanthriel.
She was somewhat confused but she agreed, much to my delight, so for three months in the wilds about 50 miles from this township she trained me. She taught me to fend for myself off nothing but the land. I loved every minute of it but one skill I was very good at (if I don’t say so myself) was tracking, from the smallest animal to the flightiest deer, I could follow it, granted trying to take down a deer with a thrown handaxe is not as easy as a bow but needs must.
After three months I was a little loathe to go, I was learning so much from her and she was a sight to behold, maybe this old fool might have had his heartstrings tugged by her. But alas after the three months she had to go as she went I stayed in the wilds. I was 100 years old at the time.
For the next 60 years, I wandered the world for the sake of wandering. I walked from one coast to another, I stomped cart roads I stomped fields, I went from mountain to mountain and over hills and plains. I explored caves, and dungeons, and saw cities abandoned long ago by its populations. I saw lost treasures, natural wonders and met with people from all walks of life, some I recognised and some completely new to me. Those however are stories for another time.
Hmm… I’m empty, more ale barmaid if you would be so kind!
So after 60 years of warm summers and harsh winters, one day I found myself in a town, I was looking to get my kit mended and also long periods without mead can really strain a man’s thirst.
Speaking of which, where is that barmaid?
Where was I? Oh yes I was in a township whetting my whistle, and getting my gear repaired. In this bar I was quenching a thirst like a true dwarf, the bartender was happy, I was happy and drunk things were nice, I had forgotten the niceties of towns and cities, I decided to camp in town for a week or two to see how things played out.
At the end of the first week while picking up my mended gear I overheard from the smith’s apprentice that there was a fugitive on the loose, idly I enquired to what the crime was, this man had was on the run for murder, supposedly he had lost a card game and had murdered the other player in a fit of rage, stabbed in the middle of the bar and then ran. This incensed me, as a dwarf we value our selves on being fair in all things even gambling, so after paying the smith and chucking some coin to the apprentice I looked for the local guard and offered my services to track this cheat and murderer.
All I had were two things his name, Quopher and that he was a halfing. Now I knew that the Halfling was wanted, and with the town being small he was either on the outskirts being sheltered by someone or he was on the run in the wilds. My guessing was a man wanted for murder was not going to hang around so I wandered back into my home from home, the wilds. Anyway Quopher had about a 2 day lead on me but I was confident I could find him, if I was able to track animals my guess were people were just as easy. As soon as I was out of the township my skills came shot into overdrive I was tracking in the wild and I was bringing a felon to justice. For the first time in my life everything felt complete! I tracked the Halfling to a clearing 10 miles east of the town. I had multiple options, however again I am a dwarf, and even though I can track like a ranger I cannot sneak like one, so it seemed the best thing to do was to confront him, I strode into the clearing and said to him: I am Rydor Oreknuckle and I am here to bring you to justice…..It sounded heroic at the time, and you know what the little twerp did, he had the audacity to throw his knife at me, the one he used to murder that man. Anyway was expecting the attack and the knifed sailed true and embedded itself into my shield. Unarmed he tried to run, but he was a tired scared man, and I had to uphold my honour I easily restrained him and knocked him out. I then dragged his sorry carcass back to town.
I dumped him in front of the garrison, much to the surprise of the guards who felt it a lost cause. I was immediately hauled in front in the mayor who showered me with congratulations and gold. In all honestly I was not expecting to get paid for it, I thought I was just doing my duty! There were parades, feasts, gold, women, women, wine, more women….I was a young hero to these people I was milking it for all I was worth!

However I found something that I could do that would allow me to sate my wanderlust, uphold my clans honour and earn some money from it. Bounty Hunting, I’ve been hunting ever since and now this older bedraggled dwarf is the end result. I’m worn, and not as quick as I used to be but if you need a solid arm behind you and a man who likes to keep the peace and serve justice then I’m your man.

One was abandoned as a child. (Innominate
It was a brisk winter's day, or so he was told.
There was light frost on the ground and he was in a woven reed and leaf basket of exquisite design definitely something that an artisan had made. Swaddled in what appear to be dear fur and skin bawling his lungs out. One of the elder monks heard his screams and took him in.
The monks did not believe that the young elven baby that had been left on the doorstep would not survive the night, he was very thin and it had been very cold for a long time.
It would not have been the first time a young mother or father or couple had left a baby at the Monastry dedicated to Kelemvor, the deity of death. It would seem people believed the monks would end the lives of these poor children scorned from their mothers bosom.
Some died and some survived, the ones that survived were normally given to local orphanges or adopted by local families. However Inommintate, yes that was what he was called, was given to neither.
The monks were not entirely sure what to do with the young elfling. Until the eldest Monk Master Mawoleth decided that the elfing had been left here for a reason and that Kelemvor would decide his fate. This was decided as it was well known that the eleven woodlands were extremely far from this monastery and the local town did not have (to their knowledge) an elven population.
The boys childhood (in human terms) was spent in the Monastery, taking classes in the base things. From an early age he knew he was different to the others he was aware of his graceful nature and build, or his elongated ears, the fact he could read elvish from a young age with no teaching. His need to not sleep and when he did sleep his dreams were as vivid as if he was awake. This however did not bother him because he had food, shelter and a family.
He occasionally got chance to play with some of the other children in the area who also thought he was odd but very fun to play with. He made many friends in his youth and had a relatively normal childhood.
Years passed and Inommiate was seen as a young adult in human terms (though he was still a child in elven eyes) and he had come of age, he had a choice, he could leave and move into the world on his own or stay and learn the ways of Kelemvor. There was no choice for him, he had spent all his life there, he had developed a family with the monks, the maids and the cooks they had treated him not as a ward but as a family member and if being a monk of Kelemvor was repayment then he would happily do it. He threw himself into the study of Kelemvor and how he interacted the world around them.
He trained himself to conduct last rites, the funerary services of Kelemvor and how they are conducted around the world.
He studied and assisted the elders in their chores around the monastery and after his initiation he was a full acolyte of Kelemvor. He spent the next few years (10) aiding as the conduit to his town to Kelemvor, he saw children born, and grandparents die he helped pass on the wishes and desires of the living to the dead. A Acolyte of Kelemvor is not just a funerary servant.
Inommninate had the joy of life in his bones and felt that he could progress no further in his skills, until Master Mawoleth asked him to assist him with a special task....

“Come in Inomminate”
“Yes Master”
“You have progressed well in your studies and you have aided the people well, you are a pillar to them and you provide them with so much joy and hope and comfort.”
“I'm only conducting Kelemvor's will Master”.
“What if I told you that your current duties, the last rites, the funerary etc was only a small part of what we truly do and are tasked to do?”
“Please tell me Master, I wish to do as much as I can!”
“Now obviously we are in service to Kelemvor and by association death, that means that we have to protect the sanctity of death.”
“I'm confused Master?”
“There are magics out there, cruel and unusual magics that bring the dead back to life to act as serf's for unscrupulous magicians.”

Inomminate physically recoiled at this point,

“Master this surely cannot be true?! Why would someone even consider using such magics!”
“Inomminate, these magics are strange things, sometimes the people wielding these magics are not aware they are in posession of this power, some are not in control and some do not care and only desire to use these magics to create willing servants.”

Inomminate clenched his fists.....

“What must I do?”
“Train, one aspect of trianing which not all monks take is pyshical trianing in order to defend the weak and to protect oneself on pilgrimage. Us monks of Kelemvor, as we are usually based within towns and deal solely with consoling the grief stricken, do not normally train in these skills however, I sense that you are sense for greatness and I wish to train you to act as a defender for the weak, the people and the dead.”
“When do we begin?”
For a decade, the Master taught Inomminate everything he knew of 'Martial Arts' and how they would help him in the world.
Inomminate realised that as he grew in skill that he was becoming even more of a conduit for his faith. Not only could he be a comforter for the grieving and a protecter of the week he could be a vessel that transported heathens and evil doers closed to Kelemvor.
Inomminate was aware of his Ki but he could not access it as of yet.
On his 32nd year the Master claimed him to be ready to defend the will of all and asked of him an initiation to prove his skills.

“Ah Inomminate, you can finally put you're training to the test, we have had reports form the farmers based on the outskirts of town that a nearby cave has become populated by animated skeletons and zombies. Before you become concerned, the cemetery is safe. Most likely some young magician has been dabbling where they shouldn't be. I want you to go and investigate, if you see just the corpses, lay them to rest, if you see their summoner, come back and see me, not that I do not think you capable, but as this is your first time possible confronting a magic user, it is always hard to gauge their power and without you being in touch with your Ki, you could be in danger.
Open that chest there and take the throwing darts, you'll also see a small sword and next to the chest is my trusty walking staff, with these weapons you should be more than capable of dispatching the creatures. Now go, do your duty and be careful.”

Inomminate geared up and made his way to the outskirts of town. He inquired at the farms as to where the cave was located, they pointed to the east and estimated maybe a 2 or 3 mile walk to the cave. This was a simple task for a wood elf such as he, being one of the faster races to roam the lands.
Within an hour Inomminate stood at the mouth of the cave, gazing in. His elven eyes easily piercing the darkness. He couldn't see any shapes within the entrance but he knew they were there the Master and Kelemvor would not lead him astray. So he held his staff tightly and entered slowly.

He wandered deeper into the cave and he began to hear shuffling dead ahead, he could see the corpse shuffling away from him....Anger burned within him. Someone had taken this poor vessel that was in it's embrace with the earth and heaven and ripped it asunder for what, to abandon it in a cave, what were they trying to do? Make an army, serfdom or for mild entertainment. Anger, righteous fury and disgust he stepped quietly behind the corpse, placed his hands near the base of the quarterstaff and with a firm straight thrust, plunged the staff into the rotting skull and brain of the corpse, it dropped like a puppet with it's strings cut.

Inomminate bent over the lifeless corpse, and whispered to himself
“I am sorry this happened to you, once I have dealt with your compatriots I will make sure that you are treated properly.”

He stood up exhaled and felt the righteous fury become a vessel of power within him. He slowly made his way through the cave, attacking each corpse in the same way, swift strikes to the head, the corpses piled high and after 2 hours Inomminate counted 12 dead bodies. They had been torn from earth and back to earth he had to return them. He carefully carried each body out to the entrance of the cave, ran back to the nearest farm and asked to borrow a shovel. He ran back to the deceased and spent the rest of the evening burying graves, and conducting the funerary rites hopefully required to bring their souls comfort.

Hot, sweaty, dirty and tired he returned the shovel back to the farmer and wandered back to the monastery.

As he entered the gates of the monastry, Master Mawoleth and the majority of the other monks and acolytes rushed to him.

“Inomminate, you were gone for so long, we feared the worst! What happened?”
“I found the cave master, I dispatched the souls inside, afterwards it did not seem right to leave them so I gave them their last rites and returned them to earth.”
“And there was no sign of the summoner?”
“No.”
“How are you feeling Inomminate, I have tasked you with a role that not many have done before and not many can.”
“When I saw them I felt a righteous fury build in me, I have decided I want nothing more than to be a bayonet; a bayonet wielded by the hand of Him. I would have been happy to be born a storm, or a divine threat; a mighty explosion or even a terrible hurricane. A divine force of nature without heart or pity for those who desecrate the dead!”

