Cogwheel
2007-09-29, 02:36 AM
This character is an ECL 10 shaman (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?t=56521) fire hobgoblin of mine, newly made. his alignment is TN/CN (not sure yet). Anyways, posting his background to see what y'all make of it - Yes, it's very long (word count of 900, I believe). No, I wasn't trying for that in particular, but that's not a problem for me or my group. I want feedback about the quality or lack thereof in the backstory, not the length, 'kay? Thanks everyone!
Gorbaz Terull sat on the blackened, obsidian slopes of Wrathfire Peak. Ash rained down around him, as it always did in this place, yet he saw it not. Blasts of heated wind rose from the volcano’s crater itself, blowing around him, yet he felt them not. The winds howled and rocks crashed around him, but he heard them not. Deep in meditation, he thought back, thinking of the life that had brought him here…
Wise man, shaman, blessed of Ignus, mighty warrior, healer of the mountain fang tribe. he had many names, naught but hollow titles now, yet they meant so much at the time.. There was a time when he was all of these things – he healed the ill, brought the tribe victory in battle as their enemies burned before their eyes, offered his sage advice freely, prayed to the spirits every day, every night…
Those days were past now.
There was a time when the tribe was everything to him. When he would have – and indeed did – risk his life for his tribe. he learned his craft from the previous shaman of the tribe, though his name was remembered by none, not even Gorbaz. he was a wise man, harsh, but a good teacher. Gorbaz was his one and only apprentice, as tradition decreed. One day, he had completed his training, risen to the rank of shaman within the tribe. On that day, his mentor’s face had been grim indeed, yet he had never known why.
That day, when he went to report to his mentor, all was silent within the hut. A quick search revealed that he was not present. From that day on, he had never seen the old man again.
Later, he learned of the brutal tradition of the shamans, the reason why his old mentor had left – The tribe acquired a new shaman either by the current one mentoring another hobgoblin, or by one overthrowing the current shaman. When a new shaman takes the post in a tribe, the old one is forced into exile. his old master had known this, and yet he had mentored Gorbaz to become his own demise.
But Gorbaz moved on. There was no point arguing with tradition – what must be done, simply must be done. So it had always been, and so shall it remain, until the end of times. he thought no more of the incident as his days as a shaman begun, casting it out of his mind.
All that was until a week ago. Gorbaz had served his tribe for decades, risked his life for them, healed their injured, their sick, offered sage words to tribesmen and chieftain alike. And yet one day, an arrogant young upstart had struck him in the night, landing a grievous wound in his shoulder as he slept. From there, it was a one-sided fight. There was no honour.
Yet none can argue with tradition. What must be done, simply must be done. So it had always been, and so it shall be, until the end of time. So it was that Gorbaz was exiled from his tribe the very next day, cast out like some old tool, without a second thought. his entire world had been ripped away from him, and he was left with nothing. At a complete loss, he chose to do the only thing that he could – trek to Flamewrath Peak, a volcano sacred to Ignus, and seek answers there.
So it was that he came to these slopes, and for three days, he had been deep in meditation, without food, drink or sleep. he knew not when the ground shook, when the scalding winds blew out of the crater with increased vigor.
The eruption was seen by all of the Mountain Fang tribe, a testament to Ignus’s power, engulfing the surrounding forest, scouring it of all life, covering the surroundings in a coating of lava, ash and smoke.
A day later, Gorbaz rose slowly from the half-solidified lava. he was unharmed, yet not unaffected. Living flames darted around him, coming off him in sparks and embers. he was wreathed in flames of every colour, dancing around him excitedly. In his hand was something he had not seen before – a totem of gnarled hematite and ruby, covered in Ignan runes. It smouldered in his hand, yet he did not feel the heat. here was a sign, as sure as anything – he was Ignus’s chosen. The lord of this volcano had chosen him and no other, showed him that he was wronged, that he had been just and right all along.
For the first time in four days, he turned to look down on the village that held the Mountain Fang tribe. hobgoblins bustled about, moving from building to building, some carrying the prey from the tribe’s latest hunts. It was a scene he had watched a thousand times, every last day…
Yet his eyes saw naught but raging flames.