The other monks seemed perturbed

“Inomminate, come in rest, bathe clean and sleep we can talk more tomorrow”
Inomminate nodded but the Master still noticed the fire in his eyes

The next morning, Inomminate met wit the Master.
“Inomminate, I am pleased with how you have progressed, you have done all that Kelemvor has asked and more, you have served your town faithfully and dilligently and helped many people. Some of the monks were concerned with your behaviour upon returning yesterday but I understand the thrill of battle and the fire it sets in your soul, to protect those who cannot.
I feel you are at a time where I can tell you about where you came from.”

“Master I was left on your doorstep as a baby, you and everyone hear has raised me as their own, it does not matter where I came from, just that I am here now.”

“I thank you for that kind statement innominate, but you must know that you age differently to us, you are 32 years of age and I have cared for you since you were a baby. I am an old man and you will live beyond me and most likely everyone in this monastery. When we found you I knew that an elf, one of the longest living races being in service of Kelemvor was a sign sent by him. However I feel that even with this you should at least have an idea of your origins.” We have still kept the bassinet you were left in, it is finely crafted, of elven quality obviously. We had a local artisan approve it and they cannot identify the style it was made in, however they mentioned that if you were to take it to an elven colony they would know more. I am giving you permission, inomminate, to leave whenever you want if you so wish to seek out your parents, please do not take this as a banishment as you are always welcome here but I feel that with someone who will live as long as you to not their parents is truly a sad thing.”

“Master I truly appreciated your thoughts of me, but this is a big decision. I understand your point but allow me to leave on my own. If I ever so choose.”

So for another 8 years Inomminate stayed in the moastary and conducted his duties, he occasionally undertook special missions for the Master, with each mission he became more sure that Kelemvor was the one true deity and at a few of the sites he found carved stone tokens inscribed with a hand holding an eye

Then as sudden as a spring breeze Inomminate made the decision to wander form the monastary to spread the word of Kelemvor and smite those who would do him wrong. He would also look for his parents, but he was not sure how he would react when meeitng them.

One has no memory to who he is. (Velasco Fen Sev)
I awoke, it was dark, but my eyes adjusted surprisingly well and surprisingly quickly. Apart form that I noticed it was bitterly cold, I shudder and feel the cold stone under me. I also notice that I have no clothes on.
I try to remember how I got here but I draw a blank, in fact I draw a blank on everything except my name. I would panic but I don't know what to panic over. I pull sit up an see that I am on a raised stone platform. I scooch over to the edge and tentatively push my self off, I notice a mixture of things scattered on the floor; mortars, pestles, broken bones and many many snuffed out candles. I reached down to pick up the mortar and notice something on my hand. A small tattoo.....shaped like a hand, seeing it makes me feel excited and disturbed too. I also feel the back of my neck prickle. I reach up and rub the back of my neck. I feel that the skin is raised, in a shape......an eye maybe? Another tattoo? A cold chill passed through the cave, shivering I looked around for anything to cover myself, I found some old rags, I fashioned them around my feet to protect my skin and around my nethers to protect my dignity....if I had any, I still couldn't remember anything.
I made my way out of the cave into the wild. It was bizarre I could remember my name, basic skills like fire making and other things such as which way was north, but anything relating to my history was gone.
So I wandered, with no real destination in mind, I didn't know where I was. So I made my way down. After two days of walking, foraging and sleeping rough I saw a town in the distance. Cold, Semi Naked, Bruised and Scratched I wandered into town, trying to avoid the town guard who would think of me a begger. In essence which was I would. I had no clothes, no money so I had two options, begging or stealing. I started with the begging and managed to scrape enough to buy a loaf of bread, it seemed I had somewhat of a silver tongue. So I had food but no clothes. This was becoming problematic and I knew that I could only get away with the 'poor beggar' act for so long before either being moved on or arrested, though three hots and a cot could work.....but then again the guards could as easily just kill me and be done with it.
No I needed clothes and fast. Begging would have to resort to stealing. I couldn't remember if I should feel guilty about it.
I made my way to a long empty alley with clotheslines zig-zagging across the place with an assortment of clothes being hung out to dry.
I kept my eyes out and quickly grabbed a shirt or two, some breeches and some socks. So I slipped on my socks, wrapped the rags around my feet as I was sans boots. I pulled up my breeches, a good fit and then quickly pulled on the over shirt and felt a tug on my ears. After putting my arms through I reached up to my ears......pointy......was not expecitng that, My skin is pale and not tinted, so I'm not a....oh lord what's the word....Orc! Elf....half elf maybe.....That would explain being able to see in the dark....No matter for the moment.
Over the next few days I managed to scrounge an old pair of boots from a cobbler. I managed to 'acquire' a traveller's coat and I had managed to earn and beg for a few gold pieces here and there, enough for the occasional squalid inn.
I spent days giving myself headaches trying to remember my past but to no luck. However there was one thing that happened that gave me some idea.

I was in a squalid inn, wracking my head about my past and who I was, I had a name a face and that was it. So frustrated I was at myself I banged the walls, upended tables and made a nuiscance of myself. The landlord did not care, he was a person used to cleaning claret as much as wine. My neighbours however were not to pleased with my noise and they decided to teach me a lesson.
As I was too busy stressing out and dismantling my room I did not hear them kick my door in. My only knowledge of them being there was the sap being brought down between my shoulders.
I spun to face the pain, as instinct gives, only to have the same sap come square across the side of my jaw, I stumbled and as I came down onto one knee another of my assailants kicked me in the stomach and I was down. Prone, in a foeatal position I was hoisted up by both of my arms by a human and an elf. In front of me a shortish dwarf thrusted his finger in my face and started shouting. I paid no attention as I was still reeling from the gut kick. He gut punched me and that got my attention.

"Oi...Whelp....who do you think you are making noise and disturbing us, we should teach you some manners!"
"So assault and battery were not your tools?" I quipped, and regretted instantly as the dwarf physically bristled and put two more hits into my stomach, at this point my props dropped me and I fell to my knees. I felt a hand grip by bald skull and a cold thing press against my throat. The Dwarf smirked at me. i began to feel a familiar feeling...fear. Sure I was a person with no memories but I did not want to die, at least with not knowing who I was.

I was in an inescapable situation, so I closed my eyes and steeled myself. Time slowed in my head and I felt something primal and arcane in me. It felt like me, but not quite like me I decided that would be the best thing to hold onto as I died.

"I suddenly felt the knife drop and what could only sound like a gargle....I opened my eyes, the dwarf had stepped back and pulled a sap and was looking at me with fear, I looked to my right and the human was about to swing a vase down towards me. My instinct kicked in and I do not know how I did it but suddenly the human flew across the room with such force that his corpse just crumpled in the corner. At this point the dwarf had gone. I was left with a scorched elf corpse with an odd smell, it reminded me of thunder and a human crushed in the corner.
Panic set in....I had to fix this, as I thought this, items from around the room started to repair itself...Totally panicked I fled from the scene, Not before grabbing the dagger that nearly killed me. I fled from the town and eventually, either by luck or instinct back at the cave I awoke in nearly a week ago. So shocked by what I did, I spent the next 2 months testing the capabilities of skills. I focussed on this internal power within me. As I said it felt familiar and it was all I had of me. I knew, somehow, it was tied to my two tattoos....I had to find out more. I spent another 2 months mastering what skills I had and then decided to set off into town to buy some gear for the long road. I again worked and begged enough to earn some money however I was a little wary of using my powers incase of being seen. So with daggers in hand, a crossbow and a pack I began my journey to find myself

One saw his parents murdered. (Ventoris Firixidor)
I hail from a medium sized town called Clebury. It was, and I am assuming, still is, a beautiful town by a large bountiful lake. I was born there and lived with my two parents Aldarr and LLelwyn and we were happy. My childhood was like many, I ran and played in the streets. I caused mischief as children are bound to do.
As I was elven in nature many of the children grew around me, while I was still technically a child. However, as our town was mainly populated by humans we followed their customs. As a teenager, I helped around my parent’s shop, they were weapon smiths and metal artisans, they were well liked in the town and drummed up decent trade with the town as well as travellers.
During my teen years, my father took me out hunting with a bow, I enjoyed those days out in the forests around Clebury, they were dangerous but not as dangerous as the forests further afield. Our only worry was the odd errant wolf, goblin or Poison arrow frog, those things were everywhere and were extremely dangerous. They would easily paralyse you if you were not careful.
Over those years I excelled with the bow and I was a dab hand with the sword too but I enjoyed the thrill of tracking the beast, one on one and making that perfect shot.
This was how my life went for many years and I was happy but there were two moments that really changed me. The first was when my parents acquired from a travelling Dwarven merchant, the plans for a mechanical item called a firearm.
My father knew exactly what the advantage this would be and paid a goodly sum for the plans. Within a week he had his first prototype and he demonstrated outside in our small makeshift archery range. The only way to describe it would be a long wooden pole of sorts with a metal tube of steel. I watched my father pour this black powder (he would call it gunpowder) down the barrel. I then saw him place a small iron ball into the opening in the metal tube (I would later learn this is called the muzzle), he then opened a small pan and added some more black powder. He shouldered the machine, like a crossbow and he pulled the trigger.
There was a thunderous roar and the vase that was placed down range exploded into a million fragments. I inhaled and smelt the burnt powder, the oil on the metal and the wood. I was hooked instantly and asked my father immediately for a turn. He grinned at me and showed me how to load the shot, the powder, to tamp the round down and to add more powder to the ‘pan’. I shouldered the musket (that was what it was called), I was surprised at the heft of it. I aimed down the barrel, and squeezed the trigger. Now I didn’t score a direct hit like my father but I winged the vase and it still shattered and I felt powerful and I was instantly addicted!
I helped my father build these muskets and I used them to hunt, now not silent like a bow but they seemed to have more power and the roar of the powder also seemed to scare people too. I liked that.
That was mmore powder to the ‘pan’. I shouldered the musket (that was what it was called), I was surprised at the heft of it. I aimed down the barrel, and squeezed the trigger. Now I didn’t score a direct hit like my father but I winged the vase and it still shattered and I felt powerful and I was instantly addicted!
I helped my father build these muskets and I used them to hunt, now not silent like a bow but they seemed to have more power and the roar of the powder also seemed to scare people too. I liked that.
That was the first episode. The second was not so much.
In my 70th Year (still a child in elven eyes) and I looked about 20 to a Human, my parents were taken in one bloody night.
I remember awaking to my mother screaming and voices downstairs, I had already grabbed my rifle at this point and I made my way slowly down to the shop floor. I saw 8 men all in black clothing and face wraps in the shop, my mother in her nightrobe and my father in just his sleeping trousers. The men were shouting at them about handing over the money and the plans. My father was no coward but nor was he a fighter either, he refused and grabbed up one of his swords and took on thee of the men, in an instant he had run one through, severely damaged one of their legs and had practically disembowelled another, that was when the leader used a curved sickle type blade to stab my father in the rear of the head. My mother emitted a blood curdling cry and took her dagger and cut the throats of two men before she was felled.
Their deaths shook me out of my trance, I shouldered my rifle and felled one with a shot to the head. The noise jolted the leader and he wasted precious seconds looking for what caused the noise. While he was doing this I was already reloading (I had developed a set routine of reloading and I had developed these small paper cartridges that contained powder and ball which allowed me to bite over the ball, pour the powder in, stuff the rest of the paper in as a wad and then spat the ball into the muzzle, I would then tap my rifle a few times to tamp it all down).
I remember after all that brining my rifle up to shoulder and he was about halfway up the stairs, I aimed and fired. His knee exploded and he toppled down the stairs in agony. I was on him before he had completely settled and through his screams of agony I ascertained he was hired by an outside contractor but he didn’t know who. I wanted to kill him right then and there but the town guard, hearing my shots came in and arrested him (he was put to death later that day {oh how I regret not killing him}).
I pondered on what to do and decided that I needed to get more information on this outsider contract so I entrusted the shop and the families savings with a close friend, the only thing I didn’t pass on were the original musket plans, I don’t know why but I didn’t want anyone else to make them but my family.
So I wandered the wastes for 30 years looking for this outside contact. I made my money by hunting game, taking on bounties and occasionally mercenary work.
At the young age of 105 I am now here.
A decent mix of good and bad.

[SethoMarkus]

I try to make each of ny characters unique from my other characters, so I can't say that I have a default. However, I have had a character on the back-burner for a while with a simple, mundane background that I tend not to see very often (within my circle of friends at least).

A former conscript soldier who survived the war. He never made his way up in ranks and came from a humble background, so a military career was out of the question. So after the war he returns home ti his life as a farmer. He grows up, starts a family of his own, and carries on a sinple life. One year droughts or famine threaten the livelihood of his family, and things get bad. Around this time a bounty is posted for culling some simple monsters like goblins, and the farmer, with no other options appealing to him, takes out a loan and spends his last coin on some adventuring gear to try to collect the bounty. He succeeds. Turns out he has a knack for this fighting thing. At first, he just does enough to get by and repay the loan. Then he starts taking extra jobs where he can, making a small cache of savings for his family. Eventually he has a calling to something greater and goes full "Hero", never forgetting the family back home that he is doing all of this for.

[lianightdemon]

The trouble isn't so much the background, the trouble is that you first need to determine your characters motivations. Why are they adventuring? What do they hope to gain from it? (honestly choosing goals beyond just wealth helps) Give them both short term and long term goals. These can tie into the background. Share these with the DM and then work towards achieving them.

Some good goal ideas
Rescue family from evil fate
Find a specific rare item
Seek revenge on a specific creature or creature type
Find your true love
Gain enough wealth to get piece of land and large home upon it

[Fishyninja]

The trouble isn't so much the background, the trouble is that you first need to determine your characters motivations. Why are they adventuring? What do they hope to gain from it? (honestly choosing goals beyond just wealth helps) Give them both short term and long term goals. These can tie into the background. Share these with the DM and then work towards achieving them.

Some good goal ideas
Rescue family from evil fate
Find a specific rare item
Seek revenge on a specific creature or creature type
Find your true love
Gain enough wealth to get piece of land and large home upon it



One came from an affluent family and became a thief. (Max Valentine)
Maximillian was born to a relatively middle class family. They lived in a nice area of their city, his father was a swordsman of relative fame. He had quit his adventuring days at a young age of 40 and settled down to create the Blood & Iron fencing school.
His mother was a very learned woman who acted as the account for the school.
Max spent most of his early youth in the school either learning swordplay from his father, sparring and playing with the other students and learning numbers and letters from his mother.
This continued into his early teens. Max as a young teenager (while still devoted to his lessons in the blade and in the quill) decided he wanted to know more as he had spent the entirety of his life in this smallish area of the city. In his spare time, he started to explore the upper and lower ends of the city, aptly named for their socio-economic status.
Both worlds fascinated him. The lower city was a place where the strong survive but the sneaky survive longer. Max experienced his first taste of the criminal world when an urchin tried to pickpocket him, the urchin grabbed his coin pouch and tore off through the streets, max chased off after him wishing that he had is sword with him. He chased the urchin through alleys and markets until finally he cornered the urchin in an open area of the market. The urchin seeing that there was no escape casually tossed the coin pouch back to Max. Considering the matter settled, Max affixed the pouch to his belt, feeling rather smug he had bested the thief he then decided to make his way back home after his mini-adventure. While he was about to walk through the inner gates leading to the inner part of the city, a well-dressed man pointed at Max's belt and started yelling for the guards. Max utterly confused remained in place until he had a guard either side of him and an angry noble yelling that he was no more than a common thief. Max while trying in vain to calmly explain that he was no thief offered his purse as proof, for his purse was a simple leather pouch with a drawstring and an enamel tog, as Max held out the pouch he realised one thing. He had not bested the thief, for in his hand was a fine cloth pouch with silk cord and filigree.... Max opened the pouch an upturned it, nothing but stones fell to the cobbles. The guards stared at Max knowing they had a thief at hand.... Max did the only thing he felt natural at this point, he ran straight past the guards into the inner areas of the city, his legs pumping and lungs burning, he tried to lose the guards in his local streets but they too knew the lay of the land, eventually he found himself in the upper district gasping for air. Max collapsed onto his rear completely astounded at the events that had happened to him today when suddenly across the plaza he saw the Urchin, this time dressed in finery, washed and more impressively blending in. Max followed the boy through the upper district and caught the boy in the act of lifting a purse from a man. Max had the perfect opportunity to turn the boy in and best him however he did not, instead in a moment of madness as the crime was occurring Max purposefully bumped into urchin and man causing items to be scattered over the ground, Max was quick to retrieve the man’s purse and make a great show of helping him and the urchin of the ground (he even went as far as to start brushing dust from everyone), he returned the purse to man, much to the man's delight and the urchins' misfortune. As the man was about to leave he inquired whether the leather coin pouch belonged to either of the boys, Max was the first to speak up and claimed his rightful pouch.
After the man left the urchin confronted Max. He demanded Max pay him for his loss of earnings but Max knew he could best the urchin in a fight with any weapon including his hands, he was a healthy teen and this urchin was a malnourished minor. Max decided not to fight the boy but instead made a proposition to the boy, Max would pay the boy weekly to teach him his skills.
The boy had to ask...."Why?" Max really did not know the answer then, he just knew that the rush he got from escaping and worming his way out of an arrest to besting someone with his voice and charm alone was equal to a decent sword fight with a good opponent.
The boy did not need a second to think and gladly accepted, in his eye he earns now and potentially earns later, anyway he still earns now.
Over the next two years the boy taught Max everything he knew.
On Max's 15th birthday, the boy introduced Max to a stout man, rough in voice but delicate in movement. This man was Lucius Lightfinger, well known throughout the city for his many talents, in the upper districts, he was a suave gentleman who could compliment, flatter and work politics like anyone else. In the middle district, he was well known as a book keeper and distributor of goods and earned a pretty penny and in the lower district he was head of all the cut purses in the city. What made Lightfinger so good was he had three identities that fit him so well and only the right people knew the right identities. The urchin introduced Max as a potential cut purse for the middle district. Lightfinger saw the boy’s potential and started working him right away. So, from the age of 15 to twenty Max spent his days in his father’s school, his evenings learning with his mother and his nights running over rooftops, breaking and entering and removing items of value. Max earned much gold during these years, not that he needed it he came from a comfortable background, he did it for the thrill knowing that he could do it and get away with it. Max spent most of the gold as quickly as he earned it purchasing better tools, knew knives and daggers, fine clothes. He belayed his parent’s suspicions by saying he worked occasionally with Lightfinger in his distribution business. Life was good.

Then at age 20 Lightfinger called every cutpurse, burglar, fence, and informant in the city into his lower district headquarters. He had a plan to pull the greatest heist the city, possibly the country had ever seen, a high-ranking Cleric was visiting the city and there were rumours that she had brought much treasure with her including a chest of magical items. So, the plan was laid out and Max was with the front team. During the heist the main goal was the Cleric's wares however as she was staying with the mayor of the city then Lightfinger saw the opportunity for two birds to be felled with one stone.
The heist was going smoothly, urchins were distracting the guards, the guests at the mayor’s mansion were either asleep or dining. Most of the cutpurses were disguised as butlers and waiting staff and were lifting the silver while Max, his urchin friend and Littlefinger were to raid the Cleric's room.

As the rest of the crew were running their ops in the house, Max, Littlefinger rappelled from the roof to the window. From the Window, they could see the cleric noting some things down, however what amazed Max was that she was not holding the quill. His mind wondering whether he could use such a skill for lock picking or thievery, for about 5 minutes the trio waited until she left the room, quick as a flash they popped open the simple window lock and were in. Stuffing as much gold and gems into their pockets as possible. Unfortunately, the chest supposedly containing the bulk of the loot was magic sealed and Max cursed this, however they got away with a fair heft of loot, everyone in on the heist got away Scott free. For weeks, all everyone could talk about was the heist and how so much was stolen from under the mayor’s nose, every criminal in town was rejoicing at their ill-gotten gains, except Max. He had been bested by a simple lock and he vowed he wouldn't let it happen again, and for that he would need to seek more knowledge along the way. This meant he would have to leave his family which saddened him but excited him so with the blessings of his parents, and his two mentors he filled up his back, grabbed his trusty swords and daggers and headed out onto the road. In the seven years of wandering he has learned many new skills, stolen many valuables, made and lost fortunes but he is always seeking to better his skills as a swordsman and a thief
Motivations: Wealth, Fame and Notoreity