Slowly, totem in hand, he walked down the slopes. his cause was a just one, Ignus had shown him as much. he had been wronged, and he sought justice. If there was none in this world, nothing but trial by fire, than he shall forge his own from the fires of his wrath. hatred in his eyes, he glared out at the settlement below. At last, he shall have his long-deserved vengeance.
On this day, they shall know of the Flamelord's wrath.
Gorbaz Terull sat on the blackened, obsidian slopes of Wrathfire Peak. Ash rained down around him, as it always did in this place, yet he saw it not. Blasts of heated wind rose from the volcano’s crater itself, blowing around him, yet he felt them not. The winds howled and rocks crashed around him, but he heard them not. Deep in meditation, he thought back, thinking of the life that had brought him here…
Wise man, shaman, blessed of Ignus, mighty warrior, healer of the mountain fang tribe. he had many names, naught but hollow titles now, yet they meant so much at the time.. There was a time when he was all of these things – he healed the ill, brought the tribe victory in battle as their enemies burned before their eyes, offered his sage advice freely, prayed to the spirits every day, every night…
Those days were past now.
There was a time when the tribe was everything to him. When he would have – and indeed did – risk his life for his tribe. he learned his craft from the previous shaman of the tribe, though his name was remembered by none, not even Gorbaz. he was a wise man, harsh, but a good teacher. Gorbaz was his one and only apprentice, as tradition decreed. One day, he had completed his training, risen to the rank of shaman within the tribe. On that day, his mentor’s face had been grim indeed, yet he had never known why.
That day, when he went to report to his mentor, all was silent within the hut. A quick search revealed that he was not present. From that day on, he had never seen the old man again.
Later, he learned of the brutal tradition of the shamans, the reason why his old mentor had left – The tribe acquired a new shaman either by the current one mentoring another hobgoblin, or by one overthrowing the current shaman. When a new shaman takes the post in a tribe, the old one is forced into exile. his old master had known this, and yet he had mentored Gorbaz to become his own demise.
But Gorbaz moved on. There was no point arguing with tradition – what must be done, simply must be done. So it had always been, and so shall it remain, until the end of times. he thought no more of the incident as his days as a shaman begun, casting it out of his mind.
All that was until a week ago. Gorbaz had served his tribe for decades, risked his life for them, healed their injured, their sick, offered sage words to tribesmen and chieftain alike. And yet one day, an arrogant young upstart had struck him in the night, landing a grievous wound in his shoulder as he slept. From there, it was a one-sided fight. There was no honour.
Yet none can argue with tradition. What must be done, simply must be done. So it had always been, and so it shall be, until the end of time. So it was that Gorbaz was exiled from his tribe the very next day, cast out like some old tool, without a second thought. his entire world had been ripped away from him, and he was left with nothing. At a complete loss, he chose to do the only thing that he could – trek to Flamewrath Peak, a volcano sacred to Ignus, and seek answers there.
So it was that he came to these slopes, and for three days, he had been deep in meditation, without food, drink or sleep. he knew not when the ground shook, when the scalding winds blew out of the crater with increased vigor.
The eruption was seen by all of the Mountain Fang tribe, a testament to Ignus’s power, engulfing the surrounding forest, scouring it of all life, covering the surroundings in a coating of lava, ash and smoke.
A day later, Gorbaz rose slowly from the half-solidified lava. he was unharmed, yet not unaffected. Living flames darted around him, coming off him in sparks and embers. he was wreathed in flames of every colour, dancing around him excitedly. In his hand was something he had not seen before – a totem of gnarled hematite and ruby, covered in Ignan runes. It smouldered in his hand, yet he did not feel the heat. here was a sign, as sure as anything – he was Ignus’s chosen. The lord of this volcano had chosen him and no other, showed him that he was wronged, that he had been just and right all along.
For the first time in four days, he turned to look down on the village that held the Mountain Fang tribe. hobgoblins bustled about, moving from building to building, some carrying the prey from the tribe’s latest hunts. It was a scene he had watched a thousand times, every last day…
Yet his eyes saw naught but raging flames.
Slowly, totem in hand, he walked down the slopes. his cause was a just one, Ignus had shown him as much. he had been wronged, and he sought justice. If there was none in this world, nothing but trial by fire, than he shall forge his own from the fires of his wrath. hatred in his eyes, he glared out at the settlement below. At last, he shall have his long-deserved vengeance.
On this day, they shall know of the Flamelord's wrath.