One came from a strong Dwarven clan and developed wanderlust but has never truly loved.
(Rydor Oreknuckle)
So you want to hear the story or Rydor Oreknuckle. Well pull up a stool and bring me a tankard of Mead and I’ll make your ears ache.
Where to start, I’m in my 200’s, middle 200’s. I hail from Bhergolar, a small Dwarven city in the mountains. I like mead, ale, beer, wine, liquor. Look, what do you want from me? I’m a dwarf, we are simple folk, we are honourable, fair, we like our treasures and our drink.
*Sigh*
Fine, you know my moniker and from my axe and shield you can guess that I have been around a bit. Yes, I have, I am grumpy old dwarf……do I really have to go on.
*Sigh*
Bloody persistent fools, Fine if we you are gonna bleed me for information be prepared for a torrent. I am Rydor Oreknuckle of Clan Oreknuckle. Oreknuckles are renowned in Bhergolar as sturdy workers, especially miners! It was said our ancestor’s hands were so strong they could tear the ore straight from the bosom of the earth! Oh, you may think of us solely to be miners! This axe and shield should tell you that! I’m certainly not the first fighter from Oreknuckle, we have had people from all walks of life, miners, artisans, brewers, soldiers, fighters, louts, thieves.
We were not the largest, nor the strongest but we were, and I assume still are highly respected at home. I haven’t been home for a long time. Yes, there is a story behind that. I’ll get there to that soon enough! Don’t give me that look, you are the one who wanted to get to know me!
I’m got going back to when I was I was a wee boulder. I’ll start during my teenage years. I was 60 I had been working a variety of odd jobs with other members of my clan, I’ve mined and brewed but this was a new interesting job, my father, the old bastard, sets me up with my uncle to do some minor caravan protection work. Now this was a rite of passage…. No not a literal passage, no tradition here but it was a way for me to prove myself and honour my clan.
Here is where having pride and being proud differ. Having pride is to honour your clan, being proud is acting like you were davening’s saviour. I was a 60-year-old whelp holding a battle axe and a wooden buckler. Don’t forget we dwarves live for a long time, much longer than humanfolk!
I was nervous but damnit I was going to do my clan proud! I did, the run was successful, so much so that my uncle set up a regular protection business, I accompanied on every one for 10 years. You know what the advantage of walking to roads for 10 years, you learn…. whether you want to or not. You learn to sleep rough, you learn the dangers of the road, and you learn how to fight. The most important thing I learnt was that the world can be cruel and it can be bountiful, it is beautiful and ugly. Bah.
After 10 years of fighting and walking and working with my uncle. I had earned a bit of coin, seen new places experienced new foods, wines, women and I was drunk on it, I wanted to see more of it, I wanted to see it all it was addicting! I had to get out of Bhergolar go wherever the road may take me! However, I had to convince my family of what I must do. Again, don’t forget we have a strong sense of individuality by the Honour of the Clan is to be upheld always and I had to receive their blessing. My father was against the idea, my uncle was all for it, he even suggested I take over his protection trade; but I didn’t want to be a businessman I wanted to be a wanderer! Anyway, the meeting went…. let’s say it was a shining example of the diplomacy……He floored me, but not in anger it was his final gift to me. God, he is a miserable bastard but he loves me and I him, so with a broken nose and a warm embrace I took some of my gold, hefted on my armour, grabbed my axe and shield and left Bhergolar.
I was 70 at the time. That was it I had left my clan to see the world, but how do I start? Well I knew I was good with an axe so as I did with my uncle, I sold myself out as a sells word hiring farmers moving their livestock from village to city and fending off bandits, to escorting nobles from city to city. I was never short of work as I always presented my employers with an interesting contract….
Pay me half of what you are paying the others but teach me a skill in return. In that time, I perfected my hobbies of beer brewing and viola playing, however that deal did not always work out well for me, for example I can crochet…….
Anyway, forget what I just said about the crochet and get me another mead!
The one that really paid off though was one day I was hired by a town’s mayor to track some missing livestock, now this sounds like a mediocre task. Who am I kidding it was. I needed coin and there was a job. However whether it was luck or fate I ended up teamed up an Elven Ranger, what was her name? Vanlanthiriel, that’s it! Gods my memory never used to this bad. She was stunning and elegant and probably one of the most dangerous people I ever met. Anyway we were teamed up for this job, we estimated we’d be out of town for about 4 to 6 weeks. Now don’t get me wrong, I could sleep rough, I could make camp and I could trap the odd rabbit occasionally. But I was nothing compared to her, I remember on the first night I had barely set up my bedroll and she had already set up a camp, caught dinner and laid defences. I was flabbergasted.
The job went relatively smoothly, we recovered the livestock and got paid, and as per my deal when I was asked what skill I wanted to be taught I pointed at Valanthriel.
She was somewhat confused but she agreed, much to my delight, so for three months in the wilds about 50 miles from this township she trained me. She taught me to fend for myself off nothing but the land. I loved every minute of it but one skill I was very good at (if I don’t say so myself) was tracking, from the smallest animal to the flightiest deer, I could follow it, granted trying to take down a deer with a thrown handaxe is not as easy as a bow but needs must.
After three months I was a little loathe to go, I was learning so much from her and she was a sight to behold, maybe this old fool might have had his heartstrings tugged by her. But alas after the three months she had to go as she went I stayed in the wilds. I was 100 years old at the time.
For the next 60 years, I wandered the world for the sake of wandering. I walked from one coast to another, I stomped cart roads I stomped fields, I went from mountain to mountain and over hills and plains. I explored caves, and dungeons, and saw cities abandoned long ago by its populations. I saw lost treasures, natural wonders and met with people from all walks of life, some I recognised and some completely new to me. Those however are stories for another time.
Hmm… I’m empty, more ale barmaid if you would be so kind!
So after 60 years of warm summers and harsh winters, one day I found myself in a town, I was looking to get my kit mended and also long periods without mead can really strain a man’s thirst.
Speaking of which, where is that barmaid?
Where was I? Oh yes I was in a township whetting my whistle, and getting my gear repaired. In this bar I was quenching a thirst like a true dwarf, the bartender was happy, I was happy and drunk things were nice, I had forgotten the niceties of towns and cities, I decided to camp in town for a week or two to see how things played out.
At the end of the first week while picking up my mended gear I overheard from the smith’s apprentice that there was a fugitive on the loose, idly I enquired to what the crime was, this man had was on the run for murder, supposedly he had lost a card game and had murdered the other player in a fit of rage, stabbed in the middle of the bar and then ran. This incensed me, as a dwarf we value our selves on being fair in all things even gambling, so after paying the smith and chucking some coin to the apprentice I looked for the local guard and offered my services to track this cheat and murderer.
All I had were two things his name, Quopher and that he was a halfing. Now I knew that the Halfling was wanted, and with the town being small he was either on the outskirts being sheltered by someone or he was on the run in the wilds. My guessing was a man wanted for murder was not going to hang around so I wandered back into my home from home, the wilds. Anyway Quopher had about a 2 day lead on me but I was confident I could find him, if I was able to track animals my guess were people were just as easy. As soon as I was out of the township my skills came shot into overdrive I was tracking in the wild and I was bringing a felon to justice. For the first time in my life everything felt complete! I tracked the Halfling to a clearing 10 miles east of the town. I had multiple options, however again I am a dwarf, and even though I can track like a ranger I cannot sneak like one, so it seemed the best thing to do was to confront him, I strode into the clearing and said to him: I am Rydor Oreknuckle and I am here to bring you to justice…..It sounded heroic at the time, and you know what the little twerp did, he had the audacity to throw his knife at me, the one he used to murder that man. Anyway was expecting the attack and the knifed sailed true and embedded itself into my shield. Unarmed he tried to run, but he was a tired scared man, and I had to uphold my honour I easily restrained him and knocked him out. I then dragged his sorry carcass back to town.
I dumped him in front of the garrison, much to the surprise of the guards who felt it a lost cause. I was immediately hauled in front in the mayor who showered me with congratulations and gold. In all honestly I was not expecting to get paid for it, I thought I was just doing my duty! There were parades, feasts, gold, women, women, wine, more women….I was a young hero to these people I was milking it for all I was worth!

However I found something that I could do that would allow me to sate my wanderlust, uphold my clans honour and earn some money from it. Bounty Hunting, I’ve been hunting ever since and now this older bedraggled dwarf is the end result. I’m worn, and not as quick as I used to be but if you need a solid arm behind you and a man who likes to keep the peace and serve justice then I’m your man.
Motivations: Uphold the Law, and see the world.

One was abandoned as a child. (Innominate
It was a brisk winter's day, or so he was told.
There was light frost on the ground and he was in a woven reed and leaf basket of exquisite design definitely something that an artisan had made. Swaddled in what appear to be dear fur and skin bawling his lungs out. One of the elder monks heard his screams and took him in.
The monks did not believe that the young elven baby that had been left on the doorstep would not survive the night, he was very thin and it had been very cold for a long time.
It would not have been the first time a young mother or father or couple had left a baby at the Monastry dedicated to Kelemvor, the deity of death. It would seem people believed the monks would end the lives of these poor children scorned from their mothers bosom.
Some died and some survived, the ones that survived were normally given to local orphanges or adopted by local families. However Inommintate, yes that was what he was called, was given to neither.
The monks were not entirely sure what to do with the young elfling. Until the eldest Monk Master Mawoleth decided that the elfing had been left here for a reason and that Kelemvor would decide his fate. This was decided as it was well known that the eleven woodlands were extremely far from this monastery and the local town did not have (to their knowledge) an elven population.
The boys childhood (in human terms) was spent in the Monastery, taking classes in the base things. From an early age he knew he was different to the others he was aware of his graceful nature and build, or his elongated ears, the fact he could read elvish from a young age with no teaching. His need to not sleep and when he did sleep his dreams were as vivid as if he was awake. This however did not bother him because he had food, shelter and a family.
He occasionally got chance to play with some of the other children in the area who also thought he was odd but very fun to play with. He made many friends in his youth and had a relatively normal childhood.
Years passed and Inommiate was seen as a young adult in human terms (though he was still a child in elven eyes) and he had come of age, he had a choice, he could leave and move into the world on his own or stay and learn the ways of Kelemvor. There was no choice for him, he had spent all his life there, he had developed a family with the monks, the maids and the cooks they had treated him not as a ward but as a family member and if being a monk of Kelemvor was repayment then he would happily do it. He threw himself into the study of Kelemvor and how he interacted the world around them.
He trained himself to conduct last rites, the funerary services of Kelemvor and how they are conducted around the world.
He studied and assisted the elders in their chores around the monastery and after his initiation he was a full acolyte of Kelemvor. He spent the next few years (10) aiding as the conduit to his town to Kelemvor, he saw children born, and grandparents die he helped pass on the wishes and desires of the living to the dead. A Acolyte of Kelemvor is not just a funerary servant.
Inommninate had the joy of life in his bones and felt that he could progress no further in his skills, until Master Mawoleth asked him to assist him with a special task....

“Come in Inomminate”
“Yes Master”
“You have progressed well in your studies and you have aided the people well, you are a pillar to them and you provide them with so much joy and hope and comfort.”
“I'm only conducting Kelemvor's will Master”.
“What if I told you that your current duties, the last rites, the funerary etc was only a small part of what we truly do and are tasked to do?”
“Please tell me Master, I wish to do as much as I can!”
“Now obviously we are in service to Kelemvor and by association death, that means that we have to protect the sanctity of death.”
“I'm confused Master?”
“There are magics out there, cruel and unusual magics that bring the dead back to life to act as serf's for unscrupulous magicians.”

Inomminate physically recoiled at this point,

“Master this surely cannot be true?! Why would someone even consider using such magics!”
“Inomminate, these magics are strange things, sometimes the people wielding these magics are not aware they are in posession of this power, some are not in control and some do not care and only desire to use these magics to create willing servants.”

Inomminate clenched his fists.....

“What must I do?”
“Train, one aspect of trianing which not all monks take is pyshical trianing in order to defend the weak and to protect oneself on pilgrimage. Us monks of Kelemvor, as we are usually based within towns and deal solely with consoling the grief stricken, do not normally train in these skills however, I sense that you are sense for greatness and I wish to train you to act as a defender for the weak, the people and the dead.”
“When do we begin?”
For a decade, the Master taught Inomminate everything he knew of 'Martial Arts' and how they would help him in the world.
Inomminate realised that as he grew in skill that he was becoming even more of a conduit for his faith. Not only could he be a comforter for the grieving and a protecter of the week he could be a vessel that transported heathens and evil doers closed to Kelemvor.
Inomminate was aware of his Ki but he could not access it as of yet.
On his 32nd year the Master claimed him to be ready to defend the will of all and asked of him an initiation to prove his skills.

“Ah Inomminate, you can finally put you're training to the test, we have had reports form the farmers based on the outskirts of town that a nearby cave has become populated by animated skeletons and zombies. Before you become concerned, the cemetery is safe. Most likely some young magician has been dabbling where they shouldn't be. I want you to go and investigate, if you see just the corpses, lay them to rest, if you see their summoner, come back and see me, not that I do not think you capable, but as this is your first time possible confronting a magic user, it is always hard to gauge their power and without you being in touch with your Ki, you could be in danger.
Open that chest there and take the throwing darts, you'll also see a small sword and next to the chest is my trusty walking staff, with these weapons you should be more than capable of dispatching the creatures. Now go, do your duty and be careful.”

Inomminate geared up and made his way to the outskirts of town. He inquired at the farms as to where the cave was located, they pointed to the east and estimated maybe a 2 or 3 mile walk to the cave. This was a simple task for a wood elf such as he, being one of the faster races to roam the lands.
Within an hour Inomminate stood at the mouth of the cave, gazing in. His elven eyes easily piercing the darkness. He couldn't see any shapes within the entrance but he knew they were there the Master and Kelemvor would not lead him astray. So he held his staff tightly and entered slowly.

He wandered deeper into the cave and he began to hear shuffling dead ahead, he could see the corpse shuffling away from him....Anger burned within him. Someone had taken this poor vessel that was in it's embrace with the earth and heaven and ripped it asunder for what, to abandon it in a cave, what were they trying to do? Make an army, serfdom or for mild entertainment. Anger, righteous fury and disgust he stepped quietly behind the corpse, placed his hands near the base of the quarterstaff and with a firm straight thrust, plunged the staff into the rotting skull and brain of the corpse, it dropped like a puppet with it's strings cut.

Inomminate bent over the lifeless corpse, and whispered to himself
“I am sorry this happened to you, once I have dealt with your compatriots I will make sure that you are treated properly.”

He stood up exhaled and felt the righteous fury become a vessel of power within him. He slowly made his way through the cave, attacking each corpse in the same way, swift strikes to the head, the corpses piled high and after 2 hours Inomminate counted 12 dead bodies. They had been torn from earth and back to earth he had to return them. He carefully carried each body out to the entrance of the cave, ran back to the nearest farm and asked to borrow a shovel. He ran back to the deceased and spent the rest of the evening burying graves, and conducting the funerary rites hopefully required to bring their souls comfort.

Hot, sweaty, dirty and tired he returned the shovel back to the farmer and wandered back to the monastery.

As he entered the gates of the monastry, Master Mawoleth and the majority of the other monks and acolytes rushed to him.

“Inomminate, you were gone for so long, we feared the worst! What happened?”
“I found the cave master, I dispatched the souls inside, afterwards it did not seem right to leave them so I gave them their last rites and returned them to earth.”
“And there was no sign of the summoner?”
“No.”
“How are you feeling Inomminate, I have tasked you with a role that not many have done before and not many can.”
“When I saw them I felt a righteous fury build in me, I have decided I want nothing more than to be a bayonet; a bayonet wielded by the hand of Him. I would have been happy to be born a storm, or a divine threat; a mighty explosion or even a terrible hurricane. A divine force of nature without heart or pity for those who desecrate the dead!”

The other monks seemed perturbed

“Inomminate, come in rest, bathe clean and sleep we can talk more tomorrow”
Inomminate nodded but the Master still noticed the fire in his eyes

The next morning, Inomminate met wit the Master.
“Inomminate, I am pleased with how you have progressed, you have done all that Kelemvor has asked and more, you have served your town faithfully and dilligently and helped many people. Some of the monks were concerned with your behaviour upon returning yesterday but I understand the thrill of battle and the fire it sets in your soul, to protect those who cannot.
I feel you are at a time where I can tell you about where you came from.”

“Master I was left on your doorstep as a baby, you and everyone hear has raised me as their own, it does not matter where I came from, just that I am here now.”

“I thank you for that kind statement innominate, but you must know that you age differently to us, you are 32 years of age and I have cared for you since you were a baby. I am an old man and you will live beyond me and most likely everyone in this monastery. When we found you I knew that an elf, one of the longest living races being in service of Kelemvor was a sign sent by him. However I feel that even with this you should at least have an idea of your origins.” We have still kept the bassinet you were left in, it is finely crafted, of elven quality obviously. We had a local artisan approve it and they cannot identify the style it was made in, however they mentioned that if you were to take it to an elven colony they would know more. I am giving you permission, inomminate, to leave whenever you want if you so wish to seek out your parents, please do not take this as a banishment as you are always welcome here but I feel that with someone who will live as long as you to not their parents is truly a sad thing.”

“Master I truly appreciated your thoughts of me, but this is a big decision. I understand your point but allow me to leave on my own. If I ever so choose.”

So for another 8 years Inomminate stayed in the moastary and conducted his duties, he occasionally undertook special missions for the Master, with each mission he became more sure that Kelemvor was the one true deity and at a few of the sites he found carved stone tokens inscribed with a hand holding an eye

Then as sudden as a spring breeze Inomminate made the decision to wander form the monastary to spread the word of Kelemvor and smite those who would do him wrong. He would also look for his parents, but he was not sure how he would react when meeitng them.
Motivations: Serve his lord, defeat the undead, find his parents

One has no memory to who he is. (Velasco Fen Sev)
I awoke, it was dark, but my eyes adjusted surprisingly well and surprisingly quickly. Apart form that I noticed it was bitterly cold, I shudder and feel the cold stone under me. I also notice that I have no clothes on.
I try to remember how I got here but I draw a blank, in fact I draw a blank on everything except my name. I would panic but I don't know what to panic over. I pull sit up an see that I am on a raised stone platform. I scooch over to the edge and tentatively push my self off, I notice a mixture of things scattered on the floor; mortars, pestles, broken bones and many many snuffed out candles. I reached down to pick up the mortar and notice something on my hand. A small tattoo.....shaped like a hand, seeing it makes me feel excited and disturbed too. I also feel the back of my neck prickle. I reach up and rub the back of my neck. I feel that the skin is raised, in a shape......an eye maybe? Another tattoo? A cold chill passed through the cave, shivering I looked around for anything to cover myself, I found some old rags, I fashioned them around my feet to protect my skin and around my nethers to protect my dignity....if I had any, I still couldn't remember anything.
I made my way out of the cave into the wild. It was bizarre I could remember my name, basic skills like fire making and other things such as which way was north, but anything relating to my history was gone.
So I wandered, with no real destination in mind, I didn't know where I was. So I made my way down. After two days of walking, foraging and sleeping rough I saw a town in the distance. Cold, Semi Naked, Bruised and Scratched I wandered into town, trying to avoid the town guard who would think of me a begger. In essence which was I would. I had no clothes, no money so I had two options, begging or stealing. I started with the begging and managed to scrape enough to buy a loaf of bread, it seemed I had somewhat of a silver tongue. So I had food but no clothes. This was becoming problematic and I knew that I could only get away with the 'poor beggar' act for so long before either being moved on or arrested, though three hots and a cot could work.....but then again the guards could as easily just kill me and be done with it.
No I needed clothes and fast. Begging would have to resort to stealing. I couldn't remember if I should feel guilty about it.
I made my way to a long empty alley with clotheslines zig-zagging across the place with an assortment of clothes being hung out to dry.
I kept my eyes out and quickly grabbed a shirt or two, some breeches and some socks. So I slipped on my socks, wrapped the rags around my feet as I was sans boots. I pulled up my breeches, a good fit and then quickly pulled on the over shirt and felt a tug on my ears. After putting my arms through I reached up to my ears......pointy......was not expecitng that, My skin is pale and not tinted, so I'm not a....oh lord what's the word....Orc! Elf....half elf maybe.....That would explain being able to see in the dark....No matter for the moment.
Over the next few days I managed to scrounge an old pair of boots from a cobbler. I managed to 'acquire' a traveller's coat and I had managed to earn and beg for a few gold pieces here and there, enough for the occasional squalid inn.
I spent days giving myself headaches trying to remember my past but to no luck. However there was one thing that happened that gave me some idea.

I was in a squalid inn, wracking my head about my past and who I was, I had a name a face and that was it. So frustrated I was at myself I banged the walls, upended tables and made a nuiscance of myself. The landlord did not care, he was a person used to cleaning claret as much as wine. My neighbours however were not to pleased with my noise and they decided to teach me a lesson.
As I was too busy stressing out and dismantling my room I did not hear them kick my door in. My only knowledge of them being there was the sap being brought down between my shoulders.
I spun to face the pain, as instinct gives, only to have the same sap come square across the side of my jaw, I stumbled and as I came down onto one knee another of my assailants kicked me in the stomach and I was down. Prone, in a foeatal position I was hoisted up by both of my arms by a human and an elf. In front of me a shortish dwarf thrusted his finger in my face and started shouting. I paid no attention as I was still reeling from the gut kick. He gut punched me and that got my attention.

"Oi...Whelp....who do you think you are making noise and disturbing us, we should teach you some manners!"
"So assault and battery were not your tools?" I quipped, and regretted instantly as the dwarf physically bristled and put two more hits into my stomach, at this point my props dropped me and I fell to my knees. I felt a hand grip by bald skull and a cold thing press against my throat. The Dwarf smirked at me. i began to feel a familiar feeling...fear. Sure I was a person with no memories but I did not want to die, at least with not knowing who I was.

I was in an inescapable situation, so I closed my eyes and steeled myself. Time slowed in my head and I felt something primal and arcane in me. It felt like me, but not quite like me I decided that would be the best thing to hold onto as I died.

"I suddenly felt the knife drop and what could only sound like a gargle....I opened my eyes, the dwarf had stepped back and pulled a sap and was looking at me with fear, I looked to my right and the human was about to swing a vase down towards me. My instinct kicked in and I do not know how I did it but suddenly the human flew across the room with such force that his corpse just crumpled in the corner. At this point the dwarf had gone. I was left with a scorched elf corpse with an odd smell, it reminded me of thunder and a human crushed in the corner.
Panic set in....I had to fix this, as I thought this, items from around the room started to repair itself...Totally panicked I fled from the scene, Not before grabbing the dagger that nearly killed me. I fled from the town and eventually, either by luck or instinct back at the cave I awoke in nearly a week ago. So shocked by what I did, I spent the next 2 months testing the capabilities of skills. I focussed on this internal power within me. As I said it felt familiar and it was all I had of me. I knew, somehow, it was tied to my two tattoos....I had to find out more. I spent another 2 months mastering what skills I had and then decided to set off into town to buy some gear for the long road. I again worked and begged enough to earn some money however I was a little wary of using my powers incase of being seen. So with daggers in hand, a crossbow and a pack I began my journey to find myself
Motivations: Discover who he is

One saw his parents murdered. (Ventoris Firixidor)
I hail from a medium sized town called Clebury. It was, and I am assuming, still is, a beautiful town by a large bountiful lake. I was born there and lived with my two parents Aldarr and LLelwyn and we were happy. My childhood was like many, I ran and played in the streets. I caused mischief as children are bound to do.
As I was elven in nature many of the children grew around me, while I was still technically a child. However, as our town was mainly populated by humans we followed their customs. As a teenager, I helped around my parent’s shop, they were weapon smiths and metal artisans, they were well liked in the town and drummed up decent trade with the town as well as travellers.
During my teen years, my father took me out hunting with a bow, I enjoyed those days out in the forests around Clebury, they were dangerous but not as dangerous as the forests further afield. Our only worry was the odd errant wolf, goblin or Poison arrow frog, those things were everywhere and were extremely dangerous. They would easily paralyse you if you were not careful.
Over those years I excelled with the bow and I was a dab hand with the sword too but I enjoyed the thrill of tracking the beast, one on one and making that perfect shot.
This was how my life went for many years and I was happy but there were two moments that really changed me. The first was when my parents acquired from a travelling Dwarven merchant, the plans for a mechanical item called a firearm.
My father knew exactly what the advantage this would be and paid a goodly sum for the plans. Within a week he had his first prototype and he demonstrated outside in our small makeshift archery range. The only way to describe it would be a long wooden pole of sorts with a metal tube of steel. I watched my father pour this black powder (he would call it gunpowder) down the barrel. I then saw him place a small iron ball into the opening in the metal tube (I would later learn this is called the muzzle), he then opened a small pan and added some more black powder. He shouldered the machine, like a crossbow and he pulled the trigger.
There was a thunderous roar and the vase that was placed down range exploded into a million fragments. I inhaled and smelt the burnt powder, the oil on the metal and the wood. I was hooked instantly and asked my father immediately for a turn. He grinned at me and showed me how to load the shot, the powder, to tamp the round down and to add more powder to the ‘pan’. I shouldered the musket (that was what it was called), I was surprised at the heft of it. I aimed down the barrel, and squeezed the trigger. Now I didn’t score a direct hit like my father but I winged the vase and it still shattered and I felt powerful and I was instantly addicted!
I helped my father build these muskets and I used them to hunt, now not silent like a bow but they seemed to have more power and the roar of the powder also seemed to scare people too. I liked that.
That was mmore powder to the ‘pan’. I shouldered the musket (that was what it was called), I was surprised at the heft of it. I aimed down the barrel, and squeezed the trigger. Now I didn’t score a direct hit like my father but I winged the vase and it still shattered and I felt powerful and I was instantly addicted!
I helped my father build these muskets and I used them to hunt, now not silent like a bow but they seemed to have more power and the roar of the powder also seemed to scare people too. I liked that.
That was the first episode. The second was not so much.
In my 70th Year (still a child in elven eyes) and I looked about 20 to a Human, my parents were taken in one bloody night.
I remember awaking to my mother screaming and voices downstairs, I had already grabbed my rifle at this point and I made my way slowly down to the shop floor. I saw 8 men all in black clothing and face wraps in the shop, my mother in her nightrobe and my father in just his sleeping trousers. The men were shouting at them about handing over the money and the plans. My father was no coward but nor was he a fighter either, he refused and grabbed up one of his swords and took on thee of the men, in an instant he had run one through, severely damaged one of their legs and had practically disembowelled another, that was when the leader used a curved sickle type blade to stab my father in the rear of the head. My mother emitted a blood curdling cry and took her dagger and cut the throats of two men before she was felled.
Their deaths shook me out of my trance, I shouldered my rifle and felled one with a shot to the head. The noise jolted the leader and he wasted precious seconds looking for what caused the noise. While he was doing this I was already reloading (I had developed a set routine of reloading and I had developed these small paper cartridges that contained powder and ball which allowed me to bite over the ball, pour the powder in, stuff the rest of the paper in as a wad and then spat the ball into the muzzle, I would then tap my rifle a few times to tamp it all down).
I remember after all that brining my rifle up to shoulder and he was about halfway up the stairs, I aimed and fired. His knee exploded and he toppled down the stairs in agony. I was on him before he had completely settled and through his screams of agony I ascertained he was hired by an outside contractor but he didn’t know who. I wanted to kill him right then and there but the town guard, hearing my shots came in and arrested him (he was put to death later that day {oh how I regret not killing him}).
I pondered on what to do and decided that I needed to get more information on this outsider contract so I entrusted the shop and the families savings with a close friend, the only thing I didn’t pass on were the original musket plans, I don’t know why but I didn’t want anyone else to make them but my family.
So I wandered the wastes for 30 years looking for this outside contact. I made my money by hunting game, taking on bounties and occasionally mercenary work.
At the young age of 105 I am now here.
Motivations: Vengence

I added motivations

[Socratov]

The trouble isn't so much the background, the trouble is that you first need to determine your characters motivations. Why are they adventuring? What do they hope to gain from it? (honestly choosing goals beyond just wealth helps) Give them both short term and long term goals. These can tie into the background. Share these with the DM and then work towards achieving them.

Some good goal ideas
Rescue family from evil fate
Find a specific rare item
Seek revenge on a specific creature or creature type
Find your true love
Gain enough wealth to get piece of land and large home upon it
This.

Drama and comedy have in common that a tragic backstory can work out for both of them. But ambition is almost never funny (comedy character often have things just happen to them while drama characters seek them out).

For example, take Marvel's Avengers: out of all of them I feel the most for Hawkeye: he really has something to lose. I mean, tony is a PTSD ridden narcissist with the messias complex. The hulk is a case of constant self improvement with an inverted messias complex. thor is not a character at all, but a coming of age story in of itself, Black Widow is more of a deus ex machina and vision and Captain America are flat as dimes (and mostly tools). Obviously he must have something to gain, and as we have seen, he has a lot ot lose (wife, kids, home, etc.). So when the Avengers break up who is the one with the most to lose?

[CaptainSarathai]

I run all of my characters through a full campaign/career. All of my builds are set up with an element of "fun," because it can't always been doom&gloom and seriousness, but even my "silly" characters are fully fleshed and effective.

I don't really like playing the same character over and over again, so there's really not a common theme. I'm currently working on a retired "combat trainer" Warforged called 'Bob the Wrassle-Bot.' I've run a Halfling Barbarian named Shump Ironrod, a Tempest Cleric / Storm Sorcerer named Vann D. Graaf, a Warlock based on Gambit from XMen...
Their backstory was always varied. Half the fun of D&D is being someone who isn't you, and exploring a different head-space than my own.

[Starman973]

The Character build comes first. More often my characters tend to come from poverty or obscurity to notoriety. One Day I'll try doing the opposite. The Majority of characters are played as goodie two shoes as I like heroes. with race and background helping put some scaffolding in the foundation of the character. next is choosing parentage and birth order. Family structure makes such a big part of upbringing. I have actually gotten complaints from my fellow players that none of my characters have a good childhood. I personally feel that they weren't playing with me, when all my characters had one. Either a parents is dead or a sibling and I have an issue seems to be the theme. Even my current character has committed patricide, though this is supposed to be for an Evil Character campaign. Then of course there is the setting. Did I grow up in a Major city, a small village, or non-sedentary wanderers. and from there how did I got at least my level 1 class abilities, A College, a church, a forgotten temple, a barracks, a protected glade or did they just awaken from within me. And the flavor to all of this is my alignment. If I'm evil and lawful, killing my father in self defense is fine. If I'm good and Lawful, using information learned from lip reading with Observant to get donations to my cleric's order, is fine because justice gets done, and the order gets paid, and I get not accolades for turning in someone who cheated their labors, who took advantage of the market or rooked a farmer out of a lump of precious stone that he didn't know. For the final bit of flavor choosing who tells the story. Does the character tell the story, do other characters tell stories about the character. are they accurate, are they exaggerated. I like picking a teller of the story.

[Shaofoo]

Seriously, read the PHB. The book has examples why you would want to go out beyond "My life sucks".

Also you can have a well adjusted life and still want to adventure, even with skills to get a job adventuring could bring in great rewards in little time although with great risk.

When I hear serious story and tragic in the same sentence I always think "Ow the Edge". That isn't to say that a character with a tragic backstory is poorly written but when you emphasize the tragic backstory that is when I think a character is poorly written.

[Astofel]

I try to steer away from 'x killed my parents and burned my village so now I'm sad always' style backstories. In fact, I avoid dead parents in my characters' backstories in general, since having familial relationships ties the character to the world and gives the DM easy plot hooks. The events of my backstory also usually give my characters their motivation. I'll give a few examples:

Dragonborn bard, heir to the throne of his kingdom, whose royal family is all bards. He is sent out into the world to find a legendary story to record, as part of a rite of passage/coming of age to earn him the right to become the true heir.

Half-orc cleric, who was a pirate and a cleric of Umberlee until he met a cleric of a different faith and was converted to the side of good. Now he travels, hoping to give as many people as possible the same chance at redemption he had.

Aasimar monk, who lived his childhood believing he was a simple human in a farming village, doing his best to help out the locals and was generally well-liked. On the night of his coming-of-age, he has a dream featuring a Ki-Rin, who reveals his celestial heritage and hints at a greater destiny to come.

Dragonborn cleric/rogue, who is a priest of the god of death and serves as an assassin who takes the lives of people when his god decrees their time has come. He meets someone who he was originally meant to assassinate, but learns it is not yet their time and decides to protect this person until their true destiny is realized.

These are all fairly 'serious' characters, although they all have their fun moments. I think it's best to just come up with a backstory that feels right and suits the world, rather than wondering if you used the 'correct' amount of tragedy. You're making a character, not following a recipe.

[Laserlight]

Connall is always seeking new women, as well as new foods, music, experiences, and more women. He really shouldn't have seduced the admiral's daughter or his wife, much less both at the same time, but it sure did provide a great and immediate incentive to leave town. Connall regularly writes his long term girlfriends, his brother, and other people from his home city.

Junior simply felt a calling to become a paladin; he goes wherever his superior orders. He's on good terms with his parents but doesn't see them as often as he would like, because they live in a fairly remote area. Junior is happy and utterly fearless.

Menelaus joined the church because his mother is prominent in the local hierarchy. He served two years in the church's militia but doesn't really enjoy the bureaucracy, and wants to earn a name on his own. not through nepotism.

[Dr. Cliché]

I go the opposite of tragedy and misery. I like making a PC whose parents are not only alive, but live nearby. RPGs need more mom and dad.

I think, at the very least, it helps to have at least one surviving parent or relative.

Having one dead parent should be enough to give you a vengeance motive. But having the other one alive means you still have someone to protect, to care for, to visit etc.

I imagine other siblings can also provide some interesting options for both you and the DM.

[The Vanishing Hitchhiker]

Remember that a character's background isn't just about the past, but possible repercussions in the future. You don't have to start with "nothing to lose", you can start with "something to keep safe". A wealthy noble will defend their fortune, whether they're greedy or charitable. A threatened hometown can be even more compelling when friends and family still live there.

Exile and desertion are a pretty good background for ongoing consequences, too. I have a character on the run from her homeland; serious enough, but said homeland is also major source of conflict in the campaign. She didn't leave on ideological grounds and hasn't even cut all her ties to her family, so I anticipate some sweet, sweet conflict in her future.

[Naanomi]

Backgrounds for serious characters don't need to be 'dark'... just realistic. No superhero origin story, no litany of awesome fantasy fulfillment, no blank slate... nothing based on a joke, not an obvious clone of any media character (inspiration is fine)... believability is key

[Fishyninja]

How would you play a character with a blank slate backstory?

[cobaltstarfire]

Like someone from Dark Matter probably. (you wake up with no memory of who you are). Let the DM decide your backstory for you and dangle hints and clues about your past before you. Or you are tossed into another world or time, with no interest in finding a way back for whatever reason. (maybe this new world or time is much nicer than the one the character came from)


The past couple of years I've had:

Is/was being black mailed by an evil cult to act as an agent of said cult

Son of above character, is interested in studying the nature of divine beings and magic

Has come to the material plane in order to sample all kinds of foods

Slipped out of the village along with some others (backup PC's) to find help in besting a tyrannical green dragon

Presumably saved by a god from an undead plague, and now travels the world doing good in said gods name

Is the son of the towns merchant family and uses his magical gift to help run/secure the store

Is a farmer in the above characters town, and is being pushed by his father to become a soldier instead

Pretty varied, though I suppose I do tend to gravitate towards stories where the characters home is/was somehow under siege. Though their background may be sad, they usually aren't especially angsty about it, so much as dutiful and determined to do good in the world.

[Fishyninja]

Like someone from Dark Matter probably. (you wake up with no memory of who you are).

Hmm my sorcerer has no memory in his backstory but I have written a backstory to be given to the DM for them to use or edit at their disposal.

[Larpus]

I usually go for desire fueled by the fact that most RPG settings, life expectancy is low.

For example, one of my favorite characters is this one Wizard who was the child of merchants and showed prowess for magic, as a result his parents worked hard to get him into an arcane academy and he ended up wanting to become a city archmage to live comfortably into old age and provide for his family.

Problem was, doing so by conventional means not only meant having to gain social favors (something he not only disliked, but was outright horrible at) and would only get there by age 50 or so, making him turn to the next big thing: become an adventurer and claim for himself a name so he could end up receiving an appointment out of being the city hero.

To make his plan a bit less dangerous, he obsessed over Divination magic so he could predict enemy movement and the such and, when he finally got to be an adventurer, he was quite cowardly in battle and quite selfish on whether he was invested in a particular quest or not, but being kind-hearted, he quickly bonded with others and was willing to put his life on the line even if doing so wouldn't specifically get him closer to archmage.

[MBControl]

My friend had a pretty elegant backstory with his fight.

He was one of 3 brothers, born to a noble family. As per tradition, once all brothers were of a certain age, they are sent away for one year of adventure. They one that returns with the greatest tales of bravery and conquest assumes the crown.

So the tale is a quest for epic greatness, with a lot of stakes. It also presents a ton of story options down the road, and provides the DM with NPC's to interact with. Our party ran while fighting a hydra, found that we were in competition with one of his brothers for the final kill shot.

[Naanomi]

Quick background of my current(ish) characters...

~A normal dwarven worker at a brewery, run by a famous but 'eccentric' master brewer. The brewer tests an 'experimental' brew on his apprentices, driving many mad but awakening (very unwanted) sorcerous powers in me... to my great fear and shame. I temporarily fled the clan and 'disowned' myself until I can find a cure for my 'affliction'; making a living through adventuring with the hope that I can find a remedy in my travels ((Mountain Dwarf/Inheritor/Wild Sorcerer))

~Raised in slavery (perhaps born in slavery, but perhaps not); served many masters in my youth but by becoming first a gladiator, then working to capture slaves myself, gained some degree of freedom. Ultimately 'purchased' by the Zhentarim and given autonomy while working as a field agent; though planned on slowly gaining true freedom even from that obligation (AL Character, died in Out of the Abyss) ((Human/'Pirate'/Fighter+Swashbuckler)

~Drafted into the military at a young age, but joined the clergy of a war-God to become a battlefield medic (Life Domain) on the front lines. Despite my best efforts, my unit got wiped out and the survivors (myself included) were discharged and went our own ways. Knowing little except the battlefield, but not being suited for strict military life anymore, I joined a mercenary crew ((Human/Mercenary/Life Cleric))

~Grew up in a quiet halfling township, but always energetic and 'bothersome'. Apprenticed to the sheriff and found a good calling there; however when asked to track down someone who had failed to pay a merchant I found joy in travel and left to become a bounty-hunter... though always with the intention of returning home and finding 'respectable work' once I'd got a bit of traveling. ((Stout Halfling/Bounty Hunter/Battlemaster))

*I have another character but it retconned from a water gensai to a triton when Volo's came out so it's background is still a bit of a mess... something about being raised in a sea-elf community but never really fitting in so took to traveling to avoid responsibilities ((Triton/Outlander/Revised Beastmaster))

[cobaltstarfire]

Hmm my sorcerer has no memory in his backstory but I have written a backstory to be given to the DM for them to use or edit at their disposal.

That works too, it probably depends on the nature of the game and what the players/DM wants from it.

edit: Oh, or like one of several star trek stories where a character has their memory wiped in order to go into deep cover or whatever. I suppose it's not totally blank slate, since they will eventually re-awaken their true selves but another way to do it I guess.

[Jeebs]

I'm my group's only willing DM, so my characters are mostly hypothetical, but I gravitate towards outsiders who find a happy home in a human village/settlement/city, but then come to understand that they need to leave their home to keep that happiness.

I want to play a Wood Elf Barbarian who was raised among humans, basically from birth. His human friends are now elderly, and he's seeking something to lengthen their lives.

[Sigreid]

It doesn't really have to have any tragedy.

The character can simply be an adrenaline junkie who isn't happy unless he knows his life is in mortal peril.

The character could be the lord's second or third son who knowing that he will not inherit the family wealth sets out to earn his own while adding to the glory of the family name.

The character could realize that in their heart of hearts they are a monster (violent sociopath) and choose to fulfill their needs in a way that still lets them enjoy town.

A sage could be an Indiana Jones type, obsessed with finding and retrieving the relics of lost civilizations.

The perfectly happy and well adjusted paladin feels a need to protect the poor people of the boarder regions.

The common soldier wants to prove his valor so decisively that he wins his knighthood and a shot at the princess.

The farm boy simply realizes that continuing in agriculture will never offer a better life for him or his family.

The lord is a prick and it's grown so intolerable something has to be done, but that takes more resources than the people can muster.

Your best friend feels compelled for whatever reason to venture forth. You can't let him go alone, can you?

A better dowry can mean a better marriage for your sister. That would improve things for the whole family for generations. Surely that's worth a little risk?

I could go on and on.

[RumoCrytuf]

I've got about 4 different characters I use.

Rumo was an outcast from birth. An elf born in the human city of Forthold, His mother died in childbirth. His father, a renowned merchant and leader of the Traders Guild, had little time for his son. Leaving him in the care of a brothel, his father would disappear for weeks at a time. One day, word came that Rumo's father had been killed in a raid by an orc war party. Rumo, still a child, was stricken with grief at the loss of the only family he had. He spent the next several decades stealing and fighting to make a meager living. Often times, he would get in trouble with guards. He was quick though, and managed to evade capture... until he killed a man for his coin. After 70 years of being chased, the young Rumo was caught. Sentenced to death, he spent the next 2 years behind bars as he waited for his execution. However, an order of paladins known as the Sons of Fire saw much greater use for Rumo, and bargained to take the young elf with them. They honed his prowess in combat, teaching him the ways of their order. Showing near prodigy like abilities, he quickly rose through the ranks of the initiates. There he made a friend, a Human named Doman. They competed with each other to see who would become a Paladin first. Rumo always managed to best Doman in battle, and they trained hard together... Until they tried to teach Rumo their magic. The Sons of Fire were renowned for using the power of the God of Justice to channel their divine magic. But, for reasons unknown to him, Rumo wasn't granted this power. Try as he might, he wasn't given the God's blessing. To become a Son of Fire, one had to be able to master the divine magic granted by their god. Unable to do this, Rumo turned to darker arts. Bargaining with Demons and Dark Fae, he gained the power that he was so desperate to achieve. All that remained was to make his order proud. The day came where he would be tested to become a true son of fire. The High Inquisitor would personally be doing battle with each of the initiates. When it came Rumo's turn, he passed with flying colors. However, the Demons he bargained with betrayed him. Using Rumo's power, they killed the High Inquisitor in a display that would be talked about for ages to come. Outcast and Forsaken, Rumo is now hunted by the order. Rumo blamed the Gods for not granting him the power to serve them. He lives on the outskirts of towns, never letting his face become known. He seeks to destroy all upholding and worships of the Gods who forsook him. Thus he became... The Forsaken Son

Mahtan was an ordinary human, save that he was raised by elves. He was found by a hunting party of Elves near the remains of a destroyed caravan. His parents were presumed dead, and he was taken back to their village. While growing up, the elves began to see him as one of their own, and thus gave him an Elven name. He showed an uncanny talent for magic, and was sent to the high capital of Shariika to study under Shakaroth. Shakaroth was an ancient gold dragon who had watched over the elves for centuries. Mahtan studied hard under Shakaroths guidance, and mastered his talents. One day, Shakaroth sent Mahtan off on a quest to recover ancient tomes that had deep knowledge of ancient magic. He found them, but when he returned home he found nothing but ash and corpses. A gate of the Nine Hells had opened, and the Demons had spilled forth. They captured Mahtan and took him to their Lord. There, he and eight others was conscripted in blood and made to serve the Nine Hells. Being granted great power, and a scythe that stole the very life out of his enemies, Mahtan become a warlock, channeling his patrons power to serve the Nine Hells. He does this unwillingly, and tries to protect others whenever he can... but he is forced to do evil. He now spends his days searching for a way to free himself of this curse.

Rumo... that name burned in Doman's heart. Ever since that bastard killed the old man, Doman swore revenge. The Sons of Fire saw this anger in Doman, and forbade him from hunting Rumo. But the God of Justice saw otherwise, and sent Doman a message telling him to hunt down Rumo, and end his monstrous rampage. He has no memory of his past, all of it being stripped away by the Gods so he would be able to focus on his mission. Even though he once called Rumo friend, that fiend had to be defeated.. no, Rumo had to die. Only then would the world be safe from him. Being granted the title of Inquisitor, a privilege given to those who would hunt and destroy evil wherever it may be found, Doman set out on his quest to find, and end, Rumo, the Forsaken Son.

Alara, the Night Queen, is more of a legend than a person. Few ever see her face, her deep purple skin and silver hair. Drow aren't exactly welcome in the overworld. But that's okay. Alara was a master of avoiding others. Not born in the underdark, but nevertheless treated as an outcast, Alara learned how to stay out of sight. Fancying herself a master of thieves, she picked pockets and stole goods whenever she needed to. Now, don't be mistaken, she doesn't do it out of greed, but necessity. It's hard for a drow to make an honest living due to all the mistrust that surrounds their race. She does good whenever she can, being above the folk who scorn her and her kind. She grew up in the city of Neverwinter, and traveled often as a member of the Zhentarim. She could be turned to for almost any job, as long as it didn't involve the significant harm of another. She succeeded with brutal efficiency. She lives for nothing more than a bag of gold and a luxurious estate. Though, admittedly, she loves the call to adventure.

[Spore]

My Priestess of Cold and Death was born blind, fell in love with a Huscarl, who killed someone. He was executed for it and damned to serve her as an undead thrall until his sin was atoned. Her family was not important but she has basically been living in a monastery from the age of 6 up. Falling in love with an evil warrior was her way of teenage rebellion.

My Halfling Paladin's father is a known drug trader - and with a drug that expands people's nightmares so far that demons can enter the world - who killed his adventuring company back in the day to keep all the dragon hoard for himself. He married a happy-go-lucky gal and had three kids. The Paladin (who was a Knight beforehand) and his younger sister took after his mother but his older brother takes his lessons from his father. He went out to do good as he cannot do anything in his family anymore, until he returned home to discover his father's mere sketchy deals turn into actual demon summoning.

My Shifter Ranger was the product of an affair of his mother with an exotic businessman. He lived a relatively calm and spoiled life as his family was rich but this ended when his lycanthropic heritage took over while playfighting. He killed his brother, so he was exiled for being a product of an affair and having killed a family member. The father needed his mother to stay married to keep the shares in his company. Meanwhile the kid survives in the slums until he is old enough to join the King's ranger corps. There he assassinates a general of a foreign nation in order to prevent a stealth attack on his unit. He deserts before he can be sentenced at the Court-martial for treason as this kill had dangerous diplomatic repercussions. He is now hiding in the slums of his childhood, earning money as a detective. A private-nose if you will.

On a post-apocalyptic scenario:

My mechanic - a child prodigy, how else would you explain full stats at age 15 - was sent away from his father with vital information on a portable data device along with his siblings. His father is held hostage by a corporate boss and I still don't know what data I am carrying as it is encrypted. His life in exchange for the data.

My soldier is an aged veteran, who survived several hundred combat hours by being pragmatic and ignoring basic commands that get you killed but safe sparse ressources like ammunition. After failing an escort mission - due to another party member killing the escorted doctor - he still receives a promotion because the doctors pay for intel, not their coworker returning, he gets promoted and access to additional high tech equipment. He takes that into what is basically a nightclub and tries to familiarize himself with it. He gets blackout drunk and pays a prostitute, with him waking up and several thousands of high tech equipment missing. Returning to his base, his sergeant forces the brothel to return the device and places the soldier under house arrest which prompts him to quit the army and try his own luck.

He then survives the following winter hunting for a small farm family, trading shelter for food. He then leaves to stolen military goods at a marketplace far away, only to return to a burned down farm. He now swears to protect the innocent how his ex comrades never did if money was not involved.

[Shaofoo]

I sometimes wonder if there is someone that as soon as they learned who the big bad was they retroactively claimed that said big bad raped their character just to raise the stakes and make it darker. (Note rape as a narrative device is always bad and you should never use it)

[Fishyninja]

That works too, it probably depends on the nature of the game and what the players/DM wants from it.

edit: Oh, or like one of several star trek stories where a character has their memory wiped in order to go into deep cover or whatever. I suppose it's not totally blank slate, since they will eventually re-awaken their true selves but another way to do it I guess.

Again that is part of the Sorcerer's back story his story will be revealed to him at a sudden pointin the story.....IF the DM chooses which is exciting for me the anticipation to see if he will or not.

[Starman973]

I thought I'd give an example of the ideas I expressed for how I craft a background.


Brother Randal Lorros, a Life Domain Cleric of Ilmater whom works over the wealthy town folks and merchants for donations to the order. He is very good at that as he often getting guilds leaders themselves to donate as well as the town guard. It has become clear that he does not provide healing or potions or balms or the like for these donations. The citizens of Waterdeep that live in these circles do not need our healing services. Recently other donators that have never made a donation through Randal have complained that they always have seen him around and then shortly thereafter, someone is arrested, accused of something or fined by their guild. They have no evidence that he has done anything to them, but the pattern has become evident. It is not that he doesn’t heal people though, he has been spotted helping out at hospitals, visiting the orphanage, and even getting the town guardsmen to let him into the prison. All of those places speak well of him. You decided he needed to be investigated, because he was never put through the indoctrination process. His mind had never been checked for any deceptive alliances other than to that of Ilmater. When he came into the order it was evident that Ilmater had touched him, healed him of all wounds and old scars, and made the tradesman to whom he was apprenticed to free him from his contract.
Entering the room you cast a stern look to the fellow member of your order to Ilmater. As Revered Father of the house you cast an empowered zone of truth in the room to ensure he can only speak the truth. He’s tall young Chondathan and blunt with his words by reputation. His origins before coming to the order though had been non-existent. With the threat of kicking him out of his home, you have come to sit down before him and finally learn the truth of just how he came to be touched by the power of the divine. As you sit down you can see he is working a deck of cards in his hands. Other than the chairs and the table the interview room itself has been stripped bare of anything that might serve as a distraction. You clear your throat and ask Brother Randal if he would like to begin to explain just how he came to be in the order specifically asking for the whole story.
Randal gives you a blank stare for a moment before commenting how every man’s story starts before even the first hand is dealt. He begins offering to tell you first of his parents first. Without glancing at the deck of cards in his hand he pulls a card from the middle of the deck and sets the jack of spades on the table before you.
(This next part is no longer narration of the story but of the character within the story)
My father, the One-Eyed Jack of Spades, was certainly myopic in his goals. Ever since her first knocked up my mother he kept coming up with ways to find his fortune. Ever since I was but a babe in arms, he had been trying to stack the deck only to find it always stacked against him. He would shuffle in and out of my life. I’m not sure if he was working, being held on charges or just trying to ante up for his latest endeavor.
By the time I was nine, I could see that no matter how you mark your cards, if you aren’t holding all of them, you’ll end up getting dealt from the bottom of the deck. (He produces the queen of Hearts from the deck as if he knew where she was inside the shuffled stack of cards) The queen of broken hearts, my mother, was forgiving him and taking him back and he would just run out again later leaving us to fend for ourselves. She finally chose to discard my father and just play with the rest of the cards she was dealt. She managed to get a job cleaning up deuces for our very order. After mucking and scrubbing one of the Order saw something worthy in her, and asked her to join. She could not become a sister of the order with a little one tied to her at least in her eyes. It was now my turn for the discard pile. (OOC: Orphanage)
No one likes the discard pile; even those who run it often offer the young men out for the purchase of apprenticeship. (He then draws out the king of diamonds from the deck of cards and lets it join the jack and queen on the table) The Man with the Axe, was no lumber baron, but did have an axe to grind when it came to my father. He was the banker on a number of my father’s schemes. The family resemblance was unmistakable. He tossed his Ante into the kitty and picked me up from the discard pile. Dealt a fresh hand, I had to do all he asked and if I failed in the slightest of ways he beat me as it was within his rights to do. I grew to a strapping young lad though despite all the times he took the strap to me. He kept shorting the deck so he could trump my every move. One day when he thought he had all the aces giving me my lashes divine intervention slipped me a trump card. Ilmater broke my bonds both physical and social so I could change dealers and be dealt into a better game. I took that as reason brought to dedicate my existence to Ilmater since I owed him that much.
Since my time of being in the Order, I have seen my mother again. I only tipped my cards to her as you know I normally play with my cards close to my chest. (He fans out all the sixes and sevens in the deck before going back to shuffling the cards) I don’t bear her any ill will, as my father made her all 6’s and 7’s with how he treated her. I did not want to deal with her on regular basis so I changed tables. I did not hedge my bets on ever seeing my father again. (He makes the joker pop out from the top of the deck and sink back into the deck) The joker always turns up sooner or later. He was back at his double dealing ways counting his cards till the next big pot. He was playing against some real card sharks and was going to get his chips cashed in. (He manages to draw the Ace of spades and puts it on the table with the other face cards) I did not want him to get the ace of spaces so I did what I could to throw a wild card into the mix. (He pulls out the 10 of clubs on the table) I had raised the ante, dropped a dime on him and gotten my former father jailed. Maybe a few years on the inside will set him straight. [OOC: He is innocent of what his was jailed for but not innocent of other crimes that he should be jailed for.] Although I think the situation is royally flushed. (He motions to the royal flush he has laid out on the table) I visit him from time to time, but he still wears his poker face. He doesn’t know it was my word that got him jailed, but he hasn’t called my bluff on why I visit him. Now you can call a spade a spade when you judge me, but you must admit I have laid all my cards on the table and have been above board with you about my past.
(Back to the story)
He picks back up all his cards and quirks an eye brow with a calm and even questions, “Are we done here?”
You snort in reply and explain to him how a small collection of cash had been removed from his quarters. The money has been used to purchase armor and an explorer’s pack from local merchants a few whom offered discounts when they heard it was for you. After commenting on the discount being because they we glad to hear you were leaving or because respect had been earned, you promise him that the next group that ask for a cleric of Ilmater to help them on even the barely noble quest that he will be joining it. You tell him it is the best for both him and the order and will show his devotion to Ilmater. Randal does not seem upset in the slightest but does offer a parting remark.
“You will have to ask yourself later, did you send me off because the quest was truly noble, or because other donators, whom have threatened to remove any future donations if I did not go away?”
The Investigation into Brother Randal Lorros
Even though his transfer has gone through here are the details that I have managed to hunt down on Brother Randal Lorros. I did find a sister Marie Lorros who is old enough to be his mother. When I questioned her about him she confessed to abandoning him to join our order full time. It bears further investigation to learn how this did not come out in her induction into the order. When I asked her about her husband she chose to not speak of him. She explained that the subject I was inquiring about would upset her too much that she is not going to speak of him. Since she is a properly inducted member of the order it is clear she holds no loyalty to him at least. After being rebuffed a number of times I instead asked the name of the orphanage in which she abandoned Brother Randal at so I could continue the investigation. When I got to the orphanage I asked the headmaster if he had any records on Randal Lorros. The headmaster remembered the arrival of the twelve year old lad. Sister Marie Lorros dropped of her own son saying that the boy had no one to watch after him. It wasn’t a total lie, but enough of one to get him into the orphanage. When I asked about the discharge of Randal Lorros from the orphanage he provided the purchase of apprentice ship which was made by carpenter Josiah Copper. Apparently being at the orphanage for a little more than six months, Randal Lorros did not do anything memorable during his time at the orphanage. I went on to the carpenter to check the veracity of our brother’s largest claim being touched by Ilmater himself. The business of the carpenter had been bought by one of his former journeymen. With age starting to creep into his bones Josiah Copper just worked to fill his days when he wished and worked on more personal projects. His current crafts are chests, jewelry boxes, and children’s toys. He was working on a rocking horse when I started to question him. When I uttered Randal’s name the old man dropped his tools, his hands had a shake to them and he sat down. I stayed patient with the man and he corroborated Randal’s story even down to being freed of his bonds by the power of Ilmater flowing through him. When I asked him why he did all he did to Randal the color returned to his face as he started to spout his hatred for Randall’s Father. Just as I thought I was going to learn something about his father I learned that he had hidden his true name under various aliases. Here is a list of various names he has used: Jack Sprat, Jack Lean, Jack Nimble, Jack Horner, Jack Quick, Jack Frost, Jack Black, Jack Sparrow, Jack Reacher, Jack Ryan, Jack Fleming, Jack Taylor, Jack Spade, Jack Armstrong, Jack Aubrey, Jack Irish, Jack Rooney, Jack Tripper and Jack Straw. I ran these names against the guards and said that they don’t have any Jacks. And since we cannot follow him on his visits to the prisons we may never know just which prisoner is his father, if what he said was true.
The Secondment of Brother Randal Lorros
The first assignment that came across the Revered Father was for a new leader for a small healing shrine, who’s former holder had passed of old age. The assignment was a plush one within the order and the moneys he had raised could not be denied. It would keep Randall away from any prying eyes protecting him for any potential backlash of any rich patrons wanting to keep him quiet on whatever dirt, if any, he had on them. After all if he was somehow blackmailing anyone was that not some form of bondage and against the virtues of Ilmater. And in this small parish there would be little dirt for him to make any trouble with the local folk. The Revered father sent word that Brother Randal Lorros had one day to get his affairs in order and say his goodbyes.
(Focus shifts back to Randal’s point of view)
One day. That’s plenty of time. I’ve cashed in the last of my local favors to keep eyes on the local prisons from both sides. Wardens are easier to manipulate than the larger prisoners, but everyone has something that motivates them. For one I kept a son out of prison. For another I gave word that he was with me that night so his marriage would not dissolve. The last of the wealth, a small tithe of the monies that passed through my hands for the order, I have collected has been mostly spent on keeping things safe for others while I’m gone. I may not be close to my mother, but she’s safe in the order and with some coin comfortable.